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MACMILLAN'S STANDARD LIBRARY 
 
 THE HEAKT OF A CHILD 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 BEING PASSAGES FROM THE 
 EARLY LIFE OF SALLY SNAPE 
 LADY KIDDERMINSTER 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK DANBY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "PIGS IN CLOVER," "THE SPHINX'8 
 LAWYER," "BACCARAT," ETC. 
 
 " Till this one change hath found us, 
 The hours their glass forget : 
 The old arms linger round us, 
 The child heart holds us yet." 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
COPTHIGHT, 1908, 
 
 By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotypcd. Published March, 1908. Reprinted 
 April, twice; May, twice ; June, July, August, September, October, 
 1908 ; June, 1909 ; January, February, November, 1910. 
 
 Norfeoob $ro0 
 
 J. 8. Cashing Co. — Berwick A Smith Co. 
 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
9LI 
 
 T 
 
 THE HEAKT OF A CHILD 
 
 257631 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN Angel Gardens, Limehouse, the spring sun had less 
 opportunity than anywhere else in the whole of London. 
 It was a narrow, filthy, ill-paved cul-de-sac. On either 
 side of its foul gutters were tottering, low tenement houses, 
 the fronts bulging, the broken windows filled in with rags 
 or paper, the roofs rotting. There was a swarming life of 
 women and children on doorsteps, and in the roadway — 
 ragged, wretched, appallingly dirty. Brooding over ail 
 was that close, oppressive stench which tells of dirt and 
 poverty. 
 
 Yet here, on that May day, ten years ago, the organ- 
 grinder turned his tune, and, with shoeless feet, or feet 
 worse than shoeless, in men's boots, carpet slippers, 
 gaping, ragged gear of every description, the draggle- 
 tailed children danced. And they danced well, now a 
 reel, now a polka, now a valse, not the latest fashion- 
 able variety perhaps, but always in strict time, with never 
 a step missed, and a sense of gaiety and abandonment, 
 amazing to the district visitor, new to her work, and 
 already heart-sick with what she had seen and heard that 
 spring afternoon. 
 
 On a heap of rags on the floor in the first house she 
 had entered, it was the first entry on the list given to her, 
 there lay a dying woman. One saw the skull behind the 
 
 B I 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 emaciation of her yellow, tortured face. Three or four 
 infant children stared weariedly, and cried fitfully, during 
 the lady's short visit. But the invalid welcomed her visitor 
 quite warmly. She said she could not move about much, 
 and she liked a bit of a gossip. Would the lady come and 
 sit over by her bed? There was a bit of a packing-case 
 that would do nicely for a chair. Like all her class, 
 she had been quite ready to talk about herself. She said she 
 had nine children altogether. The eldest was twelve, he 
 worked at a shop, a half-timer, he was very lucky to get 
 the place ; a good boy, he brought his half-crown home 
 every week, "as reg'lar, as reg'lar." Jenny, she helped 
 too, although she was only eleven, door-stepping; many 
 and many a morning she earned her fourpence before 
 she went to school. And then her husband's club had 
 come forward, she went on : " he was a stevedore before he 
 was killed": 
 
 "They give me something still, his club does, there's 
 many worse off than me. And we got a good neighbour. 
 Since I can't move my legs, she comes in, most every morn- 
 ing, and 'elps with the children. She brings 'em little 
 things too." 
 
 " ' The pain ' ? Oh ! yes, 'tis pretty bad, but lying 
 here like this it don't matter so much, 'aving so much 
 done for me, and the children so good, and everybody so 
 kind ; I mustn't grumble at a bit of pain." 
 
 Her strained eyes and grey mouth made the pathos 
 of her gratitude acute. 
 
 The district visitor interviewed the good neighbour, who 
 lived in the attic overhead, and lately had two of Mrs. 
 Crowe's children in to sleep with her. This row of houses 
 must have been built a hundred years ago. They were 
 not on the usual London plan, they ran *back a good way, 
 but were only on two floors, incredibly rotten and insani- 
 
 2 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 tary. They had been condemned over and over again, 
 but still stood. 
 
 Mrs. Evans* attic was very clean, the bed had a patch 
 work quilt, there was a bit of looking-glass nailed to the 
 wall, also a couple of texts. She was not on the list from 
 the Charity Organization Society ; it was only to ask about 
 Mrs. Crowe that Ursula Rugeley went up. But when she 
 had put her questions and received her answers, something 
 prompted her to say a few appreciative words. Miss Rugeley 
 said she hoped the society she represented would do some- 
 thing for Mrs. Crowe and her family, it was a very rich 
 society. But she realized that whilst she was hoping, and 
 the Society had been making inquiries, Mrs. Evans worked 
 quietly and continuously for her poor neighbour. 
 
 " Lor' bless you, 'tis nothing, what I do. Lots of folks 
 do more than me. The poor thing's dying of cancer, the 
 pain's awful, I know that. My mother died of it, you could 
 hear her shrieks two streets off. Mrs. Crowe, she don't 
 make a murmur. I never see such patience, never. Glad 
 I am if I can help a bit. Me ? No ! I don't want no 'elp." 
 
 All the time she was talking, her busy fingers were plying 
 her knitting needles. 
 
 " I can earn a good fourteen shillings a week, if I keep at 
 it, and if I spare her two or three out of that, it won't 
 hurt me. Save! I never was one to save. I don't 'old 
 with it myself. Meanness, I call it. I'd rather go on the 
 parish when I couldn't work no more, than grudge me 
 neighbour a bite or sup when I 'ad it. And there is One 
 who'll look after me," she added, quite unaffectedly, with 
 deep conviction. 
 
 Ursula Rugeley was learning more than she was teach- 
 ing, receiving more than she was giving. Great lessons 
 of patience, generosity, resignation were being given her. 
 
 The second name on her list was Tom Bolding. Tom 
 
 3 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Bolding occupied the back-floor room next door. It was 
 almost always dark in Tom Bolding's room, for the 
 big new houses had been built so close. Angel Gar- 
 dens had been long condemned; architect and builder 
 were within their right in concluding that the order for 
 its destruction had been obeyed. There was an old cess- 
 pool right under Tom Bolding's window, but, as the window 
 was never opened, that was little inconvenience. 
 
 Tom Bolding, when he rose from the pallet bed, and 
 greeted Ursula in a strange voice, revealed himself a tall, 
 gaunt man ; she had heard his short painful breath even 
 before she opened the door. One could see the skeleton, 
 too, in his fleshless face, his eyes were caverns behind 
 the high cheek bones. It seemed as if it were from a 
 cavern, too, that the hoarse voice came. 
 
 " Be pleased to come in, marm," he said, panting 
 politely. "Polly, get the lady a chair." 
 
 Polly and her sister had each a broken-backed chair, 
 Polly's was given up with mute obedience. They had not 
 time to waste on a visitor, they were making potato sacks ; 
 two half-naked children, hardly human. A heap of sacks 
 lay in a corner, and on that heap Polly sat, when she had 
 given up her chair, so that she might go on with her work 
 without delay. They never looked up during the conversa- 
 tion that followed ; their eyes never left the coarse sacking, 
 the rough thread, the large needles. 
 
 "They can get through thirty in a day, if they don't 
 'ave to go to school," said the father proudly, in that 
 curious voice of his. "And we've had luck, mum, for 
 Sukey has a bad leg; show the lady yer leg, Suke." 
 
 It was a mass of festering sore. Ursula turned from it 
 shuddering, but it seemed a matter of indifference to 
 Sukey, who covered it up again as well as she was able 
 with her short scant skirt, and went on with her sewing. 
 
 4 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 u And Polly, 'ere, is only just off the measles. Yer eyes 
 are still bad, ain't they, Poll ? They get fourpence a dozen 
 for sewing them sacks, though of course the thread and 
 things come expensive. Yet it all 'elps. Mother works 
 in a factory, she got 'em the job." 
 
 He paused to cough, a truly awful task. The oily per- 
 spiration stood on his forehead, his whole frame shook. 
 He had to sit down on the bed before it was half over ; in 
 the end he was lying quite prone. The children went 
 on working as if nothing were happening, no tragedy being 
 enacted before their eyes. 
 
 But Ursula Rugeley's were blinded with tears. She 
 looked about the room for medicine, wine, anything to 
 alleviate the suffering before her. There was only half a 
 loaf of stale bread on a shelf, beside an empty bottle. 
 She could do nothing but wait. In ten minutes or so the 
 paroxysm had passed ; but then the hoarse voice had dulled 
 to a hoarser, more painful whisper. 
 
 "I'm all right. It's consumption of the throat, I'm 
 bound to cough." 
 
 "But ought you not to be in a hospital? Can't any- 
 thing be done for you ? " she asked, pitifully. 
 
 "They don't like cases in a 'orspital as can only end 
 one way. I was in the London 'orspital six weeks, and in 
 Brompton three months. Oh ! I've 'ad a lot done for me 
 one way or another. But I'd rather be at 'ome now. 
 There was medicine in that there bottle you was shakin' 
 I'd have had it filled again, if I could ha' got out. The 
 doctor said I could have it as often as I wanted, if I went 
 for it myself. But it's a long step. I've been a sailor, 
 marm, so I'm not afraid of goin' aloft. Don't you cry for 
 me." Ursula was proving herself quite unfit for her work. 
 " Cheer up, my hearty. There's many worse off than me." 
 
 She had thought it impossible, but when she got upstairs, 
 
 5 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 to the other attic, over that of the consumptive sailor's 
 home, she had to admit that Tom Bolding was right. 
 
 This was the birthplace of Sally Snape. And as Sally 
 Snape's career was meteoric, as she made history, and the 
 fortunes of several illustrated papers, to say nothing of 
 one or two great complexion specifics, as she was for some 
 time, at least, of considerably more interest to the public 
 than royalty, the favourite for the Derby, or the latest 
 railway murder, it may be well to describe her first home 
 in detail. 
 
 The room, as Ursula Kugeley saw it on that May day in 
 1899, was a sloping roofed attic, about 6 ft. 10 by 8 ft. 4. 
 The plaster had fallen away from the ceiling, and the 
 damp, mouldering rafters were broken and jagged. More 
 than half the room was taken up by an iron bedstead, 
 covered with rags indescribably filthy. From this bed 
 issued those peculiarly loud snores that indicate a drunken 
 sleep. And there were other signs that Sally Snape's 
 father had been indulging in an orgy, signs that must be 
 imagined, not related. 
 
 At the window was a wooden table, that and the bed 
 formed almost all the furniture of the room. There was a 
 little more light here than in the downstairs room, but 
 no hint of sun. Through the broken pane came the 
 effluvia of the cesspool, it filled the room like a yellow 
 fog. There were trousers on the table by this window, 
 a steaming flat-iron, and other insignia of tailoring. 
 
 Morning, day, and night, for ten years or more, Sally 
 Snape's mother had sat at that dirty window, with its 
 broken panes, through which came occasional sounds of 
 fighting, brawling, cursing, with always that thick effluvia ; 
 there she had sat and stitched and stitched and stitched. 
 Mr. Snape was a dock labourer, habitually out of work, 
 but with a thirst that was never idle. And Sally, too, had 
 
 6 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 always had a good appetite. This patient, weary figure 
 at the window never stopped, never idled, never questioned. 
 She just stitched and stitched. Jim had his beer, and Sally's 
 appetite was fed. Neither of them was consciously grate- 
 ful, and Jim always knocked her about when he was drunk. 
 He did not mean any harm by it, but he was a big man 
 and chose this form of exercise. Janey Snape always said 
 wearily, when questioned, that " he was a good 'usband to 
 her when he wasn't in the drink." And it must be left at 
 that. 
 
 When Ursula Rugeley knocked at the door, and after re- 
 peated trials met with no response, she turned the handle 
 gingerly. The cesspool met her, as it were, on the thresh- 
 old. It turned her sick, faint, dizzy, and there was a 
 mist before her eyes. Then the stillness struck through 
 her, a curious, cold stillness. She found herself shuddering, 
 already frightened. 
 
 For once Mrs. Snape was not working. She was seated 
 at the table, surely enough, but her head had fallen for- 
 ward, and there was a steady drip, drip, on to the floor, 
 as if the rain were coming in. But there was no rain, and 
 the drip was slow, thick, horrible. Jim's boot, a hob- 
 nailed boot, had fallen where it had been flung, but not 
 before it had hit its mark. 
 
 The work, still in Janey's hands, was wet too, Ursula 
 saw that. Drip . . . drip . . . drip . . . 
 
 The new district visitor stood sick and transfixed for 
 a second, then fled incontinently down the rickety wooden 
 stairs to the street door and the air. 
 
 Somethiug she must do, she knew that, and immediately. 
 Police must be summoned, help must be secured. But 
 she was sick and faint. Air must be had first — air, she 
 could not collect her faculties. 
 
 But the air was almost as foul in the alley as in the 
 
 7 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 horrible house. And the organ still ground out its gay 
 discordant tune. 
 
 In the gleam of sunshine that lay so strangely on the 
 slime of the roadway, one figure now danced alone. All 
 the other children had stopped to watch Sally. Sally, 
 with her red hair showing rough through her crownless 
 hat, her torn blue school pinafore exhibiting her dirty 
 cotton dress, one foot protruding from the worn elastic 
 of an old kid boot, the other with the toes as bare as the 
 day it came into the world, her hands on her hips, was 
 performing, for the benefit of the organ-grinder and her 
 companions, an improvised version of the cake-walk. 
 From what low music-hall she had derived her inspira- 
 tion it is impossible to say. But it was obvious that 
 the leering Italian at the organ, and the idle men and 
 women on the doorsteps, found the entertainment attrac- 
 tive. Sally's ugliness, for in those days and in that quarter 
 green eyes and red hair, an upturned nose and a pallid 
 complexion, were not considered beautiful, did not impair 
 their enjoyment. Even then, and in this audience, there was 
 appreciation of Sally's freedom of movement and of her lithe- 
 ness. There was grace in her eccentric gestures. Even the 
 most vulgar movements of that vulgar dance — legs bowed, 
 stomach protruding, head back — were instinct with it. 
 
 Ursula, struggling for her self-possession, mechanically 
 watched the dancer. The sun on Sale's rough mop of 
 hair, through her disreputable hat, made a note of red 
 gold in the grey and murk of the roadway. Ursula lis- 
 tened, as if in a dream, to the jeers and comments of 
 the other children; she saw the nodding head, the ap- 
 proving grin, the encouragement of the swarthy Italian 
 organ-grinder. 
 
 It was the free use of the Englishman's favourite ex- 
 pletive that roused her. 
 
 8 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " It's all b y fine," Jim Bates said, " but he's f ollerin' 
 
 'er, she ain't follerin' 'ini ; any one could dance . . ." 
 
 " Bloody ! " 
 
 Yes, that was it ; it was blood she had seen ! The drip, 
 drip of it was still in her ears, the sickening odour in her 
 nostrils. She had thought she must faint; full conscious- 
 ness was hardly yet with her. 
 
 By some strange process of memory she associated 
 Sally's red head with the scene she had left upstairs. It 
 was due to the alertness of her ocular memory, but she 
 did not realize that. As a matter of fact, the prone head 
 with the hidden gash had the same hair, but one side was 
 matted and dark. . . . 
 
 Ursula caught hold of the nearest boy : 
 
 "Get a doctor, get a doctor, will you, or the police, 
 quickly; there has been an accident. Help is wanted 
 upstairs, go, go quick," she stammered. She felt her 
 incompetence. She had done nothing ; but it was all 
 she could do to keep upright. The horrible incongruity 
 of that dancing figure, and the loud gay grinding of the 
 organ confused her further. She soon had the crowd 
 round her, curious, interested, full of suggestions, baiting 
 her. It was difficult for her to make them share her 
 horror. 
 
 "'Oo is it? 'Oo is it?" was the universal question. 
 And when, at last, she gasped out the required information, 
 Jim Bates tumbled head over heels backwards, twice, in 
 the exuberance of his spirits. 
 
 •' Wot a lark ! Sally Snape's mother. Wot a spree I 
 Sal, Sal, yer father's bashed yer mother's 'ead in . . ." 
 
 But Sally heard nothing, she was absorbed in her dance, 
 immersed in the organ man's approval, realizing the sympa- 
 thetic quickness of his grind. 
 
 "She won't stop dancing till the tune's off, trust 'er, 
 
 9 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 miss," Jim said, not without admiration, when he had 
 righted himself from his second somersault. " Sally, 'ere, 
 Sally, do you 'ear?" 
 
 But Sally only grinned, with a flash of white teeth. 
 Those teeth that, later, were to smile in London's face from 
 the famous poster, were as perfect in Sally's thirteenth year 
 as they were in her zenith. 
 
 " Get along . . ." 
 
 She hadn't breath for more, she was pattering now. 
 She knew she ought to have clogs, but she was making as 
 much noise as she was able with her flopping boot. She 
 had no time for Jim Bates' jaw, and the district visitor 
 was naught to her; it wasn't often she got a chance of 
 enjoying 'erself like this. She wasn't goin' to leave off, 
 not 'er! Some bally school-board missus, she supposed. 
 They was always bothering along, and askin' why she was 
 still in the third standard. 'Orrid old creature! Sally 
 was panting, out of breath, but had held out up to the 
 last turn of the organ, when Ursula laid a gentle hand upon 
 her shoulder : 
 
 " Is it true you are Sally Snape, my dear ? " she asked. 
 
 , "I'm Sally Snape right enough — I don't know about 
 
 bein' ' my dear,' " she retorted rudely. " Wot d'yer want ? " 
 
 She shook off the gentle hand, shrugged up one shoulder 
 in avoidance. She felt that third standard question was 
 going to be raised. Already she was growing sullen and 
 silent in anticipation. The organ-grinder was moving 
 off, her companions were unusually silent, and the flat- 
 ness of reaction had seized her. She hated the district 
 visitor. 
 
 "I've just been up to your room . . ." 
 
 Ursula wanted to break it to her gently, to break it to 
 her before Jim Bates came back with doctor and police- 
 men, and the hastily summoned help. 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Yer father's drunk, and yer mother's dyin'," inter- 
 rupted one of the children, eagerly. 
 
 For that was how they broke bad news in Angel Gardens. 
 
 Sally turned on her savagely : 
 
 "You shut up, Georgie Manders. My father ain't 
 drunker than yours; that's if he's stole enough to get 
 drunk on. . . ." 
 
 " Stole, did you say stole ? " 
 
 In a second the two little girls were facing each other 
 with eyes on fire and cheeks aflame. The first and the 
 second sounding slap came before Ursula could interfere. 
 After that they flew at each other like two grown-up 
 viragoes. Sally had all the best of it, her litheness and 
 agility stood her in good stead here also. Georgie, blinded 
 with blows, quickly delivered, crying, slapping blindly 
 in the air, was already beaten, like all Sally's enemies, 
 when Johnny Doone separated them. He had enjoyed 
 the fun as long as there was any proper fight in it, but 
 when he saw that Georgie was done, and that Sally's eyes 
 were beginning to show red, and vicious, he interfered; 
 but it was not a popular interference. 
 
 "Let 'em fight it out. Go on, Sal; go on, Georgie; 
 scratch her b y eyes out." 
 
 Johnny Doone was a big, heavy lout of fourteen; he 
 made no more of thrusting a quieting elbow into one 
 quivering face than he did of seizing the other combatant 
 and shaking her like a kitten. Ursula's speechless horror 
 amused him, but there had been enough of it — " they was 
 only gals ; besides, she ought to go 'ome." 
 
 " Shet yer 'ead, the two of you. You'll have the beaks 
 here in a minute. Jim Bates has gone for them. Get 
 along 'omej Sally." 
 
 " I shan't, I shan't ! I'll 'it 'er ! I'll give >er wotfs 
 
 wot ! I'll tear her b y eyes out ! I'll . . ." 
 
 ii 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Ursula put her hands to her ears. 
 
 "Don't yer mind 'er, marm, she'll come right enough, 
 when I've quieted 'er down." 
 
 He shook her like a rat. She was as thin and small 
 and lithe as a rat, and she showed as much fight, screaming, 
 belabouring him with her little fists, trying to get her 
 teeth into his hands. 
 
 He seemed to enjoy handling her. He could at any 
 time in the struggle have done what he did in the end, 
 namely, taken her by the scruff of the neck, and pushed 
 her before him upstairs, even whilst she was shrieking 
 that she didn't care who was drunk, or wot any one was 
 doing, or wot anybody said; she wouldn't go 'ome, she 
 wouldn't go 'ome, she wouldn't go 'ome ! 
 
 He used her as a battering ram with which to thrust 
 the door open. Other children and neighbours crowded 
 behind them now, up the wooden stairs, aflame with 
 curiosity. 
 
 Johnny and Sally were the first to enter. 
 
 Ursula waited behind them in the street, waited for that 
 help which seemed so long in coming. 
 
 Sally's shrieks and bad language were quieted all at 
 once. In the room the dullness and stillness seemed 
 to have become more definite. That figure at the table 
 had surely shrunk, the head had fallen more hopelessly 
 forward. It was the breath of death that made the appal- 
 ling silence. The dirty little room had become a sepulchre. 
 
 " Keep 'em out, keep 'em out ! " she gasped, her startled 
 lips pale. It was an appeal, and it was unlike Sally to ask 
 for help. The boy's response was to herd out the eager, 
 curious faces with quick fist and foot, to get the door 
 banged and made fast. 
 
 "Why didn't you go, too? I can do without you, 
 Johnny Doone," was all the gratitude she showed him. 
 
 is 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But it was quite as much as he expected. They moved to- 
 gether over to that prone figure. Unconsciously now their 
 voices were lowered, and they stood close to each other. 
 The boot, the blood, the matted hair, told their own story ; 
 it was one with which they were so unhappily familiar. 
 
 " 'E's done for 'er, sure enough," Johnny whispered. 
 
 " Yus." 
 
 There was nothing of tenderness, emotion, filial piety, 
 in the way she spoke; there was a horrible callousness, 
 although the colour had gone out of her cheeks, and her 
 appeal to Johnny to keep the neighbours out had a sobbing 
 passion in it. 
 
 " The perlice'll soon be here. I alius knew it would 
 'appen. And them trousers was to go home to-night. 
 He might have let her finish them trousers." There was 
 really a sob in her voice. " It 'ould have been four-and- 
 six in his pocket. Wake up, father, wake up ! " 
 
 She rushed to the bed, seized and shook him passionately, 
 without avail. 
 
 Johnny handed her a cracked jug that stood on a rickety 
 chair. 
 
 "'Ere, try this." 
 
 Fortunately it was full. She stood on tiptoe, balancing 
 it, then dashed the contents quickly on to his face. 
 
 "That'll wake 'im," she said viciously. There was 
 something elfish, uncanny, about her. The short-lived 
 awe and terror of death had left her. Now the situation 
 became one that held a promise of excitement, variety. 
 And she was glad to have Johnny there. She never kn< v. 
 whether she liked Jim Bates or Johnny Doone best. Per- 
 haps it pleased her most when both of them were fighting 
 with, or for, her. But Jim had gone for police and doctor. 
 And her struggle with Johnny on the stairs gave zest to 
 their relation. 
 
 «3 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Mr. Snape resented the cold water, he roused himself, 
 and began to grumble and swear. Even then he would 
 have turned over again to his drunken sleep. But neither 
 Johnny nor Sally would have it. Johnny had secured the 
 room against invaders, and now felt at home in it. He too 
 was beginning to appreciate the possibilities of the situa- 
 tion. It wouldn't do to let Sally's father go on sleeping. 
 They must hear his account before the police came. 
 
 " 'Ere, wake up, wake up." 
 
 " Why should I ? . . . 'Oo the 'ell are you ? Get out." 
 
 " Ye've murdered yer wife, and the perlice is coming." 
 
 Mr. Snape was finally compelled to a sitting position; 
 then he stared about him helplessly. Next, he fell into a 
 reasonless rage, and asked — 
 
 " Wot d'you two b — y brats mean by staring at me ? " 
 
 "You look wot ye've done," said Sally solemnly, stand- 
 ing aside to let him see. Johnny couldn't help grinning 
 at Jim Snape's face, it grew so ashen. He fell shaking and 
 trembling : 
 
 "Wot are yer gettin' at? Jane, Jane, you sit up. 
 I'm a comin' over to you ; you get along with your work." 
 
 But the dead woman never stirred. 
 
 " Wot's took 'er ? " he said to Johnny, feebly ; then, 
 with conviction: "She's lazyin', that's wot she's doin', 
 lazyin'. Jane ! " 
 
 He could not get up, could not face it ; he was shaking 
 all over, and frightened, horribly frightened, not quite 
 sober. Suddenly he lurched upright ; the knocking at the 
 door had reached his dulled ears. 
 
 " 'Oo's bringin' the perlice over me ? " he yelled, and 
 made a lounging, uncertain blow at the silent Sally. She 
 dodged it, she was practised in the art, but Johnny had 
 quickly put out an ingenious leg, and Mr. Snape fell over 
 it, heavily. 
 
 »4 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "'E wouldn't have 'urt me," she said to the boy con temp 
 tuously, "he daiesn't. I'd lain 'im. She never knew 
 how to manage 'im, mother didn't." 
 
 Johnny opened the door to the police and doctor. He 
 stayed, too, an interested onlooker, whilst all the sordid 
 tragedy was being investigated. He tried to make Sally 
 talk to him, but Sally had grown sullen again. 
 
 "You wouldn't say nothin', not if he was bein' 'ung," 
 he said, resentfully, under his breath. 
 
 " Nor I wouldn't if you was," she retorted quickly. But 
 on this occasion, at least, it seemed she was not to be put to 
 the test. 
 
 Mr. Snape was put upon a stretcher and conveyed with 
 due dignity to the station, accompanied by a small cortege 
 of idlers. But a very brief examination had proved that 
 the well-aimed boot, though it might have accelerated, was 
 not the cause of Janey Snape's decease. She had worked 
 and starved that Sally should have food, and mechanically, 
 perhaps, to avoid the blows and physical abuse which 
 represented Jim's way of urging her to industry. And 
 all at once the machinery had stopped. The doctor called 
 it " angina" briefly. 
 
 " Angelina," whispered Johnny. " 'Oo's Angelina ? " 
 But again Sally's silence baffled him. What was the 
 good of trying to keep her spirits up if she wouldn't 
 respond ? 
 
 " Ain't you goin' to say nothing ? " he persisted. 
 
 " I wish she'd ha' finished them trousers." 
 
 Sally did not mean to be callous, and she knew Johnny 
 meant well by his endeavours. She had been watching 
 all the scene, but when they took the trousers from the 
 dead hands whose grasp seemed so difficult to unloosen, 
 she could only express regret that they were unfinished. 
 The observation broke from her involuntarily, it was 
 
 »5 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Janey Snape's requiem. From the first Sally showed, a 
 practical mind. 
 
 It was Sally's practical mind that confounded the senti- 
 mental district visitor. She had waited in Mrs. Evans* 
 room during the weary time that elapsed between the 
 coming of the police and the departure of Mr. Snape on 
 his dignified stretcher. Within another hour, she was 
 told, the bearers from the mortuary would be here. It 
 was then she took her courage in both hands, and went 
 across the landing. 
 
 Sally could not be left alone in that awful room. Every 
 one did something for his or her fellow-creatures in this 
 ugly world into which Ursula Rugeley had awkwardly 
 stumbled. She must do something, too, for Sally. Of 
 course, Sally's magnetism had struck her. She thought 
 it was universal philanthropy. But it was not, it was 
 just — Sally Snape. The doctor told her Sally had watched 
 all the proceedings, that it was obvious no detail escaped 
 the bright eyes of the little red-haired girl, who had never- 
 theless an animal aloofness about her, and had resented 
 alike sympathy and questionings. 
 
 " She has bin a good mother to you, Sal," the policeman 
 urged. He knew the pair of them. Jim Snape had been 
 locked up before this. "There ain't another kid in this 
 place that wouldn't be cryin' their eyes out if they lost 
 'arf as good a mother as you've 'ad." 
 
 Sally put her tongue out at him quickly; she would 
 have liked to spit at him. 
 
 "You shan't see me cry; nobody shan't see me cry. 
 I'll tear me teeth out rather," she was saying to herself. 
 " If I didn't feel so queer inside, I'd larf, just to show 'em. 
 I wish they'd take that blood away. I wish they'd turn 
 her face the other side. Wot a crack he must have fetched 
 her!" 
 
 16 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But when Ursula had taken her courage by the two 
 hands, and forced it and herself into the room, Sally had 
 come out of her corner. Mrs. Snape was on the bed, 
 with a sheet drawn over her face, her figure was but 
 vaguely defined beneath it ; the cold had not gone out of 
 the room. 
 
 Ursula came in breathlessly, with the phrase she had 
 composed, glib on her lips : 
 
 " You can't stay here alone. . . ." 
 
 But again she paused on the threshold. It was Sally 
 now who sat at the table. Johnny lounged against it, 
 watching her. 
 
 " Why shouldn't J finish them ? " she was saying. " I 
 can do it as well as 'er. And the rent's due ; she'd like 
 me to get that four-and-six. You'll be able to take 'em 
 home for me, if you stay till I've finished. Wot's that ? " 
 She had heard Ursula's hesitating phrase. " Can't stay 
 'ere alone. Why not ? And I ain't alone. . . ." 
 
 Johnny had a quicker appreciation of Ursula's well- 
 meant effort than Sally. But then Sally had only just 
 found her match and candle, and was beginning to sew. 
 It was long before she had the power to project herself into 
 another person's mind. Her egotism left no room for the 
 consideration of other people's personalities or intentions. 
 It was Johnny who saw how well-meaning Miss Kugeley 
 was, and that she was sorry for Sally. 
 
 "She'll be all right, marm," he said reassuringly. 
 " They're fetching away the corpse this evenin', and Sally'll 
 have the bed to 'erself. Don't you worrit about Sal." 
 
 "I don't want no one to worrit about me," said Sal, 
 biting her thread, settling down to her work. "I can get 
 along all right. You go back to the school board, or any one 
 who sent you along, and say Sally Snape's all right, she 
 can take care of herself. 'Ere, Johnny, you light up that 
 c 17 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 there iron. There's a penny on the mantelshelf, you can 
 put it in for the gas." 
 
 " But I can't reconcile it with my conscience . . ." Ursula 
 began, feebly. 
 
 Ursula Rugeley, who had rejected love and marriage, 
 and turned her back on her relations, fighting through her 
 adult years for some strange phantom of lately secured 
 independence, failed, of course, to realize that here was 
 her more robust prototype. She suggested that one of 
 Mrs. Crowe's children would be a better protector for 
 Sally than Johnny Doone. She even offered, this was a 
 very half-hearted proposal, to take her home for the 
 night to that Bayswater villa where she herself dwelt 
 on good terms with respectability. She meant well, she 
 had as good a heart as is compatible with a limited 
 intelligence. But she could hardly be made to understand 
 that her presence was regarded as an intrusion, and that 
 Johnny's tact and Sally's indifference covered the same 
 resentment. 
 
 Ursula Rugeley had undertaken work of which she was 
 incapable. She knew it when she reached her villa that 
 night, leaving Sally Snape stitching at the trousers by the 
 light of the one candle, the pennyworth of gas saved for 
 the flatiron, and Johnny keeping his strange vigil beside 
 her. 
 
 18 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 SALLY, with the connivance of her indulgent father, 
 spent the next three years in not wholly unsuccessful 
 attempts to evade the school board. She was industrious 
 enough at the tailoring, for there she saw the tangible 
 result of her labours. Eight hours' continuous and un- 
 remitting stitching meant something like one shilling and 
 fivepence. One shilling and fivepence provided her with 
 food for three days. But a whole week's regular school 
 attendance meant twopence out of pocket, and nothing 
 gained, at least nothing upon which Sally set a value. 
 So she feigned illness, invented infection, changed her 
 address, and, in fact, resorted to all the subterfuges our 
 beneficent educational laws rendered necessary. The de- 
 terioration of personal character, which is the usual 
 penalty of continual lying, left her unaffected. For, truly, 
 at this period of her career she cannot justly be said to 
 have possessed a character. She had only a belly; and 
 the problem of how to fill it absorbed her entire intel- 
 lectuality. All the machinery for thinking with which 
 nature had endowed her worked at this. That, neverthe- 
 less, on her sixteenth birthday she could read fairly well, 
 write exceedingly badly, and spell not at all, proves that 
 we do not spend our ten millions a year quite without 
 result. To provide Sally Snape, individually, with her 
 acquirements had cost the country about £87 16s. lid. 
 That was how the items worked out. The pursuit of Sally 
 and her father had needed almost the entire service of a 
 
 19 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 capable officer for a little over four years. Jim Snape had 
 been fined for her non-attendance, had failed to pay the 
 fine, and been imprisoned. In prison the State fed and 
 clothed and guarded him, very uncomfortably, and again 
 at an extraordinary expense. He caught a severe cold in 
 the deadly cleanliness of his official surroundings, the cold 
 attacked his lungs, and he broke a blood-vessel. So he 
 was taken to the prison infirmary, doctored and given 
 luxuries, pampered to such an extent that he could not 
 stand Sally's housekeeping when he was released. Fortu- 
 nately a foggy day's work at the Limehouse Docks, when 
 he emerged from his enforced retirement, finished what the 
 State had so well begun. 
 
 He lingered for some months in the infirmary of the local 
 workhouse, grumbling much at his entertainment, and 
 appearing to regret the jail. 
 
 Sally was finally freed from both her father and the 
 school board when she was in her sixteenth year. 
 
 She then tried "living in " at the house of a Kussian Jew, 
 who ran an uninspected factory in a cellar. The top part of 
 the house was let — four families in a room — to other Russian 
 Jews. But Sally's red head or quick tongue, her slim figure 
 or slick fingers, attracted Mr. Kirstenblum's shifty eyes, and 
 at the end of a month he raised her wages from five to six 
 shillings a week. That Sally accepted gladly, but when 
 he tried to kiss her in the passage she promptly, perhaps 
 vulgarly, smacked his face. She had not yet learned 
 society manners. 
 
 Ighmy Kirstenblum, however, would no doubt have 
 taken the blow as befitted the traditions of his race, he 
 would have turned the other cheek also. But Providence, 
 masquerading in the unwieldy guise of Mrs. Kirstenblum, 
 intervened. There followed an homeric scene, of which 
 the upshot was the immediate dismissal of Sally Snape in 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 a state of furious indignation, but with only a limited know- 
 ledge of the accusation which was being brought against 
 her. Mrs. Kirstenblum's Yiddish was voluble, but difficult 
 to follow. Sally was never a linguist. 
 
 Trade was slack, and the weather inclement. Mrs. 
 Kirstenblum was not only voluble, but vindictive. There 
 is a certain standard of moral conduct among the alien 
 population that has cornered the Limehouse tailoring trade, 
 and, although Sally Snape had never fallen below it, the 
 coarse- mouthed wife of her late employer gave her a bad 
 character. No one would have her as an inmate of the 
 house, and piecework was difficult to get. 
 
 Sally had never known anything but privation. Now 
 the grim and ghastly figure of starvation pursued her, 
 dogged her footsteps, caught at her skirts, was never out 
 of sight. It is now the fashion to call Sally beautiful. 
 But late one night in November, 1902, when Johnny Doone 
 met her once more in Angel Gardens, it was only the 
 Pursuer that one saw in her. She had grown extraordi- 
 narily thin, her face was shrunk to a grey shadow, and her 
 indeterminate eyes gave no relief to it. The thick tousled 
 red mop of matted hair was covered by a shawl, her teeth 
 had forgotten to smile, they knew only how to chatter. 
 
 " Hullo," said Johnny ; " ain't that you, Sal Snape ? " 
 
 " It's me, sure enough, wot's left of me." 
 
 There was a sob in her voice ; she had had a rough time, 
 and her spirit was almost broken. She had not forgotten 
 Johnny Doone, although since Jim Snape's imprisonment 
 she had had no rendezvous with her old friends. 
 
 He was lounging against a door post, the recognized 
 Angel Gardens attitude. He had been a big lout of four- 
 teen ; at seventeen he had not grown except in loutishness. 
 Johnny had been to sea. For the last two or three years 
 Grimsby had been his headquarters. But casual labour 
 
 21 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 suited him better than regular employment, lie had been 
 back at the docks some months now. 
 
 "You recollect that night we sat up together? I've 
 often thought of that night." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said indifferently. 
 
 " Are yer still at the tailoring ? " 
 
 * Seems there ain't no tailoring." 
 
 " Trade slack ? " 
 
 "'Ere, leave off arsking questions. D'yer know if Mrs. 
 Evans is still 'ere ? " 
 
 " Her as used to do knittin', and talk tracts ? " 
 
 " That's 'er." 
 
 " What do yer want 'er for ? " 
 
 " Well, if yer must know, I'm dead out. She'd give me 
 a bite and a lie down, p'raps. The luck's bin against me." 
 
 Johnny eyed her ; he saw she was in trouble, but he 
 knew her so well. And he wanted to help her. If he said 
 the wrong word, she would fly at him as of old, in trouble 
 or out of it. And the right one was difficult to find. 
 
 "You mind that night?" he said again, sympatheti- 
 cally. 
 
 "Yes," she answered wearily. 
 
 Now she sat down on the step. The street was dim 
 before her eyes, the mud and puddles had strange playing 
 lights, her head seemed to have grown so large and heavy 
 that her limbs could not carry it; that was why she sat 
 down. So it was Johnny Doone talking to her. Well ! 
 let him talk. This was almost " home " ; she had come 
 back here with some vague idea that Mrs. Evans would 
 help her. She could take help from Mrs. Evans, other 
 people had offered it to her, but she had had no help. 
 
 He went on awkwardly : 
 
 "I've took on your old room, Sandy Kirk 'alves it 
 with me. You recollect Sandy »Kirk, 'im as 'ad his leg 
 
 22 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 tore off on the railway. 'E's net-making now ; ye'll see 
 him at the window if you come upstairs. Yer'll come 
 upstairs, Sal ? " 
 
 His voice was almost pleading. He had carried her up 
 those stairs before, forced her up them. 
 
 He had half a mind to do it again. But perhaps she'd 
 come of her own accord : 
 
 "Sal!" 
 
 She was sitting on the doorstep, her heavy head had 
 fallen forward on her thin arms, she hardly heard him, 
 that head of hers was so light and swimming. She had 
 eaten nothing since yesterday morning; and all the time 
 she had been on the tramp, asking for work, getting 
 none. 
 
 " You mind I carried yer up 'em that night ? * 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " I'd 'arf a mind to do it again ? " 
 
 " 'Ave you ? " she said indifferently. 
 
 She had come to the end of her tether ; for the moment 
 there was no fight left in her. He waited, not even yet 
 quite sure that she was not feinting, that she would not 
 turn and spring on him, that the old Sal was not lying in 
 wait for him. He lounged a step nearer her : 
 
 " You're dead beat, that's wot's the matter with you ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Sandy and me wos just goin' to have supper . . ." 
 
 She looked up at him. 
 
 "Supper!" Her eyes were strained. All at once her 
 pride broke. 
 
 "Johnny . . . I'm nigh starving," she whispered; her 
 small face was eloquent of it, and so were her gaunt eyes. 
 
 " Come along up," he said roughly ; he was more moved 
 than he had words for. He had to put his arm round her; 
 she was almost incapable of further effort. Again he half- 
 
 *3 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 led, half-pushed her up those rickety stairs. How familiar 
 it all was. 
 
 " I'm 'eavy on you," she said apologetically. 
 
 "I could take yer up in one 'and." His voice and 
 manner were rough, but his heart was very tender over 
 her. He thought now he wanted his old spitfire Sal back 
 again. 
 
 The room was very different from what it had been in 
 Janey Snape's time. To commence with, the big bed was 
 gone and the wooden table, and that made it look larger. 
 Then the roof had been mended. Sandy Kirk had a pas- 
 sion for cleanliness ; he had been nearly a year in hospital, 
 and they'd "learnt" it him there, he often said. He 
 liked warmth, and there was a cheerful fire in the grate, 
 and an overwhelming smell of cooking. Sandy was busy 
 about it; his crutch was under one arm, but with the 
 other he was manipulating the saucepan. He did not 
 look up as Johnny entered with his visitor : 
 
 "'Arf a mo'," he said cheerfully. "I'm just turning 
 of it out. Hullo ! " For then he looked up. 
 
 " It's Sal Snape," Johnny explained. 
 
 " Sal ! " 
 
 "I'm starving, Sandy." 
 
 Her pride was all broken up. The smell from the sauce- 
 pan dissipated the last remains of it. She burst into tears, 
 and her sobs wrung the hearts of the two friends ; their 
 awkward sympathy, and their memories of her, hindered 
 them in their haste to help her. 
 
 But after they had shared their meal, and Sal had re- 
 covered herself somewhat, they all three sat talking, gath- 
 ering together their reminiscences of each other. 
 
 Johnny said he was back at the docks, earning his 
 eighteen shillings a week. Sandy made fishing-nets; his 
 accident had been fortunate for him, he had had compensa- 
 
 24 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 tion, and now work had been found for him. He was 
 immediately under the supervision of the local clergy. 
 
 "I'm better off with one leg nor ever I was with two," 
 he explained. 
 
 Only Sally had had bad luck. 
 
 " Stay along of us a bit, Sal, there's more 'an enough," 
 Sandy urged. Sandy was only fifteen, and although he 
 was prescient and alive to the difficulties of living, and the 
 hardships of the maimed, he was ignorant of decorum. 
 He even implored her : 
 
 " You can 'elp with the cooking, and work will come erlong. 
 It's jolly up here, with nuffin, nor nobody, to interfere." 
 
 Sally had told baldly of her struggles, of her vain search 
 for work, of snubs and rebuffs, of hard times and slack 
 trade. But she had left out the Kirstenblum incident. It 
 was not the only one of the kind either. It seemed to 
 her that men always wanted to kiss or maul her. She 
 had an instinctive fierceness of virginity, a crude, ill- 
 defined hatred of being touched or, as she put it herself, 
 mauled about. All men were antipathetic to her. But 
 Johnny and Sandy were boys, old pals too. She had 
 fought with Johnny, and even with Sandy before he lost 
 his leg. 
 
 " I'll stay a bit," she said, at length, and not without 
 hesitation, " if I won't be in no one's way. I'll pay my 
 share though," she added quickly, nearer to her old manner. 
 Perhaps she saw a shadow of change in Johnny's expres- 
 sion. " If I'm welcome to both of yer." 
 
 None of the people Sally had known were living now 
 in Angel Gardens. Jim Bolding was dead, and both the 
 little girls. Mrs. Crowe was dead, and Mrs. Evans had been 
 justified in her faith. For she too was dead. Only last 
 winter there had been an outbreak of fever, and many, 
 deemed undesirables here, had gone to find their welcomf 
 
 2«; 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 in a many-roomed mansion. There was no shorter catechist 
 among the ragged remnant of the submerged tenth that 
 lingered here, to question the propriety of that strange 
 mAnage. 
 
 Sally stayed with the two boys for barely a month, but 
 even that month of decent food and congenial companion- 
 ship restored her strength and courage. Her physical 
 health was always perfect. Johnny and Sandy shared the 
 bed ; but the luck had turned the very day Sally went home 
 — she called it u home " for many years, and thought of it 
 that way. The luck turned, and she got work — a dozen 
 pairs of trousers from the firm that formerly employed 
 her mother. That was Johnny's idea, she had had to 
 give them up in that school-board-dodging time. But 
 they recognized her when she called upon them ; they 
 knew she was to be trusted, and gladly gave her the work. 
 She slept on those trousers, under her table by the window ; 
 they made a nice soft bed, and some of them were piled 
 over her for warmth. 
 
 The strange manage lasted a month. It might have gone 
 on longer if the order for the destruction of Angel Gardens 
 had not at last been enforced, and the men from the 
 Metropolitan Board of Works arrived to execute it. Of 
 course, notice after notice had been served upon the in- 
 habitants, but few of them could read, and none of them 
 could project their minds into the future. So the men, and 
 their picks, came like a shock, even to Sally and her room- 
 mates. Johnny was at the docks; Sandy and Sally had 
 made no plans, they had nowhere to go. They looked on 
 dumbly, half-stupefied, whilst their household goods were 
 bundled into the street. 
 
 There, in the street, and around them, were hunger, 
 disease, and despair. Like rats from their holes came the 
 people, red-eyed, resentful of the authority that was taking 
 
 26 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 from them their cesspool of a home, miserables all, too 
 weak to fight. Except for that, the scene in the street 
 was like an Irish eviction. The women made their moan, 
 wept quietly or fiercely, and the men stood about and 
 cursed feebly. 
 
 It was the representative of the Charity Organization 
 Society, whom Sally had once mistaken for a school-board 
 inspector, that came to them when they stood bewildered 
 among their poor belongings. There were a few capable 
 men and women, from the parish and elsewhere, who had 
 realized that help would be needed, and had come to give 
 it. Ursula Rugeley had learnt her work better by now, she 
 no longer offered help without sympathy. 
 
 She approached them, because she was here to help, and 
 they seemed most helpable, young, and more bewildered 
 than resentful. 
 
 "It is rather dreadful, isn't it," she said kindly, "this 
 sudden order for removal? I suppose you have a father 
 or mother, or somebody belonging to you who has gone 
 to find rooms ? " 
 
 Sally looked younger than her sixteen years. Sandy had 
 never grown since his leg was taken off. They seemed 
 two mere children. His hospital experience had taught 
 Sandy manners, and the ways of gentlefolk, and he an- 
 swered when he was directly addressed : 
 
 "We didn't know we'd have to go so soon. There's 
 only me and Sally, and Johnny wot's at the docks. We'll 
 'ave to let Johnny know somehow." 
 
 "Your brother?" 
 
 "No, marm. We are none of us no relation, but we lives 
 together. We'll 'ave to find another room." 
 
 " I'll have to finish them trousers quick," said Sally. 
 
 Ursula looked at her with sudden interest. 
 
 " You are Sally Snape," she said quickly. " I remember 
 
 27 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 you so well. You must let me help you with your moving, 
 and to find you a room. Have you tried at the new Pea- 
 body Buildings ? " 
 
 "We ain't goin' to live in a workhus'," said Sally un- 
 gratefully. She had no special memory of Ursula; "all 
 they school-board people look alike." She had never 
 corrected this impression. 
 
 "It ain't a workhus', Sal. It's all right," Sandy ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Ursula Eugeley took the entire responsibility of them 
 and their household. Sandy, owing to his accident and 
 his compensation, was more or less of a public character. 
 The clergyman of the parish was very glad to see he had 
 found a friend. 
 
 " You can leave these two to me," Ursula said decisively ; 
 and the Reverend Mr. Jay, who had his hands very full 
 indeed, was glad to do so. 
 
 Ursula found them two rooms for seven-and-six a week, 
 and, before she left, had made these habitable. Sally at- 
 tracted Miss Rugeley to-day as she had three years ago. The 
 girl's simplicity and directness appealed to her. She was 
 working at the trousers before she had been an hour in her 
 new quarters. Sandy would have to hobble down to the 
 docks to meet Johnny, she said decisively. If the lady 
 would like to wait until she had finished, she could talk, 
 but she couldn't stop working, " not for nobody," she said. 
 "I've promised to take them trousers 'ome to-night, and 
 'ome I mean to take 'em." 
 
 And Ursula, indefinably attracted, stayed and watched. 
 She avoided the difficult subject of standards, and asked 
 no question that could wound Sally's sensitiveness. Sally's 
 sensitiveness was curious in its lapses and limitations. 
 What she found intolerable now, or at any time, was 
 any allusion to her shortcomings. She bore praise welL 
 
 28 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Ursula praised her industry, and noted that Sandy seemed 
 devoted to her. Sally grew quite talkative under this 
 sort of treatment, although conversation was never her 
 strong point. And Ursula was soon in possession of many 
 details of tailoring, and the ways of the trade. She also 
 learnt incidentally that every year, "owin' to them 
 Russian Jews," work was harder to get, and worse paid 
 for when obtained. It transpired incidentally that, if 
 Sally worked fourteen hours a day, it was as much as she 
 could do to earn her twelve shillings a week, and she had 
 to buy her thread out of that ! But it wasn't regular, that 
 was the only thing of which Sally complained, you couldn't 
 always rely upon getting more when you took 'ome your 
 work. She weren't goin' to live on Sandy and Johnny, she'd 
 a mind to look for something else. 
 
 Ursula visited her proteges in Peabody's Buildings with 
 unusual regularity. She grew quite intimate with them, 
 in fact. The size and age of Johnny Doone rather 
 startled her when she first realized him, and the nature 
 of his attitude towards Sally. She had spasms and qualms 
 of conscience. She no more understood the sex question, 
 as it appeared to the decent denizens of Limehouse, than 
 Sally understood, later on, how the problem presented 
 itself in Mayfair. What is in the West End an agreeable 
 society custom has an ugly word attached to it in the 
 slum 8. Sally was quite definitely, and not ignorantly, 
 virtuous. And she was protected by her temperament. 
 There was quick work with Johnny one evening when 
 he attempted a rough endearment, he had the contents 
 of a saucepan in his face in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 "Don't you be comin* that game with me, Johnny 
 Doone," Sally said significantly. " I ain't that sort." 
 
 "I wasn't comin' no game," he answered sullenly. "I 
 suppose you and me'll get married one day." 
 
 *9 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 He had no prophetic instinct at all. " There's no 'arm 
 in kissin '." 
 
 " No, nor no good neither, that I can see," she answered 
 quickly. " An' as for marryin', I 'ate the very name of iu." 
 
 Ursula could have spared herself much anxiety if she 
 had realized Sally better, but Sally was never easy to under- 
 stand. She was extraordinarily imitative. Before Ursula 
 had paid her half a dozen visits, Sally had picked up some- 
 thing of her talk and accent. She even went to the ex- 
 treme length of tidying her hair and washing her face 
 when she expected her visitor. But that was one day 
 when the last bundle of clothes had been finished, and there 
 was no new work on hand. She and Ursula discussed 
 the matter very seriously, and, although the suggestion of 
 getting work in a factory came in the first place from Sally, 
 it was Miss Eugeley who made it possible, and even easy. 
 
 Sally thought herself in clover when, with her friend's 
 influence to back her, she was taken on by Messrs. Hall & 
 Palmer, in the celebrated jam and pickle warehouse. 
 Fourteen shillings a week was her wage, and it seemed 
 a liberal one. Only ten hours' work was expected of her, 
 and time from that was allowed for dinner in the middle of 
 the day, and tea in the afternoon. Sally had not been used to 
 such luxury as became hers immediately she was taken on 
 by that liberal and intelligent firm. There were nearly six 
 hundred girls employed in one department or another — 
 jam-making, pickle-making, preserving ginger, cooking 
 hams, nutting and drying vegetables for soups, prepar- 
 ing palatable delicacies of every kind and variety. The 
 cleanliness demanded was a tax upon Sally Snape's temper 
 during the first few days. She had to wear a white pina- 
 fore, and to wash her hands ; but she fell into line quickly. 
 Her income was easy to live upon ; a sixpenny dinner was 
 to be had at the Girls' Club, and tea for twopence. 
 
 30 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 From the beginning it had been Ursula's desire that 
 Sally should leave the boys to themselves. And presently 
 Sally was persuaded of the folly of living in Limehouse 
 when she worked near Shaftesbury Avenue. Mary Murray 
 and she picked fruit together at the same tub. Sally had 
 always her personal magnetism, and a capacity for making 
 friends easily and quickly. Mary and she had exchanged 
 histories before Sally had been a week in the provision 
 factory. Within a fortnight the two girls were living 
 together, sharing a furnished room, at six shillings a week, 
 in Greek Street, Soho, having practically a common purse, 
 and a community of goods and interests. 
 
 Mary was nineteen, nearly two years older than Sally 
 Snape, a fair-haired, anaemic girl. She wore an imitation 
 turquoise comb in her hair, the fringe of which was kept 
 in curling pins for five days in the week. It was desper- 
 ately straight, and rather scanty, and this was the tragedy 
 of Mary's life. Her thin, bloodless lips drooped patheti- 
 cally, and her blue eyes were plaintive. But the pathos 
 and the plaintiveness were all about her hair. Sally's 
 exuberant red mass exasperated her, and her inability to 
 persuade Sally to curling pins or papers was a perpetual 
 grievance. Otherwise the girls were close friends. 
 
 Mary Murray belonged to a considerably higher social 
 class than Sally Snape. Her father had been the proud 
 possessor of a hair-dressing and tobacco shop in Bermond- 
 sey. The sale of tobacco he managed himself, but he had 
 an assistant for the shaving. This assistant had to clean 
 the windows as well as shave the customers, and one day 
 he fell off the exceedingly rickety ladder, with which he 
 had been provided, and broke his thigh. He brought an 
 action against his employer. Under one of the many iniqui- 
 tous Acts framed in the interests of labour and against 
 capital, he won his case, and ruined Mary's father, who, 
 
 3i 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 naving neither assets nor courage, evaded payment by 
 hanging himself, in the backyard. All of which informa- 
 tion Mary gave freely, adding, with all the vindictiveness 
 of which her feebleness was capable, that Jim Mortimer 
 never got a penny of his money, for when everything was 
 sold there was only enough for the lawyers ! 
 
 Mary Murray's parents had encouraged an ambition 
 for higher things than they ever achieved. They were 
 of the smallest tradespeople. But in the dim, yet golden, 
 background of their lives there loomed always the possi- 
 bility of a piano. In their particular social stratum 
 the piano was the outward sign of prosperity. They 
 never actually attained it ; but, by living with it as a goal 
 before her eyes, Mary had been early fired with a desire 
 for self-improvement. If she envied Sally her hair, she 
 was soon able to show herself more than Sally's equal. 
 She wrote the day's menu on her slate at the instance of 
 the forewoman, and volunteered to help with the accounts 
 when a day-in-the-country fund was started in the work- 
 room. 
 
 Sally would not own her incompetence; it was never 
 Sally's way to admit that she was ignorant. But she 
 did begin about this time to regret her success in evading 
 education, and with infinite tact Miss Bugeley was able 
 to induce her to a Continuation School for a year. 
 
 That year at Hall & Palmer's saw Sally Snape grown 
 from a miserable little gutter-snipe into the five feet four 
 which she was afterwards assured was the ideal height for 
 the boards of the Verandah Theatre. She talked genteelly, 
 like Mary Murray, had a comb with even bigger turquoises, 
 and a Sunday hat with two white feathers in it. Inci- 
 dentally, too, she had become aware that Luke Cullen, who 
 was in the machinists' department, earning good money and 
 sober nearly all the week, was throwing himself in her 
 
 32 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 way whenever opportunity offered, and at other times. 
 The girls chaffed her about him: 
 
 " You can have him for the asking," Mary Murray said 
 enviously. " You wait till the day we go to Epping, and 
 see if he don't want you to fix up something. He'll be 
 wanting you to go to Hampstead with him on Bank 
 Holiday, I shouldn't be surprised." 
 
 " He may want," said Sally with a toss of her red head. 
 
 " You won't go ? " Mary queried. Mary was not anx- 
 ious to be married, but would desperately have liked to be 
 wooed. Her anaemia made her romantic, and although 
 her imagination pictured something superior to the oil- 
 stained, stunted, occasionally tipsy Luke Cullen, still, he 
 was better than no lover at all. 
 
 But Sally was neither romantic nor imaginative. The 
 hat and the comb meant nothing more than the steady 
 development of her imitative faculty. Neither Luke 
 Cullen's high wages, he was popularly supposed to draw 
 two pounds a week, nor his position, appealed to her. 
 She liked Johnny Doone better, although he was only a 
 dock labourer, and she knew to what that led! But she 
 did not want either of them nearer to her than she could 
 help. She told Luke so when he sidled up to her in the 
 omnibus on the eventful Epping Forest day, and began, 
 as she averred, to make himself unpleasant. 
 
 " I wish you would keep yourself more to yourself, 
 Mr. Cullen," she said. 
 
 "You need not be so stand-offish, on a 'oliday, Miss 
 Snape," he pleaded. 
 
 " You are crushing my dress." She was slightly molli- 
 fied, very genteel, however, and not prepared to yield 
 an inch. That was at the beginning of the day. Later 
 on, the unwonted luxury of the drive, the sweet spring 
 air, the singing of the birds, the green in Epping Forest, 
 d 33 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 moved her, and she became more companionable. She 
 still did not want Luke near her, but she exchanged chaff, 
 she let him " f oiler her about " and sit next to her on the 
 grass, whilst they ate the food they had brought with them. 
 She even accepted a drink of stout, from his tumbler. 
 After that their intimacy progressed apace. 
 
 Sally, now that she had filled out a little, and had imbibed 
 some of Mary Murray's notions of gentility, stood out 
 amongst all those rough-and-ready factory girls with a 
 certain individuality. The secret of it is hard to define, 
 but it followed her through all her vicissitudes. Wherever 
 Sally Snape was to be found — in a van full of factory girls, 
 in the show-room at Brook Street, or in the great picture 
 gallery, full of guests, at Buckminster — she made her 
 particular effect. She was never quite one with the crowd, 
 she always stood alone. 
 
 Mr. Peastone, who, in his own estimation, was quite 
 an important man in the counting-house of Messrs. Hall & 
 Palmer's, had come to this " beano," as he called it, for 
 a spree. The one shilling that was the inclusive price 
 of the whole entertainment was of no account to him. 
 He and a pal had hired a dogcart for the day, and he had 
 driven it himself. In truth his driving was a strange 
 affair ; but the dogcart came from the same stables as the 
 omnibuses, and the spavined, broken-kneed, three-legged 
 animal followed the last omnibus quietly enough. Charlie 
 Peastone thought himself a very great swell indeed as he 
 drove his dogcart. And to Alf Stevens, too, who was 
 halving expenses with him, he seemed a very dashing chap. 
 Alf was also in the counting-house, but he had not Charlie 
 Peastone's initiative. He would never have thought of 
 hiring a dogcart, for instance. 
 
 That feeling of its being "no end of a spree" lasted 
 all through the drive to Epping; but it got a little flat 
 
 34 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 under the trees, when every one was enjoying the picnic 
 in parties of two and three, and Charlie and Alf, having 
 forgotten to provide themselves with what they called 
 provender, had been compelled to seek a neighbouring 
 public-house for cold beef and pickles. But the beef and 
 pickles were good, and Charlie knew what was what. He 
 drank whisky-and-soda, although he would have infinitely 
 preferred beer, and he bought two twopenny cigars, of a 
 fine British brand. Then they strolled back to the others. 
 
 " Let's have a squint at the girls. We might pick up 
 something," he said airily. " Did you see that red-headed 
 little lot in the first bus ? I just got a look at her before 
 they started." 
 
 " There was a pretty girl with her, fair, genteel-looking." 
 
 " So you spotted them too, good for you. Come along, 
 we'll give them a treat." 
 
 Sally was in the humour for being given a treat, for 
 Luke Cullen was not an exhilarating companion. In the 
 machine shop he knew his job ; out of it he knew nothing, 
 except that this was " an 'oliday," and he thought it 
 was time he got married. He had made his effort at 
 wooing Sally for the last few weeks. That is, he had 
 made up his mind, and had no doubt of hers. Two pounds 
 a week was good money. The chaff of the girls had con- 
 solidated his position. That she had shared his meal and 
 his stout made the engagement as definite to him as an 
 announcement in the " Morning Post." He liked to have 
 Sal Snape sitting by him under the trees in the sun ; he 
 had nothing to say, so he abstained from conversation. 
 Sal would know "they was enjoyin' themselves." The 
 beer, the jolting of the omnibus in the open air, the un- 
 wonted leisure, made him feel drowsy. So he drowsed. 
 And Sally, as she sat beside him, thought she would just as 
 soon be cutting up gherkins. 
 
 35 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Mr. Peastone, arm-in-arm with Alf, took off his hat 
 with a flourish. 
 
 11 Mr. Cullen, I believe ? " he said to Luke. 
 
 Luke admitted his identity by nodding his head. 
 
 " I thought you would not object if me and my friend 
 joined your party. Perhaps your good lady, however, 
 prefers a t6te-drt&te." 
 
 Tite-&-tete was a fine touch. Alf's admiration grew 
 momentarily. 
 
 " You're welcome, sirs," said Luke. He recognized the 
 superiority of the black coat; it was Mr. Peastone, too, 
 who paid him his wages. The clerk occupied the same 
 part of the great premises as the principals, and something 
 of their sanctity rested upon his narrow shoulders. 
 
 "I saw you in the dogcart," said Sally simply. She 
 had admired his dashing air, his red satin tie, his rakish 
 hat ; to her, too, he was quite a swell. 
 
 "Well, now, that makes me feel proud. So you noticed 
 me? We came along at a good rate, didn't we? I may 
 introjuce my friend, Mr. Alfred Stevens ? " 
 
 " Pleased to meet you, sir," said Luke. He found them 
 " affable gents." 
 
 Charlie Peastone was always considered good company ; 
 he sat down on the grass and proceeded to prove his 
 quality. 
 
 " You've had your dinner, I see." 
 
 It was not difficult to see, for the debris was in the 
 paper at their feet, and two beer bottles were stuck in the 
 fork of the tree under which they were sitting. " We had 
 ours at a restaurong." ("Good for you again," thought 
 Alf, " I should have called it a pub.") 
 
 " That's what I say, if you're on a spree, go the whole 
 hog — I don't mean bacon! My friend here, he's such a wag, 
 Pve got to hurry or he'd have been out with that joke 
 
 36 
 
 i 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 before me. But we can't be happy without the ladies. 
 Who was that friend of yours, a pretty girl with a blue 
 feather ? I know a prettier one though ! " 
 
 He expected that to have an effect, but it missed fire, 
 because, till now, Sally had not realized that her person 
 was attractive. 
 
 " She and me are great chums ; it's Mary Murray, you 
 mean, she's got a green blouse on." 
 
 " That's her," put in Alf eagerly. 
 
 Charlie winked at him, and then at Sally, who liked 
 being taken into his confidence that way. 
 
 " He knows, you see. Now I wager he can tell you to 
 a shoestring what she'd got on, and where she got it. As 
 for me, I don't care what a girl's got outside ; it's what 
 she keeps inside that matters. I'd rather have a pretty 
 girl in an ugly hat than an ugly girl in a pretty hat. What 
 do you say, miss ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Well, put it the other way. Do you care what a fellow 
 has got on ? " 
 
 She had not cared, but now she looked at Charlie, and 
 from Charlie's broadcloth to Luke's fustian, and she thought 
 she did care. Charlie caught her contrasting glance, and 
 her eye. Then he laughed, and she with him. What a 
 set of grinders the girl had, so small and even ! The dimple 
 in her cheek came out when she smiled, and her green eyes 
 sparkled. 
 
 "Well, we won't press the point," he said politely. 
 But he need not have been careful of Luke's feelings, for 
 Luke had missed the glances and the by-play ; he was 
 growing sleepier. He liked hearing them talk, it had a 
 holiday air about it. He settled himself comfortably 
 against the tree, and presently, in the midst of the fun, 
 fell asleep. 
 
 37 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 For, of course, they had fun. Mary, seeing Sally so well 
 occupied, with two gentlemen, as well as Luke Cullen, 
 came over, full of curiosity to see what was going on. She 
 too, it appeared, had noticed the dogcart. She and Alf 
 fell in love with each other almost at first sight. Whilst 
 Charlie was "making things go," cracking jokes, telling 
 anecdotes, paying compliments, getting more smiles and 
 dimples and admiration from Sally, Alf and Mary were 
 eyeing each other timorously, venturing on sentences that 
 never had an end, finding mutual shyness ; quite in agree- 
 ment about the weather, sympathetic over trifles. Of 
 course it was Charlie who made the first move, but Alf and 
 Mary rose very willingly to join in a walk. Luke, by this 
 time, had completely surrendered himself to slumber. The 
 party arranged itself naturally in pairs. 
 
 Sally had never met any one so brilliant as Charlie 
 Peastone. He had graduated at bars and buffets, where 
 his fluent persiflage met with quick response. Sally knew 
 nothing of the give and take of social intercourse. He had 
 to do all the talking. But perhaps he enjoyed his walk 
 the more on that account, and of course, he felt the admira- 
 tion he was exciting. Sally thought he was a gentleman ; 
 she was exhilarated by her rise in the social sphere. She 
 caught envious glances from the other girls. Mary Murray 
 and she were the cynosure of all eyes. She wished now 
 that she had taken more pains with her dress ; she wished 
 she were as genteel as Mary. She felt that dissatisfaction 
 with herself which is the first change on the horizon, pre- 
 ceding the dawn of love. She thought about herself all 
 the time. Perhaps, if Charlie's exuberant fluency had 
 had ebb and flow he might have found her dull, as she had 
 found Luke Cullen. But there was no ebb to Charlie's 
 speech. 
 
 The red hair, the green eyes, the lithe figure under the 
 
 38 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 cheap blouse, caught him and held him. He did not forget 
 that she was a factory girl and he a clerk, but he was very 
 much attracted. He had to admit to Alf that he was very 
 much attracted, because he wanted Alf to do him a favour. 
 
 " I'll do as much for you one day, old man. One good 
 turn deserves another, and you've got the first chance. 
 It'll be a treat for her, sort of landmark, don't you know, 
 quite out of the common. I want you to let me drive her 
 back to town ; evening, don't you know, and stars, dash 
 of sentiment, you twig the sort of thing, i on such a night 
 as this ' ; it's no end of a spree. I haven't mentioned it 
 to her yet, but you won't play dog-in-the-manger," Charlie 
 urged. 
 
 Alf was never selfish, and, in truth, not averse to the 
 proposition. He guessed at Charlie's driving powers pretty 
 well. They had come along all right, but now it was dusk. 
 He could be very safe and comfortable in the omnibus. 
 He would have Sally's place, next to Mary. She was a 
 very nice girl, she seemed to understand him, and already 
 he knew that her people were gentlefolk, that she had 
 seen better days. It is possible that the piano had been 
 actual, and not potential, in Mary's narrative. 
 
 He demurred a little, nevertheless, in order to make his 
 acquiescence more valued. 
 
 " A nice idea, bringing me here, and leaving me to get 
 home as best I may. And I suppose I'm to pay my half- 
 share all the same ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! If that's all, I don't mind settling two-thirds 
 to your one. And you'll get home all right, almost as quick 
 as we shall." He was really anxious about it ; he urged the 
 many advantages of the arrangement. 
 
 "And how about that fellow she was having dinner 
 with?" Alf asked. 
 
 " Oh, he's very fuddled ; he's had beer with his dinner, 
 39 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 and beer with his tea, and a drop of it between whiles. 
 Pve been over to look at him ; he's still asleep under the 
 tree. When the time comes some one will haul him into 
 a seat, and he won't miss Sally. He is nothing to her, she 
 told me so herself." 
 
 "All right. But, mind, I shan't pay more than one- 
 third. Don't try and get out of that to-morrow." 
 
 "Not likely." 
 
 He went off whistling. What a spree to drive Sally 
 home in the dusk 1 
 
CHAPTER in 
 
 IT was indeed the day of her life for Sally Snape. Charlie 
 put his proposal in good form. 
 
 u Will you honour me by accepting a seat beside me in 
 the phaeton ? " he said when he returned from his inter- 
 view with Alfred. " My pal prefers the bus ; he seems 
 taken with that friend of yours — Miss Murray, isn't it? 
 I hope you are not afraid to trust yourself with me." 
 
 " Me ! I'm not afraid of anything." 
 
 Sally was very flattered, very excited, very happy. She 
 was glad Mary had found some one she could " take to." 
 The gentility of Alfred was as definite as the gallantry 
 and dash of Charlie. Each girl had found the man that 
 suited her. Charlie cracked jokes with everybody. His 
 compliments to Sally began to make her think she must be 
 good-looking after all. His red necktie, his bowler hat, 
 worn on the side of his head, rakishly, the pair of yellow- 
 red driving gloves he produced, made a great impression 
 upon her. He seemed a very fine gentleman indeed by the 
 side of Luke Cullen, who appeared, just before she was 
 mounting the step of the dogcart, and wanted to know 
 " wot she was doin' of." 
 
 " Miss Snape is honouring me with her company for the 
 drive home," Charlie explained gaily. " You can't have 
 all the sweets for yourself, you know ; she came down 
 with you, she goes back with me ; that's fair. Up with 
 you, Miss Snape. So long, Cullen, see you to-morrow, fit 
 as ever I" 
 
 41 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Saliy got into the dogcart nimbly, and Charlie climbed 
 up after her, gathering the reins together in masterly 
 fashion, so masterly, in fact, that the ostler, who stood by 
 the horse's head, grinned from ear to ear. " Drunk as a 
 lord," he said to himself, forming his wrong conclusion 
 hastily. But, seeing him with red-haired Sally by his side, 
 the ostler had a spasm of envy. 
 
 It was all very well as long as Charlie's vaulting ambi- 
 tion had not developed itself. But, either he got tired 
 of jogging behind the omnibuses, or the broken-winded, 
 spavined old horse got spurred by his imagination, they 
 were very near London, so perhaps he scented his home and 
 oats. Anyway, they were no longer entrenched behind 
 the safety of the procession of other merry-makers when 
 Lady Dorothea Lytham, driving her new 40-horse-power 
 Panhard with her habitual courageous incapacity, suddenly 
 appeared before their startled eyes, with no more idea of 
 how to apply her brake than Charlie had of how to pull up 
 his horse. He frantically tugged at the reins, the chauf- 
 feur frantically put his hand over Lady Dorothea's, on the 
 wheel. But neither was in time to avert catastrophe. 
 Lady Dorothea was smiling into Sally's startled eyes 
 one moment, and the next was conscious of nothing but — 
 smash ! 
 
 She had no idea what she had done, or what had hap- 
 pened, who was hurt, or what was broken. She was still 
 sitting grasping the wheel, she was probably even still smil- 
 ing, for the impact found her so, and, being an Irish girl, 
 and irresponsible, even beyond her country's ways, it was not 
 likely that smashing up a dogcart was going to scare her. 
 
 But the chauffeur jumped out, there was something lying 
 in the roadway ; something that had not been there before. 
 Lady Dorothea's graceful length quickly detached itself 
 from the driver's seat. The trembling horse had recovered 
 
 42 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 his feet and was struggling between the broken shafts; 
 Charlie and Sally had both been flung out. 
 
 Charlie had come to no harm ; he was shaken and 
 bruised and hideously frightened, but that was all. Sally 
 lay where she had been flung, her head on the pavement, 
 and her body in the road. In the light of the acetylene 
 lamps of the motor she looked ghastly white and stricken. 
 Lady Dorothea did not see her attractiveness then, or ever, 
 although she had in the end to admit its existence. Per- 
 haps their first introduction was responsible for her subse- 
 quent blindness. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's a bad job, your ladyship," said the 
 chauffeur. He had been with Lady Dorothea for some 
 time now, but her freaks never ceased to astonish him. 
 Colonel Fellowes had said at lunch yesterday : " No woman 
 ought to be allowed to drive a high-speed car; there 
 should be a law against it." The butler had told him that, 
 and, of course, both he and the butler knew that that was 
 quite sufficient to tempt her ladyship to the experiment. 
 But why she had made her first attempt in the dusk, and 
 in the City Road, puzzled him. Lady Dorothea was 
 rather baffling. Her husband, after a few bewildered 
 years, had abandoned the effort to unravel her, and had 
 returned from the South African campaign to his fastness 
 on the Forth. Colonel Fellowes was still undaunted ; but 
 then he had never had any illusions about Lady Dorothea. 
 He had known her before her marriage. 
 
 " You don't think she is dead ? " 
 
 "She looks very bad, your ladyship," the chauffeur 
 answered gravely. 
 
 " It was not my fault ; you ought to have sounded your 
 horn," Charlie exclaimed agitatedly. 
 
 " Oh, you think I ought to have sounded my horn ? " 
 Lady Dorothea said insolently. 
 
 43 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She had no concern with the ashen little cad in his red 
 tie, but she knelt on the ground beside Sally, felt her, 
 spoke to her, tried to rouse her. 
 
 " She isn't dead," she said abruptly, rising quickly. 
 " We must fix her up in the car somehow, and take her to 
 the nearest doctor. Stop that Pickford's van : ask whether 
 there isn't a doctor or a hospital near." 
 
 The Pickford's van man was both sympathetic and help- 
 ful. It seemed, too, that he had had " first aid " lessons : 
 
 " She's broke her leg and 'urt her head, concussion from 
 the looks of her. Best let me take her in the van, ma'am ; 
 she can lie flat there ; it's empty. We were goin' 'ome. 
 We'll take her off to the London Hospital; we can get 
 there in twenty minutes, and they'll know just wot to do. 
 I took a pore chap there last week, and . . ." 
 
 " Oh, never mind about the people you've taken there 
 before, my good man. What does that matter to me ? 
 Here's five shillings for you. Don't lift her in until I've 
 gone, she might cry out. I should hate to hear her cry 
 out. Come, Carter, start the car. You can drive, I've 
 had enough of this, I want to get home." 
 
 Now a couple of belated policemen arrived ineffectively, 
 and began taking dilatory notes. It was the handsome 
 motor and its charming driver that attracted their imme- 
 diate attention, not Sally on the pavement. 
 
 " Oh I who am I ? my card ? I haven't got a card — 
 at least, I don't know where I put it. I'm Lady Dorothea 
 Lytham, of Curzon Street. I'll send round in the morning 
 and hear how she is. The man who ran into me will tell 
 you all about it. Get on, Carter ; I know she is going to- 
 scream." 
 
 Carter set his car going, he gladly took the wheel, with 
 a whizz and a toot they were off. Lady Dorothea had 
 shifted all the burden of the accident, and the injured 
 
 44 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 girl, on to other shoulders; hers were too graceful for 
 bearing burdens. 
 
 And, somehow or other, the task was accomplished, after 
 a little desultory conversation and some delay. The still 
 unconscious Sally was made as comfortable as circum- 
 stances would allow, and lifted into the van. The van 
 boy was spared to take his place beside the shaken, 
 humbled Charlie, and gingerly to drive the disjointed 
 dogcart to the stable. The debris of the accident was soon 
 removed. 
 
 Sally awoke, somewhat later, to a painful semi-conscious- 
 ness in a room hideously painted, small and bare. Her 
 glazed eyes were caught by a sort of wheel that faced the 
 stretcher-bed in which she lay, with wires hanging from it. 
 The steel intricacies hurt her, she kept closing and open- 
 ing her eyes, but it was always there, making her head 
 ache. Her head ached so fearfully that the pain she felt 
 in her leg was almost good by comparison. 
 
 Once, when she opened her eyes, there was another pair, 
 behind glasses, looking at her. 
 
 "Wot's that 'ere?" she asked feebly, indicating the 
 wheel. 
 
 " Oh ! that ? That's the Kontgen rays." 
 
 " Take it away, it's 'urting my head." 
 
 "We'll take you away from it, that's simpler." 
 
 The house surgeon, he was little more than a boy, was 
 running hand and eye over her quickly, diagnosing, settling 
 what was to be done. 
 
 There was no doubt about it, it was a case they 
 must take in. Now he had to telephone upstairs for a 
 vacant bed, and summon a surgeon from Harley Street. 
 All the machinery of the great institution was quickly put 
 in motion to relieve Sally Snape, half-unconscious Sally. 
 She was wheeled on the stretcher to the lift, wheeled along 
 
 45 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 the polished floor to the ward, and lifted by two men, very 
 tenderly, from the stretcher to the bed. 
 
 Then it was the women's turn. Sister Aglove came to 
 look and direct, Nurse Hall and Nurse Darling to undress 
 and prepare. Sleepy and querulous patients found a 
 moment's inquisitiveness to spare from their own troubles, 
 but the ward was soon hushed again in its selfishness of 
 suffering. Dr. Grim gave his brief information : 
 
 " She has been thrown out of a dogcart, the right fibia 
 is broken, there seems to be some head injury, not a 
 fracture. I have sent for Mr. Farrant, he will set her leg 
 here when he comes ; chloroform won't be needed. . . ." 
 
 They undressed her so gently that she did not feel their 
 ministrations. Her moans were quite unconscious, in- 
 voluntary; she knew her head ached fearfully, but she 
 did not mean to moan. They found her cold, and put a 
 hot- water bottle to her feet; all that could be done was 
 done for her before the surgeon came. 
 
 It was many days before Sally recovered sufficiently 
 from the concussion to recognize her surroundings, to note, 
 with her bright incurious eyes, all the routine of the hos- 
 pital. Her case was not particularly interesting ; a simple 
 fracture of the leg, a slight concussion of the brain, no 
 febrile or untoward symptoms. Yet, somehow or other, 
 Mr. Farrant lingered by her bed, and young Dr. Grim, 
 the house surgeon, found himself impelled two or three 
 times a day to her side. 
 
 The nurses had cleaned and tidied her until she was 
 almost unrecognizable. Sally found herself often gazing 
 at her hands and nails. The hands looked white and small, 
 the nails clean and short, they were like ladies' hands. 
 Sally admired them, she knew now she would always keep 
 them like this. Her hair had been brushed and combed 
 until it shone like red goldj it was parted, and two great 
 
 46 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 plaited ropes lay on either side of her face. It was a pity 
 the hospital costume was of red flannel; with green 
 or with blue the effect would have been superb. As it 
 was, it was only remarkable. The small face, with its green 
 eyes and red lips, upturned nose and pallor, was unlike all 
 the other faces that lay on the pillows, lacking the fram- 
 ing of hair and the indefinable attractiveness. 
 
 On visiting days Sally's bed was surrounded. Johnny 
 csftne and brought her oranges; Sandy Kirk, to whom it 
 was all familiar, remembered it was peppermint drops that 
 had brought him most solace, and smuggled in a generous 
 supply. Mary Murray came on Sundays, looking each 
 week prettier, happier, less anaemic. Flowers were her 
 gift, and it always seemed as if she had something to tell 
 Sally, confidences to impart; but they were never alone. 
 Luke Cullen came once, and sat by her bed for a solid hour, 
 saying nothing at all, bringing no gift, conscious of his 
 two pounds a week, forgetting he had not offered it, 
 considering it and himself as accepted. Finally, Charlie 
 Peastone came, after the lapse of two or three weeks, in 
 a frock-coat and a bowler hat, pale lemon gloves, and a 
 very jaunty manner. He did not think people like him- 
 self were often seen in hospitals. He was extraordinarily 
 nervous, and chaffed the porter who let him in, and the 
 sad-faced, weary people who waited with him. He brought 
 Sally a bunch of roses and some new slang. She had 
 the comparison with the doctors now, and a whole set of 
 new standards. She did not appreciate his jocularity or 
 his visit. She resented him. 
 
 People of extraordinary physical vitality, of really fine 
 health and flawless constitution, resent pain or illness in 
 themselves or others. They look upon it as something 
 of a degradation, a personal offence; they want to run 
 away from it, cover it up, forget it. This hatred or con- 
 
 47 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 tempt of illness is an entirely pure instinct, it is a reti- 
 cence of the body, a noli me tangere of the soul. It was 
 this that Charlie Peastone had done to her, he had de- 
 graded her. It was through him that she had headaches, 
 and was forced to bear the handling of the doctors and 
 nurses, through him. she had lost sleep, and now was 
 unable to move. That, in the main, she was happy and 
 content here did not soften her toward him. Her marred 
 body was his doing ; all the time she had lain ill she 
 felt the poignancy of her anger against him. She did 
 not reason, none of her resentment was based on reason. 
 But he had done this thing to her, and she hated 
 him, and his talkin' ways, and their hours together. 
 Now his jocularity was unbearable. She did not want his 
 flowers or his gallant allusions. Luke Cullen's silence, 
 Johnny Doone's corduroys, both suited her better. So 
 she was silent and sullen during Charlie's visit, and even 
 the news he brought her, that the firm would keep her 
 place open for her, and would pay her half wages as 
 long as she was on the sick list, did not incline her 
 more favourably toward him. But then, it was not 
 news to her, for the forewoman had written, and Mary 
 Murray had verbally confirmed the letter. 
 
 It was on the non-visiting days that Sally Snape re- 
 ceived the visits which interested her. Of course, she was 
 glad of Johnny and Sandy. She was not one to forget old 
 friends. But, somehow, her new cleanliness, regularity, 
 order, coming at the end of her year at the factory and 
 the continuation school, awoke in her some latent restless- 
 ness or ambition. Her clean white hands were never out 
 of her sight, they were transforming her world. 
 
 Ursula Kugeley, busying herself always on the border- 
 land of philanthropy, had an unofficial post in connection 
 with the hospital. She read and talked to the patients in 
 
 48 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sally's ward. And just now Sally wanted to be read and 
 talked to. She had grown used to Ursula, and, in a sort 
 of odd way, the two understood each other. Sally had 
 the capacity for both gratitude and friendship. Through 
 Ursula she had left Limehouse and the tailoring; in 
 laborious ways she had learnt to hold her own with 
 Mary Murray in writing and cyphering. In those indus- 
 trious evenings she had acquired other things besides writing 
 and cyphering. She had learnt, sometimes, in a phrase or 
 two, she thought she had almost caught, the way gentle- 
 folk speak. Now that this personal cleanliness had come to 
 her, and so strangely affected her, she recognized what 
 the quality was she had admired in Ursula and her teachers. 
 She had a somewhat contemptuous, vague understanding 
 of Ursula's pursuit of charity as a fad and refuge from 
 the tedium of her single life, but the knowledge did not 
 in the least prevent her benefiting by it. She looked 
 for Ursula's coming, she liked to make her talk, she asked 
 her questions. Until Lady Dorothea Lytham came to see 
 her, in a sudden mood of graciousness and revived memory, 
 it was upon the prim and charitable Ursula that Sally 
 Snape was unconsciously modelling herself. 
 
 Lady Dorothea over-rode rules and regulations, captur- 
 ing porters, hospital secretary, and visiting doctors. She 
 wanted to see a patient, she did not know the patient's 
 name. She had run over her, or been run over by her. 
 How long ago? She did not remember. Her chauffeur 
 would remember; he was outside. Oh yes, she must see 
 the invalid, she had brought her some flowers, white lilac 
 and gloire de Dijon roses. 
 
 After all, she was Lady Dorothea Lytham, and had 
 
 driven up in her finest of motors, and was tall and radiant 
 
 in her ermine and young beauty, she gained her way, as 
 
 she had a habit of gaining it. Porters and doctors and 
 
 i 49 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 secretaries aided her memory, and soon a selection of them 
 escorted her to Sally Snape's bed. It was she who made 
 that observation about the incongruity of the red hair and 
 the red flannel dressing-gown. She said she would bring 
 her some green or blue stuff instead, and, although she 
 forgot all about it immediately afterwards, everybody 
 thought it extraordinarily kind of her. And the flowers 
 scented the whole ward, getting past iodoform and liniment, 
 and making their own record. 
 
 "I'm so sorry I ran into you, or you ran into me; we 
 never quite knew which it was," she began, when she got 
 to the bedside. Ursula Eugeley was sitting beside it, a 
 very dim figure beside this brilliant one. 
 
 Dorothea had a bird of paradise in her hat ; it was a 
 very daring millinery feat. She wore it because she had 
 been asked to join some league about birds and aigrettes, 
 she forgot exactly what it was, but she knew she had 
 thought it great impertinence of the woman who asked 
 her. And ever since then she had worn nothing but birds 
 and aigrettes. Her manner was amazingly familiar; it 
 was only if one took advantage of it that one realized it 
 was founded on colossal race vanity. The distance between 
 the Desmonds, Lady Dorothea had been a Desmond, 
 and all the rest of the world was unbridgable ; therefore 
 Lady Dorothea could waft her familiarities across the line, 
 but no breeze could bring back the echo to where she stood 
 among her ancestors. It was a curious mental attitude. 
 Drunken, dissolute, degenerate, the reigning Desmond had 
 nevertheless the same point of view. He lived on the ill- 
 gained gold of the creature he had married, and yet managed 
 to be proud of his birth and position. Dorothea was the 
 youngest of the family — two sisters had passed the ordeal 
 of the divorce CQurt; Lady Dorothea might eventually 
 follow in their footsteps. But they were all Desmonds; 
 
 5° 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 they, not less than the one who had married the Duke of 
 Ebrington and maintained his rank. It was rooted in 
 them, that the fact set them apart. 
 
 "What extraordinary hair you've got. Do you plait it 
 yourself ? May I sit down ? " 
 
 She displaced Ursula gracefully : 
 
 " What a strange place ! Why do they have all these 
 beds alike, and those horrid basins ? Oh no, don't wait, 
 Mr. Evelyn, I want to talk to Sally. Sally is the name of the 
 orang-outang at the Zoo. I declare, I think you have some- 
 thing the same shaped face. Awfully dull here, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I'm not dull," said Sally simply. She loved the luxu- 
 riance of her visitor's clothes, her gay, light manner ; she 
 liked her impudence and familiarity. Sally, who never 
 gained the trick of easy speech, admired immeasurably this 
 flowing talk. It was very different from Charlie Pea- 
 stone's banter; she felt the difference in every excited 
 fibre of her as Lady Dorothea sat there in her ermine stole 
 and brilliant hat, and yet more brilliant beauty, and asked 
 questions : 
 
 "They tell me you are in a jam factory. That must 
 be great fun ; I love jam. I'll come and see you one day, 
 and taste it while it's hot. But you oughtn't to be making 
 jam ; with hair like that you ought to be trying on hats, 
 making people buy what doesn't suit them because they 
 think they are going to look like you. One of my pals 
 keeps a hat shop; she sells blouses and things too. I'm 
 sure you'd like that better than jam. Shall I try and 
 get her to take you?" 
 
 Sally's eyes sparkled, then her lids fell; she was still 
 quite humble : 
 
 " Could I ? Oh ! ma'am, oh ! my lady . . ." 
 
 Ursula had been listening ; she seized on such a chance 
 for her protegee. 
 
 5« 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Of course you could. You might need a little train- 
 ing. . . ." 
 
 Dorothea's hereditary insolence was in the look she 
 turned on the speaker. 
 
 " Who is this lady ? A friend of yours ? " 
 
 She asked about Ursula as if she too were in a pickle fac- 
 tory. She treated the explanation of Ursula's position at 
 the bedside as if there were no intrinsic difference between 
 philanthropy and factory work ; both were such a long 
 way off the Desmonds. Then, all of a sudden, she took 
 Ursula into her confidence about Sally, and her hair, 
 and her fitness for the show-room. The idea was a 
 freak of the imagination. Carrying it into execution 
 would need a sustained effort quite beyond her. She had 
 so many things to do, she was in a hurry already. But this 
 woman would go to Brook Street ; she could not have any- 
 thing else to do — no calls of society, or anything of that sort : 
 
 " I'll give you my card, and then you'll write, or, better 
 still, go and see Vi. Here . . ." She wrote a few words 
 on a card. 
 
 The jewelled case, the jewelled pencil, the quick action 
 following the quick thought, were all wonderful to the 
 red-flannelled, wide-eyed invalid on the bed. 
 
 " It's to Vi Farquharson ; her shop is in Brook Street. 
 I get no end of my things there. Tell her I insist upon it. 
 And I'll come and buy some new hats as soon as Sally is 
 installed. I must go now; I've a man coming to lunch 
 with me. Let her come and see me when she leaves the 
 hospital, before she goes to Vi's." 
 
 Then she turned to Sally. 
 
 " When you are in Brook Street I'll come and buy 
 from you the chicest, newest hat they've got. It doesn't 
 matter if it is bizarre, I can wear anything. And it 
 doesn't matter what they charge, because I never pay ! " 
 
 5* 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She laughed as she rose ; she had a delightful laugh. She 
 shook hands with Sally aud nodded to Ursula. Every- 
 thing she did had a certain grace and charm about it, 
 though one felt that Puck was lurking in her tip-tilted nose, 
 and in the eyebrows with the upward curve. 
 
 Lady Dorothea left Sally breathless, and excited, her 
 heart beating quickly, and her pulses bounding. Now 
 her slow-healing leg maddened her. Life was opening, 
 her chance had come, and she could not move. 
 
 " Oh ! how long will it be ? Cannot you do something 
 to make it heal quicker ? " she implored the doctor, at his 
 evening visit. She had a feverish night, but the next day 
 Ursula Rugeley came to her again, calming and quieting 
 her. Ursula told her how much there was she could do 
 whilst lying on her back. She must learn finer needle- 
 work, she should read a little, she ought to try to improve 
 her speech. There was a standard, almost of elegance, 
 required in a West End shop. Sally was not afraid that 
 she would not be able to pick up any trick that was wanted ; 
 she knew her acquisitive powers. But she did all that 
 Ursula told her, and work calmed her. The nurses helped 
 her, everybody sympathized with her, and helped to make 
 the waiting time less long. 
 
 Ursula went to Madame Violetta's in Brook Street, 
 presenting Lady Dorothea's card, and duly explaining her 
 errand. 
 
 Violet Farquharson was a tall and worried-looking 
 woman, somewhat deep in the forties. Her complexion 
 was blotchy, and her temper uncertain. In her youth she 
 had been flighty and vicious, but both lover and husband 
 died of typhoid in South Africa, and her instincts were 
 changed with her complexion and advancing years. 
 
 There was a boy to be supported at Eton, also a girl 
 to be prepared for her matrimonial mission. Vi Farquhar- 
 
 53 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 son did the brave thing: she admitted her age, and went 
 into business. Fortune favours the brave. She had the 
 great, the incomparable good fortune to obtain the services 
 of Mr. Perry and Miss Baines. It was they who enabled 
 her to use her opportunities. For, of course, all her friends 
 rallied round her, ran up debts with her, and sought for 
 bargains. 
 
 John Perry was a remarkable personality. It had not 
 been recognized at Madame Pamela's, where he had gone 
 directly from his training in Paris. Madame Pamela's ob- 
 tuseness became Vi Farquharson's opportunity. Miss Baines 
 had been John Perry's fellow-assistant in Regent Street. She 
 followed him faithfully to Brook Street, and from the time 
 the two were installed, the business grew and grew. It was 
 still growing when Ursula Eugeley brought Lady Dorothea's 
 card of introduction to the establishment, but it was not 
 yet firmly established. They could not afford to offend the 
 impecunious Desmonds, with the stable Duchess of Ebring- 
 ton in the background, and the Kidderminster connection. 
 Lady Dorothea was still within the pale. She had grown 
 up there, and there was still a corner for her, a well- 
 dressed, if obscure, corner. 
 
 So Vi received Ursula with indulgence, if with irritation. 
 It was two and a half years now since she had started in 
 business, and eighteen months since John Perry had 
 joined her. She had begun to have the pride of her success, 
 to feel confident of the future. 
 
 "Dolly's always so inconsiderate. I can't train a girl 
 in the middle of the season," she grumbled. 
 
 " She won't leave the hospital for another three weeks," 
 Ursula urged ; " then, if she could come to you whilst 
 others were taking their holiday, I am sure she would 
 quickly be of use. She is very industrious and steady j 
 I've known her for years." 
 
 54 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " But Dolly says ' the show-room. ' Why the show-room ? 
 I'm short of bodice hands. Now, if she can sew . . ." 
 
 "She can sew. It is her appearance that made Lady 
 Dorothea think she would be of more use in the shop. 
 But she is ready to do anything." 
 
 "A factory girl ! It's quite absurd. Dorothea is always 
 absurd. And I suppose I am to pay her wages just as if 
 she had been properly trained. And dress . . . who is 
 going to dress her ? " 
 
 Ursula undertook that she should have the requisite 
 black frock. If she graduated to silk and the show-room, 
 Madame Violetta would furnish her, for that was the 
 custom of the trade. The interview was not suave, but 
 then it was comparatively short. Vi rustled out of the 
 room, after she had talked with Dorothea's strangely 
 chosen messenger, to consult John Perry. And John 
 Perry came back with her, and asked Ursula one or two 
 pointed questions. Yes, she had a remarkable head of hair, 
 and that was why Lady Dorothea had thought she would 
 be useful to show off hats. She was slender, and Ursula 
 believed she had a good figure. She was quite steady and 
 respectable, not particularly good-looking, Ursula thought, 
 but very industrious. 
 
 " We don't want to offend Lady Dorothea," John Perry 
 said authoritatively, in a private few words with his 
 employer. "No one wears her clothes better; it does us 
 good for it to be known that we dress her. And she takes 
 offence very easily. I don't think we can do much harm 
 in giving the young woman a chance. More than likely her 
 ladyship will forget all about her, once we say yes. We can 
 get rid of her at the end of a month if she's no good." 
 
 John Perry was taking the reins very gradually, but 
 very surely, from the manicured hands of his well-born 
 mistress. He knew, from the first, the port to which he 
 
 55 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 was steering. He wanted to manage the business in his 
 own way, he wanted no interference at all. Supreme 
 power would come; it came nearer every day. For Vi 
 Farquharson had gone into business completely ignorant 
 of what business meant. Many of her friends had done 
 the same, drifting easily into bankruptcy. She was 
 making a success of it, and just as she had had sufficient 
 intelligence to abandon the role of amoureuse, when she 
 realized that it no longer became her, so did she perceive 
 now that the position she would most fitly occupy in 
 Brook Street would be that of figure-head. Mr. Perry 
 was consulted about everything, and his decision as to 
 Lady Dorothea Lytham's introduction was made quickly. 
 
 It was decided that Sally Snape should come to Brook 
 Street. Mr. Perry thought she ought to pay a premium. 
 "Never mind about the amount, but it would be some- 
 thing in hand. Catch Lady Dorothea in a generous mood, 
 when she has money, and there will be no difficulty about 
 it," he said. She had run over the girl, and that con- 
 stituted a real claim. He had elicited all about the acci- 
 dent from Ursula. He advised Mrs. Farquharson to write, 
 in the name of the firm, and say they were quite willing 
 to give the young woman a chance ; but they always had 
 a premium with their work -girls. He even dictated the 
 letter, so that it should be sufficiently firm, and yet not 
 calculated to offend. 
 
 "Say we are quite full up, but that her ladyship's 
 wishes are law. Say that we never take a girl with less 
 than a hundred guineas premium, but that, this being an 
 exceptional case, we will take fifty. You might add 
 something about noticing that she has the same spirit of 
 charity that animates her sister, the Duchess, and that we 
 are glad to do our little. Put it so that she can't wriggle 
 out of paying ; the girl must bring the premium with her. 
 
 56 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Lady Dorothea will get it out of somebody, if she hasn't 
 got the ready herself." 
 
 Miss Rugeley was amiably told, after having been kept 
 four minutes for the private interview with Mr. Perry, 
 that Mrs. Farquharson was quite willing to take Miss 
 Snape if Lady Dorothea would pay a small premium with 
 her. Mrs. Farquharson told Ursula she would write to 
 her cousin, and she had no doubt of the result. Miss Snape 
 might consider the matter settled. 
 
 So it was arranged between Ursula Rugeley and Mrs. 
 Farquharson that, as soon as Sally was fit to leave the 
 hospital, she should go and see Lady Dorothea and get the 
 money. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THUS it came about that, some ten days later, the pre- 
 cise and formal butler in Curzon Street was startled 
 by the apparition of Miss Sally Snape, with red feathers 
 in her green hat, a shawl pinned round her slender 
 figure, inquiring whether she could see Lady Dorothea 
 Lytham. Sally was pale and thin, and limping ; she 
 seemed more limp than the lank feathers in her Epping 
 Forest hat. 
 
 "Now what might you be wanting to see Lady Dolly 
 for ? She can't owe you anything," he said wonderingly, 
 out of his large experience of Lady Dorothea and her ways. 
 
 " She ran over me. Then she came to the hospital, and 
 said I was to come here," Sally explained, leaning against 
 the lintel, rather spent and breathless. It was her first 
 day without crutches, the stick had proved a fatiguing 
 support, she looked very pale and pathetic. 
 
 " Well, you come in and sit down in the hall. I'll ring 
 for her ladyship's maid, and see if you can go up." 
 
 Sally was glad of the coolness of the small dark hall. 
 She sank wearily into the big porter's chair, one of the 
 Desmond relics, that looked out of place in its present 
 insignificant home ; she leaned her head against its leath- 
 ern side and waited patiently. 
 
 She had a long time to wait. Lady Dorothea sent down 
 word that she would see the young woman when she had 
 finished dressing. But Dolly's toilette was not a simple 
 affair; her effect, of brilliancy and novelty, wealth and 
 
 58 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 exuberant youth, was not produced without care. Her 
 hair, although nature had made it dark, curly, and abundant, 
 needed the ministrations of her French maid to make 
 it fashionable; it had to be brushed with brilliantine, 
 waved from the face, with additional curls pinned at the 
 back. When it was all carefully finished, she pulled it 
 down, threw the curls away, and twisted it into a simple 
 coil. This being her ordinary procedure, Claire made no 
 protest. As for the curls, she had known milady would 
 never wear them, but they matched her own very nicely ; 
 they were among the strange perquisites of her irregularly 
 paid and exacting place. 
 
 Dorothea put on a simple muslin gown from Doucet's, 
 and said she "looked a beast" in it. She tried a grey voile, 
 and was not better satisfied. A quite new, very quaint, 
 picture dress of flowered chine was her final choice. But 
 then the simple coiffeur was found to war with it, and for 
 the third time her hair was re-done, puffed a little at the 
 sides, and made in unison with her frock. At last every- 
 thing was complete, the cheval glass consulted, and 
 satisfied. 
 
 " I think I look rather nice." 
 
 m Milady looks charmante." 
 
 " Well, give me my handkerchief, and leave off pulling 
 me down and patting me about. There's that girl wait- 
 ing to see me. Where is she ? Tell Parkins I'll see her 
 in the drawing-room." 
 
 But it was now luncheon-time. Colonel Fellowes was 
 in the drawing-room ; he, too, had been waiting half an 
 hour. But he had the newspaper and his cigarette, and 
 he was used to Dorothea's ways. 
 
 " Hullo ! " he said, as he threw away his cigarette and 
 rose to greet her. "That's quite a new style, isn't it?" 
 He did not shake hands with her, but she stood still for 
 
 59 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 inspection, and he looked over her carefully. "I like 
 that — it's very good. Who's it got up for? Who's to be 
 killed ? I looked into the dining-room — laid for six. Who 
 are the party ? " 
 
 "Kiddie is coming, and the Middlecote girls. I don't 
 know of anybody else." 
 
 "Sir Clement Dowling," announced Parkins, throwing 
 open the folding doors. 
 
 She met him with both hands outstretched, and the 
 most attractive smile: 
 
 "There! Now isn't that strange? I was trying to 
 recollect who was coming to lunch, and quite forgot about 
 you. I did ask you, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. In the park, this morning. Morning, 
 Fellowes." 
 
 The two men nodded to each other. Colonel Fellowes, 
 who was a man of about five and forty, grey-haired and up- 
 right, with a perpetual twinkle in his blue eyes, a smile 
 habitual in the corners of his mouth, recognized the meaning 
 of the omission of Sir Clement Dowling's name from the 
 list of expected guests. Dorothea's subtleties were simple, 
 and always delightful to him. Sir Clement was the very 
 latest conquest: a Norfolk baronet, poor, a Catholic, and 
 extraordinarily stupid; it would have seemed that a 
 flirtation with him, whatever its nature, would have been 
 an end hardly worth compassing. But Dorothea was 
 eclectic, and Sir Clement had not yet quite realized what 
 was expected of him, so the affair had still something of 
 the charm of a chase. Also, Joan Middlecote had been 
 spoken of as an obviously suitable marriage for him! 
 Colonel Fellowes thought he was going to enjoy his lunch. 
 
 Clement Dowling's fair hair was brushed straight back 
 from his forehead, his lustreless eyes were of pale blue, 
 with light eyelashes j he was clean-shaven, and his weak, 
 
 60 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 indeterminate mouth and chin wore no disguise But he 
 was tall, of good figure and family, and faultlessly dressed. 
 
 The Middlecotes came in breathlessly late and apolo- 
 getic. They were the twin daughters of that wealthy and 
 eccentric politician, Lord Thanet. Their dead mother had 
 been of the house of Ingleby. The wealth with which 
 she had endowed them had not been her only legacy 
 to her children. They were egoists, and of an ingrained 
 vulgarity. Also both in fair Joan and dark Naomi there 
 lurked a touch of an alien race ; crinkly hair growing low 
 on the forehead, lips moulded coarsely, a prettiness that 
 could have been matched in the Whitechapel Road. Every- 
 thing that could have been done for them had been done, 
 but they lacked finish. 
 
 Of course, after their arrival everybody talked at once, 
 about him or herself. Joan had been to Madame some- 
 body or other for her massage, Naomi had galloped in the 
 Row, lamed her horse, and been stopped by a policeman. 
 She had seen Jack Desmond with Mrs. Vernon, and Harry 
 Makin with his mother, and Laurie by himself. Joan 
 wanted Dolly to try her masseuse, and Dolly laughingly 
 answered that she would, when Joan's complexion was as 
 good as hers. Everybody looked immediately at Dolly's 
 glowing skin, and at Joan's dingy one; and everybody 
 smiled. Sir Clement Dowling absolutely grinned. Of course, 
 Joan reddened with annoyance, but was only subdued for 
 a moment. Before lunch was announced she explained 
 away the impression conveyed by talking of the fatigues 
 of the last few weeks, and the freshening effect of the 
 massage. It was just like Dolly to swagger her complexion, 
 but let her sit up until three or four in the morning, four 
 nights out of five, and see what she would look like ! Joan 
 knew, of course, that next to Dolly she was small, insig- 
 nificant; but she prided herself on her vivacity. She 
 
 61 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 rattled out a volume of it over the hors oVozuvres and eggs, 
 all to cover Dorothea's repartee. 
 
 Hors oVozuvres and eggs had both departed, and the 
 trout was being discussed before Kiddie came in. A place 
 had been laid for him, and left vacant, between Dolly and 
 Naomi ; he dropped into it : 
 
 " Hullo 1 nearly done ? Sorry I'm late. What's this ? 
 Sardines ! Skittles ! Isn't there any cold meat about ? 
 I'm hungry, Dolly. What's there to eat ? Tell 'em to 
 go on where they were. Fish! Yes, I'll have some 
 fish." 
 
 He started eating without more ado. He was such a 
 very important young man that in any other house in 
 May fair except that of Lady Dorothea Lytham they would, 
 without doubt, have waited lunch for him. Perhaps that 
 was why he came oftener to No. 200 Curzon Street than 
 anywhere else. He liked Dolly; she had never treated 
 him as a boy, even when he was a boy. He did not care 
 a " hang " about her reputation, he did not believe every- 
 thing he heard about her. He accepted unquestioningly 
 Colonel Fellowes' position as her great friend. Kiddie 
 had a way, in these early days, of accepting his relatives 
 on their face value. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster, Kiddie, as he had been called 
 ever since his Eton days, was the only son and heir of 
 the most Honourable the Marquess of Fortive, whose 
 services to his country have never been without the recog- 
 nition of place. And Kiddie's mother was an invalid, 
 living at Buckminster nearly all the year round ; a power 
 for good, a force in the real great world, but condemned 
 to long periods of inactivity. With his invalid mother, 
 and his statesman father, Kiddie had had more freedom 
 than falls to the lot of the majority of young men of his 
 day. And he also had a larger income. His father was 
 
 62 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 not ud mindful of his needs, and his mother's full purse 
 was as his own. It was understood that he was going into 
 diplomacy. In the meantime he must see life. 
 
 With so much freedom, so much money, society was 
 watching with interest for the sowing of his wild oats. 
 He was twenty-two now, and, beyond leaving Oxford 
 without a degree, they had been but a meagre crop. Kiddie 
 was tall, well shaped, not ill-looking in a thoroughly com- 
 monplace way. There was nothing of the Adonis about 
 him, but his skin was clear, and he had good teeth, rather 
 handsome hands, and an air of being well groomed. He 
 was eighteen before he had reached the upper school at 
 Eton. Nevertheless, he was no fool, and he had, like 
 Dorothea, a definite appreciation of his own importance. 
 Also he had an unusual and deep affection for his mother, 
 and a genuine respect for his father. Their treatment of 
 him had made him respect their judgment. The men of 
 his year said " Kiddie was not a bad chap." 
 
 The fact was that, being an only son, he had never been 
 quite a boy, and therefore was a man with his youth yet 
 to come, a tough papyrus upon which the stylus of life 
 had as yet made but little mark. 
 
 He had a boy's appetite, however, and it had to be 
 satisfied before he began to talk. It was not very eloquent 
 talk then. It was more like the tipster's column in " The 
 Sportsman" than anything else, all about Goodwood, 
 and his horses in training there, and other people's horses 
 in training there. 
 
 Quite suddenly, apropos of nothing, with a huge piece 
 of plum cake in his hand and a lump of it in his mouth, he 
 said: 
 
 "That reminds me," — he had been talking of Sonora's 
 chances for the Goodwood Cup — " Dolly, who's the inter- 
 ests invalid that's asleep in the hall? She looks as if 
 
 63 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 she's come from Hampstead Heath, feathers and all. Is 
 that the latest Cerberus ? Is she goin' to answer the door ? 
 I asked Parkins, and he said primly that he ' had had no 
 instructions from her ladyship/ Who is she ? " 
 
 " Good heavens ! " Dolly was conscience-stricken, and 
 laughed gaily. " I had forgotten all about her. It's 
 Sally Snape. You know I told you all about her. It's 
 that girl I ran over the night I tried the new Panhard. 
 I said I'd see her when I was dressed. I'm going to make 
 Vi Parquharson take her ; and, by the way, Kiddie " — she 
 turned her laughing eyes on him — " now you've reminded 
 me, you'll have to help. Vi's frightfully stingy; she 
 wants me to pay a premium." 
 
 " I should think from the look of her she'll die on your 
 hands, and save you the money. I never heard about this 
 feat of yours. When did you manage it ? " 
 
 "Ever so long ago. Six weeks, I think. Then I went 
 to see her in the London Hospital." 
 
 " Oh, Dolly, you never told us ! " chorused Joan and 
 Naomi. 
 
 "She did good by stealth," quoted Colonel Fellowes, 
 with the twinkle accentuated. 
 
 "Now don't you belittle my philanthropy." She 
 turned quickly on him. " It's too bad of you. You 
 know you thought it awfully sweet of me to go." 
 
 " Of course I did. And to let her come here to thank 
 you." 
 
 He got up and lit his cigarette, dropping the match 
 neatly among the palms in the grate, then added coolly — 
 
 " And I think it very kind of you to let her wait two 
 hours in the hall, when probably she is just out of hospital, 
 and has had nothing to eat since eight o'clock this morning. 
 It's not three yet. I think you are quite wonderful to 
 remember her when Kiddie reminds you." 
 
 64 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " It's easy enough for you to laugh at me. Fd like to 
 know what you ever do for poor people." 
 
 "Abstain from running over them," he answered, 
 " that's all. Why don't you tell Parkins to take her down 
 to the servants' hall, and give her some dinner ? " 
 
 " I was just going to." 
 
 "You can finish your cigarettes, and then come up 
 to the drawing-room for five minutes," she said to Colonel 
 Fellowes ; " you don't deserve more, and I can't spare it 
 either, for Sir Clement is driving me down to Ranelagh, 
 aren't you, Sir Clement ? " 
 
 He had not heard of it before, but stammered out an 
 eager acquiescence. 
 
 " Kiddie, you really must help me with this girl. You 
 know I'm a pauper, and Vi won't take her without the 
 premium." 
 
 " Well, I'll have another look at her first. I must have 
 something for my money." 
 
 " How perfectly horrid of you." 
 
 Sally was given some dinner in the servants' hall. Fear- 
 fully tired, her scarcely mended leg aching badly, quite as 
 faint with hunger as Colonel Fellowes had surmised, Sally 
 was a sympathetic object to a kindly cook and a curious 
 footman. They talked to her of the accident, and the day 
 in Epping that had preceded it. They warned her not to 
 take "too much store" by anything her ladyship might 
 promise to do, for her ladyship had a habit of forgetting ! 
 But their warnings did not depress Sally, who, by the time 
 she was sent for upstairs, had had a very good dinner and 
 a large glass of wine, and felt full of hope and expec- 
 tation. 
 
 The girl whom Colonel Fellowes met on the stairs had 
 colour in her transparent cheeks, green light sparkling 
 in her strange eyes. The red hair was roughened some- 
 p 65 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 what under her feathered hat, but the disorder only be 
 trayed its luxuriance. The shawl hid her figure, the stick 
 disguised her walk; but, even then, she was remarkable 
 on the Curzon Street background. 
 
 " Is this the young lady, Parkins," he said pleasantly, 
 " that her ladyship ran over ? * 
 
 Arrested in her limping progress, Sally eyed her inter- 
 locutor with the boldness of the East End in its holiday 
 mood. And it was a figure worth looking at, with its 
 soldierly head carried erect, the blue eyes twinkling 
 humorously in the lean brown face. Colonel Eellowes' 
 forty-odd years had greyed his hair and grizzled his 
 bru shed-up moustache, but there were no other signs of age 
 about him. 
 
 "I'll take Miss Sally upstairs. It is Miss Sally, isn't 
 it?" he said to her. He retraced his footsteps, he had 
 been going out. " Your leg still weak, isn't it ? " he said 
 sympathetically. "I broke mine once, on a tiger hunt, 
 and I remember it was months before it felt like the other 
 one." 
 
 " Sort o' numb," she said, " that's what mine's like." 
 
 " Put your hand here, on the banister, that will steady 
 you better than the stick. Give me the stick." 
 
 " You're very kind." 
 
 He looked at her : 
 
 " Everybody is kind to pretty girls," he interjected. 
 
 Then they were at the drawing-room door. 
 
 " Are they ? " she asked wonderingly. 
 
 She did not want him to go. She wanted him to come 
 in with her, she thought it would be beautiful to hear him 
 and Lady Dorothea talking ; she was marvellously excited. 
 But Colonel Eellowes had never committed an error of tact. 
 He had said good-bye to Lady Dorothea some minutes ago, 
 and left her with Lord Kidderminster. Sally's vividity 
 
 66 
 

 THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 had brought him back these few steps, but it could not 
 lead him to such a Mtise as a return to the drawing-room. 
 He said a reassuring word to her, and told her at which 
 door to knock. 
 
 " Perhaps we shall meet again," he said, and was gone. 
 Sally thought him a very kind gentleman, then dismissed 
 him from her thoughts. 
 
 Kiddie, who wasn't exactly mean, although no one ever 
 accused him of flinging away his money, was wrangling 
 with Dorothea over the amount. 
 
 " I don't see why you should practise driving a six- 
 cylinder car in a crowded thoroughfare, and I should pay 
 the piper," he grumbled. " Make Vi take her without a 
 premium, and I'll get Gwen to have some clothes there." 
 
 "Don't be so beastly mean. Sit down and write a 
 cheque at once. I'm ashamed of you. Oh ! here she is ! 
 Come in, Sally. This is Lord Kidderminster, he's going 
 to pay your premium at Madame Violetta's because he's 
 so sorry you broke your leg. Aren't you, Kiddie ? " 
 
 Kiddie looked up sullenly, and met the green, sparkling 
 eyes. And Sally, though nervous, was not abashed ; the 
 wine was bubbling in her veins. 
 
 " I'm that grateful," she began, she smiled her gratitude 
 with trembling lips ; " and to your ladyship." 
 
 " Oh, that will do, you can sit down. I suppose your leg 
 is shaky still ? " 
 
 After Kiddie's eyes had met the green ones, he turned to 
 Dolly and said in a low voice — 
 
 " All right, don't make a fuss about it. What was the 
 good of telling her who I am ? Come here a minute, and 
 I'll give you the stuff." 
 
 Dolly followed him leisurely, and he counted out the notes. 
 
 ■ Why do you want Vi to take her ? " he asked. " It's 
 an amateur show at best." 
 
 *7 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Oh, it's easiest. Thanks, old boy, I'll take it round 
 myself to-morrow morning, and get a hat out of her on the 
 strength of it. Run away now, there's a dear. I must 
 say something to the girl, and Sir Clement has been waiting 
 for me for half an hour." 
 
 "Poor old Cis," he put in. "Is the Clement Dowling 
 game going to last over Goodwood ? Shall I have to ask 
 him down to Royston ? " 
 
 " I rather think so," she answered impudently. " But 
 don't hurry with the invitation. I'll let you know in lots 
 of time." 
 
 Sally was glad to be alone ; she had never been in such 
 a room before, never known there were such rooms. It 
 bewildered her. There were so many things in it, mirrors 
 and bric-a-brac, cushions and draperies, and flowers; it 
 was heavy with the scent of lilies. She had smiled at 
 Lord Kidderminster almost without seeing him; her 
 senses were absorbed by the radiance of Dorothea. And 
 Sally had the dress instinct, she could have described 
 the flowered chine; she did describe it, in fact, later on, 
 to both Mary Murray and Ursula. She had not much 
 time to make notes about it, for Dorothea dismissed her 
 in a couple of minutes. It was all right, she was to go to 
 Madame Violetta as soon as she liked, and Lady Dorothea 
 hoped she'd " have a good time, and do well." 
 
 " And don't frizzle up your fringe like that. You looked 
 much nicer in the hospital. Vi — I mean Madame Violetta 
 — will be horrified if you go to her like that. Go to that 
 nice woman, I don't know her name, but she was sitting 
 with you when I came into the ward, and ask her to dress 
 you up — put you into black or something dark. I don't 
 want Vi — I mean Madame Violetta — to laugh at me for 
 sending her such a figure." 
 
 Lady Dorothea was not afraid of hurting Sally's feelings ; 
 
 68 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 she never thought of anybody's feelings. That was one 
 of her foibles that kept Colonel Cecil Lytham at Glenuttoch, 
 or with his regiment. And Sally's sensitiveness, at the 
 moment, was of a grateful rather than of a resentful kind. 
 
 Ursula Rugeley had already promised to help her. She 
 was to stay with Ursula for a week before she took up 
 her duties in Brook Street. She was to have a week in 
 Chepstow Villas, Bayswater, during which time she would 
 get back her strength and learn many things. She was only 
 eighteen, and the rise in life was a big one. Mary had said 
 she envied her when Sally had told her the news yesterday. 
 Then it was still uncertain, almost too good to be true. 
 Now it was a fact. Her ladyship had said so, Miss Rugeley 
 had confirmed it; the premium had been paid. She was 
 really going into a West Eud business, to learn the milli- 
 nery, to be in the show-room, to see and speak with ladies, 
 be constantly among beautiful clothes, and enter a new 
 world I 
 
 But Mary Murray, although she professed envy, was 
 just now full of happiness. She had found a little private 
 paradise of her own, and the factory of Messrs. Hall & 
 Palmer was all alight with the glow from it. True, she 
 was in the factory, and he was in the counting-house. But 
 Alf was not proud, and he knew that she was really genteel, 
 and not like an ordinary factory girl. They were going to 
 wait, both of them would save ; but meanwhile there were 
 half-holidays and Sundays, and some fine evenings. Life 
 was now all golden to Mary Murray, and she had tempora- 
 rily forgotten the tragedy of her thin hair. She con- 
 fided everything to Sally in return for the Brook Street 
 confidences, and Sally listened, secretly rather scornful. 
 Sally had seen too much of marriage to think well of it ; 
 marriage in Angel Gardens had meant ill-treatment from 
 drunken husbands, much child-bearing, misery accentuated, 
 
 69 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 doubled by the yoking of two beasts for one burden, the 
 burden of conimon poverty. As for love, that had been 
 another name for disgrace and degradation, worse even 
 than marriage, and with the same brutal ending. She 
 was not clear in her ethical code, and was incapable of 
 reason. She knew nothing of what Mary tried to tell her, 
 of mutual sympathy and understanding, of the dawn of 
 tenderness, of the gradual absorption of two timid natures 
 into the beauty and mystery of sweet love. Of the joys of 
 the little home Mary and Alfred were beginning to picture, 
 Sally Snape also knew nothing. A semi-detached villa in 
 Dalston, with white curtains to the windows, and red gera- 
 niums in boxes; perhaps a slip of a garden, Alfred for 
 whom to cook and his clothes to mend, Alfred to call her 
 "little wifey," and come home to her each evening — a 
 home, and she the centre of it. That was Mary's beautiful 
 dream, a dream of which Sally was as yet incapable. 
 
 She listened, indeed, but was conscious that she would 
 a thousand times rather go to learn the millinery in Brook 
 Street than marry anybody. Mary had hinted at the 
 possibilities in Charlie Peastone's visits. She had failed 
 to understand Sally's sudden and unaccountable dislike 
 to him. Of course, Luke Cullen was out of the question. 
 Sally looked so " genteel " — it was Mary's favourite word 
 — in the clean tidiness of the hospital get-up, that Mary 
 understood that Luke, notwithstanding his two pounds a 
 week, was no match for her. 
 
 Johnny Doone, too, urged his suit. 
 
 u Marry me, Sal, when yer get out of the 'orspital, and 
 come back and live with me and Sandy. We 'ad fine 
 times before, and we'll 'ave 'em again. I carn't think 
 why yer 'anging back. You say you like me better nor 
 anybody. I'll bring you back my wages reg'lar. Yer 
 know I don't drink." 
 
 70 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " No, Johnny, you don't drink, but yon loaf a lot," she 
 replied thoughtfully. " And the drink comes. It's all very 
 well when there's work to be had, but when it's slack . . ." 
 
 Sally had been up for the first time when Johnny made 
 his offer, sitting in a comfortable chair in Mary Agnes 
 Ward, still in her red bed-jacket, with her stick by her 
 side, rather pathetic in her weakness. Johnny's brown 
 eyes were very soft when he looked at her. He was only 
 a young dock labourer of nineteen, and his Sunday visiting 
 suit was modelled on a costermonger's, but he knew more 
 than Sally did. 
 
 " But, Sal," he said, " if I got you I wouldn't drink, nor 
 slack." He put a grimy, hard hand on her knee, his voice 
 was not perfectly steady, and he had forgotten there were 
 other people in the ward : 
 
 " Sal, I love you. I've always loved you, Sal. I don't 
 want you to go back and work in the factory. I'll take care 
 of yer, and work for yer. I love yer, Sal. . . ." 
 
 She threw his hand off touchily : 
 
 " I hate such talk," she said. 
 
 And so, having snubbed Charlie Peastone, rejected Luke 
 Cullen, and " choked off " Johnny Doone, she was quite free, 
 and without followers, when she left Curzon Street to stay 
 for a week with Ursula Rugeley. Everything she learnt 
 there was of use to her, but the few hesitating and uncertain 
 words of warning which the old maid tried to get out 
 about "temptations" that came to good-looking girls were 
 wasted. Sally was much more outspoken than Ursula 
 Rugeley ; their traditions were so different. 
 
 "Them things don't tempt me," she said calmly. It 
 was quite the end of the week before she learnt to say 
 "those." "There's no temptation to me in men loafing 
 about after yer, drinkin' and quarrellin'; I've seen too 
 much of it. You must have a chap to go out with on a 
 
 7i 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 'oliday, that stands to reason, but it won't never go no 
 further with me. I really hates them, seen too much of 
 'em. It's other things I want, not young men." 
 
 She was quite certain and cool about it; she said she 
 could " take care of herself," and Ursula, not without admi- 
 ration, began to see there was truth in it. 
 
 It was a strange week the two passed together. The 
 villa in Bayswater was exquisitely kept, and furnished 
 in the best mid- Victorian manner. Ursula had inherited 
 it, just as it was, from the querulous and paralytic old 
 man whose slave she had been for so many years. She 
 had rebelled during her mother's lifetime ; from twenty -one 
 to thirty she had raged against the dull dutif ulness of her 
 home life, the cramped round of daily duties, the routine 
 visits, the ungenial relatives. She had fought for years 
 to be allowed to become a hospital nurse. The retort that 
 she could nurse her father and mother, which was the 
 privilege of an only daughter, left her defenceless. At 
 thirty-eight, when her tardy freedom came, she could do 
 nothing, because she had learnt nothing, except housekeep- 
 ing, and she had acquired the wits that go with it. But 
 she had her comfortable income and house, and she took 
 philanthropy as a pastime, to fill her empty days, not even 
 knowing at first that it was a vocation needing a long ap- 
 prenticeship and rare talent. 
 
 The visit to Angel Gardens, when she first met Sally, 
 had been her initiation. In the five years that followed 
 she had learnt the first letter in the alphabet of her work, 
 she had learnt sympathy. She was mastering the second 
 more rapidly, the subordination of self. 
 
 She had not wanted to have Sally Snape as a guest in 
 her house. Mary and Jane, the housemaid and parlour- 
 maid, having been with her so many years that they were 
 * set " in their ways, might resent the intrusion of the 
 
 72 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 factory girl. And endless tiresome questions arose. Was 
 Sally to have her meals with Ursula or in the kitchen ? 
 What was to be done with her when guests came ? Ought 
 she not to have decent clothes provided before she became 
 a guest in Chepstow Villas ? 
 
 All these perplexities were in Ursula's mind when Sally 
 came in after her visit to Curzon Street, but her pallor and 
 fatigue seemed to solve them. Once Sally had sat down 
 in the drawing-room, and Mary had brought her tea, it 
 seemed absurd to think of her having it elsewhere. And, 
 because she walked so uncertainly, Ursula helped her 
 afterwards to her bedroom, staying to ask if she needed 
 help. Then, before she left the room, she hesitated at the 
 door: 
 
 " I dine at seven-thirty," she said. " It's six now. 
 Wouldn't you like to lie down for an hour and rest ? " 
 
 Sally's gift of silence helped her. She had had her 
 dinner, and thought Miss Ursula meant supper. But she 
 talked in a strange way, and Sally meant to copy it; 
 calling dinner supper, or supper dinner, didn't amount to 
 much. 
 
 She liked her room, she liked it immensely. It had been 
 Ursula's own in the days when Mr. and Mrs. Rugeley were 
 alive and she was enslaved by their affectionate tyranny. 
 The small brass bed had been hers, and the suite of walnut 
 furniture, also the hanging bookshelves filled with the 
 works of Jane Austen, with " Little Women," and " The 
 Mother's Recompense," and similar studies. The Brussels 
 carpet remained shabby as of old, the autotypes that 
 adorned the walls were religious in character. Sally 
 admired it all, even to the strip of painted and mackintoshed 
 cloth that was nailed behind the washhand stand. Already, 
 too, she hated her clothes, and the hat with the bedraggled 
 feathers. 
 
 73 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 CTrsula was quite willing to talk about clothes, and 
 she noted with approval Sally had tried to smooth her 
 rebellious hair, and that her hands and face were clean. 
 Of course, table-napkins, finger-bowls, the differences 
 between fish and other knives, presented difficulties. The 
 fried whiting was separated from its bones and eaten with 
 a dessert spoon. It was embarrassing for Ursula, and 
 quite shocking to Jane, when Sally took the bone of the 
 pigeon in her fingers, leaving marks of its degustation 
 round her mouth. Sopping her bread in the gravy, and 
 cleaning her plate with it, were minor matters after that. 
 But she was quick to see that her table manners differed 
 from those of her hostess. She was watching all the time, 
 and she knew she -would get things right presently. The 
 finger-bowls were an intense surprise to her. At first she 
 expected to see goldfish in them. It was funny the way 
 gentlefolk dined. She thought it a very bad dinner, by 
 the way. Hot tripe and half a loaf of bread, three penny- 
 worth of liver and potatoes, washed down with beer, would 
 have satisfied her appetite better. But Ursula was a teeto- 
 taller, and, like many women who live alone, she had 
 arrived at a minimum of food. The three courses were a 
 sacrifice to cook and conventionality; a fried whiting, a 
 pigeon, and a custard pudding seemed to her a large meal 
 for two people. The coffee came in the smallest cups Sally 
 had ever seen. There was no milk served with it, and 
 Sally, although she drank because she saw Ursula doing so, 
 thought she had never tasted anything so nasty. 
 
 " I have bought twelve yards of black merino, and 
 engaged a dressmaker to come and help you make it. I 
 inquired of Mr. Perry, and he said you must be in black, 
 but the smarter the better if you were to go to the show- 
 room ; he'd make up his mind when he saw you It will be 
 that or the work-room." 
 
 74 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " I don't care which." 
 
 " But I think Lady Dorothea will care." Ursula Ruge« 
 ley, too, had been impressed by the impulsive manner. 
 "It seemed to me that that was her intention, and, since 
 she has been so kind, you must try not to disappoint her." 
 
 " I ain't going to disappoint her." 
 
 That first night Ursula abstained from commenting on 
 the grammar: 
 
 " Then there is the question of hair, and . . . and hat. 
 I did not quite like the one you had to-day," she said 
 delicately. 
 
 It represented a week's wages and an infinity of dis- 
 cussion between her and Mary Murray, also many visits U> 
 many shops in the Borough and other popular quarters; 
 but already Sally herself did not like it. 
 
 "They give me half wages all the time I've been in 
 'ospital. I can get all I want." 
 
 " The merino is my present to you ; you must not spend 
 all your savings. Nothing was said by Mr. Perry about 
 wages ; the girls live in." 
 
 " I've always earned all I wanted." 
 
 ■ Well, the great point is, how ought the dress to be 
 made ? " 
 
 " Couldn't I go and look in the winders to-morrow, and 
 see the fashions ? " 
 
 "It isn't exactly the fashions we want. We want to 
 know what is expected for your position." 
 
 " Gals in show-rooms ? " 
 
 " They always call them ' young ladies,' " said Ursula 
 perplexedly. 
 
 Sally showed all her teeth at that, smiling as if she liked 
 the sound of the two words. 
 
 " I'll be all right," she said confidently. 
 
 Afterwards they sat in the drawing-room, and continued 
 
 75 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 to talk about Sally's outfit. The drawing-room furniture 
 was rosewood, and it was upholstered in tapestry. Sally 
 quickly saw the difference between this clean, simple room 
 and the luxuriant fulness of the Curzon Street sanctum, 
 with its pictures and jade, ivories and silver, flowers, 
 sofa cushions, and palms. The mischief of it was that she 
 so greatly preferred the Chepstow Villa style. All the 
 woodwork shone, and one could see everything at once in 
 the clearness of the incandescent lights. There were 
 water-colours on the walls, amateur efforts for the most 
 part, a picture of Mrs. Rugeley, and one of Mr. Rugeley, 
 with whiskers, in the place of honour, and also some one's 
 faded grandmother, with side curls and a simper. Some 
 daguerreotypes, and a seascape in a gilt frame, that had 
 been won at a raffle, completed the wall decoration. Sally 
 liked the china vases with dyed grasses standing on the 
 round table, where the bound books lay so regularly. 
 The lustre-pieces on the mantel-shelf were beautiful to her, 
 and so was the ormolu clock. There was not a speck of 
 dust anywhere, and for the first time in her life she sat 
 where, from the wide-open windows, came no sound of 
 brawling, no smell of dirt or poverty. Everything was 
 peaceful in the quiet street. 
 
 It was decided, before they went to bed, that Ursula 
 should adapt, or buy her, a quiet hat, and a black coat: 
 with these and her present skirt, she could venture, 
 on some pretext or another, into a West End shop and 
 take a mental picture of what the saleswomen were wear- 
 ing. Then they would fashion a dress at home, and per- 
 haps a blouse for the interview with Mr. Perry that was to 
 decide which post would be given to Sally. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE Sally Snape who presented herself to Mr. Perry at 
 nine, punctually, on the eventful Monday morning 
 that witnessed her first professional appearance in the 
 West End of London, was not only decorously, but be- 
 comingly dressed. And she made an immediate impression. 
 
 It was wonderful what the week had done for her, not- 
 withstanding the limited mgnus. They had been supple- 
 mented with morning and evening milk, and like milk 
 was the creamy pallor of her skin. Her green eyes, with 
 the dark lashes, shone brilliantly. She had no colour, her 
 nervousness banished it, only the lips had a touch of pink ; 
 breath came quickly through the short tip-tilted nose. She 
 had discarded her stick, she held her head erect, notwith- 
 standing its burden of red plaits. Even a tyro could see 
 the possibilities of the young svelte figure in the neat black 
 dress. 
 
 Mr. Perry was seated at his formidable office table. He 
 did not attempt to rise, but motioned Sally to stand oppo- 
 site to him. 
 
 John Perry was a man with a personality ; whether one 
 liked the personality or not depended on the individual 
 taste. All Mr. Perry's business life had been concerned 
 with women, and the wonder of their clothes. His appear- 
 ance was striking ; his figure big, but failing to give the 
 impression of strength, an excess of flesh apparently cover- 
 ing little bone or muscle. He never stood straight up- 
 right, with legs together, but always slackly, often sitting 
 
 77 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 down or leaning against something, a weakness of attitude 
 incongruous with an apparent strength of build. His 
 face was handsome, reminiscent, with its dark hair, of 
 the Napoleon tradition, but a Napoleon over-fed and over- 
 indulged, with small aims. The smooth, heavily falling 
 flesh was set in few but well-defined creases ; the jaw was 
 massive, but formed by indolence and not achievement; 
 the mouth closely shaven; his dark eyes were bright, 
 alert, full of intelligence, almost of genius. 
 
 Mr. Perry was always well groomed, and it was obvious 
 that he bestowed time and thought on his clothes. They 
 were well cut and dark : an ample, double-breasted jacket 
 was worn over a rather showy striped black and white 
 flannel waistcoat. His thick bull neck necessitated a 
 turn-down collar ; his black necktie was loosely tied, and 
 carried a handsome pearl pin. His clothes were neither 
 conventional nor eccentric, they were merely expressive. 
 
 His manner, at the best, was impatient; at its worst, 
 brutal. Sally Snape found him imposing; he arrested 
 her attention, filling her horizon immediately, and block- 
 ing all other light. 
 
 "Stand over there; don't you understand what I say 
 to you ? " was his first impatient order to her. " I want 
 to look at you. So, you are the young lady that Lady 
 Dorothea Lytham recommended. What can you do? 
 that's what I want to know. What can you do ? Take 
 your hat off, please. Be quick about it, it won't do to 
 drowse about here. Now, Miss Baines, please, Miss Baines." 
 He raised his voice. "This is Miss Snape. Where do 
 we want help ? " 
 
 Miss Baines, who came quickly at his call, from some 
 inner sanctum shrouded with mysterious dress closets and 
 drawers, and littered with big wooden boxes, was Mr. 
 Perry's right hand. She had golden hair, elaborately 
 
 78 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 dressed, and she rustled in elegant silk garments. But she 
 was a business-woman nevertheless. 
 
 She came through the curtains and eyed Sally with just 
 the same frankly professional air as John Perry, but more 
 kiudly, less impersonally. 
 
 "We want help everywhere," she said. "I'm sure I 
 don't know where to turn first, we're driven to death." 
 
 But this was quite a perfunctory speech. Miss Baines 
 was always overworked, and driven to death. And, al- 
 though she was never to be found far from a glass, and the 
 arrangement of her hair was an almost hourly ceremony 
 with her, she was yet one of the most capable forewomen 
 in London, and a tower of strength to any firm. 
 
 Sally, with arms upraised to remove her hat, showed a 
 grace of figure and gesture that led Miss Baines' eyes to 
 Mr. Perry's. They understood each other perfectly, these 
 two; they had worked side by side for seven years at 
 Madame Pamela's. Their mutual glance said, "Show- 
 room." 
 
 Sally had parted her hair in the middle,. as Lady Doro- 
 thea had advised, and, under Miss Rugeley's guidance, 
 had made one huge plait of it to wind round her head, a 
 new fashion then, but one that speedily came into vogue. 
 
 " Is that all your own hair, child ? " said Mr. Perry, with 
 the same abruptness, but in a kinder tone than he had 
 used before. He did not like the protegees of great ladies, 
 and had been prepared to dismiss Sally to the obscurity of 
 the work-room. Sally's sudden smile at his question was 
 good to see. 
 
 " I haven't had no money to buy false." 
 
 " No money ! haven't had no money ! Oh, Lord ! " 
 He turned to Miss Baines, and again they mutely questioned 
 each other. 
 
 " Why don't you say l any money ' ? " 
 
 79 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sally reddened at that; the slight flush on the milky 
 skin warmed her whole face. 
 
 "I forgot," she said meekly. She had learnt so much 
 in the past week that it had got congested. " My hair is 
 all my own. Shall I take it down ? " 
 
 "No, no. Here, you . . . one of you boys . . ." 
 Again he raised his voice, and more than one errand boy 
 in the elaborate uniform of the establishment ran in. "Go 
 up to Miss Thompson's and tell her to come down here 
 with the box of millinery that came from Paris this morn- 
 ing. Tell her to hurry." Then he turned to Miss Baines : 
 " We'll try her with the Ribout models ; those plaits must 
 come down an inch to fit the bandeau." 
 
 Miss Baines asked Sally a few questions whilst they 
 waited. 
 
 " Sally Snape ! Oh, we don't know * Sally ' here. Miss 
 Sarah Snape, I suppose you mean. And what have you 
 been doing up to now ? Can you sew ? " 
 
 " I was in the tailoring." 
 
 " In the tailoring," she mimicked good-humouredly 
 for Mr. Perry's entertainment. "And where may that 
 have been ? At Poole's ? " Mr. Perry laughed. Both 
 were in good humour, they knew they had a find. They 
 were of a rare type, whole-hearted in their business. To 
 them was due the fact, soon to become generally acknow- 
 ledged, that the establishment in Brook Street was the 
 only one run by a lady which was a real success. Sally's 
 catechism was of no moment; her head and figure were just 
 what they needed, they only talked to her to pass the time. 
 
 " Kirstenblum was the name," Sally answered simply. 
 
 "Did you do any trying-on there ? " 
 
 "The trousers ? " she asked in bewilderment. " Why 
 no, marm, I . . ." 
 
 Of course they both laughed. 
 
 80 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Since then Fve been at Messrs. Hall & Palmers. I 
 was in the jam there, but I made my own pinafores." 
 
 It was characteristic of Miss Baines and Mr. Perry that 
 they talked before her as if she had not been there. After 
 a few more questions and answers, Miss Thompson and the 
 millinery not having yet appeared, Mr. Perry said : 
 
 "She'll want a lot of training. Meanwhile, if we use 
 her at all this season, she'll just have to be taught to hold 
 her tongue. Now, what are you going to do with her, in 
 or out ? " 
 
 For whilst some of the young ladies at Madame Vio- 
 letta's were accommodated on the premises, the bulk 
 of them had to make their own arrangements. Miss 
 Baines thought, and Mr. Perry thought, then simultane- 
 ously they exclaimed — 
 
 « Miss Carthew." 
 
 " Have you made any arrangements for living ? " Miss 
 Baines asked. 
 
 " Miss Rugeley said I was to live in." 
 
 " That is the lady who came to us about her from Lady 
 Dorothea," Mr. Perry explained. " I suppose it's all the 
 same to you whether we pay your room outside or here ? " 
 
 " It's all the same." 
 
 Then there followed a strange hour. For Miss Thompson 
 arrived with the millinery, and she and Miss Baines, under 
 the animated guidance of Mr. Perry, dressed Sally up, 
 now in this, now in the other, beautiful garments. Her 
 hair was pulled forward by one, loosened over her forehead 
 by the other, spread out behind her ears ; then a hat was 
 perched upon it, a feathered stole being placed around her 
 neck. She was ordered to walk this way and that. The 
 peremptory order always came from Mr. Perry, who stood 
 a little distance off. 
 
 " That will do, Miss Thompson," or " That will do, Miss 
 g 81 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Baines; take them away, please. Now try on . . . so and so, 
 or so and so." 
 
 He ran through a dozen models with her, sometimes 
 leaving the adjustment to the women, sometimes coming 
 over himself, tying a bow, adjusting a feather, on one 
 occasion taking out a couple of hairpins and shaking her 
 hair loose, then pinning it up again to suit a French mon- 
 strosity of flowers and tulle. 
 
 It was amazing to see him at work ; his instinct, and 
 the perfection of his knowledge were so intimate, so exact. 
 His well-made hands moved, one had said, intellectually, 
 among the chiffons, making unerring effects. He never 
 made an alteration that was not an improvement. His 
 taste was extraordinary, his certainty remarkable. 
 
 Sally looked well in everything. The women silently 
 acknowledged it, and Mr. Perry showed his satisfaction 
 by calling Sally "child," and ordering her to move this 
 way or that, quite kindly. He habitually bullied the girls, 
 but few of them resented it. It was so obviously imper- 
 sonal; they were not girls to him, only lay figures. His 
 clever fingers manipulated the clothes they bore, and, 
 when he was disappointed in the effects, it was natural 
 he should be irritated at the cause, their awkwardness, 
 or un suitability, their carriage or carelessness. They saw 
 him almost the same to the ladies who came to be fitted. 
 He would rush upstairs to the fitting-room, enter without 
 ceremony, no matter in what stage or condition of toilette 
 the ladies might be, and, after a moment's contemplation, 
 he would take scissors or pins from the quiescent tailor 
 or fitter, and rip out a sleeve, tear off a trimming, or re- 
 construct a bodice, totally disregarding the feelings of his 
 client. He knew. That was the secret of it. He had an 
 instinct, a feeling for woman's dress, that never erred. 
 The man himself was quite unique. 
 
 82 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 This was almost the beginning of his career. Here, for 
 the first time, his genius was recognized and his authority 
 upheld. At Pamela's he was the nominal head, but with- 
 out a free hand. Here he was the nominal subordinate, 
 but the very real head. And already the result was de- 
 claring itself. 
 
 Sally resented nothing Mr. Perry did or said, and, with 
 her quick perception, rapidly began to understand what 
 was required of her. At eleven the first customer came, 
 and, after the usual silent consultation, Sally was told to 
 follow Miss Baines into the show-room, to hold her 
 tongue, and keep her head up. At that moment her 
 black dress was surmounted by an exquisite confec- 
 tion of Tuscan straw and roses, and round her neck 
 was a ruffle of real lace caught together with the same 
 flowers. She carried the daintiest of muffs, and stood 
 quite silently whilst Miss Baines exhibited her to Miss 
 Mosenstein, who had arrived, accompanied by her mother 
 and two sisters, to select some garments for her trousseau. 
 Miss Baines' methods were those of a mother with a new 
 baby: 
 
 "Aren't they lovely?" she said to Mrs. Mosenstein. 
 " Mr. Perry brought them back with him from Paris only 
 last night; he wouldn't leave them to be sent on. You 
 ought to have them, Miss Mosenstein. They would go 
 with that white voile of yours at Goodwood. Lady Wen- 
 lake wore a set rather like them at the Grand Prix, and the 
 Grand Duke asked her where she got them. Doucet had 
 an order for the set in sable and ermine, with white steph- 
 anotis; Mr. Perry saw them, he said they were exqui- 
 site. Would you like to try them on ? Do stand still, 
 child." Sally had not stirred, but Miss Baines gave the 
 ruffle a little pat, and the muff a little caress. 
 
 " Aren't they lovely ? " she said again, contemplating 
 
 83 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 them with her head a little on one side, as if lost in admira- 
 tion. 
 
 What Mr. Perry had really said, and said in Sally's 
 hearing, was: 
 
 "That lot won't do. Edgware Koad. Put them back 
 for the sale. No, stay, there are the Mosensteins. They 
 shall have them. They will suit Miss Amy best, the tall 
 one ; they won't look vulgar on her." 
 
 They did not bite very readily, and Mr. Perry was called. 
 
 "Very smart, aren't they?" he asked of Mrs. Mosen- 
 stein. Then he took the ruff off Sally, and personally 
 flung it round Miss Lilla's neck. Next he gave her the 
 muff, and contemplated the effect, first close, then from 
 a little distance, then further off. He came forward dis- 
 tressed, and shook his head. 
 
 "No, they don't suit her, they won't do. There is too 
 much of it for her." Already all the Mosensteins were 
 in a flutter of excitement ; it was not often Mr. Perry 
 attended to them personally. The personal attention of 
 Mr. Perry was rapidly becoming the goal of ambition of 
 every woman who " dressed " in their particular social set. 
 
 Mr. Perry talked to Mrs. Mosenstein for fully five minutes 
 on indifferent subjects, the weather, the London season, 
 motor cars generally and her new Renault in particular. 
 Then he told Miss Lilla abruptly that she was to wear an 
 Irish crochet wedding-dress, over dead white merve, the 
 lace was to be very fine and specially made for her. She 
 was to have a biscuit-coloured cloth going-away dress, 
 hand-embroidered with orange blossoms. 
 
 " I have been thinking things over whilst I was talking 
 to your mother." He considered her as if she was at last 
 his chief objective. "Miss Jones, Miss Plummer," he 
 raised his voice. "Come along, you girls, please, put 
 on . . ." so and so . . . and so and so ... a list of 
 
 84 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 clothes that were to be exhibited to the bride-elect. He 
 stayed whilst the girls paraded in white lace over silk, 
 and in embroidered cloth. He went into intimate detail 
 about Miss Lilla's figure, and explained how he would 
 alter this model, and adapt that mode. He was sitting 
 confidentially beside Mrs. Mosenstein on the lounge during 
 the greater part of this parade. 
 
 "That will do, that will do," he said at length, rising 
 stiffly. "I will see all the clothes fitted. Now then." 
 It seemed he was suddenly aware that Sally was still 
 standing by him, the muff and ruff having been restored 
 to her. " Take that off, no, wait a minute. There, that 
 will do." He had seized her ruff and the muff again. He 
 made Miss Amy, the youngest and prettiest of the Mosen- 
 steins, stand up as if she had been a model. " Take your 
 hat off, please." He even spoke to her just the same way. 
 She was a handsome Jewess with black eyes and hair, and 
 a bright colour ; the fanciful garments undeniably suited 
 her. 
 
 "Pull your hair out a little, you wear it too tight," he 
 said impatiently. "Now take the muff. That's right." 
 He made her parade in front of the glass. She looked 
 undeniably handsome ; on her light muslin dress the things 
 made more effect than over Sally's black, or her sister's 
 brown. 
 
 With an air as if he were conferring a great favour he 
 tinned to Mrs. Mosenstein. He had seen her expression; 
 he had even gathered that Amy was the favourite daughter, 
 he saw the light of admiring love on the fat face of the 
 mother. 
 
 "That will be a triumph," he said; "you shall have 
 these for the bridesmaid dresses, simple cream frocks, in 
 voile or taffeta; hats, ruffles, and muffs to match." He 
 was extraordinarily triumphant, posing Miss Amy whilst 
 
 85 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 he talked, altering the poise of the hat, patting the muff 
 into position. 
 
 " I call that a good morning's work, settling the wedding- 
 dress, the going-away dress, and the bridesmaids'. Oh, 
 excuse me, that is the Countess of Laffan just coming in. 
 I must speak to her. Miss Baines. . . ." 
 
 Miss Baines hurried to take his place. She congratulated 
 Mrs. Mosenstein on all that had been done. When they 
 settled down in earnest to discuss prices, and the sums 
 took away their breath, she was very ready to suggest 
 economies. 
 
 "Why not have imitation instead of real Irish?" and 
 then the difference in price was threshed out. " Or violets 
 instead of roses ? Those roses are specially made for us ; 
 you'd be surprised if you knew what they cost us. Why, 
 we pay a guinea for every rose that comes into the place. 
 Mr. Perry won't have any but the best. Why not have 
 violets ? " 
 
 By the time Mrs. Mosenstein was wavering between 
 roses at a guinea and violets at seven-and-six, Mr. Perry 
 had finished with the Countess. 
 
 "Mrs. Mosenstein thinks she would rather have the 
 wedding-dress of a cheaper lace." Miss Baines spoke 
 apologetically, she hardly liked to trouble him in the matter. 
 Mr. Perry never discussed prices, it was not his depart- 
 ment. He always said he knew nothing about money; 
 he knew about clothes, and how they ought to look. It 
 was Miss Baines who attended to these sordid details. 
 
 He would not listen to the suggestion of cheaper lace 
 for the wedding-dress, or violets instead of roses. He 
 pooh-poohed the idea. 
 
 " Either have the whole thing, as I have said, or don't 
 have it at all," he said impatiently. " Believe me, it will 
 be a failure if it's not carried out exactly. Why do you 
 
 86 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 go behind what I say ? " he asked Miss Baines queru 
 lously. "You know it would look poor and trumpery." 
 
 " Oh, yes, / know/' she said, raising her eyebrows. 
 
 Mrs. Mosenstein felt the implied rebuke. All her bar- 
 gaining instincts and habitudes were lost before this arbi- 
 trary dictator. 
 
 Sally got her first lesson in business that morning. She 
 was sent out of the show-room presently with orders to see 
 that the things were put away carefully; they were not 
 to be taken out again. 
 
 Miss Thompson had promised to show them to the 
 Duchess, but the Duchess must be disappointed, they had 
 been selected for the Mosenstein wedding, and no one else 
 could have them. 
 
 "But you won't object to having them sketched for 
 1 The Chatelaine,' will you ? " Miss Baines begged, and, of 
 course, the Mosensteins were delighted that their brides- 
 maids' dresses should have this publicity. 
 
 About four times during the day Sally was sent forth 
 wearing these same exclusively reserved garments. She 
 noted that when Miss Baines exhibited them they were 
 admired but unsold. On the solitary occasion when Mr. 
 Perry had leisure to attend to Miss Baines' customer, his 
 authoritative dictum of " complete suitability " was always 
 accepted. Once gardenias were insisted upon as being 
 more recherche', a new word for Sally, than roses, and 
 their price became the extra guinea; the roses, having 
 now sunk to seven-and-six, were treated contemptuously by 
 Mr. Perry. Roses were not " chic," everybody had roses. 
 
 " Oh, no, milady, really you must not have roses. Why, 
 in Paris nobody wears roses this season, gardenias are all 
 the rage. I was at the Grand Prix last Sunday, and . . ." 
 
 The story went as before, with its trifling variation, and 
 again the sale was effected. 
 
 87 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sally's first day gave her completely new impres- 
 sions. She was full of them when she walked home 
 somewhere about eight o'clock that evening with Elfrida 
 Carthew, the companion selected for her by the united 
 wisdom of Miss Baines and Mr. Perry. 
 
 Elfrida Carthew was a very pretty girl; she, too, had 
 been at Pamela's before coming to Brook Street. An 
 interval of two years had elapsed between her leaving 
 Pamela's and applying for work at Violetta's. But both 
 John Perry and Miss Baines guessed where she had been. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Perry, you know yourself I can sell hats," 
 she had pleaded when she was asking to be taken on. "I 
 made a fool of myself when I left you before, but it won't 
 happen again." 
 
 "You must see that it don't; we don't want any but 
 respectable girls here." 
 
 " Oh ! as for that . . ." 
 
 "No, I don't want any explanations; you were always 
 inclined to be impudent. If we take you on you'll have 
 to behave very differently." 
 
 Elfrida was very young, barely twenty-one, and she was 
 very hard up. Miss Baines was sympathetic and curious, Mr. 
 Perry was off-hand and domineering ; but both of them were 
 willing to take her. For, as she said, she was a good sales- 
 woman, and if it were true that she had been idle and im- 
 pudent in the Regent Street days, she was humbled for the 
 moment, and ready to put up with both of them. 
 
 And they had taken a practical view of the matter. 
 
 " He has thrown her over, I suppose ? " asked Mr. 
 Perry, who never indulged in gossip, but always listened 
 to any with which Miss Baines favoured him. 
 
 "Yes; he has had to rejoin his regiment. I don't 
 think he made any provision for her. She has been ill 
 since he left ; I heard she had to go under an operation." 
 
 88 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Well, the experience has done her good; she holds 
 herself more upright, puts her clothes on better. She has 
 been about and seen things. I suppose she will behave 
 herself, and not get talking to the other girls ? " 
 
 " I think she is in rather low water. But she is not the 
 sort of girl we can be very sure of. She'll find some one 
 else." 
 
 " We can't stop to think of that. She might do very 
 well for herself one day ; she's got the figure. But don't 
 let any one hang about her here ; we can't allow that, you 
 know." 
 
 It was only last week that Elfrida's engagement had 
 commenced. They had not been able to find room for her 
 to live in Brook Street. It was not part of their business 
 to safeguard her from temptation. There was no doubt 
 her adventure had improved her manners. She was more 
 lady-like, less impudent, a better saleswoman all round, 
 and more in tune with the refinements of their business. 
 She had been rough, unformed, somewhat common : 
 
 " Miss Snape wants polish," Mr. Perry had said. He 
 had laughed when Miss Baines said she would get some 
 knowledge of the world from Elfrida Carthew. He had 
 a deep-rooted contempt for women and girls and their 
 little vices and vanities. But he recognized that Miss 
 Sarah Snape was more unworldly than the majority, that 
 she probably had even more to learn. He thought it a 
 good idea that Miss Carthew should be entrusted with the 
 first toning down of that crude material. 
 
 Elfrida was more than willing. She hated being alone ; 
 she was acutely alone just now. She and Sally quickly 
 fraternized. Now they were walking home together. 
 
 " This is your first venture in business ? " she asked 
 Sally curiously. " Do you think you are going to like it ? 
 Mr. Perry has taken a fancy to you, I don't envy you 
 
 89 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 that ; you'll be called out ten times to everybody else's 
 once, you'll be bullied before customers, and told how to 
 do your hair, and lace your stays, and hold your shoulders. 
 Oh ! he's a fair caution, he is. He hates me ; he just lets 
 me do my work, and never interferes. Of course, it means 
 our department won't pay as well as the downstairs hat 
 department. But, thank heavens, he can't be every- 
 where." 
 
 " Don't you like him ? " asked Sally wonderingly. 
 
 " Like him ! " Elf rida made an expressive grimace. 
 "I should think I don't. Who could? He treats you 
 as if you were made of wax or wood, he don't know the 
 difference between a girl and a wire figure j he's an over- 
 bearing, bullying . . ." 
 
 Words failed her. She had tried to get up a flirtation 
 with Mr. Perry in the old days, and, when she looked well 
 in hats, or sold hats well, Mr. Perry had called her " child," 
 and been kind to her. But when she had been low- 
 spirited, and the new models had failed to suit her, when 
 a customer had tried her beyond her limited patience, 
 and she had been curt and unsuccessful, he had never 
 given her a word of sympathy. 
 
 " He isn't a man at all," she told Sally ; " he's a machine. 
 How many times have you had that lace and rose set 
 on to-day ? " 
 
 " Five or six." 
 
 " And you'll have it on eight or ten to-morrow." 
 
 " I like showing off the things," Sally said earnestly. 
 That was the voicing of her first definite impression. She 
 liked seeing herself, feeling herself, in the fine things. 
 
 " Do you ? " asked the other satirically. " And per- 
 haps you like Mr. Perry ? " 
 
 Sally thought for a moment, and then answered truth- 
 fully— 
 
 QO 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Yes, I like him," she said. The rest of the way to her 
 new home Sally's companion found nothing to say. 
 
 As the days of her apprenticeship went on, these views 
 deepened and became confirmed. She liked trying on the 
 beautiful clothes, looking at herself in the glass, becoming 
 daily more conscious how well fine raiment became her. 
 She liked altering her hair to please Mr. Perry, and to 
 suit his Paris purchases. She liked the vaguely-growing 
 consciousness of her good looks. It was undeniably true 
 that Mr. Perry had taken a fancy to her. He had her 
 constantly with him, she was for ever being sent for, being 
 rapidly buttoned or hooked into this or the other confec- 
 tion, being turned round and exhibited in embroidered 
 muslins and ermine stoles, in lace paletots and picture 
 hats, in opera cloaks and motor coats, in feather boas and 
 evening toques. 
 
 And Mr. Perry spoke of her to Miss Baines. There was 
 no secret about it, every one heard him. He said — 
 
 "That girl looks well in everything; they all suit her, 
 and they all fit her. Come here, Miss Snape, please." It 
 was always "Come here, Miss Snape, please," and some 
 new way of dressing her up was devised. 
 
 Of course, it was impossible to be an artist in clothes, 
 like Mr. Perry, and not realize that Miss Sarah Snape had 
 the most exquisitely slender figure, rounded girlish breasts 
 and slender waist, just the right length from supple hip 
 to knee. It was never the women who saw any beauty 
 in her, but few men could miss seeing it. She was per- 
 fectly formed: the small, rather flat little head, with its 
 wide brow and ignorant eyes, was set upon the prettiest 
 of white throats. 
 
 Before Sally came to Ifrook Street it had been the custom 
 to exhibit evening frocks over a light pink or cream-coloured 
 jersey. The young ladies wore these as they walked round 
 
 9i 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 to show the d4collet4 garments. But after Sally's coming, 
 and in consultation with Miss Baines, Mr. Perry decided 
 that Miss Snape could show the evening frocks as they 
 should be worn, with the neck and arms bare. And they 
 sold a phenomenal number of evening frocks during the 
 first month of Miss Snape's coming. 
 
 At first Sally had hated the ordeal, growing red and hot 
 and uncomfortable under the observation of the customers, 
 or of Mr. Perry. She had hated and resented it, when, in 
 adjusting a tucker, tying a ribbon, placing or replacing 
 a flower, his spatulate warm fingers had touched her 
 skin, or his close vicinity to her had tried her composure. 
 But extraordinarily soon all these feelings had worn off. 
 It was impossible for Sarah Snape not to realize that, 
 wherever Mr. Perry's clever fingers might wander, Mr. 
 Perry himself never wandered from the subject in hand. 
 And that subject was always dress, the completion of it, 
 the fitness of it, the perfection of it. Whatever strange 
 home or personal life Mr. Perry might lead outside business 
 hours, inside them, in Brook Street, his genius was one- 
 sided. That Miss Snape looked better than any one else 
 in his purchases or creations was, all this time H her sole 
 raison d'&tre in his eyes. He did once ask her how she 
 was getting on with Miss Carthew, but it is doubtful 
 whether he waited for the answer. He was getting on, 
 the business was getting on, better than it had seemed 
 possible. Already all fashionable London knew Mr. 
 Perry, and even those who resented him had to admit his 
 authority. There had never been a man milliner in Lon- 
 don to take the place that the first Worth had held in 
 Paris in the sixties. Mr. Perry was fast rising to that 
 place. 
 
 Vi Farquharson, realizing the position quickly, offered 
 him a partnership about this time. He had brought neither 
 
 92 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 capital nor connection to the business, yet it was the 
 wisest step she ever took. 
 
 He had no time to recognize a human being in his 
 mannikins, even if now, or ever, the girls had interested 
 him. Once or twice he had corrected or mimicked Miss 
 Snape's English, and the error made under those circum- 
 stances was never repeated. And once, as has been said, 
 he asked if she was happy with Elfrida ; that was all the 
 intercourse between them. 
 
 Yet his influence was paramount with her, his and the 
 clothes. 
 
 Externally Miss Snape was developing daily. She was 
 becoming a devotee to her body. She found herself look- 
 ing in her glass as often as Miss Baines. She kept her 
 hands and nails scrupulously clean, and devoted one hour 
 in the evening, however tired she was, to brushing her hair. 
 She was beginning to speak quite correctly, and she bitterly 
 resented the poverty that prevented her dressing, out of 
 business hours, in anything but the poor black frock, which, 
 like the rest of her toilette, had been Ursula Rugeley's 
 present. 
 
 Spiritually she was not growing at all. All the week 
 the shop held her entranced, on Sundays its influence still 
 held. 
 
 She asked Elfrida in early days — 
 
 • Is Mr. Perry married ? " 
 
 "Married? Oh Lord, no! Fancy a stick like him 
 marrying ! " 
 
 "Oh ! I suppose him and Miss Baines ..." 
 
 "Don't you believe that. I suppose some of the girls 
 have been talking. I thought, at first, that there was some- 
 thing between them. Miss Baines is married. I don't 
 know what her name is — Jones, I think. Her husband 
 used to call for her every night of her life when we were all 
 
 93 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 at Pamela's. He is manager to those dry-cleaning people •, 
 she puts a lot of work in his way. They've got two chil- 
 dren, and are ever so devoted. I've met them at the 
 theatre together . . . when I was going to theatres." She 
 sighed. 
 
 Sarah had heard all Elfrida's short history by now. She 
 had had " a friend." He wasn't very rich, but he was very 
 liberal. It wasn't his fault that he was a married man, 
 he'd married before ever he met her ; he couldn't help that, 
 could he ? He'd had to go back to Egypt with his regiment, 
 or she wouldn't be here now. 
 
 Miss Snape heard of the delights of their days together, 
 of dinners and suppers at the Savoy, of trips to Brighton 
 and Margate, of a dear little flat near Victoria. But long 
 before the holidays, Sarah found herself practically sole 
 possessor of the room they had been sharing together. 
 Elfrida was always too busy to walk home with her of an 
 evening; she was very smart in her clothes and seemed 
 restlessly happy and excited. 
 
 "Don't you let on in Brook Street that I'm not living 
 here altogether," she told Sarah. " It's all the same to you, 
 and you can have a friend in if you like. I may come back, 
 who knows ? But I like my freedom." 
 
 Her manner was tentative; she seemed to expect to be 
 asked for explanation, but Sarah had not enough interest 
 to be curious. 
 
 Sarah used her freedom to see her old friends. Elfrida 
 was not as congenial to her as Mary Murray, although per- 
 haps she learnt more from her. Sarah scarcely knew what 
 there was about Elfrida that repelled her. None of her 
 instincts were based on reason, they were a child's in- 
 stincts. 
 
 This was the time Sarah began to question and cross- 
 question Mary Murray as to her relations with Alf ; how 
 
 94 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 it began, how she knew he liked her, how she first knew 
 she cared for him ; also about the life they were planning, 
 and its details. She grew almost as familiar with those 
 ideal rooms in Dalston as Mary and Alf were themselves. 
 
 After one of those conversations she used to wonder 
 what Mr. Perry's home was like, where he lived, and who 
 looked after him. On Sunday afternoons, those hot days 
 when Elfrida gave her all the liberty of their mutual home, 
 she would repair to Chepstow Villas. She worked hard 
 at her education. She was eager now to acquire French, 
 having mastered reading and writing up to a certain 
 standard, and definitely rejected arithmetic. She told Miss 
 Rugeley she thought the language would be useful to her 
 in business, there were one or two French girls now in the 
 show-room. She did not tell Miss Rugeley, possibly she 
 did not know herself, that she wanted to understand what 
 Mr. Perry said to them. 
 
 " Do you know you've got ten days' holiday ? " Miss 
 Baines asked her presently. Miss Baines could not help 
 feeling a certain human interest in the people around her. 
 And Sarah Snape interested her. She did not seem to 
 understand much more than when she first came, although 
 she did all that was required of her. Of course she im- 
 agined herself in love with Mr. Perry, that was a phase all 
 the young ladies went through. But what she did with 
 her leisure hours jaow, and what she would do with them 
 in the future, interested Miss Baines, also what Elfrida was 
 teaching her. 
 
 " She'd be better if she woke up a bit," Miss Baines told 
 Mr. Perry. " She is not a bit like the other girls." 
 
 " Oh, she'll come all right. Wait until some one takes 
 a little notice of her." 
 
 " She'd like you to," said Miss Baines, curiously. 
 
 Mr. Perry never did take any notice of the girls, she 
 
 95 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Aad never detected him in the least simulacrum of a flir- 
 tation. Their own relations were, and always had been, 
 purely business, and her own boundless admiration and 
 fealty were based on the fact that she was intelligent enough 
 to realize his genius. It was genius, unique. She was 
 proud to follow him, gleaning his harvest ; it was her pro- 
 fession to understand him, and, where she could, to help 
 him. 
 
 It was after that word Miss Baines dropped that Mr. 
 Perry met Sarah, for the first time, outside the business 
 atmosphere of Brook Street. Sarah had been to the play 
 with Mary and Alf. It was always a lament with Mary 
 that Sally had not found a young man yet. She and Mr. 
 Peastone promised to be such friends, and it had come to 
 nothing. Johnny Doone wasn't possible, outside the East 
 End ; Luke Cull en had at last been turned off by the firm 
 after a seance at Bow Street. 
 
 Alf had had two seats for the upper circle given him, 
 and Sarah paid for her own. It happened that they — 
 Madame Violetta & Co. — had " dressed " the leading lady, 
 and one of the minor characters. Sarah wanted to see 
 the result. She was becoming daily more and more 
 absorbed in dress. She hardly listened to the play, a social 
 comedy that dealt with manners and customs to which she 
 was a stranger. She saw Mr. Perry in the stalls — his 
 opera hat and glasses, his satin-lined coat and obviousness 
 held her. She thought there was no one like him in the 
 house. And, notwithstanding her inexperience, she was 
 probably right ! 
 
 It was in the hall they met. It was a wet night, and the 
 crowd took long to disperse. Mr. Perry's brougham had 
 been called, and called again, but still it tarried. Sarah 
 called, through the crowd, she was " all right." Alf hurried 
 Mary away, he was fearful lest she should catch cold, so 
 
 96 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 solicitous about her that he had no attention to spare for 
 her friend. And Sarah had lingered, unwilling to face the 
 rain, perhaps in the hope Mr. Perry would " notice " her. 
 
 Mr. Perry did notice her. 
 
 "You here, Miss Snape?" he said. "That wretched 
 man has been half an hour finding my brougham. What 
 a night!" Then his eye scanned her professionally, and 
 very keenly Sally felt the disadvantages of the perennial 
 black merino. She was aware of her rising colour, her eyes 
 when they met his were deprecating. He remembered 
 what Miss Baines told him. 
 
 " You should get yourself an evening dress, Miss Snape," 
 he said. " Why not green chiffon ? Chiffon is cheap enough. 
 You could run it up at home; off the shoulders, wide in 
 the skirts. Then, if you had your hair waved, wide at the 
 sides, flat in the middle, and perhaps a flower under the 
 left ear, you'd look quite different." 
 
 She saw herself in the costume ; her heart leapt. 
 
 " I've been in the upper circle," she protested timidly. 
 
 " Alone ? Surely not alone ? " 
 
 " No, I had two friends with me. They — he — wanted 
 to get out of the wet," she explained confusedly. 
 
 Mentally, of course, he had dressed her for the stalls. 
 His familiar manner was only part of his general contempt 
 for women. There was nothing personal to Sally Snape in 
 it He had a very genuine admiration for her shape and 
 movements ; he was really the first person to see her pos- 
 sibilities. 
 
 "I'll give you a lift home," he said condescendingly. 
 " You can drop me in Sloane Street, and then my man can 
 drive you to Gower Street, isn't it ? " 
 
 She actually found herself, a few moments later, by the 
 side of the great Mr. Perry, rolling along the streets of 
 London in his rubber-tyred brougham. The coachman 
 h 97 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 wore a cockade, the livery was quiet. Sarah felt acutely 
 the proximity of Mr. Perry's commanding presence, his 
 satin-lined coat. Mr. Perry used scent, and that, too, 
 fascinated Sarah. 
 
 "It's — it's very good of you," was all she said. He 
 thought it was, for he was bored by her, and her clothes 
 had an irritating effect upon him. What was the use of such 
 a figure, such hair, if that was how she hid them ? Black 
 merino ! He got as far from it as the carriage allowed. 
 
 He talked a little of the dresses they had made for the 
 stage, and Sarah, who was discovering a taste, made an 
 observation that appealed to him : 
 
 "She's added that emerald clasp to the opera cloak 
 since we sent it home. She oughtn't to have done that, 
 it's too heavy for it." 
 
 " Oh ! you noticed that ? " Now he spoke to her with 
 something like interest. 
 
 They were already at Sloane Street. He hesitated 
 before he got out of the brougham. He was tempted to 
 make the girl come upstairs with him. He had bought some 
 pieces of old brocade, and was almost too impatient to 
 wait until the next day to see how they would hang. He 
 would have liked Sally upstairs for an hour, her bodice off, 
 trying the effect of the lengths, deciding between directoire 
 and empire styles ; his mind was full of the brocades, but 
 he had no scheme yet. 
 
 "I wish you could come in with me," he said. And 
 his voice had a regretful note. She felt herself growing 
 very red in the obscurity of the brougham. 
 
 " But I suppose I mustn't ask it," he added impatiently. 
 
 " It's very good of you," she said again. 
 
 "Not at all. Well, be early on Monday. Two hundred 
 and forty-seven, Gower Street, James. Think over that 
 evening dress. Good night." 
 
 98 
 
CHAPTER YI 
 
 FOR many days and many nights Sally thought of 
 little but that evening dress, and how to obtain it. 
 It seemed the one, the only way to attract and hold Mr. 
 Perry's attention. She would have so liked to see his 
 house, where and how he lived. He had thought of asking 
 her, hesitated about it, and the black merino had made 
 it impossible ! She had seen his expression when his eyes 
 fell upon it, she had learnt to read his expression. 
 
 Sixteen shillings a week was all they gave her upon which 
 to live, the difficulties of saving sufficient for the chiffon 
 gown were insuperable. Elfrida was again at home, rather 
 melancholy and down on her luck. 
 
 " What are you going to do for your holiday ? " she 
 asked Sally. " I feel I don't care what becomes of me. 
 It's a hateful world. You look peaky too. What's wrong 
 with you ? You're still in high favour, aren't you ? " 
 
 * I wish I could have some new clothes, I wish I had a 
 little more money." 
 
 " Hullo, that is a new note, isn't it ? I thought you 
 were so happy, so content, in trying on other people's 
 things." Elfrida was bitter and satirical. "I've never 
 been satisfied nor content. I hate work, and I hate 
 poverty. Why should Mrs. Carter have that beautiful 
 plumed toque to go on her hideous artificial wig, over 
 her bulbous nose, whilst I, young and pretty, have only 
 got the fun of seeing what an owl she looks in it ! You've 
 had every one of those trousseau things of Lilla Mosenstein's 
 on you j she'll be as fat as her mother in no time — I know 
 
 99 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 these Jewesses — and then see how she will look in an 
 embroidered biscuit zouave ! You could set them off." 
 
 " Biscuit is not my colour," broke in Sally. 
 
 " You've got that from Mr. Perry," she said contemp- 
 tuously. "It's all rubbish; any colour is good enough 
 for a good-looking girl. But that is just it— we've got 
 no chance, you and I. I'm sick of it all." 
 
 There was certainly something in what Elfrida said. 
 Sally was young, she did not know whether she was pretty 
 or plain, but she knew she could look nice if only she got 
 a chance. From nine until eight she was at the shop ; 
 sometimes she stayed even later, to help in hanging up, or 
 folding away clothes, in leaving things tidy. Sally was 
 always ready to work, she had never been an idler. All 
 the girls liked her, she was industrious and never spiteful ; 
 she was silent, because she was still uncertain of her speech, 
 but she was learning, always learning. 
 
 Mr. Perry went away in July, before the sale was over. 
 It was dull work then in Brook Street, monotonous, weary 
 work, all the savour gone out of it. 
 
 What was she to do with her ten days' holiday ? Mary 
 and Alf were going to have a week at Eastbourne ; Mr. 
 Peastone might be there, Mary told her slyly. Surely she 
 must have got over her silly prejudice against Mr. Peastone 
 by now. The accident was none of his fault. And if it 
 were, he had done all he could. He had been to see her 
 in the hospital, and had taken her flowers. 
 
 " He told Alf my friend was very hard-hearted, but he 
 didn't mind that so long as she was very red-headed ! He 
 is always full of his jokes, real good company, I call him. 
 Come down to Eastbourne along with us, and make it up 
 with him. There's no saying what might happen. After 
 all, if it hadn't been for him you wouldn't be where you 
 are now." 
 
 100 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 That was certainly an argument. But when Sally thought 
 of Mr. Peastone she could not forgive him all she had suf- 
 fered. The degradation of her helplessness, and the mem- 
 ory of the things that were done for and to her, during the 
 first days in hospital, hurt her modesty past forgetting or 
 forgiving. The ineradicable quality of her childishness put 
 the responsibility upon him. She had trusted him, she 
 who, before that day in Epping, had only trusted herself. 
 No! she hated Mr. Peastone, and told Mary so. She would 
 not go holiday-making in his company. 
 
 In the end she went to Brighton with Elfrida. 
 
 " I can't go alone," Elfrida said ; " you might as well 
 come along. There's no saying what might happen; you 
 never know yer luck, as the saying is. We may pick up 
 something to amuse us." 
 
 The class of adventure for which Miss Elfrida Carthew 
 was on the look-out had no appeal for Sally Snape. 
 
 They went down together in a third-class carriage, and 
 they took a bedroom in a back street. Then, the very first 
 day, Elfrida put on all her best clothes and told Sally to do 
 the same. It was Sunday morning, and they would go on 
 the Parade. 
 
 Sally's best clothes were a poor affair : a white tulle bow 
 was added to the black merino dress, two gardenias — which 
 had not cost a guinea each, by the way — tied up with black 
 velvet, trimmed her new crinoline hat. However, she 
 made a good contrast to her companion. It was, and it re- 
 mained, a mystery to Sally, how Elfrida contrived to have 
 such very smart dresses in spite of her limited income. To- 
 day she was in a tight tailor-made blue cloth, and her toque 
 was all of violets. These sat well on the fluffy gold of her 
 elaborate hair. She had added a little rouge to her cheeks, 
 but, when Sally admired her colour, she failed to explain 
 how it was achieved. 
 
 IOI 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Elfrida secretly thought Sally's pallor unattractive, and 
 her appearance dowdy. She thought it would look as if 
 Sally were her companion or sheep-dog if they went on the 
 Parade together, and Elfrida' s superficial study of men made 
 her think they liked best what was difficult to obtain. 
 With Sally she felt as if she were going out " chaperoned." 
 That Sally was half a foot taller, with the loveliest figure 
 in the world, while the colour of her hair was finer and more 
 attractive than the finest clothes man had ever devised, 
 never entered Elfrida Carthew's silly little head. 
 
 Therefore, when every idle man turned round to look at 
 the pair, Elfrida adopted an air of conscious unconscious- 
 ness, and began to prattle gaily : 
 
 " Don't look round, but did you see that fellow who looked 
 at me ? He was a friend of my boy's, Captain Gordon. He 
 recognized me right enough, I shouldn't be surprised if he 
 stopped and spoke next time we passed. The girl he's got 
 with him is Minnie Mason, she used to be at the Grecian. 
 That's Lord Kidderminster, ' Kiddie ' they call him. You 
 see, it's off season here, so they can bring any one they 
 like." 
 
 Sally had recognized Lord Kidderminster, and, stranger 
 still, Lord Kidderminster had recognized Sally. That is to 
 say, he knew her face was familiar to him, and involuntarily 
 raised his hat, although he could not recollect where he had 
 seen her before. He searched his theatre-memory in vain as 
 he strolled past. 
 
 "Fancy his bowing to me," giggled Elfrida. "Impu- 
 dence, I call it. Harry Gordon pointed him out to me one 
 night at the Carlton ; I've never even been introduced. 
 Let's turn the other way and pass him again. I'll give him 
 a good stare, pretend I don't know who he is, and then sud- 
 denly remember and bow. I shouldn't be surprised if we 
 had a good time here after all; there is nowhere like 
 
 102 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Brighton for meeting your pals. P'raps lie motored down. 
 Hullo ! there is Joe Aarons." 
 
 She nodded and smiled at the theatrical agent, then ad- 
 vanced toward him as if she was sure of welcome. 
 
 But Mr. Joseph Aarons was not in business to-day, he 
 was holiday-making. He gave her a nod and a " how do," 
 but he made no attempt to stop. 
 
 " Spiteful thing ! He thinks I want an engagement out 
 of him." 
 
 It was obvious that Elfrida was cut to the quick by Joe 
 Aarons' careless greeting. 
 
 " An engagement ? " 
 
 " Yes ; didn't you know I was on the stage once, in the 
 chorus at Roma's ? Harry arranged it for me ; he knew 
 Joe Aarons well. It suited Harry that I should have some- 
 thing to do ; you know he had to be at home sometimes. 
 I liked it well enough, a pound a week and my clothes, it 
 might have led to something better. Then Harry went 
 away, and I got ill . . . my place was filled up. I tried to 
 see the manager, but there are always crowds of girls hang- 
 ing round, waiting for an engagement. It's no good with- 
 out influence. I tried until I'd spent all my money. You 
 saw how off-hand he was. He wasn't like that when Harry 
 gave him a champagne lunch at Prince's, and me in a stylish 
 frock from Jay's, and ..." 
 
 But Joe Aarons' off-handedness was apparently but a 
 momentary matter. He was standing before them now with 
 both hands outstretched. 
 
 " Well, now, to be sure — Miss Carthew, isn't it? And 
 how is Miss Carthew ? Very well, if it's as well as she's 
 looking. The sea suits you." 
 
 He was more than friendly, he was quite enthusiastic. 
 His quick professional eye had spotted Sally the very 
 moment she had passed him. Elfrida was another thing. 
 
 103 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 There were scores of girls like Elfrida Carthew, and they 
 all wanted engagements. He wasn't down here on business. 
 If Elfrida had had eyes for anybody but herself she would 
 have noticed that he had been walking with Mrs. Aarons 
 and four little ^live branches, the boys in Eton suits, the 
 girls with flowing curls and feathered hats. This was their 
 annual outing. 
 
 But Miss Carthew's friend was a remarkable-looking 
 young woman. Mrs. Aarons was in delicate health ; her 
 attentive husband thought she had been out long enough. 
 When he had seen her safely across the road — Mr. Aarons 
 as husband and father was a totally different person from 
 that gentleman during office hours — he startled and gratified 
 Elfrida by the warmth of his greeting. 
 
 Soon it transpired that he had no idea she had been ill ; 
 he had missed her at Roma's, and concluded she had gone 
 out with Captain Gordon to Cairo. 
 
 " So you let him go alone ? Well ! I never ; he was a 
 nice boy, but there are plenty more, my dear, plenty more. 
 You must come back, to the Verandah, eh ? Who's your 
 friend?" 
 
 Elfrida introduced Sally. 
 
 "Miss Snape, Mr. Aarons." 
 
 They were standing on the wide white flags of that part 
 of the Parade which separates the grass from the gravel 
 paths. The sun was dancing on the distant sea, and the 
 roll and plash of the waves had begun to speak to Sally, to 
 speak to her so loudly that they drowned the vulgar voices 
 and speech of the two beside her. She smiled her acknow- 
 ledgment of the introduction, and then turned away. 
 
 " God, what grinders ! " Aarons had said to himself as 
 he went on exchanging chaff and theatrical small-talk with 
 Sally's golden-haired companion. And the same thought, 
 perhaps differently expressed, was in Lord Kidderminster's 
 
 104 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 mind as he sauntered past the little group. He looked hard 
 at Sally ; he couldn't " place " her, but he knew he had met 
 her somewhere. Judging from her companion, he guessed 
 it must have been in some theatrical under-world. It was 
 strange, if that were the case, that she cast no glance in his 
 direction. Kiddie was not used to being ignored by young 
 ladies in any world. 
 
 But Sally had not seen him. She had heard of the sea, 
 and dreamed of it; now the big moving panorama of it was 
 before her. And she turned her whole self toward the new 
 and absorbing immensity. In her eyes was the sparkle of 
 the sun on the waves, while the sea-wind flushed her cheeks 
 and rippled the red gold of her hair. 
 
 " Oh, isn't it fine 1 " The exclamation was involuntary, 
 so was the sudden turning to Elfrida for sympathy. But 
 it was not Elfrida who understood and responded. It was 
 the Jew. 
 
 " Very fine, my dear ; a very fine sea this morning. Fond 
 of the sea?" 
 
 " It's the first time I've seen it." 
 
 " The . . . the first time you've seen it ! " 
 
 Elfrida was annoyed. Why did Sarah give herself away 
 like that? 
 
 " The first time she has been at Brighton, she means," she 
 interrupted hastily. 
 
 "No! I mean the first time I've seen the sea at all," 
 Sally persisted. " It's just wonderful. . . ." 
 
 Joe Aarons looked at her. He had been looking at her 
 more or less all the time. But now the colour and expres- 
 sion on her face arrested him completely. 
 
 "Wonderful! And where may you have been living, if 
 one may ask ? " 
 
 " In the East End most of the time ; we never took jaunts 
 like other people." 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She was carried out of herself and all her traditions, the 
 exhilaration of the ozone was upon her. She turned away 
 from him again as she was speaking, and faced that immu- 
 table moving blue, with the white foam on the crest of the 
 high waves. 
 
 " I do like it ! " she said, and forgot her companions again 
 in its contemplation. 
 
 " Who is she, my dear ? Where does she come from ? " 
 Joe Aarons asked in his thick voice, moving a little away 
 from her, confidential with Elfrida. 
 
 " She was in a factory somewhere in the East End. One 
 of our customers — I am at Madame Violetta's now, you 
 know, that place in Brook Street — one of our swell cus- 
 tomers ran over her, and got Violetta to take her as a sort of 
 compensation. She is a queer girl, she doesn't know any- 
 thing about life. You should see her eyes when I talk to 
 her sometimes." 
 
 " It isn't her eyes," said Joe Aarons incautiously, " it's 
 her figure and her teeth." 
 
 "You don't think her good-looking, surely?" Elfrida 
 cried, jealously. " A red-haired maypole ! " 
 
 " No, not to say good-looking," he corrected tactfully, 
 " but interesting certainly interestin'. Where are you two 
 stopping ? " 
 
 Elfrida gave the address. 
 
 " And what may you be doing with yourselves to- 
 night?" 
 
 When she admitted that they had no particular engage- 
 ment that night, he asked them both to dine with him at 
 the Majestic. 
 
 " It will be like old times, when I supped with you and 
 Harry Gordon. We must see if we can't fix you up with 
 something. It's a pity to waste a girl like you in a hat 
 shop." 
 
 1 06 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 And in that Elfrida agreed with him. 
 
 When Joe Aarons gave a party he did the thing in 
 style. 
 
 The girls arrived at the hotel at eight o'clock that 
 evening, according to arrangement, and found Mr. Aarons 
 planted on the rug in front of the fireplace in the hall, 
 very prominent, very self-important, already with his guests 
 about him. The company consisted not only, as they 
 had anticipated, of themselves and Joe Aarons, but also 
 of Miss Minnie Mason, who immediately began to gush 
 over Elfrida, Captain Carstairs, who had accompanied her, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Heseltine. The Heseltines had a dis- 
 tinguished position in connection with the local music-hall ; 
 Elfrida told Sally hurriedly about them in the cloakroom. 
 
 Fortunately Elfrida and Sally were dressed for the occa- 
 sion. That is to say, Elfrida was in a somewhat stained 
 but very elaborate confection of red silk and lace, and she 
 had generously urged upon Sally a somewhat scanty and 
 out-of-date white blouse. With a rose at the waist, and 
 another in her hair, the inevitable black merino and white 
 blouse became evening costume. Very striking Sally looked. 
 She had not been three months under Mr. Perry for nothing. 
 Both roses were exactly in the right place, the only place. 
 The natural wave of her hair, which was parted in the 
 middle and coiled low, outshone the hairdresser's art that 
 gave Dot Heseltine and Minnie Mason the charm of wax- 
 work dummies. 
 
 From the very beginning things went well. Minnie and 
 Elfrida were delighted to meet each other again, and had 
 a thousand confidences to exchange. Dot Heseltine, who 
 was a middle-aged monstrosity of some fourteen stone, a 
 marvel of amiability and experience, liked nothing better 
 than to enlighten the ignorance of young girls. Captain 
 Carstairs revelled in inferior company, where, as he put it, 
 
 107 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "no one put on frills," and a man could do as he liked. 
 Tom Heseltine loved to eat and drink at another's expense ; 
 and, as for their host, Joe Aarons, he felt, instinctively, 
 " right to the bottom of his boots," as he expressed it, that 
 this new girl was " good business." 
 
 Joe Aarons, as a "theatrical agent," had an extensive 
 connection with the halls. He was a fat little Jew, who 
 wore a diamond ring on his stumpy finger, another diamond 
 blazed in the middle of his white shirt ; he had black eyes, 
 a bald head, a hooked nose, and hospitality was ingrained in 
 him. 
 
 " Make yourselves at home, that's what I want, sit where 
 you like. No, no, not on my lap," he began facetiously, 
 when they moved into the table d'hote room. "I know 
 what you're after, Mrs. Heseltine, but Tom and me has been 
 friends too long. Here, my dear, you sit by me," he said to 
 Sally, " and, if Tom takes the other side, he can have one 
 eye on the missus and the other on the gal,' as the saying 
 is. Now, don't you think, Miss Carthew, I've forgotten a 
 young man for you ; Cis Whigham is coming in, but he said 
 he should be late. He's doing a turn at a private party in 
 Preston Park. It was a fifteen-pound touch, so he couldn't 
 well give it up. . . . Hullo ! there you are at last ! " The 
 comedian was already at the door. " Come in. You re- 
 member Miss Carthew ? Well, perhaps you're right, if you 
 never knew her, you couldn't well remember her. But you 
 won't forget her in a hurry, I'll bet that. Now then, waiter, 
 look alive ; open those bottles, pass the wine round, let 
 some one else do the kickshaws." 
 
 Sally Snape, sitting at the right hand of her host, silent 
 and bewildered, lost herself in trying to follow the bril- 
 liancy of this gay party. For, as the wine unloosed their 
 slack tongues, everybody began to talk at once. There 
 were jokes she could not follow, allusions she could not 
 
 108 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 understand, a general camaraderie, and familiarity to which 
 she had no clue. Cis Whighara whistled for the waiter 
 when he wanted anything, and gave his orders in voices 
 imitative of Irving, Tree, and Charlie Hawtrey. Every one 
 in the room turned round to look at the party ; Joe Aarons' 
 table was certainly the centre of attraction. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster, solitary at his corner table, thought 
 they were making rather too much noise. He knew Joe 
 well enough, and, of course, everybody knew the Hesel- 
 tines and Cis Whigham. But still he could not place that 
 quiet red-headed girl who sat at Joe's right hand; and 
 this worried him. He prided himself on his memory 
 for girls. He would have gone up to speak to Joe, and 
 thus set his mind at rest, but, as the dinner went on, the 
 party grew a little too noisy and conspicuous. If it had 
 not been the dead season, and the hotel comparatively 
 empty, the management might have interfered. But, as 
 things were, the few visitors enjoyed the free entertainment. 
 
 Joe Aarons could not make Sally talk; he had a pro- 
 fessional capacity for drawing people out, but here he 
 met with a failure. She was unlike the type he knew, 
 the gay or bashful, impudent or pseudo-modest, coryphees 
 who pursued him with cajolery or pleading in all his busi- 
 ness hours. Also she had none of the pride of the " stars " 
 with whom he had to deal sometimes. But she had liked 
 the sea! He tried to talk sentiment to her when the 
 wine had warmed him. But there, too, he was little more 
 successful. 
 
 " A pretty girl like yon didn't ought to be alone down 
 here," he began. 
 
 " Miss Carthew came with me. We've only been here 
 since yesterday. I don't feel a bit lonely." 
 
 " I bet you've never been lonely in your life, eh ? " 
 
 Sally never had, until she had been by the sea Ever 
 109 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 since this morning she had felt lonely and small and in- 
 significant. She was giddy with her mingled emotions, 
 tongue-tied and inexpressive in this novel atmosphere. 
 She knew nothing of what they were talking. It was her 
 first party, her first taste of social life ; her ignorance 
 descended like a mist upon her, and dimly, as if at a great 
 distance, the lights and the talk, the food and the gaiety, 
 reached her understanding. 
 
 " You are all so clever," she said pathetically to Joe. " I 
 want to listen, not to talk." 
 
 "You and me must have a turn one day quiet. What 
 do you say to a drive, now ? But don't you talk if you 
 haven't a mind to. I see it's all new to you." 
 
 He patted her knee soothingly with his podgy hand, 
 and plied her with wine. Later on, when the hilarity 
 grew a little beyond the bounds of the table d'hote room, 
 the manager offered them the use of a sitting-room with 
 a piano in it. There were two or three gentlemen staying 
 in the hotel who would like to join their party, he said. 
 
 " Let 'em all come," said the genial Joe. And there was 
 more wine brought in, and singing, and, after that, dancing. 
 Joe Aarons put his arm round silent Sally and said — 
 
 " Come along, Miss Snape, you have a round with me." 
 But she answered she couldn't dance, and didn't want to 
 dance ; she wanted to be left alone. It was all growing 
 stranger and stranger, and her head ached. 
 
 " Oh ! now don't be unsociable, give us a dance." 
 
 She was surrounded. If she would not dance with Joe, 
 would she dance with Cis, or with Mr. Blount here, or 
 with Captain Carstairs ? No, she wouldn't dance with 
 none of them. Sulky Sally of the gutter came back, and 
 her speech with it. Mrs. Heseltine was playing a lively 
 tune on the piano, and Cis careered around by himself in 
 solemn mockery whilst they were entreating her. 
 
 no 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "I won't dance with none of yer. . . ." But suddenly 
 the wine and the music met within her. 
 
 " I'll dance by myself," she said. " Get along now, give 
 me room." 
 
 It was a new Sally, or an old one revived. She gathered 
 up the skirt of that old merino ; the blue rep petticoat be- 
 neath was quite short, the black stockings and neat shoes 
 showed the slenderest of ankles. 
 
 " Give us a reel," she cried out to Dot, as if the great Mrs. 
 Heseltine had been an organ-grinder. And Dot actually 
 struck up a lively tune as she was bid ; she fell easily into 
 the spirit of it, so did Cis, so presently did many of the 
 others. It was a gay, spirited Scotch reel she played. Cis 
 was not only a humorist on the stage ; he cried " hech ! " 
 and crooked his elbow, and " hech ! " and raised his leg. 
 He was a veritable Scotsman at his national dance. Soon 
 Sally was dancing with him, right well and in time, with 
 her black merino drawn high over her short petticoat. Face 
 to face with him she danced her steps, linking arms with 
 him, then back to back. Perhaps they were not all quite 
 sober, perhaps she herself had drunk a little more than her 
 head could stand. But there was nothing ungraceful or im- 
 modest in her movements, they were full of music and poetry. 
 Dot's fingers moved quicker and quicker. One couple after 
 another got exhausted and flung themselves down. Sally 
 and Cis had the floor to themselves. 
 
 After that dance, restraint became a thing of the 
 past Sally danced again and again — waltzes, polkas, 
 galops. 
 
 " Where did you learn 'em ? " asked Joe. 
 
 " Dancin' to the organ," she said, out of breath. * In our 
 court, when I was a kid." 
 
 " And to think of you trimmin' hats ! " he ejaculated ad- 
 miringly. 
 
 in 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But that was to himself, after he had seen Sally dance 
 the cake-walk. It was then he made a resolution. 
 
 Joe Aarons was always the man to act warily when busi- 
 ness was on the tapis. He had watched Sally dancing ; it 
 was untutored dancing, and tutoring might spoil it. 
 
 " Think she'd be any use to you ? " he asked Tom Hesel- 
 tine. But the free drinks had been too much for Tom. 
 
 " With legs like that she'd be of use to any one," he said 
 incoherently. " Where did you pick her up ? " 
 
 Joe had not picked her up yet. As he put it to himself, he 
 " didn't know the market." For when at length the party 
 was over, and he and Cis walked home with the girls, Sally 
 had grown quite silent and cold again. He tried to put his 
 arm round her waist, and she pushed him away. 
 
 " Well ! you're going to give me a good night kiss, any- 
 way," he pressed. She bolted away from him then right 
 along Ship Street Gardens. He was too fat to toil after her. 
 She had disappeared into the obscurity of the dingy house 
 of the dingy side street by the time Cis, Elfrida, and Joe 
 had reached the door-step. Elfrida wanted a little help; 
 she was rather hysterical, talking, laughing, and crying at 
 once. She had had a splendid evening. Joe Aarons wouldn't 
 forget her again, her hat-shop days were over ; she had been 
 through bad times, but they were all over now. Cis would 
 be a friend to her, Joe would be a friend to her, Mr. Blount 
 said he would be a friend to her ! She would have kissed 
 everybody, but there were only Cis and Joe here, so she 
 kissed them. It was only after a good many " my dears," 
 and sympathetic responses, that the tired men were 
 able to get rid of her at last, gently pushing her through 
 the door, Cis going with her as far as the chair jn the 
 hall. 
 
 "You're all right now ? " he asked. 
 
 " I'm all ri' now. You're a good pal." 
 
 112 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Squiffy?" said Joe to Cis when they got into the 
 street again. 
 
 "Goin' that way," Cis answered gaily ; "poor little 
 girl!" 
 
 "Regular little wrong 'un," Joe said contemptuously. 
 "You keep out of that, my boy; she has no talent and 
 no grit. What do you think of the other ? " 
 
 "Makes me think of Tuesdays. My governor kept a 
 cook-shop in the City Road. Tuesday was boiled beef 
 and carrot day. I seem to smell 'em when I look at 
 her; every one to their taste, I don't cotton to red hair, 
 myself ! " 
 
 "3 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 r Sally and Elfrida woke each with a headache next 
 morning, it was no reflection upon the champagne at 
 the Majestic. Elfrida may have had a little more than 
 she could stand. As for Sally, it was neither the quantity 
 nor the quality that had affected her, it was the novelty 
 of the whole experience. 
 
 First she had been shy, nervous, inwardly excited. 
 Then the excitement had flamed up ; she had danced, she 
 had talked . . . she tried to remember what she had said. 
 
 But the cool of the evening had suddenly calmed and 
 quieted her when they came out of the Majestic in the 
 small hours. She had glanced only once at the sea; it 
 heaved under the silver moon. She dared not look at 
 it again, but the consciousness of it filled her, and she 
 had walked silently by Joe Aarons, her pulses beating 
 wildly. What a life it must be out there, beyond. Her 
 heart swelled with the thought, and her eyes filled. She 
 had had some slight training in religion, but only since 
 she had seen the sea had the dim possibility come to her 
 that there might be a God. She turned her eyes away, she 
 was not fit for it. 
 
 It was " life " she had been seeing that evening, the " life " 
 of which Elfrida often spoke, dilating on its joys. Elfrida 
 had tried to make Sally envious of it, but gaiety is not 
 the natural note of the English poor. Sally had listened 
 with unheeding ears. But now she knew that she had been 
 in the very midst of this gay life, and that she had become 
 
 114 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 intoxicated -with it. People had wanted to talk to her, 
 had seen no difference between her and themselves. Not 
 her clothes, the things she said, nor the paucity of her 
 knowledge, had been against her. Mr. Aaron s had been 
 kind, all through the dinner and all through the evening 
 he had been kind. She had run away when he had wanted 
 to kiss her " good night." She was always like that, she 
 hated to be touched. But the most vivid of her memories 
 about him this morning was that he had told her she was 
 fit for better things than serving in a hat shop, that she 
 ought to wear fine clothes, and jewellery, that she had only 
 to be properly seen to be admired. 
 
 Lying in bed with her head aching, and all the memories 
 of the day and the evening confusing her thoughts, she 
 wondered what Mr. Perry would say if he knew, what he 
 would have thought if he had seen her dancing, and how he 
 would have liked her in Elfrida's white blouse. Presently 
 she began to cry. She would have to put on that hateful 
 black merino again. And if she wore the hat with the 
 gardenias to-day there would be nothing different for 
 Sundays. What was the good of working and working, 
 and then, in your ten days' holiday, having nothing to wear ? 
 She wished she'd never come to Brighton. 
 
 But the morning was not very long spent, the girls 
 had already almost recovered themselves, under the influ- 
 ence of two large cups of tea and a plate of bread and 
 butter, when a letter arrived from Mr. Aarons, and changed 
 the face of the day. He had hired a brake, and was going 
 to drive over to Eastbourne at once. Would the young 
 ladies join? They were all going to lunch at the Ocean 
 Hotel. 
 
 "Oh, Elfrida," pleaded Sally, "lend me something to 
 wear, anything so that they don't see me again in my black 
 merino. You know I'd do the same for you." 
 
 "S 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Good heavens! I haven't got a rag to my back. 
 You're welcome to anything of mine, but I'd as soon wear 
 your black merino as anything. You should have seen me 
 when I was with Harry. He gave twenty pounds for a 
 serge dress for me. And I'd silks for evenings, and a pink 
 opera coat. . . ." 
 
 " I wish I'd got a friend like that." 
 
 Elfrida gave her a look, and a short laugh. Elfrida 
 knew well enough that Sally had not crossed the t's nor 
 dotted the i's of the half-confidences that had been given 
 her. Sally, of the slums, knew vice and virtue, the line of 
 demarcation between the two had been sharply defined in 
 Angel Court. But she knew nothing of expediency. The 
 higher she mounted the fainter that line of demarcation was 
 to grow, but nothing had blurred it as yet. She went 
 through Elf rida's wardrobe with her. It had all come down 
 in one box, and Mr. Perry might have cast every single 
 garment contemptuously aside, but to Sally it was very 
 enviable. 
 
 Elfrida had expressed herself as willing to lend Sally 
 anything or everything she wanted. But, as garment 
 after garment was taken out, held up, and discussed, it 
 seemed that there were limitations to her generosity. 
 That dark blue serge, for instance, she thought of wearing 
 herself. The dress with the gilt buttons was the very iden- 
 tical dress Harry had given twenty pounds for; she 
 did not think she could bear to see it on any one else. 
 The red serge skirt, yes, Sally could have her red serge, and 
 a muslin blouse ; she had another muslin blouse somewhere. 
 But Sally could not forget Mr. Perry's teaching. She 
 acquired with difficulty, but she seldom forgot. He had 
 told her never to wear red. He would not even allow her 
 to try on anything that had red in it, not a ribbon nor a 
 feather nor a rose. 
 
 116 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Pink, child, you might wear ; a certain shade of pink 
 goes quite well with red hair, but red ... oh, dear, take 
 it away, Miss Baines." 
 
 His words came back to her when Elfrida made hei 
 generous offer, and she shook her head sadly. 
 
 In the end she put on her Sunday things, tulle bow, 
 crinoline hat, and gardenias. And when the girls walked 
 to the Majestic according to instructions, to join the coach, 
 it was the slim figure in black merino, and not the fair and 
 fluffy Elfrida, in the light blue cotton that had proved her 
 final choice, who had the glances and approval of the men 
 lounging in the portico of that vulgar hostelry, waiting to 
 see Joe Aarons' party go out. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster's motor was in attendance to take 
 him back to town. Already the chauffeur had set the 
 engine in motion, and it was piff-pimng its noise and smell. 
 But Kiddie himself, a rose in his light coat, a cigarette 
 between his lips, was among the loungers in the portico. 
 
 " You wait here, and I'll go in and see if they are ready," 
 said Elfrida. 
 
 Sally was alone, and standing by his side. 
 
 " You don't remember me ? " said Kiddie, in a low voice, 
 without raising his hat, though he couldn't, for the life of 
 him, remember where he had seen her. But he thought, 
 considering the party to which she was attached, there was 
 no harm in trying to find out. 
 
 "Oh, indeed I do, my lord," she answered, flushing 
 suddenly at being spoken to by him. " Indeed, indeed I 
 do. And how good you were." She was quite earnest, she 
 could not bear the imputation of ingratitude that she read 
 into his words. 
 
 Kiddie felt an odd little thrill of emotion. Had he been 
 good to this pretty girl ? Very pretty Sally looked in the 
 sunlight, with the flush his words evoked, showing sweet 
 
 117 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 pink under the transparent pallor. Her eyes, raised to him, 
 were darker than usual, and full of feeling : 
 
 " I owe it all to you. . . ." 
 
 She was so full of it all, this new strange life of hers, the 
 great width and space of it about her, the breaking of the 
 waves on the stones in the distance, the drive she was 
 going to have, the kindness of everybody. ... "I could 
 never forget," she said earnestly — " never ! " 
 
 All the idlers on the portico were looking at these two ; 
 and Lord Kidderminster was embarrassed. 
 
 " I'd like to be a lot kinder," was what he said. But the 
 tone belied the words, for it was not flippant. He had 
 meant to be flippant, and not very respectful, but neither 
 his voice nor manner met the words. 
 
 " Would you ? " she said wonderingly, her aquamarine 
 eyes meeting his inquiringly. Of course, there had flashed 
 into her mind Elfrida's friend, and the fine clothes he had 
 given her. She wanted fine clothes, oh, so badly, so very 
 badly. What other kindness could any one show her ? 
 
 At that moment Joe Aarons appeared in a very loose 
 driving coat, and very yellow gloves. His bald head was 
 hidden under a sporting bowler, worn very rakishly. His 
 body-guard looked more theatrical here than they would 
 have done on any stage. There were women with dyed 
 hair, loud voices, and light clothes ; men, mean-looking 
 and raddled, with the appearance of members of cock and 
 hen clubs, their ties and gloves and socks, flamboyant, 
 and incongruous with their dissipated eyes, and weak-kneed 
 walk. 
 
 Joe was very loud and very hearty. 
 
 " Here she is, here's Miss Snape. Mornin', your lordship. 
 Cornm' our way? We're off to Eastbourne for a trip. 
 Nice day." 
 
 Lord Kidderminster was in two moods, half a dozen 
 
 118 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 moods, in fact. Joe would introduce him, if he wanted an 
 introduction. Joe would tell him where she had been " on," 
 if she had been on. He could not detach her from the 
 frame in which she was set. But something about her eyes 
 made an appeal to him that strangled speech. Her won- 
 derful smile acknowledged Joe's greeting. All was bustle 
 and confusion. Lord Kidderminster exchanged no further 
 words with Sally. He saw she was the objective of Joe's 
 most overwhelming attentions. It was she who was to 
 have the front seat of the coach, beside the host. It was 
 for her a rug was borrowed, a sunshade opened. Finally, 
 with a flourish from the horn, and a feeble whoop and 
 hooroo from the passengers, for even Cis was not at his 
 gayest so early in the morning, the horses started. Kiddie's 
 last sight of Sally was her face upturned to Joe's just as it 
 had been to his own. He pictured the iridescent green of 
 her eyes seeking Joe's bulging black ones. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster drove back to town at the rate of 
 forty miles an hour, and was stopped twice by the police. 
 He had, therefore, an apparent excuse for being boorish 
 and irritable that evening. It was his last night in town ; 
 to-morrow he was going home, to gladden the tired, loving 
 mother's-eyes that looked out of the plain face of the 
 Marchioness of Fortive. 
 
 Sally enjoyed her drive. To be borne behind four 
 horses along the Parade, with the distant sea tumbling 
 dishevelled white-topped waves over and over for her 
 delectation, now in sunlight, now in shadow, while the 
 wind, warm and sea-laden, lifted her hair, and flushed 
 her cheeks, was an exhilaration beyond words or coherent 
 thought. She was glad she had been able to tell Lord 
 Kidderminster how grateful she was to him ; they were 
 glad, grateful eyes that she raised also to Joe, when he 
 asked her if she was comfortable, if she was enjoying herself. 
 
 • 119 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She did not want to talk; but Joe Aarons could never 
 be silent. He talked to her, to the driver, to the people 
 behind. He had the air of possessing, not only the coach 
 and the horses and the driver, but the sea and the hills, 
 and coast-line, even the sun and the warm wind. He 
 drew attention to them in his self-glorification : 
 
 "Haven't I picked out a fine day for you? What do 
 you think of this, boys, eh ? This is the sort of wind I go 
 for, just enough and not too much. And not a glaring sun, 
 nor one that takes the skin off yer nose. . . ." 
 
 He had arranged it all, he was the impresario of the 
 elements. 
 
 Sally was not proving herself, after all, as congenial a 
 companion as he had hoped. Her cake-walk last night 
 had, so far, been the only lively thing about her. He 
 began to make love to her. It was rather a coarse and 
 unlovely article, this love that he suggested. But he had 
 always found it acceptable. He was out for a day's enjoy- 
 ment, and she was a pretty " gal." She wanted " rousin'," 
 that was all. She was one of the quiet ones, deeper, 
 perhaps, for that. 
 
 " Well, have you been thinking over what I said to you 
 last night ? " 
 
 She turned her head round, and the light of the sea was 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " What you said last night ? " she repeated vaguely. 
 
 " About the hat-shop." 
 
 " You thought I could do better." 
 
 " If you had a friend to back you." 
 
 She flushed. 
 
 " I wish I had a friend." She was thinking of Elfrida. 
 
 " So you have, my dear, so you have." He put his 
 coarse hand on her knee, under the rug. And her flush 
 deepened, she hated to be touched. "I'll be a friend to 
 
 MO 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 yon, my dear, you and me'U be much better friends. 
 Perhaps I can't do as much for you as some, but I can 
 give you a start." 
 
 " You're very kind." 
 
 " I like being kind to you." He gave the knee a pinch. 
 Sally pushed his hand away ; she could not help it, she 
 hated it there. 
 
 " You mustn't be stand-offish with me," he edged closer 
 to her, but she edged away. 
 
 " It's awful hot," she said. 
 
 " Awfully. Yes, it's awfully hot. Now, if we were alone, 
 and none of this lot behind, you'd give me a kiss, wouldn't 
 you ? You ran away last night ; but you like me better in 
 the daytime, eh ? " 
 
 She liked him well enough, but she hated kissing, and 
 told him so quite simply. Presently, because the position, 
 and the glory of the day, took her out of herself a little, 
 she became more confidential. 
 
 "I've always hated it," she confided to him. "Johnny 
 Doone was the first who wanted to kiss me, and many times 
 I've smacked his face for him. I like Johnny, but I didn't 
 want him about me. And then, there was the tailor 
 where I worked. His wife walked into him about it, and 
 into me too, though I don't see how I was to have helped 
 it. And loafers in the street, and Luke Cullen, and every- 
 body. I can't think why they can't leave a girl alone. I 
 hate such ways. Now, Mr. Perry, he ... do you know 
 Mr. Perry ? " 
 
 " I can't say I do, my dear," said Joe, who was getting a 
 little bewildered. " And did he want to kiss you ? " 
 
 "No; he never so much as came nigh me, except in 
 business." 
 
 " He is in Brook Street ? Foreman there ? " 
 
 * I think he is partner ; the girls say so." 
 
 121 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * And he is the only man you have ever met who hasn't 
 tried to kiss you. Well, my dear, I can't help it, but I 
 think he's got very bad taste." 
 
 " He has got beautiful taste," she said gravely. " If he 
 says a thing is right, why, it is right. Colours you'd 
 never think would go together. . . ." 
 
 " Does he want to marry you ? " 
 
 " Marry me ! Me marry Mr. Perry ! " The flush in her 
 cheek was scarlet this time. " No more than if I was the 
 dirt under his feet." 
 
 " Then why drag him in ? " 
 
 She didn't know, only that she had been thinking of him, 
 and wishing that he could see her there, driving in a coach 
 and four. And she kept on thinking of him whilst Joe 
 Aarons talked. For Joe talked of dress and jewellery and 
 dinners at the Carlton, suppers at the Savoy. He talked 
 as some cheap Mephistopheles might have discoursed. 
 They were neither subtle, nor veiled, these temptations 
 he spread before her eager eyes and awakening greed. 
 Taken altogether it amounted to something like this : 
 
 " You're a very pretty girl, and the world belongs to 
 pretty girls. It is for them the clothes and the jewellery, 
 the dinners, and suppers are prepared. A man don't want 
 things for himself, or by himself; he wants to give 'em 
 away, he wants to spend his money, with a pretty girl to 
 help him. I'm not a very young man myself, I'm forty, 
 and I've got a missus, and kids — but I've got an eye for a 
 pretty girl. You can get almost anything you like out of 
 me. I'm as weak as water when I take a fancy. How 
 would you like a bracelet now, a bangle . . . ? " 
 
 Sally had a certain sense of exhilarated uneasiness. 
 She felt as a child feels who is contemplating mischief, 
 wanting the fun of it, guessing there was a possible penalty 
 attached, but putting that out of her mind. She would 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 evade the penalty. One could always get out of things-, 
 she could take care of herself, she had always been able to 
 do so. 
 
 Of course, she would like to have a bracelet, she longed 
 to have a bracelet. She had possessed no jewellery ex- 
 cept hairpins and combs. She gave one-and-nine each 
 for two turquoise hairpins, and four-and-eleven for the 
 comb, the day she went to Epping. But Miss Rugeley 
 had advised her not to wear them when she went to Brook 
 Street. So she had given them to the maid at Miss Huge- 
 ley's. She told Joe about Ursula and the dress she had 
 given her. 
 
 "It's the one I've got on," she said rather plaintively, 
 " it's the only one I've got." 
 
 " You shall buy yourself another," Joe promised her. 
 His hand was on her knee again, and he was closer to her 
 than she liked. " I'll tell you what I'll do. You get rid 
 of Carthew, and we'll have a little dinner together to- 
 night, all by ourselves. Then we'll talk things over, and 
 see what's to be done. You be a good girl" — he gave 
 her knee another pinch; he was growing more amorous, 
 and the feel of her slender shoulder, shrinking from him, 
 warmed his blood — "and you won't find Joe Aarons 
 mean. I'm not free ; I wouldn't like the missus to know 
 of any goings-on. But you trust yourself to me, and I'll 
 take care of you. You want a friend, and I'll be a good 
 one to you." 
 
 The Ocean at Eastbourne is a much more decorous cara- 
 vanserie than the Majestic at Brighton. A heavy and 
 genteel snobbishness dominates the large, ill-furnished hall, 
 with its uncomfortable basket chairs, its rickety wicker 
 tables. Materfamilias, in cap and shawl, sits there all 
 day long with her fancy work, scenting scandals, sniffing 
 the air for them hungrily. Dull fathers of duller families 
 
 123 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 /ounge restlessly, waiting for the " Times," dreading the 
 inevitable music. A few provincial old maids sit, each 
 with her separate copy of Marie Corelli's latest romance. 
 Gauche girls in tennis costumes track gaucher men with 
 tennis rackets. But there is no sound of gaiety or laughter; 
 decorum is the note, the whole hall dull and grey with the 
 brooding shadow of it. 
 
 The alighting of Joe Aarons and his party produced no 
 apparent stir on the surface. The lunch hour was just 
 over, and the weight of a lethargic digestion chained the 
 stout English men and women to their basket chairs, and 
 their saddle-back chairs. Gouty men with sticks raised 
 rheumy eyes as the party passed through the hall ; the dyed 
 heads of the women were typical to them of all they had 
 lost. 
 
 The scandal-loving matrons were less interested; they 
 felt that here was little provender for them. It had been 
 nosed over, and become stale ; the very word " theatrical " 
 included the worst they would say or suggest. 
 
 Notwithstanding the mute disapproval of the occupants 
 of the hall, Joe dominated the place until he had roused 
 the competent hall-porter into disposing of him suitably. 
 
 The ladies were led to take off their wraps in the big 
 marble cloak-room, the gentlemen found accommodation 
 for their coats and rugs. Luncheon had been ordered by 
 telephone. A big table down the middle of the res- 
 taurant seated them all comfortably. The head-waiter, 
 a tall and gentlemanly person, with the manners of the 
 secretary of a golf club, gave personal attention to their 
 insistent needs. Three or four German-Swiss novices, 
 with napkins over their arms, blundered about, perspiring 
 furiously, and trying to understand what was said to 
 them. 
 
 But the terrible respectability of the place subdued even 
 124 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Cis Whigham, and they all ate and drank in comparative 
 silence. The cold grip of it was still upon them when 
 they had finished. They tried the hall for smoking, but 
 already there were the scraping of violin strings and the 
 shuffling of chairs. The band was beginning, and, sipping 
 their extraordinary coffee to the sound, the Eastbourne 
 visitors strained their imaginations to consider the scene 
 continental ! 
 
 " Oh, Lord, this place gives me the hump," said Cis. 
 u Get us out of it, Joe, there's a good fellow. You ordered 
 the coach back at six. What on earth are we going to do 
 till then? I can't stand these cats, or that caterwauling. 
 Find out if there's anything to be done." 
 
 The hall-porter had tact, understanding, sympathy. The 
 head- waiter might have suggested the Devonshire Park, a 
 walk to Beachy Head, the band on the esplanade. But the 
 hall-porter's judgment was ^unerring. 
 
 " There's an entertainment on the pier, sir. A London 
 company, very good I hear it is, very good indeed." 
 
 " Send up and book me two rows. Say it's for Joe 
 Aarons, Joe Aarons of Maiden Lane." He was almost 
 pompous about it ; at least it must be said for him that he 
 was proud of his name and his calling. 
 
 Sally Snape found herself walking down the Eastbourne 
 Parade with yellow-haired Elfrida in vivid blue, yellow- 
 haired Minnie Mason in her egregious frock, Dot Heseltine, 
 and the rest of the bizarre group. 
 
 That was how they appeared to Mary and Alf and Mr. 
 Peastone, who were sitting together in the penny seats that 
 edged the promenade, feeling ineffably genteel. They had 
 been at Eastbourne three days, and had imbibed already 
 something of the impeccable virtue and stodgy respecta- 
 bility that broods under the terrible statue of the last Duke 
 of Devonshire, the patron saint of Eastbourne. He sits in 
 
 "5 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 his stone chair at the bottom of Hartington Place and gazes 
 with complacent inherent granite stupidity on the non-con- 
 formist conscience at play. 
 
 Mary and Alf and Mr. Peastone were staying at a board- 
 ing house. Alf's sister was there too, and she shared a 
 room with Mary, which made confidences about Alf easy, 
 and reduced the price to twenty-five shillings, with board. 
 The same arrangement held good with Mr. Peastone and 
 Alf. In the evenings, at the boarding house, there was 
 music, sometimes there were recitations, and on Saturdays 
 they danced. Charlie Peastone was a great success there ; 
 he danced, he sang, he told stories, he chaffed the girls and 
 the landlady, always decorously, of course. Over and over 
 again Mary and Alf discussed what a lot Sally had missed 
 in not being with them. Alf s sister could not be said to 
 have adequately taken Sally's place ; for, poor girl, she had 
 a port wine mark all down one side of her disfigured face, 
 and, though she was good at her needle, and earned her 
 living by it, her misfortune was ever present with her ; and 
 she was the reverse of lively. 
 
 " But Sally and him would have suited, she wanted rous- 
 ing, and there never was such company. . . . Lor ! if that 
 isn't Sally herself!" 
 
 They looked, and looked again, Alf less long or hard than 
 the others, because he never could keep his eyes very long 
 from his fair and gentle Mary. Mary said : " Well I 
 never ! " twice. Charlie Peastone changed colour, and was 
 actually silent for a moment. Then he told them: 
 
 " That's Minnie Mason with her ; she is at the Hilarity, 
 doing a turn with song and breakdown : 
 
 I'm an utter girl, a splutter girl, 
 
 I'm a hoo-blooming-ray and gutter girl. 
 
 The fat woman is Dot Heseltine, it's a theatrical lot." 
 
 126 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " I can't think what Sally is doing with them." 
 " Oh, don't mind me," said Charlie, with a faint attempt 
 at hilarity, trying to get his spirits back. 
 
 And I'll ask you to believe 
 That I carry on my sleeve 
 The sign of a broken heart, 1 ' 
 
 he sang under his breath. 
 
 " It's a great pity." 
 
 " And pity 'tis, 'tis true." 
 
 " Why don't you go after her ? " said practical Mary. 
 " Perhaps she don't know what she's doing. It's just as 
 like as not she don't know who they are. It's that girl 
 she rooms with. I never did think much of her, when 
 Sally talked about the things she had, the clothes and 
 money. Alf, you go with him, go up and speak to her. 
 You might ask her to tea." 
 
 Alf got up obediently, but Charlie waved him back 
 grandiloquently. " Alone I did it," he quoted, and started 
 off in pursuit. 
 
 Half-hearted all through in his dealings with Sally 
 Snape, too selfish seriously to contemplate matrimony 
 with a factory girl, too thin-blooded to dream of a lighter 
 connection, he had yet been impressed by the girl as, in 
 his shallow jocund life, he had never been before. No one 
 else had interested him since he met Sally, the impudent 
 barmaids had all lost their savour. He posed as one who 
 had had a disappointment. He made a great deal of 
 Sally's unforgiveablene8S over her accident, and allowed 
 Mary and Alf to condole with him. But it was only now, 
 when he saw her, in what seemed to him a dangerous 
 surrounding and atmosphere, that she gripped him as 
 the one thing desirable, the one thing necessary. The 
 blood that was suffusing his face, when his hurried steps 
 
 127 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 brought him up beside her, came from the heart; it was 
 thick and hot, the first human pumping. 
 
 " Good day, Miss Snape." 
 
 Sally turned to him quickly, anybody was preferable to 
 the people she was with : 
 
 "Oh! are Mary and Alf with you? I shoidd like to 
 see Mary." She stopped short, and detached herself from 
 her party. 
 
 "Mary is just two minutes away, on the seat beyond. 
 If I might be honoured by being your escort ? " 
 
 " Wait a minute." 
 
 Sally ran on, breathlessly. " Elfrida, Miss Mason, I'm 
 not coming with you. Tell Mr. Aarons, will you, that 
 I've met some old friends, and I don't care about the pier. 
 I'll meet you all at the hotel when the brake starts." 
 
 " Old friends ! " said Minnie, and winked. Charlie 
 caught the wink and returned it, as he stood waiting for 
 Sally ; he didn't mind what they thought. He was rather 
 gratified if they thought it was for him she was giving up 
 the pier and their society. 
 
 He took her back to Mary, and Mary kissed her, Alf 
 shook hands with her, Charlie made humorous speeches. 
 They asked her questions, and, without waiting for the 
 answers, breathlessly told her of the delights of Medina 
 House and its gaiety. They pitied her for being at 
 Brighton instead of Eastbourne. They introduced her to 
 Alf's sister, and Mary said she was sure the two would 
 be friends, because they were both in the same business. 
 But as Alf's sister made dresses for servants, at four 
 shillings and sixpence, including lining, and Sally was in 
 Brook Street under Mr. Perry, the mutual occupation 
 proved a mere blind alley. 
 
 Sally had been glad to leave her party for a little. 
 Elfrida and Minnie Mason had not been pleased that she 
 
 128 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 should have the box-seat and all Mr. Aarons' attentions; 
 they said one or two spiteful things, against which Sally 
 had no defence. Her longing for pretty clothes, growing 
 and always growing since she had been in Brook Street, 
 gnawed and ached within her, like hunger. She thought 
 she would do anything to be prettily dressed, anything 
 to drive away the memory of the evening when Mr. Perry's 
 eyes had fallen upon her black merino, and he had not asked 
 her to come up to his rooms. 
 
 She thought she would do anything, but her thoughts 
 led her no distance. She was only an embodied " I want" ; 
 she had no thought of giving, only of receiving. A great 
 greed was fastening upon her. Joe's words had filled her 
 with vague hopes. The future was nebulous. She had 
 no spirit for Minnie Mason and Elfrida Carthew, and their 
 little spiteful speeches remained unanswered. But she had 
 accelerated heart-beats and inner excitement. She was glad 
 to leave it all for a time, all this prospect and change that 
 was before her, and go back to Mary. She had been happy 
 at the factory, before she had known any better. And the 
 romance of Mary and Alfred drew her unresistingly. 
 
 She and Mary had a long talk that afternoon, a long, 
 intimate talk. Mary heard all about Elfrida, and her 
 clothes, the dance at the Majestic, and Mr. Aarons' sugges- 
 tions ; she made no hesitation about those dotted i's and 
 crossed t's. 
 
 "You're not one to go wrong willingly, I know," she 
 said, " but you might be took advantage of. I don't like 
 that set you're with, and Alf don't like them. Don't you 
 trust yourself alone with that Mr. Aarons." For Mary 
 heard about the promised drive and bracelets. " He's not 
 meaning anything for nothing, you mark my words." 
 
 "I want things so," poor Sally said. 
 
 u Dresses and jewellery and things ? " 
 
 K 139 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * Everything, everything other folks has got." 
 
 " I can't think what's come to you. You wasn't like 
 this before you left the factory." 
 
 "No." 
 
 She hung her head. It was true, she had been happy 
 and contented there. It was circumstances that moved 
 her, not the reverse ; she was ever the one still thing in the 
 maelstrom, turning with it, not struggling. Mary had her 
 inspiration : 
 
 " Come back to us," she said ; " you'll be happier there, 
 and safer. Is there no chance between you and Mr. 
 Peastone ? " 
 
 "It always seems to me it was his joking broke my leg, 
 and gave me those hours and hours of pain; I thought 
 that all the time, I can't get over it." 
 
 " It's very wrong, I'm sure no one could have been more 
 sorry than him." 
 
 " And the doctors pulling it about, and always making 
 it worse, putting it in splints, taking 'em off again, making 
 me stand on it, and the aching and shoots. . . . that was 
 all him," said Sally, out of breath and pale with the mere 
 memory of her physical discomforts. She was so healthy, 
 so unused to pain or illness, her resentment of it was deep- 
 seated, past argument. 
 
 " I should have liked you to be happy, like me and Alf," 
 Mary said wistfully. 
 
 Her own happiness had been like food and drink to 
 her, she was so content and fed and satisfied that 
 she wanted to diffuse what was left, to feed the world. 
 And Sally had been with her when she first met Alf, 
 almost, she might say, she owed the introduction to her. 
 This pale little clerk, idealistic and anaemic, carried with 
 him a great gift. His interests and outlook may have 
 been narrow, but beneath that narrow surface-chink lay 
 
 130 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 a broadening depth of sympathy. Mary Murray had 
 bathed in it and become whole. It was there, too, for 
 Sally. Alf talked to her when Mary had done talking. 
 It wasn't easy to be pretty, and have the men after you, 
 and say " no " to everything. He saw all the temptations 
 the world offered her, rich gew-gaws spread before her 
 longing eyes. But there was only one way of happiness ; 
 to keep in one's own station, love one another, and be 
 content with what one had. 
 
 Sally rejected, and could not but reject, the creed. She 
 was as a child who cannot reason, but wants and always 
 wants. She had a thousand ungratified desires, and all of 
 them were awake and gnawing at her. She saw the happi- 
 ness and content of Mary and Alfred in their mutual 
 love and mutual admiration, she even saw the charm 
 of the prospective semi-detached villa with the red gera- 
 niums. But, if she had had all that, she would still be 
 athirst. 
 
 Charlie walked back with her to the Ocean Hotel. He 
 didn't exactly want to tie himself down ; and, unlike Alfred 
 Stevens, he had nothing saved. He spent his salary as 
 soon as he got it, or before, much of it on ties and waistcoats, 
 cheap jewellery and dissipation. 
 
 " You ought to come over here for a bit. I don't care about 
 Brighton myself, it's overdone, no style about it. It used 
 to be all right, but it's gone down, while Eastbourne 
 has gone up. You know the ticket — one down, t'other 
 come up. I say, Miss Snape, you might give a fellow a 
 bit of encouragement You know I really am gone on 
 you." 
 
 " What's the good ? " 
 
 " What's the good ? I like that. What's the good of 
 anything, if it comes to that ? You're not a girl to be with- 
 out a chap to take her out. Now, why shouldn't I be that 
 
 »3» 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 chap ? I'm not vain, but I think I know the ropes. I've 
 learnt a thing or two about life. I can get tickets for half 
 the theatres in London. You're the sort of girl a fellow- 
 likes to be seen about with." 
 
 There was nothing of guile about Sally, now, or at any 
 time. She did not dislike Charlie Peastone as much this 
 afternoon as she had done whilst in the hospital. And, of 
 course, she knew that most girls go out with some fellow 
 or another. She liked the theatre, and any time she might 
 meet Mr. Perry there again. 
 
 " I don't think I should like always going out with the 
 same fellow," she objected. 
 
 He looked at her sharply, but there was not a trace of 
 coquetry about her ; she looked very young, and surprisingly 
 fair in the red light of the setting sun. 
 
 " If we was to be engaged ? " he said slowly. It was a 
 big step to take, "walking out" was not like being engaged. 
 He knew the fickleness of his own affections, and, ever 
 haunted by a possible breach of promise case, had been care- 
 ful hitherto in making his proposals merely tentative. Sally 
 was different. All he knew, or was ever to know, of life's 
 best possibilities throbbed in him now. It was unselfish- 
 ness, his first gleam of it. He would actually tie himself 
 up to please her. 
 
 " I suppose a man must settle down sometime." He was 
 twenty-four. " If what you're thinking of is that you've 
 heard I've gone the pace a bit, been with one girl one Sun- 
 day, and another the next, you needn't think of that any 
 more." He put his arm into hers. " Is it a bargain ? " 
 She walked a few paces with him, trying to think. 
 Then his mere proximity irritated her, and her face 
 flamed : 
 
 " I can't abide men, and that's the fact," she broke 
 out, shoving his arm away, moving quickly. " Mary likes 
 
 132 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Alf dawdling about her, looking at her. I couldn't be like 
 that with any fellow. I am as fond of my freedom as 
 you." 
 
 " Fd give it up for you/' 
 
 "I wouldn't; that's flat. Let's cross over; isn't that 
 the brake? Yes, I'm sure it is; don't come any further. 
 I can get across by myself, and — and — good-bye." 
 
 "Not so fast." 
 
 He seized her arm again. Her hair had caught the sun- 
 set, and he was all entangled in it. " I can't let you go. 
 I'll be anything you like. You shall be as free as free. 
 But tell me when I can see you again. I must see you. 
 I don't believe I can get on without you. Now, Sally, don't 
 be hard. I'm in earnest at last; you're the only girl in 
 the world for me. Say you'll have me." 
 
 " They're all waiting for me." She could see them mount- 
 ing on the brake, she wanted to get away from Charlie, she 
 had not an atom of feeling for him. 
 
 " Say you'll see me again." 
 
 " I'll think about it when I get to London." 
 
 " The very first Sunday ? " 
 
 " Oh, let me go, Mr. Peastone." 
 
 " Not until you promise." 
 
 " All right then, the first Sunday." 
 
 " You do rather like me ? " 
 
 " Not if I've got to walk back to Brighton." 
 
 " They'll wait for you. Don't let me go like this, give 
 me a kiss. Say you're glad we've made it out together." 
 
 " Anybody can see us. Do let me go." 
 
 " Just one." 
 
 She wanted to get away; she bent her head, and let 
 him touch her cheek. It was cool and sweet. He was 
 outside himself,, and momentarily felt the humility of a 
 lover. 
 
 »33 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * 1'in not good enough for you." 
 
 The phrase recurred to her when again she was beside 
 Joe Aarons on the box-seat of the four-in-hand. She took 
 what grown-up people say literally, as children do. After 
 Joe's speeches of the morning, which came back to her 
 now, she thought it was quite true, Charlie Peastone was 
 not good enough for her. His wages couldn't be more than 
 Alf's, and Alf's were not enough to allow him to marry 
 Mary. And Mary wanted so little ; she was satisfied with 
 her cotton frock, with nothing. 
 
 " A nice little dinner, my dear," Joe's voice, which had 
 been going all the time, now reached her inner ear. " Just 
 our two selves, and we'll talk things over. A little flat, 
 perhaps ; it might run some day to a little flat in Victoria, 
 there's no knowing. Joe Aarons is not the man to let 
 you down. We'll see about what you can do ; a girl likes a 
 bit of independence. You haven't got bitten with it yet, 
 but it's the boards, my dear, the boards you belong to. 
 Have you ever tried to sing? You'd dance, you know, 
 you'd dance all right if you was taught. I'll get you 
 taught." 
 
 She had that prospect, together with the booming sea, 
 grey now, and chill. The red had gone out of the sky, and 
 that, too, was grey. She did not find Joe's proximity so 
 bad now that it was dusky, and she was chilly. She did 
 not resent his warm podgy hand holding hers, nor his arm, 
 and the rug, going round her. But there was no appeal in 
 the small flat in Victoria, nor in the prospect of getting a 
 chance of appearing on the music-hall stage. 
 
 When she got home she told Elfrida that Mr. Aarons 
 wanted her to dine with him at the Nicola restaurant. 
 
 " Fancy Joe Aarons, old Joe Aarons ! " Elfrida wondered, 
 more than once. " Why, he could have almost any one he 
 wanted. He's got a lot of influence, not only, at the halls, 
 
 134 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 but in touring companies, and even in the chorus ; there's 
 no knowin' what he might do for you. But it isn't like 
 him. ..." 
 
 " You come along, too." 
 
 u Not me. I don't go where I'm not wanted." 
 
 "35 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 BUT the "little dinner " never came off. 
 The Joe Aarons of Maida Vale, who was temporarily- 
 installed, with his family, in a furnished house in Regency 
 Square, Brighton, was quite a different man from the one 
 that appeared in Maiden Lane, or amongst the coryphe'es 
 and chorus girls out of whom he made his living. Sally 
 Snape would take clothes and jewellery from him, he had no 
 doubt. No one had a meaner opinion of " theatre women," 
 as he called them generically, than Joe Aarons. If, now 
 and again, he took slight advantage of the privileges his 
 position afforded, that, too, was all in the way of business. 
 It was impossible to have been engaged for twenty-five 
 years in supplying the music-hall, and sometimes the 
 musical-comedy stage, with the particular article each re- 
 quired, without becoming something of an expert in the 
 line. And, like the majority of his race-brethren, Joe 
 Aarons' intelligence and knowledge of his business were 
 above the average. Therefore, he had recognized quickly 
 that Sally Snape was rare of make, and of most attractive 
 colouring, and, whether she had talent or not, was obviously 
 fitted to shine in the profession to which he was an acknow- 
 ledged intermediary. The exact nature of the profession he 
 regarded synthetically rather than analytically; but con- 
 ventional morality was not in the list of its qualifications. 
 
 Sally's figure had struck him on the Parade. Elfrida 
 Carthew he had passed with perfunctory nod and glance, 
 
 136 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 but her companion dwelt in his mind ; hence all that had 
 followed. Then her dancing, although untutored, had a 
 certain quality of grace, of spontaneity. Joe Aarons had 
 even noted Lord Kidderminster's short colloquy on the 
 steps of the Majestic. 
 
 " She's got it," was the sum of his thoughts concerning 
 her. And how best to exploit that particular " it " for the 
 benefit of himself, and, incidentally, of Mrs. Aarons and 
 the four olive branches, had been uppermost in his mind 
 even on that amorous and adventurous coaching journey. 
 There was not a touch of Don Juan in Joe Aarons ; pretty 
 girls were his stock-in-trade, that was all, and he was not 
 more particular than most speculative tradesmen as to how 
 he replenished his stock. 
 
 Had the " little dinner " come off, Sally would have had 
 her vanity very much flattered, and she might have been 
 persuaded to try her voice in a song, or exhibit her possibili- 
 ties in a dance ; she would have been promised a bracelet 
 or a flat, and might even have been given the money for a 
 dress. But she would have had no real difficulty in pro- 
 tecting her virtue. She would have had far more difficulty 
 in protecting her future income. " A little agreement, my 
 dear," was Joe's most adventurous offer, with a small sum 
 of money on account, and love-making thrown in if the 
 occasion required it, or in order to clinch a bargain. 
 
 For Joe Aarons, also like the majority of his brethren, 
 was, out of business hours, the best of husbands, fathers, 
 citizens. Therefore, when he arrived at his temporary 
 Brighton home after that jaunt to Eastbourne, and was met 
 by young Abe at the door, with a scared face all blubbered 
 with tears, telling him : 
 
 " Mother's ill ; we've been looking and looking for you — 
 oh ! father, she's very ill ! " all thought of Sally was ban- 
 ished from his mind as if she had never existed. 
 
 137 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Now, one saw Joe at his very best. The shock turned 
 him green in the face, and sick in the heart, for his Miriam 
 was the centre of his life. Yet he could find a word of 
 comfort for the child : 
 
 " It's all right, old man, come up along with me, and tell 
 me all about it." 
 
 He threw an arm about the boy, and the other chil- 
 dren, when Abe had broken the bad news, came crying 
 about him. It was easy to see he was a loving father. 
 " Mother " had been taken ill at dinner-time ; Rosie saw 
 her turn pale, Sam had tried to get on her lap, but she 
 had sent him running for nurse. Nurse had helped her 
 out of the room, and had never come back. It was at this 
 point of the story that little Rosie's sobs grew uncontrol- 
 lable, and Joe took her up in his arms and hushed her 
 against his shoulder. 
 
 Abe had done all he could. He was eleven years old, 
 always top of his class, the great pride of the house of 
 Aarons. He had been clever and tactful; he had sent 
 Sammy for a doctor, kept the children in order, and watched 
 for father. He had never broken down at all until a mo- 
 ment ago, when he had crept upstairs, listened outside the 
 door, and heard mother moaning. When he said he heard 
 mother moaning, his manliness left him again, and they 
 all cried together, even Joe, though he was already re- 
 assured. The tears ran down his cheeks into Rosie's black 
 curls. 
 
 "Now you all wait here like good children, while I go 
 up and hear all about it. Sammy will cuddle Rosie and 
 Maudie. Come along, Abey, this isn't like you. Why, 
 you're making me cry now. You come along with me, and 
 wait on the landing whilst I go to mother and see what's 
 wrong. Then I'll bring you word, and you can tell the 
 others. Where's Jane ? " 
 
 138 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " She's upstairs too," he blubbered. 
 
 It was a very limited household. A nurse, a maid-of-all- 
 work, and Mrs. Aarons, between them did the cooking, the 
 cleaning, the mending. Business expenses were high, and 
 the future of the children was always in the parents' minds. 
 They ate and drank well, dressed themselves and their chil- 
 dren handsomely, but wasted nothing on the social side of 
 life. Mrs. Aarons had no thought outside Joe and the chil- 
 dren ; she liked working for them. She was the centre of 
 the household, it revolved around her. Joe knew it. He 
 met so many light women, bad women, frivolous women, 
 that his Miriam seemed to him a pearl beyond price. She 
 had all the virtues, and her pendulous figure and redundant 
 chin counted for nothing against these. 
 
 That Mrs. Aarons' illness was of an interesting, rather 
 than a serious, nature was immediately obvious. Mrs. 
 Aarons was a poor arithmetician, and the event which had 
 been happily anticipated for October, when Abe and Sam 
 would have returned to St. Paul's, and the little girls should 
 have been occupied with their nursery governess, had material- 
 ized in August. But Joe proved his quality in the next few 
 hours. He was tender and loving to the patient : 
 
 "You just think of yourself. I'll see to the children. 
 No, they won't know anything about it, don't you fear, don't 
 you fear. Poor girl ! Doctor has found you a nurse, and 
 Jane can get down to her work. Nurse can stay with you 
 until the other comes. The children are just as good as 
 gold now I've told 'em you're not really ill, only the dinner 
 upset you. We put it down to the Dutch cucumber. He's 
 sharp, Abe is, he says you turned pale before you touched 
 it ! But it's all right ; they believe what I tell 'em. We'll 
 say the doctor brought it. Now, God bless you, old girl, I 
 see you'd rather be alone. I'll be about, ready if I'm wanted. 
 I'm sure you've got a boy for me ; it's another boy we want." 
 
 139 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 He kissed her before he went back to the children ; he 
 left her with the knowledge that he was watching, ready to 
 help, taking on himself the burden of the household. What 
 more could a man do ? Then he and young Abe sat together 
 when nurse was released for the children, and the podgy 
 hand, which had pinched Sally's knee, in the way of busi- 
 ness, was locked more lovingly in young Abe's as the hours 
 grew anxious. The preternatural cleverness of the youngster 
 culminated in an inconceivable sympathy. " She's all 
 right, father, I'm sure she's all right," he urged. 
 
 * Yes, yes, my boy, she's all right." This was the elo- 
 quence that bound them to each other. But it was morning 
 before the new-born cry assured their speech. 
 
 It was no wonder that Sally and the dinner were forgotten. 
 
 There was terrible disappointment for Sally, as she sat 
 in her very best clothes, which were in reality Elfrida's very 
 worst, waiting for Mr. Aarons and the new life he was to 
 offer her. When Joe's note came to her telling only that he 
 was detained and must cancel his appointment, she and 
 Elfrida dined at Beech's restaurant at one-and-sixpence per 
 head. Afterwards they went on the pier, where Elfrida 
 found, or made, acquaintances, and became very hilarious 
 and indiscreet. And Sally looked at the sea, and forgot her 
 disappointment. It filled her with wonderment, the sound 
 and the scent of it swept through her mind and heart. 
 It did not satisfy that strange hunger, that strange thirst, 
 the craving " I want," but it soothed the hurt of it, and 
 hushed her. 
 
 She had another letter from Joe in the morning. He said 
 his wife was ill, and he could not leave her. He gave Sally 
 his business address, and asked her to call upon him there 
 when she got back to town. 
 
 Since the theatre repelled rather than attracted her, it 
 is doubtful whether she would have called on Joe, but for 
 
 140 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Elfrida and circumstance. The new circumstance was the 
 continued absence of Mr. Perry from Brook Street, and the 
 consequent tedium and deserted air 01 the whole estab- 
 lishment. Mr. Perry, so the story went, was detained in 
 Paris by illness; pneumonia was spoken of. Madame 
 Violetta failed to attract or keep her customers, and Miss 
 Baines wandered aimlessly about. The new models did 
 not arrive. Every day and always the same story was 
 told of Mr. Perry's illness. Every day and always came 
 the same reply. Mrs. Mosenstein, or Lady Plenterdrum, 
 the Duchess of Monthly, or Miss Eecamier; mondaines, 
 demi-mondaines, judaeacracy, all would wait to give their 
 orders until Mr. Perry's return. They one and all implied, 
 there was no use paying Violetta's prices for clothes when 
 there was no Mr. Perry to make them unique. 
 
 Sally had little or nothing to do, and idleness never 
 suited her. 
 
 "I don't believe that story of Mr. Perry's illness," 
 Elfrida said, "there is something that doesn't ring true 
 about it. This place will bust up if he don't come back. 
 Mr. Jones, the accountant, was looking pretty blue yester- 
 day when I saw him come out of the office with Madame. 
 You mark my words, it isn't as simple as it sounds. We 
 haven't taken an order for a week, and it's October, 
 when we ought to be pretty busy. Tell you what, you 
 ask an afternoon off ; they'll have no excuse for saying no, 
 and I'll do the same. We'll look up Joe Aarons ; there is 
 no use waiting till you are out of a berth before you look 
 for another. I'd enough of that before I came here." 
 
 "But . . ." 
 
 "Oh, don't 'but'; of course there are always 'buts.' 
 Mr. Perry may come back; this show may buck up again. 
 Joe Aarons may have forgotten your existence, or he may 
 have remembered it, and have nothing going. I know all 
 
 141 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 that," she said impatiently. Elfrida was always impatient, 
 uneven in spirits, and inclined to be ill-tempered when her 
 facile affections were temporarily unsought, as had been 
 the case since their return from Brighton. 
 
 " But nothing venture, nothing have. So I'm for 
 looking up old Joe. You can come along with me, or 
 leave it alone." 
 
 Elfrida wanted Sally to come; she was clever enough 
 to know that she had a greater chance of an audience in 
 that event. And, of course, Sally was persuadable. 
 
 Maiden Lane, where Joe Aarons had his office, is the 
 entresol to three worlds. In its narrow, characterless 
 causeway, busy journalists, familiar with the shabby 
 loafers who stand in self-imposed idleness at the doors of 
 the garish public-house, hurry past with no eyes for 
 "copy." On the opposite side of the street, a few poor 
 ill-clad worshippers, women with the suffering of life 
 stamped in remorseless lines on their tired faces, humbly 
 and unnoticed, pass into the little Catholic Church, so 
 featureless in its exterior, so full of peace and the 
 beauty of quiet in its shadowy aisles and dimly lit altar. 
 Here is a restfulness ignored by the yellow-headed, ill- 
 kempt, often half-drunken, men and women who are 
 seeking their chance to entertain an ever more critical 
 and exacting public. 
 
 The two girls had the primary difficulty of getting 
 through this last unhappy group. Then, ascending some 
 dingy stairs, they reached the outer office, where other 
 girls were waiting. Here their progress was barred by 
 Isaac Hyams, an interested Cerberus, who demanded 
 their names and business, also whether they had an 
 appointment. 
 
 Elfrida wrote her name on a piece of paper, with Sally's 
 underneath it. And, greatly to the indignation of those 
 
 142 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 who had been waiting sioce the morning, put off from time 
 to time on one excuse or another, the magic door was almost 
 immediately opened to the new arrivals. 
 
 Joe's office was not unlike the dirty, ill-furnished outer 
 room. The floor was bare, and there was a Shannon desk, 
 with numberless pigeonholes affixed to the walls. There 
 was a piano under the window, with a fiddle case on the top 
 of it, also a pile of music. 
 
 Joe seemed to have grown fatter but no less affectionate : 
 
 " So here you are, my dear," he began, not rising from 
 his chair. " Not lost your looks, I see, either of you. And 
 how are things in Brook Street ? Nobody much in town 
 yet ? " 
 
 They had come at a good time ; the old favourites were 
 booked until Christmas, and there was room for something 
 new. Sally looked just as remarkable here as she had at 
 Brighton, although somewhat paler. Joe had not forgotten 
 her. He had even sought her out, at her lodgings, when 
 his domestic affairs had given him leisure again, but the 
 girls had already left. Then he had waited quite confidently 
 for them to turn up here. Elfrida Carthew was not the girl 
 to remain away from the boards if she could help it. He 
 felt sure she would bring the other with her, and his faith 
 was quickly justified. 
 
 It appeared that Sally had only come with Elfrida be- 
 cause Elfrida had implored it. Sally did not particularly 
 want to go on the stage. She did not think she could dance, 
 at least, not before a lot of people, all of them staring at 
 her ! She could sing most things she heard, but she sang 
 only to herself. Sally was diffident of her powers, hesitat- 
 ing about her requirements, satisfied to play second string 
 to Elfrida, who was resplendent in the blue serge with the 
 brass buttons. 
 
 I ow you say you can sing anything you hear. Have 
 i43 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 you heard Jenny Jones and Minnie Mason in their duet 
 1 We're lassies from the country ' ? " 
 
 Yes, as it happened, Sarah had heard them. She knew 
 the tune and some of the words. 
 
 " Well, my dear, let me see what you can do with it. You 
 and Miss Carthew. I'll call in Mr. Hyams ; he'll give you 
 the air." 
 
 Elfrida, who had had a little training, caught at the 
 chance of exhibiting her powers. Sally was unwilling, and 
 at first almost unpersuadable. She did not mind Mr. Aarons, 
 or Elfrida, but, when Mr. Hyams sat down to the piano she 
 was struck suddenly dumb. She never had sung to a piano, 
 she couldn't sing to a piano, and, as for dancing . . . 
 
 Mr. Hyams nevertheless struck up a few chords, swinging 
 half round on the music stool, watching their effect : 
 
 " This is the way it goes. . . ." 
 
 He hummed a stave or two, looking at Sally, willing her. 
 Elfrida raised her voice to join with his, Joe, husky but 
 tuneful, struck in for the chorus. Mr. Hyams kept the 
 accompaniment low, a mere murmur of chords. Involuntarily 
 Sally's fresh young voice joined in. Elfrida sang her part 
 with spirit, and Sally gained confidence as she went on. 
 The song was catchy, the words were full of innuendo, but 
 that Sally missed. Elfrida supplied it, however, over-sup- 
 plied it, and the contrast made the thing piquant. It was 
 not sung as Jenny Jones and Minnie Mason had sung it, but 
 it suggested a new combination to Joe ; it gave him a sudden 
 idea. 
 
 " There, there, that will do." He stopped them after a 
 verse : 
 
 " A very pretty voice, my dear, very pretty ; they go well 
 together, too. Don't you think so, Ike ? Now, look here, 
 I've go f an idea for you. You go outside a bit ; you can 
 talk things over between yourselves. Miss Carthew, she 
 
 [44 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 wants a chance. Miss Snape, she can't make up her mind 
 what she wants. You talk things over, and me and my 
 friend here will talk things over too." 
 
 For Mr. Hyams was not part of the business, as they 
 had imagined, he was a relative out of work. Already 
 Joe had found that his unerring ear, and his musical 
 talent, almost amounting to genius, were invaluable to the 
 office. 
 
 Isaac Hyams had been educated at the Jews' Free School, 
 gaining every possible prize and scholastic honour; for 
 three years after he left there he held a clerkship in the 
 office of Messrs. Eothschild. But his musical gift burned 
 within him, and would not be denied. He left the security 
 of the bank, dispensed with the kindly interest of the 
 great philanthropic house, to play third violin in the band 
 of the Grecian. With incredible sacrifice he had paid for 
 lessons in harmony, and in orchestration. At twenty-three 
 years of age he knew he had been wise in his decision ; he 
 knew he would rather starve to music than quill-drive to 
 affluence. Grand opera was his goal ; en route to it he had 
 written half a dozen music-hall songs. Now that he has 
 found his medium, every one has heard of him, but these 
 were the days of his novitiate. 
 
 " Well ? * said Joe, as soon as they were alone. His 
 tone was interrogative, but triumphant. "What do you 
 think ? That's the girl I told you of, you remember, the 
 one I met at Brighton." 
 
 Isaac Hyams turned his ungainly person to and fro on 
 the music stool, playing chords with his left hand. 
 
 " She'll do," he said laconically. 
 
 " Pretty voice ? " 
 
 "Not much of it." 
 
 " Good ear ; hits it in the middle ? n 
 
 * Very ; oh, yes, quite." 
 
 h 145 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * And she can move." 
 
 "There's less doubt about her figure than about her 
 voice." 
 
 " Fve been thinking." Joe always spoke slowly when he 
 thought. "Did you notice — did anything strike you — 
 the one so knowing, the other so innocent ? " 
 
 " Of course, I saw what you did. You'll bring 'em out 
 as < The Silly Billy Girls/ or < The Tutti Frutti Girls.' I'll 
 write the song, I've got the song in my mind." 
 
 The chords altered ; now he faced the piano, played with 
 both hands a little repetitive melody, the refrain in a minor 
 key. " I'll get the words up to-night." 
 
 " But she'll have to be taught. . . ." 
 
 " Yes ; but she's got it in her, the dancing, I mean, not 
 the singing. There's a rhythmic music about her personal- 
 ity. Listen, this is it." He went on playing. 
 
 "I saw that down at Brighton — spotted it at once," 
 Joe said triumphantly. As Isaac played he pictured Sally 
 dancing, "but I shall have to engage the other girl with 
 her. I'll get Job Macher to take them both, and give them 
 a good doing over. I suppose I shall have to pay him." 
 
 " Haven't they, either of them, got anybody ? " 
 
 " The little one, Elfrida Carthew, had a friend, Captain 
 Gordon. He paid a premium for her when I got her on at 
 Roma, and she had some lessons then. The other is quite 
 fresh. She's got nobody. I must do it on my own if I do 
 it. It's a speculation." 
 
 Isaac Hyams got up. He wore his black hair uncon- 
 scionably long, his nose was abnormally large, he spoke 
 with an East End accent, and he had the further disadvan- 
 tage of adenoids. He had forgotten to shave, and possibly 
 to wash, this being Thursday — next day, Friday, of course, 
 he would wash. But there was a sense of power and ca- 
 pacity about him, even now. 
 
 146 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "There is no speculation about it; it is a certainty. 
 She wants teaching, of course, but then she'll catch on. 
 She's just got that particular quality which spells success. 
 I'll write this song for her ; that ought to make us quits 
 on what I owe you. The other girl is a bit of a let-down, 
 but there is no money in anything but a duet at the 
 moment. Job Macher can have the manuscript to-morrow. 
 He must make her move, make her more flexible. Her 
 two yards of red hair and her eigh teen-inch waist must be 
 accentuated. I'll get 'em in the song. But she must move 
 about." 
 
 Then he changed the subject. " Sophie Darnley and that 
 Travers girl are waiting. Are you going to see them ? " 
 
 "Presently. Do 'em good to wait. You're not off, are 
 you ? " 
 
 " I'd like to get the thing on paper." He was humming 
 it, trying to capture a new musical phrase. "You can 
 do without me, can't you ? " 
 
 It was not easy to persuade Sally Snape that Brook Street 
 was to be given up, and with it her prospect of meeting 
 Mr. Perry again. Joe talked a great deal, and then he 
 took the girls to lunch at Frascati's. He pointed out this 
 and the other celebrity, and casually mentioned their 
 salaries. The sums seemed incredible to Sally, but were 
 familiar hearsay to Elfrida. Every girl, or party of girls, 
 had some young man with her or them, and groups of 
 young men stood about or lunched together, but they all 
 seemed to know Joe and each other, and all the girls. 
 
 Sally got an impression of large black hats, heavy 
 feathered, and of feather boas ; she was still too near her 
 Hampstead Heath days not to be envious of the plumage. 
 She liked the good food. Joe told her that May Vernon 
 had been at the halls before Tom Peters found her and 
 gave her her first engagement at the Crystal. Now she 
 
 147 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 had a hundred a week, and drew every penny of it. Tilly 
 Gunesty was doing a trick turn with the Dalrymple 
 Brothers when she was discovered. And so on. New talk, 
 new worlds, for Sally Snape. It was being made attractive 
 for her to go to Job Macher. 
 
 Many people looked at Joe Aarons and his party that 
 day at Frascati's. Elfrida's type was familiar. She had 
 been there before. Harry Gordon's friends all knew her. 
 But Sally was new, unfamiliar. And she was gazing about 
 her with the interested eyes of a child. They were child's 
 eyes, too ; it was almost impossible not to recognize that. 
 One or two habitue's sauntered over to speak to Joe. 
 Johnny Lyne, for instance, and Tom Chenie. But Joe 
 gave no introduction. Neither the artist nor the derelict 
 aristocrat could be of any use to him in launching his 
 find. 
 
 "What are you going to tell them in Brook Street ?" 
 was Elfrida's first question to Sally when they had left 
 Joe, after going back with him to the office, signing that 
 little bit of an agreement he suggested, and arranging to 
 go with him to Job Macher on Monday. " You're regularly 
 apprenticed, aren't you? You'll have to invent some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Invent ! " 
 
 " Well, give some excuse for leaving. We shall have to 
 change our room. I wouldn't have signed that agreement 
 if I'd been you. You've bound yourself for two years. He 
 knew better than to ask me." 
 
 " But he is going to pay to have me taught dancing and 
 singing, and to give me one pound a week when I'm out of 
 an engagement, and three pounds when I'm in; and find 
 my dresses ! " 
 
 " That's all very well ; but if you're any good, he might 
 make thirty pounds a week out of you," she retorted. 
 
 148 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Of course, she was jealous, bitterly jealous. Joe had 
 found an opportunity for a private word or two with her. 
 She knew she had to make Sally in love with her prospects. 
 Her own engagement depended upon Sally's signing the 
 agreement for which she now taunted her. Elfrida knew 
 well enough that it was to Sally she owed her own chance 
 of a fresh start. Joe left her under no illusion. It was 
 for the halls, and not for the theatre^ they were to be 
 coached. 
 
 Like all young ladies in her position, Elfrida held a 
 quite extraordinary view of her own talents. It was only 
 a "chance" she wanted. She had seen no particular merit 
 in Sally's rendering of " We're lassies from the country " ; 
 she thought her own much better and truer to the original. 
 Only let her have a chance, and she would show them what 
 she could do. And then . . . The "then," with all its 
 possibilities, that crowded into Elfrida's vain fair head, 
 included a successor to Captain Gordon with an unlimited 
 income and an unappeasable desire to spend it all upon 
 her. She was not more uneven in her temper than Sally 
 had seen her before ; in fact, she had intervals of 
 extraordinary good humour in the next week, when Sally 
 was suffering under the difficulties of Miss Baines' cross- 
 examination. 
 
 " I don't know what Mr. Perry will say when he hears 
 you are leaving us, or Lady Dorothea Lytham. Why, she 
 paid fifty pounds for you to come here. And now you are 
 sacrificing that." 
 
 But encouraged and stimulated by Elfrida, Sally stood 
 firm. 
 
 She had her hardest task on Sunday with Charlie Pea- 
 stone. It was Charlie who had taken her to the music-hall 
 where she had heard the song that had confirmed Joe's 
 opinion of her. Charlie Peastone was in love, in love to 
 
 »49 %T 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 the utmost extent of his limited capacity. He waited for 
 Sally of an evening when she left Brook Street ; he had 
 taken her twice to the theatre and once to a music-hall. 
 He was very proud when people turned round to look at 
 her, and he often let slip the opportunity of making a joke. 
 By mutual consent the subject of marriage was left in 
 abeyance. And he understood that Sally objected to any 
 tangible expression of his affection. But she liked going 
 with him to places of amusement, and she wore the gold 
 " Mizpah " ring that he had given her. 
 
 The last Sunday of all, the Sunday before she was to 
 begin her public career, he met her by appointment at the 
 Museum tube station, and went on with her to Lancaster 
 Gate, This was their best way to get into Kensington 
 Gardens. The weather was still fir ?, and the Gardens, in 
 their autumn garb of browns and yellows, were almost as 
 beautiful as in their early green. Sally liked walking by 
 the water, watching the sun on it, and the ducks. She would 
 have liked to stand and feed them, but Charlie said 
 it was " rather low." In his light bowler hat, cut-away 
 coat, black and white check waistcoat, and green tie, 
 Charlie presented a very stylish appearance. It seemed 
 impossible any girl could resist him. He was in very high 
 spirits, too, this morning. Sally had been quite nice to 
 him all the week. And she looked "rippin' " this fine 
 autumn morning, "simply rippin'." On the strength of 
 her certain one pound a week, and probable three pounds, 
 she had bought a new hat, a small one with a green bird in 
 it, and her hair was fluffed up and pinned against it, in the 
 very latest fashion. 
 
 " Well, I call that a compliment, trimming your hat to 
 match my tie." 
 
 " I hadn't seen your tie," she answered, with the extra- 
 ordinary directness that characterized her. u I got this 
 
 150 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 hat at Shoolbred's, because it was like the one I first saw 
 Lady Dorothea in when she came to see me in the hospital. 
 I trimmed it myself." 
 
 "What! the hospital?" But he pulled himself up. 
 " Anyway, I don't mind telling you it suits you. Rather 
 different to when I first met you. Not but what I saw 
 then you were different to all others. But there is no 
 doubt being among dressy people has done a lot for you." 
 His ever-growing admiration had to find an excuse, and, 
 certainly Miss Sarah Snape of the Brook Street establish- 
 ment, a stylish figure in her small toque and spotted veil, 
 was a very different person from the rough-headed factory 
 girl he had found with Luke Cullen in Epping Forest. 
 " You'd hold your own with any of them, and a bit of theirs 
 too. How are things going ? Mr. Perry back ? " For 
 Charlie, too, had heard of the difference his absence made. 
 
 "No." 
 
 She wanted to tell Charlie that she had left Brook 
 Street, and had no longer an interest in Mr. Perry's 
 return. But it was easier to watch the ducks. He had 
 no right to interfere, no one had any right to interfere, 
 with her actions. But she " couldn't be walking out with 
 him, and him not know." 
 
 "I've left the shop," she said, at length, moving back 
 from the water's edge, not looking at him. 
 
 Charlie turned pale; he was habitually pale, but he 
 turned paler. 
 
 " Left the shop ! " he ejaculated. " Well ! I didn't expect 
 you'd have brought it with you." He collected himself 
 to say this, with an attempt at jocularity to cover his 
 astonishment. "Did they give you the sack? Are they 
 turning off the others ? What are you going to do ? " 
 
 He was quite overwhelmed with the news. Sally's style 
 and consequence had so much improved at Brook Street 
 
 »5' 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Fears knocked at his heart, at first merely selfish, then foi 
 her sake. " What are you going to do ? " Then a splendid 
 vision dawned, but faded quickly. " I wish I could afford 
 to get married. Why didn't I save like Alf Stevens ? I 
 say, wouldn't it be rippin' if we could take a little place ? " 
 
 " I've got an engagement." 
 
 " To me, I know." 
 
 "I don't mean that. You know I'm not engaged to 
 you. You can take back your old ring." 
 
 " Don't be huffy. I didn't mean it. I know you don't 
 care about me." He looked at her for a denial; he was 
 humbler with Sally than with any girl he had ever wooed. 
 Still it was difficult to believe she did not care about him. 
 
 * I'm going on the stage." 
 
 "You're not." 
 
 "Yes, lam." 
 
 He was struck dumb. He sat down on the seat, dis- 
 turbing two nurse girls. Sally stood up beside him, and 
 the sun played with her hair. 
 
 " What's against it ? " she asked defiantly. Elfrida had 
 coached her. 
 
 " An actress ! " Visions of home, of domestic ties and 
 joys, the better life he was going to lead, had, in fact, 
 begun to lead, were suddenly darkened and blotted out 
 by her words. 
 
 " It's impossible ! I — I — won't have it." 
 
 "You! You won't have it," she said contemptuously. 
 " What have you got to do with it, I'd like to know ? " 
 
 " You know you as good as promised." 
 
 " I promised nothing. You said we'd walk out together. 
 And we walked out. But I've no call to give up anything I 
 choose to do." 
 
 " You'd rather break my heart." 
 
 In vain he told her that it was not respectable, that she 
 152 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 would unfit herself to become the wife of a clerk at Messrs 
 Hall & Palmer's. He told her what Mary would say, and 
 Alf ; he used every argument at his command. Sally knew 
 she would keep herself respectable, whatever she did ; she 
 had no fears, and some resentment. 
 
 " I can take care of myself," was what she said. But 
 poor Charlie felt she would be lost to him. He, too, had 
 been under the glamour when he was younger. In that 
 poor fast life he had sampled, in the foyers of cheap music- 
 halls, at drinking bars, and in the streets, the words " I've 
 been an actress " had spelt sad histories. The best in him, 
 that best which his love for Sally had awakened, wanted 
 a home; he could not associate it with the word actress. 
 He had an outside view of life, perhaps, but what he 
 had seen negatived the possibility of the juxtaposition of 
 the word "wife" with the word "actress." Charlie was 
 hideously depressed and Sally was extraordinarily rude. 
 She hated him for the misgivings with which he inspired 
 her. She would not " let on " that his words made any 
 impression, she gave him back his ring and repudiated 
 any possible promise or engagement. By the time he left 
 her at Ursula Rugeley's the breach between them was ir- 
 reparable. 
 
 To Ursula the news was equally startling, but, being a 
 more educated person, she had a more open mind. Also, 
 whilst the word " actress " meant to Charlie Peastone a rad- 
 dled, half-drunken creature, vagrant between the police court 
 and the streets, to Ursula it meant the Terrys, or Winifred 
 Emery, Mrs. Kendal, or Violet Vanbrugh. Ursula Rugeley 
 was held captive by Sally Snape's charms ; she had been 
 fascinated from the first hour of their acquaintance. Sally's 
 slowness in acquiring education had not impaired Ursula's 
 belief that the girl could do anything on which she set her 
 mind. 
 
 'S3 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "I wish you were going to His Majesty's, or the Hay- 
 market." 
 
 Prompted by Elfrida, Sally had said only that she 
 was going on the stage, leaving out the fact that it was 
 the music-hall stage upon which she would make her 
 ddbut. 
 
 " However, I am sure, since this Mr. Aarons has been so 
 kind to you, he will see that you get into a nice company. 
 But what about that young man you were telling me about, 
 the one who is clerk at Messrs. Hall & Palmer's ? What 
 does he say about it ? " 
 
 Sally flushed. She had been very angry with Charlie; 
 her anger was due to the fact that so much of what he had 
 said voiced her own feelings. She was full of misgivings. 
 
 "He doesn't like it at all. He said it was as good as 
 going on the streets. I'm not going to have anything more 
 to do with him. He took it on himself to say he shouldn't 
 let me do it ; it was like his impudence. I gave him back 
 his ring." 
 
 " Oh dear, I am so sorry. I thought you were beginning 
 to care for him. You know when he brought you here last 
 Sunday you looked so bright and happy." 
 
 "It wasn't him, it was the river. We'd been to Rich- 
 mond." 
 
 154 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 MONDAY found Sally, very nervous, walking up and 
 down, with Elfrida, outside a shop in the Borough 
 Road, waiting for Joe Aarons. 
 
 " I'm sure I shan't be able to do a thing he tells me. I 
 never could abide to be ordered about." She was quite 
 pale, and in her least attractive mood. " As for singing or 
 dancing this way or that to anybody's bidding . . ." 
 
 "Oh, buck up," said Elfrida. "I know Job Macher. 
 I've had lessons with him before. He'll shout at you, and 
 his language is awful, but you'll like him all the same. 
 He is a splendid teacher, the best going." 
 
 " As for language, I'll give him as good as he brings." 
 
 " Don't you sauce him. You just try and get on. Don't 
 forget the sooner you are ready the sooner you'll get your 
 screw." 
 
 Just then Joe's hansom drove up. Joe had a flower in his 
 buttonhole, and a big cigar in his mouth. 
 
 Mr. Macher's academy was over a newspaper and station- 
 ery shop, with which, somehow or other, tobacco was inex- 
 tricably mingled. 
 
 "I'm in a tearing hurry. I've got to get back to the 
 office in twenty minutes. Tom Peters is sending out five 
 touring companies with 'The Boys from Burton,' and 
 wants no end of girls. So hurry up, my dears. I'm glad 
 you didn't keep me waiting." 
 
 He bustled them through the shop, where he seemed to 
 be well known, for a man in shirt sleeves and a tidy-look- 
 ing woman simultaneously said " good day." 
 
 »55 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Mr. Macher is in his room," the woman said, but Joe 
 was already half up the stairs, with the girls following. 
 
 The room was large, and bare, save for a piano, at which 
 sat a seedy young man. Job came in a moment later, red- 
 faced, red-nosed, and hoarse of voice. 
 
 "Morning, Macher. These are the girls I telephoned 
 you about. You've got their song?" 
 
 " He's just trying it." Mr. Macher indicated the seedy 
 young man. He was laconic, and wasted no time in greet- 
 ings. " How long have I got ? " 
 
 " Say a fortnight." 
 
 "Never done anything? Why, I've seen you before." 
 This was to Elfrida. 
 
 ■ A year and a half ago. I only had ten days," she an- 
 swered deprecatingly. 
 
 The dance-master looked inquiringly at Joe Aarons. 
 He had had particular instructions about these new pupils. 
 The song with dance had been sent to him, and it was a 
 good one. But already he had given his verdict on Elfrida, 
 and he was surprised to find it was she who was to have it. 
 Joe made the position clear with a wink : 
 
 " This is Miss Snape ; by the way, my dear, we must 
 find a better name for you before you come out. She has 
 the second part, a light soprano Mr. Hyams calls her voice. 
 But it's the dance that matters. He's been up to see you 
 about it, hasn't he ? I must run away. Let me know 
 how things go, and when they will be ready." Joe Aarons 
 and Mr. Macher had a short whispered colloquy by the 
 door. 
 
 "I couldn't do a thing here, I couldn't for the life of 
 me," Sally said nervously to Elfrida. 
 
 " Oh, you'll be all right," she answered impatiently. 
 "I wonder what our song is like. Have you got a copy 
 of our song ? " she asked the youth at the piano. 
 
 156 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 « The Tutti Frutti Girls ? " he queried. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " It's here, it's in manuscript." 
 
 "Now then, young ladies." Mr. Macher was upon them. 
 '•' Time wasted, wasted time. Why aren't you dressed ? " 
 
 Elfrida knew, but had forgotten. Sally was startled, but 
 found herself rushed into action. Mr. Macher's rasping 
 voice penetrated to where they had been sent, to take off 
 their walking skirts and boots, to put on shoes and abbrevi- 
 ated petticoats. It was all bustle and hurry, the piano 
 and Mr. Macher's penetrating voice summoning them simul- 
 taneously. 
 
 " Now then, aren't you ready ? How much longer ? 
 Come along now, I can't stay here all day." 
 
 It was Sally's extraordinary adaptability that made her 
 success. Within ten minutes, all shyness; nervous fears, 
 and doubts of herself dispelled, she was dancing, under 
 Mr. Macher's directions, to the tunes the pianist read or 
 improvised. Sally had forgotten the gbie of her short 
 skirts, she was being taught to kick them out of her way. 
 Mr. Macher had no sense of the ridiculous. If he wanted 
 his pupils to do a thing, he showed them by doing it himself. 
 He picked up his imaginary skirt, held up his ungainly leg 
 in its black and white check trousers, put his ugly red face 
 now to this side, now to the other, grinned at an imaginary 
 audience, and showed his yellow, uneven teeth, all with 
 complete unconsciousness of anything bizarre or unusual 
 about his performance. 
 
 For half a century Job Macher had been teaching chorus 
 girls to dance and sing. At one time or another he had had 
 the majority of the music-hall stars under his able hands. 
 He recognized a girl's capacity and limitations in one lesson. 
 He tried to teach them only what he knew they could learn. 
 Elfrida Carthew had found him unexacting and com- 
 157 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 paratively easy to please. But then, he had known all 
 about Harry Gordon's premium, and how little was ex- 
 pected of Miss Carthew, beyond keeping her place in the 
 fourth row. Sally Snape was a very different proposition. 
 It was not often that Joe Aarons paid for anybody. He 
 was a purveyor rather than a speculator. Sally, after her 
 first half hour, during which she had merely been allowed 
 to show her incapacity, found herself, to her ultimate sur- 
 prise, although in the excitement of movement she had 
 hardly realized it, being screamed at, and sworn at, and 
 ordered to do this and that, not once but six, seven, and 
 even eight times, found herself in the grip of a tyrannous 
 taskmaster, exhausted, out of breath, aching in every limb, 
 but still unreleased. 
 
 Elf rida's vanity, which had been hurt by Joe Aarons' in- 
 difference, plumed itself again, and grew sleek while Sally 
 was being bullied and abused, and her own efforts were left 
 practically uncriticised. The two hours, during which it 
 seemed to Sally she had done the hardest work she had 
 ever done in her life, passed quite quickly and pleasantly 
 to Elfrida. She would have been surprised if she had 
 known that it was because the dancing-master knew there 
 was no talent in her that he made no effort to bring it out. 
 
 It seemed to him that Sally had all the possibilities, and 
 the earnestness she put into her work, the complete way 
 in which she gave herself up to his teaching, endeavour- 
 ing to carry out his orders, accentuated his desire to get 
 her on. The bullying and swearing meant nothing; it 
 was just his way. And, of course, Sally had everything 
 to learn. She was ordered to come back in the afternoon 
 for a singing lesson. In the meantime she might rest. 
 Job was quite civil to her when the lesson was at an end. 
 
 "You'll have to work very hard if Joe Aarons wants 
 you ready in a fortnight. I'm not at all sure the thing can 
 
 158 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 be done, not at all sure. You'll have to get the hang of it, 
 the swing and go. There's no use moving to music, what 
 you've got to do is to move to the audience. You've got 
 to make 'em feel as if they were all dancing your dance, 
 swaying and singing with you." He even went so far as to 
 say : " You mustn't mind me swearing and cursing at you. 
 You try and make me clap my hands and encore. You get 
 me to do that, and you're all right. And it's to be done, 
 mind you, it's to be done." 
 
 It was Job Macher's advice that Sally should practise 
 dancing every day, and all day long, except for the 
 hour or so with the singing-master. But her evenings 
 were to be spent at the music-halls. Sally must get the 
 trick of appealing to her audience. For to-night he gave 
 them tickets for the Grecian, to hear Jenny Jones and 
 Minnie Mason again. But he promised to speak to Joe 
 Aarons about it, and see they were supplied with passes for 
 the syndicate, and other, halls. 
 
 Sally fell in with her new life just as readily as she had 
 fallen in with the factory routine, and the Brook Street 
 ways. She did exercises, she skipped for hours before the 
 glass, she danced and practised steps, and with some 
 difficulty she learnt the words of the duet that Isaac Hyams 
 had written for her. She spent her evenings trying to 
 capture the secret of the applause that greeted this or the 
 other popular favourite. In the first few days she was 
 often too tired to sleep. She passed through the inevit- 
 able stage when she seemed to herself to be progressing 
 backwards, to have grown stiffer and more ungainly, to 
 have lost what little she had learnt. Job had to encourage, 
 instead of swearing at her, the day she broke down. That 
 was the day she burst into tears, and said she would give 
 it up, she knew she was beat, she couldn't learn, and he 
 was tired of trying to teach her. 
 
 159 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "What, what! you crying? Well, I never! What 
 did I say ? You mustn't mind what I say ; I only go on 
 like that when I've got ground to work on. You'll be all 
 right ; it takes a little time. She's nothing to cry about, 
 has she, Mr. Jones ? Why, Mr. Jones was saying to me, 
 only the moment before you came in, he wouldn't have be- 
 lieved you could have got on so quick ; done so much in 
 the time. Leave off crying ; here, have a drop of this." 
 
 He was hoarsely kind, he put his own glass of rum and 
 water to her lips, and, although she pushed it away, laugh- 
 ing and crying at the same time, he made her sip a little. 
 
 " I thought you meant I wasn't doing it any better than 
 at first. I thought you'd got tired of teaching me." 
 
 "Tired of teaching you! Not me. You're getting on 
 all right, but I wanted to surprise Joe Aarons, that's why 
 I swore. He's coming to-morrow to see how it goes. Now, 
 I want you to pull yourself together, and go through it 
 once more. You aren't tired, are you ? " 
 
 Of course Sally was tired, hysterical from fatigue, but she 
 would have scorned now to admit it. When she had gone 
 once more through the steps, however, he realized it, and 
 let her go for the day : 
 
 "Now, don't you go out to-night; you go straight 
 home, and go to bed. Turkish bath and massage would 
 be the best thing for you, but I suppose it won't run to 
 that? About to-morrow, Joe is coming at eleven with 
 Mr. Hyams. You be here at 10.30 with Miss Carthew, and 
 I think we'll show them something that will surprise them. 
 How about your dresses ? Has he said anything to you 
 about them ? You ought to wear tights, and as little else 
 as possible. But I suppose that won't do for the Paragon," 
 he said regretfully. 
 
 Sally, whose body during this fortnight had been treated 
 as goods for the market, had ceased, or forgotten, to resent 
 
 160 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 it. Job had been so matter-of-fact in his allusions to hei 
 legs, to her back, to any and every part of her anatomy, 
 that, after the first strangeness had worn off, she had fallen 
 in with his views. She was glad of her straight legs, of her 
 slender waist, of her suppleness. She had never had much 
 time to think of herself, or her appearance, until she went 
 to Brook Street. Since then she had thought of little 
 else. Job Macher's methods taught her to give expression 
 to her physical values, but in a way that left certain in- 
 herent modesties untouched. She drew on her first pair 
 of borrowed tights, Job had lent them to her, and she wore 
 with them the old merino bodice, and the short skirt in 
 which she had taken all her dancing lessons. This was 
 the costume in which she appeared before Joe Aaron s and 
 his partner. Her hair was parted in the middle, the mass 
 of it coiled low down on her neck. Her face was flushed, 
 and her eyes were dark with excitement. She was going 
 to do her best, she was going to do Mr. Macher credit, after 
 all the trouble he had taken with her. But she had no 
 more g$ne about her exposed legs than a child in shoes and 
 socks. 
 
 Joe and Isaac Hyams were there on business. Tom 
 Peters had taken all the available metropolitan talent 
 for his " Boys from Burton," the greatest success he had 
 had for years. The halls were languishing for fresh talent, 
 the public was already tired of psychic manifestations 
 and American humour. If, and Joe Aarons rarely made a 
 mistake, Sally Snape was any good, his agreement with her 
 was a bank-note. Isaac Hyams wanted to see how his 
 music went. Neither of them wasted time in considering 
 Sally's strange toilette. Elfrida, her skin-tight jersey 
 matching her pink skirt, was of little interest to them. 
 
 "Let 'era go ahead," said Joe, and Mr. Jones struck 
 up the " Tutti Frutti Girls." Ho did not have a chance 
 
 M l6l 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 for more than those opening chords. Without the least 
 ceremony, Mr. Hyams pushed him off the stool. " I'll 
 play," he said. "Now, then, get on with it." 
 
 Elfrida knew her words perfectly, she ogled and was 
 arch. Her voice was shrill, and it carried. She was the 
 quintessence of commonplace ; there is not a music-hall 
 in London that does not boast an artist more or less her 
 counterpart. To say she had no talent is to give her per- 
 formance undue prominence. She had the talent of creat- 
 ing an atmosphere, the atmosphere of the lower-class 
 places of amusement. One saw and heard the jokes about 
 drink and unfaithful husbands, mothers-in-law, and police ; 
 almost one smelt the smoke, and the stale beer, and the 
 breaths of the people. The spirit of a lewd, vulgar, and 
 leering familiarity was in the use she made of her words, 
 the gestures with which she accompanied them. There 
 were four men in the room, and none of them considered 
 her. 
 
 But, against the atmosphere Elfrida created, Sally 
 moved like music, was music. Isaac Hyams found himself 
 following, instead of leading, her. The words she sang 
 were as meaningless as if they had come from the lips of 
 a child, tunefully, softly, she seemed to sing them under 
 her breath, all her breath she wanted for Job Macher's 
 dance. And she danced it exquisitely, with grace and 
 meaning, and a curious intentness. She combined the 
 air of the novice practising her steps with the neatness 
 and finish of the perfected artist. Her ingenuous eyes 
 asked for praise when she had finished. But for the 
 moment there was silence, 
 
 Isaac Hyams* extraordinary vanity outleapt the emotion 
 her performance had evoked. 
 
 " Well, I hit it neatly, didn't I ? " he asked Joe. " That's 
 what they want, the contrast of the Tutti girl from Devon, 
 
 162 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 with the Frutti girl from Town. It's going to take London, 
 that show is. They'll find rue out in time, and Tom Peters 
 will leave off going to Jones and Daintree and Clive Jack- 
 son for songs and music. Who are you going to offer them 
 to? Not Albert!" 
 
 Then they all began to talk at once, and discuss which 
 of the music-hall managers should have the first refusal of 
 " The Tutti Frutti Girls." Job found time to throw a word 
 of praise to Sally, and the girls were dismissed to dress. 
 The animated discussion resulted in the decision for the 
 Grecian. Job, who was listened to with respect, was 
 against rushing Sally too quickly to the West End. He 
 said she was uncertain, her work wanted steadying. She 
 ought to go on having lessons. Joe had got hold of a good 
 thing, but he must be careful how he used it. 
 
 "Mark you, she's no genius. It's the make of her, 
 and a natural ear for music; that's all you've got to go 
 on. She's not bitten with the life, either. You'll make 
 a mistake if you go too quick with her; wait until she 
 catches right on to it. Just now she thinks the other girl 
 is the important one, and that she must keep in the back- 
 ground. That helps the effect, but you'll have to watch, 
 and see what happens when she's learnt her value; it 
 might just knock it to bits. There is no telling with this 
 sort. But don't you run away with the idea, because I've 
 managed to teach her a song and a dance, that you've got 
 a born genius to deal with." 
 
 Joe Aarons prided himself on having discovered Sally. 
 Isaac Hyams was convinced, now and always, that it was 
 to his song and dance she owed her subsequent career. 
 Job Macher felt it was he who had moulded her, and her 
 destinies, with his fortnight's teaching. 
 
 And Sally ? Sally did not think at all, she just let cir- 
 cumstance guide her. 
 
 163 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 It guided her, a very few days after this, to the manager 
 of the Grecian music-hall, in a four-wheel cab, with Joe 
 Aarons and Mr. Hyams and Miss Elfrida Carthew. 
 
 The manager was busy and indifferent. He eyed the 
 girls with more suspicion than favour. He told Joe 
 Aarons, abruptly, that all his geese were swans. He didn't 
 mind hearing them, but he was sick of amateurs. Joe 
 told him this would be the first appearance in England 
 of The Sisters Mainwaring, and the information left him 
 cold. Joe really did his best for them, and tried to make 
 Mr. Twallin think he was getting the offer of a lifetime. 
 But Mr. Twallin had had so many such opportunities! 
 
 Joe thought " The Sisters Mainwaring " sounded very 
 well. Sally was to be "Sarita" from this time onward. 
 He impressed upon her that " Sally Snape " wouldn't do, 
 wouldn't do at all. It was vulgar. Sarita was the ticket, 
 Miss Sarita Mainwaring. 
 
 Miss Sarita Mainwaring was immediately depressed by 
 Mr. Twallin's manner. She had been buoyed up by Job 
 Macher's praise, by the obvious satisfaction of Joe Aarons, 
 and by another song which Mr. Hyams hummed to her in 
 the cab. The last two or three days, too, Elfrida had talked 
 of nothing but the triumph they were going to have, of 
 the applause that already reverberated in her ears, of the 
 enthusiasm with which "old Twallin" would greet their 
 " turn." 
 
 It was in the reaction of the depression caused by Mr. 
 Twallin's indifference that she was called upon to give her 
 performance. 
 
 "All right, then, let's see what they can do. I'll be 
 back in a minute, I must just see what that damned fool, 
 Doone, is up to. We've got the Fosters from Brussels 
 over for to-night, and the trouble they're giving with their 
 apparatus makes me sick. I can't understand half they 
 
 164 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 say, and their interpreter don't know a word of any 
 language. Not a thing can I ever get done unless I do it 
 myself," he grumbled. "My idiot of a carpenter manages 
 to provide himself with an accident, and, so help me God, 
 I believe his assistant is half-witted. Look at him now ! " 
 
 They were standing on the steps, and Johnny Doone, 
 on a ladder, was occupied, or should have been occupied, 
 in fixing an iron staple to a rafter. But, at the moment 
 Mr. Twallin looked up, Johnny Doone looked down, and 
 Sally's was the face on which his eyes rested. So his 
 mouth fell, and his eyes looked fixed as if he saw an ap- 
 parition. Of course, Mr. Twallin thought he was a con- 
 genital idiot ; his expression would have earned him a 
 certificate. 
 
 He was brought to himself by a few well-directed oaths. 
 Neither he nor Sally had the social ease to carry the situa- 
 tion. Sally wondered how Johnny came there. She had 
 seen little of Johnny since she came out of hospital. 
 He said she had grown too grand for him; anyway, she 
 wouldn't walk out with him, and he never saw her. 
 
 Much had happened to Johnny, or so he accounted it, 
 and regular work was the outcome of the happenings. 
 Outwardly, he was a stage-carpenter, and a poor one, 
 according to Mr. Twallin. But inwardly he was a " child 
 of grace," and much uplifted by a recent conversion. 
 
 " Put that blasted stanchion in before the hook. Can't 
 
 you see, you b y idiot, that it's got nothing to hold to ? 
 
 We shall have an accident here to-night, and all London 
 talking about the danger of these shows." 
 
 "Well, they'll come and see them all the more," Joe 
 interpolated comfortingly. 
 
 When they had passed through the dirt and de*bris on to 
 the stage, it seemed that the band, ordered to put in an 
 early attendance, had failed to appear at all. There 
 
 165 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 delay, with more swearing. Isaac Hyains was prepared to 
 supply the place of the entire orchestra, had there been a 
 piano available. But the particular workmen, whose work 
 it was to move the piano, were all occupied with the Fos- 
 ter apparatus. It was not until the girls were weary with 
 waiting, Joe Aarons irritable, and Isaac absorbed in a " car- 
 penter's symphony," the idea of which had just dawned 
 upon him, that a start was made. A desperately bad start 
 it was. The girls had brought their short skirts with them, 
 but Mr. Twallin said he couldn't wait whilst they put them 
 on. Elfrida showed temper, and said she couldn't dance 
 in a long skirt and walking boots. Mr. Twallin replied 
 indifferently : 
 
 " Please yourself, my dear, either dance or leave it alone ! " 
 
 Joe Aarons told her, sotto voce, not to make a fool of her- 
 self. The piano was finally dragged upon the stage by the 
 gas-fitter and one of the firemen, but it was out of tune. 
 And Isaac Hyams' fingers were out of touch. He had lost 
 interest in his duet ; the symphony now was running in his 
 mind. 
 
 Under the circumstances it was hardly strange that Mr. 
 Twallin was not enraptured with the entertainment. The 
 verve had gone out of it. Sally moved as if she were an 
 automaton, Elfrida's shrillness was ill-tempered; even the 
 tune seemed to have lost its catch. Mr. Twallin's bored 
 expression gave the key into which the little show seemed 
 to fall. 
 
 " It isn't new, and it isn't good, and what there is of it 
 they can't do," he said to Joe Aarons when the perform- 
 ance drew flatly to its conclusion. 
 
 But his eye was upon Sally, led there, perhaps, more 
 through her extraordinary incompetence than any other 
 quality. And, as his eye fell upon Sally, hers had followed 
 Johnny Doone, descending his ladder now, and still 
 
 1 66 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 3taring at her. She laughed up at him, the old laugh; 
 the show was over, and, for the moment, she did not 
 seem to care much what had been the effect of it. Mr. 
 Aarons was talking to the manager, and why shouldn't she 
 have a word with an old friend ? 
 
 "Well, you are surprised at seeing me here; you look 
 struck all of a heap with it," she called out to Johnny. 
 " I suppose you thought I never should get away from 
 Brook Street ? " 
 
 " You don't dance as well as you used." That was all 
 the stupid fellow could find to say ; it did not in the least 
 reflect what he was feeling. 
 
 She laughed again, this time loudly. Mr. Twallin, 
 from the front of the house, said to Joe abruptly : 
 
 " They can have a week, extra turn, usual arrangement. 
 If it goes, it goes ; if not, that's the end of it. I must get 
 away now. Monday, eight sharp." 
 
 Outside, Joe, immensely relieved, quite in good humour 
 again, spoke seriously to the girls. 
 
 "You didn't do your best, neither of you. But you've 
 got your chance all the same." 
 
 Joe had had a moment of anxiety ; no one knew better 
 than he how poor an effect had been made with the song 
 and dance. He had missed that laugh of Miss Sarita 
 Mainwaring's which had suddenly changed Mr. Twallin's 
 decision to " turn the lot down." Joe thought Mr. Twallin 
 a cleverer man than he was, he thought the possibilities of 
 the duet had been recognized. 
 
 The few next days were taken up with further pre- 
 paration. Sally went on with her lessons, and was fitted 
 with her dress. Mr. Hyams had ordained it was to be of 
 green satin, curtailed just above the knees ; the petticoats 
 were also to be green. It was to be garlanded with wild 
 flowers, she was to wear a large hat covered with poppies 
 
 167 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 and corn, Dolly Varden shape, tied under her chin with 
 scarlet ribbons, and, during one part of the dance, she was 
 to take it off and swing it in her hand. He thought the 
 scarlet ribbons would make an effect against the green. 
 Elfrida was to be entirely in scarlet. The simplicity of 
 the country and the sinfulness of the town were supposed 
 to be exemplified by this colouring. Isaac Hyams always 
 had his limitations, he has them still. He is never allowed 
 to dress his plays; all Tom Peters' agreements with him 
 have this proviso. 
 
 Sally told Johnny, from the first, how ugly her dress 
 was, and how she hated it. For Johnny and she had 
 met after the trial performance, and almost daily since. 
 Johnny said : 
 
 "Then don't you stick to it. Say nothing to nobody, 
 but order it different. No one will know until you come 
 on, and then they can't do nothing; I've heard lots of 
 them say they've done that." 
 
 Johnny heard all about Sally's change of occupation, 
 and how it came about. Sally heard of poor Sandy Kirk's 
 death, and of the scripture reader who sat with him, almost 
 to the end, and of Johnny's conversion. But why, upon 
 the strength of it, Johnny should have left the docks 
 to become a carpenter was difficult to explain. " Reg'lar 
 work " was the keynote of it. Johnny was a born lounger, 
 one of the British workmen who habitually runs his Satur- 
 day afternoons into Tuesday mornings. To the God-fear- 
 ing employer of labour, who had used the opportunity of 
 poor Sandy's death-bed to bring his room-mate to a late 
 confirmation, this seemed the point at which to aim. 
 
 " Anyhow, it came about, here I be, and I'm glad of it. 
 I've always been fond of you, Sal, always shall be. I can 
 walk home with you sometimes of nights. It isn't the sort 
 of life I should have thought you'd have chose." 
 
 168 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Well ! I didn't so much as choose it. But now Fm 
 in it, Fd like to get on." 
 
 "You ain't walking out with that Feastone fellow 
 still ? " 
 
 " Not me. He said it wasn't respectable." 
 
 " Come to that, neither's the dressmaking. You recollect 
 Emmy Powers. . . ." 
 
 " It isn't the life, it's the people as leads it," she said 
 sententiously, yet ignorantly. She knew all about Emmy 
 Powers, and the way Phil Rankin treated her when he'd 
 had his way with her ; but she was a poor-spirited thing, 
 anyway. " I shan't get into no more mischief on the stage 
 than off it," she said, a little uncomfortable, nevertheless. 
 
 "I'll look after you." 
 
 " I can look after myself." 
 
 The immediate result of Johnny's sympathetic suggestion 
 was that Sally went behind Isaac Hyams' instructions, 
 aud ordered white ribbons for the hat, pale cornflowers 
 and daisies instead of poppies. The green, too, to which 
 she persuaded the costumier, instead of being crude, as 
 Isaac had visualized it, was almost white, so pale and vague 
 was the colour in it. 
 
 On the first night of Sally's and Elfrida's appearance 
 at the music-hall, Joe Aarons was in the stalls, and Isaac 
 was in the circle, Job Macher in the gallery, and Johnny 
 Doone at the back. "Extra turn" was on the board, 
 "The Mainwaring Sistera (first appearance in London)" 
 was on the programme. 
 
 Mr. Twallin, in the wings, gave Sally an approving nod : 
 
 " Pretty gal ? " he said to the dresser. 
 
 " Well, Miss Mainwaring, and how are you feeling to- 
 night ? Nervous, eh ? This really is your first appearance, 
 isn't it ? There's the band striking up ; you've got a good 
 house. Smile at them when you go on." 
 
 169 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She smiled at him, instead, and he noted the dimples hi 
 her cheek. 
 
 " It's my dress I'm thinking of," she said simply. 
 
 " What's the matter with it ? " 
 
 He eyed her more closely. " It's very good. The skirt 
 is too long, or Miss Elfrida's is too short ; they ought both 
 to have been the same. But never mind about that now. 
 Have you seen the house ? " 
 
 He showed it to her through an aperture in the slip. 
 But it was only a smoke cloud she saw, with a sea of 
 colourless faces beyond. She could distinguish nobody. 
 
 " I'm not a bit frightened," she said nervously. 
 
 To-night Isaac Hyams got the exact effect he had 
 planned. Elfrida, primed with drink, in her scarlet 
 frock, was vulgar, wicked, and provocative. Her hair 
 was so very yellow, and her hat was so very elaborate, 
 that the pink in her cheeks and the scarlet in her lips were 
 essential, behind the footlights, in bringing out the fact 
 that she had any features at all. 
 
 Sally had been fortunate in her dresser. She, her arms, 
 her cheeks, and her lips, were all pale together ; her red 
 hair hung long past her waist, in two heavy plaits tied 
 with white ribbon. She moved, she looked, she sang, 
 she danced, with grace and unconscious charm. She was 
 a complete foil to Elfrida ; the amateurishness of the one 
 accentuating the stale professionalism of the other. They 
 had quite a little success, and were called before the 
 curtain. That was the moment Sally saw Job Macher 
 in the gallery, and, of course, it was at him she smiled and 
 nodded. But that little smile and nod did her more 
 good than her performance. Its spontaneity warmed the 
 hearts of several gallery boys, who took it for themselves, 
 and they gave her a fresh and encouraging salvo. Alto- 
 gether everybody was pleased. 
 
 170 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 *'It will go better by the end of the week," Joe said 
 to them, afterwards. He was quite confident now. He 
 spoke particularly to Sally. "You'll get the size of the 
 hall better, and let yourself go to it. They couldn't hear 
 you upstairs to-night. You'll have to sing out, and dance 
 out — then you'll do." 
 
 And he was right. Each evening was better than the 
 last. They were quickly promoted from the first "extra" 
 turn to the last. At the end of the fourth performance, 
 the house was singing the refrain for them. Sally had 
 caught on, she was already a favourite, her smile was waited 
 for, her laughter encouraged. She was a natural dancer, 
 and grew more assured and gayer every evening. Her 
 small voice was always right in the centre of the note, and 
 it had its own charm ; a piping birdlike simplicity was in 
 it. It carolled rather than sang, with lapses into utter for- 
 getfulness, whispers, and strange breaks. Sally's memory 
 and education were at fault, but her audience thought it 
 was all part of the performance. Within a week the duet 
 went with a swing, and people were crowding into the Gre- 
 cian to hear it. Sally even achieved the distinction of 
 being imitated, first at another hall, then here, in the very 
 place of her triumph, by that eminent caricaturist, Mr. Cis 
 Whigham. He made the most effective breaks and hoarse- 
 ness, he opened ingenuous eyes, and played the wondering 
 child, then he too broke into dazzling smiles and rippling 
 laughter, and got his roars of applause, as the cleverness 
 of the impersonation was realized. 
 
 Sally was hurt about it at first, and Johnny offered 
 to punch his head. But Joe told her it was doing her 
 good, so did Mr. Twallin, and Job Macher ; they agreed 
 it was bound to do her good. So Sally tried not to mind. 
 She also tried to alter her methods, to avoid the manner- 
 isms he imitated, but without conspicuous success. 
 
 171 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 The engagement had been a tentative one. At the end 
 of the time, Mr. Twallin offered them fifteen pounds a 
 week, and a six weeks' agreement. But Joe refused the 
 offer. He struck out for twenty pounds, aud got it. He 
 might have obtained even more, but he knew to a penny 
 what the hall held, and as he was always doing business 
 with Mr. Twallin, he did not want to kill the golden goose. 
 He would let the girls sign on for a month only ; he was 
 getting a swelled head over Sally. 
 
 "There's thousands in her," he told Isaac, confidentially; 
 " it's not many men that would have picked her out on the 
 Parade at Brighton." 
 
 " Much good you'd have done without my song," retorted 
 his cousin. 
 
 The first week that Sally got her three pounds was a 
 landmark to her. It seemed wealth, it was quite out of 
 proportion with anything she had previously earned. She 
 was still sharing a room with Elfrida, although they were 
 not congenial companions. They paid six-and-six for the 
 room. They had their meals together, and the whole ex- 
 penses they shared came to something less than a pound. 
 
 At last Sally would be able to put by something. Miss 
 Kugeley had always been urging it, but until now Sally 
 had never had more than sixteen shillings a week, and she 
 had found it difficult to live and dress out of that, almost 
 impossible to save. The second week, Joe, in high good 
 humour, said to her : 
 
 "Now, what would you do with a five-pound note if I 
 gave it to you ? " 
 
 "Buy some clothes," she said promptly. 
 
 " Will you give me a kiss for it ? You owe me one for 
 all I've done for you." 
 
 Sally was attacked on the most vulnerable side of her 
 nature, her sense of gratitude. She looked at the bald- 
 
 172 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 headed, beaky Jew. It was at his office, where she had 
 called, as arranged, for her salary. It was more than 
 likely she would have said yes, and Joe Aarons had the 
 look of a man who had already received the boon, so 
 shiny and complacent and beaming was he, when the door 
 opened abruptly to admit Mr. Edgar Levi. Mr. Edgar Levi 
 was Tom Peters' henchman. This was business, and might 
 be important business. Sally was dismissed with a nod : 
 
 "All right, my dear, that must wait" — this with a 
 wink that evoked Sally's light merriment. "Here's the 
 money, anyway. I'll come round soon and see how you've 
 spent it." 
 
 " Who's that ? " said Edgar Levi, almost before the door 
 had closed. " I haven't seen her before, have I ? " He 
 was as quick-witted as his co-religionist. 
 
 "Something new, my boy, something new," answered 
 Joe in a voice of triumph. " Tom Peters hasn't got all 
 the talent in London. That girl is going to beat the band. 
 You mark my words, she's another Letty Lind." 
 
 " Dances ? " 
 
 "Like a bird." 
 
 " Where's she on ? " 
 
 " She is doing a turn at the Grecian until I fix her up 
 better." 
 
 " Not the Mainwaring Sisters ? " 
 
 It was Edgar Levi's business to know everything that 
 went on in the world of entertainment, and he did his 
 business thoroughly. No success escaped him. But the 
 Grecian was a strange place to look for talent. 
 
 " That's the ticket, Miss Sarita Mainwaring, who's draw- 
 ing all London to the East End." 
 
 "Oh, all London — that's good ! You mean she's having 
 a success with the Commercial Road. She is singing l The 
 Tutti Frutti Girls/ isn't she ? What time is it on ? " 
 
 i73 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Ten. It's Return." 
 
 "Well, you needn't be so proud about it. You don't 
 sing it." 
 
 After a few amenities, Mr. Levi unfolded the object of 
 his visit, which did not happen to concern Sally, so may 
 remain unrecorded. But, after the necessary amount of 
 bargaining had been gone through, and Edgar Levi was 
 at the door, he said, condescendingly : 
 
 "I'll come and hear your flier to-night. You'd better 
 bring her to supper at the Koman's. She's not a bad-looking 
 little lot. What will you do for me if I bring Tom too ? " 
 
 " It's his loss if he doesn't hear 'em soon. They won't 
 go begging." 
 
 " Well, bring her to supper." 
 
 " There's two of them," Joe said. 
 
 "The more the merrier. Tom may have Muriel with 
 him, she's out of the bill. I'll tell Fritz to keep a table 
 for six, upstairs. The Grecian, you said ? Ten o'clock ? " 
 
 This was important. Tom Peters was Joe Aarons' 
 objective for Sally from the very first. That three pounds 
 a week agreement was made in view of just such a possi- 
 bility. Fortunately, Sally was still in the outer office. 
 Elfrida had not yet been paid, and Sally was waiting with 
 her; impatiently waiting, for she wanted to be spending 
 her five-pound note. 
 
 Joe Aarons called them in after Edgar Levi had gone, 
 and talked to them seriously. 
 
 "I'm going to take you two girls out to supper after 
 the show to-night, so you make yourselves look very smart. 
 And mind, you're to do your very best performance ; there's 
 no saying who may be in the house." 
 
 He added further instructions, impressing upon them the 
 importance of the evening. But it was Elfrida who ex- 
 plained the situation. 
 
 174 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "He's got some West End manager to come down; I 
 shouldn't wonder if it isn't Tom Peters ; you see if I'm not 
 right ! It's quite time he did take us out to supper ; you 
 bet he's coining money over us. I told you you were a fool 
 to sign that agreement. He'll have to give me more, or I 
 shan't go on." 
 
 But incidentally it may be related that, when, later on, 
 she brought her claims forward to Joe Aarons, his reply 
 was terse : 
 
 " Don't you make a damn fool of yourself, my dear. It 
 isn't you they are mimicking, is it ? Haven't you tumbled 
 to that ? I can replace you in ten seconds ; it isn't you 
 they're running after. You be glad I don't want any one 
 better as a foil to Miss Sally, and don't talk to me about a 
 rise. Why don't you find some one to look after you? 
 That's your line, you know. Harry Gordon isn't the only 
 fish in the sea. Good-bye. Don't run away with the idea 
 you're underpaid. You're overpaid." 
 
 Sally, with eight pounds in her pocket, with Joe Aarons' 
 instructions impressed upon her, that she', must look her 
 best this evening, wanted sympathy and help. Elfrida was 
 useless, she was neither sympathetic nor helpful at any 
 time. 
 
 Sally went mentally over her list of friends. Johnny 
 was always the most understanding, but he was difficult to 
 get at. However, fortune favoured her, for she met him 
 in the Strand, in his workman's clothes, carrying a tool 
 basket. Elfrida was disgusted with her for stopping to 
 speak to him : 
 
 " I shall go on if you do. I can't be seen talking to a 
 working man." 
 
 " I want to ask him something." 
 
 Prosperity had no effect on Sally's simplicity; she ran 
 after Johnny, and called to him. 
 
 »75 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 •'Hello, Sal, that you?" 
 
 "How fast you walk. Stop a bit, I want to ask you 
 something." 
 
 It all tumbled out at once. 
 
 " I am going to supper with Mr. Aarons to-night. There 
 is a West End manager coming to see us, he told me I was 
 to look very nice, and I've only got ..." 
 
 Johnny had been long enough in the theatrical world to 
 know the importance of the announcement. He agreed with 
 Sally that she must look her best* 
 
 "Not but what you always look better than most. All 
 the fellows say so, I stand about and listen. You're a real 
 success, Sal, a tip-topper." 
 
 But Sally distrusted herself, her taste, her talent. And 
 eight pounds seemed quite a fortune ; she did not mind 
 if she spent the whole of it, she was in a reckless mood. 
 A brilliant idea struck her, and set her heart beating, her 
 cheeks, flushing. It struck Johnny Doone at the same time, 
 and he voiced it. 
 
 " Why don't you see if that fellow in Brook Street is 
 back ? You thought such a lot of him." 
 
 "Mr. Perry?" She looked at Johnny. "Might I? 
 Could I, do you think I could ask him ? " 
 
 Johnny was of the opinion that she could do what she 
 liked, now, or at any time. But then, Johnny had never 
 been impressed by anybody except Sally, and, temporarily, 
 the scripture reader. 
 
 Sally hung about outside the shop in Brook Street after 
 she left Johnny. She had taken the Tube to the West End, 
 and all the short time between the stations, and all the long 
 time, waiting for the lift to ascend, she was framing what 
 she would say to Mr. Perry. Nearly an hour she spent, 
 walking up and down Brook Street, lacking courage to say 
 it. It was only when she had persuaded herself that it was 
 
 176 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 more than likely that he wasn't back that she ventured in. 
 Miss Baines might help her, she was always kind. 
 
 But Mr. Perry was back, looking ill, having grown thin, 
 and, for the moment, a little less assertive than before. 
 He had been back only two days, yet it was wonderful 
 how quickly he was gathering together the threads of 
 the business. He had missed Miss Snape, and asked for 
 her, expressing surprise when Miss Baines did not know 
 what had become of her. He did not seem to think it 
 anything out of the way when she came in. 
 
 "Oh, there you are, Miss Snape. Fve been asking for 
 you. "Why did you run away? You haven't done any 
 better, I suppose. I've got some models coming from Paris. 
 Miss Baines, where is that grey delaine ? Let Miss Snape 
 put it on, please, and the black voile. . . ." 
 
 It was all as it had been. Sally stood transfixed, ready 
 to take off her dress and try on the fine clothes; she re- 
 sponded immediately to the old spell and influence. It was 
 Miss Baines who roused her. The clothes had only come 
 from Paris this morning, they were not yet unpacked. 
 
 * Have you come back to us ? " she asked Sally. " I 
 must see Madame Violetta; she was very vexed at your 
 going so abruptly; so was Lady Dorothea, wasting the 
 premium and everything. . . ." 
 
 "I've not come back to stay," Sally stammered out. "I 
 wanted to ask you, to ask Mr. Perry, to — to help me." 
 
 Miss Baines eyed her curiously. Sally looked well-fed 
 and happy, her eyes were shining, her hair was glossy and 
 well-kept; but the colour came pnd went in her cheeks, 
 evidently her errand made her shy. 
 
 "What is it, child? "Miss Baines said, not unkindly; 
 Mr. Perry was by her side listening for the answer. 
 
 "I've not come to be taken back. I'm on the stage 
 now." 
 
 n 177 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * On the stage ! " ejaculated Miss Baines. 
 
 " And to-night I'm going to supper with Mr. Aarons, and 
 Mr. Peters may be coming to see me act, and . . ." here 
 her voice quivered, " I've nothing to wear, nothing ! I've got 
 eight pounds ; I'm getting a good salary, I thought perhaps 
 you'd help me." She got all this out at once, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 Miss Baines asked details, and plied Sally with ques- 
 tions. Mr. Perry's whole interest was in the clothes. He 
 eyed Sally's old black merino with the old disfavour. 
 
 " Where are you going to sup ? " 
 
 Sally did not know. 
 
 Mr. Perry, calling her "child" impatiently, told her 
 everything hinged upon that. If it was the Carlton or the 
 Savoy, she would want evening dress, opera cloak, every- 
 thing. But, if it were to Gatti's or Frascati's or one of 
 the Strand restaurants, it would have to be walking dress, 
 it was only a question of something becoming. 
 
 "Bring down that toque-, with the apple blossoms, 
 please," he shouted, in the middle of the questioning, quite 
 in the old manner. 
 
 Sally told him she had once before been out with Mr. 
 Aarons, and he had taken her to Frascati's. She thought 
 he had said something about the Boman's, for to-night. 
 Mr. Perry finally decided for her that it was most probable 
 Romano's would be her destination. That was after he had 
 heard the details which had been supplied to Miss Baines 
 already, when he learned she was appearing at the Grecian 
 music-hall, and her stag* 1 name was Sarita Mainwaring, and 
 Tom Peters was going to see her dance. He looked at her 
 now with new interest. She realized this, and her eyes and 
 smiles grew happier. 
 
 He tried Sally with dress after dress, as soon as the models 
 had been unpacked. He tempted her with one exquisite 
 
 178 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 confection after another. Again the greed and longing 
 rose in her heart. She loved herself in these beautiful 
 rich, soft-lined things ; she wanted them all. 
 
 " If Tom Peters takes a fancy to you, you'll be able to 
 have all you want, Miss Snape," he said cheerfully, loung- 
 ing against the door, surveying her in a marvel of pink 
 cr$pe de Chine and mauve pansies. Mr. Perry never stood 
 upright, with legs together and shoulders straight; he stood 
 always like a cab-horse, in a broken-down way, as if weak 
 under his size, now on one leg, now on another. Presently 
 he sat down, and followed the proceedings from the velvet 
 fauteuil. 
 
 He finally decided that Miss Snape was to have the 
 loan of a black silk dress, the entire top of which was of 
 real white lace, of exquisite quality. The corselet bodice 
 defined her rounded waist, the shoulder-straps were em- 
 broidered, and the colours of the embroidery were repeated 
 in the flowers of her hat. Clad in this, with the hat in 
 position, the lace dexterously pulled out and arranged by 
 Mr. Perry, there was no doubt Sally looked radiant. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Perry ! May I really, can I really wear all 
 these ? Oh ! aren't they wonderful, Miss Baines ? " 
 
 Her eyes demanded admiration, and pleaded for it. Mr. 
 Perry was artist enough to recognize the entire success of 
 the toilette. It was characteristic of him to have forgotten 
 that Sally so short a time ago had been merely an assistant 
 in the shop, and now was only a beginner at a cheap music- 
 hall. Mr. Perry decided that Tom Peters should see her 
 just like this. The model fitted her, because, of course, 
 the model had been made for her. He sent for a cape, all 
 lace and ermine, and threw it round her, then surveyed 
 her again. 
 
 "There, that's the way you are to go to-night. We'll 
 lend you these, won't we, Miss Baines ? You bring them 
 
 179 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 back, the first thing in the morning. And mind you take 
 care of them. Take them off now. Miss Baines, we must 
 have a little embroidery added where the straps meet the 
 corselet, and . . ." 
 
 Here followed one or two more inspirations. Sally might 
 wear the get-up just as it was, but he saw his way to im- 
 provements when it should be returned. 
 
 Sally got out a timid word about her eight pounds. 
 
 " You've got on a sixty-guinea dress, and an eight-guinea 
 hat; that cape isn't priced yet. A hundred a week is 
 your salary; he'll know you can't dress like that under 
 the figure. Don't you be foolish with him, you stand out 
 for your price. And mind you don't go anywhere else 
 for your clothes," he said laughingly, before he went out 
 to lunch. 
 
 She was in a whirl of excitement over his words, over his 
 new interest. Miss Baines gave a word of warning, almost 
 womanly ; it was only her loyalty to Mr. Perry prevented 
 her saying more : 
 
 "You look before you leap; it isn't all plain sailing. 
 Haven't you got any one belonging to you ? I should 
 think twice before I went to supper with Mr. Peters." 
 
 " There's ever so many others going. Did you hear 
 Mr. Perry saying I wasn't to dress from anywhere but 
 here?" 
 
 " Mr. Perry gets carried away." 
 
 • He really does think I'll get on." 
 
 Miss Baines sighed. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you'll go your own way!" she 
 said. 
 
 Later on in the day Mr. Perry boasted to Miss 
 Baines : 
 
 "Didn't I tell you that girl would get on? Tom Peters 
 won't grudge her her clothes, and she'll pay for dressing. 
 
 180 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Don't let her go anywhere else. I'll see her myself when 
 she comes in to-morrow. If I'd had time I'd have given 
 her something simpler. I shall look in at the Grecian 
 to-night, and see how she does." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 TOM PETERS was large and dark and ponderous. 
 His black hair had a curious wiry kink, he grew no 
 beard, his lips were almost negroid. His manner was 
 heavy and sleepy, and the first impression he conveyed 
 was one of amiable stupidity. Yet his astuteness, not 
 only in his business, but in his ventures on the green 
 cloth, or at any game of chance, was proverbial. The 
 deadliest sharper eventually gave him best, and neither 
 Jews nor Americans had any advantage over him at poker, 
 bridge, or ecarte. He had played baccarat with adventurers 
 at foreign gambling-hells, and emerged a winner. He had 
 hosts of acquaintances, but very few intimates. These few 
 intimates would admiringly boast that he never " put them 
 on a good thing." That no one knew from whence he 
 sprung, who were his belongings, which was his race or 
 country, made his personality the more remarkable. He 
 spoke English like an Englishman, but the palms of his 
 hands were unusually dark, and the shape of his head sug- 
 gested a turban. 
 
 His business was that of theatrical entrepreneur. It was 
 lucrative because his theatres provided meeting houses for 
 thejeunesse dorie of the Metropolis and the nascent beau- 
 ties of the stage. He was the doyen of the species of 
 entertainment known as musical comedy. At his own, and 
 the entertainment's zenith, the Colonies, Europe, and the 
 English provinces were ransacked for young and pretty 
 girls. It was Tom Peters' department to exhibit the re- 
 
 182 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 suits of the quest adequately, in becoming or scanty clothes, 
 going through any small performance for which the oppor- 
 tunity arose. Then the young men came and gazed at 
 them, came and came again. 
 
 Tom had started with one theatre, but, at the time he 
 introduced Sally Snape he had four, and all of them were 
 successful. Such houses always will be successful, so long 
 as human nature remains as it is. Those under the care 
 of Tom Peters were admirably, and most decorously, con- 
 ducted. 
 
 It was the women that drew the town, as much, perhaps, 
 as the comedy or the music, the singing or the acting. 
 Tom Peters, realizing this, spent himself in securing the 
 monopoly of all the women whom the young men wanted 
 to see. He was quick on the track of beauty, popularity, 
 or talent. He and his henchmen were specious in argu- 
 ment, skilful in driving a bargain. Theirs was the market- 
 place for girls; there was little doubt of that. Marriage 
 was not always the desideratum, but, when the bait was 
 required, it was pointed out that more than one great 
 marriage had been achieved by Tom Peters' brigade of 
 girls. This, and dinners, suppers, drives, jewellery, were 
 all lures; these were his bonuses, which accounted for 
 low salary lists and an always large competition for en- 
 gagements. 
 
 To-night he was to see Sally Snape for the first time. 
 He occupied the stage box, and with him was his faithful 
 satellite, Edgar Levi. Joe Aarons, very proud and im- 
 portant, and Isaac Hyams, with the plan of a new operetta 
 in his pocket, sat there with him. Mr. Twallin came and 
 went, very proud of his guest, very self-important. 
 
 But Tom's attention to all of them was perfunctory ; he 
 looked extremely stupid, and rather bored. Presently the 
 house recognized him, he had bowed his thanks too often 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 after a successful first night not to be recognized, even at 
 the Grecian. The gallery boys made quite a demonstration 
 in his honour, cat-calling, and, in the intervals between the 
 numbers, singing the chorus of the " Hoo-bally-roo Boys" 
 from that brilliant play, " The Boys from Burton." 
 
 Mr. Peters acknowledged their recognition with his good- 
 humoured sleepy smile. Then suddenly Joe Aarons got 
 excited, and whispered: 
 
 " Here she is, Mr. Peters ; here she comes. Number ten 
 is her." 
 
 Number ten it was, and the house seemed to hush itself 
 in expectation. The conductor struck the desk sharply 
 with his baton; the curtain was up, the limelight turned 
 on, and Elfrida Carthew bounded on the stage, in her scar- 
 let frock and yellow hair, and with her shrill voice, started 
 the opening verse of the " Tutti Fmtti Girls." 
 
 It was only an instant, but in that instant Tom Peters 
 began to yawn. She was such a familiar figure to him; 
 her voice, style, and manner were all of the traditional, 
 stale, music-hall variety. Daily he rejected many dozens 
 of her type. Already he was saying that Edgar was a fool 
 to drag him here, Joe Aarons a fool to imagine . . . 
 
 His yawn and his comment had no climax, they remained 
 embryonic, half-finished things. 
 
 Sally had even less voice than usual to-night. She was 
 shockingly nervous and self-conscious and amateurish. But 
 Tom Peters never finished his yawn ; her grace caught him, 
 her curious charm held him. He woke up, and leaned 
 forward, listening to her first verse; her pauses, lapses, 
 hoarseness, were bewildering. 
 
 " She can't sing," he grumbled. 
 
 But they saw he never took his eyes from her. Sally 
 was hardly made up at all, she was very pale, and before 
 the end of her first verse her voice had died away almost 
 
 184 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 completely. She cast a look of appeal at the house, quite 
 tremulous; and she shook her head. Then it was that 
 the gallery boys proved themselves. Quickly perceptive, 
 they seemed to realize, all at once, the connection between 
 Tom Peters, sitting white-waistcoated and prominent in the 
 front of Box A, and their favourite's sudden loss of voice. 
 They threw themselves gallantly into the breach; they 
 rose to her rescue like men. They took up her refrain, 
 they sang it through, as she stood, half paralyzed, with 
 that appealing look on her child face. They sang their 
 encouragement; they knew the words and the tune, and 
 the band supported them. 
 
 Now she smiled gratefully at them ; quietly, timorously 
 almost, she began her dance. They applauded at once, 
 calling her by name, urging her on. Gradually she caught 
 fire from their sympathy, her nervous smile turned to 
 happy laughter, her dance grew in quickness, spontaneity, 
 gaiety. She forgot Tom Peters, Joe Aarons' instructions, 
 and all her fears. She danced as she had danced to the 
 organ in her alley, revelling in the music and the move- 
 ment. When she had finished, it was a triumphant look 
 she threw to Joe Aarons in the box with the great Mr. 
 Peters; there was a touch of the gamin in it. She knew 
 she had done well. She would not do any more ; she shook 
 her head at the gallery when they encored her, but she smiled 
 them her thanks, she made them know she was grateful. 
 
 Edgar Levi clapped his hands enthusiastically again and 
 again. 
 
 " She's gbt'em," he said. " She's got 'em. She's a bally 
 wonder. She can't sing for nuts, and there's nothing extra 
 about her dancing, but just listen to them; a wonder, I call her." 
 
 He had an emotional, generous temperament; he was 
 altogether different from his master. 
 
 Tom neither applauded, nor spoke of the performance. 
 185 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 The others were disappointed ; but Edgar knew it was all 
 right, when he said, in that incongruous, soft voice of his, 
 almost plaintively : 
 
 "You might telephone to Jupe, Edgar, that I'm too 
 tired to go out to-night. How can he expect me to play 
 bridge with so much on my mind ? It's so inconsiderate." 
 
 Edgar would not for worlds have reminded him that 
 it was he who had arranged the bridge party at Mr. Jupe's. 
 Tom said a little more to Edgar, about to-morrow's re- 
 hearsal. It was called for two new speeches, in what was 
 advertised as " a second edition of The Boys from Burton." 
 He spoke as if those two sentences were the only inter- 
 est he had in the world. Joe Aarons was depressed, but 
 Edgar was beaming; he knew Tom's ways. 
 
 Number eleven was on now. It was an acrobatic act. 
 Tom talked to Mr. Twallin about that, and complimented 
 him on the mechanism. 
 
 " What do you think of Miss Mainwaring ? " Mr. Twallin 
 was indiscreet enough to ask. 
 
 Tom's brow contracted ; he looked peevish, all at once. 
 
 " She's got no voice," he complained, " no voice at all." 
 
 " Pretty ? " 
 
 " Is she ? " 
 
 "Well, the boys like her. I'm rather glad you don't. 
 Joe has put her price up twice, haven't you, Joe ? " 
 Mr. Twallin said indifferently. He had nothing to gain by 
 Tom's approval. He was just as gratified if his acrobats 
 pleased the great man. 
 
 By this time Joe was in an agony of apprehension and 
 disappointment. Tom Peters was such a good judge. 
 What if Sally's success proved only a flash in the pan ? 
 The money had been spent on Sally's education, and the 
 agreements procured, all with the view to Tom Peters. 
 Now he said she couldn't sing ! 
 
 186 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "But she can dance," he urged, "you must say she can 
 dance. And look at her figure, and the way she moves. " 
 
 Tom sat stolid, as if he heard nothing. The acrobats 
 seemed to entertain him, and he did not begin to yawn 
 again until a throaty baritone struck up a patriotic song 
 about the " Empire over the Seas." « 
 
 " Haven't we had enough of this ? " he asked Edgar then. 
 
 " You might let Mr. Aarons bring the girls to sup with 
 us," Edgar persuaded; "we might as well see 'em close." 
 
 "Which girls?" Tom asked, as he got up. "What 
 girls ? " as if he had been a little deaf. 
 
 " The sisters Main waring. He's awfully disappointed you 
 haven't lost your heart to Miss Sarita. Aren't you, Joe ? " 
 
 " Which is Miss Sarita ? Not the one who shrieks ? 
 All right, let her come." Edgar helped him into his satin- 
 lined opera-coat. 
 
 " I'll stay and bring them," he said tentatively, winking 
 at Joe. 
 
 "No, no," Tom answered pettishly, like a spoilt child, 
 "you come with me." 
 
 "It's all right, don't you worry, it's as right as rain," 
 Edgar found the opportunity to whisper to Joe Aarons. 
 " Mind, I shall expect something out of it," he added. 
 
 The very fact of Tom Peters putting off Jupe told Edgar 
 he was taken with Miss Sarita Main waring, and that he 
 had quite made up his mind to sup with Joe Aarons and 
 the Mainwaring sisters. Tom loved cards, and Jupe was 
 not only his solicitor, but one of his intimates, yet he had 
 thrown him over. Edgar had no doubt of the result. Tom 
 would give Miss Sarita an engagement ; a percentage of the 
 amount of her salary would go into his own pocket. Joe 
 Aarons would make his profit on some earlier agreement. 
 
 It was no one's business to protect Sally's interests. 
 
 In the entrance hall at Romano's the " Mainwaring 
 187 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sisters " made quite a sensation. Sally's gift for putting 
 on her clothes had met Mr. Perry's gift for selecting them 
 for her. Her high evening dress, and becoming hat, her 
 lace and ermine cape, were fashion's last words. It was 
 only her face that was incongruous ; it was pale, and her 
 eyes were shy. But her hair flamed in the badly lit en- 
 trance to the restaurant, its copper burnish drew all eyes. 
 She was not an habitue, she looked strange and very young. 
 Every man stared, but no one spoke to the two girls until 
 Edgar Levi hurried up to them. 
 
 " Miss Main waring ? " he asked. 
 
 And Elfrida answered for them both. She had been 
 there before ; she was disappointed when Edgar said : 
 
 " We're supping upstairs. I've just been getting a table. 
 Tom will be here in a moment. Where's Joe ? Do you 
 want to take anything off ? " 
 
 Sally had not spoken. He stared at her, but all the 
 happy familiarities that were ready to rise to his lips were 
 damped by her silence. She made no movement to follow 
 his or Elfrida's lead, for she had just seen Lord Kidder- 
 minster! And Kiddie, in the act of taking off his coat, 
 now saw her. The flush and smile that met his recognition 
 transformed her. 
 
 " Why ! do you know Kiddie ? " asked Edgar Levi, in 
 astonishment. It seemed as if Tom Peters was already too 
 late. But, of course, if she knew Kiddie, it explained her 
 dress. Edgar had realized, at the first glance, that it was 
 not explained by her salary. 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 Tom came through the swing door at that moment, 
 with Joe Aarons close at his heels. They greeted the 
 girls, and Kiddie asked impulsively : 
 
 " Hullo, Peters, what are you doing ? Sup with me, 
 won't you ? I'm alone." 
 
 188 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Sorry I can't, my lord, I'm afraid I'm booked up. I've 
 got a little party myself upstairs. Can't you join us ? " 
 
 Kiddie signified his acceptance. 
 
 " Why not ? " But his eyes never left Sally. 
 
 " Edgar, tell them to lay another place," said Tom. 
 
 At supper Sally had her first formal introduction to 
 Lord Kidderminster. She was amused when she found out 
 that he did not know who she was, that "Miss Sarita 
 Mainwaring" was not associated in his mind with the 
 " Sally Snape " whom his cousin had run over, and whom 
 he had helped to apprentice to a dressmaker's business. 
 
 Sally chattered it all out to him in the first five minutes. 
 She had never felt so completely at home with anybody. 
 
 "I almost thought you didn't know me that day on the 
 steps of the Majestic. I suppose I looked ill and different 
 when I came to Curzon Street. I was only just out of 
 the hospital." She had a sudden memory and misgiving 
 of her Epping Forest clothes, and her hat. 
 
 " Well, you were limping, you know," he said awkwardly. 
 " You had a crutch." 
 
 He did not know what to say ; his was never a ready 
 wit. He had wanted to meet Sally again, ever since he had 
 met her on the steps of the Majestic. Even to-night he 
 had been thinking of her, wondering if he should meet her. 
 It was firmly in his mind that his acquaintance with her 
 dated from some theatrical party. He had searched vainly 
 for her in the choruses of Roma's, the Crystal, the Millen- 
 nium. Now, suddenly, it all flashed through his memory. 
 
 At first he had not wanted to give the fifty pounds. 
 Dolly was always rushing him. Then thi3 girl had limped 
 into the room, and he had changed his mind quickly. 
 Colonel Fellowes had chaffed him about it two or three 
 days afterwards at the club. But the impression Sally had 
 made then was vague and fleeting. 
 
 189 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "At the Majestic I wondered where we had met. I 
 oughtn't to have forgotten. I don't see such pretty girls 
 every day." 
 
 She blushed. It was quite a remarkable thing to do, 
 and it drew the eyes of the table to her. 
 
 " What's he been saying to you, Miss Mainwaring ? " 
 Edgar called out, in one of his bursts of tactlessness. 
 " Don't you let him say things to shock you." 
 
 Kiddie's disgusted expression and Tom Peters' frown 
 checked him. 
 
 " A glass of wine with you ? " he went on affably. 
 
 Sally ignored him. 
 
 Tom began to talk to Sally soon after that. But she 
 remembered his importance, and all that Mr. Aarons had 
 said about him. Her shyness and self-consciousness came 
 back and she answered him in monosyllables. Yes, she 
 " liked her song," and she " loved dancing," and this was 
 her first engagement, and she was quite satisfied with it. 
 
 This was a conversational impasse for Tom. He had 
 never before met any one, in the musical or theatrical pro- 
 fession, who was quite satisfied with his or her engagement ! 
 Edgar, whose sense of humour was the only drawback to 
 his position, came to his master's assistance and asked : 
 
 " Don't you want to play Juliet ? " 
 
 " Who's Juliet ? " was the answer that nonplussed even 
 him. 
 
 It was a strange supper, hardly merry. Joe was full 
 of anxiety, and Tom apparently imperturbable towards 
 him. Elfrida was shrill and flirtatious, and, after a suffi- 
 ciency of champagne, Edgar, to use his own vernacular, 
 " took her on." It was not an edifying sight, the love- 
 making of Mr. Edgar Levi and Elfrida. It bored Tom, 
 and disgusted Lord Kidderminster. Kiddie became the 
 hereditary legislator under its influence, and remembered 
 
 190 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 his distinguished ancestry. He got up to take leave of the 
 party. Tom rose with him. 
 
 • I want to ask you something," he said to Lord Kidder- 
 minster. 
 
 The two men moved nearer the balcony. The heavy 
 aroma of food ascended to them, and it was laden with 
 smoke, dense with some more acrid perfume. As their 
 •eyes grew accustomed to the strangely disposed lights, and 
 the stranger shadows that fell, they saw that all the 
 tables were full, and there were women at all of them, 
 more women than men ; stage women, old and experienced, 
 quite young girls, and grades between the two ; but all of 
 them garish, flamboyant, redolent of the world behind the 
 footlights. There ascended to their ears laughter, loud, 
 shrill, artificial, theatrical, a note of forced gaiety. To 
 be on edge and keen, quite human and sentient, in face 
 of this, meant to feel pain. That poignant pain came to 
 Kiddie ; a strange experience for him. 
 
 " Let's get out of this," he said. 
 
 Tom followed him down the stairs and into the hall. 
 
 " You want to ask me something ? " he said, as he was 
 being helped into his coat. 
 
 " Oh, any time will do ; there is no hurry about it." 
 
 "How are those girls going to get home?" Kiddie 
 went on abruptly, a propos of nothing. 
 
 " I don't know. It was about that I wanted to speak 
 to you. Do you want me to give her an engagement? 
 Of course, when I went to see her to-night, I had no idea 
 your lordship and she . . ." 
 
 " Don't make any mistake, I know nothing of the girl." 
 
 "Oh I I am sorry; it was only her get-up, you know, 
 her dress ? " 
 
 Kiddie paused, his voice was quite harsh. 
 
 " What was the matter with her dress ? " 
 191 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Nothing; it is very good, and that ermine cloak! She 
 hasn't drawn more than five pounds a week at the Grecian, 
 I should think," Tom added reflectively. 
 
 Kiddie's face flushed. 
 
 " You needn't make any of your damned insinuations. 
 Her dress was simple enough so far as I saw, she hadn't a 
 scrap of jewellery. Hush ! Here they come." 
 
 Edgar and Elfrida were still playing their ugly game ; 
 their eyes bright, their shoulders touching, whispering to 
 each other. Joe Aarons followed, looking tired and dis- 
 appointed. He had been in business all day, he wanted 
 the rest and peace of his Maida Vale home, his snug 
 place by his Miriam's side. And he was not sure Edgar 
 had been right. Tom Peters had said nothing to him, 
 not a word ! He could not be certain the money he had 
 spent on Sally had been well laid out. He seldom specu- 
 lated in business. It was very well to succeed at an East 
 End music-hall, but Tom was so quick, and Tom had 
 said nothing. Joe was full of doubts and misgivings. 
 
 Sally was looking completely happy ; her eyes shone 
 in her pale face. Lord Kidderminster felt that strange 
 pain again as he looked at her, he did not know what it 
 meant, but it impelled him to her side. 
 
 " Can I see you home ? " he said in a low voice. He did 
 not want to part with her just yet. He hated Elfrida and 
 Edgar and all her entourage. 
 
 " I live with Miss Carthew ; she and I are going home 
 together," she answered happily, raising her candid eyes to 
 his. " But it's very kind of you. . . ." 
 
 Edgar heard ; it was wonderful what quick hearing and 
 perception he had. 
 
 " Oh, no, Miss Carthew is not going home with you. 
 " She's coming to my rooms first, it's much too early to go 
 home. We're going to have a game of poker for an 
 
 192 
 

 THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 hour; she's just been telling me she loves the game, 
 haven't you, Miss Carthew ?" He winked at her, and his 
 wink travelled round to Tom Peters. "Come on, Tom," 
 he urged, " we'll make a night of it. We can get some of 
 the other fellows. . . ." 
 
 Kiddie's invitation now was more urgent. 
 
 " You will let me drive you home. Don't go with them," 
 he said in a hurried whisper. 
 
 Sally hesitated, hardly understanding, looking to Elfrida 
 for guidance. 
 
 u Oh, you go on," she said impatiently. " I've got my 
 key, I'm going to have a bit of fun. I haven't played 
 poker for years." 
 
 It was all quickly settled, it seemed to arrange itself. 
 The swing doors had revolved, and Sally was outside the 
 hot restaurant. The air came chill, and she gathered her 
 ermine cloak closely round her. Kiddie was by her side, 
 vaguely wishing she were not so finely dressed. His 
 brougham was standing there, now he was helping her in. 
 It all seemed very strange. She had been in a carriage 
 only once before ; it was that eventful evening when Mr. 
 Perry had driven her from the theatre. And she had not 
 been so happy then, not nearly so happy. Her clothes, for 
 instance, were all right to-night. 
 
 Kiddie tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away 
 from him. 
 
 " I didn't mean any harm," he said, rather ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 She laughed : 
 
 " Isn't it stupid of me ? But I do hate being touched.'' 
 
 "Not by any one who is fond of you ?" 
 
 " You haven't had time to get fond of me." 
 
 "Haven't I? That's all you know. It began in 
 Dolly's drawing-room." 
 
 o 193 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sally's thoughts travelled back. 
 
 "It was good of you to pay all that money for me," 
 she said softly. 
 
 Kiddie took her hand again, encouraged by that softness, 
 and her gratitude to him made her leave it there. 
 
 "It was so strange to me. I felt so strange in that 
 drawing-room. And Lady Dorothea and you are so 
 good. I know I ought to have stayed in Brook Street, 
 but there wasn't enough to do ; and I wanted all the things 
 I tried on, and all the things the other ladies had on — 
 those that came to shop, I mean. Sixteen shillings a week 
 seemed so little, I was satisfied with fourteen and three- 
 pence at the factory. I don't know how it came about I 
 got so discontented. I think it was my holiday that did 
 it, Brighton and that beautiful sea. ... Do you think it 
 was ungrateful of me to leave Brook Street ? " 
 
 But Kiddie still held her hand in his ; it was quite a 
 small hand, soft too. Kiddie had a sort of ache in his 
 heart, one to which he was not used. There was nothing 
 provocative about Sally, he forgot all his muddled ethics : 
 
 " You don't mean to say you ever lived on fourteen 
 and threepence a week?" 
 
 She told him how it had been spent, and how well 
 it sufficed. The interest of the story was absorbing, even 
 dramatic, when it came to the saving for the plumed hat 
 worn at Epping, the one that Kiddie had seen her in at 
 Curzon Street. He was so sorry for her, yet the story was 
 told without any exaggeration, just as it all happened. 
 
 "I was quite happy until I went to Brook Street. I 
 thought I had never been happy until I got there, but 
 I know now. And Mr. Perry only liked me because I 
 showed things off well," she said, moved to pathos by 
 Kiddie's sympathy, but knowing nothing so pathetic as 
 Mr. Perry's want of interest. 
 
 194 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 The drive seemed a short one. Sally had never talked 
 to any one so freely before. Lord Kidderminster had a 
 feeling that all these strange things she told him were 
 familiar to him, that always he had known of this poor 
 pretty girl, half starved and working, whilst he was living 
 in the lap of luxury, with so much more than he wanted. 
 When the brougham stopped, it was to him as the awaken- 
 ing from a dream. 
 
 Elfrida and Sally lived in Gooch Place, since their 
 engagement at the Grecian. Their room was small and 
 high up, the house was of the usual lodging-house type. 
 When Sally got out of the brougham Kiddie followed her : 
 
 " Can't I come in and talk to you ? Your friend won't 
 be home for a long time." 
 
 " Oh, no, please don't ! " They were alone in the grey, 
 sordid street. The dirty door-step, the narrow entry, the 
 close lodging-house air that filled it were all ignored. 
 
 " Please let my hand go. Please don't want to come in. 
 It was kind of you to see me home. Our landlady is very 
 strict ; we're not allowed visitors. . . ." 
 
 She poured it all out breathlessly. She had enjoyed her 
 evening ; now she wanted to be alone to think of it. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster saw that she was in earnest. 
 
 " But I want to see you again. When am I to see you 
 again ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Will you come out to supper with me to-morrow night, 
 if I come to the Grecian ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." She was quite eager in her acceptance ; it 
 was something to which she could look forward. The in- 
 vitation wound up this beautiful evening fitly. "Do go 
 now," she urged. " I want to shut the door. Mrs. Jones 
 will hear us talking, and come down; you don't know how 
 fussy she is." 
 
 '95 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "All right." 
 
 But still he lingered. He wanted to ask her for a kiss ; 
 but she looked anxious, listening, distraite. His sensations 
 were confused ; she had caught his fancy, he did not know 
 where he was with her. He told himself he must keep his 
 head. 
 
 " Until to-morrow, then." 
 
 " Oh, yes, till to-morrow." 
 
 Now she was alone. She shut the door after him, care- 
 fully and quietly, leaving it on the latch for Elfrida. But 
 the narrow stairs, with their worn and shabby carpets, and 
 the dim gaslight in the mean house, were all transfigured and 
 golden to her. To-night she had learnt something; the 
 knowledge had been coming slowly all this time, but to- 
 night it flamed into reality, into certainty. She was pretty ; 
 that was why. . . . 
 
 At the thoughts that thronged, the remembrances she had, 
 she blushed, grew hot, uncomfortable, and put them away 
 from her. Men had always wanted to touch her, and kiss 
 her, but she had always hated that sort of thing. Yet she 
 grew very red, all by herself in the narrow, ill-smelling 
 passage, when the door closed on Kiddie. She thought she 
 would not have minded if Kiddie had kissed her. And, as 
 she ran swiftly upstairs, away from this thought, she was 
 glad she was pretty, very, very glad. 
 
 There was the flare from an irregular gas jet in the room 
 she shared with Elfrida. By the light of it she looked at 
 herself in the fine clothes that Mr. Perry had lent her. 
 A misgiving struck her, the misgiving that always struck 
 her when she saw herself reflected, and kept her strangely 
 humble. Could red hair and snub nose, pale face and 
 green eyes, be beautiful ? It was not her taste, she admired 
 nothing she saw in the glass, except the hat and the ermine 
 cape. She sighed as she looked, for she knew the hat and 
 
 196 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 the cape must go back to-morrow, and only the face and the 
 hair would be left. But Lord Kidderminster had admired 
 her unmistakably, and the great Tom Peters had smiled 
 at her. Edgar Levi, and the men in the entrance lobby, 
 had eyed her in the same way. 
 
 "It isn't the clothes, it is me," she said to herself. 
 " They do like my face ; they think me good-looking. " 
 
 She undressed, combing out her long thick hair, unplaiting 
 it, letting it run through her fingers, then she plaited it again, 
 for the night, in one long thick rope. She went to bed as 
 happy as a child, and was asleep almost before her head 
 touched the pillow. It was not Sally's way to think. 
 It seemed to her to-night that she had been dowered with 
 a rich gift, her gift of beauty. She cuddled it within her 
 arms, slept happily with it as a child with a new doll. 
 She had neither fear nor misgiving. She was of the slums, 
 this child who slept on her hard pillow in the Gooch Place 
 attic, with her hair like a glory about her, a smile on her 
 sweet lips, no fear in her heart, and no misgivings. 
 
 For many nights she slept like this. 
 
 197 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE Romano supper-party was on Wednesday. Thurs- 
 day morning Edgar Levi was at Maiden Lane betimes ; 
 twelve o'clock was betimes for Edgar, and he was chaffing 
 Joe Aaron s in his familiar way : 
 
 " Well ! how's the missus and the kids ? I'll tell 'em how 
 you've been going on, and about Miss Mainwaring's clothes ! 
 You've kept it pretty close, but we can't allow this sort of 
 thing in our theatrical agent, it isn't playing the game; 
 pilfering, I call it, petty pilfering ! Now, what has she 
 been costing you ? What's the price ? That's what we 
 want to know. And how far it's gone. Mind you, I 
 respect you for it, but how about the Act ? I bet she isn't 
 eighteen yet. How old is she ? " 
 
 " She's between seventeen and eighteen." 
 
 Joe was overjoyed at seeing Edgar ; he had slept badly 
 and feared he had made a mistake. Miriam had comforted 
 him, telling him she was sure he never made mistakes. 
 She knew no details, but her blind and perfect faith was 
 better for him than an intelligent knowledge would have 
 been. He came to the office feeling more hopeful, already 
 he had astutely summed up as assets, Tom Peters' broken 
 engagement and Lord Kidderminster's attentions. 
 
 He took Edgar's chaff well ; he could be quite as coarse 
 as the other. It did not hurt Sally Snape, who was not 
 there to hear it, nor his Miriam, who would never interfere 
 with business. It was business to meet Edgar on his own 
 ground, to be interested in the details of last night's orgie, 
 
 198 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 to listen with apparent gusto to the description of Elfrida 
 drunk, and the whole scene of debauchery in Edgar's 
 rooms. But he was glad when this part of the business 
 was over. 
 
 " How about terms ? " Edgar said suddenly. " You've 
 got some sort of an agreement with them, Elfrida tells me." 
 
 " Two years, my boy," answered Joe, triumphantly ; he 
 was on his own ground now. 
 
 " At three pounds a week ? " 
 
 " I see you've wormed it out of her." 
 
 " That's what I took her home for, not . . ." But the 
 brutal, unvarnished expression of his views need not be 
 repeated. 
 
 " Well, when you know the price you haven't got much 
 further," said Joe. 
 
 " She can't sing." 
 
 " I never said she could." 
 
 " There are scores better dancers." 
 
 " Well ! I'll give you that in." 
 
 " She looks delicate." 
 
 " She's as strong as a horse." 
 
 " But she might break down." 
 
 "As, according to you she can't sing, and she can't 
 dance, it don't matter if she does break aown." 
 
 " Now, don't be nasty ; you know I'm trying to do you 
 a good turn." 
 
 "Or yourself?" 
 
 " What a temper you've got ! If I'd had your temper 
 I shouldn't be where I am for a month." 
 
 "Now then, Edgar, leave off fooling. You want the 
 girls, Tom wants them. What about me and my agree- 
 ment ? " 
 
 " What did you reckon to make out of it ? " 
 
 "Five hundred pounds." 
 
 199 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Five hundred devils ! How much a week, I mean ? M 
 " Twallin paid me twelve guineas." 
 " For how long ? " 
 
 " As loug as I wanted them to go on." 
 " Bosh ! until the boys got tired of the song, about four 
 weeks at the outside ! " 
 
 " What's the good of talking like that ? What will he 
 
 give 
 
 ?» 
 
 " She's got to learn her business." 
 
 " I paid Job Macher a fortune to teach it her." 
 
 "Oh! I heard about that, too. Twelve lessons for 
 five guineas. Three weeks out of work, and you paid 'em 
 thirty shillings." 
 
 "I see you didn't waste your time last night," Joe 
 retorted, sarcastically. 
 
 Edgar's rejoinder matched his detail at the beginning of 
 the interview. He prided himself on his skill at repartee, 
 and, certainly, no one could ever say he erred through 
 reticence. 
 
 Nevertheless, the negotiations took some time. It was 
 midday before Sally Snape's agreement with Joe Aarons 
 had found its way to Edgar Levi's pocket. Joe had not 
 got his five hundred pounds, but, needless to say, he had 
 never expected it. He had something over five hundred 
 per cent, nevertheless, on the money he had expended on 
 Sally's education, and a free hand to get anything more 
 that he could in the way of commission. 
 
 " We shan't interfere with you," Edgar said, " we do our 
 business our own way; you can do yours your own way. 
 We shall give her a rising salary, and you can have a com- 
 mission on it if you make it right with her. But I've got a 
 voice in the salary list, so I hope you'll remember me." 
 
 This was at lunch, after the bargain had been struck, 
 and a bottle of champagne and his success had made Edgar 
 
 200 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 expansive. He had had a good morning, for the agreement 
 had been secured at twenty-five per cent under the price 
 Tom Peters had authorized him to give. That twenty-five 
 per cent was his bonus. Now he was getting a lien on 
 Sally Snape's future, and he had no doubt that was a 
 good thing. Sally Snape was a "flyer," he knew that. 
 He was altogether hilarious and familiar. By the time 
 they parted, Joe felt that Edgar Levi had got all the best 
 of him, and his pleasure in his own good bargain was dashed 
 by the consideration of how much better the other's had 
 been. Then his thoughts flew to his home, from which 
 they were never long absent, and he pictured his clever 
 Abe, old enough to be down here with him, circumventing 
 such as Edgar Levi. 
 
 "He'll hold his own with them," he thought. "They 
 won't get the best of him ; he'll know how to deal with 
 them." 
 
 This prospect helped him to accept equably what he 
 already began to consider his own failure as a dealer. 
 Edgar had tempted him where he knew him to be most 
 vulnerable, his need of ready money. A w r eekly income 
 is all very well, and of a weekly income from Sally, Joe 
 was already assured. But she might fall ill, or get tired 
 of work, or fail to please a strangely fickle public. And it 
 was October ; school bills were due or over-due, money for 
 doctors, clothes, and rent seemed to be wanted all at once, 
 and he hated touching his investments. Over-investing 
 was Joe Aaron8' one extravagance. 
 
 It had been agreed that Sally was to know nothing for 
 the present of her changed circumstances. It was neces- 
 sary, for instance, that she should finish her week's engage- 
 ment at the Grecian. The next phase in her career was 
 undecided yet, even by Tom Peters. She might not please 
 a West End audience as she had pleased an East End one, 
 
 201 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 and, at the moment, Lord Kidderminster was an unknown 
 quantity. 
 
 "Somebody pays for her clothes," Tom had said sapi- 
 ently. " I don't think his lordship was telling me lies, 
 he hopes to pay for them ; we've got to find out who does. 
 That's your job." 
 
 All the dirty work, or the dirtiest work, of the unsavoury 
 profession was supposed to be Edgar's share. Edgar had 
 not suspected Joe Aarons of the lavish expenditure Sally's 
 toilette displayed, but he had been unable to find out any- 
 thing from Elf rida ; Elfrida could not tell what she did not 
 know. 
 
 Sally felt like Cinderella when Lord Kidderminster met 
 her the next night at the stage-door of the Grecian. She 
 had punctiliously taken back the clothes to Mr. Perry. 
 Mr. Perry had questioned her kindly, had called her 
 "child," and asked about her success with Mr. Peters. 
 She could not translate into words that she knew Mr. 
 Peters thought her worth looking at; and something, she 
 did not know what, kept her from mentioning Lord Kid- 
 derminster's name, even when Mr. Perry told her she ought 
 to get some nice young man to pay for her clothes. The 
 old admiration and respect for Mr. Perry was with her as 
 she lingered to see him sell extraordinary French models 
 to ordinary English dowds. He caught her watching him, 
 and said condescendingly : 
 
 "Don't go, Miss Snape, don't hurry away. I've got 
 something I want you to try on." 
 
 And presently she tried on a wonderful sable stole, and 
 revelled in its softness and warmth, and she saw her pale 
 face and bright hair crowned with a sable toque with gold 
 aigrette and jewelled clasp. Again she hugged that new 
 good gift; she was beautiful, beautiful. She wanted Mr. 
 Perry to see it, they were pleading eyes she raised to his. 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Now, you be a good girl," he said, "and you'll get 
 your chance ; you mark my words, you'll get your chance. 
 Don't throw it away, that's all. . . ." He impressed upon 
 her not to throw away her chances. 
 
 After she had gone, he said to Miss Baines : 
 
 " She'll find some one to look after her presently. You 
 see if she don't ; that red hair of hers will do it, and her 
 figure. My word ! she'll be a good customer then." 
 
 " I think we are getting rather too many of that sort as 
 it is," Miss Baines replied, with a toss of her head. 
 
 " It's all right as long as we don't give them credit," he 
 yawned indifferently, as he sauntered off. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster found her black hat and shabby 
 dress quite as attractive as the smart clothes. He liked 
 Sally's welcoming smile ; and he behaved very well, on 
 the whole, when he realized that Sally had taken it for 
 granted that Elfrida was included in the invitation to supper. 
 
 "We have neither of us had any dinner and we are 
 awfully hungry," she began. 
 
 Kiddie was glad Edgar Levi was hovering about; he 
 made an adaptable fourth. The four of them went to 
 Frascati's, and had first oysters and then steak. They 
 drank beer, and the atmosphere of the music-hall seemed 
 to be with them all the time. There was less glamour about 
 Sally to-night; as to conversation, there seemed give-and- 
 take between her, Edgar, and Elfrida. She was more 
 amenable to the beer than she had been to the champagne. 
 The adventure began to assume its proper proportions. 
 She was a " ripping gal " this evening, not an houri nor a 
 goddess, just a pretty girl. Edgar had the geniality of the 
 Jew, and, when he was on his mettle, could behave decently. 
 They were all very merry ; innuendoes, which passed by 
 Sally, hit their mark with Elfrida, and were fully appreci- 
 ated. 
 
 203 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But Sally could laugh, she was happy, and her new toy 
 was a real possession. There was nothing deeper than the 
 surface to perplex or scare her. She was hungry, and 
 was eating and drinking in this fine room, she saw that 
 both the men knew she was pretty. Her laugh rang out 
 gay and infectious ; she was a little beside herself, and so 
 less silent than usual. She was sorry when supper was 
 ended. But Elfrida grew cross at the end, and said she 
 would not go again to Edgar's rooms ; she was tired, and 
 wanted an early night. It was not likely she appreciated 
 playing second fiddle. She began to realize that the " car- 
 roty factory girl," as she called Sally contemptuously, 
 was cutting her out. She insisted on breaking up the 
 party. 
 
 It suited Edgar's ends very well ; he had his plan of 
 campaign quickly cut and dried. It was the possibility of 
 this invitation to supper that had set him loitering to-night, 
 apparently after Elfrida Carthew. Now he wanted to get 
 rid of the girls ; he wanted a word, of course, an impromptu 
 word, with Lord Kidderminster. 
 
 It all fell out as he had intended. Kiddie lent the girls 
 the brougham; it was a fine night, and Edgar offered to 
 walk a bit with him. Walking was not much in Edgar's 
 line, but Kiddie had always used his limbs. 
 
 " She's a pretty girl," Edgar began tentatively, after 
 he had offered Kiddie a cigar and lighted his own, ogling 
 a daughter of pleasure who passed into the restaurant 
 alone. "A devilish pretty girl, I call her, and that laugh 
 of hers . . ." He imitated it, a startlingly strange echo. 
 
 " Don't do that," said Kiddie sharply. And they walked 
 on a few paces, talking of indifferent things. 
 
 " We're thinking of putting up < In Far Cathay ' again," 
 Edgar said after a pause, a pause in which he did some 
 rapid thinking. "Tom has given Hyams the music to 
 
 204 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 overhaul. What is your view ? He's got two or three 
 ripping new numbers." 
 
 Kiddie seemed indifferent. 
 
 " I wish I could get Tom to try some new blood. Kittie 
 Golden is all very well, and so is Maudie. I like the Skinner 
 girls, and, of course, we've got a good chorus, but we want 
 something new." 
 
 " Georgie Lute ? " suggested Kiddie disingenuously. 
 
 " Going on at the Roma." 
 
 But Kiddie was a child in Edgar's hands. Before they 
 had got to Oxford Circus he found himself suggesting that 
 Tom should give Miss Mainwaring a chance. Ere they 
 had reached Piccadilly the subject was being thoroughly 
 threshed out. It" seemed that the remounting of " In Far 
 Cathay " was only in the air at present — Tom funked the 
 expense. Kiddie was enlightened as to the cost of dressing 
 such a performance. He heard of the author's heavy fees, 
 and was told, incidentally, that the lyrists and musicians 
 had also to be paid. Then his imagination was kindled 
 by the suggestion of seeing Sarita Mainwaring in a Letty 
 Lind part. Sally, on Edgar's lips, lost more of her illusion, 
 but none of her attraction. He was a picturesque talker, 
 and Kiddie was no stoic. Edgar gave Kiddie a drink at 
 the very bohemian Club that he honoured with his member- 
 ship, and Lord Kidderminster, before he went to bed, had 
 practically promised to put up the money for "In Far 
 Cathay," on the condition that Tom would give Miss Main- 
 waring a chance in the part formerly played by Miss Letty 
 Lind. 
 
 " We've been half the evening without a fourth," growled 
 Tom, when Edgar turned up, something after one a.m., at 
 Mr. Jupe's rooms in Dover Street, as fresh as paint. " 1 
 should like to know what you have been doing with your- 
 self?" 
 
 205 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * Working for you, as usual," he answered gaily. " Can 
 I cut in ? Who's been winning ? " 
 
 But the position was quite clear to him. 
 
 Jerry Jupe was Tom's solicitor, very sharp in his profes- 
 sion; out of it a sensualist, a gambler, wholly without 
 self-control. Tom paid him handsomely, and won back 
 every emolument from him quite regularly. 
 
 Jupe was very good-looking, in a sleek, plebeian way. 
 He knew how clever he was at his office, and never grasped 
 how foolish he was out of it. Tom flattered his vanity, 
 gave him the freedom of "behind the scenes," and some- 
 times told him, as if enviously, what a success he was with 
 the girls ! Jerry never resisted any temptation. He was 
 still a comparatively young man, and, but for Tom, who 
 was considered his most valuable client, he might have been 
 a successful one. 
 
 They were playing bridge at shilling points when Edgar 
 came in. The other two guests were racing-men. No one 
 was quite sober but Tom. He had won, and so had his part- 
 ners ; there was not as much in it as there ought to have 
 been, however. Edgar was his favourite partner, but Edgar 
 had not been there. Now the party was on the point of 
 breaking up. 
 
 " Blaines wants to go," Tom said, still sitting at the 
 table, shuffling the cards about with his dark-palmed, 
 croupier-like hand. " I don't want to go to bed yet. Why 
 don't you and Jupe take us on, Venables ? Just for three 
 rubbers. Best of three." 
 
 " Yes, why not ? " said Edgar. 
 
 Venables thought he'd rather play with Tom against 
 Edgar and Jupe. But Edgar demurred. He said he was 
 such a rotten bad player ; it wasn't fair on Jupe. He didn't 
 mind losing Tom a rubber or two ; Tom could afford it. 
 
 " I can't afford it, but I don't mind," interposed Tom. 
 206 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Still, he " didn't care who he played with," he said, but he 
 ; ' liked a match, there was more fun in a match." 
 
 It was finally arranged, of course, that Tom should play 
 with Edgar. Edgar made a great many mistakes. Jupe 
 and Venables saw that he was no player. Yet, strangely 
 enough, all his mistakes proved to be lucky ones. If he 
 called " no trumps " without an ace, his partner had three. 
 If he announced hearts with four, there were six small ones 
 in Tom's hand. 
 
 They won all three rubbers, and then they agreed to a 
 change of partners. But Tom suddenly remembered he 
 had an early rehearsal. 
 
 " You might have reminded me," he said, plaintively, to 
 Edgar, who admitted his carelessness. Edgar ate some 
 sandwiches and drank a glass of port, with engaging aban- 
 donment to his appetite, and was called to accompany Tom 
 on his way home, whilst his mouth was still full. He 
 hurried away without completing his impromptu supper. 
 
 " All right, Jupe ; thanks, old fellow. I'll take another 
 with me. Thanks for a pleasant evening. Sorry you were 
 the victim. But Tom is a lucky devil. Wait a minute, 
 Tom, I must get my coat on. Can't you see I've got my 
 mouth full? What a chap you are!" But he followed 
 him into the night. 
 
 Tom Peters had a fine house in Berkeley Square ; Edgar's 
 humble lodgings were in Curzon Street. 
 
 "You played that last hand very badly," Tom began; 
 " we ought to have made at least two more tricks." 
 
 " I've played one hand bally well to-night, I can tell you. 
 Lord Kidderminster is going to pay for the production- of 
 * In Far Cathay.' " 
 
 He stopped for comment, but ostensibly to light his ciga 
 rette. 
 
 "Whatl" 
 
 207 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Even Tom forgot his habitual nonchalance for the moment 
 but quickly went on : " Nonsense," he said, " what's that 
 nonsense you are saying ? " 
 
 "It's not nonsense, it's sound common sense, and busi- 
 ness, too. You'll have the Verandah on your hands in a 
 fortnight ; you're losing a thousand a week there now. 
 Kiddie is gone on that girl, head over heels, I don't know 
 nor care if he's first, second, or third with her, nor how far 
 they've got ; but I saw how it was, and I struck while the 
 iron was hot. You might say ' thank you' to a fellow. 
 She isn't Letty Lind, but there's something about her that 
 reminds one of Letty. If you'll let Sarita Main waring 
 play Letty Lind's part, Kidderminster will put up the 
 brass. . . ." 
 
 "You are clever, there's no denying it." Tom had to 
 admit it, however grudgingly. " ' In Far Cathay ' ? But 
 why 'In Far Cathay'?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, I couldn't think of anything else 
 at the moment. And there he sat making eyes at her, and 
 I sat thinking what we could get out of it, and then it 
 struck me all of a sudden. What's a premium, or anything 
 we could ask him for, to put her into ' The Boys from 
 Burton ' compared to this ? We shall get a run for nothing." 
 
 Tom had no more to say. 
 
 " Well, here we are. My wife will be wondering what's 
 become of me. So long. . . . I'll see you in the morning." 
 
 " I suppose I'll get a bit out of it ? " Edgar was never 
 tired ; he wanted to linger even now. 
 
 " Don't you get a bit out of everything ? " Tom answered, 
 drily. 
 
 Edgar laughed. 
 
 " Don't I earn it ? " he retorted. 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 "Goodnight." 
 
 208 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Lord Kidderminster was at the Grecian on Friday night 
 and Saturday. But on the first occasion Elfrida was 
 sick, and Sally could not be persuaded to sup out without 
 her; and, on the second, it seemed she had promised 
 Johnny to have tripe and onions with him. Sally, up to 
 this period of her life, had rarely broken a promise, or 
 failed to keep an appointment. Besides, she wanted to 
 sup with Johnny, who had something very important to tell 
 her, as he found time to whisper. And he bribed her with 
 the tripe that she loved. She told Lord Kidderminster she 
 wasn't dressed to go out with him. 
 
 "Another night then, Miss Sarita. You'll give me 
 another evening?" He knew it was with the stage- 
 carpenter that she was keeping an appointment. Johnny 
 touched his hat to him, and called him "my lord," waiting 
 respectfully whilst he detained Sally. 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course. I'll have supper with you some 
 other night, any other night; but now I've promised 
 Johnny." 
 
 "His lordship is taken with you, Sal," said Johnny 
 solemnly, when at last she was free, and they walked away 
 together. 
 
 Sally smiled. " Yes, that he is. He's made Mr. Peters 
 engage me. This is my last night here." 
 
 "I know," answered Johnny gloomily. "He's up to 
 no good." 
 
 " I can take care of myself," laughed Sally, with a toss 
 of her head. "I like him, he's a nice fellow; but he 
 won't get anything out of me." 
 
 She felt quite safe, and happy, and exhilarated. Life 
 was going very pleasantly. She was leaving the halls 
 and going on the regular stage, as Miss Rugeley wished. 
 Mr. Levi told her she was going to have six pounds a 
 week and all her dresses found for her. She would have 
 p at>9 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 been even happier, but that Elfrida was sulky and injured 
 and altogether impossible to please, because Mr. Peters 
 had not offered her an engagement at the Verandah. That 
 was the only drawback. 
 
 " I'm going to move my room. I'm not going on living 
 with her. Mr. Levi is going to help me to find a clean 
 little place of my own, near the theatre. He thinks I'd 
 be just as well alone a bit, if I can stand it. He says I'll 
 have a lot of work to do. I'm going back to Job Macher for 
 more lessons, and then there'll be rehearsals, singing and 
 dancing, and my dresses to see to." 
 
 " It's all very worldly," said Johnny Doone solemnly. 
 
 " Worldly ! My ! " she turned to look at him. " Why, 
 what's come to you, Johnny Doone ? " she cried. 
 
 It all came out over supper, over the plate of tripe 
 in the stuffy little eating-house. Johnny had "found 
 salvation " ; that was what he wanted to tell Sally about. 
 And he wanted her to be saved too. At least, he had wanted 
 that, until he heard she was going to get six pounds a week, 
 and then, of course, he saw it was no good. But he used 
 the words he had been taught, and pleaded with her, even 
 if it was in a half-hearted manner. 
 
 "I've always been fond of you, Sal. I've never so 
 much as looked at another girl. I know you're altogether 
 too grand for me, but they'd make you a captain. . . ." 
 
 " Oh, go away with you ! Me a captain ; I look like 
 it, don't I ? . And in the Salvation Army, too ! You don't 
 know what you're talking about. You don't mean to say 
 you're leaving the Grecian, giving up good work and good 
 pay ? " 
 
 " I've got my soul to think of, my immortal soul, Sal." 
 
 "Not you; we haven't got no immortal souls. And 
 if we have, what does it matter ? Tell you what it is, 
 Johnny. You mayn't know, but I know it. I've always 
 
 210 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 known it . . . you're lazy, that's what it is; you don't 
 want to work. You'll march about with a banner, just so 
 long as you feel inclined, then you'll flop down, and you'll 
 think you're praying. But you won't be ; you'll be resting, 
 resting. You're bone lazy — bone," she repeated with 
 contempt. "Praying! there's work for a man!" She 
 threw this at him viciously. 
 
 They fought over supper, it was almost like old times. 
 Johnny talked of " grace " and the giving up of temptation. 
 Sally lashed him with her tongue. She told him his boasted 
 conversion would land him in a workhouse. He warned her 
 solemnly of the fate of light women. He used the jargon 
 he had been taught, it came easy to him already. Sally had 
 no fears for herself or her future, she was hardly full-grown 
 yet. But Johnny was her great friend, and she had been 
 proud of his late industry and steadiness. She did not 
 want to marry him, she did not want to marry any one. 
 But all the time she had been at the Grecian she had 
 been glad he had been there, working and steady, and 
 always at hand. 
 
 " You with a peaked cap and a banner ! " she repeated 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " It's better nor being a kept woman," he retorted sul- 
 lenly. 
 
 But the words missed their meaning for her. 
 
 She went out to lunch with Kiddie a few days after 
 this. It was at a little quiet restaurant off the Strand, and 
 they had a serious talk. It was nice to have found a friend 
 now that she had lost Johnny. For Johnny, unmoved by 
 argument, had actually joined the Salvation Army, and wore 
 the cap and red jersey she despised. 
 
 She talked about her new part to Kiddie, and her fears 
 lest she should fail to please a West End audience. And 
 her part in " In Far Cathay " was the one in which Miss 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Letty Lind had made her great name and success. Sally 
 had never seen the great one, but she knew of her tradi- 
 tion. 
 
 Kiddie was thoroughly sympathetic; he told her he 
 knew she would be " rippin'." He was going to have a 
 front stall, and would clap when she came on. Kiddie 
 became more and more enthralled. Sally's childishness, 
 innocence, ease, held him as no arts would have done. He 
 fetched her in the brougham, and took her to her lessons 
 with Job. He talked to Job about her progress, but Job 
 would not let him be present at the lessons. 
 
 Edgar Levi, no less than Tom, and the whole entourage, 
 was busy with the new production; but Edgar found 
 time to run up to Gooch Place, and to condemn it root 
 and branch. 
 
 " A nice clean little flat, that's what you want." 
 
 Then he proceeded to find one for her. He was very 
 clever. He got rid of Elfrida, finding a place for her in 
 one of Tom's travelling companies. It was the one that 
 was going out to South Africa. 
 
 "It's a bit far," he agreed with her, "but think of the 
 chances you'll have, and next to no competition." 
 
 Ursula Rugeley, when Sally went to see her on Sunday, 
 was , very glad to hear she was separating herself from 
 Elfrida. Ursula had never approved of the flighty, yellow- 
 headed girl as a companion for Sally. But she had wisely 
 said nothing, she did not want to " put ideas into Sally's 
 head." There were certain ideas that never seemed to 
 enter there. Ursula had little distrust of human nature, 
 but Sally had none. 
 
 " Does Mr. Levi think you will be better in a flat than in 
 a nice boarding-house ? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 "I must practise my singing; Lord Kidderminster is 
 going to pay for lessons for me." 
 
 212 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 There was nothing to startle the old maid in hearing 
 of Lord Kidderminster's generosity. She did not read 
 penny novelettes or melodramatic fiction, and in the world 
 she frequented there were many philanthropists who paid 
 for sewing machines, and type-writers, mangles, and other 
 implements of toil. Why should not Lord Kidderminster, 
 or any other, help Sally ? Ursula, who prided herself on 
 her broad-mindedness, had not even a word of warning 
 for her protegee. She was very proud of her good looks, 
 her improved speech, and pretty manners. 
 
 " I should have been nowhere without you," Sally said, 
 in a rare burst of feeling. The gratitude was always there, 
 but the expression was rare. 
 
 " You've always been a good girl, an industrious, steady 
 girl," answered Ursula, "and self-respecting. You owe 
 most of all to yourself." 
 
 Sally was in truth quite pleased with herself. Her new 
 toy brought her so many others. She felt that, if she had 
 not been pretty, everybody would not be so kind to her. 
 It was a knowledge that came to her comparatively late, 
 but now it was definite and established. Tom smiled on 
 her and encouraged her at rehearsal, Edgar helped her 
 about a flat, and everything ; Lord Kidderminster was her 
 gTeat friend, her real friend. She was seeing a great deal 
 of him just now. 
 
 It was before the first night of "In Far Cathay" that 
 Mr. Perry heard of this friendship. He was not dress- 
 ing the play entirely ; it was only recognized gradually 
 that nobody could equal him as a theatrical costumier, 
 that his instinct for colour was as accurate, vital, and 
 ring in the mass as in detail. But he had three 
 dresses to make for Miss Golden, and all the gossip and 
 scandal of the stage flowed to him in a continuous stream 
 from her lips, as he lounged about the door, or sank into a 
 
 213 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 chair to superintend the fittings. He pricked up his ears 
 when she began to talk of Miss Mainwaring. 
 
 " Ever seen her ? " Miss Golden asked him. " She's not 
 a bit good-looking ... a snub-nosed little thing with a 
 couple of yards of coarse red hair, and an eighteen-inch 
 waist. I hear she hasn't any talent either. Kidderminster 
 picked her up at one of the East End music-halls, and is 
 having her coached for all she's worth. He's taken a flat 
 somewhere in Victoria for her, and is producing the whole 
 show at his own expense." 
 
 Kitty Golden was too successful to be ill-natured, and 
 was a real beauty to boot. Kiddie did not throw his 
 money about in the popular Verandah manner, he had 
 never been a pal of hers, and she was not in the least jeal- 
 ous of the new-comer. Kitty had played lead in the new 
 production, her popularity and her public were assured. 
 
 "She's going to sing Letty Lind's songs, and I'm told 
 she's an absolute stick. I haven't been to a rehearsal yet, 
 but I'm going to-morrow just to see her." 
 
 After Kitty Golden had gone, Mr. Perry called Miss 
 Baines. 
 
 "Drop a line to Miss Snape, Miss Baines, will you, 
 please ? Tell her I have some models I want her to see." 
 
 " Miss Snape ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Miss Baines had not been present at the fitting of Miss 
 Golden. 
 
 Mr. Perry offered no explanation, neither then, nor later 
 on, when Miss Snape arrived, and model after model was 
 exhibited for her edification. 
 
 Mr. Perry no longer called her "child." He treated 
 her as if she were a customer, advising this and insisting 
 on the other, telling her what she ought to wear, and 
 when. Sally, impressed, bewildered, listened, hesitated, 
 tried to explain, told her salary. Mr. Perry waved it away : 
 
 214 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Oh, that will be all right, Miss Snape. Your salary 
 will soon be higher, much higher. There will be no hurry 
 for our account. But you can't be seen in that thing" — 
 there was immeasurable contempt in his voice — "you must 
 have decent dresses." 
 
 Sally was innately honest as she was innately pure. But 
 she loved soft linings and pretty frocks. She loved, too, 
 her new flat, a furnished bedroom, sitting-room, and bath- 
 room, in Tillery Mansions, Victoria. She was not dull or 
 solitary in it, there was no time. There were music lessons, 
 and dancing lessons, she had massage to make her limbs 
 supple, she had her rehearsals, those rehearsals at which she 
 was always tongue-tied and stupid, and she had Lord Kid- 
 derminster's society for at least one meal a day. Nearly 
 all the girls in her company had a friend, some one who 
 took them out for lunch or supper. 
 
 "Is Kiddie your 'boy'?" asked one of them. They 
 nearly all had their "boys." The word implied nothing 
 to Sally, and meant little to them. The majority of these 
 fellow-workers of hers were "takers," not "givers." They 
 evaded their obligations, accepting everything. It was a 
 new world, and Sally walked in it, happy-eyed, seeing 
 little. 
 
 Edgar was further in Kiddie's confidence than anybody 
 else, and, in a limited sense, it was his advice that was 
 being followed. Very little had been said, but it was under- 
 stood that Kiddie was " to let her alone " until after the first 
 night of the show. Edgar was always keen on whatever he 
 had in hand. " In Far Cathay " was to be a success. Car- 
 penters, property-men, Tom himself, everybody, was work- 
 ing at top speed, and with extraordinary energy. Isaac 
 Hyams' new numbers were considered great. Never had 
 so many pretty girls been in the chorus. Money was being 
 spent lavishly ; it was Kidderminster's money, but that 
 
 215 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 was an unimportant detail. Sally was not the only new- 
 comer ; there was a little French girl with whom Tom Peters 
 was managerially infatuated, and a quartette of dancers 
 who were expected to draw the town. 
 
 Sally grew more nervous as the first night drew near. She 
 was entangled in a net, and although not fully realizing her 
 position it nevertheless had its effect upon her nerves. She 
 was wearing the clothes which Mr. Perry supplied, she was 
 living in the flat which Edgar Levi had found for her, and 
 she was incurring all these and other expenses on the strength 
 of her future salary. She hated debt, and felt she was pil- 
 ing it up. Edgar Levi, Mr. Perry, and Lord Kidderminster 
 told her not to worry about her rent or her dresses. But 
 their reassurance only held whilst she was in company. 
 
 When she went to bed at night, dead tired, exhausted 
 with the day's work, or the day's pleasure, she sometimes 
 could not sleep for the figures that thronged. She added 
 up the cost of the flat, and the cost of the dresses, calculating 
 how much she could save from her salary, how long it 
 would take her to get straight, and what she would do if 
 she were not a success, if Tom Peters would not keep her, 
 if she failed to please the public. She knew Kiddie would 
 be a friend to her, she fell asleep always with that know- 
 ledge. But not without misgiving, never quite without 
 misgiving. 
 
 She had the heart of a child, but, somewhere, dim and 
 shadowy in the background of her ignorance and thought- 
 lessness, her woman's instinct was working. She liked 
 Kiddie, enjoyed talking to him, and was grateful for his 
 kindness and sympathy. But with him it was not merely 
 a liking; he wanted something from her. Her instinct 
 told her that, and she shrank from the knowledge, shutting 
 her ears, her memory, and her intelligence. 
 
 But her sleep was dogged, her work interrupted, and 
 216 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 sometimes her fine food was only sawdust. That was 
 when Kiddie looked at her, and her own eyes drooped 
 before his. 
 
 The great day dawned at length, the day that ushered 
 in the first performance of " In Far Cathay." 
 
 The dress rehearsal had gone execrably. The few friends 
 of the management, and other personal intimates who had 
 been present, had gone away wondering at Tom's folly 
 in presenting such an obvious amateur to his fastidious 
 public. They wondered aloud how much Lord Kidder- 
 minster had paid for the privilege of seeing the girl make a 
 fool of herself ! They laughed at his taste and his judg- 
 ment, and the folly of everybody concerned in her appear- 
 ance. Sally's dance, as well as her song, had been paralyzed 
 by unfriendly faces and an unfriendly audience. She seemed 
 to be in a position to which her merits did not entitle her. 
 The very girls of the chorus jeered at her. Each of them 
 felt she could have done better, and resented in her own 
 way that Lord Kidderminster should have forced Sally 
 undeservedly to the front. 
 
 Sally had gone back to her flat, broken-hearted, to cry 
 the night through. Her liabilities and obligations mingled 
 their grotesque terrors with her feeling of artistic help- 
 lessness and hopelessness. Everything served to unfit her 
 for the ordeal of the morrow. 
 
 Her collapse at the dress rehearsal had not been without 
 its serious effect on the principals. Tom had sworn at 
 everybody, at Edgar most of all. Lord Kidderminster, 
 who had been "in front," had felt his heart swell with 
 tenderness. Never had he experienced a like feeling. He 
 was so sorry for her, so understandingly sorry ; he wanted 
 to take her away from it all. Why the devil should she 
 sing or dance ? It was for himself he wanted her. He had 
 been a fool. Why had he let her come here, worked for 
 
 217 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 her to come here, only to be distressed and made unhappy, 
 poor little girl ? He was impatient with the dragging 
 play; hopelessly vulgar, stupid, and dreary, it seemed to 
 him. Literally his heart ached with tenderness, and he 
 failed to understand himself or his feeling. He hurried 
 round to the stage door before the curtain fell, but Sally 
 had already left the house. Edgar begged him not to go 
 after her. 
 
 " Leave her alone, she'll get over it. It was only stage 
 fright, and the want of direct encouragement. Tom is 
 raving, running about like a bear with a sore head. But 
 it's all right, she'll be good; see if she isn't." 
 
 " I don't care." 
 
 Kiddie's lips were trembling; he was quite unlike him- 
 self, having, for the moment, lost his control. "I don't 
 care a damn if she's good or bad. Take her off altogether, 
 if you like. She's been overworked, poor little girl. I'm 
 going off to her. I shall take her out of town, if she'll come. 
 You can put off the show, or get some one else. She was 
 all to pieces. Tom, or some one, has been bullying her ; I 
 won't have it. . . ." 
 
 Edgar saw how it was with him. It was the sort of 
 feeling he was capable of himself, although it never lasted 
 long with him. His racial gift of sympathy came in, as 
 well as his optimism. 
 
 " She hasn't been bullied, and she won't be bullied, trust 
 me for that; it was only an hysterical breakdown. I've 
 seen scores of 'em like it — all the real artists. She'll 
 think she's an utter failure to-night, and cry her eyes 
 out. . . ." 
 
 Again Kiddie felt that strange contraction round his 
 heart. 
 
 "But she will pull herself together by to-morrow, and 
 you see if she don't surprise them. She was just the same 
 
 218 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 the first night we saw her at the Grecian — paralytic ; but 
 see what happened when the boys cheered her ! I'm going 
 to get those boys." 
 
 "A claque!" 
 
 " You leave it to me. I promise you, you'll see some- 
 thing to-morrow night. But leave her alone. . . ." 
 
 Kiddie had no choice as to leaving her alone. He went 
 to the flat, and rang and rang, but the place was in dark- 
 ness, and he got no response. He went away at last, 
 haunted by the thought of the girl, crying alone, miserable 
 through his mistake. His feeling for her did not include 
 at the moment any real belief in her talent. It did not 
 seem- to matter, either. Only her distress mattered, and 
 haunted him all that long evening. 
 
 219 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE curtain rose on the first night of " In Ear Cathay " 
 with commendable promptitude. Gallery and pit 
 were crammed, stalls and boxes comparatively empty. 
 During the opening chorus, and all through the beginning 
 of the first act, well-dressed barbarians forced their un- 
 mannerly entrance, talking, disturbing occupants of other 
 seats, obstructing the view of those who had put themselves 
 to immense fatigue, and exercised immeasurable patience, 
 to obtain it. 
 
 It was a typical first night. Every one knew his neigh- 
 bour, and had brought his preconceived views of the play, 
 with intent to expound them. When the smart young 
 men were settled in their seats, they took pains to show 
 that they knew the chorus by their Christian names, and 
 they advertised their knowledge freely. One heard that 
 "Millie" looked "thundering" well, but "Jess" had 
 had a cold ; that the " Skinner" girls had locked " Mama" 
 in her room, so that they could give her stall to " Ernie " ; 
 and that " Gus " thought " Lily " would never appear at 
 all, for she was so "screwed" at five o'clock this after- 
 noon that he had the devil's own work to get her home. 
 Ordinary coulisse gossip. 
 
 Ladies moved restlessly, and listened perfunctorily, say- 
 ing it was not as if "In Far Carthay" were a new play. 
 A few of them were interested in the tenor, and some spoke 
 of the dresses. The representatives of the Press yawned, 
 having already written the notices with a view to the 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 advertisement columns, leaving a few lines to be added 
 about the reception of the piece, and the speech Mr. Peters 
 was sure to make when it was over. 
 
 Tom always made a speech. He knew the gallery boys 
 liked a little additional fun for their money, and they could 
 always guy him without disturbing his serenity. He rather 
 liked it, and thought it lucky ; all his most successful pro- 
 ductions had been booed, and universally condemned by 
 the Press. The Press is better advised to-day. None of 
 the leading newspapers send gentlemen of literary taste, 
 or dramatic instinct, to criticise Tom Peters' musical 
 comedies. 
 
 The opening chorus went well, as far as one could hear it 
 for the late comers. The early inanities were well received, 
 and, before Kitty Golden's first solo relieved the situation, 
 the social spirit of the stalls and boxes provoked the enmity 
 of the cheaper seats. But Kitty was a popular favourite, 
 she held her place firmly, and commanded silence ; so did 
 the hero, and the leading comedian, and the lady who played 
 up to him. The French importation was the first novelty, 
 and she was listened to with attention. She was arch, very 
 arch, but, nevertheless, her song fell a little flat, it touched 
 the limit of triviality, and the silly refrain matched the 
 silly context. 
 
 The house apparently caught cold; one could hear it 
 clearing its throat and beginning to cough. It was an in- 
 auspicious moment for Miss Sarita Mainwaring, but it was 
 impossible to delay her appearance. 
 
 She had passed a bad night, giving up herself and her 
 chances as lost. She had sobbed herself to sleep about two 
 o'clock in the morning. But then she had slept uninter- 
 ruptedly for nearly eight hours. The world seemed all 
 bright again to her when she awoke, and she had forgotten 
 what had made her cry so last night. There were flowers 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 from Kiddie, with a note, saying he was fetching her for 
 lunch at one, and afterwards she was to have a spin in the 
 motor ; she was to do no work that day. There was also a 
 note from Edgar, saying how clever she had been last night 
 not to let herself go, it was much better to surprise them 
 to-night. But he thought she had been very good all the 
 same. 
 
 " Very good ! " 
 
 It was extraordinary, she thought she had been hope- 
 lessly bad. She was bewildered, but quite ready to be- 
 lieve it was true. She was to do no work, but, before she 
 dressed for lunch, she practised her song and a few steps 
 of her dance in front of the glass in her room. In her 
 morning gaiety and renewed spirits, her voice came back, 
 and, in her petticoat slip, with her hair hanging down, she 
 looked charming, and, what was more important, she knew 
 she looked charming. She executed quite a spontaneous, 
 original little dance of her own, and felt as assured of suc- 
 cess to-night as she had been of failure last evening. 
 
 Fortunately, she remained in this mood all day, through 
 the gay little luncheon, and the sprint to Richmond. 
 Kiddie hardly let her out of his sight. He praised her all 
 the time, in accordance with Edgar's suggestion. Edgar 
 came up to the flat at tea-time, and he too praised her, pre- 
 dicting a furore. She was amazed again to hear how good 
 she had been at rehearsal, and she promised herself that if 
 they thought her good then, they should think her a lot 
 better to-night. 
 
 The Miss Sarita Mainwaring who made her bow to a 
 West End audience, for the first time, was none but Sally 
 Snape, gay, careless, and self-assured. The gallery cheered 
 her before she opened her mouth; Edgar's claque was there. 
 She gave them her familiar, welcoming, nod and smile. It 
 seemed to say, " See here, what I'm going to do for you ; 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 hold your noise till I show you." What voice she had was 
 as clear as a bell, every word was heard, every note told. 
 Then her dancing ! For sheer grace and spontaneity, in- 
 spired by an obvious personal enjoyment and delight, noth- 
 ing like it had been seen in London for years. She danced 
 and she danced, and the house, after the first curious silence 
 and surprise, rose at her, shouted for her, applauded without 
 restraint or reserve. She was one with them, her feet never 
 stopped. It was not a dance she was doing, she was the 
 very incarnation of the Dance-Spirit. All the time she 
 danced she was smiling, singing the chorus of her little 
 song under her breath, her red hair was whirling round, and 
 she was tossing it off her face with that little familiar 
 movement, and . . . 
 
 Well ! It was the greatest success Tom had ever had. 
 Sally's dance was the moment of the first act ; but it 
 had put the audience in good humour, and the fate of the 
 revival was never in doubt after that. 
 
 Tom patted her on the back when she came off, and said 
 she was " a good girl." Edgar boasted : " What did I tell 
 you?" Kiddie's face in the stalls looked very white. 
 And from a pittite, in an incongruous red jersey and peaked 
 cap, came clapping, which lasted even after the resounding 
 applause had died away. 
 
 The second act showed her already an established favour- 
 ite ; everything she did was encored. The end of the piece 
 saw her in a whirl of smiling faces, congratulatory words and 
 cordial handshakes. She seemed to be surrounded, hemmed 
 in by people telling her she was a genius, inviting her 
 out, and generally making much of her. They were capti- 
 vated by her ingenuous pleasure in what she had done. She 
 was so gaily, so childishly, glad she had danced well, and 
 been applauded. 
 
 She had supper with dozens of people ; it seemed to her 
 223 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 that all the world was there. It was the author's party, 
 and he, as well as every one else, said the nicest possible 
 things to her. 
 
 It is difficult to distinguish the " author " of a musical 
 comedy from the man who composed the music, the man 
 who wrote the lyrics, the man who provided some of the 
 occasional numbers, and the man who wrote the others. 
 But they were all alike in their kindness to Sally. They all 
 talked at once, and they all drank at once, generously. 
 Kitty Golden was there, and two of the quartette. Sally 
 could never quite disentangle the party; and it lasted so 
 many hours. It was past two when Kiddie came up to her ; 
 she was feeling rather dazed, and he said authoritatively : 
 
 " You mustn't overdo it. Don't forget to-morrow night ; 
 you've been through quite enough for one day. I am going 
 to take you home now." 
 
 Edgar pleaded for another half-hour. Tom said Lord 
 Kidderminster was quite right. Miss Sarita must not 
 overdo it ; she was beginning to look tired. Then there 
 followed enthusiastic "good nights," and more congratula- 
 tions. The women would have kissed her, only Sally so 
 obviously did not look for it. She stood upright, with a 
 sense of isolation about her, even now, a spiritual some- 
 thing, indefinable, but they felt it. They went in a body 
 to see her off. Edgar grinned and said something to Tom. 
 Tom frowned and made no answer to him. 
 
 "You go and get your things," Tom said to the little 
 French girl, the new importation, whose second song had 
 gone so much better than her first, and justified him. " I'll 
 drop you at your rooms." 
 
 " Very nice for me ! But who am I to drop at their 
 rooms ? " Edgar complained. 
 
 But for Edgar there were congenial spirits among the party. 
 His indecorous wit soon found the soil in which to flourish. 
 
 224 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sally was too excited to feel tired, and Kiddie was husky 
 and silent. 
 
 " Pull that cloak close round you. You must not catch 
 cold." He put her cloak more closely round her when they 
 were in the brougham, and his arm with it. 
 
 Sally did not resent it ; she was too happy to resent a little 
 thing like that. She talked of her dance, of what she had 
 felt about it after the rehearsal, of the supper they had had, 
 and the evening generally. Kiddie's arm, pressing always 
 more closely, more tightly around her, was an inconvenience, 
 nothing more. 
 
 He came upstairs when they got to Tillery Mansions. 
 She heard him tell the coachman he need not wait; but 
 she attached no importance to that. 
 
 "Are you coming in ? " she asked lightly, perhaps a little 
 surprised, as she unlocked the door with her key. "It's 
 getting awfully late, isn't it ? But I do believe I'm too 
 excited to sleep." 
 
 The flat was in darkness, and Sally fumbled for the switch 
 of the electric light, talking all the while. Then it was 
 that Kiddie seized hold of her, his husky voice pitched very 
 low: 
 
 " Don't turn on the light yet, don't. Sarita, give me a 
 kiss ; you've never kissed me." 
 
 Sally pushed him away with her elbow. Now she had 
 found the switch, the passage was lighted, and the sitting- 
 room door open. 
 
 " What rubbish you're saying. What's the matter with 
 you, you look quite pale ? " She smiled at him ; the smile 
 irradiated her. " I say, you are in a funny humour ; what's 
 come over you ? You've come upstairs too quick." 
 
 The fire was still smouldering in the sitting-room, the 
 light from the passage warred with its sombre glow. Kiddie 
 followed her into the room. They were really little more 
 Q 225 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 than boy and girl. He had been waiting all the evening 
 for this moment. To her the evening and its triumph were 
 over. She could see that he was still labouring under some 
 excitement, but she did not realize its nature. 
 
 " I'm not really tired, it's only my feet." She sat down 
 on the sofa. " It has been a day ! " 
 
 "Take your shoes off," he said, rather hoarsely. He 
 kneeled to take them off for her. 
 
 She jumped up quickly, and the old speech, almost a 
 touch of the old sullenness, came over her. 
 
 " I can't abide being touched." 
 
 " I didn't mean any harm." 
 
 His breath came laboriously, and his eyes and mouth 
 looked strange to her. He pulled her down beside him on 
 the sofa ; he grew weak all at once, he had had a long even- 
 ing, and kept command of himself a long time, he felt the 
 strain most at this moment, when it was relaxed. 
 
 " Be kind to me," he said, " be kind to me." He put his 
 arms about her. 
 
 She shrank from him, only instinctively. Hardly a 
 glimmer of his meaning had come to her yet, that shrinking 
 was quite involuntary. She let him hold her a minute, 
 although she did not like it. And she smiled into his pale 
 face and gleaming eyes : 
 
 " Of course I'll be kind to you. . . ." 
 
 At that his arms tightened around her, pressing her 
 shrinking form, and his hot lips caught and fastened on hers, 
 fastened hungrily. For an instant she was too surprised, 
 startled, and frightened to defend herself. But it was only 
 an instant : there was no enemy within to weaken her, 
 there was not an inch of yielding in her. She struggled 
 passionately, frantically, unmistakably to free herself from 
 him. . . . He let her go at last : 
 
 " You knew I loved you," he said hoarsely. He had 
 226 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 been almost overwhelming, she was a little spent with re- 
 sisting him, a little breathless. There was a sob in her 
 throat, not of weakness, only of anger; but it held her 
 speechless. He misinterpreted it, and would have held 
 her again : 
 
 " You've known all along that I loved you," he said, as 
 if in justification. She sprang to her feet : 
 
 " No, I didn't ; no, I haven't. I never thought nothing 
 about it." Now both of them were standing. " Don't you 
 dare to come anigh me." 
 
 " I'll have another kiss if I die for it." 
 
 Wine was still working in him, and all the evening only 
 his senses had been stimulated. She had to fight him, 
 she had boasted so often that she could take care of her- 
 self ; now was the time to show it. And she proved it, 
 up to the hilt ; he gained nothing. The struggle was short, 
 sharp, decisive. There was no womanliness in her yet 
 to meet his manhood. This failed quite soon, rejected, 
 contemptuously and angrily scorned. It was Lord Kidder- 
 minster who flung himself on the sofa now, hid his face in 
 the cushion, and began to sob weakly. 
 
 Silence fell between them in the dusky firelight of the 
 room. Sally had been more moved than she understood, 
 more frightened, perhaps, than she knew or acknowledged. 
 Perhaps something had been born in her when that first 
 hot kiss surprised her. She felt her legs trembling, her 
 eyes were full of tears. The silence became unbearable. 
 
 " You'd best go," she said. 
 
 Kiddie failed to answer. 
 
 " You've spoiled my evening," she repeated. " I don't 
 want you here any more." 
 
 He could not pull himself together as quickly as she. 
 It was all so unexpected. He was so unused to contra- 
 diction. But also, above all things, as she struggled in 
 
 227 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 his arms, and he had realized, all at once, that the 
 struggle was a real one, that this was no feint of modesty, 
 there had flooded over him a new feeling, a tenderness 
 almost unbearable, a self-hatred and contempt. It was 
 not that her strength had vanquished his ; it was his own 
 tenderness that sapped his strength. It was love that came 
 to him in that strange moment, weakening him. His pride 
 went down under it. Only once or twice in all his two-and- 
 twenty years had his pride left him, and in its place there 
 had been humility. This had been in moments when the 
 encompassing and unselfish love his mother bore him had 
 been revealed in some small action, or in some unexpected 
 word. This mother-love had made Lord Kidderminster 
 what he was ; on the ever-swelling tide of it he had floated 
 times and oft out of danger. 
 
 All at once it made Sally Snape's safety. Although they 
 were alone within these four walls, she was as safe from 
 him as if his mother were there to guard her. His face 
 was buried, he did not hear Sally speaking. For weeks 
 he had been haunted and inflamed by this red-haired, pale- 
 faced girl ; he had not paused to think of where his feel- 
 ings would land him. Why should he ? Even now that 
 thought came : why should he ? He had done many 
 things for her ; every one thought she was his, she was 
 his by many rights. A Verandah Theatre girl ! He had 
 taken this flat for her, everything in the situation had been 
 ordinary . . . almost ordinary ! Now his cheeks burned 
 that he had thought this. 
 
 " Aren't you going ? " said Sally again. She was so 
 surprised she did not hate him, she could think of nothing 
 but that. She wished he would get up, she believed he 
 was crying ; he had been very, very kind to her. 
 
 " Give me a minute," he said presently, " give me a 
 minute." But he sat up, and she saw that his eyes were wet. 
 
 228 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " I'm sorry if I hurt you," she got out, she was prone to 
 over-rate her physical strength. 
 
 " You hurt me in so many ways," he answered dully with 
 involuntary candour. 
 
 It was wonderful how quiet the atmosphere had suddenly 
 grown between them. Sally's instinct knew it; she no 
 longer urged him to go. She really smiled at him again, 
 through the trembling mist of her unready tears. 
 
 " You deserved it," she answered quickly. 
 
 He rose to go, he wanted to get away now. But he 
 knew that he had not been wooing his mistress, he had been 
 attempting the virtue of a virtuous girl. And he was 
 ashamed. Her simplicity and directness had never varied. 
 She had not coquetted with, nor purposely allured, him. 
 If she had taken something from him, it was unconsciously. 
 He knew that ; she had neither given, nor promised, return. 
 
 " You won't give up the flat ? " he asked, as he held out 
 his hand to take leave of her. 
 
 "I'd like it to myself," she retorted, but not very con- 
 vincingly. 
 
 " I'm going, I'm going at once. Sarita ... if things had 
 been different . . . ? You don't really dislike me, do you ? " 
 
 Not one of the girls he knew, not one of those that were 
 equal to him in birth, had held him off, and won his respect, 
 more than his respect, as this girl from the gutter. "What 
 if he ... a great thought struck him ! He stooped hur- 
 riedly, he kissed her hand, Sally Snape's hand. It was 
 quite soft, and the look she gave him was soft too; to 
 palliate the distress in his looks. 
 
 " Don't hate me," were his last words. 
 
 He got away hurriedly, and ran downstairs. He knew 
 he was in a mood to do something desperately foolish; 
 he had been so seldom denied, she looked so pale . . . and 
 IWttfc 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE next morning, and all that week, Sally's dance, 
 her song, her hair, her figure, were prominent in 
 the theatrical columns of the daily and weekly papers. 
 Sally's flat was besieged by photographers, and her letter- 
 box filled with press-cuttings. She was very bewildered, 
 and uncertain how to take the good fortune, and, if it had 
 not been for the ubiquitous Edgar, she might have ruined 
 her brilliant career at the outset, or so he told her, by 
 giving too many interviews, sitting to the wrong photo- 
 grapher, and being too easily accessible. However, he 
 put her right on all these points, he found her very 
 amenable, very obedient. In truth, her mind was full of 
 many things. 
 
 She did not see Kiddie for a week, that week in which 
 her fame grew, and the Verandah was crammed nightly by 
 old men and young, to whom had spread the rumour of her 
 grace and form, her dancing and the spirit of her ; a week 
 in which she saw much, and learnt something. It was 
 her first week on the musical comedy stage, it was indeed a 
 strange world in which she found herself. 
 
 Life on the musical comedy stage, with its curious lack 
 of reticence, its odd etiquette and idiosyncrasies, puzzled 
 her, and distracted her simplicity. What she failed to 
 understand she simply accepted. There were dozens and 
 dozens of girls around her, pretty, ugly, young, and old. 
 At first the majority of them cold-shouldered her ; she was 
 in the position of a new boy at a public school, tolerably 
 
 230 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 happy in being here at all, but with that only as compensa- 
 tion. Gradually she learnt that all the pretty girls had 
 " friends," whom they called their " boys " ; some had only 
 one, but others were less exclusive. These young men or 
 boys had season-tickets for the stalls. The Kittys, and 
 Lenas, and Zillas, and Maudies lunched or supped with 
 them, went for drives on Sundays, demanded much, took 
 everything, and prided themselves on giving nothing. 
 
 The majority of them were "good" girls. They put 
 some meaning into this word to preserve their self-respect, 
 and yet deprive them of none of the entertainment which 
 their lives seemed to render necessary. They lived in the 
 glare of the footlights, night-lives, filled with small excite- 
 ments. They came from poor homes, and lived alternately 
 in luxury and poverty. They would sup with their " boys " 
 at the Savoy on foie gras and champagne one night, and 
 the next, as contentedly, at Brixton or Putney, they would 
 eat trotters, washed down with beer, in the company of 
 father, brother, and mother of the honest working classes. 
 They kept themselves respectable. This was their shib- 
 boleth, whilst they wore jewellery for which they had 
 practically asked, and fine clothes for which they had no 
 means or intention of paying. They accounted themselves 
 virtuous by reason of this non-paying ! 
 
 Tom Peters had a paternal eye on them; they had gradu- 
 ated on his and Edgar's good advice. The pith of it was 
 that they were to wait for their price. Neither beauty nor 
 talent escaped the vigilance of these two. The young ones, 
 the new-comers, were well looked after, and their records 
 noted. A standard of conduct was required, and kept at 
 the theatre; out of it a standard of commercialism was 
 always understood as desirable. 
 
 "Be good girls; don't give yourselves away," perhaps 
 best sums up Tom's instructions. The bulk of the chorus 
 
 231 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 understood what was expected of them, and obeyed in- 
 structions ; they were u as good as they knew how." 
 
 There were two or three notorious exceptions — girls, 
 drawing one pound a week in salary, who drove to re- 
 hearsals in broughams or motors. These had no young 
 men in attendance. They were like Eton boys who had 
 got into "pop"; secretly envied, openly maligned, dis- 
 cussed constantly, every act and gesture criticised. They 
 were outside the esprit de corps that bound together the 
 rest of the band. 
 
 At first all looked askance at Sally. She was difficult 
 to understand. She worked hard, harder than any of 
 the others, at rehearsal, at practising her dances and songs, 
 at mending and making her wardrobe. Her little fiat 
 was the pink of neatness. She was a born dancer, but her 
 singing was safe only in chorus or concerted pieces. Her 
 voice came and went, it was never quite placed. As one 
 of the four "Pear Drops," or one of the five "Brides- 
 maids," she did all that was required of her. She could 
 join in " The Candy on the Cake," or " We're the Sugar 
 on the Bun, we're the Sugar on the Hot-Cross Bun," but 
 as a soloist she was not dependable. They had to cut out one 
 of her songs before she had been singing it a week ; and this 
 made her an object of sympathy behind the scenes. But 
 Sally accepted the change without making a fuss. They 
 gave her instead another solo dance, and she was encored 
 in it nightly. She was a " good girl," and Tom and Edgar 
 both praised her. For, if she had made a fuss, Kiddie 
 might have backed her up, and Kiddie was running the 
 show. 
 
 In the meantime where was Kiddie ? 
 
 Kiddie was passing through a bad time, and doing it 
 characteristically. He had promised himself to put Sarita 
 Mainwaring out of his head. He was no seducer, no 
 
 232 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 villain, only a young man with his code of ethics unformu- 
 lated, and his opinion of all women, except his mother and 
 sisters, a little out of focus. 
 
 He had been rudely awakened that evening at Tillery 
 Mansions ; l)ut he was not ready to open his eyes fully. 
 He had passed a very restless, disturbed, and unsatisfactory 
 night after the premiere at the Verandah. The wildest 
 thoughts came to him, only to be thrust on one side, and 
 rejected when daylight dawned. After a day of doubt and 
 uncertainty, a day in which three times he started for the 
 flat, and each time altered his mind halfway, he hurriedly 
 took the line of least resistance, which seemed to be the 
 afternoon train to Paris. It was an eminently common- 
 place thing to do, but then, and up to now, in all externals 
 Gilbert Taylour Burnarsham, Lord Kidderminster, was an 
 extremely ordinary, not to say commonplace, young man. 
 
 That week in Paris he took his corrective, as correc- 
 tive should be taken, very thoroughly. But at the end 
 of the week he felt like a man who needed a physician, 
 and had been treated by a quack. He was no better; 
 his worst symptoms were unabated. He still felt weak, 
 with the capacity to make a fool of himself. Sarita 
 Mainwaring's hair and eyes, her smile and figure, haunted 
 his dreams and his waking. And the thought that had 
 driven him from London stayed with him in Paris. 
 
 At the end of the week he came back. He avoided 
 the theatre, although he could not avoid hearing about 
 Miss Sarita Mainwaring. Her name was on all the hoard- 
 ings, and, although he dined at Arthur's, and played bridge 
 afterwards, he could not get away from it. It seemed to 
 follow him everywhere. Some one said he had heard she 
 was " quite straight." Another youngster replied callously: 
 A, that won't last long. They've got no use for prudes 
 at the Verandah." 
 
 233 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 And Kiddie suddenly found the club dull and bridge 
 a bore. He went early to bed, and for the eighth consecu- 
 tive night he was restless. 
 
 A late breakfast, an irresolute morning, found him at 
 Curzon Street in time for lunch. Lady Dorothea had 
 missed him. She told him so quite frankly, after keeping 
 him waiting until two-thirty, and then coming in from' the 
 park with Sir Clement Dowling. The butler had told him 
 her ladyship had ordered luncheon for two. 
 
 "Hullo! Kiddie, back at last! Where on earth have 
 you been ? Dissipating, of course. I've missed you dread- 
 fully. Now I see you in the light, you have been dissipat- 
 ing. You look quite seedy. You shall tell me all about 
 it after luncheon. Just wait while I take my hat off; I 
 shan't be five minutes." 
 
 She was away for fifteen. In the meantime the two young 
 men exchanged monosyllables. There is no conversational 
 bridge between Stonyhurst and Eton, until more years 
 than these two boasted have served to build one. 
 
 Kiddie was annoyed at being told he looked dissipated. 
 He was annoyed, too, at finding Sir Clement Dowling in 
 possession, and Colonel Fellowes absent. He had come 
 here chiefly in the hope of meeting the Colonel, and the 
 gauche and silent young Baronet was a most indifferent 
 substitute. 
 
 " Where is Fellowes ? " he asked Dorothea, as he fol- 
 lowed her into the dining-room. 
 
 Dorothea had changed her walking dress for a diaphanous 
 tea gown. She looked extraordinarily pretty and wicked, 
 and it irritated Kiddie to think it was for Sir Clement she 
 had thus arrayed herself. 
 
 " If you hadn't been hiding yourself from all your friends 
 for the last fortnight you'd have known Freddy was away. 
 He's gone for a week's shooting with two old cronies." 
 
 234 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "What a disloyal wretch you are, Dolly," he said sotto 
 voce. "And, by the way, I've only been away a week, 
 the inside of a week." 
 
 They got through lunch, during which they played 
 battledore and shuttlecock with frank speech, to Sir Clem- 
 ent's great annoyance. On the whole Kiddie was bet- 
 ter entertained than he had been for some time. There 
 was no doubt Dolly could make herself very fascinating if 
 she chose. What she chose just now, whether to excite 
 Sir Clement's jealousy, or with some less simple motive, 
 was to fascinate Lord Kidderminster. And she had quite 
 a small success. The boy was really rather miserable. 
 Dolly's kindness to him warmed his heart, and seeing 
 Sir Clement Dowling snubbed for his sake, helped back 
 some of his self-esteem. 
 
 After lunch she dismissed Clement, too, quite peremp- 
 torily. 
 
 " I want to talk to Kiddie," she said. " I'm sure you don't 
 mind ; Kiddie and I haven't seen each other for so long." 
 
 Perhaps Sir Clement did mind; yet he had no choice 
 but to go. Then Dolly arranged herself on the sofa in the 
 drawing-room, and bade Kiddie come and sit by her and 
 tell her all about everything. Of course, she was in need 
 of his cousinly cheque-book, but that was not the atmo- 
 sphere she created. 
 
 " What a bore that fellow is ! I wonder you can stick 
 him." 
 
 " He's very devoted." 
 
 " Has Fellowes gone away because of his devotion ? " 
 
 "Don't be such a silly boy. Freddy is a man of the 
 world." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by that. Do you mean 
 he isn't jealous ; that he doesn't mind if you've got other 
 fellows hanging about you ? " 
 
 *35 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "He knows what an over-rated virtue fidelity is. At 
 best it means boredom; you can't always eat the game 
 food, even if it's truffles." 
 
 "You don't mean you are going to throw over Freddy 
 Fellowes for a chap like Dowling ! " 
 
 "I never throw anybody over. I only sometimes in- 
 crease my circle of friends. How crude you are." 
 
 " I can't understand you. Don't you believe in love ? " 
 
 " I don't believe in anything else. But the game is mo- 
 notonous if you always play against the same antagonist, 
 and you know every stroke and counter-stroke." 
 
 " You call it a game." 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "No." « 
 
 He blurted out his denial ; he was not a young man who 
 thought quickly as a rule, but already he knew love was 
 no game. The knowledge of its power, which had kept him 
 awake all these nights, and now hammered at his temples, 
 impelled him to words. He wished Dolly would not be so 
 flippant ; he would have liked to question her. After all, 
 she was a woman, and a beautiful one. Poor Kiddie knew 
 so little, although he imagined himself fully experienced. 
 How did women feel ? He began to ask her questions. 
 
 Dorothea could not talk of love without making love. 
 She became alluring; even Kiddie, with his heart and 
 head full of Sarita, could recognize the note she sounded, 
 and its appeal. To a limited extent, he even responded. 
 He could not sit quiet, he moved restlessly about the room 
 as he talked. 
 
 They discussed the philosophy of love, they spoke its 
 platitudes ; but love was scarcely the right word, although 
 they used it. Her eyes were inviting, her speech was loose. 
 There was something unmoral about Dorothea. One would 
 have credited her with a profession, and said she knew it well. 
 
 236 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Why have you never cared about me ? " she said to 
 Kiddie presently. " I wish you'd leave off walking about 
 and come and sit quietly by me. I can talk ever so much 
 better if you sit here." She made room for him again on 
 the sofa. Of course he was flattered when she went on : 
 
 "I always wish you made love to me, Kiddie, I know 
 you would do it so well." 
 
 " Haven't you got enough men around you ? " was never- 
 theless all he could find to say. 
 
 "I couldn't have enough. Now, don't frown, don't try 
 and look stern." She put her hand on his. "Other women 
 like cards, gambling, racing, other women drink. 1 haven't 
 any of these vices. I only like men. There's nothing 
 to look disgusted about ; it's a taste, like any other, old 
 china for instance, or foreign stamps. What a boy you 
 are, Kiddie, and a prig, just the least bit of a prig. You're 
 looking at my hand, and you don't kiss it. Yet I could 
 be great friends with you. . . ." 
 
 " Don't, Dolly, you don't know how I hate it." 
 
 Whether he hated it or not, it did not drive him away 
 from Curzon Street. He was no better than the majority 
 of young men, and very little different. When one's mind 
 is full of one subject, it is not unpleasant to be told inti- 
 mate things about it. There is a fascination about forbid- 
 den things, even if you do not want them. 
 
 Kiddie stayed all that afternoon ; the beautiful drawing- 
 room growing dimmer as the afternoon closed. No one 
 disturbed them, the household knew Lady Dolly's ways. 
 It was five o'clock before she rang for tea, and Kiddie 
 hated himself rather more than he had when he came in. 
 
 At tea time, because one must talk of something, Kiddie 
 told Dolly of his meeting with Sarita Mainwaring, and 
 her recognition of him as the donor of Sally Snape's pre- 
 mium. 
 
 »37 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Dolly was very interested, and suggested that, after tea, 
 they should walk round to Brook Street, and ask Vi Far- 
 quharson about her. Kiddie consenting, she kept him 
 waiting another three quarters of an hour whilst she 
 changed her dress again. 
 
 The establishment in Brook Street had now a man in 
 gorgeous livery to open carriage-doors, and a special con- 
 stable to regulate the traffic. There was a string of car- 
 riages reaching almost into Bond Street, and the large rooms 
 were full of acquaintances. But Vi came forward to greet 
 Dorothea. She knew her well, they spoke a little of Vi's boy 
 at Eton, the people who were in the reception room, of 
 Kiddie's mother, and her movements. Then, carelessly 
 enough, Dolly said: 
 
 " By the way, since we are here, you'd better give Kiddie 
 my account, Vi. It's about the only chance you've got 
 of getting it settled. And I want to ask you about that 
 girl I sent here. I hear she has gone on the stage, and 
 is making an enormous success. . . ." 
 
 Vi talked about the stage while the account was being 
 made out for Kiddie; incidentally she spoke slightingly 
 of the girls who preferred it to millinery. She spoke as 
 if the stage were but an euphemism. Sarita's child-like 
 eyes were gazing suddenly into Kiddie's; in one strange 
 moment he almost visualized her ; the voices, the women, 
 the shop-full of millinery and scented furs vanished, and 
 he was back in the little flat. How different she was. . . . 
 
 He was aroused by Mr. Perry coming forward to com- 
 pliment Lady Dorothea on her general appearance : 
 
 "But you ought to have had. that sable stole, your 
 ladyship," he said regretfully, alluding to some former 
 visit, going into details to explain why Kussian sable was 
 so expensive. 
 
 " Lady Dorothea wants to hear about Miss Snape, Mr. 
 238 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Perry. It seems she is making a success at the Verandah," 
 Mrs. Farquharson said to him. 
 
 As all London was talking of nothing else, Mr. Perry 
 was not surprised to hear the news. But, on hearing of 
 Lady Dorothea Lytham's interest, Mr. Perry's eyes sought 
 his lordship's ; Kiddie's were inscrutable. Mr. Perry went 
 on fluently : 
 
 " She was very well conducted while she was here, quite 
 exemplary in fact." 
 
 "But she isn't good-looking?" Lady Dorothea inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " There are always ways by which you can tell if a girl 
 is flighty," he said. " I should say Miss Snape was very 
 steady, she did not care for admiration. And she was a 
 very industrious girl. I wish some of the others were 
 more like her!" 
 
 "Well! I'm glad she did not disgrace my recommenda- 
 tion. I shall go and see her to-night." 
 
 Lady Dorothea made up her mind quickly. " Come on, 
 Kiddie, we'll get seats. You hope to dress her, I suppose ? " 
 she said to Mr. Perry. Again he looked at his lordship be- 
 fore replying, respectfully — 
 
 " She has had one or two things from us already. I 
 think we have succeeded in satisfying her. Perhaps his 
 lordship has heard ? " 
 
 " How should I have heard ? " was the abrupt response. 
 
 Kiddie's face was rather flushed when they got out of the 
 shop. 
 
 " I hate that fellow ! " he said shortly. 
 
 " Who ? Mr. Perry ? Why, he is a genius, the greatest 
 sartorial artist of our day. Don't be ill-tempered. You 
 can't be jealous of a shop-walker ! " 
 
 She had a gift of quick intuition, although it went only 
 surface deep. 
 
 *39 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But Kiddie had grown restless again; as they walked 
 to the booking-office in Bond Street, he was very silent. 
 Dolly thought he was resenting, perhaps, the amount of 
 Madame Violetta's bill. She exerted herself to rouse 
 him. 
 
 Bond Street was full of well-dressed people, and a 
 crowded traffic of carriages, motors, and hansoms fre- 
 quently blocked the road. Dorothea gossiped gaily as she 
 walked, reputations were as brittle glass in her destruc- 
 tive hands, she broke them one by one : 
 
 "There is Lady Cleeve. She has got her new baby 
 and the nurse with her. They say the baby is black — 
 isn't it unlucky ? For the Rajah, himself, is almost fair. 
 But there is one thing, Cleeve won't mind. I swear he 
 hasn't been home for a year. That's Lady Bassett, you 
 know, Gerald Leslie's first wife ; they say she had forty- 
 nine lovers after her divorce from Gerald, and she mar- 
 ried recently because she thought her daughter would be 
 allowed to visit her; she was devoted to her daughter. 
 But she reckoned without the mother-in-law; Kim Stuart's 
 wife has to pretend she never had a mother. But I'm 
 told she is her mother's daughter, nevertheless, and there 
 will be a scandal in her smart menage quite shortly ! 
 I'm rather sorry for Lady Bassett ; she hasn't done worse 
 than other people, but she was found out so much oftener. 
 There goes my sister, the Duchess, in her new car. 
 Who has she got in tow now ? One of these days she 
 will cut me, see if she doesn't. She has the same tastes, 
 but . . ." 
 
 They got the stalls for the Verandah, although not with- 
 out difficulty. At the box office they heard the same stories 
 the papers had been telling. Tom Peters had got hold of 
 another success. " In Far Cathay " was in for a run. 
 Had they seen the new dancer ? 
 
 240 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 The men behind the counter respectfully informed her 
 ladyship, who was gaily inquisitive and familiar, that 
 Sir William D'Albiac had been in ten minutes ago and 
 said it reminded him of his young days. There had 
 not been such dancing in London since Taglioni. Dolly 
 discussed Sir William's age with the man, and was full 
 of it when they walked away. 
 
 "He must be over ninety. But still, Taglioni was an 
 eighteenth-century dancer, wasn't she? Or was that 
 Madame Vestris? I haven't got a bit of memory." 
 
 They dined together at the Ritz, very late. Unpunctu- 
 ality was one of Dolly's particular forms of selfishness. 
 She talked all through dinner, it seemed to him she 
 never ceased talking. And it was all society gossip. 
 According to Lady Dorothea no woman was chaste, none 
 constant to their lovers. 
 
 They got to the theatre very late. There were lots of 
 fellows he" knew in the stalls; he wished he had been by 
 himself. 
 
 When Sarita came on, he felt his cheeks flushing, and 
 his heart thumping against his side. Her smile was for 
 the house, principally for the gallery, not at all for him. 
 There had been moments, ever since that night, when he 
 had felt the possibilities of "making a fool of himself." 
 He knew what he meant by the phrase. Now he knew 
 nothing positively except that that slim, smiling girl, little 
 more than a child, who held the crowded house, was the 
 one thing in the world he wanted. Wanted, and meant 
 to have. All at once he felt, too, savagely, his pain made 
 him savage, that he was not going to make a fool of 
 himself. Dorothea had shown him what women were 
 like when you got to know them. He wasn't going to 
 make a fool of himself. But he was going to get what he 
 wanted. 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * She is wonderful ! " said Dorothea, " wonderful ! I'm 
 not surprised they shout." Sally was having an ovation. 
 "I think I shall go round and speak to her. I suppose 
 I can get round. She is very grateful to me, you say, 
 for getting her into Vi's. She has altered, though, hasn't 
 she?" 
 
 Dorothea felt her responsibility, it was something of an 
 adventure to be responsible for a dancer at the Verandah. 
 Dorothea loved to be adventurous. 
 
 Kiddie dissuaded her from going to the stage-door, and 
 promised to find out Miss Mainwaring's address. 
 
 Having at last got rid of Dolly, he looked in at the 
 Savoy, then at the Carlton, finally at Romano's, where he 
 met Edgar in the hall : 
 
 " Hullo ! fancy meeting you here ! I thought you'd 
 disappeared altogether. Miss Mainwaring is quite dis- 
 consolate, surrounded with suitors, but frowning on 'em 
 all." 
 
 Kiddie did not resent Edgar's familiarity. 
 
 " Is she here ? " he asked. 
 
 " Here ! Not she ! We're not virtuous enough for her. 
 She is eating bread and milk in Tillery Mansions. Come 
 in and have some supper. Milly is with me, but I'll easy 
 get a fourth." 
 
 Kiddie hesitated. 
 
 " No, I don't think I want supper, not just yet, anyhow. 
 How's the play going ? " 
 
 " Going, my dear fellow, going ! Why, it's just boom- 
 ing, house full every night. You'll make your fortune 
 out of that revival. Well, if you're not coming in, I must 
 go. Tom is waiting for me." 
 
 Edgar went in to supper smiling to himself, in high good 
 humour ; he knew he had said the right thing. 
 
 Lord Kidderminster hesitated a moment or two in the 
 
 242 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 hall; went outside, and hesitated a moment on the pave- 
 ment, only a moment, however. 
 
 " Damn it all, why shouldn't I do what I like ? * 
 
 He called a hansom. 
 
 " Tillery Mansions," he called to the driver, " Victoria 
 Road." 
 
 243 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SALLY came to the door of the flat in answer to his 
 persistent knocking. But she opened it only a little 
 way, keeping the chain up. He could see she was in a 
 dressing gown, and that her hair was already unbound. 
 
 " What do you want ? Oh, it's you ! It's very late. 
 I'm just going to bed." 
 
 But she was glad to see him. He knew she was glad to 
 see him, and his heart leapt. 
 
 " I only wanted to tell you I was back. I've been away. 
 How have you been going on ? " 
 
 " All right. They've cut out my song." 
 
 " I know. I was there to-night." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Where else should I be ? Sarita, undo that chain, let 
 me come in. I want to talk to you." 
 
 " Not me ! " She flashed her smiles and dimples at him 
 through the chained door. 
 
 " Well, tell me you've missed me, tell me you've forgiven 
 me." 
 
 Sarita's smiles and dimples faded. She did not want to 
 be reminded. She had missed him, she had wondered what 
 had become of him, and was glad he had returned, glad to 
 see him standing there. But now that he reminded her of 
 his last visit to her rooms, her face fell. 
 
 She looked so wonderful, so desirable, even in that 
 scanty glimpse he got of her. The light from the hall was 
 behind her, and he was in the darkness of the landing. 
 
 244 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Tell me you've forgiven me, and that I may come and 
 see you to-morrow. Don't throw me over, Sarita ! n 
 
 He was just as near making a fool of himself as ever. 
 But her smile had maddened him, and now her fallen face 
 made him yearn to her. 
 
 " Say you've forgiven me." 
 
 Sally was silent. She wanted to forget. 
 
 If he had not doubted, she would not have hesitated. 
 
 " You must say yes, you must." 
 
 She questioned herself, and her colour came and went : 
 
 "You'll go now." 
 
 "I'll go if you say I may come in the morning." 
 
 She still hesitated. 
 
 " I'm at the theatre in the morning, rehearsing." 
 
 "You'll lunch with me if I fetch you ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "You hate me, then; you know you hate me, although 
 you say you don't." 
 
 She was cold and undecided, she wanted to get away 
 from him, and what he brought back to her memory. She 
 had been keeping it all out of her mind. 
 
 " Very well, then, in the morning," she said abruptly. 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 "Goodnight." 
 
 The door was shut in his face. He waited a few moments, 
 hoping it would reopen, trying to talk through it. But 
 Sally had banged it to, and bolted it. He had no choice but 
 to find his way downstairs again, and into the courtyard, 
 where his hansom waited. He was filled with conflicting 
 feelings. 
 
 MS 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THERE followed a period of drifting. The meeting 
 next morning proved constrained, but things im- 
 proved during lunch. There were so many things to talk 
 about, so many questions to be asked, they had so much to 
 say to each other. Sally did not want to remember, and 
 Kiddie did not want to think. 
 
 In another day or two Kiddie's sudden passion', Sally's 
 fierce rejection of it, seemed as if it had never been. 
 
 Neither Tom nor Edgar understood how matters were be- 
 tween the pair. They hardly understood it themselves. 
 What did it matter? 
 
 Gradually it came about that Lord Kidderminster and 
 his brougham or motor were all day long at the disposal 
 of Miss Sarita Mainwaring. He took her to the photo- 
 graphers, he fetched her from rehearsals, he altered his 
 customary hours to drive with her at five in the afternoon. 
 He gave many theatrical parties during this period. Sally 
 could ask any of the girls she liked ; all Kiddie's school 
 and college pals came, and often Tom and Edgar. 
 
 Sally's invitations were looked upon doubtfully at first. 
 It took her some time to understand the social differences 
 and distinctions of this queer little world. Why the first 
 row resented the existence of the third, and Milly, with 
 one faithful attendant, could not be brought to meet Elsie 
 le Roy, who had apparently none, continually puzzled- her. 
 There were no ladies at all at the first party Lord Kidder- 
 minster gave. Sally had been so indiscriminate in her in- 
 vitations that there was, as it were, a strike among her 
 
 246 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 guests, ending in a dreadful fiasco of empty places. Edgai 
 came to her assistance after that, and Lord Kidderminster 
 had often the privilege of paying for the supper of seven or 
 eight pretty girls, and their swains. But it was long before 
 Kitty Golden and Elsie Glynn, Miss Marie Carruthers, or 
 any of the principals, joined the Kidderminster parties, 
 with Miss Mainwaring as hostess. 
 
 Kiddie always saw Sarita home after these suppers. 
 But he said " Good night " to her as she entered the lift. 
 There was a strange shyness between them, although it 
 was only at rare moments that it became acute. At other 
 times she talked to him freely of the little incidents of her 
 daily life, of her vocal difficulties, domestic arrangements, 
 the kindness or unkindness or incomprehensibility of the 
 girls. Kiddie's companionship loosened her difficult tongue, 
 and nothing in his life had ever seemed to him so interesting 
 as this simple prattle. It was limpid, absolutely sincere, 
 and candid. Sally had nothing to hide. 
 
 Sally's salary was raised, and raised again. For in- 
 debtedness worried her, and Kiddie could not bring him- 
 self to offer her money or clothes. Always failing to 
 understand the circumstances or position, Tom and Edgar 
 continued to pay her supplemental salary without a word. 
 
 Yet it did not suffice for what Mr. Perry considered her 
 needs : 
 
 " You can't go out with his lordship in that old dress ! 
 Why! he's seen you in it a score of times," he would 
 say contemptuously. " Miss Baines, Miss Mainwaring must 
 have a new motor coat. Let one of these girls put on that 
 moleskin. No, not that, stupid ! Keally, sometimes I 
 think they do it on purpose — the one with the ermine 
 lining, of course." 
 
 Sally was greedy, as a child is greedy ; she had a keen 
 appetite for sweets, and with Sally sweets meant dress. 
 
 247 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But she was honest, and, although Mr. Perry's approval 
 was always valued by her, and he never lost his influence, 
 he could never persuade her to get deeply into debt. The 
 cost of her food was infinitesimal, so much of it was taken 
 in the company of Lord Kidderminster. The rent of her 
 flat, according to the arrangement Edgar told her he had 
 made, was deducted from her salary. Joe Aarons got 
 his percentage quite regularly. Sally liked paying it, 
 for she continued to feel grateful to Joe for the start he 
 had given her. But still the Brook Street bill was al- 
 ways worrying her. She knew she ought to be saving ; for 
 she had not only tasted poverty, but fed upon it, for years, 
 nauseating, unforgettable meals. She talked about it to 
 Kiddie, picturing a possible future when the public might 
 not like her dancing; her sweet lips trembled when she 
 said that they had already tired of her song. 
 
 Kiddie had his answer ready. Often and often it came 
 as far as his lips, though it could not pass them, and always 
 it was in his thoughts. 
 
 When he was not with her, he felt glad that he had been 
 seen driving about with her, been met with her in restau- 
 rants, playing the game, apparently, that was expected of 
 a man of his class with a girl of hers. He humbugged 
 himself like this. But often, when she was talking to him 
 frankly, as friend to friend, expecting sympathy, without 
 a touch of sex in it, he felt ashamed. He cared for no 
 one else's company ; all the fibres of his nature were 
 stretching out to her continually. How honest she was ! 
 All the women he knew were so subtle ! How pure she 
 was! All the women of his world, that limited Mayfair 
 Street world, were so stained. 
 
 Lady Fortive, his invalid mother, banished now to the 
 Riviera, forbidden the fatigues of the parliamentary season, 
 noticed, about this time, a change in his letters : 
 
 •48 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 • Are you quite well ? " she wrote to him. " Somehow 
 I fancy you are not yourself. Am I a fidgety old mother, 
 or is there something worrying you ? Write me if I can 
 be any use. You know you have all my heart, some- 
 thing tells me aH is not well with you. Perhaps I'm 
 painting devils, but I find myself dreaming of you. You 
 know, I am sure you know, that there is no trouble you 
 could have I would not wish to share. If — don't be vexed 
 if my thoughts lead me the wrong way — you have en- 
 countered disappointment, if there is anything you are 
 doing, or have done, with which you are reproaching your- 
 self, come and tell me all about it. Two heads are better 
 than one, but there is nothing I would not do to help you 
 if you are in any trouble, and there is nothing you 
 could do with which I should reproach you. Gilbert, I 
 feel by some deep mother-instinct that you are in trouble. 
 Let me help you, dear; you stand, first with me in the 
 world. ..." 
 
 He answered this in a few curt lines : 
 
 "Dear Mater, leave off worrying about me, I don't 
 want you to make yourself ill again. You are right, of 
 course, you always are. I Jiave got a touch of the blues, 
 but I'm best alone. I'll come over in a week or two, most 
 likely, and talk things over with you. Meanwhile, cheer 
 up, I shall be all right. Lovingly, Gilb." 
 
 Kiddie longed for solitude, yet could not bear to be 
 alone. He made appointments, all sorts of appointments, 
 and broke them recklessly. But he still went often to 
 Curzon Street. He and Dorothea had fallen into curious 
 confidential relations. She told him much, not only 
 about herself, but about their mutual acquaintances. The 
 bulk of it was probably untrue, but the atmosphere it 
 revealed was of a corner of Mayfair, an obscure corner, 
 perhaps, incredibly corrupt and immoral. It was his 
 
 249 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 youth and inexperience that made him accept it as the 
 climate of the whole quarter. 
 
 Lady Dorothea carried out her intention of calling upon 
 Miss Sarita Mainwaring, and reminding her of the obliga- 
 tions of Sally Snape. 
 
 It was after her visit to the flat that she made an un- 
 expected call upon Colonel Fellowes, who had only returned 
 from Scotland that morning, and was rather overwhelmed 
 by the honour. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes had a small, dingy, eighteenth-century 
 house in Half Moon Street. He liked the panelling and 
 the carved wood stair-rails, and it did not affect his 
 pleasure in the height of the wainscoting, and the charac- 
 teristic cornices, to know that the floors were uneven 
 and rotten, the basement alive with vermin, and the 
 whole edifice dangerously out of alignment. He liked 
 to see his prints on these panelled walls, his fine Persian 
 rugs on these uneven floors, his Staffordshire pottery en- 
 niched in the quaint powder-room, opening out of the 
 drawing-room, where his collections of theatre tokens, 
 silhouettes, needlework pictures, made the olla podrida of 
 background suited to the diversity of his tastes. 
 
 Hospitality was a habit of his Indian days, which his 
 life in London had not destroyed. He was breakfasting 
 when Dorothea tornadoed in, in her inconsiderate way. 
 He made her sit down and join him in his coffee. There 
 were occasions when Colonel Fellowes could make even 
 Lady Dorothea Lytham rational and decent. He knew 
 she was full of something she wanted to tell him, but he 
 would not have it shot at him; she must wait until he 
 was ready. So she drank her coffee, and listened while 
 he told of the sport he had enjoyed, recognizing, as always, 
 that there was more of the man about him than any one 
 else she knew. She was almost sorry, as she sat there, 
 
 250 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 that she was as she was. For he was really desirable and 
 difficult. But then she remembered she was a Desmond, 
 and grew self-content. 
 
 " It's about Kiddie," she began. The breakfast was over 
 and cleared away, Colonel Fellowes had his permission to 
 smoke, and Dolly lit her cigarette, companionably. 
 
 She looked very well this morning, in her dark sable cap 
 with its aigrette, and her smart braided morning dress. She 
 had thrown off her coat ; she was quite at home here. 
 
 " Oh ! about Kiddie, is it ? And what has Kiddie been 
 doing ? " 
 
 Colonel Fellowes was nonchalant, only mildly interested 
 as yet; but she had been full of her subject for the last 
 half-hour. The Colonel's breakfast was a late meal ; Dolly's 
 visit to Sally had been paid at eleven. 
 
 " What have you heard since you've been away ? I want 
 to begin at the beginning." 
 
 " Oh ; I've heard all the gossip. Lady Cleeve has turned 
 suffragette, and has bitten a policeman, or been bitten by 
 a Labour Member. . . ." 
 
 She interrupted impatiently. 
 
 " Stale, old, stupid. I mean what have you heard about 
 Kiddie ? " 
 
 " That you have been flirting with him, and that Dowling 
 is dismissed. You see, I'm well posted ! " 
 
 She had not even the grace to blush. 
 
 " I see you are not a bit up to date. I wish you'd leave 
 off talking, and let me have a turn. You remember that 
 girl I visited in the hospital, and paid a premium for to go 
 to Vi ? " 
 
 A gleam of interest shot into his eyes; he remembered 
 quite well. 
 
 " A red-haired girl ? " 
 
 " Yes, that's it. Well, she's got hold of Kiddie." 
 
 251 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Got hold of Kiddie!" 
 
 " She's gone on the stage. Half London is talking about 
 her. I went to see her just now in a beastly little flat in 
 Victoria. Well ! Kiddie was there ! At eleven in the 
 morning. He ran in, after Fd been there five minutes, as 
 if the place belonged to him." 
 
 "It probably does," interposed the Colonel sotto voce, 
 and rather amused. 
 
 " Don't be silly. I should have recognized that sort of 
 thing at once. Besides . . ." But she did not finish her 
 sentence, she went off at a tangent. " Oh, no ! it was all 
 natural and above-board ; Kiddie had no frills on. He was 
 surprised at seeing me there, and said he thought it very 
 kind of me, but not as if he were surprised at all. He and 
 the girl were full of appointments and arrangements ; they 
 seem to have been practically spending their days together. 
 And Kiddie has never said a word to me about her. Oh, 
 yes ! a week ago he said something, not since, though 
 I've seen him almost daily. I'm sure there is something 
 in it." 
 
 Colonel Fell owes' innate courtesy prevented him saying all 
 that was in his mind, but he smiled and settled himself 
 more comfortably in his easy chair, and suggested, as 
 delicately as he could, that Kiddie was quite at liberty to 
 visit Verandah Theatre girls, but it was not an occupa- 
 tion which Lady Dorothea need share with him. 
 
 "But there's nothing of that sort in it," she persisted. 
 "I know what Fm talking about. It's philanthropy, it's 
 friendship, it's anything you like, but it isn't what you 
 think." 
 
 " Well ! what is your view of it ? What are you making 
 a fuss about ? Kiddie is of age. And he can take care of 
 himself." 
 
 " No man can take care of himself when a girl has got 
 
 252 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 red hair, and innocent eyes, and all his friends are talking 
 about her." 
 
 Lady Dorothea did not succeed in impressing Colonel 
 Fellowes that Lord Kidderminster was in any particular 
 danger. He attributed her excitement about it to the most 
 natural cause. Kidderminster's distant cousinship was a 
 very valuable asset in Lady Dorothea's drifting social 
 whirlpool; and lately she had been utilizing it to its ex- 
 treme extent. 
 
 " Where is Kiddie to be found ? " he asked. 
 
 " He has not lunched in Curzon Street for three days. 
 I asked him just now if I should see him later, and he 
 turned round to her in the most natural manner, and said: 
 * What are you doing, Sarita ? ' You know her name isn't 
 Sarita at all ; it's Sally." 
 
 " Well, and then what happened ? " 
 
 Dorothea looked at him with impudent, smiling candour. 
 
 "I said: * You come too, Miss Mainwaring. Bring her, 
 Kiddie.' Then I came to fetch you. I've a crowd coming, 
 and I want you to help." 
 
 " What will you be doing next, I wonder ! " 
 
 She expected a scolding, but did not get it. Colonel Fel- 
 lowes' feeling for Lady Dorothea Lytham had passed be- 
 yond the illusion stage. Next time, and at all times, she 
 would do or say that which suited her temperamental inde- 
 corousness, without the slightest consideration for his or 
 any one else's feelings. 
 
 He accompanied her on a shopping expedition, spent 
 half an hour with her at Agnew's Winter Exhibition, and 
 went back with her to Curzon Street, falling naturally into 
 his habits. 
 
 But he, no less than Dolly, noticed something exceptional 
 in the relations of Miss Sarita Mainwaring and Lord Kid- 
 derminster. In the first place, Colonel Fellowes, although 
 
 253 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 he thought Dorothea's invitation had been injudicious, if 
 nothing worse, had a positive notion that it would not be 
 accepted. He felt confident that, when the time came, a 
 telegram or messenger boy, a telephone, or dashing hansom, 
 would deliver some conventional excuse. He had a very- 
 good opinion of Kiddie, au fond. He knew Kiddie was not 
 clever, nor even athletic, but certainly he had a sense of 
 the fitness of things ! If this Sarita Mainwaring was what 
 Colonel Fellowes shrewdly conjectured, then Kiddie would 
 not bring her to lunch with his cousin. 
 
 But here she was, and Kiddie with her, waiting their 
 return, not impatiently, in that over-crowded Curzon Street 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Dolly greeted them warmly. Colonel Fellowes supple- 
 mented his introduction to Sarita with: 
 
 " We've met before, I think," and was surprised, perhaps 
 gratified, to hear how well Miss Mainwaring remembered 
 the occasion. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you back, Fellowes ; London has been 
 empty without you," Kiddie said warmly, when he and 
 Sarita had exchanged remembrances. 
 
 " That's a pretty compliment to me." 
 
 Dolly had no time to fling more than this challenge to 
 Kiddie, because other guests came in; Lady Cleeve, with 
 the newest millionaire, the Duchess of Ebrington, accom- 
 panied by a philanthropic church-and-stage clergyman; 
 Harry Crossley, and Lulu Brodrick. Lady Dorothea was 
 not yet outside the pale, although already she received 
 more guests than invitations. The Duchess of Ebrington 
 would cling to her family as long as it was in any way 
 possible ; and, whatever her secret habits, her own position 
 is still unassailable. 
 
 Soon every one. was talking at once, racing and sport, 
 dress, bridge, and gossip. 
 
 254 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Sally sat amongst them, with them, but not of them; 
 her eyes were bright with bewilderment. She wished 
 herself at Romano's, at the theatre, at the flat, anywhere 
 but here. 
 
 But Kiddie had so urged her to come. Lady Dorothea 
 might be a useful friend to her, he had said. Heaven knows 
 what he had in his mind. He saw, dimly, a path before him, 
 a clean white path. But his feet were not yet set upon it. 
 He tried to drag Sally into the conversation, to make her 
 shine before Dolly and her guests, but he elicited only 
 monosyllables. The Four-in-Hand Club was spoken of: 
 
 " Miss Mainwaring is learning to drive ; she'll handle 
 the ribbons famously one of these days, won't you, Miss 
 Sarita?" he said. 
 
 Captain Crossley looked at her with some interest ; none 
 of them had yet identified her. 
 
 " I don't know," she answered. " Perhaps I shall, but it 
 won't be for a long time." 
 
 " Do you like driving ? " asked Colonel Fellowes, as he 
 took his seat beside her at the luncheon table. 
 
 " Well enough," said the factory girl, feeling that 
 James's eye was on her, for the last time she had had a 
 meal here it was in the kitchen. She wished herself again 
 in that friendly kitchen. She felt herself out of place, and 
 was resentful of her own disabilities and the others' ease. 
 She could not explain her discomfort ; she did everything 
 wrong with the knives and the forks, the glasses, her 
 crumbled bread. She thought they were all looking at 
 her, and laughing at her. But only the butler was at all 
 interested in her table vagaries. Lady Dorothea was 
 admiring her grey voile with the chenille embroidery, the 
 grey-shaded feather in her hat. She knew it was a "Perry"; 
 knew it by the tiny bow at the neck, by the bit of wall- 
 flower colouring in it; her quick eye had seen the wall- 
 
 255 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 flower petticoat as Sally passed before her into the room. 
 It distracted her from her consideration of etiquette : 
 
 " Mr. Perry made you that dress, didn't he ? " she 
 asked across the table. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I could tell him anywhere. He has such an extraordi- 
 nary instinct for colour. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 "Yes, m'lady." 
 
 That did draw attention to her, and wondering eyes 
 questioned Dorothea with amusement. Dorothea w&q 
 equal to the occasion ; there was nothing in what she said 
 to make Lord Kidderminster furious, although that was 
 the immediate result of her explanation : 
 
 " You've none of you met Miss Mainwaring before, have 
 you ? But she is an old friend of mine. I practised with 
 the Panhard, when it first came home, over her prostrate 
 body. She was on the way from a picnic at Epping with 
 the other girls from Messrs. Hall & Palmer's. When 
 she was patched up again I made Vi take her. Now she is 
 the cynosure of all eyes — aren't you, Miss Mainwaring ? — 
 at the Verandah Theatre." 
 
 " Miss Sarita Mainwaring ! " exclaimed together the 
 clergyman and Captain Crossley. Both of them had 
 studied her from the front, both of them stared at her 
 now, quite regardless of her feelings. Her feelings were 
 only those of poignant discomfort ; she went on crumbling 
 her bread. The wild rose flushed in her cheeks, and her eyes 
 were suffused, she wished they would talk of some one else. 
 
 " Kiddie paid the premium for her at Vi's," Lady Doro- 
 thea continued mischievously. She was not in the least 
 affected by Sally's embarrassment, and she was enjoying 
 the expression of fury on Kiddie's face. "I hope Miss 
 Mainwaring will find some way of making it up to him. . . ." 
 
 Sally looked up eagerly, she wanted to say she was 
 256 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 grateful, she would try and make it up to Lord Kidder- 
 minster. But Lady Dorothea's laugh, the laugh that 
 echoed rather lightly round the table, struck her dumb 
 again. 
 
 Under cover of it Colonel Fellowes began to talk to her. 
 He had a charming voice, an unfailing tact, and he con- 
 sidered Dolly was behaving exceptionally badly. Before 
 luncheon was over, that incongruous, strange luncheon, 
 he had realized something of Sally's charm. For, with 
 him, too, once he had set her talking, and at her ease, she 
 was completely frank. She was so glad he liked her frock, 
 Mr. Perry thought the wall-flower red just took up the 
 shade of her hair. 
 
 " Don't you love jewellery too ? " he asked her. 
 
 She wore none, not even a ring on the small hands. 
 Sally's first and last purchase of jewellery had been the 
 imitation tortoise-shell combs with the turquoise. She 
 told Colonel Fellowes about them : 
 
 "I gave them to the cook at Miss Rugeley's. I've 
 never had ornaments since. It's so easy to go wrong with 
 ornaments," she said simply; " Mr. Perry has often said 
 that." 
 
 " Of course. But with that dress you've on, for instance, 
 a chain, very slender, of cabochon rubies, would be the very 
 thing. I know where there is one," he went on; "at 
 Phillips' in Bond Street. You ought to go and see it." 
 
 Dorothea heard him; her peaked small ears missed little, 
 and her chair was only two from his. 
 
 " Mephistopheles ! " she threw at him, smiling, quite low. 
 No one heard it but himself, it was grimaced rather than 
 spoken. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes was very well amused, he liked the hesi- 
 tant low quality of Sally's voice ; there was no exertion in 
 fishing 8ii ch limpid waters. 
 
 s 257 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Shall I tell Phillips to send it up for you to see ? You 
 might get Kiddie to give it you," he said, observing the 
 effect of his suggestion. 
 
 The most beautiful colour overspread her cheeks. 
 
 " Could I ? " she said. " Could I? " quite excited with 
 the suggestion, and the description. But then her face 
 fell, and she shook her head. " You don't know how 
 much he has given me. I couldn't ever ask him for any- 
 thing more." 
 
 " Well ! Shall I give it you ? May I at least bring 
 it for your inspection some afternoon ? Let me see, Tillery 
 Mansions, isn't it ? " 
 
 Why should not he have a hand in the game, he as well 
 as Dolly ? She was a pretty little girl, she only wanted 
 teaching. Kiddie had not got her on very well. 
 
 The men began discussing Miss Sarita Mainwaring as 
 soon as the ladies had left the room. Whilst the talk re- 
 ferred to her dancing, Kiddie was silent, for they all agreed 
 it was superb, unexampled. 
 
 " What's her history ? " asked Mr. Dakin, the Australian 
 millionaire who had come with Lady Cleeve. 
 
 " One of honest work," interposed Kiddie, hotly. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes' eyes twinkled, and he rolled his ciga- 
 rette delicately. 
 
 " I hear you've given her a brougham and a motor to 
 take her backwards and forwards to it," said Harry Cross- 
 ley lightly, and would have continued in the same tone, 
 had he not been startled by Kiddie's hot contradiction : 
 
 "Then you've heard a damned lie. She's a decent, 
 straight, hard-working little girl." 
 
 " Oh, well, the Verandah Theatre and Tom Peters will 
 soon cure her of that for you," Lulu Brodrick interposed 
 comfortably. 
 
 " I don't want her to be cured ! " Kiddie muttered. 
 258 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 He was sullen, fierce, unaccountable ; they were sur- 
 prised into silence. But, after another conversational hare 
 had been quickly started by Colonel Fellowes and pursued, 
 when they had got through their wine, and smoked enough 
 of their cigars to rejoin the ladies, an uncomfortable im- 
 pression remained in their minds, a nucleus that crystal- 
 lized into the rumour concerning Gillie Kidderminster and 
 a possible mesalliance, which from that day forward became 
 the gossip of London Clubland. 
 
 Kiddie and Colonel Fellowes remained after the others 
 had left the room. Kiddie continued silent; there was a 
 sense of restraint about him, a holding in of his forces. 
 
 The older man said, after waiting for the confidence that 
 failed to come : 
 
 " Well, what is it going to lead to ? " 
 
 " What ? What ? I don't know what you mean." 
 
 " Platonic friendships with theatre girls." 
 
 Kiddie was not ready-tongued. 
 
 " Do you think you were quite wise in bringing the girl 
 here to-day ? " the Colonel went on, still feeling his way. 
 " She did not strike me as feeling comfortable, or at home." 
 
 "There's no reason she shouldn't come here or any- 
 where," Kiddie answered, violently. 
 
 " I'm sorry to hear that," was the gentle answer. Freddy 
 Fellowes puffed at his cigarette with cynical eyes and up- 
 lifted brows. " Very sorry. She's a pretty girl — and 
 dances for a living ! " 
 
 " She's as good as gold." 
 
 " I know. I heard you say so ; you need not go on 
 saying it. I think it's a pity, that's all; she's got her 
 bad time to go through, instead of having left it behind 
 her." 
 
 " You are a damned cynic, you are." 
 
 "What! Because I'm sorry for a good little girl who 
 259 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 has gone to school at the Verandah Theatre ? I wondei 
 if all one hears of Tom Peters is true, if he really does 
 make it a sine qua non. . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! Don't give me that newspaper twaddle about 
 Tom Peters; he's a good business man, that's all they've 
 got against him." 
 
 " And about Miss Mainwaring . . ." 
 
 " I don't want to talk about Miss Mainwaring." 
 
 "But other people will talk, if it is true that she has 
 the use of your carriages and the monopoly of your 
 time ! " 
 
 Colonel Fellowes used his position and his privileges 
 temperately, he was so much the older man. During the 
 conversation that ensued he exhibited his worldly in- 
 telligence, and Kiddie only a boyish intemperance. He 
 had wanted a counsellor, a confidant all this time, and 
 Freddy Fellowes was always the one he had in his mind. 
 He was such a good fellow, and a man of the world, and 
 his advice would surely be worth following. Kiddie, in 
 his restlessness of mind and irresolution, had looked on 
 Colonel Fellowes, when he should return from Scotland, 
 as his only possible anchor. But now he found him 
 disappointing, unsympathetic, irritating. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes read the boy's mind as an open book, 
 and feared what was at the back of it. Dorothea had done 
 no good in inviting Sally there, it made the impossible 
 seem possible. To do Colonel Fellowes justice, it must 
 be admitted that he knew nothing of Sally except what 
 was on the surface. He determined that Kiddie must not 
 be allowed to make an ass of himself, and wreck his life at 
 the opening. 
 
 " You don't mind if I go and see her ? " 
 
 " I tell you I've got no authority to allow or prevent 
 her seeing any one she has a mind to, or doing anything 
 
 260 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 she chooses. She is nothing to me." The boy's face 
 belied his words. "But I'm sorry for her, with all this 
 damned talk about Verandah Theatre girls. They are 
 every bit as straight as . . ." 
 
 But his eyes met the Colonel's, and he did not finish 
 his sentence. "I'm a friend of hers, just a friend, nothing 
 more." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IT has been said that Colonel Fellowes was a man of 
 the world. He had started his career, some twenty 
 years ago, by being co-respondent in one of the most 
 famous of the infamous divorce cases of the day. He was 
 then a boy of four-and-twenty. At a country ball he had 
 met a charming young married woman, a fellow guest 
 at Lady Fortive's. An ordinary dance and flirtation was 
 followed by an invitation to call upon her in London. 
 Pursuing the flirtation, it had meant nothing more 
 to him, Colonel, then Lieutenant, Fellowes was made 
 acquainted with his inamorata's mother and married 
 sister. All of them passed for being in society. That 
 the society they were in was but that murky corner 
 of Mayfair which Lady Dorothea Lytham had shown 
 Kiddie, could not possibly be known to the young 
 soldier. The mother was the acknowledged widow of a 
 peer, the unacknowledged mistress of one of our foremost 
 politicians, a brilliant cynical fascinating man of about 
 five-and -forty. Lieutenant Frederick Fellowes availed him- 
 self of privileges freely offered him. The eminent politician 
 betrayed a short-lived interest in the other sister. A tale 
 of promiscuity, afterwards freely ventilated in the law 
 courts, was quickly developed. The husband of Mrs. 
 Carruthers became the deus ex machina used by Lady 
 Somers as the first weapon she could find to avenge hei 
 hideous jealousy against her own daughter. 
 
 Sir George Brydges saw his career ruined, the discre- 
 262 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 pancies of his private life made public, his friends out- 
 raged. 
 
 These abominable people, the mother and the two daugh- 
 ters, had used one house in particular as a rendezvous for 
 their lovers. Lieutenant Fellowes had been there with 
 one sister. When a public scandal was inevitable he was 
 crudely asked what sum he would take to say he had been 
 there with the other. Every possible effort was made to 
 save Sir George Brydges for his party,, for the country. If 
 Lady Somers could be made to believe it was Mr. Fellowes 
 who had been her daughter's lover, if Mr. Fellowes could 
 be induced to disappear without contradicting it, Mr. Car- 
 ruthers would get his divorce with one co-respondent, and 
 Lady Somers' mouth might be shut. 
 
 But Lieutenant Frederick Fellowes said that for a million 
 of money he would perjure himself neither in esse nor in 
 facto. He brought an oblique sense of honour, and a youth- 
 ful obstinacy, to meet a situation that then and always was 
 beyond his complete comprehension. 
 
 The unsavoury case was threshed out at full length. 
 The public, violently inconsistent under the intermittent 
 lash of its spasmodic conscience, was strong enough to 
 hound out of public life the one man who knew the strength 
 and weakness of our colonial policy. The early disasters 
 of the South African campaign may, perhaps, be said to 
 have been primarily due to the Brydges case. Incidentally, 
 too, society would have nothing to say to Mr. Frederick 
 Fellowes. The society that would have nothing to do with 
 Lieutenant Fellowes was not, however, that murky corner 
 which he had hitherto thought comprised the whole. He 
 had had enough of that. And his opinion of women was 
 soiled almost past redemption. The lies that were told in 
 the witness-box, the whole sordid ugly business, warped his 
 mind. It took him fifteen years of active service, in India, 
 
 263 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 in Egypt, and, finally, in South Africa, before he got clean 
 again. 
 
 And it was just fifteen years later when Lady Dorothea 
 Lytham went out to South Africa, to the picnic that all the 
 South African War was expected to be in the early days, to 
 join her husband. 
 
 Captain Fellowes had seen her, a child, with her sisters 
 and brothers at the Fortives'. As a child of ten she had 
 been beautiful, lively, engaging, frank, and wild. Once, 
 too, since his disaster, he had met her in India, travelling 
 with her brother. 
 
 She was then seventeen, no less beautiful, even franker, 
 and more daring. Whatever had passed between them, 
 it was not he who had been the attacking party in that 
 campaign. But, of course, he was no match for a Desmond, 
 he had but his pay, a few hundreds a year, a good name 
 with a bad stain upon it. They parted, and in truth she 
 had not raised his opinion of the sex. He heard of her 
 marriage a year or two later ; a little gossip reached him 
 too. 
 
 Their next meeting was in Cape Town. She met him 
 as if not a day had elapsed since their parting. He was 
 grizzled, older, a thousand times less easy or amenable, 
 much more desirable, therefore. It was in the early days 
 of the war, and no one foresaw the future. It was dull at 
 Cape Town. Captain the Honourable Alec Lytham knew 
 that his wife was at Cape Town ; but he was at Bulawayo, 
 and made no effort to join her. Colonel Fellowes had per- 
 force to console her for the neglect. 
 
 When, many months afterwards, the two soldiers met 
 at the siege of Ladysmith, in a situation when men speak 
 truth to each other or stay silent, Fellowes spoke to Cap- 
 tain Lytham of his wife, of having met her in Cape 
 Town. 
 
 264 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "We may get out of this, though I doubt it. But if 
 we do, or if we don't, it's all one to me as far as Lady- 
 Dorothea is concerned," the other replied, briefly. "She 
 knew that before I left England; it was not me she 
 followed. It probably was not only one man, either. There 
 are women like that, Fellowes. You can't do anything for 
 them ; it is a question of temperament, I suppose, I 
 should be sorry to judge harshly. I am not going to 
 divorce her, she knows that, too. Probably this campaign 
 will be the end, I am sure I hope so. Otherwise, if I get 
 back and she wants a divorce, I'll contrive that no blame 
 falls on her. But don't speak to me about my wife. I 
 went through hell in the first year of my married life. I 
 loved her," he added simply, as if that explained every- 
 thing. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes had never had quite that with which 
 to hurt his memory of Lady Dorothea. Love and mar- 
 riage, as ordinary men understand them, were outside the 
 prospects life held for him, after he had been dragged 
 through the mire of the Brydges case. 
 
 When the South African War was over, and he went back 
 to London, somewhat of a hero, with glamour enough about 
 him to obliterate the follies of a boy of twenty-four, 
 Lady Dorothea dragged him quickly back to the place 
 from which he had started. It did not seem so murky 
 to him now ; in any case, he saw no escape into a clearer 
 ether. He was tired, too, he had done his life's work, and 
 all his fighting; he had lived down his ideals. He settled 
 down to club life, lightened by a little dilettante collecting. 
 He had companions in arms who gave him shooting and 
 fishing in their different seasons. He was liked at the 
 Rag; he had friends everywhere. The Brydges incident 
 was forgotten, or, at any rate, the part he had played in it 
 was ignored. His intimacy with Lady Dorothea Lytham, 
 
 265 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 neither made ridiculous by jealousy, nor prominent with 
 scenes, became an accepted convention. 
 
 The Brydges case had been the talk of London, when 
 Gilbert, Lord Kidderminster, was twelve months old. His 
 father, the Marquis of Fortive, had only just come into the 
 title he was to bear so becomingly. The house-party which 
 had harboured the evil genius of Fellowes' life had been at 
 Lady Fortive's. She was the same sweet, gracious lady that 
 she is now, but younger, in better health, and devoted to her 
 nursery. It was probably her love for her own baby boy 
 that made her think more tenderly than other people of the 
 grown-up one, who stood his ordeal in the witness-box, and 
 his condemnation in the Press, and left England in the 
 storm-cloud he had provoked. 
 
 It was in Egypt they next met, in the days before 
 Lord Cromer's administration, and one of the highest 
 official positions that England could bestow was vested in 
 Lord Fortive. 
 
 There was no reason the Fortives should go out of their 
 way to show kindness, or any social attention, to an 
 obscure captain in the Lancers, more particularly when 
 that officer had a shady reputation. Nevertheless the 
 kindness was shown. Captain Fellowes was invited to 
 tea, chosen as an escort for an expedition into the desert, 
 made free of the Fortive quarters. He was very depressed 
 in those days, full of ugly thought and harsh temper. 
 He felt sometimes that it mattered very little what became of 
 him, or of the lady he had shielded, that he would have done 
 better to have accepted the proposal of Sir George Brydges' 
 lawyers. 
 
 These ugly thoughts were gradually dispelled by Lady 
 Fortive's gentleness and unspoken sympathy. He met 
 in her a true gentlewoman, formed to be man's helpmate, 
 gentle, yet strong. He envied her baby boy; he himself 
 
 266 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 had been orphaned so young. The impression she made 
 was a lasting one. She had permitted, even encouraged, 
 a correspondence. He had sought her out immediately 
 he returned to England. That was when Lord Kidder- 
 minster had just left Eton. The Marquis of Fortive had, 
 perhaps, proved a better statesman than husband. In any 
 case, the love that Colonel Fellowes saw now in Lady 
 Fortive's eyes was only mother-love, tender, anxious, 
 absorbing. And it was of Gilbert they chiefly talked. 
 
 Gilbert was going up to Oxford. From Oxford he would, 
 of course, come to London. In London he would need, not 
 merely friends, but an adviser. 
 
 " There will be many temptations for him," the mother 
 sighed : 
 
 " He has strength and character, he will surmount them," 
 Colonel Fellowes replied, to reassure her. 
 
 "I know, I am quite sure. He has always been steady, 
 the best of sons. . . ." 
 
 "But if there should come a time when I can be of use to 
 him ; by my memory of your sweetness to me, years ago, 
 Lady Fortive, when I needed kindness so badly, worse than 
 you know even — by the memory of that, I promise you, 
 Gilbert shall be to me as if he were my younger brother. 
 I will never lose sight of him, never be out of touch with 
 him if I can help it, if he will allow it." 
 
 This was a few years ago. The Marchioness of Fortive 
 had had her seasons in town, and Colonel Fellowes had at- 
 tended her receptions. And Kiddie, her idolized Gilbert, 
 had lived his town life, on the whole, temperately. The 
 Colonel's brotherly eye had been little needed. He had 
 won, and retained, the young man's confidence, friendship, 
 and strong liking. He had, when the occasion served, re- 
 minded Lady Fortive that he was watching over Kiddie, 
 that she had in him a trusty lieutenant, always at her service. 
 
 267 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But until the day of Lady Dorothea Lytham's lunch, 
 party in Curzon Street his services had never been neces- 
 sar3 r , nothing had been required of him. Now it was no 
 longer so. He knew it, felt it instinctively, when he left 
 Curzon Street that day, with the inevitable cigarette in his 
 hand, and the almost equally inevitable question in his 
 mind. What was he to do to keep Lady Fortive's boy 
 from committing the folly he meditated ? For, that Kiddie 
 was meditating folly, Colonel Frederick Fellowes had no 
 reasonable doubt. 
 
 There was little of the moralist about the Colonel. He 
 had been through grave, stern moments, faced danger 
 coolly, death unafraid. Death and suffering were familiar 
 to him. He had led troops, and led them well, through 
 the fire of hidden rifles, and long range of guns. He had 
 helped to keep his country's flag flying when the flag was 
 shaking in the wind of disaster. All this was serious. 
 But woman's honour! that was mere piffle, a thing they 
 sold or gave away, guarded for gain, or bartered for dross, 
 lured with, lied about. Kiddie must not give away his 
 strength for this, Kiddie must be saved. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes, having read Faust and known Lady 
 Dorothea Lytham, was quite prepared to pursue the Me- 
 phistophelean policy. Kiddie, in the course of that rather 
 heated after-luncheon argument, had dilated upon Miss 
 Mainwaring's pride, her honest pride. She had said Kiddie 
 had given her so much. Kiddie had laughed rather bitterly 
 when this was repeated to him. He told the Colonel that 
 he had taken her out to dinner, supper, lunch. She made 
 a fuss even about that. At first she had almost insisted 
 upon paying her half-share. Kiddie had not given her 
 any jewellery; he was not going to insult her, he said, 
 hotly. 
 
 But Colonel Fellowes did not think it insulting to give 
 
 268 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 a pretty girl a pretty chain. So, when he left Curzon 
 Street, he went to Phillips'. That famous jewellery empo- 
 rium was never over-crowded, there was always an assist- 
 ant ready to attend to a customer's wants. And Colonel 
 Fellowes was known as a customer; he was fond of 
 bibelots, generous to a fault, and enjoyed buying pretty 
 things. 
 
 The chain he had seen in the window was no great cost 
 — forty -five pounds — but Colonel Fellowes made rather a 
 wry face over the amount. It would make a hole in his 
 spending money. But he understood what good value 
 he was being offered, and, after a little argument, the 
 purchase was completed, and he left the shop with the 
 bauble in his pocket. 
 
 The name-board at Tillery Mansions informed him that 
 Miss Sarita Mainwaring was at home. 
 
 When the lift deposited him at her flat, she opened the door 
 to him herself, and told him that she had come home after 
 the lunch-party to rest. Kiddie said she ought to rest in 
 the middle of the day, but she hated "resting." In the 
 sitting-room Colonel Fellowes found evidence of Sally's 
 industry. She was making herself under-garments, and 
 had no false shame about it. 
 
 " They're so much cheaper to make at home," she said, 
 folding them neatly before putting them away. " I'll clear 
 the table, and then I can get you some tea. It was very 
 kind of you to come and see me so soon." 
 
 " It is a privilege to be allowed to come and see you," 
 he said gallantly. 
 
 She laughed at that. He found her entirely unaffected, 
 and even easier to talk to than she had been in Curzon 
 Street. She liked this kind and handsome elderly gentle- 
 man. This was the point that escaped Colonel Fellowes. 
 In the eyes of a girl of nineteen he was a very elderly 
 
 269 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 gentleman. She did not in the least realize that he was 
 trying to make love to her, as he considered it his duty 
 to do. She thought he was being kind, that Kiddie had 
 asked him to be kind. She was delighted with the chain 
 when he produced it. She tried it on before the glass, 
 ran it through her fingers, put it against her cheek, and 
 was over grateful and happy in its possession : 
 
 "It's so good of you, so awfully, awfully good of you. 
 I don't know how to thank you. It will look so lovely 
 on my grey dress. I can't believe it's really for me. . . ." 
 
 " It's very kind of you to accept it." The Colonel was 
 perhaps a little old-fashioned. " I call it a privilege to be 
 allowed to buy jewellery for pretty girls." 
 
 " Oh ! I do hope it was not very expensive." 
 
 But Sally knew much more of the price of clothes than 
 jewellery. 
 
 The Colonel reassured her on the score of expense. He 
 stayed quite a long time, talking, paying her old-fashioned 
 compliments, thinking he was making great headway with 
 her, when she smiled and dimpled, and accepted these 
 greedily. She liked praise. 
 
 The Colonel stayed until Edgar Levi came with some 
 proofs from the photographers and an appointment with 
 an interviewer. Edgar had arrived nearer to the truth of 
 the position between Miss Mainwaring and Lord Kidder- 
 minster than any one else had done. He was not sure, 
 but he suspected. Intuition stood him in place of know- 
 ledge, but it was brilliant intuition. 
 
 Meeting Colonel Fellowes here, his lightning mind 
 darted hither and thither for explanation of his presence. 
 And the Colonel quickly realized Edgar's interest, although 
 he hardly knew whether it was on Sarita's account or his 
 own. He kissed the girl's hand in farewell, he thanked 
 her for accepting the chain. Instinctively he knew she 
 
 270 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 was a novice, yet concluded on the scanty evidence that 
 she was eager to conclude her novitiate. 
 
 " That young ass has never tried her with jewellery," 
 he said to himself, as he went downstairs. But he was 
 sub-conscious of insincerity, and had an uneasy touch of 
 pity for the inevitableness of it all. "Poor little girl, 
 I believe she would run straight if she had half a chance " 
 was in his mind. 
 
 But, after all, Kiddie, and not Miss Mainwaring, was his 
 concern; before his cigarette was well alight his habitual 
 mental attitude toward women had reasserted itself. The 
 brand of the Verandah was upon her, she was hall-marked 
 to her fate. 
 
 "What made him come?" asked Edgar, almost before 
 the door had closed behind the Colonel. 
 
 " Kiddie asked him, I think. He was at Lady Dorothea 
 Lytham's to-day, and so was I. . . ." 
 
 The whole story of the invitation and the luncheon-party 
 came out ; and the chain was exhibited. 
 
 " I've got my doubts," Edgar said to Tom that evening, 
 when they saw, as usual, Lord Kidderminster waiting for 
 the star, and carrying her off in his brougham. " I don't 
 mind telling you, I've got my doubts, as to what's up 
 between Miss Sarita Mainwaring and his lordship. It's not 
 all such plain sailing as you seem to think." 
 
 He would have been even less sure of the relations 
 between the pair could he have followed them into the 
 brougham. 
 
 Kiddie had seen Colonel Fellowes again. In fact, in 
 response to a somewhat insistent note, he had dined with 
 him at his club, and been regaled, not with a dissertation 
 upon Miss Sarita Mainwaring, but with a very shrewd, 
 if a little trite, discourse upon women generally. Colonel 
 Fellowes said they were only children, affectionate, light- 
 
 271 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 hearted, but " greedy, my dear boy, priraevally greedy. 
 They have their charm, their wonderful charm, and, of 
 course, we can't do without them ; we're bound to look 
 after them, and give them things — dress, jewellery, flowers, 
 toys — but not our souls, or too much of our hearts, our 
 honour, or our responsibilities to play with." 
 
 There was no doubt that both Kiddie and the Colonel 
 knew a disproportionate number of light women, women 
 who were not light professionally, who were well born, 
 well bred, well placed, but who were light, because, accord- 
 ing to Colonel Fellowes, this was the distinguishing feature 
 of the sex. In his middle-age he had become fond of talk- 
 ing of the Brydges case, and of his own connection with 
 it. He talked of it now. He exemplified the three women 
 who had been connected with it, and a fourth, who had 
 disappeared, but had been subsequently traced. All of 
 them were habitually up to the neck in intrigue. 
 
 " But you can't say all women are like that. Look at 
 my mother, for instance," urged the boy, eating without 
 appetite, drinking, thirstily, more than his share of the 
 bottle of Pommery: 
 
 u Ah ! there you are on different ground, on holy ground. 
 But Lady Fortive is one in a thousand, one in a million." 
 
 " I don't believe it," Kiddie said, putting his glass down 
 doggedly. "I'll grant you all you say about the women 
 we know, but I think it's just accident that we know so 
 many of the sort. I believe there are just as many women 
 like my mother, if we could only get at them." 
 
 " Well, my boy, you let me know when you find one other, 
 that's all, you let me know. And then I'll try her with 
 jewellery for you." He laughed : 
 
 "It's a great test, the jewellery test. Goethe knew a 
 thing or two." 
 
 Kiddie felt a pricking sensation about the hands; and 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 a great heat burned, increased in him, reddened his cheeks 
 and brightened his eyes : 
 
 "You're hinting at Miss Main waring? You believe 
 she would take jewellery from any fellow ? . . ." 
 
 Colonel Fellowes did not want to say it. But Kiddie 
 had set him thinking about Lady Fortive, she did not de- 
 serve to have a Verandah Theatre girl thrust upon her as 
 daughter-in-law. It must not be. He, too, tossed off his 
 glass : 
 
 "Miss Mainwaring did not make any bones about 
 accepting a ruby chain from me this afternoon," he said, 
 quietly. 
 
 Kiddie, too, became quiet under this blow, quiet and 
 rather white. Colonel Fellowes did not like it ; he felt 
 definitely that he was behaving like a blackguard. Theo- 
 retically, this sort of thing was all very well, Kiddie was 
 idealizing his ballet girl, and it is not safe for heirs to 
 marquisates to idealize ballet girls. But practically Colonel 
 Fellowes felt he was behaving like a blackguard. 
 
 He stood up, they were almost alone in the club dining- 
 room, and he began to talk in a different key : 
 
 "Look here, Kiddie, now, don't get angry with me, I'm 
 years older than you, I've knocked about the world, I've seen 
 women, girls, in Egypt, India, in South Africa, of all sorts 
 and colours; I know my subject. You are contemplating 
 marrying this girl, breaking your mother's heart. . . ." 
 
 Kiddie's sunken head lifted. 
 
 " I don't see why . . ." he began. 
 
 " Let me speak, let me get out what I've got to say. I'm 
 not even going to ask how you think your father will 
 take it. No ! the point is ... it isn't good enough. You 
 can get what you want from her without wrecking your 
 life. There, it's not a thing one likes to say, but there is 
 no use blinking it. And you are not free ; there is your 
 t 273 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 mother, your father to think of, and all they expect from 
 you. You have got a position to keep up. . . ." 
 
 " That's all rot, what good am I ? You know I am no 
 good. I've got no brains; the governor won't make any- 
 thing of me by trying to shove me into the army, or the 
 Diplomatic Service, or the House, do you think I don't 
 know ? " 
 
 " Well ! If you are not a genius, if you are bound to 
 be, to a certain extent, a disappointment to him, it doesn't 
 follow that you need ask him to accept a daughter-in- 
 law" — he hesitated a little, watching Kiddie — "off the 
 stage." 
 
 Kiddie began walking about : 
 
 "You don't think I want to do it. ... I know what 
 you're driving at." He got very red, then a little white, 
 hardened himself, and went on. " You think she will come 
 and live with me. Well, she won't, that's flat." He got 
 paler still. "I've tried her." 
 
 " But you have not given her any jewellery. What have 
 you done for her, what have you offered her ? " 
 
 " Oh, shut up." 
 
 Kiddie closed his ears ; he did not know the depth of his 
 own feeling yet, but he knew how this hurt. He had an 
 ineffable tenderness for Sally, the sort of tenderness boys 
 conceal under a certain gruffness, or rough badinage. It 
 ached in him, it must be hidden, denied, concealed. 
 
 Colonel Fellowes had his say out. But when the evening 
 was over, and they had separated, the Colonel to his rooms, 
 Kiddie presumably to his, the stage-door of the Verandah 
 still drew him irresistibly. 
 
 He found Sarita waiting for him ; the Colonel had been a 
 little garrulous, and he was later than usual. In the 
 brougham he found it impossible to talk to her. He 
 wanted to ask Sarita about Colonel Fellowes' visit, and 
 
 274 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 about the chain. But, in the end, he asked about 
 neither. 
 
 He gave her supper at the Savoy. The red-shaded lamp 
 between them accentuated her beauty, making it richer, 
 fuller, more vivid. It made Kiddie look rather blotchy, and 
 he was very silent. Sally thought he was, perhaps, a 
 little fuddled with wine, she was only semi-educated, 
 with her early experiences for teacher. She thought none 
 the worse of Kiddie on this account, but was careful not to 
 " upset him." 
 
 To-night Kiddie was feeling her charm in every throb- 
 bing pulse and breath of him. He could hardly bear to 
 look at her. For, if Fellowes was right, she was still his for 
 the taking. And if Fellowes was wrong . . . ? He knew 
 she was different from any girl he had ever met. His 
 mother was so wide-minded, so unprejudiced; he recalled her 
 letter. If there was no other way ... as he looked at 
 Sally, although to-night he could hardly bear to look at her, 
 he knew, if there were no other way, Sally must be Lady 
 Kidderminster. He was not going to do without her; he 
 had not been brought up to do without things. 
 
 He felt fiercely about her to-night. When Jerry and 
 Clive came over to talk to her, although Jerry and Clive 
 were pals, and had been at all the theatrical suppers, he 
 scowled at them, and mentally " damned " their impudence. 
 He was impatient with everything they said, and showed 
 his impatience. That made Clive have his chair brought 
 over, and join them for coffee, chaffing Kiddie, as in the 
 old Eton days, commenting on his want of hospitality. 
 When the semi-darkness set in, they turned out the greater 
 part of the electric light at twelve o'clock, in accordance with 
 some socialistic law, Kiddie's silence became yet more 
 marked. 
 
 " You're tired, aren't you ? " Sally said, when they were 
 27s 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 groping their way out. " Don't come all the way with me 
 to-night. Let me take a cab, I'll get along all right." 
 
 "I dare say! Perhaps you'd like Clive to see you 
 home ? " he answered rudely. Confirmed in her suspicion 
 as to his condition, Sally shrugged her shoulders, smiled, 
 and said nothing. 
 
 In the brougham again, he felt sorry he had spoken 
 so impatiently; it was this acute tenderness that was 
 torturing him. 
 
 "I say, you mustn't take any notice of what I say to- 
 night; I'm out of sorts." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind ; you ought to take a long sleep in the 
 morning, that's what father used to do." 
 
 "Sarita!" 
 
 Kiddie tried to take her hand ; his own were very hot. 
 She surrendered her hand, and it lay cool and supine in 
 his. Then she yawned, not deliberately, but because she 
 was tired : 
 
 " Don't try and get talking," she said ; " it's best to sleep 
 it off." 
 
 "I can't sleep it off. ... I can't get any sleep," he 
 began passionately. 
 
 But her merry laugh was like a cold douche. 
 
 "Not sleep! Well! I like that. You could hardly 
 keep awake at supper. Here we are. I am glad to be 
 home. What a day it's been — a hundred hours in it. 
 Don't get ou^" 
 
 She turned the handle, jumping out lightly. She had 
 rung for the lift before he had collected himself. There 
 was no way to touch or hold her to-night ; her youth was 
 too slippery, it gave no foothold. Perhaps she was acting 
 a little, she seemed less natural than usual as she stood 
 waiting for the lift, perhaps she saw the danger-signal in 
 his eyes. She was in the lift, and mounting out of his 
 
 276 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 sight, when this thought suddenly struck him. Her elusive- 
 ness became a new lure. 
 
 " I'll be with you early in the morning. I want to 
 speak to you," he shouted after her. It was undignified, 
 but his dignity had left him. He was fearfully excited, 
 uncertain of her, or of himself, intensely bent now on his 
 own way. Colonel Fellowes had achieved nothing. The 
 game, had she but known it, lay entirely in the unpractised 
 hands of Miss Sarita Mainwaring. 
 
 *77 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DAY dawned, and was still young when it found Lord 
 Kidderminster in Sally's sitting-room. Kiddie was 
 very jumpy this morning. He had a desperate desire to 
 believe that Freddy Fellowes was right, and that he had not 
 sufficiently forced the running with Sarita. He let himself 
 go this morning, and he succeeded in transferring a modi- 
 cum of his trouble to Sarita, breaking up her happy thought- 
 lessness of security. More than once he induced her to kiss 
 him. 
 
 He left her, indeed, before that day ended, with her 
 brave spirit wavering, and her child's mind aflame. His 
 own heart was thumping with a sense of coming triumph. 
 He saw well enough what he had done, and yet he was not 
 entirely happy. His small success had meant her distress, 
 and his own doubts. 
 
 In truth, the enemy was no longer quite outside the 
 citadel. They were only boy and girl ; there was little to 
 set them apart. Social differences had been forgotten be- 
 tween them, and he had been a good companion to her, 
 hardly cleverer, little more cultivated, barely more ex- 
 perienced than herself. Unconsciously Sally had grown to 
 care for him. He had had her taught to ride, and talked 
 of the exhilaration of hunting. He had taught her to 
 drive, she had felt the generous tug of the horses, and her 
 girl's hand guiding them. All these pleasures had come 
 from Kiddie, so much had come from Kiddie. She had the 
 
 278 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 great quality of gratitude, and was quickly appreciative 
 This morning he told her she was making him unhappy, 
 ruining his life. Perhaps something spoke within her this 
 time ; when he kissed her she no longer resisted him. He 
 knew she was fond of him. 
 
 The days went on. If Lady Dorothea had not interfered, 
 if no one had interfered, it is difficult to say what might 
 have happened. The club world, and the theatre world, 
 knew that Lord Kidderminster was "running" the new 
 danseuse at the Verandah. The Press knew it, too, but 
 faithful to its best tradition, the Press kept silent. Be- 
 tween the two young people there was a nameless excite- 
 ment, a strange intimacy, a stranger silence ; and every day 
 was too short for them. 
 
 " Don't stay in town over Sunday," Kiddie said to her, 
 with eyes averted, voice thick and strangled, "let's go 
 down to Brighton for the week-end. I'll fetch you in the 
 new six-cylinder, after the play. We can do Brighton in a 
 couple of hours ; the night journey will be rather fine. You 
 love the sea, don't you ? " 
 
 The spring of the year was in the air, and spring was in 
 both their hearts. 
 
 " Not this Sunday, not this very next Sunday." That had 
 always been Sarita's answer. 
 
 But her eyes had lost all their gladness, and were 
 strained, and startled, her laugh had lost its crispness. 
 Her dance had improved, the music in it, and the poetry 
 of it, seemed to have more meaning. She was only quite 
 happy when she was dancing; it carried her outside 
 herself, outside all those thoughts that could not be long 
 absent when Kiddie was so constantly with her. He was 
 very good to her, she wished he was not so ... so restless. 
 
 The next Sunday again she put him off. But perhaps 
 she would always have put him off. This time she said it 
 
 279 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 was because she had invited company. Mary and Alf were 
 coming to see her, she wanted very badly to see them, 
 so Kiddie must do without her. The day seemed very 
 long to him, extraordinarily long, and there was nothing 
 to which to look forward in the evening ! He thought it a 
 cursed arrangement that the theatres did not open on 
 Sundays. 
 
 Sally made quite a little gala for her expected visitors. 
 She ordered a special dinner of fowls and a ham, an apple 
 pudding, and some Stilton cheese. Kiddie knew all about 
 Alf and Mary. He wanted to be asked to meet them at 
 dinner, but Sally knew they would be happier without him. 
 She wrote, however, a very pretty little letter, fairly well 
 spelt, entreating Ursula Rugeley to the feast, and that lady, 
 although not accepting for dinner, promised to come in the 
 course of the afternoon. 
 
 It was the first party Sally had given, and she was very 
 excited about it; she was easily excitable now. Kiddie 
 had filled the place with flowers, but Sally put half of them 
 away. It was her old life she was hankering after, groping 
 for, she was trying to regain the secure foundations that 
 had been hers. Everything had been shifting in these 
 strange few weeks, she felt giddy, and as if her feet were 
 not firm on the ground. But all her sensations were con- 
 fused. She was never quite without the memory of 
 Kiddie's kisses. She was never quite happy away from 
 him, nor with him, although she did not want him with 
 Mary and Alf, nor with Ursula Rugeley. She wanted to 
 hear her old friends talk to her, and to each other. She 
 wanted to get back to simplicity, to the time when neither 
 thought nor sensation was confused. They must not talk 
 to her of her life, nor of the theatre, but of themselves, of 
 the factory. She thought that would cure her of her giddi- 
 ness and confusion. 
 
 280 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Mary looked quite pretty in her pink cotton blouse, and 
 the large hat with its white feather. As she kissed Sally 
 she exclaimed : 
 
 " What a fuss they make of you ! I never ! Alf and me 
 went to see you last night. You didn't know we were in 
 the house, did you ? We tried to get round to the stage- 
 door, but there was such a crowd. I say, what furniture, 
 and a piano ! Alf, do you see the piano ? " 
 
 " I don't suppose any one was gladder than me and Mary 
 to know how you'd come along, and to hear them clapping 
 you. Charlie would have been proud, too," Alf added, his 
 face clouding. 
 
 Sally reddened. 
 
 " Don't talk to me about Mr. Peastone," she said quickly. 
 
 " Oh, God ! if he should have been right ! " whispered a 
 voice from the innermost recesses of her heart. 
 
 "Tell me what's going on at the factory, and what's 
 Luke Cullen and all of you doing ; and have you fixed up 
 anything yet about a house ? " 
 
 She talked more than she used, and yet they did not 
 think she was so gay. She took Mary into her bedroom. 
 
 "I say, you have got things about you, toney things," 
 said Mary, who loved the walnut furniture and the brass 
 bed. She was not exactly envious, because, of course, 
 whatever else Sally had, she had not got Alf. But Mary's 
 mind was on furniture, on little but furniture just now, and 
 it was natural she should look about her. 
 
 " 1 low your hair has come on," said Sally, when Mary 
 had taken off her hat before the walnut swing-mirror. 
 
 Mary, combing out her crimped fringe, smiled compla- 
 cently at her reflection : 
 
 " It's happiness, my dear. It's been growing ever since 
 me and Alf walked out together. Alf says it's too fine, 
 that's all the matter with it. I've left off all them stuffs, 
 
 281 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 and it grows better without them ; it's half-way down my 
 waist now." She was quite prepared to exhibit it. 
 
 " Don't you pull it down, you've done it up so nice. It 
 is soft." 
 
 " I know, of course, it's not quite so much as yours, but 
 then, yours is coarse." 
 
 Sally laughed. 
 
 " You know it is," insisted Mary, in the old manner. 
 
 "Never you mind about my hair, come and look at the 
 bathroom ; there is hot and cold, and nobody else can use 
 it, it's all mine. Shall I turn it on and show you ? " 
 
 Mary told of a flat she and Alf had seen at Dalston. She 
 hadn't thought of a flat, but Alf's mother suggested it. 
 Now she had seen Sally's, she should go again. 
 
 " But it must cost you an awful lot. What are you get- 
 ting, Sal? Nobody seems to know. Alf says you ought 
 to be putting something by. Dancing is not like making 
 jam and pickles, people never get tired of jam and pickles ; 
 there's always work to be had there." 
 
 Sally found Mary rather dull. She hurried over her 
 dressing so that they might join Alf. The dinner was 
 rather long in coming, but Alf carved beautifully, and 
 Mary admired him all the time. It all came out during 
 dinner. The banns had been called once. Alf and Mary 
 were really going to get married in a few weeks, and go to 
 Eastbourne, for a week-end, for their honeymoon. They 
 were going to start their married life living with Alf's 
 mother. She had a shop at Dalston, a little grocery shop, 
 and that was why they had looked at a flat in Dalston. 
 But the flat must be for the future. For the present, there 
 was Mrs. Stevens' spare room, and the furniture Alf was 
 going to put in it. Mary had much to tell of Mrs. Stevens, 
 and her kindness, of what Alf had said on this, that, or 
 the other occasion, of what she intended to wear at her 
 
 282 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 wedding, and what the girls at the factory said in their 
 jealousy at her good luck in getting Alf. 
 
 Sally was interested in it all ; they took it for granted that 
 she would be. Mary showed openly that Alf was as a god in 
 her eyes. It was all right to show how much you cared for 
 the man who was going to be your husband. And Alf Stevens 
 was a good little fellow. Not like some one Sarita knew, 
 not tall, and straight, and strong, with eyes that set your 
 heart beating, and a voice you heard all through you. But 
 a nice little man all the same ; he and Mary would be very 
 happy. All in a whirl went Sally's thoughts again. 
 
 " Tell me some more, Mary," she said, to steady herself, 
 "go on talking. I do like to hear it all." 
 
 The waits between the fowls and the pudding, the pud- 
 ding and the cheese, were all too short. Sometimes Sally 
 thought it dull, and her thoughts wandered. Sometimes 
 she thought she could never tire of hearing Mary and Alf 
 talk, of seeing them hold each other's hands, and pass tit- 
 bits to each other on the same fork. She promised to go 
 to the wedding. She wanted Mary to be married from her 
 flat; but Mary said the arrangements were all made. Mrs. 
 Stevens had made them, and she mustn't be upset, she'd 
 been so kind. Alf was going to pay his mother a pound 
 a week for the two of them ; he'd only been giving her 
 twelve-and-six for himself. Mary went into many details. 
 
 At four o'clock Miss Rugeley came. Sally was glad when 
 Mary and Alf left her alone with her kind friend. The 
 young couple had promised to go to Mrs. Stevens' for tea, 
 and they mustn't disappoint Mrs. Stevens ! 
 
 But when Sally found herself alone with Miss Rugeley, 
 it seemed she had nothing to say to her. So she suggested 
 tea ; rang for what she wanted, made it, and poured it out, 
 cutting the bread and butter thin, and handing the cake : 
 
 " How nicely you do everything now," Ursula said. 
 283 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Not well enough," she answered quickly. 
 
 " Not well enough for what, for whom f " 
 
 Again the red flushed in her cheeks. Yet how could her 
 old friend guess she was thinking how much better Lord 
 Kidderminster must have seen tea served ! 
 
 Presently Ursula began to question her about her com- 
 panions, and her daily life at the theatre. Sally's candour 
 halted, her truthfulness faltered : 
 
 "It's nearly all work, rehearsals and dancing lessons, 
 and singing lessons." 
 
 " I still wish you had been in Mr. Benson's company, or 
 at His Majesty's, or the Hay market. I never like to think 
 of your dancing in public." 
 
 " There is no harm in dancing." 
 
 The tea-making was done and the tray put neatly out- 
 side. Now Sally sat on the hearth-rug in front of the fire, 
 and Ursula, from her easy chair, looked down at her with 
 tender interest. She knew, none better, how straight and 
 simple Sally was. But even Ursula Kugeley had heard 
 that the young ladies on the musical comedy stage were 
 not always thoroughly respectable. She had come princi- 
 pally to talk about that to Sally ; not exactly to warn her, 
 but to beg her to be careful about her companions, to offer 
 her own companionship to Sally for any unoccupied hours. 
 A hesitant word brought Sally's quick reply : 
 
 * The girls are good enough, Miss Rugeley. They're just 
 like me, working hard, taking a bit of fun if it comes our way. 
 Most of them have got friends," . . . then she paused : 
 
 " Other girls ? " 
 
 * No, fellows, ' boys/ they call them, but they're mostly 
 grown up." 
 
 " Young men to whom they are engaged ? " 
 Sally hesitated, staring into the fire. 
 " No, not exactly engaged." 
 284 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " With whom they walk out ? " 
 
 Ursula had learnt the language of the people she served. 
 
 * I shouldn't call it that. They're nice fellows, most of 
 them. They give the girls dinners, or suppers, sometimes 
 a dress, or a bit of jewellery. . . ." 
 
 "Surely girls ought not to take presents from young 
 men ! Unless, of course, they are going to marry them ? " 
 
 " They're good girls, quite good girls," Sally persisted, 
 still staring into the fire. "There's Milly and Ada, and 
 the other two in the quartette ; they help their people a lot, 
 almost all their screw goes in it. They'd have nothing but 
 work if it weren't for their ' boys/ As it is, they get to the 
 Carlton and the Savoy, and Romano's, instead of only to 
 tea-shops by themselves. Milly has got a beautiful ring, 
 and a watch with her name in diamonds. Her ' boy ' is in 
 the Guards, but he's only a lieutenant. Sir John Delorme 
 takes Ada about, his wife is in the South of France. He's 
 awfully good to her ; she's much older than me, but she 
 says she's never had such a pal. They're real good girls, 
 Miss Rugeley," earnestly. Then she said, in a lower voice : 
 " There are some other ones . . . not so good, perhaps ! 
 It's very difficult. . . ." 
 
 The district visitor grew chilled. But Sally must not see 
 that she was startled at what she heard. She must obtain, 
 and retain, the girl's confidence. Ursula, having learnt 
 broad charity late, and with infinite difficult}', hoped that 
 all Sally told her was true, and these girls were as good as 
 she described. 
 
 "It can't be right for them to accept presents," she 
 repeated, after a pause. " It must destroy their indepen- 
 dence, their self-respect." 
 
 " Why shouldn't we take from those who've got more 
 than we have — seeing how they like giving ? " Sally asked 
 defiantly, almost violently. 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 And Ursula knew, all at once, knew, in that luminous, 
 small soul of hers, that Sally was asking for help, for 
 guidance. She prayed before she answered, those wordless 
 prayers good women so often put up out of church. " Help 
 me to help her, Christ" was what she prayed. And her 
 maidenhood, old as it was, and withered, shrank from the 
 thoughts she must think, fearful how to cloak" them. 
 And she was ashamed, for she knew Sally's purity. She 
 had to fight her own fight before speech came. 
 
 Meanwhile Sally's bright eyes watched the flames, on 
 her lips she felt Kiddie's kisses, and his brooch burned 
 at her throat, that brooch he had given her but yester- 
 day. 
 
 v If you take these good gifts, there is a chance, a 
 possibility, you may be asked ... for some return." 
 Ursula's shrunk cheeks had a painful pink, and her voice 
 was low. But Sally heard. 
 
 " You can't take everything, and give nothing. What 
 you have to give is very precious." 
 
 Then Sally's eyes flashed their question to her. 
 
 "Is it?" she cried, "is it?" 
 
 And then she hid her face quite suddenly, and began to 
 cry. It was the first time Ursula Kugeley had seen Sally 
 cry. She had seen her cold, and known her hungry, but 
 always she had been so strong. 
 
 Ursula put her hand on the red head, softly, tenderly, 
 praying all the time, inwardly, for help. She was so 
 ignorant of this kind of struggle. 
 
 "Poor Sally," were all the words she had — trembling 
 words — " poor Sally." 
 
 " I won't be pitied." 
 
 The girl's head went up, and she spoke passionately. " I 
 can take care of myself." It was the old brave war-cry, 
 although Ursula could now hear a weakness in it. 
 
 286 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "I know, I know you can," the old maid answered, 
 tremulously. 
 
 "He likes me better nor anything. Why shouldn't he 
 give me things ? n 
 
 Ursula's tremulous lips opened and closed. 
 
 " Help me to help her, God" she was praying all the time. 
 
 " You are so young . . ." she stammered. 
 
 " He's not more than twenty-three himself." Sally took 
 her courage in both hands. " It isn't as if he doesn't care 
 for me. And he'll look after me always. I can't never go 
 back to the factory, or to the tailoring ; and they mayn't 
 always like my dancing," she faltered. 
 
 " Oh, Sally ! and once you were so proud ! " 
 
 That cry was involuntary, but no studied speech could 
 have been more effectual. 
 
 " Proud I was, was I ? " Sally's eyes shone question- 
 ingly. " But this doesn't seem like being proud, it seems 
 like being mean. He only wants me to love him, some- 
 times I think I do ! And he wants me always to be 
 with him. . . ." 
 
 " Giving up your independence ? " 
 
 " I need not go off the stage altogether." 
 
 It was Ursula Rugeley who cried now, the dry old maid, 
 and Sally who comforted her. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Rugeley, and you've been so good to me too, 
 times and times again ! I didn't go for to hurt you, you 
 know I didn't. I won't do anything you don't like. Give 
 over crying, tell me what I must do. I know I can't stay 
 on here . . . and see him every day, and take things from 
 him. I don't want to go with him ... I want to be free, 
 and keep myself respectable. But I do like him, I do ! 
 Oh ! help me." 
 
 They clung to each other a minute. Sally had never 
 been so demonstrative. 
 
 287 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Ursula, too, who had never known petting, found loving, 
 gentle things to say. Sally had always been so good, so 
 steady. Ursula had been so proud of her. She could never 
 do a thing like this ; Ursula would think of a way, she was 
 sure she could think of a way. 
 
 " Oh, Sally, dear Sally, chastity is enjoined on us ; it 
 would break my heart if you fell away from it. You shall 
 never want, I promise you that." 
 
 The emotional part of the interview lasted so short a 
 time. Neither of them was given to emotion. Sally got 
 up from the hearthrug quite soon and began to clear away 
 the tea-things. If her eyes showed signs of weeping, they 
 were, nevertheless, brighter, and they saw more clearly 
 than they had done for many weeks. 
 
 Those prayers had all been heard, the words had come 
 for which Ursula asked. They had been few, weak and 
 feeble they seemed to her, but they had gone straight home. 
 Yes; Sally saw more clearly now. She would never be 
 Lord Kidderminster's mistress. She was proud, she did 
 respect herself, she could do without any one. 
 
 They talked of quite commonplace matters for a little 
 while. Then Sally put on her outdoor things, and walked 
 with Miss Rugeley to meet the omnibus. Neither of them 
 spoke again of what had so greatly moved both. Ursula 
 did not ask from whom Sally's temptation came, it was 
 not that way she had gained the girl's confidence. 
 
 " This is your 'bus," Sally said, hailing the lumbering, 
 yellow conveyance. 
 
 "Yes, so it is. Well, good-bye, dear. ... I wish, I 
 wish I could have helped you more." 
 
 "I'm all right. I really am all right now." Sally 
 smiled through a mist, but still she smiled. "Never you 
 fear, you've helped me a lot." 
 
 288 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 KIDDIE spent that dull Sunday less profitably. He 
 bored himself for a good many hours during " church 
 parade," and sitting through a dull luncheon-party at Lady 
 Cleeve's. Afterwards he went to call on Lady Dorothea. 
 
 Her room was full of visitors, but he found their chatter 
 depressing and commonplace. When the crowd cleared off 
 a little, Dorothea beckoned him nearer to her, and began 
 to rally him. She had recently heard the whispers at the 
 clubs, the jests behind the scenes : 
 
 " Come and tell me all about it, Kiddie. I'm dying to 
 hear." 
 
 " All about what ? " he said sullenly, moving nearer to 
 her, however, with something like an appeal in his eyes. 
 He did not want to be chaffed, yet he longed for some 
 one to whom he could talk, in whom he might confide. 
 But there was no softness of comprehension about Lady 
 Dorothea : 
 
 "About the flat," she said boldly. "Oh! I know all 
 about it, everybody knows. But why did you take a 
 flat in Victoria? It might just as well be Bloomsbury. 
 Of course, when I went there, I had no idea it was your 
 show ! Who would have dreamt of your setting up house 
 in Tillery Mansions? You really are unconventional, 
 Kiddie, you do impossible things. Belgravia, now, or St. 
 John's Wood, if you must have a flat. But Victoria. . . ." 
 
 " I don't know what you're talking about." 
 
 " Well, considering I introduced you. . . ." 
 u 289 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "If you're talking about Miss Mainwaring," he began, 
 very hot and confused at the sudden attack. 
 
 She laughed, she called Colonel Fellowes into the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Kiddie doesn't know that all London is talking about 
 his liaison with the new dancer at the Verandah," she said, 
 with that coarse gaiety of hers, the Desmond heritage and 
 privilege. 
 
 Kiddie lost his temper : 
 
 "You know you are saying what isn't true. She's the 
 best and sweetest, and cleanest-minded, and purest girl 
 I've met since I've been in London," he broke out with. 
 " You may jeer, so may Fellowes. . . ." 
 
 They were neither of them discreet, he in his cynical 
 smile, she in her quick retort. It ended in Kiddie's ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 "If it were not for the governor I'd marry her to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " And break your mother's heart," interposed the Colonel, 
 startled out of raillery. 
 
 Kiddie had not been thinking lately of marrying Miss 
 Sarita Mainwaring. All his dreams and waking hours 
 had been filled differently. But that Dolly should attack 
 Sarita' s virtue, Dolly, for whom his contempt, notwith- 
 standing her favours, was too deep for words, hurried him 
 into unconsidered speech. 
 
 Dorothea was amazed when Kiddie dashed away from 
 Curzon Street in a rage with her, with himself, and every- 
 thing. Colonel Fellowes was made uneasy by his attitude, 
 and Dorothea was more sympathetic with his fears than 
 she had been with Kiddie. Very hurriedly they decided 
 Lord Fortive must be informed, a letter must be written 
 to him. The final completed missive, however, was Lady 
 Dorothea's. She forced her views on her perturbed but 
 
 290 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 more cautious companion. "Leave it to his people," she 
 said ; " we'll let them know what is going on, and put it 
 up to them to take action." 
 
 "Dear Uncle," she wrote, "how would it be to get 
 Gilbert out of London for a bit ? A word to the wise will, 
 I know, be sufficient for you, for you are so very wise. 
 And I'm sure you don't want a daughter-in-law whose high 
 kick is her great claim to social recognition ! Seriously, 
 I think Kiddie is within an ace of making a fool of him- 
 self. . . ." 
 
 Then the letter branched off into messages for Lady 
 Fortive, and some wholly apocryphal allusions to Captain 
 the Hon. Alec Lytham. The separation was still un- 
 acknowledged. Lady Dorothea was living under the 
 shelter of the honourable name for which she had ex- 
 changed her own. 
 
 Parliament was not sitting, and Lord Fortive was en- 
 joying a limited leisure in the South when Dorothea's 
 letter was forwarded to him. Kiddie had never given him 
 a moment's uneasiness ; but then, it was not Lord Fortive's 
 way to be uneasy about small events. Anything that was 
 not statecraft was " small events " to the distinguished 
 diplomat. Lady Fortive was with him, also one of his 
 married daughters. Their villa was a large one, almost 
 outside Monte Carlo itself, on the road to Cap Martin. 
 Roses and carnations overhung the stone balustrade ; 
 orange trees, bearing their golden burden, lemons, and 
 flowering oleanders diversified the waving palms. From 
 the breakfast-room window one saw the dark blue of the 
 Mediterranean, the stiller, vaguer blue of the clear sky. 
 
 Lord Fortive, grey, erect, and distinguished, came in 
 first to breakfast. Lady Fortive was wheeled in afterwards, 
 and their daughter was late, as usual. Lord Fortive 
 gave the ladies a little Monte Carlo news. He had 
 
 291 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 been in the rooms last night, on the terrace already this 
 morning. There was quite a crowd on the terrace, two 
 of the Grand Dukes were at Monte, and Duke Barkoff 
 was expected from Cannes, where, under the pretence of 
 benefiting the town by a golf course, he was laying out for 
 himself an extensive pleasaunce. Lord Fortive spoke of 
 this, and of Duke Barkoff's pavilion in the middle of the 
 golf course ! Lord Fortive had a sense of humour, and the 
 Englishman's appreciation of equality in sport. The pri- 
 vate pavilion, the lunches that were served there, and 
 Duke Barkoff's prowess at golf, were all commented upon 
 lightly. 
 
 " Did you play with him ? " asked Hildegarde. 
 
 Hildegarde had made a very great match; a Prince of 
 the Holy Koman Empire had not disdained an alliance 
 with the Fortives. But Hildegarde was generally to be 
 found at the Villa Bella Vista in the winter, at Buck- 
 minster in the summer, pleading, if pleading were neces- 
 sary, her mother's health, to excuse her absence from the 
 Prince's side. They were seen together sometimes, in the 
 London season, or the Roman, on excellent terms. 
 
 " Did you play with Duke Barkoff ? " Hildegarde asked. 
 " I suppose his golf is not exactly first-class ? " 
 
 "Yes! I have played with him." Lord Fortive was 
 a diplomatist. "His handicap is eighteen; a courtesy 
 eighteen, I should call it." 
 
 " Who played with you ? " 
 
 "It was a single, on a pouring wet morning. Captain 
 Martyn, the secretary, arranged it, and one could not, of 
 course, refuse, although — " he added contemplatively, 
 buttering his toast, "I should have preferred stopping in 
 the club house, and reading the papers." 
 
 "I hope you won." Hildegarde passed him the mar- 
 malade. 
 
 292 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Yes, I won, rather to the disgust of the caddies, I 
 fear." 
 
 "Can't he play at all?" 
 
 " He is painstaking, but length is not his strong 
 point." 
 
 "He has plenty of length of his own," interpolated 
 Hildegarde quickly. 
 
 " He seems stiff, no body spring," Lord Fortive went on 
 complacently, not heeding the interruption. Golf was 
 his one weakness, he liked dwelling upon the technique 
 of the game, he prided himself on his style : " He hits, 
 rather than drives the ball ; he plays from his elbows." 
 Lord Fortive was on his favourite hobby, but he pulled 
 himself up. "Anyway, he derives amusement from it, 
 and that is the main thing." 
 
 " Although you derived little from playing with him ? " 
 
 " I won't say that. Amusement, of a kind, I certainly 
 found. Both my caddie and his, the secretary too, if 
 I am not mistaken, gave him a perfect salvo of applause 
 at one drive. He used his cleek at the eleventh tee, and 
 just carried the bunker." 
 
 " But surely that is the short hole ! It isn't eighty 
 yards." 
 
 " Still he got on the green." Lord Fortive's smile was 
 whimsical. 
 
 "Did you lunch at that queer little hedged-in loggia 
 of his?" 
 
 " Yes, and in the middle of the round ! It seemed 
 curiously remote ; he was at his best then, neither restless 
 nor reticent ; he talked with freedom, certainly with 
 charm." 
 
 "And the food?" 
 
 " Ah ! I would give all his golf for one of his sauces." 
 
 There followed a description of the food, with reminis- 
 293 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 cences of the conversation. Lord Fortive liked talking, 
 and his women folk were trained to listen. 
 
 Lord Fortive was too intelligent to allow the postman to 
 interfere with his meals. After the very excellent dtjeuner, 
 he adjourned to the garden for his cigar. It was nearly 
 two o'clock before he repaired to his study and summoned 
 his secretary. 
 
 The letters were all neatly divided — affairs ^of state, 
 business matters, newspapers, and some few delicately- 
 scented missives with sprawling addresses. Lord Fortive 
 had never been a Stoic, and his wife was an invalid. But 
 he knew how to keep his pleasures subordinate to his 
 position; he had never taken any risks. He was not -a 
 man of strong temperament, and his brain had always 
 dominated his body. He had been known to dictate his 
 love letters, or what passed for love letters, having per- 
 fect confidence in his secretary. But then he had perfect 
 confidence in most of his subordinates, including his chil- 
 dren. Men of affairs have this habit ; it saves them time 
 and thought. 
 
 When he came to Dorothea's letter, however, he read it 
 through twice. 
 
 " Silly woman ! " he said. " Dorothea has always been 
 a silly woman." Then he dictated the reply : 
 
 "My dear Niece, 
 
 "I am very grateful to you for your letter and 
 the feeling that has prompted it. I will make myself 
 acquainted with the causes of your kind anxiety, and 
 act accordingly. In the meantime, let me beg you 
 not to concern yourself too deeply with Gilbert's 
 affairs. The young lady may kick high, but I doubt 
 if she will kick away my boy's good sense and good 
 feeling, and the knowledge of what he owes to his 
 294 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 position. I should hesitate before I interfered in 
 his legitimate amusements. The theatre is one of 
 Gilbert's legitimate amusements. . . ." 
 
 The letter went on, half bantering, giving the details 
 asked for of Lady Fortive's health, and making perfunctory- 
 acknowledgment of Captain Lytham's invented compli- 
 ment. 
 
 " You had better write to Lord Kidderminster, too," 
 Lord Fortive said to the secretary, glancing at the letter 
 again: 
 
 "Dear Gilbert, 
 
 " Dorothea writes me you have fallen in love. 
 Very proper, I'm sure. I did the same thing myself 
 at your age; she didn't dance, she sang. It is a 
 much quicker cure. However, I don't want to inter- 
 fere with you in any way. I will admit I don't care 
 for quite so much publicity as your cousin implies, 
 but I presume she has become acquainted with your 
 movements by accident ? I know I can trust you to 
 do the right thing. And, by the way, if my memory 
 serves me, it is rather an expensive game you are 
 learning. I hope the enclosed may be of service to 
 you. Be discreet, and, if I may advise you, avoid 
 anything in the nature of a permanent tie. Verb sap. 
 I suppose you will come out to us presently. Your 
 mother seems much improved in health. I've not told 
 her of Dorothea's letter, but you might write her 
 yourself, announcing a visit, if a visit be agreeable to 
 you. . . ." 
 
 Lord Fortive was a diplomat, a man of the world, 
 attached to his son, although he was also his heir, and 
 grateful to him for his decent record. Other fathers of 
 
 295 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 his acquaintance had trouble with their sons. He had 
 had no trouble. He even boasted about it, putting it to his 
 own credit : 
 
 "I've always treated my son on a rational principle, 
 encouraging him to look upon me as his friend and equal. 
 I don't issue orders, I discuss circumstances. Gilbert has 
 been brought up to think for himself, to realize that I am 
 at his service if he requires guidance ; but mainly to think 
 and act for himself." 
 
 But Lady Fortive knew that boys do not confide every- 
 thing even to the most rational of fathers. Hence her oc- 
 casional anxieties and her early appeal to Colonel Fellowes. 
 
 The immediate effect of his father's letter was a most 
 explosive interview between Dorothea and her cousin. 
 Lord Fortive could never have conceived Gilbert being 
 guilty of such a misprision of confidence, or he would 
 not have written him so openly. But then Lord Fortive 
 was cautious, Kiddie frank; Lord Fortive a diplomat, 
 Gilbert — a boy. 
 
 " I think it is a dirty trick, neither more, nor less," Kiddie 
 reproached her hotly. He had not given himself time to 
 think, he was at Curzon Street before Dorothea was up. At 
 his urgent message she came down in her peignoir to meet 
 his reproaches. The white tea-gown, embroidered in a gold- 
 key pattern, became her as well as any of her more elabo- 
 rate dresses. Her coiffure was perfection. 
 
 " What have I done now ? What's a dirty trick ? 
 Really, Kiddie, you have the strangest way of saying good 
 morning. And I was going to invite you to breakfast 
 with me. Don't tornade, now please don't tornade. . . ." 
 She liked the new word, and repeated it. " What has 
 happened ? What does the diplomat write ? w 
 
 "I say again, it's a dirty trick. What did you write 
 to my father for? How dared you interfere with me? 
 
 296 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 It's a silly, womanish, spiteful thing to do. I didn't think 
 you capable of it." 
 
 " Now, Kiddie, it's time you talked sense, instead of 
 standing there glowering at me, abusing me as if I were a 
 pickpocket. All London is gossiping about you and Miss 
 Mainwaring. In a gossiping letter I mentioned what all the 
 world knows. . . ." 
 
 " My father writes you are anxious about me ! Now, what 
 do you mean by that ? " But unconsciously the Greek tea- 
 gown was mollifying him. 
 
 " I am anxious about you." 
 
 "Oh, damn it, . . .!" 
 
 " That is simply rude. How can I help it ? I'm very 
 fond of you, Kiddie." 
 
 Kiddie did not want to be softened. Still, when a woman, 
 a beautiful one, one with whom he has had passages, tells a 
 young man she is fond of him, it is difficult to abuse her 
 for it. 
 
 "I've always been fond of you. And I can't let you 
 go on with this without trying to prevent it getting serious. 
 Everybody is talking, they say you are going to marry 
 her ! " 
 
 "Rot!" 
 
 " But you told me so yourself two or three days ago." 
 
 " You goaded me into saying it." 
 
 "But isn't it true?" 
 
 "I don't know. Ob, damn it; don't cross-examine a 
 fellow." 
 
 " I see you've already adopted the manners of the lower 
 orders." 
 
 " Dolly ! " 
 
 He came up to her, he even put his arm about her. 
 
 " Don't nag me, Dolly. I came round to have a row with 
 you, but I don't want to. I'm half beside myself. I don't 
 
 297 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 know what I'm saying. I am in love with her ; what's the 
 good of denying it ? She . . . she won't have anything to 
 do with me. . . ." 
 
 This was not the exact truth. But Sally's Monday de- 
 meanour had very definitely reflected her Sunday decision. 
 She had come into something of her woman's kingdom, she 
 knew she would not be Kiddie's mistress. She wanted to 
 go on being friends with him. She had not taken sufficient 
 possession of that kingdom to realize the impossibility of 
 what she proposed. Other girls on the musical comedy 
 stage had " friends." 
 
 But Kiddie was all on fire with her ; his days and nights 
 were full of nothing else. He thought he had seen an end 
 to his trouble, but now there was to be no end. 
 
 It is difficult to get at Lady Dorothea's motive. Perhaps 
 she wanted to secure Kiddie's gratitude. She had no opin- 
 ion of virtue as a quality. To her it was merely an idiosyn- 
 crasy, rather rare, and not admirable. Kiddie quite broke 
 down before her. He was leading an impossible life, and 
 it was telling on his health and nerves. A thought slowly 
 dawned on her, the germ of one at least. She hesitated, the 
 thing did not come to her all at once. 
 
 " Do you think it would do any good if Lord Fortive were 
 to meet her ? " she said slowly, to gain time. She had an 
 idea, but it would not materialize. There must be some way 
 of giving Kiddie what he wanted. Poor Kiddie ! 
 
 " Do you mean would he consent to my marrying her ? n 
 
 " Well, would he consider it at all ? " 
 
 " He's the soul of pride," said Kiddie disconsolately. 
 
 " But she is rather attractive." 
 
 "You mean he might take a fancy to her ? " 
 
 " You know he is not generally considered to be quite 
 adamant." 
 
 " I know he is the best father a fellow ever had." 
 298 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Well, would you like to try the experiment of an in- 
 troduction ? " 
 
 " I'm desperate. Fd try anything. What have you got 
 in your mind ? n 
 
 "Well! Be a good boy. . . ." 
 
 Kiddie laughed at that, but it wasn't a pleasant laugh : 
 
 " I'll pay anything you like, if that's what you mean." 
 It was a formula to which she had used him. 
 
 "As it happens, that is not what I mean." 
 
 The idea suddenly materialized and became a brilliant in- 
 spiration. He should have what he wanted, she would be 
 the goddess in the car. He would be grateful to her. And, 
 later on, a good many tradespeople would be grateful to 
 him. Lady Dorothea was nothing if not practical. 
 
 "I'm sick of Curzon Street, Kiddie, I want a change. 
 Now what would you do for me if I took her over to 
 Monte with me and introduced her to them as if she were 
 my bosom friend? I can't go alone, . . . what a young 
 brute you are, Kiddie." 
 
 For Kiddie had kissed her enthusiastically; she liked 
 that sort of thing done gently, with premeditation, her pre- 
 meditation, and when she was in the mood. Kiddie did not 
 heed her remonstrance. 
 
 " You wouldn't do it, Dolly ; you wouldn't do it, would 
 you? You are a ripper. I wish I'd been better to you. 
 It's a grand scheme, magnificent. You won't tell them 
 anything about her. You'll let them get to know her. Oh, 
 Dolly ! " 
 
 "Mind you, it's not going to be a cheap piece of 
 foolery. . . ." 
 
 "I've got plenty of money; the governor sent me five 
 hundred pounds this morning." 
 
 " I want clothes, and she'll want clothes." 
 
 « Oh, that's nothing." 
 
 *99 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " And how about her engagement at the theatre ? n 
 
 " I can get that through all right." 
 
 There were no obstacles which, in Kiddie's opinion, 
 could not be easily overcome. He had never asked Sarita 
 Main waring to marry him. But he knew that life was 
 flavourless to him without her. He had sincerely at heart 
 the feelings of his father and his mother, the honour of his 
 name, and the guarding of his position. He would let his 
 parents see Sally, and judge her. Love blinded him to her 
 little lapses from the conventional, and she was always 
 improving. Love blinded him to everything but what 
 love makes clear, her loyalty and simplicity, her fine 
 courage and capacity. He saw quite well the strength 
 with which she was resisting him. And now he knew, or 
 almost knew, what before he had doubted, and doubted 
 correctly. She was not indifferent to him, he was not 
 only an acquaintance to her. Her eyes told him this 
 sometimes, and her quick breathing; she was no longer 
 a child, nor was she cold. However feebly his love had 
 been rooted four weeks ago, now it had put out tendrils 
 which held securely, it was supported by the sturdy staff 
 of his respect, and it flowered. 
 
 Dolly's proposal carried him off his feet, the flood of 
 opportunity it presented drowned his common sense. He 
 saw himself escorting Lady Dorothea Lytham with a 
 companion upon whom no one would look askance; he 
 pictured Sally sitting by his invalid mother's chair. How 
 quickly his mother would guess ! And Sally's charm, 
 surely her extraordinary charm, would soften and conquer 
 his father. They need not know for a long time who 
 Sarita was, or that she had been on the stage. Meanwhile 
 Dolly would think of some evasive explanation. At 
 twenty-two the gates of Utopia are easily unlocked, and 
 youth is prone to react. Quite long enough Kiddie had 
 
 300 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 been depressed, uncertain, ill at ease. Now his spirits 
 mounted sky high. 
 
 They carried him through the next few days; extra- 
 ordinary days they were. Edgar and Tom said he would 
 ruin "In Far Cathay ." Kiddie was ready to pay for 
 rebuilding the ruin. Sarita said she was not going to 
 leave the Verandah, even for a fortnight. She was in 
 debt, and would not involve herself further by ordering 
 more clothes. But she was secretly enamoured of the idea. 
 The prospect of change and novelty, of being with Kiddie 
 and Lady Dorothea Lytham, set her eyes dancing. Lady 
 Dorothea Lytham had never lost her fascination since that 
 visit to the hospital. Yet Sally demurred, denied, refused, 
 until Kiddie was driven to bring Dorothea to her. 
 
 Dorothea came, bringing with her the subtle odour of 
 Bond Street and authority. 
 
 " Kiddie tells me you won't go to Monte Carlo with me." 
 
 " Oh, no, milady/' she protested in an agony of distress, 
 lest she should have denied anything to this beautiful lady, 
 or appeared ungracious to her; "only I didn't think — 
 I couldn't believe that your ladyship meant it." 
 
 "Not so much of 'your ladyship,' please. You are 
 coming as my companion, not as my maid. Has Kiddie 
 told you the scheme ? " 
 
 Kiddie had told her nothing. The word " marriage " 
 had not been mentioned between them, nor had they dis- 
 cussed his parents' inevitable way of regarding such a union. 
 Sally was proud, and Kiddie knew the quality of her pride. 
 She would not go to Monte Carlo if she realized she was to go 
 there " on appro," as it were, as so many of the goods were 
 sent out from the emporium in Brook Street. They came 
 back so often damaged, worse than shop- worn, unsaleable. 
 She would not have consented to go on such conditions. By 
 a gesture Kiddie restrained Lady Dorothea from expatiating 
 
 301 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 on their conspiracy. For it was in the nature of a conspiracy, 
 although far from being the one that Kiddie imagined. 
 
 Sarita's opposition overcome, there remained only the 
 consultation with Mr. Perry. It was Lady Dorothea's 
 advice that Sally should buy clothes in Paris. They 
 meant to break the journey at Paris, and two or three 
 days' shopping there would be a revelation to Sarita, an 
 education in itself, she said. Lady Dorothea had curious 
 limitations. She had never been jealous of any woman, 
 nor petty in her relations with them. As she herself 
 said, she had only one vice ... of course, she was entirely 
 blind to what it included. Up to the present it had 
 not included jealousy. But now she insisted that Sally 
 should buy her clothes in Paris, because she could not bear 
 that Mr. Perry should use his incomparable skill for any 
 other than herself ! And in London there was no one but 
 Mr. Perry. 
 
 Mr. Perry had no idea that Miss Mainwaring was leaving 
 the stage and going abroad, chaperoned by Lady Dorothea 
 Lytham. It was enough for him that Lady Dorothea was 
 going, he knew she would do justice to his models. She 
 gave him but little time, but he employed it well. Kiddie 
 was going to pay. On some pretext or another Kiddie 
 was taken more than once to Brook Street. More than 
 once Lady Dorothea reminded them that "Lord Kidder- 
 minster was going to pay." They had no doubt of the 
 fact. 
 
 Kiddie was quite indifferent to her extravagances. Sarita 
 would accept nothing from him, not a bow, not a ribbon. 
 She had returned him the diamond brooch he had given her 
 long ago; it was the only piece of jewellery he had ever 
 offered, and it was subsequent to Colonel Fellowes' gift. 
 She still wore Colonel Fellowes' chain. Taking a present 
 from a man old enough to be her father seemed to her very 
 • 302 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 different from accepting one from Kiddie, after that talk 
 with Miss Rugeley. 
 
 She was very proud. She would go abroad with Lady 
 Dorothea Ly thain, since Lady Dorothea was good enough to 
 ask her, but she would pay her own expenses. She had 
 only one debt on her conscience, the one already contracted 
 to the Brook Street establishment, and this was always 
 worrying her. She would not have added to it, even if 
 Lady Dorothea had willed it; neither did she mean to 
 buy anything in Paris. But she drew her large salary a 
 fortnight in advance, and she went away out of debt. 
 
 Kiddie hit on a good scheme ; he asked her to let him 
 have five pounds of her money to put on a horse. He 
 forgot to tell her the name of the horse until the next 
 day, when her five pounds had turned to fifty. She could 
 hardly believe it, hardly be induced to accept the money, 
 until he showed her the paper. Clarion had won, it had 
 started at ten to one. She thought it very clever indeed 
 of Kiddie to have picked out the winner. She could not 
 be expected to know that he had only picked it out after 
 the event. 
 
 At the theatre the secret of her departure was to be 
 kept to the last. The end of the pantomime season would 
 release a principal boy or girl, whom the fickle public would 
 accept until Sally's return. The new engagement might 
 not keep the theatre full, but that was Kidderminster's 
 affair. It would at least keep it open, and that was every- 
 body's. Tom and Edgar quite expected Miss Mainwaring's 
 return. Lord Kidderminster would not want to keep 
 her altogether off the boards. He would have other occupa- 
 tions, other obligations. There was no thought of mar- 
 riage ; if there was to have been a marriage, it would have 
 been announced. All they were told was that Miss Sarita 
 Mainwaring was going to " take a rest" 
 
 303 * 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Colonel Fellowes was perhaps the most puzzled party 
 in the whole quickly moving drama. Dorothea begged 
 him neither to inquire nor interfere. Of course he would 
 have interfered. Dorothea habitually used him for her 
 purposes, but he always had her measure. As far as their 
 personal relations were concerned, he had the mastery of 
 the position, because he retained the mastery of himself. 
 He cared for her exactly as much as she deserved, and for 
 the same reason. 
 
 But he had no idea what purpose she had in her mind 
 in taking Miss Mainwaring to Monte Carlo, and he was 
 ordered not to inquire. 
 
 "If it be with any idea of reconciling the Fortives to 
 Kiddie marrying her, it is too preposterous a scheme even 
 for you to have conceived," he said, stumbling by accident 
 on what she had promised Kiddie. 
 
 "I told you not to inquire. Do I ever do anything 
 foolish?" 
 
 " Often." 
 
 " I know. But I mean desperately foolish, like other 
 people ? " 
 
 "Never. I'll do you full justice there; you never do 
 anything like other people." 
 
 " Well, be sure then, I'm not doing it now. I like Kiddie, 
 I don't see why he shouldn't have what he wants. And 
 you ought to be very much obliged to me for taking you 
 with us, you know you are yearning for the South." 
 
 "Well, yes, perhaps. But I'm not yearning for Paris, 
 with Kiddie, you, and the chorus girl in a quartette party. 
 It's altogether odd, and out of my line." 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like me to go alone ? " 
 
 " I'm not at all sure I shan't leave you to do Paris by 
 yourself. I've half a mind to go straight through and wait 
 for you at Nice." 
 
 3<H 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Dorothea laughed. 
 
 " Don't you worry about Paris," she finished oracularly. 
 " I know what I'm about. Kiddie is going to get a sur- 
 prise. . . ." 
 
 ys 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 KIDDIE'S surprise came about in this way. 
 They met at Victoria Station about ten minutes be- 
 fore the train went. Sally's instinctive good taste, although, 
 without Mr. Perry as guide, philosopher, and friend, it did 
 not reach Lady Dorothea's smartness, taught her how to 
 dress for this newest and strangest of her experiences. 
 Her travelling coat was dark blue, with a gold-braided 
 military collar, her small hat would defy the breeze in the 
 Channel, and her veil would keep it secure. She had a 
 dressing-bag ; Miss Rugeley pressed this luxury upon her. 
 It was rather a poor affair, but it held all she might need 
 beyond the contents of her trunk, a cane one, light and 
 convenient. Ursula had suggested coming to see her off; 
 but Sally reminded her of a possible fog, and the difficulties 
 of getting back to Bayswater. Ursula had spent the 
 whole morning with Sally, arriving at eight, helping her 
 to pack, bringing her own limited experience of foreign 
 travel to bear on the other's ignorance. The sea-sickness 
 was a foregone conclusion, and everything was arranged 
 for it. There were two guaranteed cures, and a bottle of 
 eau-de-Cologne, smelling salts, and a small flask of brandy. 
 Sally was quite sure she was not going to be sick, but 
 appreciated all the directions, and the fuss that was being 
 made about her. 
 
 Sally was a little in awe of Lady Dorothea, but Kiddie 
 met her at the entrance to the station. His man was there 
 to look after the luggage, he told her. 
 
 306 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "You are very late. I've been here since half-past ten." 
 
 " I couldn't get away. There was so much to do. Miss 
 Rugeley has been with me all the morning, helping me to 
 pack." 
 
 " Dolly is here, and the Colonel. I say, is that thing warm 
 enough ? " 
 
 " My coat ? Oh, yes, and Pve got a woollen jersey under- 
 neath." 
 
 Kiddie had his man, and Dolly her maid. There was 
 nothing to be done but for the two ladies to take their seats, 
 and be supplied with hot water tins, and books, periodicals, 
 and newspapers. They had the compartment to themselves, 
 reserved to Dover. It was very different from that third- 
 class trip to Brighton with Elf rida ; Sally's eyes sparkled 
 with the pleasure of it. She was very silent, looking out of 
 the window most of the way. Colonel Fellowes tried to 
 talk to her, and Lady Dorothea was very kind. She told 
 her all about Mr. Perry's clothes. 
 
 " He is coming out himself in a week or two. I believe 
 he gets half his ideas abroad. He never misses Monte, nor 
 the Paris races, nor Trouville. He goes everywhere that 
 well-dressed people go, picking up a notion here, a notion 
 there. He always claims them as his own, but one recog- 
 nizes Doucet, Paquin, Beer, Worth." 
 
 Sally's loyalty loosed her tongue : 
 
 " He never uses a model as he buys it ; and he makes lots 
 of things himself, bodices, even whole dresses. I've seen 
 him doing it on the stands." 
 
 " How fearfully interesting ! Aren't you sorry you ever 
 left the shop ? " Dolly asked, a little maliciously perhaps. 
 
 "I don't know ... he was often not there," she an- 
 swered, a little doubtfully, conscious, although not resent- 
 ful, of the note of contempt. Sometimes she had felt sorry 
 that she had ever left Brook Street. It was true there was 
 
 307 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 much about the theatre that she did not like. And every 
 day, as she understood them more clearly, she had liked some 
 things less. 
 
 " But surely you like dancing better than being in a shop I " 
 Colonel Fellowes interposed. 
 
 " I was very happy in Brook Street. I thought it very 
 good of her ladyship, and him too," colouring, and including 
 Kiddie in her grateful glance, u to help me to go there." 
 
 Dolly would have liked to draw her out on the subject of 
 life on the musical comedy stage, its temptations, its sparkle, 
 and allurements. She would not have been averse to hear- 
 ing of the young ladies who had broughams, and motors, and 
 learning who was supposed to pay for them. But Sally did 
 not tell tales out of school. Besides, she knew but little, 
 she had not grown into real intimacy with any of the girls 
 at the Verandah. She had had the exceptional advantage 
 of a dressing-room to herself, which, at first, entailed a cer- 
 tain amount of unpopularity. 
 
 Failing to draw her out, Lady Dorothea relapsed from her 
 attentions and devoted herself to cigarettes, periodicals, and 
 the talk of the two men. It was chiefly of racing. Kiddie 
 said he should stay in Paris over Sunday and take them to 
 Longchamps. How could he realize the meaning of Dolly's 
 laugh ? Sally went on looking out of the window. 
 
 They arrived at Dover punctually. Sally liked the har- 
 bour, and the smell of the sea that came refreshingly to her. 
 She liked to see the porters with the luggage, and the big 
 boat waiting for them. 
 
 It was going to be a rough passage, even in the harbour, 
 the wind churned up the waves, and the foam marked their 
 crests. The others were experienced travellers. They ar- 
 ranged their seats on the lee side, took advantage of the 
 shelter of the cabin-tops, and did not contemplate being in- 
 convenienced by the weather. Sally sat down with them, 
 
 308 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 but the screw had hardly made a dozen revolutions, they 
 had barely left the harbour, before she turned to Kiddie, in- 
 stinctively, for protection. She felt frightened and ill. 
 
 " Good heavens ! She's going to be sea-sick. How dis- 
 gusting ! I thought it was only the maids who were sea- 
 sick," Dorothea said to Colonel Fellowes. 
 
 Sally heard, but did not care. There was another roll of 
 the vessel . . . 
 
 Kiddie found an unoccupied cabin for her, and fetched a 
 stewardess. 
 
 " She is not exactly one of us, is she, Kiddie ? " Dorothea 
 said, a little cruelly, to him on his return. " I'm afraid it's 
 going to be a failure." 
 
 The Colonel eyed her curiously. 
 
 " You are very unfeeling," was Kiddie's only reply. He 
 was fearfully sorry for Sally, and concerned about her. For 
 himself he rather liked the motion of the vessel, the dark- 
 ness of the sky, the roar of elements that drowned the throb 
 of the machinery. 
 
 "You didn't expect she would turn out an experienced 
 yachtsman because she wore a blue coat ? " said Fellowes. 
 
 "I loathe people who are ill," answered Dorothea, "I 
 can't help it, it's one of my idiosyncrasies. I thought I 
 liked her, but since I've seen her like that, I can't even think 
 about her. Keep her out of my way, do, there's a good boy, 
 Kiddie. She seems horrible to me. ... I can't help it." 
 
 There was no arguing with Lady Dorothea in this mood. 
 Kiddie did as he was told. Sally remained in the cabin 
 until they were at Calais. Then he fetched her, and was 
 struck with her pallor. It was very natural. Sally was 
 not worse than a great many other passengers had been. 
 But then Lord Kidderminster had no glance to spare for the 
 others. Colonel Fellowes had taken Lady Dorothea to get 
 lunch, but Sally could not yet face food ; she looked in at 
 
 309 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 the restaurant, because Kiddie urged her, but the look and 
 smell of the place were as yet too much for her. Kiddie 
 walked with her to the train, and returned to get something 
 to eat ; he had his usual healthy appetite. 
 
 "Is she better now?" Dorothea said. "You mustn't 
 mind, Kiddie, but I shall have to travel in another carriage. 
 I know she'll be ill all the way, Marie is, generally. She'll 
 have a frightful headache and moan, and make no end of a 
 fuss. Freddie will come with me, you go with her, if you 
 can stand it." 
 
 " I don't call it great heroism to look after a girl who has 
 been upset by one of the worst passages we've ever experi- 
 enced. I swear, I sometimes wonder if you are a woman at 
 all," Kiddie said indignantly, with his mouth full, bolting 
 his food in order to get back to Sally quickly. 
 
 " I'm not a sick nurse, if that's what you mean. You run 
 away and bathe her f head," she mocked. "Freddie will 
 look after me. Ta-ta, until Paris. The Bristol, you know, 
 not the Kitz," she called after him, as he rushed off. He 
 got a small luncheon-basket packed, and secured some cold 
 chicken, a bottle of claret, some grapes and oranges. 
 
 " You were not very kind to him," Colonel Fellowes said, 
 a little curiously. " Since when has an attack of sea-sickness 
 affected you to this extent of horror ? " 
 
 " Now, don't you begin to scold me. Order me some coffee, 
 and see after Marie, will you ? " 
 
 Marie had had her instructions. She was a little difficult 
 to find, but was run to earth at last. The platform was 
 swept by wind and rain. On either side of it stood the high, 
 grey trains. It was difficult to hear oneself speak. Colonel 
 Fellowes' French was of the public school variety. He un- 
 derstood that both trains were right, both were going to 
 Paris. When Dorothea joined him, having deliberately 
 lingered over her coffee, waiting until porters were shout- 
 
 310 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 ing, engines whistling, and the last possible moment had 
 arrived, he was still searching for Kiddie, looking up and 
 down the platform, into both trains. But she caught him 
 in time : 
 
 " On the left ; why don't you get in ? " she called out. 
 
 "I was just coming back to fetch you," he said. "I 
 can't see where the others are. Marie said she was all 
 right. She did not want any help." 
 
 Dorothea got in ; her seat had been reserved. When she 
 was there to help him, even Colonel Fellowes was able to 
 find it. 
 
 After rapidly exchanging a few words with the pallid 
 Marie, who was waiting with her cushion and elaborate 
 dressing-bag, Lady Dorothea settled herself comfortably. 
 "Now I'm going to have a nap," she said. "Don't wake 
 me on any account until we get to Amiens." 
 
 The Colonel wandered up and down the corridor car- 
 riages before they started, and even after. One was a 
 restaurant car, the others were mostly sleeping cars. He 
 began to be vaguely uneasy. But, when they were really 
 in motion, he too relapsed into sleepy silence, with his 
 cigarette. 
 
 He got Dorothea a cup of tea at Amiens. He also made 
 use of the short wait to make a more thorough search of 
 the train. He had no idea of the trick that had been 
 played until he came back to Dolly. 
 
 " They are not in the train at all. I've looked through 
 every carriage ! " 
 
 "I never supposed they were," she said. She handed 
 him back her cup, through the window. " What filthy tea, 
 isn't it ? Don't look as if you had seen a ghost." 
 
 He was thunderstruck, he looked at her; her face was 
 quite calm, although she had not liked the tea. He paid 
 for the tea, and mounted the train again. He was really 
 
 311 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 speechless ; the audacity of the trick, the way it had been 
 carried out, and his own blindness, all struck him at 
 once. 
 
 The train bumped and whistled its way out of Amiens 
 station. 
 
 " Well, now, please, you had better make a clean breast 
 of it," he said. " What does it all mean ? What has 
 become of Kiddie, where is Miss Main waring ? " 
 
 She smiled into his eyes. 
 
 " I told you not to worry about Paris." 
 
 " What devil's trick have you been up to ? * 
 
 "No devil's trick at all. Kiddie wanted to go to Paris. 
 I didn't. I wanted to go to Monte Carlo, voild, tout. This 
 is the train de luxe, it sweeps round Paris. We have not 
 to change at all. I've got two sleeping berths." 
 
 " Did . . . did Kiddie know ? " he gasped. 
 
 " He will be very much obliged to me. They will really 
 be much more comfortable by themselves. You saw how 
 impossible she was." 
 
 " You meant it all the time ? " 
 
 " Of course. Don't you think it rather clever ? Kiddie 
 had got into a sort of high falutin', rarefied air ; he'd fallen 
 in love with the little guttersnipe. . . ." 
 
 "Well!" The Colonel drew a long breath. The sen- 
 tence that rose to his mind was, "I've seen some bad 
 women in my time, but without any doubt you take the 
 cake." Yet what was the good of saying it ? Dolly was 
 pluming herself, smiling, she expected to be praised for her 
 cleverness. 
 
 " You've played for this all the time ? " 
 
 " All the time." 
 
 "That Kiddie and she should arrive in Paris together, 
 at eight o'clock in the evening . . . ? " 
 
 "With their rooms taken at the Bristol, for 'Monsieur 
 31a 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 and Madame/ " she laughed. " Wasn't it a good scheme ? 
 Kiddie will be awfully grateful, you see if he isn't." 
 
 " You mean . . ." 
 
 " Don't be a big booby. She had been playing with him, 
 putting him off on one pretext or another, scheming to be 
 Lady Kidderminster. I have played guardian angel to the 
 family ; the Fortives ought to give me a pension. I'm sure 
 I could do with one." 
 
 "But when Kiddie discovers the trick that has been 
 played him . . ." 
 
 "Kiddie does not get to Paris until we have left it. 
 That is a slow train he is in. Oh! I worked it all out." 
 
 The Colonel lit another cigarette; his hands were not 
 quite steady. Dorothea had pretended to take this girl 
 under her protection; she had swept her away from the 
 safeguard of her work and place, she had thrown her into 
 the arms of the man who was in love with her, with whom 
 she was, perhaps, in love. 
 
 "Have you got a conscience at all?" he said aloud, 
 " that is what I wonder. Are you not a little bit ashamed 
 of what you are doing? Come, tell me that. After all, 
 you have been a girl yourself." 
 
 "She will have a lovely time with Kiddie in Paris. 
 And, when they are tired of each other, he can either buy 
 her a house in St. John's Wood, or take a better flat in 
 Victoria; the one she had was a miserable affair." 
 
 "But she was an honest little girl . . . virtuous, hard- 
 working." 
 
 "She can be just as virtuous as Kiddie's mistress as 
 she would have been as Kiddie's wife. She will have less 
 temptation, too. You know, as well as I do, she would 
 never have got on, she would never have been received 
 anywhere if she had not made friends with the men, and 
 done the things we all do. Look at Jenny Sandys; she 
 
 313 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 was on the stage, then she went to live with Lord Kent. 
 They've got two children, and she is as virtuous as you 
 want. She has lost her figure ; I saw her in a brougham 
 one day, horribly fat and respectable and bourgeoise. Kent 
 provided handsomely for her. Well, now look at Connie 
 Kaynes, who married Summers. She has got her straw- 
 berry leaves, and lots of people receive her. No one ever 
 got on so well. And you know why, the same as I do. It's 
 because she is clever, and gets round the men, and stops 
 at nothing. She treats Summers as if he were her 
 lacquey. ..." 
 
 She did not persuade Colonel Fellowes that her action had 
 been justifiable, far less philanthropic. He contemplated 
 getting out of the train when he arrived in Paris, waiting for 
 Kiddie and Sarita at the Bristol. He even threw out the 
 suggestion to Dorothea, who received it with ridicule, and 
 made the ridicule realistic by describing a possible scene. 
 Besides, she told him, and there was a certain amount of 
 truth in it, he could not let her travel through to Monte 
 Carlo, taking the night journey unattended. 
 
 His conscience was not nearly as callous as hers. He 
 found himself restless all through that evening, and at 
 Paris it was almost by force that Dorothea restrained him 
 from leaving the train. It was a " devil's trick " ; he had 
 characterized it quite correctly. If he had not had, in his 
 heart, so bad an opinion of women, holding their honour 
 and honesty in such cheap estimation, he might still have 
 resisted her. But why should he think Miss Sarita Main- 
 waring different from all her sex ? And, if she had schemed 
 to marry Kiddie, she deserved that her schemes should be 
 frustrated. In which he reasoned weakly, but then he had 
 always been weak in his conduct, only strong in his profes- 
 sion. His sense of honour was high in all save in his traffic 
 with women. 
 
 3i4 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 So the train crawled its slow way from the Terminus to 
 the Nord, and then started rattling, shaking, shrieking, 
 as if it were driven to make up for wasted time. After 
 a certain amount of quarrelling and recrimiuation, a thing 
 the Colonel hated, he and Dorothea became reconciled, and 
 ate their dinner together in the swaying restaurant car, shar- 
 ing a bottle of Pommery, amicable in their truce. 
 
 And Lady Dorothea slept well through the night, not- 
 withstanding the oscillations of the train, the shrieking 
 engine, and many stoppages, to wake in the sunshine at 
 Marseilles without even a pang of regret, remorse, or mis- 
 giving. 
 
 315 
 
k. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 LORD KIDDERMINSTER and Miss Sarita Main- 
 waring, of the Verandah Theatre, arrived in Paris 
 about ten minutes past eight. Very soon after leaving 
 Calais, Sarita found her health and spirits reviving; the 
 luncheon-basket, which Kiddie's care had provided, com- 
 pleted the cure. And then, like the grateful child she was, 
 she began to remember how kind Kiddie had been, and 
 how thoughtful of her comfort. She began to repay him 
 with thanks, by showing interest in her surroundings, and a 
 considerable accession of liveliness. She remembered Lady 
 Dorothea's repugnance and disgust at her illness, and felc 
 secretly sympathetic, and ashamed of herself. But Kiddie 
 had not hated her, and was in no way different to her. 
 
 At Amiens, Kiddie, too, searched the train. He found 
 Barlow, his man, who, either stupid or misinformed, ex- 
 plained the situation : 
 
 "The train went in two parts, milord. Her ladyship 
 got into the other part, just as it were moving, at the last 
 moment. We got your lordship's luggage and Miss Main- 
 waring's with us all right." 
 
 Kiddie was quite satisfied. He did not know the Paris 
 train went in two parts, although now he remembered that 
 when he showed his tickets he had Sarita's, and the Colonel 
 had Dolly's; the guard had gesticulated and vociferated. 
 Kiddie was" no linguist; he had given the man half a 
 sovereign, and leapt up the high step of the motionless, 
 half-empty train, whither Sarita had preceded him. 
 
 Barlow's explanation at Amiens quite satisfied Kiddie. 
 3i6 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 He would much rather be alone with Sarita until they 
 got to Paris, for he resented Dorothea's unkindness. 
 Tender as he had always been over Sarita, her weakness, 
 helplessness, illuess, her clinging to kirn, and depending 
 on him, had accentuated his tenderness a thousandfold. 
 Kiddie had never taken care of anybody. But now he 
 arranged his bag as a footstool for Sally, got out eau-de- 
 Cologne for the headache which Dorothea had predicted, 
 but about which Sarita made no fuss, procured tea for her, 
 made her rest her head against his shoulder, and per- 
 suaded himself that he could look forward to having her 
 always to take care of. He knew his feelings were different 
 from anything he had ever felt before. He believed he 
 could make his mother understand, whilst he was sure his 
 father would not condemn him to misery. He would 
 never give up Sarita — never. 
 
 To Sarita, nevertheless, it proved a long journey. It 
 was all so new, and the incidents of her crossing had left 
 her strained and tired. She had tried not to show it, 
 and succeeded to a certain extent, but she was very glad 
 when Kiddie told her the lamps she saw at long distances 
 were the lights of Paris, when these grew closer, and more 
 numerous, and at last the train stopped. 
 
 It was a long drive to the Bristol Hotel. Lord Kidder- 
 minster was well known there. The stout hall-porter said, 
 in English, " Good evening, milord." 
 
 " Has Lady Dorothea arrived ? " Kiddie asked, jumping 
 out. helping Sarita, never doubting the answer, nor waiting 
 for it. The other train had passed them, they were half an 
 hour late. 
 
 All Frenchmen in the lower ranks of life who speak Eng- 
 lish speak with little expectation of being spoken to, they 
 understand but little. Kiddie repeated his inquiry at the 
 desk* 
 
 3«7 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " Her ladyship has not yet arrived ? " 
 
 The telegram, reserving the rooms, had said — 
 
 " Monsieur et Madame arrivent ce soir." 
 
 It was signed Kidderminster, and they had kept him 
 the suite on the first floor, they did not understand that 
 the party was a larger one. Milord knew the rooms ? No ? 
 They would show them to him. But perhaps it was not for 
 milord that the rooms were reserved ? 
 
 Something dawned on Kiddie, only a glimmer, but it made 
 him distrait; it made his heart beat, and the little pulses in 
 his head throb. 
 
 He rejoined Sarita. 
 
 "Dolly and Fellowes haven't turned up yet," he said. 
 "Come on . . . you will be glad to get to your rooms." 
 
 They followed the clerk upstairs to the suite on the 
 entresol: the big sitting-room, the double-bedded room be- 
 yond it, the dressing- and bathroom. 
 
 "They'll do, won't they?" he asked her. He could not 
 say more before the clerk. " They are all right ? " 
 
 " Oh, they are grand," said Sally, relapsing into a velvet 
 chair. " I'm so tired. I'm glad we've got here first." For 
 Sally had heard Barlow's story, too. "I'll be all right 
 when I've washed my face and done my hair. I feel as if 
 it's months since we started. Was it really only this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 The clerk wanted to know if they would dine upstairs, if 
 he should send the waiter. As yet Kiddie only suspected. 
 He hesitated, but Sarita must want her dinner. 
 
 " "We'll have something up here," he said quickly, and 
 gave the necessary order. 
 
 He had to go with Sarita into the bedroom, and show her 
 where to ring for the chambermaid, and tell her how to ask 
 for hot water. 
 
 " But they all speak English here," he said, " that's why 
 3i8 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 I come. You'll get your trunk in no time. I must say 
 that for Barlow, he's very quick." 
 
 Lord Kidderminster lingered until the hot water came. 
 It gave him an odd sense of familiarity, sitting there with 
 Sarita in her bedroom. She was glad to have him wait 
 with her. She was feeling lonely and strange ; yet not un- 
 easy at Lady Dorothea's non-appearance, but glad rather, 
 for she was too tired to enjoy the radiance of that most 
 radiant of ladies. 
 
 The hot water came, and still Kiddie lingered. The 
 trunk arrived, then he waited to see it uncorded. After 
 which Sarita turned him out, and he went to make his own 
 toilette. 
 
 He made a few inquiries, first of Barlow, then of the 
 clerk in the further office. But the evening post had come 
 in, and made further inquiries unnecessary. 
 
 "Dear Kiddie, 
 
 "It's just possible that I shall change my 
 mind en route, and go straight to Monte ; so I'm send- 
 ing this line to meet you in Paris. You can have a 
 very good time in Paris, much better than she, or 
 either of you, could have in Monte Carlo — you know 
 that as well as I do. Now, be a good boy, enjoy your- 
 self thoroughly, and I'll hear what a good coz I've 
 been to you in three months' time. Don't take her off 
 the stage, that would be really a mistake. I'll explain 
 matters at the Villa, trust me for that, I'll be ambig- 
 uous, and I'll announce you for Easter. You'll be 
 through the first rhapsodies by then, and able to 
 meet your father and mother with a properly brazen 
 face. You'll be glad by then you didn't make a fool 
 of yourself. 
 
 " Ta-ta, here's luck. 
 
 "Dolly." 
 3*9 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Kiddie went very slowly back to the salon. Sarita 
 was there already, much improved by her ablutions. She 
 looked very pretty in a blue blouse and a short white skirt, 
 both home-made. She looked very young too, and a little 
 pale. Kiddie's heart leapt toward her. 
 
 The tUe-b.-te.te dinner was very agreeable. They had 
 had many meals together, but none quite like this. Kiddie 
 was very quiet, and his appetite failed him, although he 
 got through a bottle of champagne. Sarita ate like a 
 young sparrow-hawk ; she said she was ravenous, and 
 proved it. She would have preferred that the two waiters 
 had not stayed in the room, for she thought their presence 
 was making Kiddie silent: 
 
 " Are you going out after dinner ? " she asked him. 
 " Or shall we wait here until they come ? Won't they be 
 hungry — my ! " 
 
 " We'll go out for an hour if you like, just on the Boule- 
 vards ; it's a fine night." 
 
 " And you'll leave them word where we are." 
 
 He took her out, just for an hour, up the Place de la 
 Concorde, then along the Rue de Rivoli, turning up the 
 Rue de Richelieu, he did not want to meet any one he 
 knew. Sally chattered, and he had to respond. He had 
 not made up his mind to any plan of action. Sally felt the 
 influence of the lighter air and gayer people. Many turned 
 round to look at her, standing still upon the pavement and 
 staring, in the way Frenchmen have. This amused her, 
 and once she turned round and smiled at an elegant outside 
 one of the cafes. 
 
 Back at the hotel, running lightly up to the salon, Sarita 
 had still no premonition of anything being wrong. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say they haven't come yet ? n 
 she exclaimed. She had taken off her hat and coat and 
 come back to the room to find Kiddie. Kiddie was seated 
 
 320 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 at the writing-table ; he had sat down with the intention of 
 telling Dorothea what he thought of her. But his hands 
 were trembling, and he could not write. He had to en- 
 lighten Sarita ; but he did not know how to do it. It was 
 nearly eleven. 
 
 " No," he said. " No, they haven't come yet," his voice 
 faltering. Then he got up from the writing-table, and 
 Sarita saw his face, it was very pale. Hers went pale too. 
 
 " They haven't come ! " she repeated, mechanically. 
 
 "Sarita," he came over to her. He would have taken 
 her in his arms, but she shrank back, her eyes wide, rather 
 frightened : 
 
 m "We've got to face it. Dorothea and Fellowes go*; into 
 the wrong train. . . ." 
 
 " On purpose ? " 
 
 " What's the good of asking ? " 
 
 She sat down by the table in the middle of the room. 
 She hid her face from him, resting it in her hands. He 
 came over to her, and put his arms about her, trying gently 
 to move her hands from her face, that he might look at 
 her. 
 
 " You know I did not mean this ? " he said. 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 "You know how I care for you." He put his face 
 against hers. "I'll take care of you, and love you all your 
 life, Sarita, trust me ; you shall never be sorry, I swear it. 
 Love me, trust me." 
 
 She did not repel him, she was listening, held by the 
 sound of his voice, and the sense of his face near hers. 
 She knew that she loved him. And he pleaded to her, 
 now boyishly, offering her gentleness and jewellery in a 
 breath ; now like a man, taking away her breath, carrying 
 her will on the flood-tide of his rising passion. 
 
 Presently she put her arms round his neck : 
 
 T 321 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * Must we do it, Kiddie, must we ? " she said simply, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 They held each other, their hearts beating. Kiddie's 
 eyes grew wet like hers. She was pleading with him now : 
 
 " I do love you. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean ever to 
 love anybody, only to work and keep myself honest, and 
 be happy in myself. I am not happy now, I never shall 
 be again. I'd rather be dead than . . . than do what you 
 want. But I will do it, if you say I must." Her breath 
 came quickly. "It was what Lady Dorothea wanted me 
 to do from the first. I see it now. She thinks it's all I'm 
 fit for. But it isn't true. . . ." 
 
 Kiddie was holding her very tightly to him ; her strained 
 eyes and his dim ones saw each other strangely. 
 
 "Oh, Kiddie! let me be good, let me keep good!" she 
 burst out crying, entreating him. 
 
 Kiddie had grown strangely gentle. He drew her to the 
 sofa, made her lie down, and knelt by her. 
 
 " Don't cry, don't cry. I can't bear to see you cry." 
 
 "I shall never do anything but cry." 
 
 " You would give yourself to me . . . feeling this ? " 
 
 That was what moved him, and shook the very strength 
 of his desire. It was all true. She had only wanted to 
 work, and be happy ; he would be taking work from her, 
 that was the bribe he offered her, he would make her 
 ashamed. All the glamour went out of the prospect; this 
 was the second time she had chilled all the fire cf his 
 passion for her, flooding it in tenderness. He loved her, 
 and there was not that in him to hurt the thing he loved. 
 There was no evil in him, except that which his adult educa- 
 tion had laid on him. It was a thin veneer; and it all 
 peeled off at the touch of love. 
 
 " I will take care of you." 
 
 He vowed it to himself as well as to her. 
 322 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * Tell me one thing, tell me only that, leave off crying, 
 don't be frightened. Sarita, we must talk, don't turn your 
 face away from me. I only want to know one thing, but 
 I must know it. Do you love me as ... as I love 
 you?" 
 
 She sat up on the sofa, looked into his eyes, faltered, red- 
 dened, paled, then hid her own again on his breast. In that 
 moment she knew her own desire, felt something of Kiddie's. 
 She wanted to yield to him; she had a loving woman's sud- 
 den weakness of surrender : 
 
 " Yes, yes, I do, I do love you." They clung to each 
 other. 
 
 " Will you love me — love me, for ever ? " His voice was 
 difficult. 
 
 " I don't know. . . . I've never felt like this." 
 
 She was burning, her hands and her cheeks and her lips 
 all one flush. But his face against hers cooled her, and the 
 feel of his shoulder comforted. He kissed her too, so ten- 
 derly, so differently ; she could not meet his eyes. 
 
 Then he stood up; how tall and strong he was ! His face 
 looked strong too, with the square chin, and in the grey 
 eyes there was a new determination. No one was like Kid- 
 die. How could she deny him ? Let the misery come to 
 her, the misery of to-morrow's self -contempt. She could 
 drown herself to-morrow; but to-night, to-night, Kiddie 
 might do what he liked. Thought took her no further, she 
 fell trembling before him, hiding her desperate face in the 
 sofa cushion. 
 
 "What is the address of that lady who helped you in 
 your packing ? You've spoken of her to me often. Miss 
 Rugeley — what is Miss Rugeley's address? " 
 
 "Miss — Miss Rugeley," Sally repeated. She wanted to 
 shriek to him : — " Oh, don't tell her, don't tell her. Have 
 your way with me. Who am I to deny you ? But she 
 
 323 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 must not know. I'll drown myself to-morrow. Only don't 
 tell her ; don't ever let her know." 
 
 " Yes ! It's too late to-night. But I'm going round to 
 Meurice's ; I can wire from there. She is really a good 
 friend of yours, isn't she ? She'd come f to you if you sent 
 for her." 
 
 Did he know she was going to drown herself to-morrow 9 
 How cruel ! She pictured herself cold in death, and Ursula 
 coming to her. 
 
 " Yes," she said, still in that strained voice. Why did he 
 not come back to her and take her in his arms ? It was 
 cruel of him to think of to-morrow, she wanted the warmth 
 of his arms around her, and his face close to hers. All her 
 courage was oozing away. 
 
 Then his startling words fell : 
 
 " We will be married as soon as ever I can make the nec- 
 essary arrangements. At the Consulate here, or in London. 
 You'll want some one with you, anyway, on the way back, 
 or here. Give me her address." 
 
 Sarita gasped it out. She was unnerved, such a thing had 
 never entered her head. Marry Kiddie, be with him always, 
 love him as much as she liked ! Her brain reeled. It was 
 not a very strong brain at its best, not quite an adult one. 
 Marry Kiddie ! She missed his next few sentences. 
 
 Yes, that was his decision, quite irrevocable now. He 
 would carry it through whatever the consequences. Neither 
 father nor mother must count. As for his position, his pros- 
 pects, they did not count either. For every man there was 
 one woman in the world, and he had found his. " Greater 
 love than this ; " he forgot the quotation, but he knew what 
 Sarita would have done for him. 
 
 He would not trust himself any longer with her ; besides, 
 his new-born unselfishness for her told him she must be 
 tired, deadly tired. 
 
 324 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 • Good night," he said. A moment again they clung to 
 each other. 
 
 " Oh, Kiddie." 
 
 " Say • Good night, my Gilbert, God bless you.' * 
 
 " God bless you." 
 
 "Gilbert." 
 
 * God bless you, my Gilbert." 
 
 32$ 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A CERTAIN amount of haste had to be observed, and 
 a measure of secrecy secured. Kiddie was not un- 
 aware of either necessity, and, if he had been, Ursula 
 Rugeley's attitude, when she arrived the next evening, very 
 bewildered and travel-worn, but in time for dinner, would 
 have assured him of it. 
 
 Miss Rugeley had not hesitated to come, although she 
 could not imagine what had occurred, unless, perhaps, a 
 railway or boat accident. She could not understand Sally 
 meeting her at the station, looking so well and happy, nor 
 the presence of Lord Kidderminster, and the absence of 
 Lady Dorothea. 
 
 The explanations were delayed until after dinner. Then 
 the depth and intensity of Ursula's indignation knew no 
 bounds. It had been a trap ; she put her arms closer 
 round the girl, a trap into which one might so well have 
 fallen ! But Ursula believed in the Divine Power, it was 
 the Divine Power that had shielded Sarita from harm. 
 
 When her indignation was a little spent, she enjoyed the 
 atmosphere of love these two young people brought about 
 her ; Kiddie's protecting ways, Sally's newly acquired 
 coquettishness. It seemed almost a different Sally, with- 
 out her independence or aloofness ; she was transfigured, 
 and glowing with happiness. Kiddie, although love sat in 
 his eyes, softened every speech, thrilled in the deep notes 
 of his voice, was much the graver of the two. He felt it 
 was a serious step he was taking. He would have given 
 
 326 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 anything for his mother's countenance. But he was in no 
 humour for battle. They must be married first; Sarita 
 must be irrevocably bound to him before he asked permis- 
 sion to take her. Dorothea had played him one trick ; no 
 one should be in a position a second time to rob him of his 
 happiness. Dolly might have spoken of Sarita to his 
 mother, spoken falsely. His mother should see her only 
 when she had become his wife. 
 
 Ursula urged in vain. Ursula wanted him to leave her 
 with Sarita in Paris, then go on to Monte Carlo, and obtain 
 his parents' consent. She did not see the difference of 
 position quite in the way Lord Kidderminster saw it, in 
 the way the Marquess of Fortive would regard it. She had 
 a very high opinion of Sally's character, an old maid's ex- 
 traordinary romantic view of love, and a hazy, floating 
 quotation in her mind about " kind hearts being more than 
 coronets." But Kiddie knew his people too well to consult 
 them, for all that he was an idolized and only son. 
 
 Ursula had arrived on Sunday. By eleven o'clock on 
 Monday morning Kiddie was at the English Consulate. 
 Everybody was away but a third secretary, and one or two 
 bored attache's, to all of whom Lord Kidderminster was 
 unknown. They accepted him under the name he gave, but 
 they were unanimous in assuring him that a three weeks' 
 residence in the capital was necessary before a marriage 
 could take place. It was a matter not open to argument, 
 not remediable by bribery, it was the inevitable law of em- 
 bassies, not only in Paris, but in every civilized country 
 where international courtesies prevail. The young idlers at 
 the big house in the Faubourg St. Honore* were very sorry 
 for Kiddie. He was quite unable to conceal his feelings. 
 Three weeks was a devilish long time to wait ; they sym- 
 pathized with his obvious chagrin, his furious disappoint- 
 ment. But there was really no way out of it. 
 
 327 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Every difficulty increased Kiddie's restlessness, his des- 
 perate determination to have Sarita for wife, his fears of 
 interruption, peremptory or pleading, from Monte Carlo. 
 The news at the embassy was check, but not checkmate. 
 He was back at the Bristol by noon. Sarita and Miss 
 Rugeley, conquering all difficulties of inexperience and 
 language, had been out shopping ; the results of their 
 struggle at the Bon March4 were strewn all over the room ; 
 a white lace blouse, a white cloth skirt, a white hat, un- 
 tri mined, ribbons and flowers in a paper parcel. Already 
 the busy fingers were making loops, and tying bows. 
 
 " It's orange flowers you've got there," he said. He 
 fingered the paper parcel. Ursula's presence made their 
 greeting little different from what it had been in the Victoria 
 Street days. It was only under circumstances of exceptional 
 stress that either Kiddie or Sarita became demonstrative. 
 The colour came and went in her happy face, when he 
 entered, came and went in his paler one as he avoided the 
 subject of which his mind was so full. 
 
 " I told her she must be married in white/' Ursula inter- 
 rupted ; she, too, was full of importance and business. 
 " The blouse fits perfectly, it's Irish lace, real, a duchess 
 might wear it. We shall have to shorten the skirt, I can 
 do that whilst Sally trims her hat. You don't know how 
 clever she is at trimming hats." 
 
 " She's clever at everything." 
 
 " Well, I can't do my work if you don't move off," Sally 
 answered quickly. 
 
 He was standing by her, watching her deft fingers ; and 
 now his arm had gone about her shoulders. She was a 
 little shy with him, her eyes not meeting his very easily, 
 and her colour fluctuating. But she tried the hat on, made 
 him give an opinion as to the position of the trimming, and 
 was perhaps a trifle gayer, more talkative than usual, not 
 
 328 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 perfectly at ease. The simplicity of the scene, the domes- 
 ticity of it, appealed to him ; always she gave him that odd 
 little thrill, half pain, half pleasure. 
 
 It was Ursula who had urged these purchases, who had 
 faced Kiddie's impatience last night, and known there 
 would be no delay in the marriage. She had reckoned 
 for three days' grace, she had meant to insist upon them. 
 And it was Ursula who realized that Kiddie must have met 
 with some check, that he was not as happy as last evening, 
 that his eyes were strained, and he had something to \,ell 
 them. Sally tried on her hat, and talked of their morn- 
 ing's experiences, the shopwalker's funny English, the 
 multiplicity of things they had seen. 
 
 " Are you coming out to lunch ? " Kiddie asked presently. 
 
 " Oh ! let's have something here, I can't leave my hat." 
 
 " But it is dull for you, isn't it ? You'd like to see 
 something of Paris ? " Gilbert asked Miss Rugeley. Then 
 he said hurriedly : 
 
 " We shall be here such a short time. You see . . ." 
 
 It was really difficult to tell them what he had to say. 
 He had thought it all out, but, to use his own phraseology, 
 he knew it was " pretty stiff," having brought Miss Kugeley 
 out here, to make her go back to-night. Yet that was 
 what he had decided. In England there need be no delay, 
 they could get a special license, they could be married a 
 few hours after landing on English soil. If it came to that, 
 they need not go further than Dover ! 
 
 When at length he got it all out, and explained the Paris 
 Embassy difficulty, and the English "special license" 
 facility, he carried all before him by his vehemence. Ursula 
 said several times that she "did wish" he would com- 
 municate with his parents. But Monte Carlo was very 
 vague and distant to her, and, when Gilbert answered 
 shortly that it was quite impossible, the particular im- 
 
 $29 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 possibility evaded her. She thought he might send a 
 " Marconigram," but hardly liked to suggest it on account 
 of the possible expense. In fact, she was hustled and 
 hurried out of all her calm good sense. Kiddie actually 
 succeeded in getting them to the Oare du Nord in time for 
 the eveniug train and night boat. They were bewildered 
 and breathless, but everything had been packed up, the 
 precious wedding hat was trimmed, and in its own card- 
 board box, and Kiddie had even managed to take them to 
 R'anpelmayer's to tea, and had shown Ursula the outside 
 of the Louvre, the Opera House, and the Madeleine, in a 
 hurried taxi metric hour. 
 
 They were too tired to be sea-sick ; or, at least, that is 
 how they explained to each other their enjoyment of a 
 qniet rest in their double cabin, on a night that was wind- 
 less, on a sea that was like glass. 
 
 London, the next morning, was grey and strange to their 
 sight. Sally felt that she had been away for an incredible 
 time. But the servants at that trim villa of Ursula's had 
 no illusions, and were at first resentful of their mistress* 
 rapid return, and the visitor she brought with her. Kiddie 
 had put the ladies in a cab, and let them go to Chepstow 
 Villas by themselves. He had his work to do. Hurry was 
 the note of it, hurry, hurry, hurry. Nothing must stop 
 the marriage. He saw his Sarita with Miss Rugeley, 
 sheltered and seemly, and hourly his love grew. 
 
 She had offered to yield . . . that had been the supreme 
 moment. He had known her purity, then she showed him 
 her courage. He dared not think it was her love she had 
 shown him, somehow that troubled him. She must be his 
 wife, then he could care for her always, showing her he had 
 understood. Kiddie was all aflame with his chivalry and his 
 tenderness, and his appreciation of what Sarita would have 
 done for him. She clung now to Ursula, but the clinging 
 
 330 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 showed no weakness, only a certain maidenliness, shyness 
 He thrilled at this and at herself, at the consciousness of 
 her manner toward him, at the knowledge of how soon they 
 would be man and wife. 
 
 Sally quickly recovered from the fatigues of the hurried 
 double journey. She slept them off whilst Kiddie was 
 securing his license. The room at the villa was happily 
 familiar to her, the heavy walnut furniture, the hanging 
 bookcases, Brussels carpet and autotypes, the mackintosh 
 cloth behind the washing stand, all the clean, prim 
 decorousness of Ursula's home. 
 
 " I knew I was goin' to be happy from the first moment 
 I set eyes on it, near two years ago. Oh ! my, what a lot 
 has happened since then " was the thought that rose-lit her 
 sleepiness as her head touched the pillow. 
 
 And when she awoke, quite fresh and gay, ready for her 
 bath, and the meal Ursula's forethought had provided, she 
 was still in retrospective humour. There was a note 
 Kiddie had sent up by cab. 
 
 " Fixed everything for to-morrow morning twelve o'clock, 
 All Saints Church." 
 
 This was the gist of it. He was not good at expressing 
 his feelings on paper, and he had hardly slept since Satur- 
 day. He said he was " going to have a 'Turker' and turn in 
 early. But after to-morrow . . ." 
 
 Even then the note did not become eloquent, but Sally 
 was quite happy when she had spelled it out. 
 
 She was going to be married to-morrow ; her dress was 
 all ready, and her hat trimmed. Ursula Rugeley was in 
 bed, and Kiddie was not coming. She had gloves and other 
 little things to buy, and she felt too restless to stay in the 
 house alone. She ran upstairs again when she had read 
 her letter, and donned hat and coat. She paused in the 
 hall to call down to Eliza to tell Miss Rugeley when she 
 
 331 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 woke, that she would be back in a couple of hours. Then 
 she realized, with a sigh of relief, how glad she was to be 
 back in London, to be able to hail the familiar omnibus 
 in her own vernacular, to be once more free and self- 
 confident. 
 
 Of course, she must go West for her gloves and veil. 
 She sat on the top of the omnibus, inhaled joyfully the 
 London air, and, forgetting altogether that she was going 
 to be Lady Kidderminster, remembered only that she was 
 awfully happy, and would be with Gilbert always after 
 to-morrow, and — Mary and Alf would be so glad to know 
 about it. And — yes, that came to her quite suddenly, in 
 the midst of the block at the Marble Arch, Alf and Mary 
 must come to her wedding. 
 
 She bought all that she wanted in Regent Street. It 
 was really only a step from there to Messrs. Hall & 
 Palmer's. That step Sally took. 
 
 The forewoman had not seen her since her accident. It 
 was an open secret at the factory that Sally Snape and Miss 
 Sarita Mainwaring were one. The forewoman was rather 
 inclined to be impressed by Sally, but the girl was not at all 
 in that humour. She had come to ask a favour, and the 
 influence of the factory days descending upon her as soon 
 as she entered the factory, she asked it almost humbly. She 
 was going to be married to-morrow ; might Mary Baines 
 have a holiday ? Might she see her ? Sally knew that if 
 she secured Mary, there would be no difficulty about Alf. 
 She wanted her friends with her. She believed she knew 
 where she could find Johnny Doone, she would try to get 
 Johnny after she had secured Mary and Alf. 
 
 Miss Frazer hoped it was a nice young man she was 
 marrying, and one in a good position ? Miss Frazer was 
 full of curiosity, but Sally had no time to gratify it. As 
 soon as she had received permission, she was in amongst 
 
 332 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 the great seething cauldrons of jam, the sound of the boil- 
 ing was in her ears, the sweet, sickly smell of the fruit 
 in her nostrils. She was surrounded by the girls in their 
 white pinafores. She had gone on the stage, now she had 
 come to see them; they gathered about and chattered 
 to her, and she to them, until Mary came. Mary had 
 been promoted to the pickle room ; the smell she carried 
 of gherkin and onion was sharp against the sweet atmo- 
 sphere. Vinegar, too, Sally detected, as she and Mary 
 kissed each other. Then eager question and surprising 
 answer uplifted them above their surroundings. 
 
 Mary, too, was going to be married, but not until next 
 month ; it had been put off because Mrs. Stevens had been 
 ill. But Sally, Sally was going to be married to-morrow ! 
 Who was the bridegroom ? Mary knew it wasn't Charlie 
 Peastone, Charlie had taken up with a barmaid from the 
 "Blue Posts," a red-headed thing; Mary couldn't abide 
 her. It wasn't, it couldn't be, was it, Johnny Doone ? Not 
 that drunken Luke Cullen, surely not ? But then, to be 
 sure, he'd been sober enough lately. The firm had taken 
 him back ; he knew it was his last chance. Was it Luke 
 Cullen ? Mary was full of curiosity. 
 
 Somehow, the interest and curiosity, the questioning and 
 cross-questioning, struck cold on Sally's mood. Since she 
 had come to invite her to the wedding, it was natural that 
 Mary would like to be told the name of the bridegroom. 
 But, all at once, Sarita found it difficult to speak Gilbert's 
 name, suddenly she saw her marriage as they would see it, 
 she saw their incredulity and exclamation. She was once 
 more Sally Snape, the factory girl, and she was going to 
 marry Lord Kidderminster ! She had progressed so far ; 
 now, looking back, it seemed such a little way to her old 
 self. 
 
 " Never mind his name," she said confusedly, " you don't 
 333 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 know him. You just come to-morrow ; then you'll see for 
 yourself. I want you at my wedding." 
 
 " And you'll come to mine ? " 
 
 Sally promised faithfully. She evaded question as far 
 as possible. She said presently, on pressure, that his name 
 was Gilbert, and she admitted he was well-to-do, and very 
 good-looking. She became momentarily more embarrassed, 
 but this tongue-tied, unready Sally was the one they knew. 
 
 She was glad to get out of the place, but this was not 
 accomplished before she had met Luke Cullen, who looked 
 very grimy, more unsavoury, more impossible, than before. 
 She had not the heart to avoid him, for he had meant well 
 by her. And she held out her hand to him. But Mary 
 explained the situation, quickly, triumphantly, and Luke 
 slunk off with a muttered word, incoherent. 
 
 In Wardour Street again, and alone — for Mary had had 
 to get back to work — Sally felt her cheeks were burning. 
 She wished she had not come, she wished Gilbert were not 
 Lord Kidderminster, and so far above her. She had for- 
 gotten the difference between their stations, or put the fact 
 from her, and her spirits fell to zero, she grew cold, and 
 felt at once how tired she was, and how long the day had 
 been! 
 
 " But I can't leave Johnny out. Johnny and me have 
 been friends too long. I can't leave him out at my wedding." 
 Sally must always be loyal, she sent her telegram to 
 Johnny. 
 
 It was on Saturday that Lady Dorothea had carried out 
 her brilliant scheme for securing, at once, Gilbert's happiness, 
 and the gratitude of his parents. It was the following 
 Wednesday when a larger party than Gilbert had antici- 
 pated, but smaller than the heir to the Marquis of Fortive 
 might have expected, assembled at All Saints Church to 
 witness the marriage of Sally Snape. 
 
 334 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 For Johnny, putting his feelings in the background, 
 came in response to that telegram to see that his lordship 
 did the right thing by her, and he brought with him a small 
 detachment of his friends, in picturesque scarlet jerseys 
 and banded caps. Mary was there, and Alf with her, 
 the forewoman, full of curiosity, and Luke Cullen full of 
 whisky. A selection of girls from the factory, who 
 had stood at the same cauldron, and picked fruit from 
 the same basin as Sally, came to see her "turned off." 
 There were none of the young ladies from the theatre, 
 however, the news had not penetrated there. Sally had 
 not counted them among her friends. She had never been 
 one with her entourage behind the footlights ; neither what 
 was fine nor what was coarse in her had been akin to 
 their fineness or coarseness. She had been an alien amongst 
 them. 
 
 Johnny Doone was the only one of the guests who knew 
 the bridegroom. Neither Alf nor Mary could believe him 
 when he gave them the name, as they waited for the 
 coming of Sally in the front pew of the church. Exclama- 
 tion, surprise, incredulity, filled the air. 
 
 "Lord Kidderminster! Well, I never. Sally a lady! 
 Oh, lor!" 
 
 " He couldn't ha' got a better wife if he searched the 
 world over," said Johnny Doone loyally ; his face was very 
 pale, and he felt his limbs were unsteady. It was a long 
 time since he had had hopes of winning Sally Snape for 
 himself; perhaps he had never been really hopeful. But 
 they were friends, and Sally liked him more than most. 
 He saw her look round the church when she came in with 
 Miss Rugeley, and she smiled when she saw him, he knew 
 it was at him she smiled j his loyalty was all aflame for 
 her. 
 
 " Well, we shan't see much of her after this, I'm thinking. 
 335 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She promised to come to my wedding, but she'll have forgot 
 that," Mary answered. 
 
 " Sally won't forget," said Johnny. 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 She came in, her simple white dress crowned by the 
 home-made hat. Ursula, in black silk, played the mother's 
 part well. Sally's face was very pale under her white hat, 
 the red hair was the only note of colour about her. No one 
 could see her eyes, until Johnny Doone saw them, when she 
 sent that tremulous smile across to him. Quite suddenly, 
 the day before, a sense of her un worthiness of Gilbert had 
 come to her, and still a desperate humility was hers. 
 Johnny would understand, he would remember those early 
 days ; she was thinking that when she smiled deprecatingly 
 at him, she wanted his sympathy, she did not want him to 
 think she had grown proud, or forgotten that day when she 
 had been hungry on the doorstep at Angel Gardens. 
 
 She had not slept last night; it was the first sleepless 
 night in all her young life. Pictures had come to her, from 
 the Limehouse Street days, from the factory days. The 
 great difference and distance between herself and her lover 
 yawned black and abysmal before her tired eyes. But in 
 the morning Kiddie came, bringing her flowers, and lover's 
 reassurances, and now she was here smiling. 
 
 "/Sfte'snot the one to forget old friends," Johnny exclaimed, 
 under his breath, as she stood before the altar. And 
 Johnny was right. 
 
 Kiddie, suddenly remembering the necessity of a best man, 
 had telegraphed for Edgar ; and it was the exuberant young 
 Jew who stood beside him as he and Sally knelt together. 
 
 They knelt at the altar, those two, and the old clergyman 
 made them man and wife. Sally knew little of prayer, 
 but she put up a petition, a child's petition, not less fervent 
 because almost wordless, that she might prove worthy of 
 
 336 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Kiddie, and make him happy. She knew she would be a 
 good wife to him, and work for him, if need be. She 
 remained on her knees after the short service was over, 
 still praying that she might grow worthy of him. She 
 knew she loved him. And Johnny, oblivious in that 
 moment of everything but her, prayed, too, in that vocifer- 
 ous, insistent, familiar way he had been taught, that God 
 would give her happiness. Johnny's eyes and Sally's eyes 
 were wet when they met again. 
 
 Gilbert, having forgotten his father and mother, and all 
 he owed them, having thrust out of his mind, duty, memory, 
 and misgiving, was in no humour for the religious part of 
 the ceremony. He jumped up as soon as it was possible, 
 hurrying down the aisle in most exuberant mood, ready 
 to receive Tom Peters' congratulations, to be interviewed 
 by a representative of the Press Association, to shake 
 hands with everybody and anybody, to issue broadcast 
 invitations. Edgar had wasted no time, it was to Edgar 
 Levi he owed Tom's dilatory appearance, and the adver- 
 tisement the occasion demanded. 
 
 " You must all come on to the Ritz, and have breakfast. 
 You'll come, Peters. Go on, Levi, there's a good fellow, 
 and order for . . . how many shall I say, Sarita ? " 
 
 Sally, with a hand in Johnny's, and one in Mary's, with 
 soft eyes wet, grateful to all her friends of the factory, 
 feeling their sympathy acutely, answered quickly : 
 
 " Oh, all of them, everybody ! " 
 
 " Let 'em all come," quoted Edgar. 
 
 There is no doubt the success of the function was due to 
 him. He insisted on the presence of the Press representa- 
 tives, he told Johnny he was to bring his pals along, and 
 the four red jerseys certainly added to the picturesqueness 
 of the party. The factory contingent was hurried into 
 cabs, no expostulations, nor hanging back, being permitted, 
 z 337 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Everybody must come. And it was Edgar's sense of the 
 fitness of things that took them all to Romano's Restaurant 
 instead of to the Ritz Hotel. Edgar and Tom escorted 
 Miss Rugeley, a strange trio. Sally and Gilbert went off, 
 gaily enough, in the motor, to the admiration of the crowd 
 of small guttersnipes and street idlers who had collected. 
 
 " Isn't it jolly that they are all coming along with us ? 
 It is awfully good of you to ask them," was Sally's first 
 speech to her new husband. " There's only one thing I've 
 got left to wish for ! " 
 
 " What's that ? You oughtn't to have even one, I don't 
 mean you ever to have anything left to wish for." But 
 he was too happy to be sentimental. Edgar had insisted 
 on bracing him with a pint of champagne before they had 
 started for the church. 
 
 "I should have loved to have had Miss Baines and 
 Mr. Perry too," she said, "they were so awfully good to 
 me." 
 
 "Who is Miss Baines? Is Perry that bounder at Vi 
 Farquharson's ? " 
 
 " Bounder ? " she answered wonderingly. 
 
 " Rather ! Didn't you know he was a bounder ? What 
 a lot you've got to learn, darling ! " He laughed joyously, 
 as he put his arm around her, and made her put her head 
 against his shoulder. He was filled with the thrill of 
 possession, his growing excitement hiding all he should 
 have remembered. It even carried him through his strange 
 wedding feast 
 
 338 
 
CHAPTER XXH 
 
 THE first news Lord Fortive had of the marriage of his 
 only son stared at him from the front page of the Con- 
 tinental edition of the " Daily Mail." At the same moment, 
 Hildegarde's exclamation proved it to be in the "New York 
 Herald" also. Father and daughter met each other's 
 horrified eyes : 
 
 " A vulgar canard ! " 
 
 " It can't be true ! " broke from both of them simul- 
 taneously. 
 
 Tom and Edgar had done their picturesque best for 
 Sally. 
 
 Lord Fortive read, after a complete, and only passably 
 incorrect, description of his own rank, estate, and career, 
 that Miss Sarita Mainwaring, who for a short time had 
 lent the charm of her presence to the Verandah Theatre, 
 was a daughter of Mr. James Snape-Mainwaring, for long 
 well and honourably known as closely connected with our 
 shipping industry. 
 
 " But how did you know that ? " Tom had asked Edgar 
 in surprise, as he read the proof. 
 
 " He was a dock labourer ; you can't be more closely 
 connected with our shipping industry than that, can you ? " 
 Edgar retorted, unabashed. 
 
 Even this casuistry failed to soften the blow at the Villa 
 Bella Vista. Kiddie had written, but Kiddie's letter got 
 there some hours later than the papers. It seemed im- 
 possible to doubt, and yet Lady Fortive doubted when her 
 husband brought up the news. 
 
 339 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " I would far rather have read that he had been killed 
 in a railway accident," said Lord Fortive bitterly. " It 
 is not only the marriage, the folly and wickedness of it, 
 but the secrecy, and the ingratitude!" 
 
 "Don't condemn him unheard — don't! Let us wait. 
 My boy could not have done this without a line, a word to 
 me — wait. . . ." 
 
 " You've spoilt him, from first to last you've spoilt 
 him. . . ." 
 
 Gilbert's trembling mother admitted it. One must 
 blame some one when in trouble; and this was trouble, 
 serious trouble, for them all. She had spoiled Gilbert, 
 perhaps, but she had loved him, loved him well. 
 
 Dorothea and Colonel Fellowes arrived at the Villa 
 Bella Vista very soon after the papers, although not in 
 advance of the English representative of the Press Associa- 
 tion. He had to extract his news from the servants. 
 And the butler was a temporary engagement, not the 
 family retainer from Buckminster. This man had no dis- 
 cretion, and little information, so five million of English 
 people, interested in aristocratic news, read the next day 
 that the first intimation Lord Fortive had received of his 
 son's marriage was the announcement in the newspaper. 
 And each newspaper claimed to have been this early 
 medium. The interested public read that his lordship had 
 said he would rather his son had been dead than that he 
 should have contracted such a marriage, and he hoped 
 never to see his son again. They learnt that there was 
 no entail on the property, and Lord Fortive would dis- 
 inherit the heir to his title. 
 
 Each paper dealt with the brief information from the 
 Press Association in its own way, according to its traditions. 
 The editor of the " Comet," for instance, had a difference 
 of opinion with his American advertisement agent on the 
 
 340 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 subject of Tom Peters' full-page advertisement, giving a 
 list of the ladies who had married into the peerage from 
 the Musical Comedy stage. But the business manager, 
 backing up his colleague, recognized the new tradition, 
 and even insisted upon the leader, eulogistic of Tom :• 
 Peters' productions, which was part of the agreed terms. 
 The American advertisement agent made the Fortive- 
 Mainwaring marriage the nucleus of a new scheme, by 
 which every one who subscribed to the "Comet" for one 
 year had a seat allotted monthly at one of the musical 
 comedies, and a chance in a big matrimonial lottery. 
 For, as Mr. Timson ably set forth in the circulars making 
 the announcement, the matrimonial chance was just as good 
 for those in the stalls as those behind the footlights. To 
 Be Seen was the thing. To Subscribe for a Year's Issue of 
 the " Comet " insured being seen. 
 
 The other papers maintained their several traditions. 
 
 Dolly rushed into the Bella Vista to blame, to condole, 
 to do anything but confess her share in the proceedings. 
 She had been much startled by the news. Colonel Fellowes 
 had not said, " I told you so," or, as he probably thought, 
 " It serves you right for interfering." But he did elevate 
 his eyebrows when she read the startling news to him, and 
 that was enough to make her stamp her foot at him and 
 lose her temper. 
 
 At the Bella Vista she had only Hildegarde to encounter. 
 Lord Fortive had withdrawn to his study, and Lady For- 
 tive would hear nothing, see nobody, until she was in com- 
 munication with her son. Her confidence in him was 
 sadly shaken, but it was not destroyed. She could not bear 
 to hear his father say he wished the boy were dead, although 
 she knew the speech was made meaninglessly, in the first 
 shock of the bad news. She could not bear even Hilde- 
 garde's exclamation and curiosity. Her heart ached, and 
 
 341 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 her dry eyes ached, her pain seemed a little greater than 
 she could bear ; but she knew she must be quiescent until 
 her boy's letter came, telling her how it had been with him, 
 why he had so cruelly excommunicated her, cutting her off 
 from his love and confidence. She knew she had not de- 
 served this from him. 
 
 Lord Fortive sent for Colonel Fellowes, later in the day, 
 and questioned him. His rage had all gone, his angry 
 words were as if they had never been spoken : 
 
 " Pm quite at sea about it, Fellowes. I can't think how 
 it came about ; we've denied him nothing. He has not sent 
 a word to his mother or to me, we are absolutely in the 
 dark. . . ." 
 
 Colonel Fellowes hesitated, he did not want to give 
 Dorothea away. He felt he, too, was somewhat to blame. 
 He ought to have got out of the train when they reached 
 Paris. Kiddie ought not to have been left alone. It had 
 been, as he said, a "devil's trick," and the devil's own 
 broth had been served from the brewing. Kiddie's hand 
 had been forced. But Colonel Fellowes hesitated . . . and 
 left the story untold. 
 
 He said what he could to comfort the distracted father. 
 Lord Fortive was in no mood to be told of Sarita's charm ; 
 but Colonel Fellowes thought he was justified in saying 
 that, beyond the fact that Miss Mainwaring had danced for 
 a very short time at the Verandah Theatre, there was 
 nothing against her personal character. And he adduced 
 Mr. Snape-Mainwaring, and the shipping industry, as a 
 proof of respectability. 
 
 "Dorothea warned me," Lord Fortive groaned. "But 
 I was a damned fool, just as great a fool as that unhappy 
 boy. . . ." 
 
 Kiddie had not reckoned with the speed and ubiquitous- 
 ness of the Press, he had forgotten how important adver- 
 
 342 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 tisement was to the Verandah Theatre Syndicate, and Tom 
 Peters' productions generally. 
 
 Twenty-four hours passed before Kiddie's letter came, 
 and it almost seemed then that it had come too late. 
 For all Monte Carlo had heard the new?, and Bella Vista 
 was thronged with visitors, Hildegarde's friends, as well as 
 those of her parents, come to sympathize, to condole, in 
 some cases, of course, to exult a little at a misfortune that 
 was not their own. The Fortives had brought up their 
 only son on a "system." The system had broken down, 
 and this alone gave some little excuse for satire and secret 
 rejoicing. Good sons were rare, and the Fortives, in a 
 quiet way, had "swaggered" theirs; their nemesis was 
 upon them swiftly, and the spectacle made for mirth. 
 
 Lord Fortive faced the position with dignity, Hildegarde 
 with insatiable curiosity. Lady Dorothea had the privi- 
 lege of a personal acquaintance with the new Lady Kidder- 
 minster, and Lady Dorothea was besought for detail, 
 overwhelmed with inquirers. She was soon in her impish 
 element, inventing, lying, exaggerating, supplying the 
 required gossip, but dumb as to her own share in the 
 catastrophe. She had forgotten it, apparently, before the 
 end of that long day of exhaustive scandal-mongering. 
 Colonel Fellowes almost believed that he had dreamed it, 
 so completely did it escape Lady Dorothea's fickle memory. 
 
 But after the first few hours, when no letter arrived, when 
 no telegram came, when there was nothing upon which to 
 feed the starving mother-heart but the newspaper para- 
 graphs, and the idle gossip that Hildegarde, or her maid, 
 brought into the room, Lady Fortive grew faint in watching. 
 Her moral strength and courage held until the last; she 
 knew there was some explanation, that her Gilbert had not 
 done this thing wantonly, cruelly. She told his father 
 that again and again. She urged that the explanation 
 
 343 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 was to come, and begged him to withhold judgment. 
 The hours went by, and her hunger for a word from her boy 
 grew like a living thing, fastening on her where she was 
 weakest. She bore through the day, holding herself bravely ; 
 but collapse came in the evening, after the last post. Then, 
 and then only, the taut strings of her heart relaxed, and 
 she went from one alarming fainting fit into another, 
 whilst hastily summoned doctors and nurses brought their 
 feeble science to bear on a case beyond them. 
 
 She had been her husband's helpmate. He stood by her 
 bedside all that night, his mind bent on the problem of how 
 to help her. Every other consideration was brushed aside. 
 In her short intervals of consciousness Gilbert's name 
 was always on her lips ; she wanted her son. 
 
 Lord Fortive was brought to promise that he would try 
 to ascertain Gilbert's whereabouts, that he would send for 
 him if she really wished it. He could not promise forgive- 
 ness, but he promised suspension of judgment. The 
 boy should be heard in his own defence. The recurring 
 faintness, or perhaps the remedies employed to strengthen 
 her against them, left her less conscious, and therefore less 
 completely reasonable. Her husband had perforce to put 
 his personal grievance out of mind, to give assurance and 
 reassurance. 
 
 " Is Gilbert here ? He has written, I know he has written 
 me ; he would not have left me without a letter. Such a 
 good son ! He has always been such a loving son to me." 
 These were her broken phrases. 
 
 " Gilbert," she would call, opening the eyes that could 
 no longer see. " Where is my boy ? " she would ask in 
 that faint voice. And smile, thinking the hand that met 
 hers was his. So the long night passed. Again and again 
 they thought she would pass with it. But toward the 
 morning she fell into a calm sleep. 
 
 344 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 The end of the night's vigil and desperate anxiety was a 
 pink dawn that brought hope, trailing rose and gold over 
 the blue Mediterranean, lighting the sick-room, irradiating 
 the exhaustion of the invalid, flooding through curtains 
 and blinds. And the promise it brought was fulfilled. 
 
 The first post brought Gilbert's letter to his mother. It 
 is probable her instinct prevised its coming and calmed 
 her into sleep. They could not wake her for it, every 
 minute she slept was ticking life back for her. Lord 
 Fortive opened the letter, he wanted Gilbert's address, he 
 meant to keep his promise. 
 This was what Kiddie wrote : 
 
 "White Hart Hotel, 
 
 " Windsor. 
 "Dear Mater, 
 
 "I suppose you'll be awfully upset to hear 
 I'm married. I don't know what the governor will 
 say, but I'm sure when he sees my Sarita he'll say I 
 was quite right. She reminds me of you in ever so 
 many ways ; I know you'll love her. I didn't mean 
 to do it without asking you, but Dolly played me a 
 dirty trick — just like her. She was bringing Sarita out 
 to you, so that you should see her for yourselves, and 
 then she left her alone in Paris, not knowing a word 
 of the language, nor a soul but me. I couldn't stand 
 that, so I got a pal of hers over, Miss Ursula Rugeley. 
 I daresay you know her, she goes in for slumming, 
 and all sorts of charity things. We were married in 
 London, and I've motored here for a few days' honey- 
 mooning. I wish I could tell you how I feel. I 
 haven't been much of a fellow up to now, but this will 
 make all the difference. I'm going to ask the governor 
 to let me be his secretary, and I'll get in the House 
 if he wants me to; I'm different about everything. 
 345 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 I suppose every fellow feels like that when he marries, 
 but he don't always get a Sarita. I want to bring 
 her to you. I can't tell what you think about it all, 
 I mean how the governor takes it. I know you always 
 wanted me to be happy, and I'm happier than I ever 
 thought I could be. May I come on to the Villa for a 
 bit? Sarita has never seen Monte. I want you to 
 forgive me for not having let you know before, but 
 everything happened in a hurry after that trick Dolly 
 played us. Write me soon. We shall stay here until 
 your letter comes. I'm always, but really more than 
 ever, because I know what it means better, 
 
 " Your ever loving son, 
 
 " Gilbert." 
 
 Lord Fortive read only the address. He did not want 
 to hear Kiddie's excuses, none were possible. But his 
 mother needed him, and the promises of the night must be 
 kept, even if it were no longer a dying woman who had 
 exacted them. When she awoke she should be greeted 
 with the news that her son was on the way to her. Lord 
 Fortive's telegram was brief. 
 
 "Your mother needs you come at once Fortive." 
 
 The telegram reached Gilbert on the second day of his 
 honeymoon. Already "you" meant Sarita and himself; 
 he could not read it differently. He came into the morning 
 room with the news in his hand, in his eyes and glowing 
 face. Sally read it there and leaped to it. 
 
 " They've forgiven you ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Want us to come out at once. Good old pater ! " 
 
 " What'll they say when they see me ? " 
 
 " They'll say what a darling you are." 
 
 " When will we go ? " 
 
 "I've ordered the motor round; we'll cut through as 
 346 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 quick as we can. We've missed the morning train, but we'll 
 get to Paris to-night; there's a thing they call the Cote* 
 d'Azur will do the trick. How long will you take to pack ? " 
 
 " Oh, about eight minutes." 
 
 "Bravo, you are a brick. I know what they'll say 
 when they see you. ..." 
 
 " Well, not if you hold me like that, I can't do it in the 
 time." But they were only two days married, and the 
 interval for honeymooning was but natural. 
 
 He replied lovingly to the telegram. He was com- 
 pletely reassured by it. It never entered his happiness- 
 bemused head that his mother was ill ; he thought his 
 letter had moved father and mother to instant advocacy 
 and forgiveness ! He had always been a spoiled boy. 
 
 " Coming quick as possible, awfully grateful and happy, 
 loving son, Gilbert." 
 
 They went straight through, travelling night and day. 
 Sarita's courage in sea-sickness, and in train-fatigue, her 
 loyal desire to meet his instinct for speed made them com- 
 panions. Perhaps, after all, he had an unacknowledged 
 misgiving. He said, more than once, that he was surprised 
 his father had telegraphed instead of his mother, he seemed 
 to feel there was a necessity for hurry, although his mind 
 held no actual anxiety. 
 
 No one met him at the station, and this damped his 
 spirits considerably. 
 
 " I can't make it out," he said, looking up and down 
 the platform, "I can't make it out at all." His head had 
 been out of the window at Nice, and again at Beaulieu. He 
 had jumped from the train almost before it had stopped 
 at the Monte Carlo station. And he had been up and 
 down the platform quickly. Now he came back to their 
 carriage. "I can't make it out at all, there is no one 
 here from the Villa ! " 
 
 347 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Perhaps it's because it's so early, they didn't expect 
 you until the next train. Let me stay here while you go 
 and see." 
 
 " Oh, rot, they wired for us. Come on." 
 
 The fly that crawled up to the Bella Vista carried a sud- 
 denly perturbed and uneasy Lord Kidderminster and a very 
 over-tired and travel-worn young wife. All the colour 
 and confidence had gone out of her; she felt draggled- 
 tailed and dishevelled, and remembered vividly that she 
 had been a factory girl. 
 
 The carriage gates were as yet unopened ; it really seemed 
 as if they were not expected. There was no sign of wel- 
 come; the garden lay green and beautiful in the sunlight, 
 the palms waved to them, the syringas and roses flung out 
 their generous sweets, but that was all. 
 
 "There does not seem anybody about. Do you mind 
 waiting in the fly whilst I go and rout them out ? " 
 
 Sarita minded nothing. Gilbert was through the gates 
 and up the winding gravel path before she had time to 
 answer. No one was in the garden, no one was on the 
 verandah; the green door was closed, instead of hospit- 
 ably open as of old. A vigorous pull of the bell gave 
 but a muffled sound. At length it brought the butler, 
 the unfamiliar Italian butler, who eyed the intruder 
 doubtfully : 
 
 "Hullo! Where is By stairs ? Don't you know me? 
 What the devil are you staring at ? Where is my father ? " 
 began impetuous Kiddie. 
 
 " I don't think his lordship is seeing visitors," stammered 
 the man, in his native tongue, bewildered, inadequate. 
 
 " I'm not a visitor, you ass, I'm his son. Where is he ? " 
 
 Hildegarde, hearing voices, came out of the morning 
 room. " Hush ! " she said, "hush, she must not be disturbed, 
 nor woke out of her sleep, for anything." Then she caught 
 
 348 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 sight of her young brother. " Oh, it's you. You mustn't 
 wake her, do keep quiet." 
 
 "Who! What?" 
 
 "Didn't you know mother was ill ! * 
 
 The news staggered him. 
 
 " The mater ? No ! Why ? How should I know ? 
 Nobody told me. She is sure to have heard my voice. I'd 
 better go straight up. Look after Sarita for me, will you, 
 she's outside. She ought to go straight to bed; she's 
 done to the world. We came as quick as we could." 
 
 It was Hildegarde's turn to exclaim — 
 
 " What ! You've brought her with you ? " 
 
 " Of course. Where's the governor ? " 
 
 Hildegarde could not tackle the situation. 
 
 " He is in there ; " she indicated her father's study. 
 "You really can't go up until they have prepared her. 
 Did they know, they did not know, surely, that you were 
 bringing . . . anybody with you ? " The euphemism meant 
 his wife. 
 
 Kiddie paused with his hand on the handle of his father's 
 door: 
 
 " You didn't think I was coming alone, did you ? " 
 
 The news of his mother's illness had seized him by the 
 throat; he was chilled on the threshold of his home. 
 
 But he had little time for preparation, for now Lord 
 Fortive had heard his voice : 
 
 " That you, Gilbert ? I had not expected you so soon, 
 I did not think you could have made your arrangements 
 so quickly, we were hardly looking for you until the 
 afternoon." 
 
 The words were commonplace, almost kindly ; indeed, 
 Lord Fortive was glad he was here. But Kiddie's courage 
 left him suddenly. He was shocked to see the change in 
 his father's face, the greyness and fatigue — or was it grief ? 
 
 349 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * The mater . . . ? " he began quickly, his breath uneven 
 
 "Is better, much better; it was touch-and-go when w& 
 wired you, but she is much better, sleeping quietly. The 
 news struck her down, like a blow from a fist; she could 
 not believe it of you. Neither could I." 
 
 He paused, he did not mean to make a scene, he wanted 
 to carry out the spirit, not the letter only, of what he had 
 promised in that anxious night. 
 
 " Come in," he went on, " sit down. You can't go up 
 until she has been prepared." He spoke more slowly than 
 usual, heavily. Kiddie's heart was full, he had expected 
 anger, perhaps, not grief ; he loved his parents. 
 
 "I never meant it, believe me, sir, I never meant it; it 
 was . . . ,; the boy began, although speech was chilled in him. 
 
 "I can't hear now, I've promised your mother she 
 should see you first. You will remember she is very weak, 
 hardly out of danger; for the moment we must think of 
 nothing but what is best for her." 
 
 "I'll go up as soon as I may. I'll explain everything." 
 Gilbert was very pale. " But Sarita . . ." 
 
 Lord Fortive could hardly believe the news that was 
 being conveyed to him : 
 
 "You don't mean to say you have had the insolence, 
 the bad taste, to bring that woman here ? " Lord Fortive's 
 face grew very red, and the veins in his forehead worked 
 a little, but he tried to restrain himself. 
 
 Kiddie went a little whiter, and began to see that he had 
 make a mistake. 
 
 "Here, where your mother and sister are, to expose 
 them to the contamination of this woman. . . . It's — 
 it's infamous ; it is an outrage . . ." 
 
 " Father " — Kiddie's voice was choked, and his words 
 were difficult — "it is my wife, my wife you are speaking 
 of . . .» 
 
 35o 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " The more shame to you. The wife you picked out of 
 a stew ! How dared you bring her here, how dared you ? * 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 Now there was a high anger in Kiddie's voice, a rising, 
 threatening passion. 
 
 But Lord Fortive had had two nights' watching. The 
 words had been beating on his brain all these forty-eight 
 hours, fighting for utterance. 
 
 " Don't try and tell me. I know the farmyard morality 
 of the chorus girl, the ..." 
 
 But Kiddie, although shaken and shocked by the news 
 of his mother's illness, and the sight of his father's face, 
 would not let him say more. He seized his arm, he forgot 
 his respect: 
 
 " Be quiet," he said, "be quiet. . ." 
 
 He was in great trouble, he knew now he had been 
 selfish, impetuous ; his father's face told him of the suffer- 
 ing he had caused, but his new, sensitive manhood, and 
 the pride of it, set his blood on fire : 
 
 "I won't hear, I won't listen. I am going to my wife. 
 We stand or fall together. How dare you speak so of 
 her! Sir, it is you who forget yourself," he said, beside 
 himself with rage. Now he made for the door : 
 
 " I'm going now. You sent for us, or I should not have 
 come. I'm going, I won't come back. I'll come nowhere 
 she isn't respected. ..." 
 
 "You forget your mother," Lord Fortive said, in a 
 milder voice. It was true he had been wrong, Kiddie's 
 passion-torn voice proved it. The " slut " was his wife ; 
 that was the way Lord Fortive worded his apology to 
 himself. 
 
 * Perhaps I have said too much ; I know more of these 
 theatre women than you do. I suppose you were drunk, or 
 drugged." 
 
 351 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 But Kiddie had not stayed to hear more. He was out 
 of the room, brushing past Hildegarde, who was waiting 
 aimlessly in the hall, and a couple of curious servants; 
 he was out of the house, through the palms, past the 
 syringas, before they had realized his flight, getting as 
 quickly as he could to the carriage, where Sally waited, 
 half asleep in the sun. He got in beside her : 
 
 "To the Hotel de Paris," he said to the cocker. His 
 voice was a sobbing breath. 
 
 Her startled eyes saw his face, and her quick intuition 
 hit upon the truth. 
 
 " It wasn't me they wanted, it was you, without me?" 
 
 He took her hand and held it in his ; Kiddie had borne 
 all that he was able, his voice was quite broken : 
 
 " My mother is ill ; I did not see my mother." 
 
 He could not tell Sarita what had occurred, he said the 
 first thing that came to his lips. His mother's illness 
 must account for his agitation, for everything. 
 
 "111! Oh ! poor Gilbert." 
 
 She put his hand against her cheek. 
 
 "Poor Gilbert," she said again. "Never mind talking. 
 You'll go back to her soon; never mind about me, I'll be 
 all right alone, I can look after myself ; I've got hold of 
 a few French words, I'll make myself understood." 
 
 How quick she was in sympathy, surely there had never 
 been any one like her ! 
 
 "You just see me to the hotel. Barlow will soon have 
 the luggage up, and you can change and get comfy. You'll 
 be back in a couple of hours." 
 
 " To think that at my own father's- house . . ." there 
 was actually a sob in his throat at the thought that she 
 had been turned from his father's house. 
 
 " Don't you go thinking, you're too tired. They didn't 
 expect you'd have brought me along. I must have looked 
 
 352 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 a sight if they saw me out of the window. But just waft 
 till I'm togged up ; they'll think different of me then." 
 
 Her hand in his comforted him a little. 
 
 At the Paris he was solicitous for her comfort. All at 
 once, and it was a unique experience for him, his own 
 seemed of little moment. The best suite of rooms must 
 be prepared for Lady Kidderminster, the bath must be 
 got ready, the coffee brought up ; Kiddie issued peremp- 
 tory orders, and they were quickly obeyed. It was a 
 relief to him to be doing something for her, he must make 
 up to her for what his father had said. 
 
 By the time Barlow arrived Sally was half-way to the 
 completion of her toilette, she would have been through 
 with it if Kiddie had not had something very like a break- 
 down, when he had taken her in his arms, and talked 
 rather wildly about her being miles too good for him, 
 whatever anybody thought, and about his father's vile 
 insinuations, and other matters that Sally brushed away 
 with her usual good sense. 
 
 "You are overtired, that's what you are. You have 
 your bath, and see how different you'll feel about it then. 
 He did not mean it, didn't your father. Look how early it 
 is. He's upset, too, it's natural enough if his wife's ill. 
 Wait till you've all had breakfast. How would you like 
 it, if I'd been taken bad? You wouldn't be so civil to 
 everybody if I was ill. He didn't know what he was 
 saying, most like." 
 
 But she liked his clinging to her, and perhaps his break- 
 down, that she could soothe. She was stronger than he, 
 though neither of them realized it yet. And what did 
 opposition matter, seeing they were married, and nobody 
 could unmarry them ? Her simplicity did not dive beyond 
 the obvious. If the worst came to the worst, and Lord 
 Fortive would not forgive Gilbert for marrying her, nor 
 2 a 353 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 give him any money to live upon, she would go back to 
 the stage; they weren't tired of her dancing yet. Mr. 
 Peters' last words to her had been that he hoped to see her 
 back at the Verandah. Meanwhile there was that question 
 of bath and breakfast. 
 
 She had almost restored Kiddie to his wonted good 
 humour, anyway she had quite restored him to his pride 
 in being her husband when a breathless messenger rushed 
 in from the Villa Bella Vista. 
 
 Lord Fortive had had a hurried summons from the 
 Foreign Office, and was starting immediately for London. 
 Lord Kidderminster must please come at once to his 
 mother. 
 
 " Is that all the message ? Did they only say me ? " 
 
 He was not going ; he said so at once. 
 
 " Tell my father I shall not come. I told him the only 
 terms upon which I would come back." 
 
 His face grew quite set, his young obstinacy braced 
 itself. He had finished his breakfast, and the tray still 
 stood upon the table. Now he wanted a smoke, and the 
 paper, with Sally beside him on the couch, leaning against 
 him whilst he read. He wanted the conjugal after-breakfast 
 feeling of which his short honeymoon had already taught 
 him the charm. He did not want to go back to the 
 Villa, and fight her, or his own, battles; he wanted to 
 rest. 
 
 " I shan't come." 
 
 It was far in the afternoon before wiser counsels pre- 
 vailed, before Sally had persuaded him she didn't care 
 what anybody said about her : 
 
 " It wasn't as if he'd seen me ; and if he had, out of the 
 window, by chance, goodness knows what I looked like! 
 You'll be sorry if you don't go up to her. She's been ill, 
 and you ought to go. We'll walk round together ; I don't 
 
 354 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 suppose they'd mind if I waited in the garden, or hung 
 round the gate until you come out . . ." 
 
 It was true that Sally had a great deal to learn. And 
 even now Kiddie was impatient in teaching. He scouted 
 the idea of her being received on sufferance. She should 
 not go near the Villa until they invited her properly. They 
 must remember what was due to Lady Kidderminster, she 
 must remember her position. . . . 
 
 " I can't remember anything but there's your mother wait- 
 ing to see you," was Sally's answer to that, "and she ill, too; 
 and so fond of you she's always been. . . ." 
 
 But he did not go willingly, and not until the pencil lines 
 were brought to him, feebly scrawled — 
 
 " Come to me, dear. I cannot come to you. Mother." 
 
 355 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 IT was, nevertheless, fortunate that Raisuli had chosen 
 this moment to make Sir Harry Maclean his captive. 
 The ferment in Morocco having aroused the Powers to a 
 tardy intervention, Lord Fortive had been selected by the 
 greatest diplomat of them all as the most fitting person to 
 undertake a delicate preliminary skirmish of documents. 
 Lord Fortive's journey to London was expedited by a special 
 train, and Kiddie was not called upon to confront his father 
 whilst his blood was still hot from the remembrance of the 
 epithets hurled at his young wife. 
 
 Kiddie was in no humour to make allowances for any one 
 who did not appreciate Sally. He was in love with her. If 
 her wealth of hair and wild young grace, her white skin, red 
 lips, and the smiles that flashed from them, had attracted 
 him at a distance, they had certainly not proved less en- 
 thralling when he had the freedom of them. She had been 
 shy with him, and he realized the quality of her shyness. 
 It was not because she thought of, or remembered, that she 
 was Sally Snape, and he Lord Kidderminster, but because 
 all her quick comprehension and ability were momentarily 
 bewildered by new emotions, new conditions, new experiences. 
 Yet how had she borne herself ? No girl, bred in the pur- 
 ple, could have shown herself more naturally modest than 
 this daughter of the slums. The attack that his father had 
 made upon her, from the position he had taken up, had over- 
 whelmed the boy at first. Now his swelling resentment 
 
 356 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 blocked out his father's point of view, he could see only his 
 own. And that was why it was well that Raisuli was on 
 the war-path and Lord Fortive required so urgently at the 
 Foreign Office. It was not the moment for father and son 
 to meet. 
 
 There is little or no limit to the influence that can be 
 exercised by a good wife, who is also an intelligent woman, 
 over a clever man who realizes her. Lord Fortive may have 
 had his defects as a husband ; his wife was frequently an 
 invalid, and the necessities of his official life made it impos- 
 sible for him to play the nurse, and surround her with his 
 personal tenderness and attention. Also, perhaps, his tem- 
 perament would have made that role an uncongenial one for 
 him to play; and, although the greater passion of her life 
 was for her son, she cared too much for her husband, and 
 too little for herself, to have wished him to play an uncon- 
 genial role. 
 
 But, on the other hand, he had a fine appreciation, a con- 
 noisseur's appreciation, of his wife's quality. She had never 
 attempted to guide him, but there had been many times 
 when he had found his own judgment strengthened by adopt- 
 ing her point of view. She had a clear, sane grasp of difficult 
 problems. There were few men with whom he cared to dis- 
 cuss ethical questions, but Lady Fortive had the talent of 
 her virtues, a rare gift. And it was, perhaps, in some way 
 due to her that he had held and kept the prestige of high 
 conduct and noble aims, an Imperialism that could not stoop 
 to mean or personal gain, a patriotism that had illumined 
 both his policy and his diplomacy. 
 
 He had gone up to her as soon as she was awake. 
 
 " Gilbert came by the early train ; he must have started 
 the day before yesterday, the moment he got our wire." 
 
 "I knew he would," she answered softly. " I knew my 
 boy would come to me." 
 
 357 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " But he has had the impudence to bring the woman with 
 him ! " 
 
 She lay quite still, for a moment. She had, in her weak- 
 ness, forgotten that this would happen ; it was so new, so 
 strange, to think of Gilbert with a wife. Now she must 
 learn that he was no longer wholly hers. She lay quiet, 
 tasting the bitterness of it. 
 
 " He could not well have left her alone on her honey- 
 moon," she murmured, almost to herself. Already she be- 
 gan to see what she must do, what they must both sacrifice. 
 
 Lord Fortive took his seat by her couch, he could see the 
 ravages fatigue or emotion had made ; the sweet, lined face 
 was small and grey, the eyes were dark and sunken. But 
 the spirit in them was clear and strong, and answered the 
 question in his almost before it was spoken. 
 
 " Is it your view that we should treat the boy as if he had 
 done nothing disgraceful ? " 
 
 " Has he done anything disgraceful ? " she breathed. 
 
 " Or anything unusual ? Should we receive this Verandah 
 Theatre girl, allow her to associate with our daughters, our 
 friends . . ." 
 
 " Is that what you said to him ? " 
 
 " Practically." 
 
 "He had brought her here with him, sure of our wel- 
 come? " 
 
 " We are not responsible for that." 
 
 " Are we not ? " 
 
 She smiled faintly at him, and already he knew that, 
 whatever Gilbert had done, Gilbert had not been fairly 
 treated in his home-coming. 
 
 " What do you want me to do ? " he said, more gently, 
 touched by her pallor ; for the trouble was hers, even more 
 than his. " You are always right ; tell me what we must 
 do." 
 
 358 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 " He will be in a very difficult position," she answered, 
 after a pause. For she was the daughter of the Earl of 
 Fountayne, and her mother had been a Montgomery. It 
 cannot be imagined that she realized, without suffering, that 
 the blood flowing in the veins of her son's wife was of such 
 different quality. No woman less prejudiced, she still had 
 her prejudices, and in the deepest recess of her inner con- 
 sciousness, notwithstanding all she said and did, was the 
 feeling that a girl who exposes herself, or her accomplish- 
 ments, behind the glare of the footlights, to any vulgarian 
 who pays his sixpence or his guinea for the privilege of be- 
 holding them, is outside the sympathy or understanding of 
 modest wives or mothers, whose talents are for the home. 
 
 " He has made a damned fool of himself, if that is what 
 you mean, and wrecked his career. As for difficulty, there 
 is no difficulty in living with a chorus girl if we supply him 
 with the means. And there need be no question of that." 
 
 He was going to yield, he knew he was going to yield 
 every single thing she asked of him. He had not realized 
 it in the first moments of that unexpected interview with 
 his son. But Gilbert had done the best thing possible in 
 bringing his wife home to his father's house ; he had proved 
 his own faith in her. And what was this story about 
 Dorothea and a trap? Already rumours about it had 
 reached Monte Carlo. Gilbert's letter said something 
 about a trick. And Dolly had hardly been able to refrain 
 from boasting of her good intentions. Hildegarde had con- 
 veyed something of it to her father. 
 
 " I don't see his difficulties," he said again. " As far as 
 politics are concerned, he has, of course, done for himself 
 completely. There is no place to-day for a man who has 
 notoriously made a fool of himself with a woman." 
 
 " He is not the first man, dear, even in our order, to take a 
 wife from the stage." 
 
 359 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "True!" 
 
 Lord Fortive quickly gave a list of titled blackguards, 
 whose conjugal infelicities with their congenial partners 
 were notorious. She was not too feeble to cap this with 
 another, which, beginning in the eighteenth century with 
 the ancestors of her husband's immediate and best friend, 
 went on to his own day, with one royal example, and two 
 equally successful. 
 
 She knew that Gilbert's wife, Lady Kidderminster, 
 should not have been turned from the door. And he knew 
 it too. 
 
 " We know nothing against her," she urged, a little faintly 
 perhaps. How could she plead for the girl, or woman, who 
 had robbed her of her boy ? 
 
 "The Verandah Theatre is not a notorious school for 
 saints." 
 
 " She was only on the stage three months, Hilda told me. 
 And he seems to have looked after her all that time." 
 
 " It's a pity he did not go on looking after her," he said, 
 under his breath. 
 
 " She may have fine qualities." 
 
 " She may. . . . But at present the only one of which we 
 have heard is her high kick ! " 
 
 The invalid went on as if she had not heard him. It was 
 herself she was persuading. 
 
 " What will become of them if we fail to countenance the 
 marriage ? " 
 
 Lord Fortive knew, perhaps even better than his wife, 
 that Mayfair has its divisions and subdivisions. That ostra- 
 cized corner which an ill-informed Press and priesthood 
 advertise and preach against under the pseudonymous title 
 of the " Smart Set," has a disgraceful existence in the pur- 
 lieus. But it is no more representative of society, in the 
 sense of the word that Lady Fortive understood it, than the 
 
 360 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 /oiterers in Piccadilly are representative of the modest and 
 self-respecting members of the middle and working classes 
 from which such unfortunates are recruited. 
 
 " If we set the example of ignoring Gilbert and his wife, 
 we cannot expect that . . ." she mentioned the names of 
 people who count, not "smart" people, but worthy ones, 
 " will receive them. What will become of them ? " 
 
 Lord.Fortive was not anxious for argument; on some 
 points, at least, he knew his attitude to be indefensible. 
 
 " Don't worry about their reception in society," he said 
 drily, for his sense of humour was never wholly in abeyance. 
 * Lady Avon will call upon them — in Lent." 
 
 " But what she will give is Lenten fare, meatless, meagre, 
 and unsatisfying," was the gentle retort. Their intelligence 
 was too nearly on a par for him to be able to fence with her 
 without getting touched. 
 
 They had not carried the matter much further when the 
 King's Messenger arrived with that peremptory recall to 
 duty. Then all was bustle and preparation; the whole 
 household was requisitioned to expedite Lord Fortive's de- 
 parture. Many loose ends in his correspondence had to be 
 gathered up, and possible emergencies provided for, or met. 
 Gilbert's affairs had perforce to be thrust into the back- 
 ground, when Imperial interests were to the fore. A message 
 was sent to him, but the bearer of it came back without an 
 answer. 
 
 "I do not like leaving you, with everything so unsettled. 
 I sent a man over to the Pario, to tell Gilbert I was leaving, 
 but there was no reply," Lord Fortive told her, when every- 
 thing had been done, when the last five minutes had come, 
 and he was here again in the sick-room to bid his wife good- 
 bye. All the despatches had been concluded, the luggage 
 had gone on ; from the upper windows of the villa already 
 the special train could be seen, getting up steam. a Dt 
 
 36i 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 what you think best about the boy. I will put an inquiry 
 or so through, in town, and let you know what I hear. I 
 wish you were stronger ; I wish I were leaving you looking 
 more like yourself." 
 
 " I am getting well, I really am. I slept three hours last 
 night. I shall sleep better still to-night, after I have seen 
 Gilbert. You can go away without anxiety, I promise to 
 be up to receive you when you return." 
 
 She smiled at him ; she was quite brave and confident. 
 They had known for a long time that her tenure of life was 
 uncertain. " The attack has passed, I am safe for the time 
 being. This is not the end, believe me, I am on the road to 
 recovery. You give me full power with him, and . . . with 
 her ? " 
 
 " Do what you think best. I am afraid he'll have a bitter 
 awakening. Don't be unhappier about it than you can help. 
 Good-bye, good-bye, take care of yourself for all our sakes." 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 It was not until an hour or so later, an hour or two during 
 which she lay gathering her strength, that she sent that 
 pencilled note to Gilbert asking him to come to her, since 
 she could not come to him. But it was not the note, it was 
 Sally's influence, that drove Kiddie out of the Hotel de 
 Paris, across the sunlit gardens, to the Villa Bella Vista. 
 And it was still a reluctant Gilbert who came. He could 
 not forget how he had rushed from the house this morning, 
 and with what good cause. 
 
 Lady Fortive, hardly out of danger, still prone in a dark- 
 ened room, feeble from those persistent attacks of faintness, 
 saw, before Gilbert had uttered more than a half a dozen 
 words, that he had been wounded, and was sullen from the 
 pain of his hurt. She had read his honeymoon letter, it was 
 even now under her pillow ; and divining mother-love sud- 
 denly made his amazing marriage almost clear to her. 
 
 362 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Hullo! Mater," he began, as if he had seen her but 
 yesterday, " sorry to see you so seedy. What has been 
 the matter?" 
 
 It was stupid of Hildegarde and the nurse to have 
 "jawed" at him about the necessity for calm, for not 
 agitating the invalid. He was not going to make a scene. 
 He kissed her perfunctorily. "What has been the mat- 
 ter ? " he repeated. 
 
 "Nothing much; the heat has tried me. You know I 
 am never very strong." 
 
 He flung himself into a chair. 
 
 " It's this beastly place, I always said it was unhealthy." 
 His voice was toneless, if he were moved by the sight of 
 her he would not show it. She saw how he had been hurt, 
 wounded in his pride and good feeling. 
 
 " Has the pater gone ? " he went on, knowing the an- 
 swer beforehand, but thinking it necessary to keep up the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Yes, he had a special." 
 
 Then there was a pause. Kiddie had come here this 
 morning, full of emotion, eager for forgiveness, had come 
 to his home, as an only son does, taking his welcome for 
 granted. This was a different mood; it was he who had 
 been wronged. She understood, she understood from the 
 very beginning. It was only love that could renew that 
 wounded spirit of his, mother-love. She only paused for 
 strength : 
 
 " Gilbert." 
 
 He came over to her again at that call, apparently re- 
 luctantly : 
 
 "Here, you must not excite yourself, you know; they'll 
 turn me out if you do." 
 
 Her eyes pleaded with him. 
 
 " Got anything to say ? " he asked indifferently. 
 363 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 She smiled at him, the always loving smile, and he melted 
 at it, inside. But how was he to know she had not backed 
 up his father? They had turned his young wife from 
 the door. He hardened himself against her : 
 
 " Go ahead, then," he said, " I'm listening." 
 
 " I wish I had been up this morning." 
 
 " Oh ! that's all right, it didn't matter." 
 
 " But you brought her to me." 
 
 He gave a short laugh : 
 
 " That's* where I went wrong. Don't worry j we're very 
 comfortable at the Paris" 
 
 " But I want so much to see her." 
 
 " To see her ! " 
 
 " To see my son's wife, is that strange ? " 
 
 " Mater ! " 
 
 He could not harden himself for long. She put up her 
 arms to draw him down to her, his head lay a moment on 
 her breast ; he felt her trembling, loving hands caress his 
 hair, and a sob broke from him : 
 
 " You don't know the things the governor said about her." 
 
 " He did not mean them, dear. You startled us." 
 
 " But I wrote . . ." 
 
 " Your letter came late. He read it first in the papers." 
 
 "Mater!" 
 
 " My darling ? " 
 
 " You know I didn't mean it like that." 
 
 "I know, I know." 
 
 " Is it my fault you've been so ill ? " 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 " You do forgive me ? " 
 
 "My son, my dear, dear son." 
 
 She could only hold him there, murmuring over him. 
 
 She had never failed him, she was not going to fail him 
 364 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 now. It was true he was her spoilt boy and darling, " such a 
 good son he had always been to her ! " She told him that : 
 
 "I know you never meant to hurt me. Don't be un- 
 happy, Gilbert, don't cry, I can't bear it, I can bear anything 
 but that! I wanted you should never have an unhappy 
 moment That was my prayer, from the first moment 
 they put you in my arms. Tell your mammy all about it, 
 little son ; tell me all the trouble, and I'll make it well." 
 
 She was back in the nursery with him. 
 
 They allowed themselves a rare moment, uncontrolled. 
 Notwithstanding the warnings, it did her no harm. How 
 should it, when he took her in his strong, young arms to 
 calm her, reproaching himself ? And from sobs they went 
 to laughter, as she murmured baby talk. She touched all 
 the new tenderness in him with the old tenderness that 
 had kept his boyhood and manhood sweet. It was only 
 his unhappiness, or his self-reproaches, that she could not 
 bear. She had spent half a lifetime in taking stones from 
 his path, rolling the pitch smooth for him. The sob, the 
 cry of "mater" from him, blotted out all he had done. 
 
 Very soon he was ashamed of his emotion, but she knew 
 how to cover that, lying back on her pillows, feigning 
 perhaps a greater weakness than she felt, that he might 
 have excuse to pet her, to hold her hand in his. 
 
 " You are all right ? " he asked more than once. He had 
 been outside himself, not normal, but he recovered quickly. 
 u Ought you not to have brandy, or something?" 
 
 "Nol It is doing me all the good in the world to see 
 you here. Can you stay a little ? " 
 
 "As long as you like. I made Sarita go to bed. We 
 travelled night and day, and she got no sleep in the train. 
 8he's got the pluck of half a dozen men." 
 
 "Poor child! Oh, how I wish I had been there this 
 morning to care for her." 
 
 365 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 That nearly broke him down again. " She . . . she has 
 got to learn things perhaps. She . . . she is only a child, 
 mater. I ... I love her, be good to her," he pleaded. 
 
 " Have I not always cared for your pets ? " she answered 
 softly. 
 
 And then they were silent again for a little while. 
 
 " I want to tell you all about it." 
 
 " Tell me, tell me everything." 
 
 " Do you mind if I walk about ? It doesn't fidget you ? " 
 
 " My dear ! nothing you do fidgets me." 
 
 He told his story, walking up and down her room, his 
 eyes were not always quite dry, nor were hers. And on the 
 whole he told his story well : 
 
 "I struggled against it, mater, all the time. I fought 
 against it ; I knew it would be a disappointment to you. . . . 
 I tried . . ." 
 
 He could not tell his mother what he had hoped, meant, 
 intended, what it was he had tried, and failed, to do to 
 Sally. He could not look into those pure, loving eyes and 
 say the words : " It was the thing all men do, that was in 
 my mind at first." He could not say that to his mother. 
 Nevertheless he told his story well. For he told of Sarita's 
 purity, and the childlike quality of her courage. She had 
 stood alone in the world, pitting her simplicity and in- 
 dustry against all the forces arrayed against her : 
 
 " Mater, it is her character that has stood. Don't be- 
 lieve, don't let any one ever make you believe, I cared for 
 anything else. She has the faith of a child, the courage of 
 a man ; her soul is as clean and as white as ... as yours, 
 mater. You know I couldn't say it, if it were not true." 
 
 " I know, my darling, I know." 
 
 " She does not know what it is to lie ; her lips are as 
 clean as her heart, mater." 
 
 Then he tried to tell her other things, sacred things; 
 366 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 that, with this purity of heart and soul, she still would 
 have given herself to him, in love, in great love, if he would 
 have taken the gift. He told her of Dorothea's trick ; and 
 how it might have worked if Sarita had been different. 
 
 " I know there are good girls, in our own world, girls who 
 are as you must have been. But I did not meet one like 
 my Sarita. Perhaps I ought to have waited, to have 
 looked about more. But I'm not clever, you and the gov- 
 ernor have never quite known how inferior I am to you 
 both ! " 
 
 She winced at that, he had touched a wound; it had 
 always lain there, that little tender consciousness that Gil- 
 bert was not so clever as her husband, perhaps even not 
 quite so quick in thought as herself. And so had the more 
 need of mother-love and care about him. 
 
 " Not inferior, Gilbert," she interrupted, " younger, less 
 experienced." The tenderness of her wavering smile made 
 him look away : 
 
 " Well, not so clever as my father, nor so good as you. 
 But this will make all the difference. I shall have to 
 take care of her. And, mater, she . . . she thinks the world 
 of me ! " 
 
 He was back by the bed again, his cheek against hers on 
 the pillow, showing his heart to her, knowing she was with 
 him. 
 
 " I mean to be worth it, worth what she thinks. I'll 
 want help . . ." 
 
 " My boy ! " 
 
 " You'll help me and her ? " 
 
 " I won't fail you." 
 
 She had never failed him. 
 
 It was after that she said she wished he had "given his 
 father more time." It was the only word of reproach that 
 fell from her lips, the only word of rebuke. 
 
 367 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MONTE CARLO afforded a strange experience for 
 Sally Snape during the next few days, whilst Lady 
 Fortive slowly regained her normal ill-health, and Gilbert 
 sat daily with her dilating always upon the charm of his 
 young wife. 
 
 He had a vague idea that Sally should spend these hours 
 reposing in a darkened room. But she flouted the idea scorn- 
 fully : 
 
 " What's the matter with me that I should lie down in 
 the daytime, like a cat on the hearthrug or a dog in the 
 sun ? I'll go out and see the shops and the people. Don't 
 you worry about me." 
 
 But it was natural he should worry about her, for he 
 could not be ignorant of the fact that, when he took her to 
 lunch at Ciro's, or to dine at the Restaurant de Paris, on 
 the terrace of the Casino in the morning hour, or the in- 
 evitable drive to Cap Martin in the afternoon, she was the 
 cynosure of all eyes. 
 
 Every one knew their story. The fame of her dancing, too, 
 lost nothing in the telling, and her reputation took a differ- 
 ent colour from every breath that filmed or burnished it. 
 
 It was on the terrace they met Colonel Fell owes and 
 Lady Dorothea, met them in a way that made some sort of 
 recognition unavoidable. Lady Dorothea greeted Kiddie 
 with outstretched hand, as if nothing had occurred : 
 
 " Hullo, Kiddie ! my congratulations." 
 368 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Kiddie rudely ignored her hand, and would have passed 
 on. But that she would not allow. Seeing which, Colonel 
 Fellowes wisely addressed himself to Sally, talking amiable 
 commonplaces, whilst the others, a little out of earshot, 
 could have their opportunity for mutual recrimination. 
 
 " You were not going to pass without saying ' how do 
 you do ' to me, were you ? I'll talk to your wife presently, 
 she is quite safe with Freddy. What ! Still angry with 
 me?" 
 
 " I don't want to talk to you." 
 
 " How silly of you ! Aren't you satisfied ? I heard 
 from Hildegarde you were simply fatuous about her. You 
 know you owe it to me that you are married, you ought 
 to be awfully grateful. The diplomatist will come round 
 in no time, he always had a fancy for red-haired coryphe'es ; 
 and you've squared your mother already, I'm told." 
 
 " It was a foul, unwomanly trick." He reddened as he 
 added, "You know what you had in your mind. The 
 result has nothing to do with it." 
 
 "How could I tell you would take it like that? A 
 Verandah Theatre girl ! " 
 
 But she did not want, even now, to quarrel with Kiddie. 
 She wanted to argue, to explain, to prove her righteousness 
 of motive. " You must not forget she was a Verandah 
 Theatre girl . . ." she urged. 
 
 " A girl whose shoe-strings you are not fit to tie," he was 
 goaded to retort. He wanted to get away ; but she detained 
 him, arguing her point of view. 
 
 Meanwhile Colonel Fellowes had heard that Sally "could 
 not abide" the pigeon shooting, and hated the rooms, 
 where, however, she had been only once. But she had 
 bought dresses at Beer's, and hats at Louis' ; Kiddie had 
 hired a motor and taken her to Nice, and she thought Nice 
 was awfully gay, a little like Brighton. 
 
 2B 369 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 u It will take Kiddie all he knows to get her accepted," 
 Colonel Fellowes said afterwards to Dolly. " When you've 
 granted her figure and hair, you've said all you can in her 
 favour. She is absolutely the crudest thing I've ever 
 
 met." 
 
 And Dolly, moved in all her shallow depths to anger 
 against her cousin, was glad that it should be so. Perhaps 
 Colonel Fellowes had an intuition of her mental attitude 
 and spoke tactfully, he always had a soothing effect upon 
 her. 
 
 Kiddie, each day's intimacy with his wife showing him 
 more clearly the transparency of her motives and aims, 
 grew each day more resentful of interested glances, and light 
 laughter, of the superior " poor old Kiddie " air that his 
 friends affected when they spoke to him, of the whole 
 atmosphere in which this marriage of his seemed to be 
 regarded. He had more than one passage of words with 
 his sister. All his sensitiveness was exposed ; he was con- 
 stantly being jarred. There were many of his mother's 
 acquaintances in Monte Carlo this Easter. And in Monte 
 Carlo one meets the same people three and four times a day. 
 He met them at the Villa, on the Terrace, at Ciro's, every- 
 where. And within a week he had more or less offended 
 them all. 
 
 His mother had expressed a desire to see Sarita, but a 
 word from Hildegarde had provoked his obstinacy, and now 
 he said that since his father had refused her admittance, 
 she should not come again to the house until he invited 
 her there himself. Lady Fortive could not fight this mood, 
 she knew what lay beneath it, and she trusted to time. 
 Meanwhile she tried what she could, with gentle counsel, to 
 harden Kiddie's attitude toward the world. 
 
 And Sally, whom she had never seen, was, nevertheless, 
 on her side. Sally could see no sneer, detect no covert 
 
 37o 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 insult, when this or the other introduction, forced upon her 
 unwilling husband, resulted in his abruptly taking her 
 away, in his sudden ill-temper or brusquerie. 
 
 "What's the matter with you? I don't know what I 
 ought to do when people come up to us, you're so queer 
 about it. Don't you want me to know your friends ? " 
 
 "I want them to treat you with proper respect," he 
 answered. "They'll have to remember you are Lady 
 Kidderminster. It is my father's fault, and Dolly's; 
 they've set the keynote. . . ." 
 
 But in truth most of Kiddie's grievances were imaginary. 
 The young men were naturally eager for the acquaintance. 
 Sally was looking her very best just now ; the cocottes and 
 demi-mondaines, the stale demi-vierges and old stagers 
 contrasted hopelessly with her eager youth and astonishing 
 freshness. The revealing sun showed her unflawed white 
 skin, without paint, without powder; if its insistent 
 presence left a few playful freckles as visiting cards, it 
 compensated for them by adding scarlet to the soft child- 
 lips, and gold to the red of the rebellious hair. All the new 
 dresses were white, Kiddie had insisted upon that, and all 
 the new hats were black, Sally's good taste had discovered 
 the value of the juxtaposition. Only the materials and 
 textures varied. In white cloth and ermine, white muslin 
 with Irish lace, white cr&pe de Chine with silver embroider- 
 ies, and always the black picture hats, Lady Kidderminster 
 was far and away the most noticeable figure in the princi- 
 pality. 
 
 The first day that Lady Fortive was able to leave her 
 room, she told the boy she would call upon his wife. But 
 this, too, Kiddy negatived. 
 
 "No, it's awfully good of you, and I know all that it 
 means ; but I shan't let you do it without the governor 
 And Hilda, too, will have to climb down. I'm not going 
 
 37» 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 to have Sarita received on sufferance. And I won't let her 
 meet Dolly. . . ." 
 
 "I have already given orders that Lady Dorothea is not 
 to be admitted. I am quite at one with you as to her 
 conduct." 
 
 Incidentally it may be noted that this was the beginning 
 of the end, as far as Lady Dorothea's social career was 
 concerned. It was intimated to her that very season that 
 she was not expected to attend a Court. She sank gradually 
 into a quagmire of middle-class acquaintances, whose posi- 
 tion left them ignorant that her vices were her own, and 
 not those of a class whom she had ceased to represent. 
 
 Lady Fortive told Kiddie that she had heard from his 
 father, and, in calling upon Sarita, she would be acting in 
 accordance with his wishes. Lord Fortive had known 
 where to put through his inquiries respecting his undesirable 
 daughter-in-law, and had learnt that there was nothing to 
 be said against her. She was too young to have had a past, 
 and it was true that Kiddie had been her protector since 
 she had been seen upon the boards. 
 
 " If she is in any way possible," he wrote, " we will carry 
 out your suggestion. If you feel yourself able to present 
 her at the first Court, the rest will follow. It is a bitter 
 disappointment, of course. But Hildegarde's alliance, with 
 which we were so gratified, has not turned out an unmiti- 
 gated success. Gilbert's marriage may not prove an unmiti- 
 gated failure. From what you tell me, it appears already 
 to have made something more of a man of him. I hear 
 there will be a vacancy shortly at Mailing; you might 
 sound him as to his views. . . ." 
 
 The letter went on to adjure her to take care of her 
 health, and to give her the welcome news that he would be 
 free to return by the end of the week. 
 
 Lady Fortive and Hildegarde called upon Lady Kidder- 
 372 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 minster in state, taking pains that the whole of Monte 
 Carlo should know, not only of the intention, but of the 
 execution. It made no difference that only cards were left. 
 Lady Fortive had not announced her visit to Kiddie, and 
 the young people were out. 
 
 Sally came back to the hotel alone. Gilbert, in an after- 
 luncheon mood, had gone into the rooms for half an hour. 
 Meanwhile Sally was to have dressed for a motor ride. 
 She found the magic pieces of pasteboard upon the table. 
 
 " Oh ! that's good of her ! She's come to see me after 
 all ! Gilbert will be pleased. I'll go round and thank her," 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 Sally had not completely understood the etiquette that 
 kept her from the Villa. Gilbert had said that he would 
 •not allow her to go there until Lady Fortive had called 
 upon her. Impulsive Sally was so glad the prohibition 
 must now be removed, she did not pause to consider what 
 further formalities should be observed. She snatched up 
 the gloves and parasol she had discarded, she did not even 
 wait to readjust her hat, or hair, to change her white linen 
 for an afternoon dress. 
 
 " I'll show her I don't bear malice because they wouldn't 
 let me in when we first came. I'll go round at once and 
 thank her," was in the girl's mind, as she went down the 
 big broad stairs of the hotel, two steps at a time, across 
 the sunlit gardens, and away to the Villa. 
 
 This time the gates stood open, Lady Fortive's carriage 
 having not long gone through. There were voices echoing 
 through the palms, with a flutter of skirts and femininity. 
 
 There had been a luncheon-party at the Villa — Lady 
 Avon and the Astoraths, Lord Northbury and Victor Herold. 
 They were all on the verandah ; fortunately Lady Fortive 
 was there too, on her couch. She had not joined them at 
 lunch, but they had come out to her when they had fin 
 
 373 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 ished. No one guessed who it was hurrying up the garden ; 
 Hildegarde and Lady Fortive failed to recognize her, look- 
 ing at each other with puzzled eyes. 
 
 " An unexpected guest . . . ? " 
 
 But Sally left them no time for conjecture. She came 
 up in the swiftness of her young grace and made straight 
 for the couch : 
 
 " It was good of you to come and see me. It was horrid 
 our being out. I've wanted to come to you all the time, 
 but Gilbert wouldn't let me," she began breathlessly. 
 
 Lady Fortive went a little pale j her heart seemed about 
 to play her an unkind trick. 
 
 "Get brandy, she has startled my mother," Hilda said 
 quickly, coming through the group of her amused friends. 
 " My mother is not well, . . ." she began, stiffly, to Sarita, 
 who remained standing. 
 
 "Quite well enough to welcome my dear daughter-in- 
 law," Lady Fortive found strength to say, holding out her 
 hand to Sally. Sally took it : 
 
 " You do look bad," she said. And some one tittered. 
 
 The titter was as effective as the delayed brandy. 
 
 " Do I ? " the invalid answered, with a white smile, " then 
 you must sit down beside me, and talk to me until I am 
 better. Is Gilbert with you?" 
 
 "No ! I didn't wait till he got back. When I saw your 
 cards, I came as quick as I could. I've wanted to come all 
 the time." 
 
 " No doubt," said some one, under her breath. 
 
 " And I have wanted you to come," answered her mother- 
 in-law. " I wanted to see my son's wife." 
 
 The girl was so much younger in her ways than she had 
 expected, so unaffected, untheatrical, genuinely simple, and 
 interested in Kiddie's mother because she was that, and 
 not because she was the Marchioness of Fortive, that her 
 
 374 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 heart went out to her. Sally needed protection, too, one 
 could see that instantly ; her ways, mode of speech and 
 thought, were different from theirs. 
 
 "May I really sit here and talk to you? Don't the 
 others want this seat ? " She had taken the one by the 
 couch ; Lady Fortive had indicated she was to do so. 
 
 "I am sorry you're looking so bad," she went on. 
 "Gilbert said you were ever so much better! He does 
 worry so about being with both of us. He hates not being 
 able to sit with you, without leaving me alone. I don't 
 mind being alone a bit ; although," she added candidly, as 
 an afterthought, but Sally had to be quite candid, until 
 she had learnt better — " of course, it's a change not having 
 anything to do. I don't like that." 
 
 " Don't you play trente-et-quarante f " asked Lord North- 
 bury, disengaging himself from the women, equally curious 
 but less tactful. He was a well-known habitue of Monte 
 Carlo, tall and stooping, brown-bearded and bright-eyed. 
 He had lost three fortunes gambling, but still appreciated 
 the existence of other goddesses, of whom this slim, red- 
 haired girl was surely one. "Damned lucky young cub, 
 our Cousin Kiddie," he said sotto voce, to Victor Herold, 
 who was beside him. They had both caught Sally's words, 
 her complaint of having nothing to do. 
 
 " You should play trente-et-quarante," Lord North bury 
 said to Sally, looking at her appreciatively. " I heard you 
 complaining about having nothing to do here, didn't I ? 
 Of course, they ought to lay out a golf course. ..." 
 
 " I did not know you had been introduced to my daugh- 
 ter-in-law," Lady Fortive interposed, with gentle formality. 
 " My dear, may I present our cousins, Lord Northbury, Mr. 
 Victor Herold." 
 
 From the first Lady Fortive would insist upon Sarita's 
 dignity being observed ; she supported Gilbert in his point 
 
 375 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 of view. But it was not always easy to show Sarita where 
 that same dignity was being assailed. She answered Lord 
 Northbury quite easily, and would have done so with or 
 without the introduction : 
 
 " No, I don't play cards ; it's so stuffy in the Casino, too. 
 I don't play golf neither. I like the gardens, and looking 
 at the sea." She was not in the least shy, and she was 
 pleased Gilbert's mother had said " my dear " to her. She 
 broke into a dazzling laugh : 
 
 "Not that I ought to be fond of the sea, for it don't agree 
 with me when I'm on it." 
 
 " Ah ! but that is the Channel, this is the Mediterranean," 
 Victor said familiarly. He knew the type, or flattered him- 
 self that he did. He had spent the greater part of his life 
 pursuing adventures with demi-mondaines ; he spoke as he 
 would to one of these. 
 
 Sally looked at him; he was good-looking in a pallid, 
 well-groomed way, but she thought she liked his brother 
 best. 
 
 " Is it ? I thought it was all the same," she answered, 
 smiling again. " Here's your brandy. . . ." 
 
 She darted at the butler who was bringing it, carefully, 
 on a silver tray. She took it from him and brought it 
 without spilling, although the liqueur-glass was full. Lady 
 Fortive drank the brandy; she needed it badly. Giving 
 back the glass with a smile, she said to Sally — 
 
 " Thank you, it was very good of you to fetch it. These 
 Italian servants are so slow." 
 
 "Oh! I like doing things for you. Let me come and 
 stay, and help nurse you. I'll be as quiet as quiet ; noth- 
 ing tires me. I should love to serve you, . . ." she said 
 impetuously. 
 
 She had no motive, no arrfere pensde, as she stooped over 
 the couch and pleaded to be allowed to come and stay 
 
 376 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 The two men, watching her with admiring eyes, thought 
 she was amazingly clever. But, in truth, she forgot they 
 were there, and she was not clever at all. She had only 
 fallen in love with Gilbert's mother, this poor, grey lady, 
 with Kiddie's eyes and voice, and such gentle ways and 
 smile ; she was only moved to sorrow for her, because she 
 seemed so frail, and had to lie on a couch. She loved the 
 veined hands with their heavy rings, the lace that draped 
 her shoulders, and the large bonnet. Mr. Perry might not 
 have approved the toilette, it was a little old-fashioned, a 
 little dowdy, but Sarita scented the lavender about it, and 
 loved it unconsciously for all it exemplified. 
 
 " Do you think I may help to nurse you ? " she pleaded. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to nurse me, instead ?" Lord North- 
 bury interposed. He was a chartered libertine, and even Lady 
 Fortive's presence could not repress his desire to make Sally 
 talk to him, and smile at him again. 
 
 •* Not a bit." He got his smile. "I wish you would 
 go away. I'm sure she would rather be alone, wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 " Of course she would, and I will take charge of you. 
 I see you don't like Victor. "We will leave him with the 
 invalid ; he is a splendid nurse, notorious for his gentleness 
 with women. . . ." 
 
 " No, no, cousin, I am just the person to go round the 
 garden with you. I'm fond of flowers, and all that sort of 
 thing. Jack here is a mere ruffian compared to me." 
 
 "Don't you believe him, Lady Kidderminster. I'm a 
 preux chevalier, a Bayard ..." 
 
 Lady Fortive had been revived by the stimulant : 
 
 u The child hardly understands your irresponsible chatter, 
 Jack, Victor. But she is quite right ; you are rather too 
 much for me, just yet ! Will you call Mary," she asked. 
 u i think my drive has rather over-tired me." 
 
 377 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Whilst she was waiting for the maid she kept the conver- 
 sation in her own hands. She recognized the note that 
 infuriated Gilbert. When at length the maid came out with 
 the footman to help wheel the couch, she noted Sarita's 
 wistful face. 
 
 "You do not wish to stay and listen to Jack's nonsense, 
 do you ? Come in with me, out of the sun." 
 
 Sally followed her gladly. She did not want to talk to 
 Lord Northbury, or to Victor Herold ; she wanted to talk 
 to Gilbert's mother. Her desire to be of use was strong, but 
 it seemed there was nothing for her to do. 
 
 The couch was wheeled through the window into the 
 dining-room — it was on large wheels and moved easily — 
 then the carrying chair was brought in by the men. The 
 maid helped Lady Fortive from one to the other ; there was 
 nothing in which Sally could help. 
 
 " I could lift you up and carry you in my arms," she said, 
 " as easy as easy, like a baby. I should think you'd be 
 more comfortable than in that thing." 
 
 " You follow, and see how carefully they take me." 
 
 If Lady Fortive, less impetuous, had not fallen in love 
 with her daughter-in-law, she was undoubtedly touched by 
 what she could see was the very genuine pity for her weak- 
 ness that Sally showed. It was unusual. It was rather 
 charming of this girl to seem to care. Lady Fortive's in- 
 validism had lasted for so many years that it was taken as 
 a matter of course by her friends. 
 
 Sally followed to the bedroom, and stood by whilst the 
 bonnet and wraps were taken off. 
 
 " I won't go back to bed just yet," Lady Fortive told the 
 maid. " I will sit in the easy chair by the window. You 
 need not wait; Lady Kidderminster will stay with me.' ; 
 She smiled at Sally : " You will get me anything I may 
 want, won't you?" 
 
 378 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * Rather, I should think I would," Sally answered grate- 
 fully. "May I sit here, on this footstool at your feet? 
 Then I can take them on my lap and warm them if they 
 get cold. My feet used to get awfully cold after I broke 
 my leg, when I couldn't get about." 
 
 " Sit by my side instead. I want to look at my new 
 daughter-in-law." 
 
 Sally faced her, standing : 
 
 "This isn't my best dress, I didn't stop to change." 
 Then she sank down on her knees, quite naturally. 
 
 " You will try and like me, won't you ? Gilbert wants 
 it so badly. He didn't ought to have married me without 
 asking you ; he'd give anything if you could get to like me." 
 
 " I don't think I shall find it difficult." She laid a feeble 
 hand on the bright hair, and it was soft under her hand. 
 
 " I'm not good enough for you ; nor for him, for the 
 matter of that ..." Sally began. 
 
 " Tell me only one thing. Do you love him ? Do you 
 truly love my son ? " she asked. Gilbert needed love ; she 
 felt very weak, very feeble, as if her own must leave him 
 soon. 
 
 Sally's head went down, on to Lady Fortive's lap. Not 
 even to herself had she voiced all she felt j it was difficult, 
 and the words would not come. 
 
 "I'd die," she said slowly, with her face hidden, her 
 voice muffled. "I'd die to save him one moment's pain. 
 I'd go away now, this moment, if he wanted me to, or if it 
 was best for him. I can't — I can't quite tell you what I 
 feel about him, it is too big, it seems to grow and grow. 
 And now ..." her head went lower, the blush that she hid 
 overspread to the roots of her hair, she was alone with 
 Gilbert's mother, and she would let her see into her heart, 
 " now that we are married, and I am one with him, I'm so 
 proud . . . and so humble . . ." 
 
 379 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 It was too difficult, she could not explain ; marriage had 
 brought her new emotion, new development. She was 
 proud, she was humble, the very essence of her had gone 
 out to him, in love. 
 
 "Oh, yes; indeed, indeed I love him," she repeated, be- 
 low her breath, her face still hidden. 
 
 That is the way Kiddie found them when he rushed in. 
 He had guessed where Sarita had gone when he had found 
 the cards on the table, and the room empty. 
 
 " Isn't she a darling ? " he cried triumphantly. 
 
 Sally jumped to her feet at the sound of his voice, but 
 there was quick pleading in her eyes when they met Gil- 
 bert's mother's. They seemed to say, " Don't tell him I'm 
 not." 
 
 " Indeed, she is," said Lady Fortive, and drew the girl to 
 her again, kissing her, " indeed, she is." 
 
 Lady Fortive's suffrages were won with comparative 
 ease. Sally's simplicity of diction, unworldliness, ignorance 
 of common things, were as a gossamer veil beyond which 
 shone her single-heartedness, and, like a cut diamond in the 
 translucency of it, her love for Gilbert. 
 
 Lord Fortive's vote was secured differently. 
 
 He was due home on the twenty-seventh. Lady Fortive 
 and her son, in consultation, agreed that it was well he 
 should see Sarita for the first time at her very best ! And 
 Sally's "very best" was decided to be in evening toilette, 
 her amazing hair parted in the middle, dressed loosely and 
 simply in a Greek coil. The dress was to be of white 
 cr&pe de Chine, defining her slender figure. Lady Fortive 
 would lend the famous rope of pearls ; they were heirlooms, 
 and both Kiddie and his mother thought they could never 
 have graced a fairer neck. 
 
 Everything was arranged, the dress ordered from Paris, 
 the pearls tried on, the hairdresser secured, a select little 
 
 380 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 company invited, and the dinner menu passed. It had 
 been difficult to get Kiddie to forget what his father had 
 said, but it had not proved impossible. Nevertheless, Lady 
 Fortive thought they should meet in company, that Lord 
 Fortive should correct his impressions of his daughter-in- 
 law before he and Gilbert had any conversation. She had 
 an intuition that Sarita would make an immediate conquest, 
 and that Gilbert in his pride, seeing it, would forget the 
 untoward speeches, made, as she always reminded the boy, 
 in complete ignorance of the circumstances. They had been 
 directed toward an unknown personality, not Sarita. 
 
 But Sally upset all their calculations and rendered 
 abortive all their plans. On the twenty-fifth she had a 
 letter from Mary reminding her that the wedding was on 
 the twenty-seventh, that she and Alf were longing to see 
 her, that she had promised to come, and must not disap- 
 point them ! 
 
 " It won't be so grand an affair as you had, but Mrs. 
 Stevens is spreading herself out on it ; we're going straight 
 on there, and she has asked a lot of people, Alf says. She 
 thinks it will be good for the customers to know that ' Lady 
 Kidderminster' is one of her son's wedding guests. Of 
 course, that's not what me and Alf care about, but we 
 always promised to be at each other's weddings. I don't 
 believe you've grown too grand. . . ." 
 
 Sarita, receiving this epistle, in the early morning ; there 
 was a great deal more of it, by the way ; put down her un- 
 tasted cup of coffee, and looked at her husband : 
 
 " Lord, now," she said, " if I haven't gone and done it. 
 Here's my new dress all wasted, and I can't be at that 
 dinner-party after all ! " 
 
 " What's up ? " Kiddie asked calmly, buttering his toast 
 u What has happened ? Miss Rugeley ill ? " 
 
 " Not she ; she is as hard as nails." 
 381 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 In a general way, Sally admired good health, and thii 
 was meant as a loyal tribute to her friend. 
 
 "No, it's nothing about Miss Rugeley, it's from Mary. 
 She and Alf are going to be married on Thursday, and I've 
 promised to go. I'd clean forgotten it. And the dinner is 
 on Wednesday; what a pity your father couldn't have 
 come a day or two earlier. ,, 
 
 " Yes, it is a pity. But Mary and Alf might have sent 
 round to the Foreign Office and announced their wedding ; 
 then they'd have let him off." 
 
 " You are laughing at me, I know, but I do think it a 
 pity ; he might have come to-day. Now I've got to miss 
 seeing him, and everything." 
 
 " Don't be a little idiot." 
 
 " Aren't you disappointed ? " 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " About me not being there, and the dress, and the pearls 
 she was going to lend me, and everything." 
 
 "Not a bit." 
 
 " You are unkind." 
 
 " You don't really suppose I'm going to let you race over 
 to England to be at Alf and Mary's wedding ! ' Alf ' was 
 the gentleman in the red jersey, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Oh, no, that was Johnny Doone; Alf was at the 
 factory, you know Alf and Mary — Mary Murray. She 
 was my very best friend, I always promised to be at her 
 wedding, I can't go back on her." 
 
 "You'll jolly well have to; you are talking through your 
 hat. You know how important it is about my father." 
 
 "I can meet him any time." Then she smiled. "He 
 wasn't so anxious about meeting me when he got the 
 chance ! I must go to Mary's wedding, anyhow." 
 
 It was the first approach they had had to a difference of 
 opinion, although their wedding day was three weeks old. 
 
 382 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Gilbert met her at first with, ridicule, then with incredulity, 
 finally with exasperation. Sally stuck to her guns ; a 
 promise was a promise, and she had promised to be at 
 Mary's wedding. 
 
 " You seem to have no sense of your position," he said 
 to her at last, besides one or two other hard things. 
 
 The guests had been invited, and had accepted; there 
 was some excuse for Gilbert's temper. His mother was 
 making the effort to please him, she was hardly fit to enter- 
 tain. The whole plan of campaign had been made for 
 Sarita's formal introduction to what relatives there were in 
 Monte Carlo, and, above all, to her father-in-law. 
 
 When Gilbert had said all the harsh things that his 
 exasperation prompted, he flung himself out of the room, 
 completely baffled by Sally's inability to see how abso- 
 lutely impossible was this scheme upon which she had 
 set her heart. He went over to consult his mother in the 
 emergency : 
 
 " You'll go by yourself if you go at all," were his last words. 
 
 And Sally, fully believing he meant them, desperately 
 unhappy, but quite sure she must keep her word to Mary, 
 began to pack her box. A few tears may have been packed 
 along with those new dresses, although tears had not been 
 Sally's way : 
 
 "Right's right, whether I'm Lady Kidderminster or 
 Sally Snape, and it can't be right to break my given word 
 to Mary," she said to herself convincingly. But, however 
 conscious she was of rectitude, she knew she hated vexing 
 Gilbert and disappointing his mother, and not wearing the 
 pearls, and everything. The tears dropped into the trunk, 
 and her eyelids grew red and swollen. She looked her 
 very worst when she put on her travelling things, they 
 were the same in which she had made that eventful first 
 journey to Paris, and went out to secure her ticket. 
 
 383 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 She did not mean to say good-bye to anybody. If Gilbert 
 did not come home before the afternoon train went, then 
 she would leave him a note. She would tell him she would 
 not stay away a moment longer than she need, she would 
 sign herself "your very loving wife." She was his very 
 loving wife ; she could not keep the tears from welling up 
 at the thought he was angry with her, and that she was 
 going back to England without him. 
 
 Smith's Bank is almost next door to the International 
 Sleeping Car Company, where she knew tickets were to be 
 bought. Her self-absorption prevented her seeing Victor 
 Herold standing at the door; she did not recognize the 
 tall, distinguished-looking man, in grey felt hat and travel- 
 ling tweeds, who was talking to him. 
 
 "They don't expect me until to-morrow," Lord Fortive 
 was saying, " I got away sooner than I expected. I have 
 brought Bystairs back with me ; he has gone up to prepare 
 them." 
 
 " You got all you wanted at the bank ? " 
 
 "Yes, thanks." 
 
 Victor caught sight of Lady Kidderminster. She seemed 
 a little uncertain of her way. The clerk at the bureau 
 was a Frenchman, and Sally found it difficult to make him 
 understand what she wanted. 
 
 " Can I be of any use ? " he asked her. And Lord Fortive 
 wondered who the good-looking girl might be to whom 
 Victor was so attentive. 
 
 He asked him, lightly, when he came back from trans- 
 lating Sally's requirements. Victor had been too discreet to 
 inquire why Lady Kidderminster was suddenly returning 
 to England, why she was alone, and her eyes so red ! But 
 he was full of curiosity. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you don't know who she is ? " 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 384 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 * No, but I congratulate you on your good taste." 
 
 "My good taste! Kiddie's, you mean. It is your 
 daughter-in-law." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "That is Lady Kidderminster ; you may take my word 
 for it." 
 
 " Why, she is a mere child ! " 
 
 Sally was waiting for her ticket, she looked and felt 
 forlorn. She had had to accept Mr. Herold's help, for she 
 could not get the French clerk to understand what she 
 wanted, but she hated his manner, and his calling her 
 " cousin," and the curiosity she saw in his eyes. Yet here 
 he was by her side again. 
 
 " May I introduce ..." he began. 
 
 " Thanks, Victor, but I will introduce myself." 
 
 Sally turned her back to them, she did not want to be 
 introduced to anybody, she knew Gilbert would not wish 
 her to be here alone, to be seen here alone. Victor laughed, 
 but the other man came nearer to her, making her look 
 round at him, as he took off his hat: 
 
 " I think you will allow me to introduce myself," he 
 said to her. 
 
 Sally's intelligence was so seldom at fault; the smile, 
 the voice, intuition, told her. 
 
 "I do believe," she exclaimed, and even her red eyes 
 could not spoil the look she gave him. Smiles came all at 
 once, and a weight of care seemed lifted from her shoulders. 
 
 " I do believe you're Gilbert's father ! And you've come 
 in time, after all." She heaved quite a sigh of relief. " It 
 is you, isn't it ? " she asked him. 
 
 " I am Lord Fortive. How did you guess ? " 
 
 She put out both hands to him. 
 
 "Oh, I'm glad, I am glad. Gilbert was angry at my 
 going away without seeing you, but I had to go." 
 2C 3«S 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 Lord Fortive was no Stoic; he liked her gladness in 
 recognizing him, and the difference between her manner to 
 him and her manner to Victor. He liked — for who could 
 help liking ? — Sally's smile, the small hands he still held 
 in his, the way her head was set upon her shoulders, the 
 slim figure, and, yes, he was not quite sure at first, but he 
 grew sure as he looked, he liked her red hair. 
 
 " And why were you running away ? Why were you 
 going without seeing me ? What is the trouble ? " 
 
 As Lord Fortive was saying to himself, if they were going 
 to recognize the marriage, and do their best to get Gilbert's 
 wife accepted, there was no sort of use in stumbling over 
 the preliminaries. He came very definitely to this opinion 
 as he stood just inside the shady and cool International 
 Sleeping Car Office and listened to this exceedingly attrac- 
 tive young woman, whom he had just heard was his 
 daughter-in-law. 
 
 He took the encounter lightly at first ; it was amusing 
 that he should have met her like this. He would have 
 kept the conversation at a surface level, if Sarita had let 
 him. He suggested that if she and Gilbert had had a dif- 
 ference of opinion, he might act as intermediary. He was 
 even willing to include Victor in a little banter ; he sug- 
 gested they should all walk up to the Villa together and 
 surprise the family. 
 
 But it was all too serious for chaff as far as Sally was 
 concerned. She excluded Victor from her talk, which was 
 all directed to Lord Fortive. If only she could make him 
 say she was right ! 
 
 The force of her personality won her the t&te-h-t&te she 
 wanted. She found herself walking up the gardens alone 
 with Kiddie's father, pouring out her trouble to him : 
 
 " I know Gilbert was right in not wanting to disappoint 
 you again, and Lady Fortive, who has been so awfully 
 
 386 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 good to me. But what was I to do, seeing that I'd promised 
 Mary . . . ? " 
 
 Lord Fortive listened, sometimes as he listened he 
 looked. Her colour came and went in her distress and 
 earnestness, and her sweet lips quivered. It was so hard 
 to go " contrary " to Gilbert ; it was so impossible to 
 break her promise to Mary ; her eyes appealed to him for 
 judgment. The walk was all too short. 
 
 As Lord Fortive said afterwards, and really he only 
 repeated Kiddie's words : 
 
 "It is her character that counts. She has a man's 
 sense of honour, coupled with a child's unconsciousness of 
 expediency ; the boy has not been such a fool as I thought. 
 We must do the best we can for them. I think well of her 
 that she was not to be moved from her promise to her old 
 friend Mary. They will be back at the end of the week, 
 and we will have that dinner-party then." 
 
 For Kiddie did actually take Sarita to England in time 
 for the wedding, and at his father's request! It is even 
 now historical in Camden Town how Lord and Lady 
 Kidderminster came to the wedding of Alf Stevens, son of 
 that Mrs. Stevens who kept the chandler's shop, and how 
 his lordship made a speech, and said he hoped he would be 
 invited there again, for he'd never sat down to a finer 
 feast, nor had a heartier welcome. 
 
 It is all historical now. For Lord and Lady Kidder- 
 minster are prominent in society at the moment, and the 
 history of the marriage is told with a thousand variations. 
 But in all essentials it is just as I have set it down, neither 
 more complicated nor more simple. 
 
 The Fortives, according to their friends, made the best 
 of a bad business. The public could not be expected to 
 know that within a year, when Kiddie won the Mailing seat, 
 and had made his maiden speech in the House, when Sally 
 
 3*7 
 
THE HEART OF A CHILD 
 
 proved her quality, and they had learnt to know her, the 
 Fortives had already begun to think that the marriage was 
 anything but a bad business. 
 
 They had taken the young couple under their protection, 
 and created a background for them. It was a background 
 Sally Snape had always needed ; her outlines were too sharp 
 and clearly defined, the whole picture of her was Pre- 
 Raphaelitish in its decorative simplicity. But the con- 
 noisseurs, who know the aims of the Pre-Raphaelites, 
 recognize the qualities in young Lady Kidderminster that 
 underlie all fine art — truth and simplicity. She has her 
 critics, of course, and possibly they will be justified in their 
 criticisms. Nevertheless, they leave untouched that which 
 lies at the core of her, sound and sweet. 
 
 388 
 
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 and charm of Patty are sure to be no less delightful. "—Public Opinion. 
 
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 " Tells of a high strung young Irish woman who has a passion for 
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 THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 
 With illustrations by Martin Justice. 
 ■ As superlatively clever in the writing as it is entertaining in the 
 reading. It is actual comedy of the most artistic sort, and it is 
 handled with a freshness and originality that is unquestionably 
 novel."— Boston Transcript. " A feast of humor and good cheer, 
 yet subtly pervaded by special shades of feeling, fancy, tenderness, 
 or whimsicality. A merry thing in prose,"— St. Louis Democrat. 
 
 ROSE O' THE RIVER. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. With 
 illustrations by George Wright. 
 " ' Rose o' the River,' a charming bit of sentiment, gracefully 
 written and deftly touched with a gentle humor. It is a dainty book 
 —daintily illustrated." — New York Tribune. "A wholesome, bright, 
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 it is true to the life.' ' — London Mail. 
 
 TILLIE : A Mennonite Maid. By Helen R. Martin. With 
 illustrations by Florence Scovel Shinn. 
 The little " Mennonite Maid " who wanders through these pages 
 is something quite new in fiction. Tillie is hungry for books and 
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 " Tillie is faulty, sensitive, big-hearted, eminently human, and first, 
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 LADY ROSE'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. 
 With illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy. 
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 World. "We touch regions and attain altitudes which it is not given 
 to the ordinary novelist even to approach."— London Times. "In 
 no other story has Mrs. "Ward approached the brilliancy and vivacity 
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 THE BANKER AND THE BEAR. By Henry K.Webster. 
 "An exciting and absorbing story." — New York Times. "Intense- 
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 is a love affair of real charm and most novel surroundings, there is a 
 run on the bank which is almost worth a year's growth, and there is 
 all manner of exhilarating men and deeds which should bring the 
 book into high and permanent favor." '— Chicago Evening Post. 
 
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 THE SPIRIT OF THE SERVICE. By Edith Elmer 
 Wood With illustrations by Rufus Zogbaum. 
 The standards and life of M the new navy : are breezily set forth 
 with a geuuine ring impossible from the most gifted "outsider." 
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 est them in ' The Spirit of the Service.' "—The Book Buyer. 
 
 A SPECTRE OF POWER. By Charles Egbert Craddock. 
 Miss Murfree has pictured Tennessee mountains and the mountain 
 people in striking colors and with dramatic vividness, but goes back 
 to the time of the struggles of the French and English in the early 
 eighteenth century for possession of the Cherokee territory. The 
 story abounds in adventure, mystery, peril and suspense. 
 
 THE STORM CENTRE. By Charles Egbert Craddock. 
 
 A war story , but more of flirtation, love and courtship than of 
 fighting or history. The tale is thoroughly readable and takes its 
 readers again into golden Tennessee, into the atmosphere which has 
 distinguished all of Miss Murfree's novels. 
 
 THE ADVENTURESS. By Coralie Stanton. With color 
 frontispiece by Harrison Fisher, and attractive inlay cover 
 in colors 
 As a penalty for her crimes, her evil nature, her flint-like callous- 
 ness, her more than inhuman cruelty, her contempt for the laws of 
 God and man, she was condemned to bury her magnificent personal- 
 ty, her transcendent beauty, her superhuman charms, in gilded 
 obscunty at a King's left hand. A powerful story powerfully told. 
 
 THE GOLDEN GREYHOUND. A Novel by Dwight 
 Tilton With illustrations by E. Pollak. 
 A thoroughly good story that keeps you guessing to the very end. 
 and never attempts to instruct or reform you. It is a strictly up-to- 
 date story of love and mystery with wireless telegraphy and all the 
 modern improvements. The events nearly all take place on a big 
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 THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES. With a frontis- 
 piece in color* by Howard Chandler Christy. 
 
 A novel of romance and adventure, of love and valor, of mystery and 
 hidden treasure. The hero is required to spend a whole year in the 
 isolated house, which according to his grandfather's will shall then 
 become his. If the terms of the will be violated the house goes to a 
 young woman whom the will, furthermore, forbids him to marry. 
 Nobody can guess the secret, and the whole plot moves along with 
 an exciting zip. 
 
 THE PORT OF MISSING MEN. With illustrations by Clar- 
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 There is romance of love, mystery, plot, and fighting, and a breath- 
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 heroine whose shining eyes lure from page to page. 
 
 ROSALIND AT REDGATE. Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller. 
 
 The author of " The House of a Thousand Candles " has here 
 given us a bouyant romance brimming with lively humor and opti- 
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 piness. A most entertaining and delightful book. 
 
 THE MAIN CHANCE. With illustrations by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 A " traction deal " in a Western city is the pivot about which the 
 action of this clever story revolves. But it is in the character-draw- 
 ing of the principals that the author's strength lies. Exciting inci- 
 dents develop their inherent strength and weaknesss, and if virtue wins 
 in the end, it is quite in keeping with its carefully-planned antecedents. 
 The N. Y. Sun says : " We commend it for its workmanship — for its 
 smoothness, its sensible fancies, and for its general charm." 
 
 ZELDA DAMERON. With portraits of the characters by 
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 ** A picture of the new West, at once startlingly and attractively 
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 NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, 
 
 By Kate Douglas Wiggin With illustrations by F. C. Yohn 
 
 Additional episodes in the girlhood of the delightful little hero- 
 ine at Riverboro which were not included in the story of " Rebecca 
 of Sunnybrook Farm," and they are as characteristic and delight- 
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 THE SILVER BUTTERFLY, By Mrs. WUson Woodrow 
 
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 A story of love and mystery, full of color, charm, and vivacity, 
 dealing with a South American mine, rich beyond dreams, and of 
 a New York maiden, beyond dreams beautiful — both known as 
 the Silver Butterfly. Well named is The Silver Butterfly I There 
 could not be a better symbol of the darting swiftness, the eager 
 love plot, the elusive mystery and the flashing wit 
 
 BEATRIX OF CLARE, By John Reed Scott 
 
 With illustrations by Clarence F. Underwood. 
 
 A spirited and irresistibly attractive historical romance of the 
 fifteenth century, boldly conceived and skilfully carried out. In 
 the hero and* heroine Mr. Scott has created a pair whose mingled 
 emotions and and alternating hopes and fears will find a welcome 
 in many lovers of the present hour. Beatrix is a fascinting daugh- 
 ter of Eve. 
 
 A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH, 
 
 By Joseph Medill Patterson 
 
 Frontispiece by Hazel Martyn Trudeau, and illustrations by 
 Walter Dean Goldbeck. 
 
 Tells the story of the idle rich, and is a vivid and truthful pic- 
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