487

 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC
 
 THE 
 
 DECLENSION OF 
 HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 BY 
 
 V. GOLDIE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved including that of translation into foreign 
 languages, including the Scandinavian. 
 
 January, JQI3
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 2135911 '
 
 The Declension of Henry 
 D'Albiac 
 
 THEIR first meeting took place in circumstances 
 that smacked of the Homeric, and needs the nerv- 
 ous English of a Fielding for adequate presenta- 
 tion. Walking home along Parliament Street 
 from a dinner-party in Whitehall Place, his head 
 pleasantly awhirl with memories of his beloved's 
 graciousness of demeanour during the evening, he 
 found himself, before he was aware of anything 
 amiss, caught in the rush of a considerable crowd 
 that struggled and seethed about the end of Down- 
 ing Street. His absent-minded attempts to extri- 
 cate himself led only to a more intricate involution, 
 so that, against all his inclinations, he found him- 
 self borne to the very heart of the disturbance; 
 now aided by an eddying of the mob, again by a 
 violent hand-thrust from one of the many police- 
 men who were stirring up the gathering, in a vain 
 attempt to disperse it. His temper considerably 
 ruffled by this mischance and these physical in- 
 dignities, Henry D'Albiac looked about him for a 
 means of escape, with an attempt at the same time
 
 2 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 to realise the cause of the trouble. Although, so 
 far as the darkness permitted him to see, the crowd 
 was composed of all classes and varieties of human 
 beings, yet the unusual number of women and the 
 sound of feminine voices raised in battle-cry soon 
 told him that he was involuntarily assisting at a 
 Suffrage Demonstration; and the discovery did lit- 
 tle to improve his ill-humour. The thought of these 
 howling and unsexed creatures, thus suddenly su- 
 perimposed on the hyperdelicate image of his 
 heart's mistress, filled him with a positive nausea, 
 and redoubled his anxiety to free himself from such 
 vulgar and violent surroundings. A vigorous ef- 
 fort to fight his way out was, however, but slowly 
 rewarded; and, but for hurriedly apologetic expla- 
 nations to an indignant constable, seemed likely at 
 one moment to lead to his arrest as a participant 
 in this odious and insensate street-fight. Still he 
 was making recognisable progress, when there 
 came a new diversion; the crowd was violently 
 riven by a body of police, who drove a lane before 
 them, down which another of their number fol- 
 lowed thrusting before him an arrested rioter. The 
 foolish woman was perhaps of about half the 
 weight of the mighty guardian of the peace, 
 and as he had secured her with a " lock " which 
 had been taught him as adapted for the apprehen- 
 sion of homicides and armed burglars, she was only 
 enjoying herself indifferently. The inclination to
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 3 
 
 disgusted scorn received a sudden irrational check 
 in D'Albiac's mind as she was led towards him. 
 Obviously she had struggled, for her hat was lost 
 and her brown hair tumbled about her face. Just 
 as she reached him, she made what was plainly only 
 a conscientiously hopeless effort to release herself 
 by throwing herself violently forward; her com- 
 plexion was as white as death, and her eyes closed 
 as she did so, and the feeble attempt was hardly 
 even realised by her gigantic custodian, who con- 
 tinued to push her forward fatally through the 
 crowd, which surged about her path with hand- 
 clappings and cries of admiration and encourage- 
 ment. D'Albiac could not have explained after- 
 wards the reason of his action; nor, indeed, was it 
 due to any direct volition on his part; the glimpse 
 of a white, tortured face, a national love of the 
 other sex, the warmth of his own temperament, the 
 irritation of his previous state of mind, no doubt 
 all contributed to the motive power. However 
 that may have been, he suddenly found himself in 
 violent motion, conscious only of overwhelming 
 rage and vigour. Like many of his own class of 
 his compatriots, he had been instructed in various 
 ingenious methods of offence and defence, and had 
 thoroughly trained a naturally athletic body ; and in 
 less than a moment of time he had, all uncon- 
 sciously, fallen like a thunderbolt on the policeman 
 and his charge, and, by the exhibition of one of
 
 4 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 these pleasant devices, had freed the woman from 
 the man's grip and interposed a dozen members of 
 the crowd between the hunted and the hunter. 
 Fortune aided them at the moment by a sudden 
 wash back of the whole gathering from the mouth 
 of Downing Street, which was rapidly cleared by a 
 strong force of police to allow of the passing out 
 of a closed motor car, amidst a storm of hisses and 
 booing. The disappointed policeman drifted on 
 this wave yet further away from his quarry, and, 
 with that impartiality that has ever been the proud- 
 est boast of our island law, arrested a poorly- 
 dressed and astonished bystander to compensate for 
 his loss. The demonstrators falling into a wolf- 
 like pursuit of the fleeting car and drawing the 
 police in their wake, D'Albiac found himself, in a 
 few moments, standing by the entrance of the Pub- 
 lic Prosecutor's offices looking down on the rescued 
 rioter, who sat gasping and rocking backwards and 
 forwards on the lowest step for some little time be- 
 fore she seemed to realise her position. 
 
 Despite a returning sense of disgust at the scene 
 and shame at his own share in it, D'Albiac did not 
 feel that he could leave the poor, silly creature in 
 this state ; and he shuffled nervously and impatiently 
 from one foot to another, as he watched her draw- 
 ing a succession of deep breaths, mechanically pok- 
 ing and patting her soft, wildly disordered hair, 
 and every now and again raising and straightening
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 5 
 
 her left arm. Her clothing, which seemed to have 
 been designed for athletic purposes, and consisted 
 of a knitted jersey and shortish dark skirt, had not 
 obviously suffered in the conflict; and by the time 
 she had partially tidied her hair she bore no marks 
 of the late encounter beyond the whiteness of her 
 cheeks, and even into them a faint touch of pink 
 was creeping by degrees. He had made up his 
 mind indeed to leave her with a word of formality 
 when she turned her face upwards to him, and he 
 stopped, looking back at her with a newly awak- 
 ened interest. The woman was pretty ; no, that was 
 hardly a right, or, at any rate, an exhaustive de- 
 scription; curiously interesting. The wide-browed, 
 alert face might almost, but for the bright softness 
 of the mouth, have belonged to an unusually good- 
 looking school boy; the eyes, set well apart beneath 
 fine and quaintly squared eyebrows, burnt with 
 dancing blue fire ; the cheek bones were rather high, 
 the face below them narrowing into a cleft and 
 rounded chin. Her long, slender neck, which the 
 low collar of her jersey left exposed, and her small, 
 bare hands were delicately white, and her slight 
 figure seemed active and graceful. As she sat look- 
 ing whimsically up at him in silence, there was 
 something in the lively, quick face that removed all 
 his previous anxiety to consider his strange ad- 
 venture terminated. For the moment, his natural 
 attraction towards a good-looking woman entirely
 
 6 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 routed the memory of the odious circumstances in 
 which he had encountered her; and it was with 
 something more than his usual courtesy that he of- 
 fered her his hand to assist her to rise. She ac- 
 cepted it with entire friendliness, and, once on her 
 feet, stood for a short while supporting herself 
 against the stone balustrade, holding one hand to 
 her forehead, and opening and shutting her eyes 
 experimentally from time to time. 
 
 Presently she gave a deep sigh, and followed it 
 with a quick, radiant smile. 
 
 " What's happened ? " she asked in a soft, clear 
 voice, her head a little on one side for the question. 
 "Did he get out?" 
 
 " Did he " repeated D'Albiac, enquiringly ; and 
 then with a memory of the closed motor car, " Oh, 
 yes, I suppose he did. Someone did a Limousine 
 and the crowd " 
 
 " That's the man," said she, with a regretful 
 shake of the head. " I s'pose they didn't catch 
 him?" 
 
 " So far as I could see the car left the crowd far 
 behind," said D'Albiac with grave disapproval, 
 which, however, the woman did not appear to no- 
 tice. She was again bending and straightening her 
 arm and, as she did so, made a little grimace of 
 pain. 
 
 " Oh, well," she said in an off-hand manner, 
 " then there's nothing more to be done to-night.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF H^NRY D'ALBIAC 7 
 
 Did you see what happened to me? Why did the 
 policeman let me go, do you know?" 
 
 D'Albiac assumed an air of exaggerated uncon- 
 cern. " I couldn't see you treated so," he said, with 
 an upward jerk of his chin. " Whatever one may 
 think " 
 
 "Oh, it was you? You rescued me?" 
 
 He bowed slightly. 
 
 " That was very kind of you ; you might have got 
 into trouble," she said, warmly. " And you're not 
 one of us, are you ? " 
 
 He shook his head, with a touch of contempt, that 
 he could not altogether conceal; and he was aware 
 from a flashing dimple in his companion's cheek 
 that she observed it. 
 
 " No, clearly not," she said, softly, with a smile. 
 " Well, thanks very much. Of course I'd rather 
 you hadn't; but you couldn't be expected to know 
 that; and that doesn't make it any less kind and 
 brave of you." 
 
 There was that in the ring of her voice as she 
 spoke, something so unusually sincere and kind, 
 that the Frenchman was conscious of an unwilling 
 attraction to the personality of this female rough. 
 
 " Rather I hadn't ? But you were being taken to 
 prison," he protested. 
 
 " Well, that was exactly where I wanted to be 
 taken," she replied. " My case is like that of the 
 injudiciously rescued suicide. I'd got all the un-
 
 8 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 pleasantness over, and then I was resuscitated, so 
 to speak. They take such a long time sometimes 
 making up their minds to run you in, particularly 
 if they think you want to be. Then I'm not very 
 strong, you see, and I can't make myself such a 
 nuisance as some of our women. I'd had three 
 tries at one policeman, and he would only shake 
 me by the throat, and say, ' Now, then, Mrs. Evans, 
 now then ! ' in a soothing, motherly manner ; and 
 then turn his attention to somebody else. So at 
 last I slipped through the line and got half-way up 
 the street before the man you saw me with caught 
 me. I think he was a new hand; he didn't know 
 me" 
 
 " Do most of them ? " asked D'Albiac, aghast. 
 
 " Well, a good many of tht ' A ' Division do," 
 answered Mrs. Evans, casually, still examining her 
 injured arm. " Ff f f f ! How he hurt my arm ! I 
 should think he must have twisted it round and 
 round in its socket. So you see, though I am sorry 
 to seem ungrateful, I've had all the part I hate, all 
 the righting part, for nothing." 
 
 She smiled at him gaily, the lamp light from the 
 high standard near at hand throwing golden gleams 
 among her soft, chestnut hair; and then put out a 
 slim hand. " Good-bye. Thanks, again, so 
 much," she said. 
 
 He took it, and dropped it with a curious re- 
 luctance to let her go. " You're sure you're not
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 9 
 
 seriously hurt?" he enquired, discontentedly, for 
 the termination of the incident seemed rather flat. 
 " You are ; you're lame," he added, with a certain 
 triumph as she took a few steps forward. 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing," answered the woman, 
 calmly. " I got hacked on the shin by one of our 
 own side in the melee. I don't mind that; it's my 
 arm hurts most. Luckily it's the left, so that it 
 won't stop me working." 
 
 " But you've no hat," he protested, as she moved 
 away from him. 
 
 " I had one, or rather a woollen cap. It's lost 
 spolia opima. It'll be put in the Scotland Yard 
 Museum, no doubt, with a blood-curdling inscrip- 
 tion. Never mind, I've got another at home." 
 
 " But how'll you get home ? " 
 
 " On a 'bus," she replied, cheerfully. " I pick 
 up one at the corner of Bridge Street." 
 
 Her stupidity irritated him, and he clicked his 
 tongue. " But on your head? " he persisted. 
 
 " On my head ? " said Mrs. Evans, with her eye- 
 brows up. " How do you mean * go home on my 
 head ' ? Is it some new catch-word ? " 
 
 D'Albiac gave a patient smile of disgust. " No, 
 no. A hat; you can't go home without a hat." 
 
 " Why not? " she asked, wonderingly. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. It isn't usual," he said, 
 rather pityingly. " Can't another be procured 
 bought?"
 
 io THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 "At this time of night? And in Parliament 
 Street?" she asked, laughing. "Besides, I don't 
 want another. It was only an old one; I expected 
 to lose it. I always do; and make others for the 
 purpose in my spare moments. Good-night. I 
 must be off, or I shall miss the 'bus." 
 
 " May I see you to the corner ? " asked D'Albiac, 
 with a sudden inexplicable inspiration. A moment 
 before he would have ridiculed the notion of his 
 smart, distinguished figure, in its waisted coat, 
 gleaming boots, and crush hat being seen in con- 
 junction with this tousled little middle-class person, 
 in so public a spot; even though a swift glance up 
 and down the quadruple line of lamps showed a 
 quiet, gleaming and deserted street. Parliament 
 Square still showed a few scattered figures, and an 
 occasional vehicle appeared and vanished from the 
 direction of the bridge or Victoria Street. 
 
 " Oh, certainly, if you're going that way," Mrs. 
 Evans agreed, in a friendly manner; and side by 
 side the tall, clean-shaven, young man-about-town, 
 and the slight, bare-headed rioter moved off to- 
 wards the square. Mrs. Evans' damaged leg made 
 their pace slow, and the Frenchman had a ridic- 
 ulous and rare sense of constrained embarrassment 
 as he adapted his walk to the hobble of his com- 
 panion, and beat his brains for a subject of con- 
 versation. Already he regretted his offer of com- 
 panionship, and the few hundred yards to the square
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC n 
 
 seemed unconscionably prolonged. If he should 
 meet anyone he knew! If some of the guests 
 from Whitehall Place were to drive by! Still it 
 was absurd to walk with the woman in total 
 silence after asking, heaven knows why, for the 
 privilege. 
 
 " I see," he resumed, with rather a fatuous 
 laugh, " I should apologise for my interference." 
 
 She raised an animated face towards him quickly, 
 with an expression of protest, and he felt a sudden 
 revival of his drooping interest. " Oh, don't think 
 I meant that. I didn't intend to be ungracious," she 
 said, dropping for a moment her previous air of 
 mischievous amusement. 
 
 " My dear lady, I'm only joking. And perhaps 
 on reflection you'll be glad after all. I'm afraid 
 you wouldn't like prison." 
 
 " I know I should hate it. Still, it's worth it." 
 
 He shook his head indulgently. This was a 
 childish creature, although she was not actually a 
 young girl. A sense of the wisdom of immeas- 
 urable age, combined with a renewed conviction of 
 the unfitness of women to appreciate or endure the 
 real facts of life came over him. He could almost 
 have patted her head, as he reasoned with her. 
 
 " Theoretically it is, perhaps. Prison is a difficult 
 thing to realise until one has been there. The 
 hideous monotony, the bad, scanty food, the hard 
 bed, the squalid, cheerless surroundings "
 
 12 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 She agreed to his statements with a series of lit- 
 tle nods, and he felt she was impressed. 
 
 " Where were you ? Pentonville ? " she asked 
 sympathetically. 
 
 "I? I?" he cried, outraged. "You don't 
 think I've been in prison? " 
 
 " You seemed to know so much about it," 
 she said, with raised eyebrows, " and to feel it 
 so." 
 
 D'Albiac was seriously annoyed, particularly at 
 the suspicion of a dimple in the cheek of his com- 
 panion. He could not endure to be mocked; the 
 mere suspicion of it infuriated him. 
 
 " Of course I was only speaking from hearsay," 
 he said, coldly, mastering an inclination to give this 
 person a lesson in manners. 
 
 " Oh ! I see. But as you said, you know, one 
 can't realise it until you've done it yourself, like 
 me." 
 
 "You've you've been there already?" he en- 
 quired, edging a little away from her, as a landau- 
 lette flashed past them. It looked like Lady Cock- 
 ington's, he reflected uncomfortably; true, it was 
 unlikely that she should notice him walking with 
 this unpreened jailbird, but the possibility of the 
 thing turned him cold. 
 
 " Twice," said Mrs. Evans, in a matter-of-fact 
 manner, as though speaking of " Elektra " or the 
 Horse Show. " Fourteen days first time, and then
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 13 
 
 a month ; but I got ill, so they turned me out after 
 three weeks." 
 
 An impulse of pity moved him to draw nearer 
 to her and assume a more friendly tone. Clearly 
 the poor thing was intellectually unsound. 
 
 "And you're trying to go back there again?" 
 he asked, gently. " Tell me, what in the world do 
 you hope to get by it ? " 
 
 She looked up at him with a surprised air. 
 " Oh, I thought you knew. Votes," she said, 
 smiling innocently and brightly. 
 
 The man could not help a flash of laughter at 
 her impenetrable density, although he was aware it 
 sounded a trifle supercilious. But it was not to be 
 helped; and besides a little practical derision might 
 do her good. 
 
 " You take me a little over literally," he sug- 
 gested, indulgently. "Of course I realised your 
 object. What I should have said was that it seemed 
 to me scarcely the way to attain it." 
 
 " Oh, but then you're not English, you see," ex- 
 plained Mrs. Evans, and D'Albiac started at the 
 words. Proud as he was of his origin, he yet 
 had a distinct sense of affront. In his intensely 
 English clothes, with his Eton-acquired English 
 speech, adorned with all the latest flowers of fash- 
 ionable colloquialism, his close-shaven face and im- 
 perturbable demeanour, maintained at a great ex- 
 penditure of will-force, Henry D'Albiac could not
 
 14 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 avoid great annoyance at his detection as a mere 
 visitor to the country; but his companion, evidently 
 unaware of the effect she had produced, proceeded 
 with her remarks. 
 
 "Of course, I don't know how it may be in your 
 country, but in ours one always has to make a row 
 to get anything done. All English people realise 
 that. The men had to do it before they freed 
 themselves; only of course, being more hys- 
 terical than women, they generally rushed pretty 
 readily into real violence; whereas we don't 
 want to go any further than the other side 
 choose to drive us, step by step. Shall we cross 
 here?" 
 
 They turned across the road together, D'Albiac 
 looking at her face in a puzzled manner, suspecting 
 her seriousness. It appeared, however, to be calm 
 and guileless. 
 
 " Hysterical ? Men ? " he repeated, sternly. 
 
 " Well, that's not a scientifically accurate ex- 
 pression; I know that," she said, and he was re- 
 volted at the woman's coarseness. " Hysterical in 
 the familiar use of the word, you know. Excitable ; 
 liable to lose self-control." 
 
 They were standing now at the corner of Bridge 
 Street, and she was gazing backwards up White- 
 hall, waiting for the sight of her omnibus. Silence 
 fell between them, D'Albiac feeling that conversa- 
 tion was not possible with a person whose state-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 15 
 
 ments consisted of entire inversions of matters of 
 fact. Something of his want of sympathy seemed 
 to communicate itself to Mrs. Evans, for she turned 
 her face quickly towards him. 
 
 " Don't wait for me, please. I'm feeling none 
 the worse now, except for my arm and the kick. 
 You've probably some way to get home." 
 
 " No, I live quite close here ; in Cowley Street," 
 he said, politely. " I'd rather see you on your 
 'bus, if I may." 
 
 " It's quite unnecessary, I assure you," she pro- 
 tested. " But of course if you prefer it " 
 
 "Have you far to go, yourself?" he enquired, 
 thinking it wiser to avoid all but the most common- 
 place remarks. 
 
 " Only Chelsea. My landlady will be rather sur- 
 prised to see me back again, I expect. I told her I 
 might be away any time from a fortnight to six 
 weeks, with luck. However, there'll be plenty 
 more opportunities, I'm afraid. But it would have 
 suited me pretty well now, because I've very little 
 work in prospect." 
 
 " Would it be rude of me to ask " he began, 
 and paused. What did it matter to him what she 
 was, he reflected? Quite obviously she was not of 
 the only avocation which would have made a mem- 
 ber of her class in society a possible associate at 
 any time for himself. Prone as he was to detect 
 signs of an amorous tendency in the females of his
 
 16 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 acquaintance, he was not able to tell himself that 
 there were any, real or potential, in the quaint, 
 cool face before him. And this being so, why pro- 
 long the acquaintanceship longer than politeness 
 demanded? Mrs. Evans, however, finished his 
 sentence for him. 
 
 "What I am? Not a bit. Why? I'm a 
 painter, a designer. I make decorative drawings 
 for shops and manufacturers ; all that sort of thing ; 
 piece work. Sometimes certain times of year 
 I get a good deal to do. Then I paint portraits, 
 too, occasionally; and water colour and pastel 
 heads. But I can't rely on that; so I have to re- 
 serve them as far as possible for times of bad 
 trade. And lately those have been the times I've 
 chosen for prison; because, of course, when I've 
 lots of work on hand, I can't afford to go. I've got 
 to live somehow.'* 
 
 " I see," he said, sarcastically. " You have 
 come to regard Holloway as a holiday resort." 
 
 " That's it," she said, with a gay laugh. " Here's 
 my 'bus. Good-night." 
 
 Before he could reply, she had laid her hand on 
 the rail of a motor omnibus that lumbered storm- 
 ily by, and was twenty yards away before he quite 
 realised how she had thus been translated. Star- 
 ing blankly, he saw the slight, bare-headed figure, 
 clear against the darkness, in its white jersey, run 
 lightly up the stairway and turn for a moment to
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 17 
 
 wave a hand to him as she reached the roof. Then 
 the great vehicle turned into Broad Sanctuary and 
 in a few seconds was out of sight. 
 
 D'Albiac gave a short, rather scornful laugh 
 aloud, as his last commentary on this absurd ad- 
 venture and absurder person, and glad to be re- 
 lieved from the consequences of his foolish act, 
 strolled slowly onward towards the intricate 
 congeries of streets in which his tiny bachelor 
 house was situated. In retrospect, he was more 
 than ever amazed at his indiscretion. He had 
 risked imprisonment, social disgrace, for the sake 
 of this ridiculous woman who was being very 
 rightly punished for breaking the law, and was no 
 doubt receiving far more consideration than a 
 woman of a poorer class would have obtained in 
 like circumstances; for the police invariably be- 
 haved well in these cases, as he had often been told. 
 No doubt he would not even have been allowed the 
 alternative of being fined; for he had literally as- 
 saulted the constable, a thing which no magistrate 
 could be expected to condone. And then the re- 
 ports in the newspapers! The odious joy of these 
 radical rags with their conscientiously inverted 
 snobbery! "Young French Aristocrat in Trouble. 
 Popular Society Man Sent to Prison for Assault. . 
 Suffragette Beauty in Distress." He could see the 
 headlines in all their blood-chilling vulgarity; he 
 dimly fancied snatches of the tasteless jocularity
 
 i8 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of the subsequent letter press : " Our impression- 
 able visitor with characteristically Gallic chiv- 
 alry " and all the other sneering suggestions of an 
 underlying reason for his folly; suggestions that 
 would inevitably cause Patrice to sicken with a dis- 
 gust from which she would never afterwards be 
 able to dissociate him, even if Mrs. Beaufoy 
 (wildly impossible hope!) would ever have con- 
 sented to give her daughter to a proven hooligan in 
 marriage. And yet, he reflected, as he paused be- 
 fore his gleaming green front-door, and drew out 
 his latch-key, the impulse was generous, entirely 
 impersonal; the result of a mere glimpse of a weak 
 woman in the power of superior physical force. 
 The dubious examination of his conscience con- 
 tinued, as he shut the door behind him, and stood 
 in his tiny, brightly-lit entrance hall. He was 
 sure, at least he was almost sure, that he had no 
 idea, before he took action, that the woman was 
 anything beyond the proverbial female agitator in 
 appearance; and yet he had a vague feeling that it 
 was the rapid glimpse of a white, delicate face, with 
 closed eyes and piteously parted lips that had given 
 him the actual stimulus. The woman was good- 
 looking no doubt; there was no harm in granting 
 that; not beautiful like his betrothed; not a girl, 
 either. Still an original and stimulating face. 
 And there was enough of that. It was most un- 
 likely, most undesirable that they should ever meet
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 19 
 
 again; their stations were widely separated; their 
 ideas no less widely. 
 
 He turned up the lights in a small smoking room 
 that led into the hall, and rang the bell for his 
 servant. When the man entered with the glasses, 
 he found his master seated in a low chair, gazing 
 with vacant eyes at a picture over the fireplace, 
 and apparently unconscious of the tray which he 
 set at his elbow, with the cigar box and spirit lamp, 
 on a carved-wood Indian stand. Having gathered 
 up the overcoat and hat and waited deferentially 
 for a few moments, he ventured finally on a gentle 
 cough of reminder. D'Albiac started and looked 
 at him blankly. 
 
 "Eh? Oh, yes. I think that's all. No let- 
 ters ? Nobody telephoned ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 D'Albiac nodded his dismissal, and as soon as 
 the door was shut, rose hurriedly from his chair. 
 
 " Fool! " he ejaculated, angrily; and at the word 
 the door re-opened, and the servant's head re- 
 appeared. 
 
 "Did you speak, sir?" it enquired, softly. 
 
 " No, no, no, nothing. That's all, Brooks, that's 
 all," repeated his master, snapping an impatient 
 finger and thumb. His mood annoyed him; the 
 memory of this street brawl, and of the few min- 
 utes' subsequent conversation with this vulgarian, 
 clung obstinately to him, despite his best efforts;
 
 20 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 excluding from his mind the delicately beautiful 
 visions that he sought to induce. What wonder? 
 The whole squalid business was so unusual, so out 
 of the common run of his well-ordered life that the 
 impression was naturally a deep one. 
 
 Brought up at his father's chateau in Anjou 
 among a host of family dependents and servants, 
 educated at first by a series of native and foreign 
 tutors, despatched at fourteen for the perfection 
 of his English speech and manner (the old Baron 
 suffered from Anglomania in an acute form) to 
 Eton for four years, member of a family of the old 
 Nobility, the descendant of one who had lost his 
 life on the scaffold during the infamous closing 
 years of the eighteenth century, Henry D'Albiac 
 had, during the twenty-five years of his career, 
 moved almost continually in the highest and most 
 aristocratic circles, whether on his paternal estates, 
 in the family hotel in Paris or, during the winter 
 months, among the distinguished cosmopolitan 
 crowd that circulated about the villa at Cap Martin. 
 It was in that neighbourhood that he had first met 
 the Beaufoys two years ago; it was on the shores 
 of that tediously blue sea that he had entered into 
 the delightful slavery of Patrice's beauty and al- 
 most shuddering refinement of mind. Within the 
 last year, only, his father had died, and finding 
 himself alone in the world and freed from military 
 discipline, the young Frenchman had emigrated to
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 21 
 
 England in pursuit of his beloved. At the Beau- 
 foys' house, in Mount Street, he had been intro- 
 duced into an exclusive stratum of English society ; 
 the representatives of all the family antiquity, ter- 
 ritorial power, cultured leisure, wealth and titular 
 nobility of a land where these things may be ad- 
 mired in tropical abundance and size of growth. 
 Patrice had smiled on his suit; only a desire to 
 avoid the vulgarity of hurry in the matter, and 
 the necessity of allowing a decent interval of 
 mourning for his father's death intervened be- 
 tween him and the completion of his happiness. 
 Meanwhile, handsome, rich, young and sociable, 
 he found life in this great, ugly, luxurious town ex- 
 tremely agreeable, and the number and urgency of 
 his social engagements made it a matter of con- 
 gratulation to him that he had no other occupations 
 in the world to divert his mind from their proper 
 discharge. Later perhaps, he reflected, as he 
 scrutinized his face in the glass over the chim- 
 ney-piece, he would go into politics, either in his 
 own or his adopted country, as Patrice chose. 
 There was much to be done, Heaven knows, in 
 either land to stem this raging flood of gross 
 avarice, atheism, licence and class-hatred that 
 threatened to overthrow all that was beautiful, hal- 
 lowed and desirable in society. The countenance 
 that looked back at him gave, he allowed himself to 
 think, promise of gifts that would carry him far.
 
 22 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 It was indeed an interesting, emotional and en- 
 thusiastic face, though its greediness of life had 
 been modified by the discipline of society to a fair 
 imitation of the correct apathy of demeanour; and 
 the originality of its lines certainly justified his be- 
 lief that, when it became desirable, he was capable 
 of serious work. Meanwhile he was young, and 
 life was a highly amusing thing, for all the absurd 
 strictures which the pessimists heaped upon it. 
 There was love and sport, open to all, or practically 
 all; what more did they ask? And, among the 
 lesser joys, social intercourse, wine, music, and the 
 other arts. He hummed an operatic phrase dear to 
 his betrothed, " Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore," and 
 cast an eye of perhaps rather perfunctory admira- 
 tion at the reproduction of Watts' " Hope " and 
 " Love and Life," which, as two of her favourite 
 pictures, decorated the walls of the cosy little room. 
 
 Truly, a street-fight, the rescue of a released con- 
 vict, and the subsequent absurd association with 
 such a person were odd enough incidents to dis- 
 turb his equilibrium and require a certain lapse of 
 time to complete their effacement, and to allow his 
 mind to return into its normal and desired chan- 
 nels. 
 
 He lit a cigar and mixed a little weak whiskey 
 and soda water, a beverage for which he was la- 
 boriously overcoming a strong natural repugnance, 
 and sat again in the deep chair, to think over the 
 earlier events of the evening and look forward with
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 23 
 
 rapturous anticipation to his next meeting with 
 Patrice. To-night they had only encountered at a 
 friend's house, and had not even sat together at 
 table. But how beautiful she had been in the soft 
 diffused light, half -hidden from him at times by 
 the great bunches of pink roses that decked the 
 table; her head drooping with that weary grace 
 and intolerance of the commonplaces of life 
 that became her so well; her red lips curled into 
 that adorably scornful expression that so bewitched 
 him ! Her rare words to her loquacious neighbour 
 that fellow Forbes ! reached him from time 
 to time, in all the long-drawn, honeyed sweetness 
 of her soft, tired voice. Under the memory of the 
 gracious vision, his mind rapidly resumed its pos- 
 ture of habitual adoration; and though now and 
 again another face, wide-eyed, alert and boyish, in- 
 truded between his mind's eye and the adored 
 features, and another voice, soft too, but rapid, un- 
 necessarily friendly and oddly alive, clashed with 
 the weary music of the voice he loved, yet the in- 
 terruptions became fewer and more widely sep- 
 arated as he sat idly on into the night; until at 
 last he could smile contemptuously at the vagaries 
 of the masculine mind that could allow even mo- 
 mentarily the possibility of competition between 
 two beings so physically and spiritually remote 
 from each other; and it was an unblurred, undese- 
 crated image of his beautiful lover that he took 
 with him to his pillow.
 
 II 
 
 A WEEK or two later, on a fine Friday towards 
 the latter end of June, Henry D'Albiac rang at the 
 door of one of the big red-brick houses in Mount 
 Street, the London abode of his future mother-in- 
 law, the long-widowed Mrs. Beaufoy. The Beau- 
 foys, during Patrice's childhood, had principally 
 lived on their family estate in Wiltshire and, dur- 
 ing part of the winter, at the villa near Cimiez; 
 nor was it until it became advisable to consider the 
 matrimonial future of her younger child that Mrs. 
 Beaufoy had thought it necessary to add a London 
 house to her other troublesome luxuries. Evidence 
 of the good taste of the daughter was shown, 
 D'Albiac reflected as he waited for admission, in 
 the choice of this home in preference to one of the 
 available buildings of dingy, aristocratic ugliness 
 that she might have had, if she wished, in some yet 
 more fashionable spot; the house was agreeable in 
 colour and style; there was a good deal of orna- 
 mental ironwork of a rather debased design, and 
 before the leaded window panes on each floor well- 
 filled flower-boxes flamed and fluttered in the sun- 
 light and breeze of the summer day. 
 
 D'Albiac, who was always late for everything, 
 obedient to a fashionable law which, as he hardly 
 
 24
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 25 
 
 realised, was falling into desuetude, was true on 
 this occasion to his record; and after laying aside 
 his hat, gloves, and cane, was shown into the dining- 
 room, where a small party were seated at table. 
 His arrival was greeted with a piercing cry from a 
 sandy-haired, ruddy, moustached man, who was 
 seated next to Patrice Beaufoy. 
 
 " Hooray ! Top-hole ! Here's old Jools ! " 
 
 The uproariousness of the salutation caused Miss 
 Beaufoy to shut her long, dark eyes quickly, with 
 an agonised intake of the breath, while her mother, 
 who had the nerves that were fashionable in the 
 previous generation, contented herself with a fatly- 
 smiling reproof. 
 
 " Roddy ! Really ! Henry, how late you are ! 
 Come and sit here by me." 
 
 D'Albiac took the chair towards which she 
 waved her plump little hand, between herself and 
 her daughter, and after a murmured apology to his 
 hostess and the one word " Patrice ! " uttered in a 
 thrilling undertone to his betrothed, began looking 
 round the table and bowing or nodding (the differ- 
 ence being, in the British manner, not very marked) 
 to the few guests, all of whom were personally 
 known to him. 
 
 From the opposite side, on Mrs. Beaufoy's right 
 hand, Mr. Colman gave him a death's-head smile. 
 This was a tall, fleshless person, with large feet, an 
 ill-filled, cadaverous skin, and a clipped black
 
 26 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 moustache. He was connected by various collat- 
 eral bonds with the Peerage, and was entirely 
 harmless and unmalicious; and these were, nat- 
 urally enough, sufficient qualifications to explain his 
 continual presence at all the fashionable houses in 
 London. He had, however, practically no con- 
 versation, although he was extremely talkative, and, 
 perhaps to atone for this disability, affected the 
 manner of a spoilt school-girl, which accorded only 
 moderately well with his elderly and undecorative 
 appearance. He appeared to have no personal 
 tastes beyond sitting about in old ladies' drawing- 
 rooms; generally in the tortive attitude of the Man 
 of Sorrows in the frontispiece to Diirer's " Great 
 Passion " ; and when routed from these hills of 
 Beulah would take refuge in the reading-room of 
 the St. James' Club, where he might be seen study- 
 ing the democratically alternated photographs of 
 burlesque actresses and fashionable society beauties, 
 with or without their attendance of charmingly 
 unaffected children, in the pages of the illustrated 
 weekly papers. It was rumoured that Mr. Col- 
 man had in his youth passed through a brief and 
 unrecognised career as a diplomatist; but no man 
 had ever seen him, since those days, engaged in any 
 occupation. His elderly patronesses referred to 
 him habitually as a good, kind creature, in tones 
 denoting a certain tolerance. Turning his face 
 from D'Albiac, he addressed a remark in his loud,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 27 
 
 toneless voice to his neighbour, Mrs. Fedden, a de- 
 lightfully innocent-looking person, of colonial ante- 
 cedents, with a retiring husband and apparently 
 generous means, who had entered the circles in 
 which she now moved since the day when she em- 
 braced the Roman Catholic religion; a conver- 
 sion which had caused many of the more distin- 
 guished Catholic families, and among them that of 
 Mrs. Beaufoy, to awake to her existence and the 
 charms of her personality. With her continual 
 bright smile, even white teeth and brilliant colour- 
 ing, she was decoratively most engaging, and she 
 had no opinions which could possibly offend any- 
 body. 
 
 At the bottom of the table, fat young Ivan Beau- 
 foy, the son of the house, ate stolidly and drank 
 persistently. He held a commission in the Royal 
 Horse Guards, but beyond that distinction, admit- 
 tedly a great one, there was nothing much to be 
 said about him, except that he was miraculously 
 long in shedding his cubbishness, which growled 
 and peeped rebelliously from behind the disguise 
 of his curled moustache, stayed figure and expensive 
 clothes. 
 
 Roderick Chalmers was a more interesting per- 
 sonality, and might indeed be described as the lion 
 of the gathering. Roddy, as even complete and 
 conventional strangers found themselves calling 
 him after the briefest acquaintance, was regarded
 
 28 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 in his own circle as a brilliant eccentric; he had 
 written a real play, which had been produced at a 
 real theatre by no less a person than Travers Carr 
 himself, generally admitted to be the chief est orna- 
 ment of our own and consequently all other con- 
 temporary stages; and as all the dramatis persona 
 had been impressed among the author's own friends 
 and arrayed in the most diaphanous disguises, and 
 as also the dialogue was informed with a kind of 
 imbecile high spirits, the piece had had quite a lit- 
 tle run, and Roddy had acquired a reputation as a 
 wit that no amount of subsequent absurdity of 
 behaviour was able to affect. Carr, who aspired to 
 join the circle in which Roddy principally moved, 
 had mounted the comedy with great pomp, and had 
 taken care to bring out its chief attraction, by 
 " making up " the members of his company in such 
 manner that only the very dullest movers in society 
 could fail to recognise their prototypes; his own 
 countenance being so elaborately built and painted 
 in imitation of the features of a distinguished 
 political peer that the possibility of any facial play 
 was wholly removed, and even speech became a 
 matter demanding the greatest circumspection. The 
 manager's laudable ambition to rise in the social 
 scale was, however, frustrated by the inconvenient 
 fact that Roddy had at least a dozen different 
 strata of acquaintanceship, which he knew better 
 than to spoil by commixture. Everybody knew
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 29 
 
 Roddy, and Roddy knew and enjoyed everybody. 
 There was quite a competition in the " Season " for 
 his company; but he was the most untrustworthy 
 guest in the world, for although he accepted every 
 invitation with manifestly good intentions and ex- 
 pressions of unfeigned delight, he found, naturally 
 enough, that it was not easy to dine at half-a- 
 dozen houses on the same evening; and generally 
 solved the difficulty, when it arose and he had no 
 particular preference for any one invitation, by 
 eluding all his engagements under cover of a cloud 
 of mendacious telegrams, and seeking out amuse- 
 ment for himself in some of the less conventional 
 quarters that he affected ; for he knew the most ap- 
 palling people ; strange objects in baggy tweed suits 
 and flannel shirts; mop-headed women without any 
 pretentions to smartness; long-haired, pallid for- 
 eigners; hosts of unknown actors and artists; and, 
 on one occasion, had been actually met in Bond 
 Street arm-in-arm with a most notorious anarch, 
 slouch hat, tangled beard and all, whom, he subse- 
 quently persisted, he had picked up at the Bomb 
 Club in Hackney Wick. Actually he would have 
 introduced this lunatic to the horrified narrator of 
 the incident had the latter not, with admirable pres- 
 ence of mind, dived incontinently into Douglas's, 
 and submitted a smarting skin to a wholly un- 
 necessary shave. Not that Roddy Chalmers be- 
 lieved in anarchy; indeed it would be difficult to
 
 30 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 suppose he believed in anything; his demeanour in 
 all circumstances being one of ecstatic amusement, 
 which manifested itself in agonies of laughter, 
 often for causes that would hardly have affected 
 the gravity of a village idiot. But " all those sort 
 of people/' he protested, " were such frightful fun." 
 Their absurd enthusiasms afforded him food for 
 endless mirth, besides furnishing him with topics 
 of conversation for subsequent dinner tables. On 
 the whole, except with certain highly sensitive per- 
 sons, of whom Patrice Beaufoy was one, he was re- 
 garded with affection by all his acquaintances, in 
 spite of his habitual irreverence and the social com- 
 plications caused by that hopeless sketchiness of 
 mind, which was revealed in his wild, absent- 
 minded eyes, that seldom rested on those to whom 
 he spoke. 
 
 Patrice herself completed the present party; a 
 truly lovely creature; no such dark, downcast eyes, 
 gorgeous red hair, pouting lips and clear pallor 
 were ever seen outside a portrait by Rossetti. It 
 was not necessary for her to speak indeed she 
 seldom did for all to realise the exquisite re- 
 finement of the soul that had so wonderful a dwell- 
 ing. Patrice lived in a world of beauty that she 
 had made for herself ; a realm that no mere Philis- 
 tine dare criticise; peopled with the figures of 
 Burne-Jones' art moving through Fragonard land- 
 scapes to the sound of Debussy's music.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 31 
 
 Although Henry D'Albiac had been her friend 
 for a year and more, her betrothed for some 
 months, he realised that he had not yet plumbed 
 the violet-clouded depths of that passionately 
 shrinking nature. It was so easy to fall for a mo- 
 ment into the ugly, the commonplace, the violent 
 in conversation ; to refer to some of the unpleasant, 
 contentious subjects that were daily thrust before 
 one's eyes and hoarsely shouted in one's ears; and 
 at the mere suggestion of the brutal and painful 
 Patrice's eyes would close, and her slow, rare 
 words falter and die. "Must we talk of that?" 
 was one of her favourite and most pathetic en- 
 quiries. Her gentle heart and delicate mind re- 
 coiled instinctively from the knowledge of such 
 things ; there were other, harder, coarser natures to 
 do the work of the world; there were people who 
 seemed actually to enjoy the battlefield and the hos- 
 pital and the police court; or who exulted in haul- 
 ing up from their dismal depths the unavoidable 
 carrion of crime, poverty and ignorance, and ex- 
 pecting more sensitive persons to enjoy the spec- 
 tacle. With Patrice, Henry was always in fairy- 
 land; whether side by side with her in her opera 
 box he partook, with his beloved, of the charm- 
 ingly restrained sorrows of Rodolfo and Mimi; or 
 walked at sunset with her beneath the trim hedges 
 of her own rose garden, silent and happy, content 
 at times to touch her warm, white hand with his
 
 32 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 own; or, seated at her feet in the dimly illumi- 
 nated and consequently rather perilous drawing- 
 room in Mount Street, on such extremely rare 
 evenings as there were no other guests, recited to 
 her in the rosy light, with elaborate explanations, 
 the sonnets of Heredia, which, in consequence of 
 the recommendation of a cultured friend, he was 
 conscientiously studying; rewarded by an occa- 
 sional nod of comprehension, or a partly articulated 
 word of joy at some austerely sonorous line. This 
 was indeed the ideal companion, he often reflected, 
 for a man to have, a refuge from all the toil and 
 fighting of the world to which men, even young 
 men of the wealthier classes, are necessarily at 
 times exposed; an enchanted country to which one 
 could fly at a moment's notice " Paradise always 
 on tap," that idiot Roddy had once said with his 
 usual coarseness, and yet with some conception of 
 the idea, too. 
 
 There was a pause after D'Albiac's entrance, dur- 
 ing which fat, pachydermatous Mrs. Beaufoy gave 
 some secret injunctions to the butler, and Patrice 
 took the occasion to murmur to her lover, raising 
 on him for one moment her beautiful dark eyes: 
 " I read the little book you sent me." 
 " Did you find it all I told you ? " he answered 
 in his warm, deep voice, that contrasted so oddly 
 with the usual loud quackings of his English men 
 friends.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 33 
 
 She paused with an air of pretty deliberation, 
 characteristic of her. 
 
 " I think so. And yet perhaps I don't quite 
 appreciate it yet. Is that silly of me? Perhaps 
 there is more behind what sometimes seems to me 
 at first so so slight, I was going to say ? Is that 
 an impertinence ? " 
 
 " Tell me all you really think," he pressed her, 
 enraptured at the sweet deference of the words that 
 lingered lovingly on the pouting lips, as if unwilling 
 to leave so lovely a habitation. 
 
 " No, I daren't," she said almost inaudibly, with 
 a little shake of her gleaming head. " I must read 
 it again many times. And then You musn't 
 think I don't like it now," she broke off with a little 
 air of penitence and a glimpse of the velvet eyes. 
 " Much of it struck me as quite beautiful. What 
 does it say? 
 
 "' Le gentil rossignolet 
 
 Nouvelet ' " 
 
 How charming her English accent was in the 
 familiar French words! thought her lover enthusi- 
 astically (an opinion by the way, which would 
 hardly have gratified Miss Beaufoy herself), as he 
 took up the verse: 
 
 "' Avecques sa bien-aimee 
 Pour '"
 
 34 
 
 "Pour vingt minutes d'arret! Par ma foie 
 grasl " broke in Roddy, with a shriek of laughter. 
 " Mrs Beaufoy, do stop 'em. It isn't fair to let 'em 
 make love in unknown tongues in public. Now I 
 shan't get another syllable out of Miss 1 Beaufoy 
 all lunch time, and young Ivan here's much too 
 busy eating to say anything." 
 
 Patrice dropped her eyes with a patient shrug 
 of her plump shoulders ; while her brother, who was 
 of a stolid and rather captious disposition, jerked 
 out in a growl: 
 
 " Haven't eaten any more than you." 
 
 " I know'' agreed Roddy, with a piercing scream, 
 " but I've had far too much lunch ; I always do 
 when I'm asked here on a Friday. Mrs. Beaufoy, 
 I think seriously of coming over to Rome is 
 that the right way to put it ? You know it's such a 
 sound idea to have one day a week when your 
 cook has to invent all sorts of jolly tempting things 
 to eat, and cutlets are barred. I've eaten cutlets 
 every day this last fortnight for lunch, I swear 
 I have." 
 
 Mrs. Beaufoy, conscious of being no ascetic, was 
 a little affronted at this vulgar method of consider- 
 ing fast days, but Chalmers gave her no time to 
 protest or explain. 
 
 " So you shouldn't be late on a Friday, Jools," 
 he added earnestly. " We've finished everything up."
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 35 
 
 " Except the sweeties," said Mr. Colman, help- 
 ing himself to chocolates from a silver bonbonniere, 
 and offering it to his neighbour. " I love sweeties, 
 don't you, Mrs. Fedden? Oh, please say you do! 
 It will be quite horrid of you to make me the 
 only baby of the party." 
 
 Mrs. Fedden gave him the required assurance 
 with an indescribable brightness, as with his head 
 on one side he pressed the dainties upon her with 
 a maidenly pout. 
 
 D'Albiac helped himself to a freshly made ome- 
 lette with a feeling of annoyance. It was impos- 
 sible to get a word with Patrice among so small a 
 party, particularly when it included that fool Chal- 
 mers. 
 
 " Shall I see something of you alone this after- 
 noon?" he murmured, in an undertone. 
 
 " I'm afraid not. We're engaged for something, 
 I forget what. Mama*" she continued, turning to 
 her mother with her pretty air of petulance, " what 
 were we to do to-day?" 
 
 " Don't you remember, darling ? We promised 
 to go to a meeting at Lady Midhurst's in Queen 
 Anne's Gate." 
 
 " Dear Lady Midhurst ! " cried Colman in a rap- 
 ture. " I was at her house only yesterday, and 
 found Father Morgan there. Isn't he charming? 
 Do say you love him! So cheerful and uplifting.
 
 36 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 You can hear ' Sursum cor da ' in every note of his 
 dear old voice, can't you ? " 
 
 " Well, and why not? " asked Roddy hilariously. 
 " Old Morgan's no bad judge, and no wonder he's 
 cheerful. Lady Midhurst's an uncommon pretty 
 woman." 
 
 " My dear Roddy ! " said Mrs. Beauf oy, with 
 a serious elongation of her upper lip. 
 
 " Jolly good egg being a priest ; I've always 
 thought that," persisted Roddy, in convulsions of 
 mirth. " Lots of confidence and sympathy, and 
 that. Of course, I'm only ragging," he concluded 
 with a poor pretence at gravity, as his wandering 
 eye caught for an instant the expression of dis- 
 gust with which Patrice was regarding him. 
 
 " Oh, Roddy ! Oh, fie ! You bad fellow ! " said 
 Mr. Colman, shaking a knotty finger at him, in 
 mock indignation. " Isn't he a dreadful person, 
 dear Mrs. Beauf oy?" 
 
 " Hopeless," replied the hostess, in her slow, unc- 
 tuous tones. " You shan't lunch here again, if 
 you're not good, Roddy. Yes, I'm sorry we can't 
 take you with us very well, Henry," she explained. 
 " But you wouldn't like it ; there won't be any men 
 there, and hardly any girls, I expect; chiefly a lot 
 of us old women." 
 
 " Just the place for old Colman," said Roddy 
 audibly to Ivan, who grunted discouragingly. 
 
 "Lady Midhurst is organising a branch society
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 37 
 
 to resist this Woman's Suffrage absurdity, and I 
 promised to help her." 
 
 D'Albiac looked in surprise at his sweetheart. 
 
 "Are you interested in that subject? " he asked, 
 with lifted eyebrows. 
 
 She shut her eyes, and shook her head slowly 
 with a pout. 
 
 " Oh, no. But maman wants me to go with her, 
 and sign my name to something. What does it 
 matter? The whole subject is ugly and stupid. It's 
 not worth while refusing." 
 
 " I wish you would take an interest in it, darling ; 
 can't you make her, Henry? At first it was only 
 stupid and ugly, as Patrice says, but it's becom- 
 ing dangerous. Some quite good people have 
 joined the other side good names, I mean. I 
 can't think what they're thinking of. And it's our 
 duty to stop it before it gets too far." 
 
 D'Albiac shifted uneasily in his chair. It was 
 plain that Mrs. Beaufoy took a serious view of the 
 matter; and though he had no sympathy one way 
 or the other, he had a guilty memory of a half- 
 forgotten incident, and a glimpse of a white face 
 standing out in the pale lamplight against a black 
 background of struggling forms. 
 
 " Yes, I see," he admitted, slowly. " I suppose 
 there's no doubt it would be a bad thing " 
 
 He broke off as the footman offered him some 
 Sole Normande; while Mrs. Beaufoy surveyed him
 
 38 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 with a displeased steadiness in her half-closed, 
 twinkling eyes. 
 
 " You don't mean to tell us you're a Suffra- 
 gist?" she asked. 
 
 He brushed the question aside with a wave of the 
 hand and a smile of genuine; amusement. 
 
 " I hope not," she said, drily. " I shouldn't like 
 to think you had anything to say for these dread- 
 ful, shrieking creatures who are responsible for it 
 all. How any woman, unless she's tipsy, can be- 
 have like that, I don't know." 
 
 Mr. Colman sighed sympathetically over a glass 
 of Madeira. 
 
 " Such dreadful clothes they wear, too ! " he pro- 
 tested in confirmation of the ridiculousness of the 
 cause. " Boat hats and great boots ! " 
 
 At the mere suggestion of these monstrosities of 
 garb Mrs. Fedden gave a little squeak of amused 
 horror and added her own indictment. 
 
 " And they're all so hideous themselves ! " 
 
 "Oh! Are they though?" interrupted Roddy, 
 in tumultuous merriment. " I know better, Mrs. 
 Fedden. Some of 'em are jolly good-looking 
 women." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said his hostess, calmly, dust- 
 ing some powdered ginger over a slice of melon. 
 " What nonsense, Roddy ! You don't know any- 
 thing about it ! " 
 
 " I bet I do,'" cried Roddy, unabashed by this
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 39 
 
 contradiction. " Why, I met a lot of 'em last 
 winter at Violet Verney's house Robert's sister, 
 you know." 
 
 " Poor Robert Verney ! " said Mrs. Beaufoy, pity- 
 ingly. " Yes, that's a cheese souffle, Henry ; won't 
 you have some trifle first? Poor Robert Verney! 
 I really think that unfortunate sister of his must 
 be going out of her mind. And you're not going 
 to tell us that you think she has any looks, Roddy? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't say she has," said Roddy, buoy- 
 antly. " Though she's a thundering nice woman, 
 if she is a bit cracked. But lots of 'em are nice- 
 looking, I give you my word." 
 
 Patrice laughed without smiling; Mrs. Fedden 
 uttered a sparkling ejaculation of incredulity; and 
 Mr. Colman writhed in almost horrible enjoyment 
 of this absurd fellow's joke. 
 
 " They are, Miss Beaufoy, really," Roddy con- 
 tinued, turning to what he felt was the most sym- 
 pathetic quarter. " I tell you I know some of 'em 
 well; and others I've seen lots of times; and quite 
 a lot of the well-known ones would be thought 
 pretty women anywhere." 
 
 He cited a notoriously fascinating leader in the 
 movement, and added other instances. 
 
 " And then there's Mrs. Warlingham, who cut 
 off the lights at the big meeting at Middlesbrough. 
 And Flora Evans, who jolly nearly died in prison 
 and she's quite a friend of mine. And that little
 
 40 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 girl what's her name who looks like the fairy 
 off a Christmas tree the one who got knocked 
 out with the fire-hose at Worcester? And Mrs. 
 Stafford she dresses awfully well, too. And 
 Hilda Sellars " 
 
 Mrs. Beaufoy raised plump white hands of pro- 
 test at his volubility. 
 
 " Oh ! My dear Roddy, have it your own way. 
 But whether they're pretty or ugly, I'd have them 
 all whipped through the streets." 
 
 " Oh, I say! " cried Roddy, prodigiously amused, 
 and winking delightedly at D'Albiac, whose eye he 
 caught resting on him with an air of newly-awak- 
 ened interest. 
 
 " I would," insisted Mrs. Beaufoy, quite flushed 
 with her zeal for this act of public service. " At 
 the cart's tail." 
 
 " Does that make it hurt more ? " enquired Roddy, 
 with interest. " D'you know? I never knew a 
 cart had one." 
 
 " There's nothing to laugh at," said the elderly 
 lady, evidently really annoyed at his frivolity. 
 " Disgraceful creatures, dragging the decency of 
 their own sex in the mud. If they're friends of 
 yours, I can't help it; I'm sorry to say that's what 
 I think of them." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind a bit," Roddy admitted, with 
 unmoved equanimity, staring vaguely about the 
 room. " Of course, it's all rot, this suffrage busi-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 41 
 
 ness. But that makes 'em so much more jolly 
 funny, don't you think? They really believe it's 
 quite a serious matter, and they talk till all's blue 
 about it. Well, I tell you, it tickles me so, that 
 I've rather kept up some of 'em on purpose, so 
 that if ever I'm feeling a bit down on my luck " 
 
 "You!" objected Colman, shrilly. "Roddy 
 down on his luck! Oh, no! Oh, can you see it, 
 Miss Beaufoy? Oh, capital!" 
 
 Patrice's upper lip lifted for a conventional, 
 unamused smile; clearly she thought such a state 
 of mind on Chalmers' part would afford rather a 
 pleasant relief to his associates. 
 
 " I do sometimes, Colman. You don't know the 
 reactions we thinking fellows suffer from. Try 
 thinking some day, and you'll find out. Well, when 
 I'm like that, I can always depend on some of these 
 Suffragettes to buck me up. They keep me in fits ; 
 and they're most of 'em awf'ly good tempered about 
 it, I must say." 
 
 " I'm glad to think you can find it an amusing 
 subject. Some people I know can extract enter- 
 tainment from anything, however wicked or sad," 
 pronounced Mrs. Beaufoy, severely. 
 
 " Oh, well, there ! Now I'm flattened out. 
 That was really a nasty one, Mrs. Beaufoy," re- 
 plied the impenitent scoffer, calmly. " I won't say 
 another word, until you tell me I may." 
 
 The ruffled lady, conscious that she had a little
 
 42 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 exceeded the privileges of age and friendship, shook 
 her head humorously at him, to mitigate the sever- 
 ity of her rebuke, while the culprit, instantaneously 
 oblivious of his Trappist vow, flung himself into a 
 noisily jocose rallying of the taciturn Guardsman, 
 who received his taunts without the least appear- 
 ance of attention or interest. D'Albiac and his 
 lover, thus released from general notice, found oc- 
 casion to engage in a conversation on their own ac- 
 count; trivial on the surface, as all their conversa- 
 tions were, and dealing only with their plans; the 
 houses they would visit in the autumn; the parties 
 they purposed to attend in the near future. But to 
 D'Albiac, at least, each casual word was charged 
 with deeper and sweeter meanings. Beneath 
 each cool, commonplace phrase the words " I love 
 you " seemed to sound in thrilling counterpoint ; and 
 when on rare occasions the proudly demure beauty 
 raised her great dark eyes an instant to his own, 
 the message became a caress. How wonderful it 
 was to sit beside this languorous, exquisite girl, 
 who scarcely replied at times to his questions, and 
 yet to feel, by the magic instinct of love, that every 
 nerve in that beautiful body, every thought in that 
 complex and delicate mind, thrilled an answering 
 chord to the sweep of his own emotion! His eyes 
 on her apparently unconscious face, he forgot the 
 presence of his fat, amiable hostess, the infantile 
 quackings of Mr. Colman, who was pressing un-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 43 
 
 asked advice on Mrs. Fedden as to the arrange- 
 ments of her new Surrey cottage (" Pouters and 
 f antails ! Yes, yes, you shall ! I insist on f antails ! 
 You're not to tease me, or I shall cry!"), the 
 blatancy of Roddy Chalmers, the imperturbable ill- 
 humour of Ivan, a future brother whom he had 
 never yet been able to appreciate, although he ad- 
 mired his magnificent English phlegm. The pan- 
 elled dining-room, the decorated lunch-table, the 
 softly moving servants vanished from his eyes, 
 and he was alone in the enchanted rose-garden with 
 his beloved, and she held her arms out to him with 
 a passionate gesture of abandonment, and heaven 
 and earth flamed and dissolved in the rapture of 
 her kiss. 
 
 He awoke with a start to the realities of life 
 as she rose from her place, holding her hand out 
 to him regretfully. 
 
 " I'm afraid I shan't see you upstairs," she said, 
 with a pout. " If I have to go to this tiresome 
 meeting with maman, I must lie down for an hour 
 first, or I shall be a complete ruin. Maman, dar- 
 ling, you ought to have a rest, too." 
 
 The proposal, for metabolic reasons, sounded 
 agreeably in the mother's ear. 
 
 " Well, darling, perhaps I will, a little later on," 
 she replied. " Mrs Fedden, shall we go upstairs ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think I ought to be running away at 
 once, if you'll let me," cried Mrs. Fedden, tact-
 
 44 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 fully. " My car will be here by this time, and I 
 have such a heap of things to do." 
 
 " Well, then, perhaps you'll look after the gentle- 
 men, Ivan," said his mother, regarding him with 
 distaste. " Good-bye, Mr. Colman ; so nice of you 
 to come. Don't think it's very rude of me. Good- 
 bye, Roddy. Henry, we shall see you to-morrow, 
 no doubt." 
 
 " Give my love to the Antis, Miss Beaufoy," said 
 Roddy, who was holding the door open for the 
 women to pass out. " I know quarts of Antis ; I 
 think they're simply killing." 
 
 He shut the door behind them with a final ex- 
 plosion of joy, and returned to the table, adding 
 ruminatively : 
 
 "And there are some jolly nice-looking women 
 among 'em, too." 
 
 " Claret, Henry? Colman, what are you drink- 
 ing? Roddy?" said Ivan, putting the wine about. 
 
 " Nothing for me, thank you," said Colman, 
 with a serpentine movement of the body. " I must 
 be off, too, before long. D'Albiac, you've made us 
 all late; and I've several calls to make this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " Fancy that ! What a change for you, old 
 chap ! " said Roddy, derisively. " Jools, what are 
 you up to? Anything? Ivan the Horrible, what's 
 your plans ? " 
 
 Young Beaufoy hesitated a moment, and then,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 45 
 
 without raising his eyes or removing his cigar, 
 grunted : 
 
 " Going down to the club." 
 
 " Oh, of course when a man says that! " answered 
 Roddy elliptically. " I hope I know when to be 
 discreet. Jools, do you desert me? Come for 
 a turn in the Park with me and amuse me with 
 your views on sport. You French chaps are top- 
 hole on that subject. You persist in thinking it 
 matters. Well, so did we once ; but we know better 
 now, and so we generally get licked by everybody. 
 Come and talk to me about ze fox 'unting." 
 
 D'Albiac agreed good-temperedly ; not that he 
 had any particular liking for the man's society 
 in general, considering his demeanour to be un- 
 Englishly frivolous and deplorably wanting in that 
 cold reserve which he himself had gone through 
 so much to acquire. But a chance word at the 
 lunch-table had set his curiosity alight and revived 
 an odd interest which he had considered dead ; and, 
 when a short time later he found himself walking 
 up Mount Street alone with this companion, he in- 
 troduced the matter as off-handedly as possible, hav- 
 ing led up to the question of extending the suffrage 
 to women by what he flattered himself were five 
 admirably natural conversational developments. 
 
 " By the way, talking of the Suffragettes," he 
 said carelessly, " I heard you mention a name I 
 knew in that connexion Evans. I came across
 
 46 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 one of these women a little while ago; one of 
 what I believe they call the fighting line; a Mrs. 
 Evans; and I wondered if yours was the same 
 person." 
 
 "What was yours like? Pretty?" enquired 
 Roddy. 
 
 " Well, yes, I s'pose some people would say so," 
 said D'Albiac carelessly. " Thin woman; ordinary 
 height, but not much of her ; brown hair and rather 
 noticeably blue eyes." 
 
 " H'm ! You French fellows notice that sort of 
 thing a jolly sight too much," said Roddy, himself 
 an innocent and purposeless philanderer of the most 
 shameless kind, whose path was in a constant bloom 
 of pink cheeks and bright eyes in consequence of 
 the erroneous impression of particular admiration 
 that he made among the women of all classes with 
 whom he mixed. " That's her, right enough. 
 Where did you come across her ? " 
 
 D'Albiac laughed constrainedly. 
 
 " Why, in a row, of all places a street fight. 
 Indeed, I helped her to get away when she was in 
 a rather awkward fix " 
 
 Roddy uttered a cry of delight that caused quite 
 a stir among the pedestrians of Park Lane. 
 
 " You do take the bun, Jools," he protested, 
 smacking him on the back with so much unneces- 
 sary force that his tall hat toppled over his eyes. 
 " So you've been playing Perseus, you giddy old
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 47 
 
 French ox, have you? What does the lovely Miss 
 Beaufoy say? " 
 
 " What nonsense ! " laughed D'Albiac nervously, 
 with a slight increase of colour, and a guilty hope 
 that this chattering fellow would not retail the ad- 
 venture to Patrice, an action that he had not the 
 face to prohibit. " You've got a bad mind, Roddy. 
 I always told you so. But it struck me as odd that 
 you should actually know her." 
 
 " Oh, everybody knows Flora," said Roddy, 
 casually and silently buying an orange from an aged 
 vendor, who was seated by the Park railings, and 
 instantly passing it on without explanation to an 
 amazed street child who stood admiring her wares. 
 
 "I don't," said D'Albiac. 
 
 " You, Jools ? You don't know anybody, except 
 silly old rotters like Colman. You know nothing 
 of the world you live in. Have you ever even heard 
 the name of Jack Roff? Not you. And yet I say 
 unto you, that man's only got to lift his hand, and 
 London would be sacked in twelve hours." 
 
 " Well, why doesn't he ? " enquired D'Albiac. 
 
 " Because he don't want it sacked ; he's a jolly 
 sight too comfortable as he is. However, there's 
 a Power; and you were never even aware he ex- 
 isted. Of course you wouldn't know Flora. But 
 I tell you what," he added, signalling to a passing 
 motor-cab, " you shall know her, and that before 
 another sun has set. Nip in ! "
 
 '48 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " Why ? What's up now ? " protested his friend. 
 
 " Get in, and I'll tell you. Don't be frightened ; 
 I'll pay the fare. This is my treat. Put us down 
 on Chelsea Embankment by the Church, driver." 
 
 " No, no ! Look here ! I don't want to be taken 
 to see Mrs. Evans," cried D'Albiac, remembering 
 that she had said she lived in Chelsea. " Don't be 
 a fool, Roddy." 
 
 "What's the good of asking impossibilities?" 
 asked Roddy, bursting into a paroxysm of glee, 
 under the influence of which he stamped his foot 
 delightedly on the cab floor, and grew quite purple 
 of complexion. " Don't funk it, Jools. Soo, soo ! 
 Good boy! Rats! Shall a Frenchman be shy? 
 Perish the thought! Fancy one of your country- 
 men refusing to be taken to see a woman una 
 phamme! Think again. Don't you feel the influ- 
 ence beginning to work ? " 
 
 " But she'll think I'm quite cracked " began 
 D'Albiac feebly. 
 
 "Not she! Why? I know her quite well. Why 
 shouldn't I call, and bring a friend with me? Par- 
 ticularly when you saved her from the mad bull, 
 you know. Besides, if she did think you were 
 cracked, she'd like you all the better. You'd match 
 the rest of her circle of acquaintance. You never 
 saw such a lot of rum 'uns as the people she knows." 
 
 The flustered Frenchman sank back philo- 
 sophically. After all, in his inner heart, although
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 49 
 
 he would not admit it, he was well aware that he 
 had only begun these enquiries about Mrs. Evans 
 in the unacknowledged hope that they would lead 
 to a renewal of his acquaintance with a personality 
 that had left a distinct impression on him, and 
 one of a puzzlingly pleasant kind. Frequently since 
 that odd adventure of his, he had voluntarily re- 
 created the picture, with a conscientious comment of 
 " Stupid little creature ! " or " Rowdy little brute ! " 
 as a dismissal of the protagonist at length from his 
 mind. He told himself that he took no interest 
 in the woman, only in the unusual circumstances. 
 Yet the word " little " might have sounded a 
 bugle call of warning to a more frankly analytic 
 mind; for she was not noticeably small of 
 stature. 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't mind," he said carelessly, with 
 a feeling that it would look suspicious to make too 
 strong a protest. " Don't make me hang about 
 there long, in case she's in. I've got a lot of things 
 to do." 
 
 "I don't think," said Roddy, vulgarly. "Ah! 
 You won't want to go away once you get there, 
 Jools. I know you when you get near a pretty 
 woman. She's a jolly good sort, too, and thunder- 
 ing clever. She can paint portraits, no end. Why 
 don't you have your peculiar features limned, as 
 a present for Miss Patrice?" 
 
 " How on earth do you come to be a friend of
 
 go THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 hers?" asked D'Albiac, putting aside this absurdity 
 without comment. 
 
 " Why, I met her and a whole crowd more of 
 these Suffrage girls at Violet Verney's, as I was 
 telling your future ma at lunch. (What a rise I 
 got out of her, didn't I?) Well, I arrived in the 
 middle of what they call a drawing-room meeting 
 for the Cause." He paused to emit a scream as of 
 a train leaving a tunnel, and, thus relieved, con- 
 tinued. " Servants tried to keep me out, but as 
 soon as I heard what was up I insisted on getting 
 in, and Violet, who's rather a pal of mine you know 
 we used to roll down hills in each other's arms ; 
 not lately, Jools, don't look so prudish; when we 
 were kids Violet said I might stop if I swore 
 to be quiet. So I was." 
 
 " I can imagine," commented D'Albiac. 
 
 " I was ; I was as taciturn as a turnip. And 
 by-and-by Violet was so impressed by my behaviour 
 that she introduced me to a lot of 'em; and jolly 
 girls they were, some of 'em. And then I got into 
 conversation with Flora and saw her home. She 
 rather took to me, Jools; I don't know whether it 
 was my beauty or the belief that she'd make me into 
 one of their lambs. At any rate she asked me to 
 come and see her, and for some time I used to look 
 in on her pretty often ; but I haven't been near her 
 for some months now." 
 
 "Why not?"
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 51 
 
 " I don't know. Oh, because I've too many 
 friends, I s'pose. I shall have to make a list of 
 'em all some day; edit it and expurgate it; and 
 then I can divide my time systematically among the 
 people I want to keep up. As it is I'm constantly 
 remembering that I haven't seen one of my best 
 pals for four years or so, y'know. That sometimes 
 cools 'em off a little." 
 
 D'Albiac stared out of the cab some moments 
 in silence, while his friend was lighting a cigarette. 
 
 "Husband a friend of yours, too?" he asked 
 presently. 
 
 " Ah, I see you coming ! " said Roddy, frowning 
 heavily. " She hasn't got one. The lamented 
 Evans passed peacefully away during the early part 
 of the South African War, I believe; having in- 
 judiciously tried to field a shell from Long Tom. 
 So there goes your last chance, Jools." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " asked D'Albiac, 
 irritably. 
 
 " Don't tell me ! I know your race," answered 
 the other, wagging his head, with his eyes goggling 
 vaguely. " It wasn't for nothing that I worked 
 my way, with the help of a pocket dictionary, which 
 left out most of the best words, through * Nana,' 
 when I was young and enquiring. But it's no good, 
 old chap! Your charms won't have any more ef- 
 fect on Flora than on the lions in Trafalgar 
 Square."
 
 52 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 "Really, Roddy," began D'Albiac hotly; for 
 since his engagement he was morbidly sensitive on 
 these subjects. His protest was, however, drowned 
 in the roars of his friend, to whom his indignant 
 face afforded an infinite gratification. 
 
 " What a refreshing old bird you are to pull the 
 tail of, Jools!" he cried when he had recovered 
 breath. " Hullo ! here's the church. We get out 
 here."
 
 Ill 
 
 HAVING dismissed their cab, the two friends 
 turned up the narrow street that runs beside the 
 parish church, Roddy clasping D'Albiac's arm af- 
 fectionately as they went. 
 
 " We now," he explained in a high, cicerone 
 tone, to the wonder of the passers-by, " approach 
 the slum areas in which your artists think it neces- 
 sary to hang out; so mind your pockets, Jools, if 
 you're lucky enough to have anything in 'em. As 
 for me, I'm like our vacuous friend Viator, with 
 whom old Homer makes such noise, I can afford to 
 sing; and that's about the only thing I can afford 
 until next September. Up here." 
 
 They entered a small paved footway, between 
 rows of two-storied houses of mean appearance 
 running east and west. Before one of these, on 
 the northern side, a white-plastered, narrow slip 
 of a dwelling, Roddy presently paused. 
 
 " This is fair Rosamond's bower," he said, " and 
 that's her window the open one. Wonder if 
 she's in?" 
 
 As a means of determining the point, he gave a 
 piercing cry of " Flora ! " which brought all the in- 
 habitants of the court to their windows, and among 
 them Mrs. Evans, who thrust her brown head out 
 
 S3
 
 54 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of the room he had indicated, and laughed as she 
 saw who her visitor was. 
 
 " I might have guessed it was you," she said, 
 nodding gaily; and then looking at D'Albiac for a 
 moment with raised eyebrows, she repeated the 
 smile and the nod. 
 
 " Come up ! " she said. " The door's open, and 
 I've nobody with me." 
 
 Up a rather rickety wooden stairway Roddy led 
 his friend into the room where Flora Evans was 
 at work; an apartment of larger size than had ap- 
 peared possible from the exterior, running across 
 the whole depth of the little house, and furnished, 
 on the side away from the street, with slanting 
 windows running up to the roof, " to catch," ex- 
 plained the owner, " any chance ray of light which 
 might have lost its way and wandered by mistake 
 into London." Through these windows a toler- 
 ably open view was obtained of timber yards, back 
 gardens, ornamented with washing lines and rumi- 
 native cats, and a large building which appeared to 
 be some form of school or institute. 
 
 Flora, herself, had been employed, at a high stand- 
 ing desk, in making a large decorative design in 
 charcoal; and further evidence of her customary 
 activities was afforded by a few studies of heads in 
 oil-colours that hung against the walls. The studio 
 was apparently used also as a living-room. Th.ere 
 was a little Chinese lacquered bureau against one
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 55 
 
 wall ; a square table covered with a blue serge cloth, 
 and bearing a slender glass vase containing three 
 dark red roses; a white glazed stove, with a pipe 
 leading out through the upper part of the back wall ; 
 a " saddle-bag " chair and one or two dark ones of 
 bent-wood; and a hanging corner cupboard, on the 
 top of which was ranged an exiguous row of shabby 
 books. Everything was most inartistically tidy and 
 fresh, and the June breeze playing freely through 
 the room from the open windows on both sides, 
 rustled the rose-leaves in the slim vase, and brought 
 a faint sweetness to the senses from the velvet 
 glory of the regal flowers. 
 
 The artist herself was a slim, girlish figure in 
 her plain brown holland dress, with a soft, low, 
 white collar round her long throat, and a leather 
 belt about her slender waist ; and her laughing face 
 as she took Roddy's hand set D'Albiac smiling too, 
 with a curious sense of cheerfulness that warred a 
 little with his usually self-conscious correctness of 
 demeanour. 
 
 " So here you are again, you false friend," said 
 Flora, shaking Roddy's hand heartily. " I thought 
 you'd died long ago." 
 
 " Ah, you've been peaking and pining ; I can see 
 that," he answered, with a mournful shake of the 
 head, followed by a prolonged laugh of so stun- 
 ning a description that Flora clapped her hands to 
 her ears, with pursed lips and tightly shut eyes. " A
 
 56 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 slight cold in my head nothing serious don't 
 turn pale " 
 
 " For a year ? " she asked, sympathetically. 
 
 " Oh, I say, steady ! " cried Roddy in protest. 
 " Come on ! Forgive me. Look what a pretty 
 present I've brought you, to make my peace." 
 
 He drew D'Albiac forward by the arm as he 
 spoke, rather to the annoyance of the Frenchman, 
 who felt an unwonted shyness in thus being turned 
 into a subject of laughter. Flora's expression re- 
 assured him however; there was nothing of rail- 
 lery and everything of friendliness in her frank, 
 lively face as she held out her hand. 
 
 " But we've met before," she said, turning her 
 dancing blue eyes on his. " And in a most martial 
 manner. How nice of you to come and see me! 
 I've often thought, since that time, that it was 
 rather rude of me to leave you in such a sudden 
 way, after your kindness. But you struck me, do 
 you know? as just as little sorry afterwards that 
 you'd done it, so I believed you'd probably be glad 
 to see the last of me. And now I'm proved wrong, 
 so I'll apologise." 
 
 D'Albiac began to murmur a few conventional 
 phrases on the pleasure of renewing the acquaint- 
 ance, which somehow struck himself as a little frigid 
 in face of this effusiveness; so that he was not 
 sorry when Roddy burst in with a fresh flood of 
 nonsense.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 57 
 
 " Pore old Jools ! He's been searching London 
 for you ever since. ' Tell me, shepherds, tell me, 
 have you seen my Flora ' I'm a little out of voice 
 to-day, so we'll omit the rest and take up the col- 
 lection. And it's only this afternoon that his per- 
 sistence has been rewarded by hearing a chance re- 
 mark of mine about you." 
 
 " Don't be idiotic," said Flora, with prosaic good 
 temper. " You haven't even told me your friend's 
 name yet." 
 
 "What? Old Jools's? His name and style in 
 his own land is the Markee Hongree D'Albiac ; but 
 for political reasons he veils these splendours over 
 here under the disguise of Mr. D'Albiac; known 
 to myself as Jools, for no particular reason, except 
 that it seems to suit him. And here he comes to 
 ask you to paint his portrait in the natural colours, 
 as a present for his young lidy there, that's done 
 it! Now I've given the whole show away, and de- 
 stroyed all his interest ! " 
 
 Clapping his hand over his mouth, Chalmers 
 made a great parade of annoyance at this slip of 
 the tongue, while Flora addressed Henry. 
 
 " Don't encourage him by laughing, Mr. 
 D'Albiac, please," she said. " But I don't yet see 
 how you found out I was a friend of his. You 
 didn't even know my name." 
 
 " Yes, you mentioned it that night, by chance. 
 So of course when Chalmers spoke of a Mrs. Evans
 
 58 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 who was an active suffragist, it occurred to me at 
 once that it was probably the same lady." He hesi- 
 tated a moment, feeling he ought to give some sort 
 of explanation of his visit. It was hardly enough 
 to say "You stuck in my memory as having a pretty 
 face which, in spite of my matrimonial engage- 
 ments, I felt I should be glad to see again." And 
 yet that was the only reason he could find, in a can- 
 did examination of his mind, for his having per- 
 mitted Chalmers to bring him down on this fool's 
 errand. It was necessary to say something, how- 
 ever, so he took refuge in a rather obvious in- 
 sincerity. "I was anxious to know that your were 
 none the worse for your your misadventure," 
 he continued, smiling formally. "And then," he 
 added, wilily, " I wanted to be allowed to talk to 
 you about your cause; because it's often struck me 
 since our meeting that there must be a great deal 
 to be said for these methods which I must say 
 I've always very much disliked if people of your 
 type take part in them." 
 
 Roddy who had behaved pretty well during this 
 speech, except for a rather vulgar splutter of laugh- 
 ter behind his hand at the announcement of the 
 second reason for D'Albiac's visit, broke in here. 
 " You've come to the right shop if you want a 
 great deal to be said,' old chap. Flora's the Chelsea 
 champion at that." 
 
 " Satan rebuking sin," said Mrs. Evans contemp-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 59 
 
 tuously. "I'm sure I shall be very pleased to try 
 and explain our point of view, Mr. D'Albiac. 
 You'd probably be an easy convert, if you don't 
 mind me saying so. It's the dull, trivial, apathetic 
 people that are our deadliest enemies. Perhaps 
 you'll come and see me some time without this ab- 
 surd person, who's a bar to all serious conversation. 
 I don't mean that as an insult, Roddy; rather the 
 contrary, indeed. I'm inclined to be a solemn 
 creature myself, and I'm sure your company does 
 me worlds of good in moderation." 
 
 "Well, you needn't have added that. It was a 
 prettier speech as it stood first, you know," Roddy 
 commented dispassionately. " Come on ! What 
 shall we do? Let's all go to Battersea Park, and 
 I'll stand you both a ninepenny ad lib. tea." 
 
 " I ought to finish my work " began Flora, 
 doubtfully, but with a glance at the sunlit 
 street. 
 
 " Work? " cried Roddy in disgust. " Work, on 
 an afternoon like this? Why, it's flying in the face 
 of Providence, which you ought to know is one 
 of the most dangerous forms of aviation. And 
 here's our first meeting for long, weary years! 
 Work be blowed ! Look ~here, I'll come in again 
 to-morrow and help you to finish it. Say yes, 
 there's a good girl." 
 
 " I s'pose you won't give me any peace unless I 
 do," sighed Flora, covering her drawing and push-
 
 60 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ing the desk into a corner. " All right. Give me 
 a minute to put my hat and shoes on." 
 
 Relying on the usually liberal interpretation put 
 by ladies on the word "minute," where hats are 
 concerned, Roddy Chalmers had begun to inspect 
 the contents of the corner cupboard, when Flora re- 
 turned unexpectedly and discovered him. 
 
 " Now, leave things alone," she said sternly. " I 
 won't have you putting your ringers in the jampots. 
 Mr. D'Albiac you ought to have kept your eye on 
 him." 
 
 D'Albiac gravely stammered an apology, which 
 caused the painter's blue eyes to rest on him for a 
 moment with an air of amusement that he was 
 quick to notice and resent. He confessed to him- 
 self that he felt " out of it " ; he wished he had not 
 been such a fool as to come; he did not understand 
 women of this kind. Roddy and she treated each 
 other as two schoolboys, except that their manners 
 and language were without offence. The young 
 women to whom D'Albiac was accustomed had al- 
 ways received him with a certain reserve; if un- 
 married, with an indefinable air of fluttered pleasure 
 that ministered agreeably to his self-esteem; mar- 
 ried or unmarried, with a certain attitude of re- 
 spect and deference to his sex, which raised him in 
 his own opinion and made conversation assume the 
 form of instruction, in which he was the master. 
 There were women of easier morality and low
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 61 
 
 class, of course, who treated him with a canaille 
 disrespect and insolence ; but that was only tolerated 
 for its piquancy and as a temporary diversion, 
 much as one allows a puppy to bite one in sport, 
 until one has had enough of it, when it may be 
 kicked into a corner, until the inclination for a 
 contemptuous indulgence of its impudence returns. 
 And in these ladies there was always present an air 
 of greatly daring, a ring of defiance in the tones 
 of their voices and in their often tasteless choice of 
 words. Mrs. Evans' demeanour was more that of 
 a free-and-easy young man, when thrown into con- 
 tact with one of his own age and sex. She made 
 no attempt to court D'Albiac or draw him out, but 
 threw her remarks to him with perfect friendliness, 
 for him to respond to or not as he thought fit. Un- 
 doubtedly there was a sort of pleasure in her soci- 
 ety, which was not entirely due to her physical 
 qualities, although these struck D'Albiac as consid- 
 erably more attractive than he had at first sup- 
 posed; but it galled him, too, to be dethroned from 
 the position he was accustomed to occupy, and 
 treated with no more interest by a woman than 
 if the difference in sex had never been invented. 
 It made him stiff and formal ; it added to his usual 
 horror of becoming matter for derision or adverse 
 public comment; and at the same time it inspired 
 him with a desire to make himself more important 
 in the eyes of this carelessly companionable young
 
 person, to show her that, although perhaps he had 
 not the utter want of restraint and conventional 
 politeness of Roddy Chalmers, yet that he was not, 
 for all that, a dull dog; and in all other respects 
 greatly the better man of the two. 
 
 Absurd as this desire to shine in the eyes of a 
 woman of Mrs. Evans' class and character ap- 
 peared to his conscious intelligence, particularly 
 in view of the fact that it seemed neces- 
 sary for such effulgence to assume manners 
 which he knew well would be both vul- 
 gar and ridiculous in the eyes of the girl 
 he loved, yet the feeling was not to be routed, 
 though the proverbial English morgue, which he 
 had been at such pains to acquire during the last 
 few years, stood in the way of his efforts to ap- 
 pear sympathetically lively and unconventional. 
 Roddy's outrageous noisiness did not appear at all 
 to offend Flora Evans, although she herself be- 
 haved reasonably enough in the streets. D'Albiac, 
 however, could have wished that she wore gloves 
 or at least carried a parasol; there was something 
 that offended his eyes in the sight of her walking 
 with bare, hanging hands, occasionally putting one 
 up to her unpinned hat of soft brown felt, to alter 
 its position on her head or hold it against a gust 
 of wind. He knew it was rather trivial to be so 
 particular in these matters; but, after all, quite good 
 people live in Chelsea now-a-days, he thought ; some
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 63 
 
 of the inhabitants of the great red-brick palaces 
 were personally known to him; and it was not an 
 agreeable reflection that at any moment he might 
 find himself face to face with some obviously aston- 
 ished friend, capable of putting a very questionable 
 construction on the fact of his companionship with 
 a woman who might well be a sempstress or shop 
 girl; who was, in sober fact, little better. The 
 thought strengthened to a pitch that induced him, by 
 a happy thought, to stop behind the other two to 
 light a cigar, and in catching them up again to 
 secure that Roddy should be between him and the 
 woman, until at least they were across the river, 
 where they would be in safety. If an awkward 
 encounter was to take place, Mrs. Evans should 
 at least pass as Roddy's friend and not his own. 
 She herself did not appear to notice the effect 
 of his sly manoeuvre, but continued the tripartite 
 conversation with undiminished good fellowship. 
 
 They turned into the Park through the small 
 wooden gate immediately beyond the bridge, and 
 at Roddy's special request went first to call upon 
 a particular friend of his; a raven who, with his 
 lady wife, kept house in a small circular aviary 
 among a plantation of trees. Like many of Chal- 
 mers' intimates, however, the portentous fowl had 
 not had the enjoyment of his society for a con- 
 siderable time, and the apologies that Roddy felt 
 it necessary to offer the bird on this point, and of
 
 64 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 his omission to bring with him a meat-offering 
 apologies which it received with frank incredulity, 
 expressed in the tilt of its head and the twinkle of 
 its brilliant eyes, as it hearkened to the improbable 
 excuses offered had the effect of drawing so con- 
 siderable a crowd of delighted listeners, largely 
 young women and children, about the party, that 
 D'Albiac drew some distance away among the trees, 
 to wait until the visit was over. The pushing and 
 heavy breathing of the little crowd, the clickings of 
 tongues, squeaks of laughter and admiring expres- 
 sions of surprise and amusement, the constant 
 treading of small feet on his varnished boots, and 
 the sight of round eyes looking up merrily into his 
 own, to see if he shared their owner's delight in this 
 stupidly ostentatious exhibition of nonsense, an- 
 noyed D'Albiac very much; the more as he per- 
 ceived that their woman companion, leaning her 
 elbow on the rail that enclosed the cage, frankly 
 enjoyed such tomfoolery, and even encouraged 
 Roddy by suggestive remarks when his wit halted. 
 He had a momentary thought of leaving them there 
 and returning to the less savage parts of London, to 
 associate with people of civilized habits. It would 
 be rude, no doubt, but what did it matter what this 
 common little person thought about him? He was 
 here entirely against his will, and was not at all 
 likely to repeat the experience. As for Roddy, 
 D'Albiac was quite aware that such a defection
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 65 
 
 would not even momentarily surprise him. It was 
 precisely the sort of thing he himself did, in all 
 circles of society; he would only take it for granted 
 that D'Albiac had suddenly become bored and be- 
 thought himself of something more amusing to do ; 
 which would have been, in his opinion, an ade- 
 quate excuse for an even graver breach of good 
 manners. Before he had made up his mind to this 
 course, however, he found the opportunity was lost, 
 for here came his two companions ; Roddy with his 
 tall hat on the back of his head, gasping with mean- 
 ingless laughter, and rolling a wild, unseeing eye; 
 and Mrs. Evans, her merry face dimpled and 
 sparkling, talking volubly; behind them their little 
 crowd of admirers stared after their retreating 
 footsteps. Neither of them appeared conscious of, 
 or at least called any verbal attention to D'Albiac's 
 withdrawal from their company; and, in his rather 
 irritable frame of mind, the Frenchman took this 
 as an added grievance. He had purposed, as he 
 saw them coming, to drop a carefully veiled sar- 
 casm at their expense, to defend himself from their 
 expected charge of stiffness and shyness; a few 
 happy words had even instantaneously occurred to 
 him, and he was sensibly disappointed that he was 
 given no reasonable opportunity for their display. 
 He felt he could have made them realise that it is 
 not by any means always the people who affect to 
 disregard all society's rules of behaviour who thereby
 
 66 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 escape the charge of being ridiculous and limited 
 in mind, at the expense of those who prefer to con- 
 form within reason. However, as they were both 
 immovably good-humoured and lively, he could 
 hardly make a personal exhibition of acerbity, 
 though the result of his self-restraint was mani- 
 fest in an obvious sulkiness of demeanour, as he un- 
 willingly followed them on to the wide expanse of 
 grass, bisected by a railed path, that occupies the 
 middle portion of the park. 
 
 And here no young mind and healthy body could 
 resist the witchery of the hour and the season. 
 After a rainy Spring, the two great enclosures of 
 grass were brilliantly green in the sunlight, soft 
 as deep moss beneath the feet; a carpet of richest 
 pile for the few lucky children within view to 
 roll upon luxuriously; the most sweet-smelling and 
 luxurious of couches for the contemplative out-of- 
 work labourer, on which to forget his trouble over 
 a pipe of tobacco; the safest training ground for the 
 young mother who, in the middle distance, was 
 instructing her staggering two-year-old in the dif- 
 ficult art of walking; almost a nuptial couch to 
 certain debonair lovers, scattered here and there 
 upon the gaudy plain, in postures, as Roddy said, 
 no less indicative of the sincerity of their emo- 
 tions than of their complete freedom from that self- 
 consciousness which is customarily one of the be- 
 setting sins of the English. Three hundred yards
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 67 
 
 away or so, a line of still freshly bright trees, wav- 
 ing their tops rhythmically in the light June breeze, 
 made a changing and stimulating backing to the 
 more dazzling colour of the turf; while above all 
 rose a summer sky that few melancholies could 
 have resisted, pale turquoise, built about, wherever 
 the eye could see its lower borders, with vast 
 cumulose cloud continents of dazzling whiteness 
 and a solidity that suggested a breathless repose 
 in the upper air, contradicted as the eye rose 
 towards the zenith by patches of cirrocumulus that 
 lost little by little their regularity of form and were 
 combed out at last into curls and thistledown strands 
 of creamy cirrus, delicate as the stray tendrils of 
 Flora's soft brown hair that fluttered from beneath 
 her round, boyish hat; pale in places almost to the 
 point of indistinction from the surrounding blue 
 pallor of the dome's apex, and lending an inimit- 
 able air of swift movement and resistlessly youth- 
 ful life to the smiling face of the June day. 
 
 Roddy was like a young horse who leaves the 
 high road on a windy morning for the springy 
 turf of the Downs; he leapt like a child with the 
 joy of life; Flora's delicately drawn lips of fragile 
 pink parted in a breathless smile of physical pleas- 
 ure, as she stood for a moment, swaying like a 
 young birch tree in the wind that tugged and teased 
 at her thin, pale-brown skirt, and tumbled her spun- 
 silk hair about her rosy face; Henry D'Albiac for-
 
 68 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 got for the moment the irksomeness of his company 
 and had a strong bodily desire for action and move- 
 ment to express his sense of pleasure. The oppor- 
 tunity was given by Chalmers, who cried out at 
 once a challenge for a race to the low pavilion that 
 lay two hundred yards or more before them; a 
 haunt of children, the robber's cave of a thousand 
 games. The words were hardly out of his lips be- 
 fore Flora was away, running like a boy ; elbows to 
 her sides, fists clenched, body erect, and with a 
 fine, light swing, as unlike the graceless waddle of 
 the untrained, petticoated woman of a previous 
 generation as can be imagined. The instantaneous 
 manner in which her rapid mind and responsive 
 body had answered Chalmers' defiance had taken 
 the challenger so much by surprise that she had 
 gained a lead of twenty yards before he started in 
 pursuit, hopeless as it proved, for the breath wasted 
 on laughter and shouted accusations of dishonesty, 
 added to the comparative unsuitability of his rai- 
 ment for bodily sports, soon left him totally out- 
 paced by the light figure that scudded silently be- 
 fore him across the grass : and when finally his tall- 
 hat blew from his head as he ran, he took it for a 
 good excuse to give up the unequal task. For a 
 few steps D'Albiac had joined in the pursuit, at 
 first with an eager, unaffected boyishness of emula- 
 tion, the next moment with a consciousness of the 
 absurdity, in the eyes of the bystanders, of the spec-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 69 
 
 tacle of his fashionable figure, glossy-booted, tight- 
 waisted and tall-hatted, engaged in this folly. At 
 the thought, he began to run with a delicate circum- 
 spection, laughing to give himself a countenance, 
 and almost immediately afterwards fell back into 
 a walking pace, with a frown at certain urchins who 
 had joined with him in the chase, crying encourage- 
 ments to him as they closely accompanied his foot- 
 steps. Their disappointment at his lack of persist- 
 ence manifested itself in tentative words of deri- 
 sion, which caused Henry to lift his cane in a threat- 
 ening manner at them ; at which they retreated back- 
 wards, with contumelious speech and opprobrious 
 gestures, which intensified as the distance between 
 them increased; while D'Albiac rejoined Roddy 
 who, still highly entertained by his defeat, was 
 brushing his damaged hat on his coat sleeve. 
 
 " I never saw such a girl as that," he said ad- 
 miringly. " She takes one's breath away, she's so 
 quick. Look, she's finished already." 
 
 From the still distant pavilion, indeed, Flora's 
 slim figure could be seen, waving in triumph to 
 celebrate the victory of her sex; a signal to which 
 Roddy replied by injurious remarks, shouted be- 
 tween his hands as he approached her. D'Albiac 
 felt that the moment for escape from this company 
 had come, and he began an explanation of suddenly 
 remembered affairs, appealing to his watch to sup- 
 port his statements. His friend was not deceived.
 
 70 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " I know what's the matter with you, Jools," 
 he said, taking his arm lovingly. " You don't think 
 we're behaving like little gentlemen. Never mind, 
 don't be cross. I won't rag any more, really. And 
 you promised to have tea with us. A nice cup o' 
 tea, old dear; you can't say no to that, I'm sure." 
 
 Still protesting the truth of his obviously men- 
 dacious excuses, Henry suffered himself to be led 
 forward, with little belief in the durability of 
 Roddy's promise. To his surprise, however, it was 
 reasonably well kept. It was true that Chalmers 
 hardly spoke a word of sense during the remainder 
 of the afternoon, but that was due rather to a con- 
 stitutional disability than to any deliberate inten- 
 tion on his part. And otherwise, whether from 
 weariness or not, his behaviour was distinctly chas- 
 tened. His laughter was considerably modified in 
 volume and improved in tone, and he did not arouse 
 any large amount of popular excitement, more than 
 perhaps half a dozen times, before the three parted. 
 In these circumstances, D'Albiac had an opportunity 
 of studying Mrs. Evans by a more sympathetic 
 light. Seated with his companions at a small cir- 
 cular table on the terrace of a refreshment house, 
 he found himself yielding more and more to the 
 attraction of her curious friendliness and outspok- 
 enness ; two characteristics that theoretically repelled 
 him as particularly unladylike and even un feminine. 
 At one moment she would be seated with shoulders
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 71 
 
 and head drooping, her hands lying in her lap, look- 
 ing upward into the faces of her companions, and 
 turning her blue eyes quickly from one to another, 
 as she listened with a curious vigorousness that 
 marked all her actions, and was apparent even in 
 her silences; the next she would have burst her 
 way into the conversation in a perfect flood of 
 volubility, though always in the same soft, clear- 
 cut voice, with large abundant gestures, and light- 
 ning flickerings of a pair of particularly pretty 
 hands, that seemed themselves to distil speech from 
 the rosy tips of the pointed fingers. She did not 
 laugh inordinately; most of Roddy's absurdities 
 were taken with a friendly contempt ; but she smiled 
 frequently and swiftly; the dimples in the narrow 
 cheeks, the crackle of blue fire in the eyes and the 
 flash of small teeth between curved lips were here 
 and gone in a breath, and when the laughter came, 
 it rang out clear and sudden as a small silver bell. 
 D'Albiac could not keep his eyes off her face; he 
 felt it and wondered vaguely at this sudden obses- 
 sion; she was pretty, but not remarkably so; she 
 was still young enough thirty, perhaps but a 
 mature woman and no girl ; one who had obviously 
 suffered and experienced life; she had good man- 
 ners of a kind, perhaps, but not of his kind, and 
 distinctly odd and irreverent; nor was she a lady; 
 an excessive accuracy of pronunciation and an ab- 
 sence of fashionable phrases and words denoted
 
 72 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 one of the well educated lower-middle class; one 
 would have said perhaps a secretary or governess 
 or journalist. Nor was she apparently much im- 
 pressed with D'Albiac ; so it was not flattered vanity 
 that accounted for his undoubted interest in her. 
 She gave him as much of her attention as she gave 
 that clown, Roddy; certainly no more; and there 
 were moments when she contemplatively screwed 
 her mouth a little on one side, with a pouting under- 
 lip, considering his face meanwhile with eyes of 
 dancing attention ; or tilted her head over a rounded 
 shoulder to glance at him obliquely with an elfish 
 slyness; and at such times he was hotly convinced 
 internally that she was privately laughing at him, 
 good-humouredly, certainly, but with genuine 
 amusement. On one or two of these occasions he 
 remembered that she had delivered herself of some 
 rebellious opinion, uttered some word that struck 
 him as too hardy, or broached or responded to some 
 subject that he considered taboo between gentlemen 
 and ladies. Of course he was aware that in his 
 own country married women were allowed and took 
 considerable latitude in the matter of conversation; 
 but, since he had come to man's estate, he had 
 associated so much with the English that he had 
 grown to expect a particular demeanour from the 
 women he met; certain reticencies and assumed ig- 
 norances, even from the oldest and most matronly, 
 even from the presumably not entirely uninstructed
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 73 
 
 mothers of large families ; and these rules of speech, 
 though not by any means flagrantly broken during 
 the afternoon were, he could see, held of little ac- 
 count by Flora Evans, who, to make matters worse, 
 had an appearance so maidenly and lived in such 
 lonely circumstances that Henry found constant 
 difficulty in reminding himself that she had mar- 
 ried, lost her husband, suffered and known per- 
 haps borne children, though there were none actu- 
 ally in evidence. He tried his best to appear thor- 
 oughly Bohemian in his replies to one who was 
 so widely different in aspect and manner from what 
 he had been taught to consider Bohemian, but it 
 was plain that his pained surprise manifested itself 
 occasionally, and at such times he caught that de- 
 tested suspicion of a good-humoured smile in the 
 bright eyes, and that suggestion of slyness in the 
 mere carriage of the head and body which gave him 
 a hearty longing to indulge in reprisals. He had 
 a fleeting thought of uttering some outrageously 
 frank sentiment and phrase, the talk of the smok- 
 ing-room, for the pleasure to his revengeful feel- 
 ings of seeing her flush or withdraw into herself at 
 the brutality. But in the face of her manifestly 
 crystalline purity of mind and the absence of the 
 slightest suggestion of a wish on her part either 
 to shock or excite, he was unable so far to forget 
 his decency. After all the woman on no occasion 
 said or suggested more than the most clean-minded
 
 74 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 mature man would communicate without hesitation 
 to another; and clearly she did not consider herself 
 or her company as possessed of any sex, except on 
 the rare occasions when a start, or constrained 
 reply, or slight frown from D'Albiac reminded her 
 of the fact that the difference existed. As for 
 Roddy, a most wholesome imbecile, for all his, or 
 perhaps because of his, constant attentions to 
 women, he was evidently quite at home in this 
 unconventional society; but D'Albiac caught him- 
 self wondering what his sweetly-ignorant betrothed 
 would say, what even the significantly reticent Mrs. 
 Beaufoy would say, if either of them could have 
 been present at the tea-party and heard the easy 
 tones of good fellowship employed and marked the 
 entire absence of those little arts of pleasing and 
 concealment or suggestion (delicately stimulating) 
 which obtain in all good society. 
 
 For all his restless feeling of strangeness, how- 
 ever, and fear of scrupulously concealed mockery, 
 D'Albiac found himself growing more and more at 
 ease, and ever greedier of Flora's attention and 
 good opinion, as the afternoon wore away; and he 
 was able to cry out on her, in a perfectly truthful 
 protest of regret, when she at last announced that 
 she must return to her home and her work. 
 Roddy, however, immediately seconded the pro- 
 posal ; he was a person devoid of stability, and had 
 long begun to weary of his company, having lat-
 
 terly fallen into occasional fits of absent-minded 
 silence, induced by the memory of a pretty friend 
 of his in a flower shop in Sackville Street, whom 
 he thought it would be pleasant to drop in upon 
 for some minutes' chat on his way home. While 
 there, he reflected, he might buy some flowers for 
 poor little Lady Vandervelde. It would be too late 
 to call on the pretty invalid to-night, but he could 
 leave them for her and look in on her to-morrow; 
 for he owed her a call, and she was a most charm- 
 ing woman, too. In his anxiety to carry out this 
 double scheme of amusement, he insisted on remov- 
 ing his friends from the park by the nearest gate 
 and packing them into a cab, dropping Flora at 
 the corner of her alley, and diverting her at parting 
 by the exhibition of his skill in a sailor's hornpipe, 
 which was intended to impress upon her, by an il- 
 lustration of his future activities, the statement 
 that he was shortly going to Southampton to pick 
 up a friend's yacht, in which he was to make a 
 cruise to the Western Highlands. The hauling on 
 imaginary sheets, scaling of ratlines, and constant 
 readjustment of treacherous garments that threat- 
 ened an embarrassing descent, were presented with 
 a breeziness and spirit that called forth audible 
 commendation from certain loafing amateurs and 
 the driver of the cab, wherein D'Albiac sat, as- 
 suming an expression of indulgent delight that was 
 not entirely convincing. Flora, however, enjoyed
 
 76 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 these corybantic exercises whole-heartedly, and 
 when Roddy had ceased, from exhaustion, and 
 tumbled weakly into the cab, still braying with 
 laughter at his own humour, she stood at the en- 
 trance to the court to see them off, and the last 
 vision that D'Albiac had, as he looked back to lift 
 his hat again, -was of a laughing face and the flut- 
 ter of a small hand. 
 
 The smile and the flutter pursued him through the 
 remainder of the evening, and even, to his great 
 annoyance, insinuated themselves into the sacred 
 realm of his dreams. Ridiculously he felt, in the 
 next few days, that such an invasion of his in- 
 most thoughts was almost an infidelity to Patrice. 
 This stupid sense of guilt refused to be laughed 
 away, although he found himself insisting to his 
 conscience, with the most laughable gravity, on the 
 very obvious fact that Flora was nothing whatever 
 to him, and that the interest he had felt in her 
 had been awakened purely by the novelty of her 
 character and manner; indeed by what, in retro- 
 spect, he might well regard as her defects. " Damn 
 her ! " he said to himself, over and over again. " I 
 won't ever go near her again! " And to fortify his 
 resolution he haunted his betrothed's home, in and 
 out of season, in order to occupy his idle fancies 
 and insure them against any further extravagance. 
 After a time, however, as the memory of the after- 
 noon at Battersea had begun to blur with the efflux
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 77 
 
 of time, this very discipline presented itself to a 
 busy conscience in the light of a slight on his 
 lover. What possible danger to one so lovely and 
 beloved could lie in a meeting or a conversation 
 with any other woman in the world, more especially 
 with a person of the stamp of Mrs. Evans? Was 
 it not almost a duty on his part to make cold and 
 polite visits from time to time on this chance 
 acquaintance, merely for the purpose of the un- 
 favourable comparison with true beauty and 
 femininity, and a triumphant exposition of the cold- 
 ness of his heart towards any but its own mistress? 
 Your true lover exults in these devout exercises, 
 and Henry D'Albiac was convinced, in all the 
 mapped portions of his mind, that it was such feel- 
 ings alone that induced him, after a decent interval, 
 sufficient to display his entire indifference to her 
 company, to contemplate coolly a formal visit of 
 tedious social convention on the Chelsea artist. He 
 was certain that such a proceeding would be 
 exactly the course of conduct that Patrice would 
 approve ; although he had never actually mentioned 
 to her his acquaintance with the woman in ques- 
 tion. Something told him that the discussion of a 
 personality so remote and unsympathetic would not 
 be welcome to the almost excessive delicacy of 
 his lover's character; nor, he said stoutly, with a 
 defiant stare into the slightly mocking eye of his 
 conscience, could there be the slightest necessity
 
 78 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 for keeping her informed of every chance acquaint- 
 ance that crossed his path. She was the last per- 
 son to invite such jejune and pointless confidences.
 
 IV 
 
 JULY had come with a burst of fierce still heat 
 that caused the rich and fashionable world to con- 
 sider seriously the possibilty of throwing over such 
 social engagements as yet remained to be fulfilled 
 and joining a sauve qui peut in flying, fearfully 
 panting motors and trains to the cool depths of the 
 country; where the terraced Italian pleasaunces, 
 spacious, timbered parks and sweet-smelling Eng- 
 lish rose-gardens, guarded by blushing, aged walls 
 or trim-clipped hedges, offered a pleasant vision to 
 those who were beginning to feel a little sated with 
 London and its sacredly exacting social duties; a 
 picture of lazy days in the shade of age-old trees, 
 or by tinkling fountains; luxurious drifting on the 
 bosom of glassy lakes and deliberate, lapping 
 streams; breathless flights in swift cars along 
 smooth highroads, through deep lanes and over 
 wide moors and rolling downs; and the agreeable 
 clink of silver and china as the tea-table is set on 
 the balustraded terrace or velvet lawn, while the 
 westering sun sets the diamond-faceted windows in 
 a flame, or adds a warm gilding to the sober grey 
 of stone walls and battlements, and the sound of 
 distant cries and laughter from the tennis-ground 
 comes as musically to the ear as the silken rustle 
 
 79
 
 8o THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of dresses passing rhythmically up and down the 
 close-shaved grass, where the chatelaine and her 
 guests loiter in a cool evening stroll after the 
 languor of the day. And then the wonderful 
 nights, when the air is fresh almost to chill, after 
 the stuffy airlessness of the London streets and 
 squares ; and, in place of the almost unbroken rattle 
 and roar of traffic, comes the utter, holy stillness 
 of the country-side, varied only by the whisper of 
 a stealthy breeze among the full-leafed trees, the 
 timid tapping of weak fingers of creeping plants 
 at the open window, or perhaps the cry of some 
 wakeful bird from a neighbouring wood or the 
 voluptuous snoring of owls among the ivy of the 
 mantled walls. Above all, a sky of dark, polished 
 steel, sown with friendly, golden sentinels ; drowned 
 in the silver tears of the melancholy moon; or al- 
 ternately veiled and bared by the ghostly pomp of 
 passing cloud-wrack. 
 
 The Beaufoys had gone; they were in Wilt- 
 shire, at Beaufoy, their wonderful old family seat, 
 with its four hoary, crenellated towers, its dappled 
 greensward park, stubborn oaks, soaring elms and 
 daintily tripping deer. Roddy Chalmers was 
 worrying a nearly exhausted yachting party with 
 his ceaseless tricks and noise, in the neighbourhood 
 of Arran. Mr. Colman was writhing in a draw- 
 ing-room in Lincolnshire, with the immediate pros- 
 pect of transferring his serpentry to Beaufoy; for
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 81 
 
 Colman's invitations, though numerous, were 
 usually for brief periods. In fact there was hardly 
 a soul in London; the deserted city being inhabited 
 only by that portion of its population which is 
 obliged to work ; or which the absence of deer parks 
 and Italian gardens, or the means to provide even 
 the humblest substitutes for them, confines per- 
 manently to the town. In this howling wilderness 
 howling indeed, by night and day the unfor- 
 tunate Henry D' Albiac found himself at what is 
 known as " a loose end " about the middle of the 
 month. At the beginning of September he was 
 due at Beaufoy; meanwhile it was always possible 
 for him to amuse himself elsewhere of course at 
 his own expense; or no doubt he might, had he so 
 chosen, have obtained an intermediate invitation to 
 a country house. The fact remains that he was 
 still a prisoner in the sweltering streets, and had 
 found an occupation for himself, during the period 
 of waiting for his visit to Patrice, in carrying out a 
 scheme for providing a little surprise for her, which, 
 he told himself, she would be sure to appreciate 
 highly; to secure which end he was unselfishly will- 
 ing to undergo any amount of tedium and con- 
 straint. 
 
 Beneath the dry light of the northern windows, 
 therefore, D' Albiac was sitting, for the third or 
 fourth time, in this dutiful bondage, one brilliant 
 morning, while Flora Evans, in a long holland
 
 82 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 blouse, transferred his handsome features to the 
 canvas that stood on the easel before him. Henry 
 appeared to be bearing up bravely against his en- 
 forced captivity, for he had been talking and laugh- 
 ing gaily enough to the artist, who, in the more si- 
 lent mood induced by painting, had answered prin- 
 cipally in monosyllables or brief phrases, as she 
 stepped backwards and forwards from her easel, 
 tilting her head from side to side to contemplate 
 her own work; sometimes only applying a single 
 touch at a time for several minutes; at other times 
 painting in vigorous silence, without moving from 
 her place, for a longer period. In one of the inter- 
 vals provided by her retreating from the canvas to 
 judge the effect of a minute or two of brush-work, 
 Henry seized the opportunity to enquire about the 
 hopefulness of its prospects. 
 
 " Going to be a success ? " 
 
 Flora, whose inclined head and rough hair, to- 
 gether with the long paint brush held by the mid- 
 dle in her mouth, made her appearance irresistibly 
 suggestive of a little dog carrying a stick, looked 
 up at him thoughtfully, and took the brush from be- 
 tween her lips. 
 
 " I don't think it's bad, so far. It won't be quite 
 as good as Velasquez, but on the other hand it will 
 
 be better than ." She added the name of a 
 
 celebrated portrait painter, whose works occupy so 
 much space on the line at the Royal Academy and
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 83 
 
 command such princely prices that it may be con- 
 cluded she was speaking only in jest. D'Albiac 
 laughed in a non-committal manner; for, after all, 
 he knew that artists are apt to see their own work 
 a little out of perspective. 
 
 " I'm afraid the subject isn't very inspiring," he 
 suggested, with obvious insincerity ; for he was per- 
 fectly aware that his appearance was rather un- 
 usually pleasing. " It would have been better if 
 I had asked you to paint Miss Beaufoy's portrait 
 for me, instead of mine for her. But of course 
 she's been done over and over again by " He 
 had nearly added " real artists," before, with a 
 snap of the teeth that almost hurt him, he succeeded 
 in securing the escaping words. Flora did not ap- 
 pear to notice his embarrassment. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," she said thoughtfully, bend- 
 ing forward to peer into the picture at close quar- 
 ters. " You've got quite a good face for a por- 
 trait. Of course plastering your hair down tight 
 all over your head like that, and wearing a hard, 
 high collar doesn't give you much chance of look- 
 ing very nice, does it? Still, you're interesting to 
 paint. Do you know Karel du Jardin's portrait 
 of a young man with curls, in the National Gal- 
 lery?" 
 
 D'Albiac shook his head, feeling slightly huffed 
 at her criticism of his undeniably smart appearance. 
 
 " Go and look at it. Oh, if I could paint like
 
 84 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 that! But I was going to say, you're astonish- 
 ingly like that boy. If you let your moustache and 
 hair grow, and were allowed to wear nice things, 
 you really might almost be him; except that he 
 looks more dissipated; not so innocent as you." 
 
 "Do I look innocent?" enquired Henry with 
 rather a vexed laugh. It was a word that he did 
 not much like in connexion with himself and the 
 disillusioned worldliness that he had acquired from 
 his experiences. 
 
 " Yes, I think on the whole you do," she said, 
 regarding him contemplatively. " No doubt you've 
 done lots of stupid, ugly things ; and perhaps a cer- 
 tain number of cruel ones. Men nearly always do. 
 But fundamentally, by inclination, you look to me 
 harmless and kind. If you cared to try, you could 
 probably be some use in the world." 
 
 " Dear me ! The conversation's becoming very 
 improving," he laughed. 
 
 " Isn't it ? " she agreed, painting away busily. 
 " You'd much rather believe you were a danger- 
 ous, wicked person, I know. Well, perhaps you'll 
 succeed in becoming one in time, if you stick to it 
 and try hard. It's quite a common form of suc- 
 cess. Keep your head quite still a moment no, 
 just as it was before, please. And tell me some- 
 thing that doesn't want answering for a minute or 
 two." 
 
 "What shall I tell you?" he asked, half-con-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 85 
 
 sciously admiring the play of colour in the artist's 
 fair skin as she worked with a suddenly renewed 
 energy. Despite her obvious entire absence of shy- 
 ness in all circumstances, Flora blushed frequently 
 with a flowery brightness, the gay colour sweeping 
 transitorily and unexpectedly over her cheeks and 
 even bordering on the porcelain whiteness of her 
 long, slender neck. Generally it was interest, sur- 
 prise or enthusiasm that ran up this attractive sig- 
 nal flag, and it was a fascinating addition to the 
 sparkle of her eyes on these occasions and the swift, 
 soft, tumbling freshets of her speech. She paused 
 for a moment in her occupation, and looked up at 
 him, cool again as a pale pink rose. 
 
 " Tell me about your betrothed," she said. 
 " Who is she ? I only know her name. She's 
 pretty, of course?" 
 
 Henry paused for a moment to let the vision of 
 his lover rise before his eyes and gloriously eclipse 
 the physical presence of the untidy little artist. 
 Tall, lithe, flaming-haired, pale and full-lipped, she 
 stood before his mind's eye in the wonderful 
 dresses that her matchless taste and riches per- 
 mitted her always to affect, and smiled lovingly upon 
 him, with that languorous, extramundane grace 
 that enslaved and enraptured him. 
 
 " Yes," he said simply. " You would love to 
 paint her. She has the most wonderful hair, like 
 polished copper. Perhaps you saw her portrait in
 
 86 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 the Academy the year before last? Barber said 
 her hands were the most beautiful he had ever 
 painted. She's tall and she dresses artistically, 
 you know; not just following the fashions. She 
 designs all her own clothes. The Beaufoys live 
 down in Wiltshire ; the father died years ago. Mrs. 
 Beaufoy was a great beauty, too, I believe. 
 They're rather a rather a distinguished family." 
 
 He paused, feeling that he was likely to become 
 vicariously boastful. 
 
 " Oh? " said Flora interrogatively, without look- 
 ing up. "What for?" 
 
 " Well, it was a Beaufoy who was beside the 
 Conqueror when he landed, you know." 
 
 "What conqueror was that?" asked the artist, 
 with a calm seriousness that caused Henry to stare 
 at her for a moment in silence, before replying, 
 with a natural indulgence of tone: 
 
 "William the First the Duke of Normandy." 
 
 There were times when her ignorance surprised 
 him; apparently well educated on the whole, she 
 was yet often unfamiliar with the simplest and most 
 generally known matters. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Ten sixty-six," she replied, busy 
 with her work. 
 
 " The story goes," continued Henry, warming to 
 his subject, " that when William stumbled on land- 
 ing, he helped him to his feet." 
 
 " That was very polite of him for those days,"
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 87 
 
 said Flora approvingly. " Was that the last thing 
 the family did?" 
 
 D'Albiac smiled privately at her obtuseness. 
 
 " Hardly ! I only told you that to give you an 
 idea of the long way their history goes back. 
 They've been great landowners ever since. Hugh 
 de Beaufoy received large grants of land from Ru- 
 fus." 
 
 " I see. They're rich," said Flora, apathetically. 
 
 Although he could not have said that the tone in 
 which she spoke was actually disparaging, yet she 
 did not appear sufficiently impressed to please him 
 altogether. 
 
 " I think perhaps you don't consider it alto- 
 gether a distinction to have been one of the great 
 landed families throughout all the history of Eng- 
 land," he suggested, with a touch of scorn in his 
 voice. 
 
 " Oh, well," answered Flora off-handedly, push- 
 ing the end of her small, pink thumb against the 
 canvas and rubbing it upwards, " it shows a certain 
 amount of adhesiveness, of course. By itself it 
 doesn't mean much, does it? But no doubt the 
 Beaufoys have done more than stick to their prop- 
 erty; public services of some kind." 
 
 Henry would have been glad to thrash out the 
 point of the respectability of ancient lineage per se, 
 but he had for some time been aware that the ar- 
 tist belonged to that half -educated modern class
 
 88 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 whose members are devoid of reverence for much 
 that is truly honourable, and obstinate against con- 
 version; being rooted in the assertive proposition 
 that they are as good as their betters. He had no 
 wish to start a perfectly useless quarrel with Flora, 
 for whom, in spite of their naturally different points 
 of view, he had begun to feel a genuine friend- 
 ship; so he strove to think of some more common- 
 place distinction in the Beaufoy family that would 
 be more likely to appeal to her mind. 
 
 " Oh, no doubt," he said, after a barren exam- 
 ination of his memory. " I believe there have been 
 lots of soldiers and politicians in the direct line. 
 The son of the house to-day Ivan is in the 
 Blues," he added, with a touch of legitimate pride 
 at referring to the famous regiment. 
 
 " Always ? " enquired Mrs. Evans, with quick 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Always?" repeated Henry fretfully. "Al- 
 ways? Yes, of course. That's to say, he's served 
 now for four or five years, I believe. He's a lieu- 
 tenant." 
 
 " Of course. Stupid ! " she murmured apologet- 
 ically. " And he's a great friend of yours, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 " Yes oh, yes ! " Henry said unconvincingly ; 
 for in sober truth, he could scarcely endure the 
 tedium of his future brother's society; and he 
 smiled a little as he continued. " He's quite a good
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 89 
 
 fellow; liked by his brother officers, and all that. 
 Not particularly clever, I think." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Flora, with a concerned ex- 
 pression of face. " That'll be a great disadvantage 
 to him in the Horse Guards, won't it? " 
 
 " Oh, no, I don't think it matters very much," 
 Henry replied comfortably. " It's not a working 
 regiment, you know. If a fellow's smart and pop- 
 ular, that's the main thing. And Ivan's a thorough 
 good sportsman." 
 
 " What does he do? Play cricket? " 
 
 " I don't think so. He shoots, of course ; I don't 
 know if he's a good shot or not; as I don't happen 
 to have been at a shoot with him yet. But he runs 
 a couple of big motors; and he's awfully fond of 
 racing." 
 
 " Gambling? " asked Flora, with her head on one 
 side. 
 
 D'Albiac laughed. " You said that quite like 
 his mother," he replied good-humouredly. " It's 
 funny how most women hate betting." 
 
 " Well, it generally has to be paid out of the 
 housekeeping money, I suppose," Flora argued. 
 " Are you fond of it ? " 
 
 " Not immoderately," he replied, with a sugges- 
 tion in his tones of the possibility of lurid tales of 
 wild pluck at the game, if he chose to boast. " I 
 play when I'm at Monte Carlo, of course and 
 then there's bridge; and Ascot and Goodwood.
 
 90 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 But you needn't be afraid of hearing of my ruin." 
 
 " As far as that goes," said Flora, squeezing the 
 last residue of the paint out of the tube on to her 
 palette, " the sooner an unmarried gambler's ruined 
 the better. Then he can't play these baby games 
 any longer, and has to work or starve." 
 
 She spoke without the slightest heat; but Henry 
 remembered, with a covert smile, that this was too 
 often delicate ground in talking to a woman. 
 Sport of that kind did not always appeal to them 
 strongly; and it seemed expedient to vary the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " I go down to Beaufoy next week," he began, 
 after a considerable pause, during which Flora had 
 contemplated his face with an almost embarrassing 
 gravity and intensity. 
 
 " Your nose bends to the left," she replied ir- 
 relevantly, in the matter-of-fact tones of one giv- 
 ing interesting information. Henry's hand flew to 
 the criticised member to straighten it, and he was 
 conscious of blushing hotly; for his appearance was 
 dear to him. The artist meanwhile, having settled 
 the point to her satisfaction, turned her eyes back 
 to her canvas, and compared the painting with the 
 original thoughtfully. 
 
 "I beg your pardon; what were you saying?" 
 she added politely, after a time, realising the si- 
 lence that had fallen. 
 
 " No, but I say, Mrs. Evans it doesn't really? "
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 91 
 
 protested Henry, anxiously and vainly looking 
 about for a mirror, and convinced that this defect 
 must have arisen since he shaved that morning; 
 for he had noticed nothing wrong then, although 
 he had, as usual, scrutinised himself with loving 
 care. 
 
 " What ? Oh, your nose ! " she said, looking at 
 him with a vague eye, and then suddenly smiling, 
 with a touch of impishness. " Yes. Never mind ; 
 hardly anybody's nose is quite straight. You don't 
 see it till you come to paint them. Where did you 
 say you were going?" 
 
 " To Beaufoy," he said sulkily. Why couldn't 
 she leave his nose alone ? he thought resentfully ; he 
 could never feel the same confidence again after 
 this ; the idea that people were regarding the sinister 
 diversion of the feature would haunt him, when- 
 ever he caught the eye of an acquaintance fixed on 
 his face with that interested expression that he had 
 often noticed. No doubt it was often his absurd 
 deformity that caused the interest. Flora mean- 
 while seemed unconscious of her offence, and was 
 painting again calmly. 
 
 "Beaufoy is the name of their place, is it? Is 
 it very beautiful? " 
 
 " Yes ; the park's lovely and the house, or rather 
 castle, is most interesting at least to me," he said 
 with intention. " Though I suppose not to people 
 who are not interested in old families."
 
 92 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 "Everything's interesting, don't you think?" 
 asked Flora, amiably. " And history and antiqui- 
 ties are thrilling; though they're very often chiefly 
 a record of atrocious wickedness. I should love to 
 see the house; I've a passion for old buildings. 
 Are there any pictures ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, no. The grandfather I think 
 it was sold and gave away nearly everything in 
 the house; though he had no power to do so. It 
 was practically stealing. Previously, I believe, 
 they had one of the finest private collections in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " Oh, well ; they're probably in public galleries 
 by this time," said Flora consolingly, " and that's 
 the proper place for them, isn't it? Why aren't 
 you down there now? I should have thought this 
 weather would have been ideal for staying at a 
 place like that." 
 
 "Miss Beaufoy's away; and I don't care to be 
 there without her," he explained. " She's up north 
 with the Wirksworths; had to go, as she was spe- 
 cially asked to meet Princess Betsey." 
 
 "Who's she? A Pole?" enquired Flora. 
 
 " Pole ? No, no. Princess Elizabeth of Mun- 
 ster, you know. Why a Pole, for goodness' 
 sake?" 
 
 " I don't know ; it sounded . She's some sort 
 of relation to our royal family, isn't she? Is she 
 young or old ? "
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 93 
 
 " Quite young. Oh, but you must have read 
 about her seen pictures of her in the papers, 
 over and over again. She's a dear ! " 
 
 Flora shook her head disapprovingly. 
 
 " You seem to me to be on intimate terms with 
 too many dears," she said, looking at him with 
 solemn eyes. 
 
 " I ? I don't know her at all. I mean she's 
 very pretty and smart. She's taken a great fancy 
 to Patrice to Miss Beauf oy ; but personally I've 
 never met her." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Flora, with a slightly puzzled 
 inflection. " I thought you called her some pet 
 name Topsy or something." 
 
 " Betsy ? Everybody calls her that," laughed 
 D'Albiac. " She's quite a pet of the public and 
 the newspapers." 
 
 " Fancy ! " Flora ejaculated, with a toneless dul- 
 ness. " And when do you go to the country? " 
 
 " At the end of the month, or the beginning of 
 the next; for the partridges. They have splendid 
 shooting down there ; young Ivan has been particu- 
 larly careful about the pheasants, though he's had 
 a lot of difficulties with the poachers. It's a bad 
 part of the country for poaching. Unfortunately 
 I shan't be able to be there for the pheasant shoot- 
 ing, as I rashly booked myself to go to Norfolk in 
 October, where the sport's nothing like as good, I 
 believe."
 
 94 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 He paused, with that uncertain suspicion that he 
 was not receiving proper attention, of which one is 
 often conscious, although there is no visible or 
 audible cause for the belief; and hoped that some 
 question as to his fondness for the sport would 
 give him an opportunity of hinting at his prowess; 
 for, like most young men, he had an innocent and 
 natural vanity in his virile accomplishments, and 
 would have liked to be able to suggest to this unad- 
 miring feminine friend that he had acquired a wide- 
 spread reputation for holding a gun straight. Mrs. 
 Evans was, however, describing circles with her 
 thumb round one of the painted eyes, and seemed 
 unconscious that he had ceased speaking. 
 
 " However, there'll be some pretty good guns 
 there," he continued in a rather louder tone. 
 " Wymondham himself, that's my host, is one of 
 the three or four best shots in England ; and there'll 
 be George Ross and a West Country fellow 
 Trecothick I don't know him, but he's said to 
 be pretty good. But perhaps you're not much in- 
 terested in shooting," he concluded rather lamely, 
 chilled by her unmoved demeanour. 
 
 She shook her head without looking at him. 
 
 " Not a bit," she said frankly. 
 
 D'Albiac was as sensitive as most sporting 
 devotees to a certain odiously supercilious tone on 
 the part of the opponents of honest British amuse- 
 ments ; and studiously level as Flora's voice was, he
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 95 
 
 detected the enemy in it, and flung back a chal- 
 lenging phrase. 
 
 " Why not ? I thought you said everything was 
 interesting? " 
 
 She looked at him thoughtfully, pushing; back 
 her hair from her face with the handle of a brush. 
 
 "Did I? Well, I meant it. What I should 
 say about shooting is, that I'm not agreeably inter- 
 ested in it. Of course, I should be very much in- 
 terested in doing away with it, if I saw any present 
 chance of that." 
 
 Henry reddened; his landowner's feelings were 
 stirred to their depths. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, laughing bitterly, " that 
 it's the wicked game laws, and the ' pore ' man that 
 upsets you. Perhaps you don't know that if it 
 hadn't been for the preserving of game there 
 wouldn't by this time have been a single bird " 
 
 " Yes, I know all about that," said Flora, uncon- 
 cernedly. " That's one of the things I principally 
 object to in preserving. As for poachers, I'm 
 afraid a charge of shot out of their guns isn't any 
 nicer than one out of yours. Still, there is this to 
 be said for them, that it's generally want of food 
 that drives them to shoot. But to do it just for fun 
 is well, to me, you know, it's revolting." 
 
 " I see," he said humorously, but with a flushed 
 face. " It's the poor dear dicky-birds that you're 
 worried about."
 
 96 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " That's it," said Mrs. Evans, in her soft, pleas- 
 ant voice; painting again now, with frequent small 
 pauses to criticise her own work. " If you want to 
 show how cleverly you can shoot, there are arti- 
 ficial things aren't there? which can be made 
 to give much harder shots any degree of hard- 
 ness up to impossibility. To want to hurt live 
 creatures is just a stupid conventional survival of 
 the savage's delight in cruelty, which most shoot- 
 ers you, for instance haven't even got now- 
 adays to excuse your proceedings." 
 
 D'Albiac had the German national characteris- 
 tic, referred to by Schopenhauer, nearly as 
 strongly developed as the one attributed to the 
 French by the same philosopher. It was almost as 
 unbearable an insult to him to be called a fool as a 
 coward; and he looked about angrily for some 
 crushingly logical retort to this humanitarian clap- 
 trap. 
 
 " Game's an article of food " he began, 
 hotly. 
 
 " But it's not with the idea of providing food 
 that you go shooting, is it? Or hunting foxes?" 
 Flora asked, with an infuriatingly innocent impu- 
 dence in her raised eyebrows. 
 
 " We weren't talking about foxes," he objected. 
 " And if you're so concerned about hurting a bird 
 or two, I should have thought you'd have- cried 
 daily over your mutton chop. If it's revolting to
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 97 
 
 shoot a partridge, it's revolting to pole-axe an ox 
 or to hang up a calf by the heels " 
 
 He paused with an effort, feeling that his tone, 
 in face of her immovable good temper, was becom- 
 ing a little rough ; though the words " revolting " 
 and " stupid " stuck in his gullet, increasing in in- 
 digestibility as the soft, half interrogative tone in 
 which they had been uttered faded from the mem- 
 ory. 
 
 " Isn't it ? " agreed the artist heartily. " Abso- 
 lutely revolting, as you say. Although it's rather 
 more excusable, because people, in the face of over- 
 whelming evidence to the contrary, still genuinely 
 believe that it's necessary for human beings to eat 
 meat. But don't talk about my mutton chop, 
 please. I haven't eaten such a thing since I was 
 allowed to feed as I liked, instead of as I was told." 
 
 D'Albiac shifted uncomfortably in his chair; he 
 had no wish to get into an argument with a food- 
 faddist ; for he had suffered already in society from 
 certain hypochondriacal bores, who dismally prated 
 of their systems of diet and their own digestive 
 disabilities; blighting happy parties and annihilat- 
 ing conversation with strange and too often impu- 
 dent figures of speech, in which such esoteric words 
 as " proteids," " albuminoids," " metabolism " and 
 " pultaceous " constantly recurred. He waved his 
 hand conclusively. 
 
 " Oh, if you live on grass, I've no more to say,"
 
 9 8 
 
 he said lightly, " except that it wouldn't suit me." 
 
 " How long a trial did you give it ? Very often 
 there's a sort of false feeling of weakness at first 
 you know," suggested Flora persistently. 
 
 " I haven't tried ; and pardon me saying so, but 
 I don't want to talk of these things," he said stiffly, 
 to stop the discussion once and for all. " The 
 world is full of horrible things. It does no good to 
 think of them." 
 
 "Oh, yes; but it does," Flora maintained with 
 amiable obstinacy, pausing in her work and look- 
 ing at him over a rounded shoulder, with an air 
 of insinuation that she had, which was like that of 
 some pet animal making tentative advances on a 
 stern master. " One must think of everything con- 
 stantly." 
 
 " Curable or incurable ? " he retorted, with a curl 
 of the lip. 
 
 " I don't believe anything's incurable," answered 
 Flora, squaring her shoulders drolly, with a lift 
 of her chin. " And the things that appear to be 
 are the very ones to be kept in the light it's their 
 only chance of being cured. But here's a perfectly 
 preventable thing that it's everyone's duty to think 
 about; and of course if they if you decide, after 
 consideration, that it's to go* on, it must go on. 
 But it's outrageous to let such things be, out of 
 cowardice in facing them or mere want of thought. 
 Have you ever been to a slaughter-house ? "
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 99 
 
 " Certainly not," he said snappily, and added 
 with cunning, "have you?" 
 
 " Well, it hasn't been necessary for me, you see," 
 she answered. " But I'm quite sure, from what 
 I've been told of them, that if you realised what 
 goes on there if you had to take part in it your- 
 self as the price of eating meat, you'ld become a 
 vegetarian this moment." 
 
 " There are many disgusting trades that I 
 couldn't engage in," said Henry. 
 
 " There shouldn't be, then. We haven't any 
 right whatever to make poverty a weapon with 
 which to force people to do things we wouldn't do 
 ourselves. Mr. D'Albiac, I don't think you can pic- 
 ture the class that's been made necessary to slaugh- 
 ter animals for your food. Try to think of your- 
 self armed daily with a pole-axe, clumsily destroy- 
 ing these terrified creatures, that are dragged bel- 
 lowing and screaming up to you on a windlass; 
 and some woman you are fond of Miss Beaufoy 
 crouching on the ground, with her clothes 
 soaked in blood, cutting up the carcasses, almost 
 before the life's out of them " 
 
 D'Albiac put up his hands to his ears with a 
 genuine feeling of nausea. 
 
 " If you're going to say these loathsome things," 
 he cried furiously, " I shall go. I won't sit here 
 and listen to such such disgusting " 
 
 He broke off, stammering and crimson, while
 
 ioo THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 the artist contemplated his face with sympathetic 
 gravity. She made no apology, however, for hav- 
 ing mentioned such beastliness. 
 
 " It is disgusting. That's just what I want you 
 to feel," she agreed after a pause. " So disgusting 
 that, as with vivisection, even if the continuance 
 or health of our race really depended on such 
 such hellish things which isn't so it would be 
 our duty to make up our minds to suffering or a 
 decent extermination. A civilised person ought to 
 prefer death and sickness to systematic cruelty." 
 
 D'Albiac made one despairing effort after com- 
 fort in face of the picture she had put in his 
 mind. 
 
 " There ! You admit yourself that death isn't 
 so great a matter," he cried. " These wretched 
 animals must die some time or other." 
 
 " Yes. It's not so much death," said Flora, re- 
 turning to her picture. " Though, even then, the 
 death in the slaughter-house is a horrible one. It's 
 life; the unnecessary birth of these millions of un- 
 happy creatures; to live artificial lives; forbidden 
 for the most part to breed or to roam at large; 
 driven and beaten and penned and shipped to other 
 countries by the most ignorant and brutal part of 
 the population, just for this one purpose of furnish- 
 ing dead bodies for our dinner-tables. Life, even 
 free, natural life, isn't such a happy thing that one 
 wouldn't think a good many times before designedly
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 101 
 
 bringing large, unnecessary races into the world. 
 But such a life as this ! " 
 
 The aposiopesis was eloquent; and seemed so in- 
 dicative of a firm conviction that the question had 
 only one side, that Henry felt a renewal of his ir- 
 ritability, which had for a minute yielded to the 
 feeling of repulsion induced by the mental picture 
 of his beautiful, delicate lover in loathly wise. It 
 found vent in what he felt to be rather a schoolboy 
 taunt. 
 
 " Oh ! You always think your opinions must 
 be right!" 
 
 " Why, of course I do," answered Flora, smil- 
 ing. " Don't you ? Everyone ought to think so. 
 Otherwise, why have opinions? But I quite sym- 
 pathise with other people having different ones, if 
 they've taken the trouble to make them for them- 
 selves. What I can't bear is the laziness of taking 
 one's views of life entire from other people or 
 books or religious systems or newspapers, without 
 ever making any effort to think things out for one- 
 self." 
 
 "Do you mean that I do that?" he asked, with 
 sarcastic courtesy. 
 
 " I suspect you do, largely," she said with brazen 
 effrontery. " At least in this case I'm sure I hope 
 so ; and believe so, too, for you've got a soft-hearted 
 face. You're quite capable of thinking for your- 
 self, I know; don't think I mean that you're not
 
 102 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 But this taking things for granted is so general; 
 people go on for generations with some abomina- 
 tion, and then one day it suddenly strikes them, 
 ' Hullo ! this is cruel and unnecessary. Don't let's 
 do it any more ' ; and there's an end to that." 
 
 The ruffled feelings of Henry were still apparent 
 in his high colour and knitted brows, as Flora 
 stopped speaking and looked innocently on him, her 
 lips pursed and twisted a little aside in her drolly 
 meditative fashion. 
 
 " Now we'd better take non-contentious busi- 
 ness," she said, laughing. " I can't paint you with 
 that terrific frown. Miss Beaufoy would be quite 
 alarmed." 
 
 He smiled perfunctorily. 
 
 " I suppose you flatter yourself you've made me 
 angry," he said carelessly, with a curling lip. 
 
 " Just a little," replied the painter, teasingly. 
 " But so you were at your first sitting, about the 
 Suffrage, you know. And yet, the time but one 
 after, you reopened the subject yourself, and prac- 
 tically agreed with everything I'd said. Oh, you're 
 a most open-minded person really; you only want 
 a little stimulation to make you throw over all your 
 most cherished fetishes." 
 
 " Politics are quite a different matter ; and I 
 never pretended that I'd considered the feminist 
 question much." 
 
 " There you are, you see," Flora put in. " And
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 103 
 
 yet you had the strongest views on it, and called 
 us the most unkind and cutting things." 
 
 "And I'm not altogether convinced yet " he 
 persisted, and broke down, for there was something 
 physically exhausting in arguing with this unan- 
 noyable person; the strain put on a rather hot tem- 
 per which was not accustomed to discipline or dis- 
 respectful treatment left him afterwards quite in 
 a condition of nervous reaction. Mrs. Evans only 
 looked at him with sly incredulity. 
 
 " Don't let's begin again on that," she pleaded 
 humbly. " Go home and think about it once more, 
 privately. You're one of those people who rightly 
 object to sermons, but are thrown by hints into 
 spiritual wrestlings, as ministers say, from which 
 you emerge transformed. It's only necessary to 
 make you feel uncomfortable; to put the roseleaf 
 under your blankets ; or to prick you with the hypo- 
 dermic syringe; and, like Kodak, you do the rest." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't laugh at me," he cried, in 
 pathetic appeal. " I do hate to be lumped together 
 with the bourgeois and stupid in that way." 
 
 " Stupid ? But the people I mean are the salt 
 of the earth," she replied. " Those whose con- 
 science is always after them like the Furies; the 
 convertible the reasonable the inconsistent. 
 I intended it as the highest compliment, I assure 
 you. And you must forgive me, you know, Mr. 
 D'Albiac," she went on, giving him her bright eyes
 
 104 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 with a transparent good-fellowship which com- 
 pleted his surrender. " I didn't mean to begin the 
 subject; but you would challenge my opinion, 
 wouldn't you? Of course, I know it's odious to 
 be preached at viva voce; and I do try to compress 
 my sermons, but I was born long-winded. Scotch 
 people are, though you've probably been brought up 
 to believe that they say nothing, except an occa- 
 sional guttural ' Hoots ! ' or ' Eh, sirs ! ' 
 
 " You're not Scotch ? " he said, with a surprise 
 which set Flora laughing. 
 
 "I am that; I'm from Dumfries," she replied, 
 gaily, with a new, strange intonation, which she 
 immediately discarded again. " But I married a 
 Welshman and live in England, so that I may be 
 said to be a most exhaustive representative of 
 Great Britain. Don't look so scared! I promise 
 not to dance over swords, or appear in a kilt be- 
 fore you. Now I've shocked you again. What a 
 prudish race the French are ! " 
 
 Henry laughingly protested against the indict- 
 ment, but Flora was off on a career of teasing that 
 nothing could arrest; and although he had, at his 
 first meetings with her, rather resented being, as 
 she said, " ragged," he had already come to take it 
 generally in good part; and to attempt reprisals, 
 which were not, as yet, usually successful. Flora's 
 conversation partook in almost equal quantities of 
 vigorous and, too often, polemical discussion of
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 105 
 
 ponderously grave subjects, and mere light-hearted 
 nonsense. In small talk, the usual pleasant flow of 
 gossip on social and topical trivialities, which had 
 been till now almost his entire conversational prov- 
 ender, she had self-admittedly no skill ; and in pe- 
 riods of its exhibition would fall into meditative 
 silences, during which the blue lights in her eyes 
 were economically turned off, to flash up again in 
 a moment at a sympathetic touch. Even art, a 
 subject which he had felt sure would be safe ground 
 with her, had not been so far productive of any 
 great interchange of ideas. Flora objected to 
 criticism, in its ordinary sense of pointing out one's 
 personal objections to an art- work; and they had 
 found no great common enthusiasm to discuss, 
 which, according to her, was the only enjoyable or 
 profitable form of art discussion. 
 
 " What earthly purpose," she asked, " could be 
 served by my decrying pictures you liked, or you 
 sneering at my favourite books? We should only 
 be depriving each other of a pleasure, without sub- 
 stituting another for it. If, in our self-conceit, 
 we think the other one has a taste for bad art, we 
 ought to attempt a wily insinuation of what we 
 think good art instead. If we learn to like the 
 good, we shall give up the bad of our own accord. 
 But until we really like Titian, it's much better we 
 should genuinely like Boucher than that we should 
 like nothing at all; and Titian won't become dear
 
 106 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 to us merely from having dinned into our ears that 
 Boucher is cheap that's to say, if he is, of course. 
 7 don't say so." 
 
 So, in, many matters that interested D'Albiac, 
 Flora was unsoundable, although in his desire to 
 display to her the exquisite taste and attainments 
 of Patrice he had made one or two efforts to turn 
 the conversation on to the famous works of art in 
 which his betrothed took such perennial delight. 
 In these, as in other subjects, he was often sur- 
 prised at the artist's want of knowledge of things 
 that he had thought familiar to, or within the bow- 
 ing acquaintanceship of, all educated persons; al- 
 though she appeared to compensate for the want 
 of these agreeably slight intimacies with an almost 
 tiresomely close friendship with a small circle. It 
 might possibly be well, for instance, to have a pic- 
 ture-dealer's knowledge of Diirer's etchings and 
 wood-cuts, though it hardly appeared socially neces- 
 sary, or even desirable ; but for any cultivated per- 
 son to say, unabashedly and without any form of 
 excuse, explanation, or promise for the future, that 
 she was wholly ignorant of " Madama Butterfly," 
 and almost entirely so of Bain and Lafcadio Hearn, 
 quite took away D'Albiac's breath. 
 
 As he walked back eastward along the Thames 
 Embankment this hot July morning, he found him- 
 self, for the hundredth time, petulantly asking 
 what it was in this very ordinary-looking woman's
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 107 
 
 company that so undoubtedly appealed to him? 
 They disagreed constantly; she had the unfailing 
 knack, as she had said, of making him feel uncom- 
 fortable (to-day, for instance, she had quite spoilt 
 his lunch), and turning his thoughts in the most 
 unpleasant directions; of sacrilegiously undermin- 
 ing ornate and venerable edifices of belief, and lay- 
 ing beneath them hideously delicate and explosive 
 engines, which a touch or careless movement 
 might, he felt, at any moment discharge. She 
 talked far too earnestly, when she was serious, and 
 often on subjects that are better ignored in our so- 
 cial relations; downright babyishly, when she was 
 frivolous, with hardly more shame or reticence than 
 that zany Roddy Chalmers. In addition to this, 
 she was in fact considerably, and in manner and 
 experience often immeasurably, his elder; produc- 
 ing a disagreeable and humiliating impression, 
 which no reassuring examination of her smooth, 
 mutable complexion, and bright lips and eyes quite 
 removed. And yet it was vain to try to persuade 
 himself that it was purely out of a desire to obtain 
 a moderately faithful portrait of himself, at a 
 " rock-bottom " price, that he returned three or 
 four times a week to the bare studio in the mean 
 Chelsea Street. He could not conceal from him- 
 self the disconcerting fact that he looked forward 
 to these occasions with a quite disproportionate 
 eagerness; and that his longing to terminate them
 
 io8 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 by leaving London to join his sweetheart at Beau- 
 foy was by no means so strong as he would have 
 wished to see it, even with every allowance for a 
 temperament, such as his own, which was always 
 more concerned with the immediate than with the 
 more remote future.
 
 YOUTH is proverbially ductile, and the French en- 
 thusiasm famously inflammable, more especially 
 perhaps where the torch is applied by a feminine 
 hand. A modern writer, who knows his country- 
 men, doubtless, has said that, had but the palest 
 imitator of Saint Jeanne arisen in the last genera- 
 tion, the Prussians would have been swept back on 
 Berlin, Moltke and United Germany notwithstand- 
 ing. However that may be, the race is one ever 
 ready for an ideal or a cause ; and D'Albiac, besides 
 being conspicuously young, concealed, or partly 
 concealed, an incurably recalcitrant French heart 
 under the formally folded cloak of his Britannic 
 indifference. During the loneliness of July in Lon- 
 don, moreover, he had more opportunities for con- 
 templation than perhaps ever before in his life ; for 
 he was by nature passionately gregarious and sel- 
 dom allowed himself to be thrown even momen- 
 tarily on his own society for his amusement. The 
 chance words that arose in his morning conversa- 
 tion with the Chelsea painter served, therefore, as 
 texts for hour-long pulpitry in his solitary walks, 
 arm-chair loungings at a deserted club, and restless 
 attendances on sleep throughout the airless, swelter- 
 ing nights in Cowley Street. Nor was enthusiasm 
 
 109
 
 no THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 his sole national characteristic; he had as well, al- 
 though till now but seldom brought into use, the 
 Frenchman's love of logical thinking, of pursuing 
 a subject to its conclusion, and scorning loss of 
 scent or broken-wind as personal disgraces ; and al- 
 though he believed that some of the quarry re- 
 leased by Flora Evans was of a worthless and 
 malodorous species, he was not able to prevent a 
 mind enamoured of the chase from raising a view 
 halloo. Vermin, we know, gives us as good a run 
 for our money as an antlered stag; and, where the 
 scent is blind, it is always possible that we may 
 find we have run down a hart where we looked but 
 for a fox. 
 
 Flora and her opinions, at all events, occupied a 
 disproportionate portion of his waking mind dur- 
 ing these weeks, and if he did not admit that she 
 had succeeded in disturbing any very important ar- 
 ticles of his belief, he was yet suspiciously tolerant 
 of views to which he still believed himself in strong 
 personal opposition. His valet was filled with un- 
 expressed amazement at his orders to exclude the 
 usual gun-case from the luggage that he was to 
 take down by train to Beaufoy at the beginning of 
 September; even displaying a certain unprecedented 
 obtuseness in understanding his master's plain 
 words on the subject, which provoked a fling of 
 impatience from Henry, who was aware of a lurk- 
 ing sense of shame in issuing these strange direc-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC in 
 
 tions. Guns were not necessary for courtship, he 
 argued; and he was going down to Wiltshire to 
 steep himself in the delights of Patrice's company, 
 not to trudge interminably over muddy fields, blaz- 
 ing away at a number of miserable birds for which 
 he had no use; an entertainment for boys and lout- 
 ish country squires, whose dull brains are incapable 
 of imaginative pleasures ; hardly worthy of a grown 
 and intelligent man; least of all during the theo- 
 retically unrepeatable time of courtship. It would 
 be a tribute to his lover to arrive, on such a sacro- 
 sanct date as the first day of September, at a house 
 so famous for its shooting, unarmed with those 
 weapons of which he was a proven master. The 
 sacrifice would surely touch her, for she knew him 
 to be, almost above all else, a devotee of English 
 sport. Images of wounded birds, regarded by him- 
 self with a new-born, maudlin regret for the use- 
 lessness of their sufferings, he pushed roughly back 
 from the entrances of his mind, much as a sturdy, 
 Olympian constable resists the foolishly ineffectual 
 efforts of misguided, dishevelled women the sim- 
 ile was rejected at this point as inept; dishonour- 
 ing, too, to the sex to which Patrice gave glory. 
 
 There was rather a large house party at Beaufoy 
 when Henry arrived, of whom it is not necessary 
 to mention more than a few. The Honourable 
 Mr. Colman was " taking " the place for a week on 
 his way to Wales, where another hostess awaited
 
 112 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 his coming without any unwholesome excitement; 
 pretty Mrs. Fedden irradiated the gathering with 
 the display of her glistening teeth in endless smiles 
 that were more probatory of amiability than of 
 mirth ; while a big, middle-aged man who shot with 
 enviable accuracy, but for the rest wore rather a 
 slinking air, as of one whose boxes and pockets it 
 would perhaps be as well to inspect before he left 
 the house, was known to be Mrs. Fedden's hus- 
 band, although he appeared to hold no verbal in- 
 tercourse with her, or indeed anybody else, except 
 in relation to his barest necessities. There was 
 also present Viscount Honiton, who, as Major Col- 
 lett, had for many years failed to enjoy that wide 
 popularity to which it was now generally agreed 
 his generosity and inexhaustible flow of strongly 
 individual speech justly entitled him. His unex- 
 pected accession to the honours of the head of the 
 house, through the successive deaths of several re- 
 mote cousins, had of course brought him promi- 
 nently into public notice ; and, once there, his sound, 
 old-fashioned common sense and nobly authori- 
 tative bearing were sufficient to ensure his position 
 remaining a permanent one. It was acknowledged 
 in political circles that the debates in the House of 
 Lords, upon military matters more particularly, 
 were quite a different thing since Honiton took his 
 seat. His lady wife was as imposing in her own 
 way as the Viscount in his; a golden-haired, ma-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 113 
 
 ture woman of Titanic build, massive in the lower 
 jaw and powerful of voice. She was considered 
 by some of her acquaintances to be a trifle over- 
 powering, and certainly had some little faults of 
 temper and manner that made the pleasure of her 
 company an uncertain quantity. Roddy Chalmers 
 was used to refer to her in his light-hearted way as 
 " old Collett's youthful indiscretion " ; and accord- 
 ing to the same authority she was the only child of 
 " a St. Kitts' beachcomber." It is a fact that the 
 occupations of Lieutenant Collett had formerly taken 
 him to the West Indies, which doubtless was the 
 only foundation for this unflattering rumour ; mean- 
 while she naturally accompanied the Viscount to 
 the houses to which he was invited; and although 
 Mrs. Beaufoy did not greatly affect her society, she 
 was just the thing to send in to dinner with Mr. 
 Fedden, who accepted her slightly dictatorial man- 
 ner in inoffensive silence, content to cast backward 
 glances at her as he ate, like a nervous dog din- 
 ing under the eyes of other hungry specimens of 
 the canine race. Besides the guests mentioned there 
 was the usual assortment of titled and untitled men 
 in tweed clothes, who tramped out of the house 
 in the morning, and tramped into it again at night, 
 muddy, exhausted, but content; to dine heavily 
 and drop spasmodically asleep or talk painstakingly 
 and haltingly to the ladies afterwards, until they 
 could decently escape to cigars, whiskey, and the
 
 114 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 pleasant review of the day's doings, unhampered 
 longer by female society. Beaufoy was a digni- 
 fied house; there were none of the noisy young men 
 and flighty ladies, married and unmarried, that are 
 not unknown in many parties. The tweed-suited 
 persons, rightly reckoned as " the best people," 
 were mostly accompanied by wives; the only ob- 
 viously unattached guests, besides Henry, himself, 
 being a soft-voiced elderly poetess from the United 
 States, who passed her day in seeking, with un- 
 deservedly scant success, for an audience for her 
 ethical discourses ; and a young British musician of 
 growing fame, whose technique was believed to be a 
 distinct advance on that of Wagner and Strauss ; and 
 indeed there were notable differences to be ob- 
 served. Developing the modern tendency to avoid 
 closes to its logical conclusion, he availed himself 
 of melodic material which, as he explained, never 
 came to an end at all, a quality regarded by the 
 uncultured among his auditors as its principal dis- 
 advantage; while envious persons were to be found 
 who contended that this property was due to the 
 fact that it never began. There were no longer 
 such things as motives and phrases; pure, formless 
 melody distilled for as long as one had the requisite 
 time to sit and attend to it; or until the composer 
 had filled the necessary number of sheets of music 
 paper. The difficulties with which this young man, 
 still under the age of twenty-five, had had to con-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 115 
 
 tend in driving his theories and examples into the 
 thick heads of a deplorably poco-curante public, had 
 fostered the warlike side of his nature to a pitch 
 which made him scornful company for all but those 
 who accepted his beliefs whole, and were tolerably 
 assiduous in rehearsing their creed. He was a 
 great pet of Mrs. Beaufoy's, but treated her with 
 something of the carelessness of genius, spending 
 a good deal of his time in his bedroom and most 
 of the rest in the smoking room, where his only 
 companion was Mr. Coleman, who had a passion 
 for the acquaintance of celebrities, actual or poten- 
 tial. The sight of the serpentine collateral of the 
 nobility, who was entirely tone-deaf, rapt in de- 
 light at the complicated technical and poetical ex- 
 positions of the young maestro, was a pleasing ex- 
 ample of the power of the Arts, even over the 
 most unlikely subjects. 
 
 Among this assembly of people, Patrice moved, 
 Henry thought, soon after his arrival, as might 
 some resuscitated hamadryad through the crowd 
 at a remnant sale, or a Praxiteles Apollo set sud- 
 denly alive on the Stock Exchange. She had only 
 returned to her home the day before her lover ar- 
 rived there, and the curl of her sweet, full lips dis- 
 played plainly to the discerning eyes of love that 
 she had little in sympathy with the guests whom her 
 mother had collected. Apart from Henry him- 
 self, whom she greeted with a languorous loving-
 
 ii6 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ness that sent a thrill of rapture to his heart and 
 instantly displaced from his mind any vulgar in- 
 truders that might have recently sought to find 
 a foothold in it, there was no one to whom she 
 found it desirable to address more than the briefest 
 and most unavoidable words, except the daughter 
 of one of the shooters, a certain Rosemary Hill- 
 Fegan, a tall, dark, Irish girl, pathetically slender, 
 with eyes like wet irises, who spent a good part of 
 each day folded in Patrice's arms in the embra- 
 sures of windows and other cushioned recesses. 
 Miss Hill-Fegan regarded Henry with bitter ha- 
 tred as her rival in Patrice's affections, but her 
 awe for the lovely bride generally forbade any mani- 
 festation of this feeling in her presence. Mean- 
 while Patrice devoted a considerable part of her 
 time to her girl adorer, and there was a tolerably 
 brisk interchange of presents between the two 
 nymphs trifling pieces of jewelry, ribbon-tied 
 copies of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, of 
 which poem more than one new edition had, oddly 
 enough, appeared recently; songs for Patrice to 
 sing to the somnolent guests after dinner in the 
 great Saloon, with a scornful knowledge that to 
 most of them the genius of Bemberg, Faure, Mas- 
 senet, and Reynaldo Hahn was less than nothing, 
 while to Guy Harris, the composer, the mention 
 of their names was the signal for a display of mani- 
 fest jealousy, which had already resulted in bad
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 117 
 
 blood between them. Nor was Miss Beaufoy at any 
 pains to conceal her distaste for the company in 
 general; Henry could hardly avoid smiling as he 
 noted the proud aloofness with which she circulated 
 among the admiring groundlings, all of whom, he 
 knew, were slaves to her beauty and content with 
 her contemptuous toleration of their worship. For, 
 although she was so meagre of the reward of speech 
 and smiles, the presence of Patrice Beaufoy in a 
 house, even her own, meant, like Tariff Reform, 
 work for all. She had an adorably childish way 
 of forgetting things that she wanted, and a petu- 
 lant air of remembering their absence that sent a 
 dozen men running errands for her; pianos had to 
 be opened; music found, arranged and turned; 
 windows thrown wide, when the sweet, fresh air 
 of evening set the older and thinner of the guests 
 shivering; Patrice's dogs to be caught, in the teeth, 
 literally, of strong opposition, and brought to their 
 lady, who generally found that the craving for 
 their company had by that time passed, or that the 
 wrong animal had been apprehended. A true queen 
 by nature, she accepted such service as a right, and 
 often scarcely deigned to glance at her courtiers, 
 as she formally thanked them. Mr. Harris was 
 the only rebel of the party; neither hand nor foot 
 did he move on her behalf, his pride having been 
 mortally wounded, on the first evening that he sat 
 next to her at dinner, by discovering that she had
 
 ii8 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 brought in a partly-knitted silk tie, at which she 
 worked delicately in the intervals of the meal, to 
 avoid the necessity of conversation with himself or 
 Mr. Colman, who was on her other side. -In ad- 
 dition to this droll unconventionality, which he 
 hypersensitively persisted in regarding as a slight, 
 the musician considered that Patrice's singing, of 
 which he professed himself no admirer, resulted 
 in a monopoly of the use of the piano; so that he 
 was precluded from surprising the assembly, as 
 he had hoped, with performances of his own works ; 
 a natural artistic ambition which was doubtless suf- 
 ficient to account for his failure fully to appreciate 
 Patrice's voice which, although almost entirely un- 
 trained, owing to the difficulties which its owner 
 had encountered in finding an efficient and at the 
 same time polite instructor, was generally acknow- 
 ledged to be rather out of the common. Mr. 
 Harris had other rivals as well for the possession 
 of the desired instrument, in the persons of two 
 or three of the male guests, hearty, sporting men 
 with virile, powerful voices, who condescended at 
 times to regale the company with " The Meynell 
 Hunt," or "The Old Stable- Jacket," performed 
 fortissimo in unison to the accompaniment of a few 
 simple but sufficient chords ; an entertainment which 
 was much enjoyed by those guests whose tastes in 
 music were simple and normal. Apart from the 
 irritable genius, however, Patrice had a compliant
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 119 
 
 court, for the only other person who ever failed 
 to obey her behests, her brother Ivan, was fortu- 
 nately not of the party ; fortunately, because both his 
 sister and mother, it cannot be denied, cordially 
 disliked the young soldier, whose male brusquerie 
 and constant assertion of that predominance to 
 which he was entitled as a member of the nobler 
 sex were not entirely comprehensible to ladies who 
 had passed a good deal of their time in countries 
 where the views of life are often oddly divergent 
 from that plain sense that distinguishes our land. 
 As for Mrs. Beaufoy, herself, she never ceased in 
 her ministrations to her beloved daughter, although 
 in private she would sometimes prefer to friends 
 half-laughing complaints of the young princess's 
 exactions; complaints which, however, resulted in 
 no diminution of her own labours in the girl's be- 
 half. If when travelling, for instance, there were 
 only two available rooms in an hotel for their re- 
 ception, it was Patrice who obtained, at her 
 mother's own request, the larger, sunnier or other- 
 wise more desirable of the two; if, in London, 
 Patrice required the motor car on the same after- 
 noon as Mrs. Beaufoy, for a divergent purpose, 
 she got it without question, and the elder lady took 
 a "taxi"; if the daughter discovered a draught 
 where she sat in a room, and mentioned it with a 
 pouting shiver to her maman, maman gave up her 
 'own place to her, and sat in the draught herself,
 
 120 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 protesting that she did not feel it. It was charm- 
 ing to see this grey-headed, amply-built, not over- 
 strong lady's anxious care for her young and peren- 
 nially blooming child ; charming, too, to observe the 
 babyish self-abandonment with which Patrice de- 
 pended helplessly and with a naughty wilfulness 
 on her mother for the gratification of all her needs 
 and fancies, and for protection against the mascu- 
 line discipline she would else have had to endure 
 from frere. 
 
 After the hot ugliness of a deserted London, re- 
 lieved only by the unromantic volubility of Flora 
 Evans, it was like a dream for Henry to find him- 
 self once more awaiting his lover in the panelled, 
 prielled room, radiant with flowers and thoughtful 
 with books, which Patrice used as a boudoir, an 
 apartment for which she had daily and hourly use, 
 being at the pouting age of indulged maidenhood. 
 He had paid his respects to his hostess in the draw- 
 ing-room among the negligible members of the 
 gathering; but his eyes had sought the door in 
 vain, at every new opening, for the form of his be- 
 loved; angry and impatient each time that some 
 lumping, exhausted man, returned from the fields, 
 rolled heavily into the room. It was not until he 
 had patiently declined, for the third or fourth time, 
 the offer of more tea, that Mrs. Beaufoy enlight- 
 ened him as to the romantic arrangements of her 
 daughter; who, unable to face meeting her be-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 121 
 
 trothed, for the first time after absence, among the 
 profane crowd, had given orders that he should 
 await her alone in her own bower. Thither, after 
 a long and stimulating interval, she descended to 
 him, royally seductive in a wonderful silver dress 
 of her own design, with rounded arms bare to the 
 elbow, and her gorgeous hair braided into a mag- 
 nificent crown about her proud head ; to come with- 
 out a smile or word, in a slow, languid movement 
 of infinite grace to her adorer's arms, and with 
 closed eyes, hold up her full, scarlet lips " in sover- 
 eign surrender," as she quoted to herself even in 
 that great moment, for his kiss. Patrice Beaufoy 
 had a natural and healthy taste for kissing, which 
 she had, since her engagement, been able to in- 
 dulge with English freedom; but to her lover, 
 whose countrymen have, no doubt with self-con- 
 scious prudence, postponed the full enjoyment of 
 this ancient and agreeable ceremony, among the 
 richer classes at least, until after marriage, the inti- 
 macy was not entirely an unmixed delight, for rea- 
 sons which must always remain to our race a little 
 incomprehensible. Foreigners of Latin stock are 
 apt to attach an undue importance to quite simple 
 matters where sex is concerned; including thereby 
 an artificial but somewhat overwhelming exaltation. 
 However D'Albiac's commendable ambition to be 
 in all things a thorough English sportsman made 
 him particularly careful to avoid any appearance
 
 122 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of this childish over-estimate of an everyday af- 
 fair, and he contrived to steer a more or less suc- 
 cessful course between the shoals of chilliness on 
 the one hand and the breakers of exotic explosive- 
 ness on the other. 
 
 Up till the present time the two young people had 
 not had the constant private opportunities for spir- 
 itual intercourse which they now enjoyed. At 
 Nice, in London and elsewhere they had, except for 
 brief and memorable moments, met generally in the 
 society of others; and the communion of souls 
 which they were aware existed so intimately be- 
 tween them had been obliged to live under the eyes 
 of the world and, for the most part, in silence or 
 only through the medium of hints and chance 
 phrases. But in September at Beaufoy they were, 
 at first, seldom out of each other's company or un- 
 able to pour out their hearts in fullest privacy; un- 
 less during those hours of which Miss Hill-Fegan 
 had obtained the grant, by dint of prayers and 
 angry tears. As Henry was not shooting, he was, 
 of course, left all day as the only male being of 
 any importance in the house, if we except Patrice's 
 dogs and the Hope of English music, mysteriously 
 closeted in his bedroom. The Frenchman was cap- 
 able of enjoying this position among a number of 
 well-dressed women, but was aware that such a 
 character is generally contemned in the land of his 
 recent adoption; and besides he had come to Wilt-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 123 
 
 shire expressly to live wholly and alone in the per- 
 sonality of his mistress. He was surprised at first, 
 absurdly enough, to find that conversation with 
 her after some of these long periods of' privacy 
 became difficult; allowing nothing, it would seem, 
 for maidenly prudency, inexpressible emotions and 
 the natural surprises incident to a complete unveil- 
 ing to each other of their whole natures. Some- 
 times it even seemed to him as if Patrice, nay, as 
 if both of them, were not unpleasantly interrupted 
 in their long confidences by the deep voice of the 
 distant outdoor bell which gave warning of im- 
 pending meals, or by the entrance of a third party 
 generally Patrice's maid with a message from Mrs. 
 Beaufoy or a love-letter, gorged with reproaches, 
 from Rosemary Hill-Fegan. Whether Miss Beau- 
 foy was herself conscious of such an atmosphere 
 was not at first certain; or whether, if she were, 
 it affected her happiness; but Henry worried him- 
 self a good deal on the score; wondering angrily 
 why it was that he failed sometimes to interest his 
 mistress; still more angrily why, at hateful mo- 
 ments, the divinity herself uttered sentiments that 
 chilled him, or failed to respond to a proposition 
 of his own with that whole-hearted understanding 
 that he was certain really existed between them; 
 which, at least, he held to be essential between man 
 and wife. Lovely as she was, there were yet times 
 when, gazing on her downcast eyes and warm pal-
 
 124 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 lor, he could not avoid feeling that the conversa- 
 tion was absurdly difficult to keep at a level of sus- 
 tained excellence; and a base thought of the rapidity 
 with which the long sittings to the Chelsea painter 
 had passed, and an even baser inner desire, in- 
 stantly suppressed, for a good, argumentative, quar- 
 relsome talk with his little middle-class friend, in- 
 truded themselves momentarily into his mind, with- 
 out waiting for any formal invitation. Yet this 
 virginal reserve, this girlish innocence as opposed 
 to the self-assertion of mature womanhood, this 
 slight touch of lovely gaucherie he knew to be among 
 his lover's chief est charms; she who was always so 
 queenly although truly, not particularly voluble 
 with others was silent, blushing, almost humble 
 with himself, a proud subject to his masculine power 
 and the love with which he had awakened her from 
 her childish dreams. At this point the traitor 
 doubts in his mind were generally solved for that 
 occasion by a return to those wordless endearments 
 which were the surest ground between the pair, 
 and which Patrice was ever ready to grant and ac- 
 cept. 
 
 It was about a week after his arrival that she, 
 herself, first inspired him with a qualmish suspicion 
 that she had shared his feelings of constraint and 
 dubiety. 
 
 " Mon ami," she said, after an awkward silence, 
 during which Henry was aware that he had shuffled
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 125 
 
 his feet and cleared his throat, more than once, in 
 a rather bourgeois manner. " You're not shooting 
 this year ? " 
 
 " Not this year," he agreed. 
 
 " I like you to shoot," she persisted, raising her 
 soft eyes to his. 
 
 "Why? Are you tired of my company?" he 
 asked, with a thrill in his deep voice, which struck 
 his own ear as not entirely spontaneous. 
 
 Patrice, who was beside him on the window seat, 
 whence they had been commending a decorative 
 sunset in a handsome manner, shut her eyes, and 
 tilted her head backwards towards his shoulder as 
 her only reply. 
 
 " You know," he said, with his face against hers, 
 " that I gave it up only to be with you with you, 
 always." 
 
 "Yes," she sighed, happily. "I know. Still, 
 I want you to be like other men, Henry. It's 
 odious to think that some of these dull persons, who 
 are inferior to you in sport, as well as in everything 
 else, should be laughing at you for being left with 
 the women every day. My love must be a man 
 among men." 
 
 "What does it matter what others think?" he 
 cried scornfully. " You are my world ; the rest 
 doesn't exist for me, or only as a vague background 
 of shadows for your figure." 
 
 An agreeable interlude succeeded these words,
 
 126 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 which Henry recognised as being in his best man- 
 ner, and somewhat striking in conception. He was 
 hurt to see, however, that Patrice stuck to the ques- 
 tion with a touch of obstinacy. 
 
 " I feel that, too," she admitted, " but I want to 
 be proud of you, mon ami. I don't want to be a 
 Delilah." 
 
 She broke off to sing in an undertone: 
 
 " Re ponds a ma tendresse .... Ah! Verse 
 moi I'ivresse .... I think that is the most beautiful 
 song ever written, Henry." 
 
 " Dalilah, Dalilah, je t'aime," Henry responded, 
 with appropriate " business," but perversely wish- 
 ing, internally, that it was not necessary in song to 
 speak of " ivrasse " and " tendrasse." 
 
 " What were we talking about ? " asked the girl, 
 after a pause for the mental worship of Saint-Saens 
 and of the librettist who has reproduced the bar- 
 baric atmosphere of those far-off days in so ac- 
 curate, yet tender a manner. " Oh, yes. There's 
 no reason in any case, dear one, that you should 
 not enjoy yourself in the ordinary manner some- 
 times. My Rosemary is terribly jealous of you; 
 I ought to give more time to her ; it's not for long, 
 Henriot." 
 
 " Oh, Rosemary ! " he said, in a huff. 
 
 "You mustn't be cruel," said Patrice gently. 
 " She's devoted to me, and she feels she's lost me. 
 And besides, the other day when Maman insisted on
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 127 
 
 driving me over to Mallock Park you didn't go 
 out with the shooters then." 
 
 " I didn't bring my guns," he explained. 
 
 " But there are plenty in the house," pouted 
 Patrice, whom a chance word overheard when pass- 
 ing a group of the shooters had inflamed. She had 
 no intention that her lover and herself should become 
 food for the tasteless jokes and innuendos of the 
 smoking room. " Frere has a half-a-dozen spare 
 at least in the gunroom. I know, because one of 
 them was lent the other day to that odious Mr. 
 Harris, when he deigned to go out, and nearly blew 
 Lord Honiton's head off. And Mrs. Fedden's 
 husband brought a perfect battery of weapons with 
 him. Why don't you borrow one? " 
 
 " Darling," he said, with an injured air, " I 
 thought you would be pleased at my sacrific- 
 ing-" 
 
 " I am. I have been. I accept the sacrifice, 
 mon ami" she murmured, in her dove's voice. 
 " And now you have proved your unselfishness and 
 your wish to be always with me, I release you ; and 
 order you to leave me occasionally and take your 
 proper part in the ordinary life of a country gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " If you order, I do it, of course," he said, with 
 bad grace. " But it's cruel to banish me from 
 you. And I hate using other men's guns. It spoils 
 one's shooting altogether."
 
 128 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 "They all know that; and if you distinguish 
 yourself with a strange gun, I shall be all the 
 prouder of you," said Patrice fondly. 
 
 Somehow all this magniloquence and discussion 
 about such a trivial matter irritated Henry, whose 
 nerves were, as lovers' often are, not in the calm- 
 est condition. 
 
 " It's such a small thing to be proud of. I hope 
 to do things that will be worthier of you than that," 
 he protested. 
 
 "Of course you will you do, now. Still I 
 wish to see you excel in everything. And it's right 
 that men should pride themselves on their skill in 
 sports." 
 
 " Some sports, perhaps," grumbled Henry, who, 
 criminally aware of awkward relief at the pros- 
 pect of more diversified days in the future and a 
 change from these almost too honeyed and pro- 
 tracted interviews, attempted to disguise his sen- 
 sations to himself by assuming a resentful air 
 towards Patrice for suggesting the change, and 
 mentally accusing her of being the only malcontent. 
 " Some sports, perhaps. But shooting ! Any 
 idiot with a pair of tolerable eyes can learn to hold 
 a gun straight enough in time. It's only a ques- 
 tion of practice and opportunity. Probably any 
 one of your footmen could become a better shot 
 than I am, if he was allowed to try." 
 
 Miss Beaufoy scrutinised him with a chilly dis-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 129 
 
 pleasure; for she was not very tolerant of con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 " You know that isn't so. Mr. Colman " 
 
 " Oh, Colman. Colman's rather an exceptional 
 person, fortunately. Besides he's old and blind. 
 Why, he wears a sort of eyeglass hanging off the 
 brim of his hat, when he shoots, to try to focus 
 his poor old eyes. Naturally he never hits any- 
 thing, except by mistake. I'm talking of reason- 
 ably young and whole people." 
 
 The tone of irritation was so apparent in his 
 voice that Patrice had a sensation that was almost 
 fear. She was no Maid of Orleans by nature. 
 
 " You used to say that shooting and hunting 
 were the only things you cared about," she ventured 
 to remark. 
 
 " They're well enough for boys. And I like 
 them now ; I said I did ; particularly hunting, which 
 takes some courage, if you care to ride hard. Be- 
 sides, that's exercise. Shooting is only an excuse 
 for taking a slow walk ; and, although I don't want 
 to be sentimental, it is cruel, you know, Patrice." 
 
 He could not quite have said why he suddenly 
 took up this humanitarian point of view publicly; 
 for though he had argued the point in his own 
 mind continually of late, he would have been 
 ashamed some hours before to have used such 
 words. The present outburst was partly due to ir- 
 ritability no doubt, but also, and oddly, to a child-
 
 130 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ish desire to present some of his lately-acquired 
 ideas for his lover's admiration. Apparently, as 
 far as this one was concerned, however, the experi- 
 ment was not successful. Patrice laughed pity- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she said provocatively. " I'd no 
 idea you were so tender-hearted, Henry. You're 
 not going to turn into a faddist and wear Jaeger 
 boots with toes in them and live entirely on nuts 
 and temperance champagne, I hope ? " 
 
 D'Albiac wore a face of stone; no one should 
 laugh at him with impunity, he said to himself 
 viciously, not even his adored Patrice, who wore 
 a tiresome smile at present that he imagined quite 
 spoiled the beauty of her face. 
 
 " It is cruel," he persisted, with a flashing recol- 
 lection of Flora's phrases and the round, soft hurry 
 of her speech. " And pain and cruelty aren't 
 funny, darling, even when they're unavoidable." 
 
 Miss Beaufoy's face flamed at the words; she 
 was seriously and quite naturally angry. 
 
 " I see ! You accuse me of being cruel ? " she 
 said, drawing away from him, and lifting her fine 
 head proudly. 
 
 " We're all cruel, consciously or unconsciously," 
 replied D'Albiac implacably. " You must own that 
 winging birds and cutting pigs' throats " 
 
 Patrice put her hand to her own plump throat 
 with a little gasp of disgust.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 131 
 
 "Must we hear all this? " she asked pathetically, 
 with the old look of a beseeching child. 
 
 " But it's cowardice just to shirk the subject," 
 cried Henry, angrily. 
 
 He felt he was going too far, and his heart sank 
 and his inexplicable fury was chillily extinguished 
 in a second as he saw his lover rise to her feet. 
 
 " I'm afraid I can't discuss these things," she 
 said, with signs of coming tears in her voice. " I 
 didn't think you could be so rough to me, Henry. 
 You know that I can't bear dreadful subjects. 
 You're very unkind." 
 
 " Patrice ! " he gasped with a guilty attempt to 
 seize her hands, as she left him. 
 
 " No, please ! " she said, faintly. " I think I will 
 go and lie down a little. There's only an hour 
 before lunch. I don't feel very well." 
 
 "Forgive me," he said contritely. " I'm a brute. 
 I can't think how I came to " 
 
 Patrice gave a wan smile. 
 
 " We must try to forget it," she said, with 
 Christian gentleness. " Never again, I beg. I 
 can't quarrel; it shatters me; but there are things 
 that aren't to be discussed ; I hoped you knew that. 
 No, I'm not angry; and I'm not ill only a little 
 a little tired." 
 
 She had reached the door as she spoke and disap- 
 peared, still with the same air of sweet forgive- 
 ness, leaving D'Albiac upright and motionless in
 
 132 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 the window seat, in a curious mixture of emotions. 
 He was appalled at his brutality to this gentle be- 
 ing, and at the obvious wounds that he had in- 
 flicted on one whom he loved better than all the 
 world. At the same time he was harassed by an 
 unendurable sensation of angry surprise, as he 
 realised that, in his intercourse with Patrice, many 
 subjects, perhaps the greater part of life, were 
 taboo. This was all very sweet and charming and 
 romantic, he thought, but how avoid the real, dur- 
 ing the long years of connubial relations? An at- 
 tempt to laugh it off with the belief that she must 
 of course change with age and knowledge and 
 gradual experience of facts, was not altogether suc- 
 cessful. How deeply rooted in this petted and pro- 
 tected child was this shuddering inability to turn 
 her eyes away from the rosy dream-life on to a 
 necessarily hard and coarse world? And why had 
 he always accepted her limited outlook, until the 
 last few minutes, as the only proper and desirable 
 one for a cultivated human creature, at any rate of 
 the female sex, to hold? It was not possible that 
 he, himself, had suddenly cast off adolescence and 
 become a man; still less, yes, still less, that half-a- 
 dozen meetings with a comparatively uninspiring 
 person of a considerably lower rank than himself 
 could change his whole point of view; although, 
 possibly, the mere encounter with classes and 
 things from which he had hitherto been shielded
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 133 
 
 might have opened his eyes to some extent on the 
 unpleasant side of life. At least, there was cer- 
 tainly no personal influence in the matter ; certainly 
 none. Certainly none. 
 
 For the present, his strongest sensation was 
 naturally repentance, and it was thus garbed in 
 humility that he appeared at the luncheon-table an 
 hour later. Patrice had punished him by arriving 
 early, a thing unprecedented, and entrenching her- 
 self between Lord Honiton and Colman ; Henry, who 
 was the last arrival, having to take a place on the 
 opposite side of the table, and some distance from 
 her, between Lady Honiton, whom he detested, and 
 the American poetess, Miss Lyman, whom he re- 
 garded with the dread common to all the guests. 
 The ill-fortune was sufficient to turn his penitence 
 into renewed captiousness, and he was not long in 
 falling foul of Lady Honiton, who was always 
 ready and anxious for a quarrel with anybody and 
 upon any subject. The morning papers had con- 
 tained certain facetious articles on the prison ex- 
 periences of some arrested suffragists, and com- 
 pulsory feeding had been made the subject of a 
 number of excellent jests, which, for one reason and 
 another, the Frenchman was unable to enjoy as 
 much as his neighbour, whose amusement, it must 
 be admitted, was of rather a revengeful and not 
 altogether mirthful kind. D'Albiac contented him- 
 self at first with a comparatively reticent statement
 
 134 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of his dislike of the treatment, without arguing the 
 question of its justification; and Lady Honiton 
 scenting a quarrel, plunged forthwith into provoca- 
 tive remarkis. The creatures were lunatics and 
 must be treated as such; if any were still mentally 
 sound, it was a well-deserved punishment and 
 warning to potential offenders against order. 
 
 " Don't you agree ? " she bellowed, during a pause 
 in the conversation, with the desired result of at- 
 tracting the attention of most of the table to Henry, 
 whose temper was marked in its rise by the colour 
 of his cheeks. He shook his head with a shrug, 
 but refused to be provoked. 
 
 " Oh, my dear man," her Ladyship remonstrated, 
 in the same stupendous tones. " Then I suppose 
 you're one of these crazy people yourself ? " 
 
 D'Albiac, flushed, but with calm eyebrows and 
 eyes, silently helped himself to a dish that was of- 
 fered him. 
 
 " I really believe he is, do you know ? " crowed 
 Mr. Colman, with a writhe of ecstasy. " Just a 
 teeny-weeny wee bittie of a Suffragette. Yes, yes, 
 D'Albiac, you shall own to it. Capital, indeed ! " 
 
 " In that case you're hopeless, of course," Lady 
 Honiton laughed, in a snorting manner. " I sup- 
 pose you've got some friends among these women 
 who've perverted your mind, Mr. D'Albiac; is that 
 it?" 
 
 " Certainly not," answered Henry, with a cold
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 135 
 
 ambiguity, which he perceived afterwards went per- 
 ilously near to untruth; but Patrice's eyes were on 
 him, and he spoke before he thought. 
 
 " If you haven't, you're not going to be let off, 
 is he ? " cried Colman, dabbing at him with a hand 
 in which the tips of the thumb and second finger 
 were joined. " You shall be defeated ; you can't 
 be allowed to hold such horrid views, you very 
 wicked person ! " 
 
 Henry was relieved that a man had taken up the 
 attack momentarily, and turned on the sprightly 
 Colman, who imagined his, jokes entirely accept- 
 able, in quite a savage manner. 
 
 "It isn't a question of views," he said hotly. 
 " Any man anybody fit to be called a man, that 
 is would be disgusted to hear such brutalities 
 treated as if they were funny. If it happened in 
 my country the government would fall next day, 
 and probably the prison would be burnt down into 
 the bargain." 
 
 Lady Honiton looked with raised eyebrows and 
 a smile of open suspicion first upon Patrice, who 
 dropped her lids and coloured faintly, next on her 
 hostess, who intervened in her fat, slow voice. 
 
 " My dear Henry, if you're so hot about it, we 
 shall begin to believe Lady Honiton's first sup- 
 position must be right." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Oh, quite ! Delicious ! " cried Col- 
 man, in rapturous gratitude at this support from
 
 136 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 headquarters. " Miss Beauf oy, I warn you ! He's a 
 naughty man ! You remember what Roddy told us 
 the pretty suffragettes " 
 
 This, however, was more than Lady Honiton 
 could bear. 
 
 " Rubbish ! Pretty suffragettes ! Why, French- 
 men are always on a woman's side, however 
 atrociously she behaves. Don't you remember that 
 bomb-throwing creature some years ago ? " 
 
 " And I would say, D'Albiac," put in her hus- 
 band, in his most sonorous debating voice, " that it 
 is a little unbecoming to accept the hospitality of 
 a country a country that has always opened its 
 doors wide to men of all countries and to repay 
 that hospitality by comparisons of a depreciative 
 character." 
 
 " Was it depreciative ? " said Henry, smiling in- 
 dustriously and gradually thereby recovering his 
 temper, which he was ashamed to have lost over one 
 whom he irreverently thought of as a rude old 
 woman. " I only remarked that in my country we 
 should throw out the government over these events ; 
 but that the English believed them to be justified in 
 their action. I went no further; I made no com- 
 ment." 
 
 " Pardon me," Lord Honiton insisted, with up- 
 lifted hand. "Your innuendo was plain; that we 
 are a race of brutes without respect for women. 
 You will allow me to insist that in true chivalry
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 137 
 
 we are unsurpassed; we may not make so much 
 parade of our feelings to women; but where they 
 are concerned where true womanly women are 
 concerned, not these unsexed, howling hooligans 
 we are the politest race in the world; in the world! 
 Let me tell you, D'Albiac, that I have seen old men, 
 older men than myself, give up seats in trains to 
 mere schoolgirls, mere children ; content to pay that 
 tribute to the sex. Do you suppose that sort of 
 thing will continue if this senseless agitation lasts? 
 If these disgusting scenes continue?" 
 
 " Indeed that is so," Miss Lyman cried with ear- 
 nest pathos. " If we descend into the poelitical 
 arena, Mr. D'Albiac, if we leave our doemestic du- 
 ties for the stress and dust of public life, we throw 
 away our best weapon ; we lose our charm, our pur- 
 suasive power " 
 
 " My dear lady, I have no wish to argue the 
 feminist question on one side or the other," Henry 
 protested, laughing. " Prison treatment of pris- 
 oners was all I had in my mind. At the same 
 time, when you speak of charm and persuasion, 
 you know, I think you must be thinking principally 
 of rich women, are you not ? The sweet persuasive- 
 ness and charm of middle-aged or old factory 
 hands, or laundresses, or charwomen aren't gener- 
 ally very effective weapons, I'm afraid." 
 
 " But that's our chivalry," Mr. Harris suddenly 
 cried bitterly. " Chivalry to the rich and the pretty
 
 138 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 standing up in trains and opening doors and 
 taking hats off to people in good clothes, or with 
 faces that strike our fancy. And that's about all 
 there is of it." 
 
 " It is not," cried Lord Honiton, to whom the 
 mere voice of Mr. Harris was always an unfailing 
 irritant. " It is only the outward symbol of a spirit 
 that permeates the whole community." 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" the musician replied acri- 
 moniously. " You may have seen men older than 
 yourself give up their seats to schoolgirls ; I should 
 think it extremely likely. And I can say for my 
 part that I've seen men younger than myself sit 
 tight while a woman older than you, Lord Honiton, 
 stood close beside them, holding a heavy bundle, and 
 clinging to a strap, after a hard day's work." 
 
 Lady Honiton denied the possibilty of such a 
 thing; some man of her own class would of course 
 have given the poor old wretch his place ; and aided 
 by her husband the indignant lady fell upon the com- 
 poser who, quite able to take care of himself, con- 
 tinued the fray with much enjoyment, revealing 
 himself as a leveller of the worst type. His opin- 
 ions became ultimately so extreme that his noble 
 opponent was compelled to close the discussion at 
 last by remarking with grave finality that, if those 
 were really Mr. Harris' views, it was useless to 
 attempt any further endeavour to make him see 
 things in a patriotic, loyal and English manner;
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 139 
 
 subsequently refusing to be drawn into any further 
 conversation with one whom he now knew to be 
 plotting the destruction of his own motherland. 
 Henry was thus saved from further baiting, al- 
 though he saw with alarm that his betrothed wore 
 a look of pained disgust at this strange exhibtion 
 of heterodoxy and ill-temper, short as it was, on 
 his part. Every endeavour to catch her eye was 
 vain; after lunch her headache persisted, and as 
 Honiton and Colman went out to join the shooters, 
 Henry was left for a time alone in the billiard room 
 with Harris, a man whom he detested, largely on 
 the ground of his rapid familiarity and insufferable 
 air of superiority, but to whom he thought it polite 
 to offer a laughing word of thanks for his assist- 
 ance in the discussion. 
 
 " My dear D'Albiac," Harris said, shrugging, 
 " I'm not particularly interested in women, although 
 I admit that, out of the three composers that mat- 
 ter at all in England at present, a woman's one. 
 But the only reason I joined in was to have a smack 
 at that old donkey Honiton, who thinks he's only 
 to speak to have us all on our knees. I didn't mean 
 more than half the things I said. As for the vote, 
 I don't know or want to know anything about it. 
 Politics is a damned dirty trade that it's better to 
 keep out of." 
 
 Patrice reappeared at tea, and was induced after- 
 wards to grant a private audience to her lover, who,
 
 i 4 o THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 with protestations and finally kisses, succeeded in 
 making his peace. But he was conscious during the 
 remainder of his stay at Beaufoy that she wore 
 an unusually alert air when he joined in the general 
 conversation of the house-party; and that, in their 
 rarer and shorter private meetings, she had an ap- 
 pearance of nervous restlessness when the conversa- 
 tion showed signs of taking certain directions. 
 Henry obeyed her wishes by going out frequently 
 with the shooters, though he himself still refused to 
 carry a gun, and was pleased to find that the com- 
 pany of his sweetheart became proportionately more 
 desirable to him. Yet when the day for his leav- 
 ing her approached he had a sad suspicion, which 
 he could not entirely reject, that their hearts had 
 been closer together before the visit began. He 
 blamed his own unaccountable indiscretion for a re- 
 sult so unforeseen and deplorable, but so it was, 
 and he could only tell himself that after a tempo- 
 rary separation they could meet again with all the 
 absurd little disagreements of the past few weeks 
 forgotten by Patrice, and only remembered by him- 
 self as a warning to exercise greater circumspec- 
 tion in his future relations with her sensitive and 
 delicate character.
 
 VI 
 
 HENRY'S reputed destination on leaving Beaufoy at 
 the end of September was the Earl of Wymond- 
 ham's house, whither he had been invited for a fort- 
 night for the pheasant shooting. His late curious 
 distaste for the sport had, it is true, entered his 
 head once or twice while at Beaufoy, in its applica- 
 tion to his forthcoming visit, but he had not made 
 any alteration in his plans, and had indeed left 
 Patrice with the understanding that his next letter 
 to her would be dated from Norfolk. During his 
 return by motor car to London the disinclination 
 for the prospective fortnight grew steadily stronger. 
 Apart from the shooting, Wymondham's was a 
 dreadfully dull house. Lady Wymondham was still 
 young and notoriously handsome; but this was, as 
 it happened, a disadvantage; for it had the effect 
 of causing her to exclude all other good-looking 
 women from the house; and as she had already 
 suited herself in the choice of a confidential male 
 friend, the other men of the party were necessarily 
 thrown principally on each other for amusement. 
 If one shot, all was well; for the coverts were 
 among the best in England; otherwise a fourteen 
 days' visit was likely to be a penitential affair. 
 Divided between the disinclination to offend and 
 
 141
 
 142 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 the indisposition to be bored, Henry got as far as 
 causing his boxes and gun cases to be secured at 
 the back of his car before his house in Cowley 
 Street, and had even, wrapped in his fur-lined coat, 
 watched the driver set the engine going, before 
 he made up his mind, relinquished the steering 
 wheel, and returned within doors. His butler was 
 informed, to his almost expressed indignation, that 
 his master would stay in London for the fortnight, 
 an arrangement which entirely threw out that un- 
 fortunate gentleman's own private plans; while 
 Henry, in a curiously defiant frame of mind, sent 
 a lengthy telegram of an ingeniously misleading 
 nature to Lady Wymondham, robed himself in a 
 smoking suit and settled down in his library, over 
 a cigar, to a serious study of Shakespeare, an author 
 to whom his attention had recently been drawn by 
 Mrs. Evans ; and of whose works he discovered that 
 his previous knowledge was largely inherited and 
 hearsay. 
 
 It was a disgusting day, he thought; cold, blow- 
 ing and wet; and he hated the country in bad 
 weather. London would be rather fun when it 
 was empty; a novelty at least. He would wear a 
 bowler hat, and go to some of these Exhibitions, 
 and take part in the people's amusements; descend 
 water-chutes and switchbacks in the company of 
 shrieking shopgirls and facetious clerks; perhaps 
 join in al fresco dancing, or cry " Ooooo ! " at daz-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 143 
 
 zling fireworks. If he was going into politics, he 
 should know something of the proletariat. In the 
 day-time, there were short motor runs to be made; 
 walks, too, in these mysteriously stimulating en- 
 virons of the great town ridiculously scorned 
 by the unwise on the ground of their overpower- 
 ingly impressive desolation and vast ugliness. 
 And while he was in London he might by Jove, 
 yes ! he had almost forgotten that ! he might get 
 that portrait finished for Patrice. It would come 
 well as a peace-offering, after their late lover's 
 quarrels ; and the painter was sure to be available. 
 Poor little woman! Probably holidays were not 
 very frequent with her; and he remembered to 
 have heard her say that her usual time for her 
 yearly few weeks of leisure took place quite early 
 in the year; in May or- June. Besides there was an 
 originality in remaining in London at a time when 
 most of his set were away, and before long some 
 of his friends would begin to reappear; lots of 
 people returned now-a-days before October was out. 
 He contrived in this manner to make quite a 
 dissipation of his loneliness; dined in solitary state 
 at the Ritz (he had half a mind to ask that poor 
 little painter woman to join him, but refrained on 
 remembering that she had some sort of dietetic 
 fads, not to be indulged in these places without 
 surprise and trouble) and, as the rain still con- 
 tinued, went to a music hall, where he yawned pro-
 
 144 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 digiously over trembling performing dogs, frankly 
 blackguard and ebrious " comedians " and stri- 
 dent " serios," until bedtime released him from 
 their exhibitions. This first experience almost 
 made him repent of his betrayal of his word to 
 Wymondham, but the next morning breaking fine 
 and dry, although still cold and windy, he rose in 
 renewed good spirits and set out on foot, by way of 
 Grosvenor Road and Chelsea Embankment, towards 
 the studio, for the purpose of discovering whether 
 his limner was at liberty to continue the sittings. 
 
 Half way along the embankment he unexpect- 
 edly overtook the woman, herself, who was hold- 
 ing forth with the old fluency and luxury of ges- 
 ture to an intrusive and unacceptable man-friend. 
 Flora was at first hardly recognisable in her cold- 
 weather array of soft, rough frieze ulster, into the 
 deep pockets of which she thrust her woolly-gloved 
 hands, whenever they were not required for the pur- 
 pose of exposition. The garment reached to her 
 heels, and with the felt " gamin " hat, from under 
 the bent brim of which she peeped out slyly, gave 
 her, at a distance, a perplexingly epicene appear- 
 ance. As for her companion, his aspect and his very 
 presence were highly displeasing to Henry, who was 
 willing to associate with Flora herself, as an ex- 
 ceptional member, he believed, of her class, but had 
 no desire whatever to be brought into contact with 
 her relations or friends. This fellow was not a
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 145 
 
 gentleman, plainly, in even the widest application of 
 the term. He smoked a briarwood pipe and wore 
 a rough beard of nondescript hue, while his hair 
 under his battered hat was certainly an inch and a 
 half too long. In spite of the cold of the day he 
 had no overcoat and his dark blue flannel shirt 
 opened in a low collar of its own material over his 
 hairy throat. Flora introduced him, with perfect 
 aplomb and heartiness, as Mr. Sutton, and the ap- 
 parition took one rough hand out of the pocket of 
 his worn tweed trousers to grip Henry's with 
 quite unnecessary vigour. " Glad to meet you," 
 he remarked with an abrupt and gruff unconcern, 
 and restored his hand instantly to the protecting 
 pocket. 
 
 Henry, in the unexpectedness of meeting Flora 
 in this unwelcome company, had more than half 
 a mind to pass on and leave the pair to themselves ; 
 but the cold wind, exercise, and the surprise of 
 meeting had made Flora's pale face as bright as a 
 pink rose, and her eyes and lips were gay with 
 conversation and good-fellowship. Somehow he 
 found that he could not decide to part from her so 
 abruptly; and, to his surprise, discovered himself, 
 after a few moments' halt, falling into their pace 
 and walking with them towards Chelsea Church. 
 
 "Well, and when did you get back?" asked 
 Flora. " I needn't ask if you enjoyed yourself," 
 she added slyly.
 
 146 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " Only the day before yesterday. I meant only to 
 pass the day in town, but I've altered my plans; 
 and I was just on my way to see you, to ask if 
 you could go on with the picture." 
 
 " Are you going to stay in London, then ? I 
 thought you had another invitation? " 
 
 " Yes. I made an excuse ; I didn't feel up to 
 it." 
 
 " Everywhere else seemed flat, naturally, after 
 Beaufoy ? " Flora suggested, peeping up at him 
 from under the brim of her hat. 
 
 He laughed awkwardly, not from any shyness in 
 talking of his engagement, for of this he was quite 
 free, but from a guilty knowledge that the past 
 few weeks had not been altogether the success that 
 her words implied. 
 
 " And besides that," he said, eluding the sug- 
 gestion, " there's nothing to do but shoot, where I 
 was going." 
 
 " But that's always the case in these country 
 houses, isn't it ? " asked Sutton. " You, yourself, 
 don't shoot, I suppose?" 
 
 " I haven't been doing so lately," Henry 
 answered rather coldly; for he resented the manner 
 of this person, who, to all outward seeming, was 
 no better than a tramp. The desire to commend 
 himself to Flora, however, made him take ad- 
 vantage of the man's question to explain his posi- 
 tion further. " I didn't shoot down at Beaufoy,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 147 
 
 Mrs. Evans ; and I don't feel now as if I could ever 
 take to it again." 
 
 "Beaufoy? Beaufoy?" repeated the intrusive 
 stranger. " That's where the mantelpieces are, 
 isn't it? I went over it once, I think, when the 
 family was away. In Wiltshire? A great, solid 
 house, built in half-a-dozen different styles?" 
 
 " It is in Wiltshire," answered Henry briefly, 
 and, turning again to Flora, he continued: 
 
 " After all our quarrels about sport in your 
 studio, I found I couldn't help thinking about the 
 subject, and as a result," he added laughing, 
 " you'll be pleased to hear that I believe you've 
 robbed me permanently of a great pleasure." 
 
 The personal influence of the painter in his al- 
 teration of view, which he had so strenuously denied 
 in his private communings, he found himself im- 
 pudently insisting on to the woman's face. But 
 then the face was a lively and pretty one in the chill 
 October wind, and he had always been to some ex- 
 tent the slave of the moment. 
 
 " But that's splendid ! " cried Flora, pulling a 
 woolly hand, like a small bear's paw, out of her 
 pocket, to pat Henry approvingly on the arm, and, 
 by so doing, drive the colour to his face in a sud- 
 den and boyish manner. " Mr. D'Albiac is the 
 most reasonable man in the world, Fred. He puts 
 obstinate persons like ourselves to utter shame. 
 One only has to suggest an idea in its most rudi-
 
 148 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 mentary form to him and he takes all the labour 
 of excogitation on himself; and abides by the re- 
 sult in a really heroic manner. First the suffrage, 
 now this " 
 
 "Where's the heroism?" asked Sutton, good- 
 humouredly, with a twinkle of his deep-set eyes. 
 " Being converted is the keenest pleasure in life, 
 especially if it leads to a renunciation." 
 
 " Converting's greater ! " Flora insisted. 
 
 " Utterly untrue," replied Sutton calmly. " Con- 
 verting is often a grievous disillusion; and in any 
 case it's the end of a pleasure, whereas being con- 
 verted is only the beginning of one. Mr. D'Albiac, 
 I declare I envy you the privilege of having only 
 just seen the objection to sport." 
 
 " But it makes the country impossibly dull," 
 sighed Henry, still a little flustered, for some reason, 
 at the touch of the small hand on his arm. 
 " Country houses are generally heavy enough, with- 
 out the loss of one's chief amusement." 
 
 " Everywhere's dull, if you're idle," said Sutton. 
 " The country is endlessly exciting, if you've work 
 to do. I know; for I worked on a farm for eight 
 years; and so far as amusing myself went, those 
 were the best years of my life. If it wasn't for the 
 desire to help the machine along with a shove or 
 two of one's own, I should have chosen to live and 
 die there." 
 
 "You had literary work, I suppose ? " asked
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 149 
 
 Henry politely, surveying the figure before him, and 
 privately thinking that it would be a likelier sup- 
 position that he was employed to frighten the birds 
 from the seed. 
 
 " No. I worked in the fields ; though it's true I 
 sometimes wrote in the evenings for my own amuse- 
 ment. But, as a rule, I was far too tired for that. 
 It was a fine life for a beast; and I know now how 
 the beasts enjoy themselves, so long as we leave 
 'em alone. But I can imagine what it must be like 
 to be shut up in a country house with nothing to 
 do. Idling's just possible for a time in towns, if 
 you've lots of money; but in the country, unless 
 you're an exceptional lover of nature, it's death by 
 inches; and, even if you were that, you'd probably 
 turn your taste into work at last by becoming a 
 poet." 
 
 " Then, as far as I'm concerned, the country's 
 lost its attractions, except for a few days at a time," 
 D'Albiac agreed. "For I'm afraid my friends 
 would be a little amused to see me starting off for 
 the fields with a spade." 
 
 " Well, if you did no more than amuse your 
 friends," Flora said reflectively " you 'Id have done 
 better than most people. But I think you're un- 
 doubtedly a town-dweller, Mr. D'Albiac; and be- 
 sides you're going into politics, didn't you say? " 
 
 "In our country or your own ? " Sutton enquired, 
 with an obviously increased interest.
 
 150 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 Henry gave his usual brief frown at the discov- 
 ery of his foreign birth. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered. " Probably, how- 
 ever, I shall live largely in this country in the fu- 
 ture." 
 
 " Will he be any use to us, Flora ? " asked Sut- 
 ton, ruminatively. " Why are you going in? For 
 an ideal or for an occupation ? " 
 
 " My good sir," Henry remonstrated, highly re- 
 senting the speculative eyes of the man, who 
 seemed, he thought, already to regard him as a fu- 
 ture tool for his own, no doubt anarchic, work. 
 "I'm not yet in a position to discuss such a ques- 
 tion. You may be quite sure at any rate that when, 
 or if, the time comes I shall take my own line. I'm 
 not in the habit of accepting my marching orders 
 from anyone." 
 
 " Flora, this is your responsibility," persisted Sut- 
 ton, tastelessly. " Keep hold. Mr. D'Albiac's an 
 enthusiast and young and plastic. He's got brains, 
 I think, he's got money, I suspect, and he's got 
 a personality, I can see. Don't let him go." 
 
 Flora laughed at Henry to dissipate the gathering 
 glance of thunder at this fellow's insolence; and 
 he found himself smiling almost affectionately back 
 at her. 
 
 " Never mind, Fred," she said soothingly. 
 " He's like a terrier with a rabbit when he scents a 
 potential statesman. You shall be just what you
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 151 
 
 like in politics don't be alarmed : a Conservative, 
 and talk about appeals to the base passions of the 
 proletariat, and appropriate the Union Jack and the 
 Navy and the King and the Empire and patriotism 
 as your own private property; or a Radical and 
 declare yourself to be the only party that ever has 
 done, will do, can do, or wants to do anything for 
 social reform; or a Labour member, and go into 
 Parliament to turn it upside down, and afterwards 
 troop obediently, on all occasions, into the Radical 
 lobby ; or a Socialist, and what do they do, 
 Fred?" she asked mischievously. 
 
 " Quarrel with all the other socialists on earth, 
 and lose chance after chance of getting anything 
 done," said Sutton regretfully. " And here we are 
 at the church. I must be off. It's past twelve. 
 Are you coming my way, Mr. D'Albiac? " 
 
 Henry gave quite a start at the mere notion of 
 walking alone through the streets with this di- 
 shevelled creature. 
 
 " What are you going to do, Mrs. Evans ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I was going back to get on with some work 
 I've got in hand; but if you like to have a sitting 
 now, I can give you one. The light's pretty good 
 to-day, and that's rare at this time of year." 
 
 " Then I'll come with you, if I may," Henry 
 agreed. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Sutton, taking both hands from
 
 152 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 his pockets for the first time and giving one to each 
 of his companions. " Remember what I said, 
 Flora. He who has been converted once .1 need 
 say no more. Hope to meet you again, sir." 
 
 He nodded with a twinkle of his eyes at 
 D'Albiac, put his hands once more in his pockets, 
 and turned back again along the embankment, 
 while Henry and Flora pursued their way up the 
 side-street. 
 
 " What do you think of Fred Sutton ? " asked 
 Flora, with a tilt of her head backwards and up- 
 wards to look in his face. 
 
 " Well, really I can hardly judge, can I ? " 
 asked Henry, stiffly, unwilling to give his true opin- 
 ion. " He struck me as a little mad, if I may say 
 so." 
 
 " Oh, we're all that," agreed Flora. " But I wish 
 you could have had a longer talk with him; he's 
 a most stimulating person." To allow anyone the 
 power of stimulation was regarded by Flora, it 
 seemed, as the highest compliment she could pay. 
 " And then he's so kind and nice. I'm very fond 
 of Fred." 
 
 " I didn't mean anything uncomplimentary," 
 Henry urged, anxiously. " Only that he struck me 
 as unconventional eccentric. I hope I wasn't 
 rude. 'He's no relation of yours, is he? " 
 
 " Fred ? Oh, no. Just a friend. You wouldn't 
 think to look at that old rag-bag that he was the
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 153 
 
 son of a rich man, would you? Well, he is; and 
 his father sent him to a public school I forget 
 which Rugby, I believe. He the father 
 owned a lot of public-house property, and Fred 
 was the only child. He'd have been worth a 
 good many thousands a year, in the ordinary 
 course. However, he preferred to be poor, you 
 see." 
 
 They had reached Mrs. Evans' house, and the 
 painter ran upstairs before her patron, and, throw- 
 ing her hat and ulster on a chair, hastily indued the 
 toga of her craft, and busied herself among her 
 brushes and pigments. 
 
 " Will you pose yourself and look pleasant 
 please, Mr. D'Albiac?" she said, abstractedly, hunt- 
 ing among her tubes. " The light's very good just 
 now and we mustn't lose it." 
 
 "What did Mr. Sutton do with his money?" 
 resumed Henry, seating himself obediently. " Give 
 it away? " 
 
 " No, because he never actually got it. Old Mr. 
 Sutton wanted to send him to Cambridge when he 
 was twenty, but by that time Fred had got ideas of 
 his own; and he told his father, with engaging 
 frankness, what he intended to do in life, and with 
 the public-houses if they came to him. You can 
 imagine the fury of the old publican! So Fred got 
 nothing, and the money went to a cousin." 
 
 " How did he manage to live?"
 
 154 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 - 
 
 " Why, for a time he worked on the farm of a 
 man he knew, as he was telling you." 
 
 "As his partner?" 
 
 " No, as a farm labourer ; he hoped, you see, to 
 be able to find time to write as well. But he found, 
 of course, that he was becoming a vegetable rap- 
 idly; so he came up to London, with a few pounds, 
 and got reporting work. Of course, he's rather a 
 striking personality, and obviously well educated; 
 and as he was willing to work cheap, he didn't 
 find any particular difficulty in getting a job. Oh! 
 he's done most things; and now he's on the staff 
 of Fraternity, and contrives to be Secretary to 
 half-a-dozen societies as well, mostly without pay; 
 and he lectures and organises. I feel the laziest 
 creature in the world when I meet Fred. It really 
 makes my head ache to think of all the things he 
 gets through in a day ; and yet he finds time to keep 
 up his friends as well. For instance, he's been with 
 me a couple of hours this morning; but then he 
 wasn't in bed last night. Now he'll go home and 
 sleep for an hour or two, and then be at work 
 again. And they say that overwork kills a man! 
 Look at Fred! He's all of fifty, and I've never 
 known him have any worse disease than chilblains." 
 
 " Societies ? " said Henry, reflectively, when the 
 softly tumbling stream of words ceased for a mo- 
 ment. " What sort of societies? Is he an anarch- 
 ist?"
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 155 
 
 Since the moment of their meeting he had de- 
 cided that Sutton looked exactly as he had always 
 supposed an anarch might look, although he was 
 naturally not personally acquainted with any of the 
 brotherhood. 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Flora, piously. 
 " Anarchy's a distant dream. He's a Social- 
 ist." 
 
 " Well, but is there any particular difference ? " 
 Henry asked, with genuine innocence; for he could 
 not be supposed to know all the minor distinctions 
 of these social pariahs. 
 
 " Only this difference," Flora assured him, with 
 the smallest of smiles as she regarded his disap- 
 proving face, " that they hold diametrically oppo- 
 site opinions. Socialists one end of the line, An- 
 archists the other; and all the other political par- 
 ties and creeds between the two, with the old- 
 fashioned Liberal nearest to the Anarchist." 
 
 "But you're not ?" he began, and stopped; 
 for he was really prepared by this time to find 
 she was; the queer woman was capable of any- 
 thing. 
 
 Flora laughed with great enjoyment. 
 
 " Socialist ? I am, though. Poor Mr. D'Albiac ! 
 I see you looking round nervously for the guil- 
 lotine. That's what your papers tell you to be- 
 lieve, isn't it? That we're all the same Anarch- 
 ists, Socialists, Communists, Syndicalists red
 
 156 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 caps, c.a ira, tumbrils; all pickpockets and free lov- 
 ers generally, the Red Peril; words of grisly 
 sound, undoubtedly." 
 
 D'Albiac had long ago realised the unwisdom of 
 provoking Flora Evans to tease him; and knew the 
 only way to avoid the tormentor was to be honest 
 and good-tempered. Although he hated being de- 
 rided, he forced himself to join in her amusement, 
 and, with a lately-born frankness in such matters, 
 confessed his comparative ignorance of social 
 science. 
 
 " Why, of course, you don't know anything about 
 it at your age," Flora said, maternally. " After all, 
 most people get through their entire lives in abso- 
 lute unconsciousness of how their neighbours live, 
 and of all the political forces that are at work. 
 Never mind, you shall have a free course of lec- 
 tures. I'll get Fred to come up here sometimes 
 when you're sitting, if he can spare time, and tell 
 you all about it. I'm a poor exegete; technical 
 words and figures and dates slide off my memory 
 like butter off a hot plate, although I believe I'm 
 sound enough in principle. But Fred's the best 
 prophet I've ever met." 
 
 This was a lugubrious prospect for Henry, who 
 discovered, on hearing the proposition, the truth 
 that he had successfully hidden from himself dur- 
 ing the last few days; that it was more for the 
 pleasure of confidential talk with the artist than
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 157 
 
 with the idea of completing the portrait that he had 
 hastened back to the Chelsea studio. 
 
 Flora, however, was pitiless. 
 
 " It'll be so good for you," she murmured, 
 sweetly, with the wicked pouting twist of her mouth 
 that indicated a goblin maliciousness within. 
 
 " You can't expect me to become a Socialist," 
 protested Henry, feebly, with a cold fear that this 
 dreadful young woman was capable of perverting 
 him even to these monstrous heresies, unless he de- 
 stroyed her plot in embryo. 
 
 " For he had great possessions ? " enquired Flora. 
 " That's a quotation from a book that's a good deal 
 read in this country. You wouldn't know it. I 
 admit the difficulty, which is one I've never had to 
 face, luckily. Still, Mr. D'Albiac, I put great con- 
 fidence in your reason. And in any case, you may 
 as well hear our arguments, so that you can con- 
 fute them all the more effectually, later on, in the 
 House of Commons or is it to be Lords ? Per- 
 haps that would be more distinguished plus 
 snob, as your French society papers say, with more 
 truth than they're aware of." 
 
 It was vain for the unfortunate D'Albiac to ppo- 
 test and to point out that it was quite uncertain 
 that he would ever enter politics, and that, even if 
 he did so, it might well be in his own country, 
 where a knowledge of English Socialism would be 
 comparatively valueless. Flora only smiled ma-
 
 158 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 liciously and insisted on the delights of opening one's 
 mind on all subjects, especially when so able a 
 teacher as Sutton was available gratis. 
 
 " The principal bar to progress," she maintained, 
 " is that people won't listen ; refuse to know about 
 things; and live in an imaginary world of their 
 own invention. Neither selfishness nor stupidity 
 stops the world half as much as that. I had an 
 elderly woman friend who assured me, with evi- 
 dent truth, that although she approved of all the 
 progressive movements and revolutions of our 
 past history, she realised that we had now reached 
 a point when the civilised world was about as well 
 run as it could ever hope to be; and any further 
 tinkering at it could only have a bad and reaction- 
 ary effect. I assure you, she looked at me without 
 a smile, and said practically those very words. 
 She lived in Tedworth Square, believed the poor 
 were a pampered, unthrifty, and importunate race, 
 and that rate-payers were the only people to be 
 pitied. She thought the Poor Law was a triumph 
 of practicality and the Public Health Acts monu- 
 ments of sagacity. She couldn't see why women 
 wanted a vote, when men were so kind and polite to 
 them, and did everything for their good much bet- 
 ter than they could do themselves; and she called 
 herself a Liberal I forget why ; because she didn't 
 like titles, or admired Gladstone, or was a Wes- 
 leyan, or something of that kind. I compelled her
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 159 
 
 to save her soul from purification, by coming with 
 me to Somers Town, North Kensington, Lambeth 
 and Westminster to see some of the housing of the 
 people there; and I showed her a little of the con- 
 ditions of women workers. It literally restored 
 her to life; she looks at least ten years younger, 
 and hasn't had a single one of her customary at- 
 tacks of nerves since; much too busy to bother 
 about it if she had. Just fancy, she'd had no oc- 
 cupation, before, but combing her Pom and driving 
 out in a victoria ! And she's a Fabian and a mem- 
 ber of my branch of the Union. Mr. D'Albiac, 
 this is a matter of your personal honour; you 
 wouldn't like me to think you were frightened of 
 being converted?" 
 
 Thereafter, Henry never knew when he should 
 find Flora alone. Happily, Sutton was unable to 
 abet her in her plans for a day or two, but on two 
 occasions Henry found himself confronted, on ar- 
 riving at the studio, by some of Mrs. Evans' 
 women friends, the painter evidently considering 
 that by this time she knew him well enough to stand 
 on no ceremony with him. Of these friends, one 
 was a sister artist, another, a robust and smiling 
 elderly person of nondescript appearance, who 
 dropped her aspirates, and addressed Flora con- 
 stantly as " mai dear." The artist he could en- 
 dure; she was youngish and comparatively inoffen- 
 sive; but the older woman, besides being obviously
 
 160 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of very low class, attacked him in a most aggres- 
 sive manner, although with perfect geniality, on the 
 question of a minimum rate of wage for all work- 
 ers, and drove him to such a point of desperation 
 that he was within an ace of rising and fleeing 
 from the unequal field. His utter ignorance of 
 facts and figures hampered him in these discussions ; 
 a trifling disability, he had always thought, where 
 one has a mind to grasp large generalities. All 
 these fantastic people, besides, had an even greater 
 advantage over him, which was doubtless the re- 
 sult of the habit of strife; that they kept their 
 tempers unmoved, while he found his tongue stut- 
 tering, his face inflamed and his ideas vanishing 
 like vapour merely from the detestation of being 
 pressed and driven into corners. Argument of so 
 close and vigorous a kind, a outrance, was new to 
 him, and struck him as extremely discourteous; 
 although there was no actual fault to be found 
 with the mode of expression or the tone of voice 
 employed. And then one day Sutton reappeared, 
 after the sitting had begun, and lying back in an 
 arm-chair with crossed legs and waving hands 
 drowned the wretched D'Albiac in a flood of in- 
 comprehensibly incontrovertible speech. The un- 
 happy young Frenchman was one of those persons 
 who refuse to admit that they are unacquainted 
 with any subject under discussion; who interrupt 
 with a cross " I know " any attempt to explain,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 161 
 
 preferring to pick up the meaning by degrees out 
 of the tangle of unknown words and phrases in 
 which they writhe. This first discussion, or rather 
 monologue, of Button's lived in his mind subse- 
 quently as a sort of nightmare of confusion, from 
 which emerged scraps of speech that stuck but 
 half -understood in his brain. He wallowed des- 
 perately among a welter of foreign ideas Rent 
 (which appeared to mean almost anything, except 
 what he had always heretofore believed it to mean) ; 
 Laisser Faire ; Final and Marginal Utility ; the Law 
 of Indifference ; Socialism Marxian, Fabian and 
 Utopian; taxation of land values; social minimum; 
 the endowment of motherhood; exchange value; 
 Truck and Factory Acts. The names of unheard- 
 of or only vaguely remembered people were hurled 
 at him, with an assumption that he was quite 
 familiar with their social beliefs; an assumption 
 that he fostered with nods and impatient " I 
 knows," as Fourier, Marx, Spencer, Ferri, Stuart 
 Mill, Bebel, Webb, Owen, Engels, Ricardo, 
 Jevons and half a hundred others were discharged 
 at his head, like shots from a Maxim gun. After 
 two of these encounters he had almost decided to 
 visit Flora no more; and yet he found, oddly 
 enough, that there was a curious interest in ex- 
 ploring these stony and thorny by-paths; he con- 
 ceived moreover, in the stillness of night, admir- 
 able answers which he might have used to the utter
 
 162 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 confusion, he believed, of this dogmatic reformer. 
 Perhaps partly with this forlorn hope, he returned 
 to the studio, where the picture was by this time 
 approaching completion ; and had a ridiculous sense 
 of momentary disappointment to find Mrs. Evans 
 alone, and all his carefully dried gun-powder of 
 no value to him. The feeling was gone, however, 
 almost as soon as he was conscious of it; he had 
 not for some time now had the artist to himself; 
 and to-day, fresh and fair in her holland over-all, 
 with the pale October sunlight gilding her brown 
 hair, she seemed to be in a reposeful, unargumenta- 
 tive frame of mind, encouraging him to tell her of 
 his life in France and his stately home there, and 
 abstaining from the utterance of a single teasing 
 word. 
 
 Much as she refreshed and amused him in her 
 talkative moods, Henry was yet aware of a new 
 and agreeable feeling towards her as he regarded 
 her this morning, and idly admired the pretty hand 
 that held the long brush, the gleams in the soft 
 hair, and the little smiles and dimples that gaily 
 lit up her alert face as she answered him or helped 
 on his confidences with suggestions and supposi- 
 tions. He did not care to analyse this feeling too 
 closely, shyly aware that, although it was no more 
 than friendship, it was friendship of rather an un- 
 usually tender and affectionate kind. There was no 
 question of forgetfulness of his Patrice, or any
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 163 
 
 diminution of his hunger for her company and for 
 the day when she would become his own for ever; 
 still, Flora Evans had undoubtedly become a part 
 of his life that he would be loath to surrender; and 
 he found himself falling into silence as he contem- 
 plated the probability of Patrice understanding and 
 appreciating his friend when he introduced them, 
 as in time he must, to each other. 
 
 He awoke from a not altogether comfortable 
 dream to find the painter's dancing blue eyes fixed 
 on him curiously. 
 
 " You musn't look quite so sentimental, please, 
 Mr. D'Albiac," she said, " or I shall be obliged to 
 repaint the whole picture. The expression I've 
 caught is more in your virile and defiant manner. 
 No wonder, poor man, after the people I've let 
 loose on you. Good gracious, who's this?" 
 
 The exclamation was provoked by a thundering 
 galopado on the rickety staircase, and the words 
 were hardly out of her lips before the door burst 
 violently open and Roddy Chalmers, in a bowler 
 hat and a polychromatic overcoat, was precipitated 
 headlong into the room. Conscious of another 
 presence besides that which he had expected, he 
 pulled up short with a panting and babbling 
 apology. 
 
 "I say! I'm frightfully sorry; I thought" 
 and then, realising the personality of the sitter, he 
 emitted a shriek of delight that stunned the ears of
 
 164 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 his auditors. " Jools ! Old Jools ! Having his 
 picture took! Oh, you scoundrel! I knew you 
 would; I'd have bet on it! Bad luck to you! 
 Look at his old face, do ! Aaaah ! " 
 
 And pronouncing the last word in a minatory 
 manner, as if scolding a disobedient retriever, he 
 threw himself into the armchair and rolled about 
 with laughter; while D'Albiac, hatefully conscious 
 of flaming cheeks, made a desperate effort to look 
 entirely at his ease and to simulate a surprised ig- 
 norance of his friend's meaning. Flora meanwhile 
 contented herself with smiling in a careless man- 
 ner; for she was impervious to innuendo and ir- 
 rision on such subjects. 
 
 " Don't break my chair, you rough creature," she 
 said, with perfect calmness. " It isn't strong 
 enough to bear much of that." 
 
 " Jools, you'll be the death of me some fine day ; 
 and then what'll mother say?" said Roddy, wiping 
 his eyes when he had had his laugh out. 
 
 " Don't be such an ass," Henry protested, smil- 
 ing with rather ill grace. " I haven't an idea 
 what you find so extraordinarily funny, I must 
 say." 
 
 " Not a notion ; not one," agreed his friend, at 
 the top of his quacking voice. " Oh, you sweet 
 innocent ! Never mind, I won't tell. Not a word. 
 The grave'll be a fool to me for silence. Don't 
 look surprised, Jools, or you'll start me off again,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 165 
 
 and next time I shall break something in my in- 
 nards, I know." 
 
 " Heaven forbid that I should bring on any more 
 of that noise," Henry said, with a glad knowledge 
 that his face was cool again and that he was carry- 
 ing it off rather well; although mentally he was 
 filled with irrational fury at being found in his 
 present situation. Roddy was such a tattler; quite 
 innocently, but none the less dangerously for that; 
 and he wished to be the first himself to tell Patrice 
 of the portrait and its author. It was hateful to 
 think of the possibility of some absurd story being 
 previously put about by this incorrigible buffoon; 
 and yet it was quite impossible to let him believe 
 that there could be any reason for keeping silence. 
 
 " Yes, be quiet, Roddy, please," Flora asked, sup- 
 plicatingly, " and tell me what you think of the 
 picture." 
 
 Chalmers scrutinised it carefully; first between 
 two fingers, then through a sort of telescope made 
 by closing his fist, at the same time screwing up the 
 unoccupied eye. He put his nose so close to the 
 canvas that Flora was obliged to tap him on the 
 end of it with a paint-brush, to prevent him ad- 
 hering to it, as a fly to a fly-paper; and lastly, re- 
 treating backwards with indrawn breaths and 
 broken words of delight, with his hand shielding 
 his eyes, in the endeavour to discover the best dis- 
 tance for its full enjoyment, he walked unawares
 
 166 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 into a hassock and fell heavily into the arms of 
 D'Albiac, who pushed him inhospitably off into 
 the armchair again. 
 
 "Wonderful! Lifelike!" he exclaimed, rap- 
 turously, rolling a wild eye over every object in 
 the room except its human occupants. " It puts 
 me in mind of those birds pecking fruit, that dear 
 old Praxiteles painted; which so deceived the King 
 of Spain, you remember, that he tried to shake 
 hands with 'em. Flora, you'll have to keep it 
 dark, or the Chantrey people will buy it and hang 
 it up among all those crusts in the Tate. No, 
 seriously," he added, settling his face into gravity, 
 with one of his sudden attempts to recover polite- 
 ness, " it's ripping; how many sittings did it take? " 
 
 " Oh, quite a number," said Flora, painting again 
 now. " We've had such a lot of interruptions ; 
 and then I've talked far too much, so it's only got 
 on slowly." 
 
 " You lucky dog," said Chalmers, shaking his head 
 with grave disapproval. " You've been enjoying 
 your holidays more than I have, mosire le markee. 
 I was sick on that beastly yacht every day but one, 
 and then she was aground. And here are you cut- 
 ting all your engagements oh! I know! But 
 you do take the bun, old chap; I always said you 
 French fellows did. There! I'll never mention 
 it any more as long as I live. Don't frown on me ; 
 I mean well ; and after all, I brought you here first,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 167 
 
 didn't I? As for you, Mrs. Flora Evans, you 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself." 
 
 The painter was wholly unaffected by this re- 
 buke. 
 
 " It's to be a present for Miss Beaufoy," she 
 said. " I do hope it's a success ; I've never had 
 such an important commission before." 
 
 " Of course, I'm only ragging," Roddy thought 
 it necessary to remark in his usual phrase of 
 apology. " And it really is frightfully like. I 
 should have known at once who it was meant for, 
 without being told anything. Well, Flora, I'm 
 jolly glad to see you. Have you been away? I've 
 only got three hours in London; then I'm off for 
 Beaufoy, Jools, for a fortnight. It's all right ; I've 
 given my word, you know, and no man ever knew 
 me to break it. Any message for the lovely Miss 
 Patrice?" 
 
 D'Albiac shook his head, and could not quite 
 conceal his vexation at the tasteless joke which 
 Roddy did not seem to know when to drop. Quite 
 apart from its offensiveness to himself, it was surely 
 very embarrassing and rude to Mrs. Evans, and 
 he was surprised at the entire impersonality with 
 which she received these coarse sallies. No un- 
 usual flood of colour or air of consciousness or an- 
 noyance betrayed her distate for such raillery, if 
 she felt any. Absorbed in what he knew was quite 
 unnecessary perturbation and anger, he hardly heard
 
 168 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 the conversation that ensued, though he was dimly 
 aware that at times it concerned himself ; but his 
 two talkative companions were quite unaware of 
 his almost complete silence, and when Roddy re- 
 membered with a hideous bellow of laughter, that 
 he had missed an engagement by half an hour, and 
 tempestuously took his departure, he was quite un- 
 conscious that he had not made himself as agreeable 
 and entertaining to Henry as his amiable intention 
 was to be on every occasion to all his fellowmen. 
 
 " Good-bye, old chap. I'll give your love to all 
 of 'em down there," he cried, buoyantly, and then 
 in a thrilling whisper, which would have been just 
 the thing for Alberich in " Gotterdammerung," and 
 at the same time pressing his hand confidentially: 
 " Your secret is as safe with me as in the Charing 
 Cross Bank. Good-bye, Flora; I'll come and see 
 you as soon as I'm back again. Do not forget me ; 
 do not forget me ! " 
 
 The last words sung in a piercing falsetto, 
 reached them from the foot of the stairs, which he 
 had taken in three bounds; and fragments of the 
 song followed his retreat up the passage until at 
 last he turned the corner into the street. 
 
 " What a lunatic ! " laughed Flora, indulgently. 
 " Well, Mr. D'Albiac, I can't do any more to it to- 
 day. But the next sitting ought to be the last."
 
 VII 
 
 FOR two or three days Henry abstained from visit- 
 ing Mrs. Evans. The feeling that the picture was 
 to be finished at their next meeting made him anx- 
 ious temporarily to hoard the day, much as a 
 school-boy will sometimes cling for a while to an 
 unexpected " tip," loath to part with it until the 
 full savour of having it to spend at his pleasure 
 has been pressed out and degustated. There were 
 moments when Henry was forced to perceive that 
 this aspect of his feelings towards the painter made 
 them appear more serious than they ought to be, 
 and, of course, by consequence were. But for all 
 that he was unwilling to get the sitting over; the 
 last of those many talkative, sometimes annoying, 
 but always retrospectively good mornings that he 
 had passed in the cold light of the North window. 
 He recalled with a sentimentally friendly regret the 
 slight figure in brown holland with the bright, 
 tumbled hair; who interspersed her outbursts of 
 volubility with long silent intervals during which 
 she worked away almost unresponsively ; the con- 
 stant occupation of her eyes preventing her from 
 becoming conscious of the gaze of her sitter, who 
 watched her ebbing and flowing colour, the drolly 
 contemplative twist of her delicately pink lips, the 
 
 169
 
 i;o THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 droop of her long white neck, and the movements 
 of her graceful hands, with what was doubtless a 
 purely aesthetic pleasure. Even those friends of 
 hers now seemed to him to be desirable company. 
 At least they were always both interesting and in- 
 terested; the weather and other people's private af- 
 fairs were hardly ever mentioned; nor was there 
 that constant apathetic enquiry as to whether one 
 had seen the last new book which is apt to become a 
 little worn with use. Henry felt, too, that his out- 
 look on life was enlarged by his dialectic encount- 
 ers with all these faddists, who, it must be ad- 
 mitted, were inconveniently well informed. Up to 
 the present he had proceeded in life on the general 
 principle that " les gens de qualite savent tout 
 sans avoir famais rien appris": but in his argu- 
 ments with persons who appeared unaware of the 
 existence of gens de qualite and were clad in a 
 panoply of Board of Trade Returns, Parliamentary 
 Blue-books, County and other Council Reports, and 
 Public Health Statistics, he found his broad philo- 
 sophical views of life often awkwardly upset by 
 facts and figures which he was unable to criticise 
 and dared not dispute. The feeling of humility 
 thus induced had driven him during the past week 
 or two to a course of reading, the last that he 
 should ever have anticipated voluntarily undergo- 
 ing; and he grew suspicious that some of his most 
 beloved beliefs, which were strictly of an utilitarian
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 171 
 
 and individualistic character, were beginning 1 to 
 show signs of dilapidation. Theoretically they ap- 
 peared unassailable; actually one found that they 
 had an unaccountable way of failing one at critical 
 moments; and the lust of his ratiocinative French 
 mind to find a reason for this suspension of the 
 laws of logic made him anticipate almost with de- 
 sire that company which at first he had found in- 
 supportable. However, at the present moment, his 
 mind dwelt chiefly on the termination of his peri- 
 odical meetings with the artist herself. Truly, he 
 might in future consider himself to be enrolled on 
 her visiting list; but what did that mean? Twenty 
 minutes, half-an-hour's talk, in the presence of 
 other people perhaps, once a month or so. How 
 should that satisfy him after these long, confidential 
 colloquies, which had made him feel that he knew 
 Flora Evans as well, he had almost said better, 
 than anybody else now living in the world? And 
 he could hardly ask her to paint another portrait 
 of him. 
 
 After four or five days' absence he found his 
 solitude unbearably tedious and wrote a post-card 
 to 'the artist to make an appointment for the next 
 morning. He had not started for the studio, how- 
 ever, when a telegram was brought to him, thus 
 regally conceived: 
 
 " Come and see me at once Patrice." 
 
 His car was at the door to take him to Chelsea;
 
 172 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 it was but half-past ten; in,jtwo hours he might be 
 at his lover's home. A hasty order as to an ex- 
 cusatory telegram to Flora, and he was whirling 
 away westward towards Hounslow and Windsor, 
 bound for Wiltshire. 
 
 The suddenness of his summons raised no fear 
 or anxiety on his lover's account in his breast; for 
 he was not one of those swains who scent disaster 
 in every unexpected absence or incomprehensible 
 message of their mistress. Besides, Patrice Beau- 
 foy was, as he well knew, delightfully babyish and 
 princessly in these matters; distances and pre- 
 vious engagements did not enter into her calcula- 
 tions any more than did the idea of expense; not 
 that any of these objections could of course be sup- 
 posed to exist in the case of a devoted fiance with 
 an income of six thousand a year and a high-power 
 car at his disposal. Still, she was equally capable 
 of ordering the attendance from London of an ap- 
 plicant for a maid's situation, without any partic- 
 ular hope of employing her or conception that there 
 might be a difficulty over the train-fare. Henry 
 found himself smiling over the sweetly imperious 
 ways and ignorance of sordid detail that character- 
 ised his proud beauty ; but the next moment the 
 smile faded a little at the memory that he had been 
 culpably remiss in his correspondence. The pair of 
 lovers were not much addicted to communicating 
 by letter. Henry felt he lacked the necessary
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 173 
 
 poetic frenzy to reflect the depth of his passion 
 with any degree of accuracy; and Patrice, besides a 
 natural disinclination for the incident labour, had 
 certain orthographical misgivings which, although 
 her high position made her careless of exhibiting 
 these trifling disabilities to the ordinary herd, gave 
 her a shy unwillingness to run unnecessary risks of 
 exposing herself to a possible smile on the part of 
 her lover. Still, they had been in the habit of 
 writing about once a week to each other, and it oc- 
 curred to D'Albiac with a remorseful shame that, 
 save for a rather disingenuous letter written and 
 answered within a few days of his return to Lon- 
 don, he had made no attempt lately to keep in in- 
 timate relations with his betrothed. It was possi- 
 bly this that caused her to order him so suddenly 
 and imperatively to her side. Or could it be that 
 
 that infernal madman ? But the vistas 
 
 opened up by this supposition were of so uncom- 
 fortable a nature that he hastened to dismiss it as 
 utterly improbable; particularly in view of the 
 coarsely-expressed and wholly supererogatory as- 
 surances of discretion that had been so repeatedly 
 given. 
 
 The morning was dull, rain threatened, and 
 D'Albiac felt a chill both spiritual and physical as 
 he urged his vast and panting steed through Staines, 
 Ascot and Wokingham, at a pace which made even 
 his driver, whose own licence presented quite an
 
 174 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 interesting display of magisterial autographs, 
 glance occasionally at his employer's face, as, blind 
 to warning notices and the mystic salutations of 
 the Automobile Association's myrmidons, he held 
 on his breathless course. The watery, motionless 
 clouds hung low and melancholy in swathe after 
 swathe of solemn veiling over the greater part of 
 the sky. Away to the south there was still a patch 
 of pale, spiritless blue, already threatened by the 
 surgent form of a gigantic and massive nimbus that 
 slowly raised its grey head and shoulders from the 
 hard sky-line. Henry, always acutely susceptible 
 to the influence of weather and surroundings, 
 found his spirits so lugubriously affected by this 
 characteristically British morning that he devel- 
 oped at last quite a childishly nervous anticipation 
 of his forthcoming meeting with Patrice. It was 
 vain to reason with himself; to say that probably 
 the summons was the mere caprice of a loving child ; 
 and that, in any case, he had done nothing shame- 
 ful or inexplicable to a heart that beat so wholly 
 with his own at least, not lately. The black 
 mood persisted, notwithstanding, growing darker 
 still as heavy drops began to patter on the car from 
 the comfortless sky, and by the time he had reached 
 the lodge gates of Beaufoy he had so worked upon 
 his nervous system that he caressed a wild mo- 
 mentary idea of turning the motor back in the di- 
 rection whence it came, and of sending some at
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 175 
 
 present unimaginable telegram of excuse; or of 
 hastening down forthwith to his friends in Nor- 
 folk, there to beg hospitality for sufficient time to 
 write a letter of anxious regrets to his lover. 
 
 The stately, age-worn front of the big house, 
 which he had so often admired, struck him to-day, 
 as he flew towards it up the long lime avenue, as 
 merely depressing and of Pentonvillian aspect, 
 looming grey and solid through the drive of the 
 rain. No one was visible about the place as he 
 drew up at the door, although he heard the distant 
 sound of a piano. Even his former acquaintance, 
 the butler, seemed to Henry's excited fancy to wear 
 an aspect several shades more funereal than usual, 
 in admitting him; and at the best of times his was 
 not a jocund presence. Indeed D'Albiac had for- 
 merly registered a vow that he would find some 
 plan to prevent this valuable servant marring the 
 future wedding festivities by his attendance ; as a 
 croque-mort, thought Henry, he would be highly 
 impressive: and it Would be better to keep him in 
 reserve for any possible occasion when his services 
 in that capacity might be required, rather than waste 
 him upon scenes of thoughtless gaiety. 
 
 " Miss Beaufoy told me to show you into her 
 room, as soon as you arrived, sir," he said gravely. 
 Of course, Morrison was always grave, as Henry 
 well knew; yet the solemnity of his manner seemed 
 on this occasion undesirably portentous ; and Henry
 
 176 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 followed his muffled footsteps to Patrice's boudoir 
 with much the feeling 'of a guilty-minded school- 
 boy who approaches, by special request, the study 
 of his pedagogue. 
 
 Left alone in the luxurious little room, he vainly 
 endeavoured to steady himself and banish his cause- 
 less perturbation by the perusal of one or two illus- 
 trated magazines that lay about the tables and sofa : 
 and the resultant impression of a dentist's waiting- 
 room grew so strong that a distinct sense of un- 
 easiness made itself felt in his peculiarly sound 
 teeth. He chafed and fumed inwardly at this soli- 
 tary interval; it did seem to him that his lover 
 might realise his anxiety at receiving such an abrupt 
 order, and might in pity lose as little time as possi- 
 ble in assuring him that there was nothing seri- 
 ously wrong. By degrees his irritability began 
 even to get the better of his pusillanimity, and he 
 was on the point of ringing the bell to enquire 
 whether his arrival had been announced, when the 
 door opened and Patrice, in an exquisitely draped 
 dress of dark violet silk a royal mourning robe, 
 one would have said with her sunset hair au- 
 daciously bound in a broad violet ribbon, swept 
 with her usual slow grace into the room. Henry 
 sprang to his feet and hastened towards her, with a 
 desperately unsuccessful attempt to appear quite 
 natural in his attempt to take her in his arms, and 
 to manifest startled surprise when she lifted her
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 177 
 
 hand with a gesture of proud refusal. Patrice was 
 paler than usual, and she hardly raised her eyes as 
 Henry seized and kissed the extended hand; al- 
 though her proud, full lips drooped into a deeper 
 pathos. 
 
 " Patrice ! Darling ! Why what have you 
 is anything wrong? " he stammered. " No bad 
 news? Your mother ?" 
 
 It naturally did not occur to him to enquire after 
 the health of Ivan, who was Patrice's only other 
 close relation. 
 
 She shook her head a little, and sat down in si- 
 lence in the deep embrasure, resting one rounded 
 arm on the window-ledge and presently lifting her 
 eyes to stare sightlessly out at the rain-veiled land- 
 scape. To Henry's anxious scrutiny it seemed as 
 if the lower eyelids were strangely pink, and there 
 was certainly faint shadows beneath them. 
 
 " You're not ill yourself, my beloved? " he asked, 
 seizing her hand frantically, and his heart sinking 
 more and more as she gently disengaged it and re- 
 peated the slight shake of her head. Plainly he 
 must await her pleasure in speaking; and he sat 
 down beside her in the window-seat, gazing anx- 
 iously on her pale, spiritless face and downcast eye- 
 lids. 
 
 " Tell me," he said presently, in a pleading under- 
 tone. 
 
 The rain pattered in great soft tears on the stone
 
 178 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 window-ledge, and the flames of a small fire flapped 
 their yellow sails in the grate; otherwise, except 
 for the beating of his own heart, Henry swam in a 
 cold grey silence; for the little china clock on the 
 mantelpiece, a prey to the general sense of depres- 
 sion, registered half -past five with the unblushing 
 and obstinate mendacity of despair. Perhaps it 
 realised the overuse to which its brethren had been 
 put in scenes of this kind as described by modern 
 writers, and scorned to pander to the prevailing 
 taste for its rapid and insistent tick to fill out the 
 pauses in the dramatic action; or perhaps it feared 
 to enhance the gloom by a reminiscent suggestion 
 of death and transfiguration. At least it was si- 
 lent. Presently Patrice withdrew her eyes from 
 the window, and passing them transiently over 
 Henry's anxious face, dropped them on the gener- 
 ously abundant advertisement pages of the 
 Strand magazine, which she picked up from the 
 seat beside her. The picture which she contem- 
 plated represented a medical belt of surprising prop- 
 erties, and the lurid flashes of forked lightning, 
 which it apparently generated, seemed to her lover 
 to bear almost a prophetic significance. 
 
 " Henry," she said in a level voice, after an- 
 other pause, " I've had some news that surprised 
 me rather." 
 
 "News? Of what?" asked D'Albiac, conscious 
 that his heart was making itself vulgarly obtrusive.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 179 
 
 " Of you," said Patrice, studying intently the 
 unusually plain-spoken panegyric of a member of 
 the Peerage (modestly represented by a single ini- 
 tial) of the almost miraculous curative powers 
 which the belt had manifested in his own extremely 
 grave and unappetising case. 
 
 " Me? " cried Henry, throwing up his head, with 
 lifted eyebrows. 
 
 The girl frowned a little at his tone, before re- 
 lapsing into her former expression of pretty and 
 babyish discontent. 
 
 "Yes. Roddy Chalmers " 
 
 D'Albiac gave an uncontrollable movement of 
 rage; and his thoughts were for a second couched 
 in language that would have completed his disgrace 
 in Patrice's eyes, had he given them expression. 
 That miserable, leaky gasbag! That wretched 
 zany with his idiotic, vulgar jokes, and perversions 
 of the truth! It was as he had feared; the sacred 
 cretin had poisoned his lover's mind with his base- 
 minded aspersions. 
 
 " is down here," Patrice was continuing, in 
 the same level tones. " You know that, of course. 
 He told us that he'd seen you in London a day or 
 two ago." 
 
 She broke off again, her lips moving noiselessly 
 as if seeking for words to continue ; but, apparently 
 finding none, she turned to a fresh page of her 
 magazine, whereon was presented, with truly pain-
 
 i8o THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ful realism, the depiction of a moustached and 
 comely man, clasping his hand, with a gesture and 
 expression of extremest agony, to the base of his 
 spine, while a modish feminine sympathiser re- 
 garded this sudden and violent disorder with 
 clasped hands and dilated eyes of concern. In the 
 background, a motor-car of unusual design awaited 
 them, and beneath the picture the legend " Every 
 picture tells a story " was exhibited in heavy leaded 
 type. It appeared to Henry that it was about to 
 become incumbent on himself to emulate the ex- 
 ample thus suggested to him; but his ignorance as 
 to the extent of Roddy's revelations made him cau- 
 tious and laconic in his first reply. 
 
 " Yes. We ran up against each other," he ad- 
 mitted with a rosy carelessness. A feeling of 
 amazed shame at his own aversion from telling his 
 lover the whole truth instantly filled his mind; and 
 yet he knew that he had not the necessary courage 
 to undertake what theoretically was a perfectly 
 simple and comprehensible task. There had been 
 no harm in his past behaviour, there could be no 
 danger in describing it; but he was uncomfortably 
 aware that he had been acting lately as if some 
 harm existed, and that by this stupidity he had cre- 
 ated an atmosphere of suspicion for which there 
 was no real cause, but which was none the less diffi- 
 cult to dissipate.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 181 
 
 " I thought you were going to Norfolk," Patrice 
 continued, in the same low tones. 
 
 " I told you, darling," said Henry, " in my let- 
 ter" 
 
 " You told me that you were not going down for 
 a day or two; and I naturally thought that you 
 meant that, after that, you were going. Since 
 then you haven't written to me again." 
 
 Poor Henry searched his brain hastily for some 
 explanation of his epistolary silence, trying to per- 
 suade himself that it had not been due to the fact 
 that he had wished Patrice to remain unaware that 
 he still lingered in London, and failing in the at- 
 tempt. 
 
 " I can't write letters to you, you know that," he 
 cried passionately. " I'm a good correspondent 
 with my ordinary friends and relations " (this was 
 wholly imaginary, although for the moment he be- 
 lieved it to be a fact) " but I can't put down on 
 paper what I feel for you, Patrice. You know 
 we've both felt the same about that. Love's a thing 
 that" 
 
 Miss Beaufoy seemed unmoved and unconvinced 
 by this outburst, despite its ring of strong emotion, 
 and took her privilege of interruption. 
 " Why didn't you go to Norfolk? " 
 He moved uneasily in his place at the revival of 
 this question and answered rather irritably:
 
 182 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " Wymondham's such a bore. I felt at the last 
 moment I couldn't." 
 
 :< You might have sent me a line to say you 
 weren't going," said Patrice. " Maman wrote to 
 Lady Wymondham the other day enclosing a mes- 
 sage to you in the letter. They'll think it very ex- 
 traordinary that we shouldn't know where you 
 were." 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry," Henry stammered feebly, 
 all his social tact and contrivance deserting him. 
 " I meant to let you know ; I'm afraid I forgot. 
 But you've had experience of how dull their house- 
 parties are." 
 
 " You knew that when you accepted, didn't 
 you ? " asked the girl, curiously contemplating an 
 indifferently reproduced photograph of a turbaned 
 mystic, dusky of complexion, although otherwise 
 Britannically metropolitan of countenance, point- 
 ing his forefinger directly out of the picture at the 
 spectator, and subscribed with the question : " Do 
 you know this man?" No, indeed, thought 
 Patrice; she was beginning to realise that she did 
 not, and never had. 
 
 " Of course," Henry replied, laughing, with a 
 valiant attempt to carry the matter off with a little 
 more lightness. " But I had a sort of wave of 
 realisation of those dreadful evenings at Wymond- 
 hams ; and, besides, I heard that the shooting wasn't 
 as good as usual this year down there."
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 183 
 
 Miss Beaufoy looked up quickly, and he had a 
 conviction that in his anxiety to make his peace he 
 had said too much. 
 
 " So that's why you didn't go ? " she asked, with 
 suspicious calmness; and Henry in view of his pre- 
 vious remarks was obliged to assent. 
 
 " Why did you give other people quite a dif- 
 ferent reason?" Patrice enquired. Her eyes had 
 again fallen to the contemplation of the occultly- 
 gifted Oriental, so that she was not actually a spec- 
 tator of the falling chaps and burning complexion 
 of her lover. 
 
 "Why did I ?" he repeated miserably. 
 
 Patrice broke in with the first touch of anger 
 that she had shown ; and her pallor became warmer, 
 although she still did not look up. 
 
 " Roddy Chalmers told us all at dinner last night 
 that he'd been told, by someone who knew you, that 
 you'd become converted to some ridiculous anti- 
 sport ideas, and that you wouldn't go anywhere 
 now where you were expected to shoot. You 
 know what he's like. He shouted it out before all 
 the table, and turned you into a perfect laughing- 
 stock. I hate that man ; I can't think why Maman 
 invites him. But I believe what he said; you 
 showed signs of it when you were down here; that, 
 and other stupid fads that you'd never had until 
 then. But naturally I'd no suspicion then of 
 the cause of them. I couldn't have had, Henry;
 
 1 84 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 it wouldn't have occurred to me as possible." 
 
 Her voice suddenly dropped and had a sound of 
 tears in it which terrified and distressed D'Albiac 
 beyond measure. 
 
 " Cause ? " he repeated vacantly, without a 
 notion of what he could say to exculpate himself 
 and comfort his betrothed. 
 
 The tears vanished as suddenly from Patrice's 
 voice as they had appeared. 
 
 " You haven't spoken the truth to me," she said, 
 looking at him proudly. " You've purposely kept 
 me in the dark as to where you were. I'm not go- 
 ing to talk round and round the subject any longer; 
 though I wanted to give you a chance of being 
 frank about it, if you liked to be. But I know now 
 that I can't trust you; you've only been trying to 
 get out of it without telling me anything, because 
 you didn't know how much I'd heard." 
 
 She flung the accusation at him with a tone of 
 scorn that awakened Henry's easily stirred anger 
 in a flash. The tone of bitter reproach, he felt, 
 was not justified by anything that he had done; 
 nor would he consent to be lectured as if he was a 
 child who had been found out in some deceitful 
 mischief. 
 
 "Heard? About what?" he asked coldly. 
 " I'm surely at liberty to stay away from " 
 
 "Henry! How can you?" cried Patrice pas- 
 sionately, with tears starting into her big, dark
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 185 
 
 eyes. " When I tell you that Roddy Chalmers has 
 told me all about that woman!" 
 
 "What did he dare to say about me?" burst 
 out Henry in a fury, with a face of crimson and 
 blazing eyes. " And how can you listen to a man 
 you know to be a scandalmonger a stupid 
 farceur; practically an idiot " 
 
 " Do you deny it?" Patrice replied, as angry as 
 himself, although shrinking a little before the vio- 
 lence of his expression. " Do you deny that you 
 have been every day, nearly, associating with some 
 dreadful creature? And that it was only to be 
 with her that you've been hiding in London all 
 these weeks ? " 
 
 The knowledge that they were confronting each 
 other face to face like a pair of furious children 
 suddenly restored Henry's self-control, and he 
 paused a moment before replying in more conven- 
 tional tones: 
 
 " Hiding's a word that you'll be sorry you've 
 said, I'm sure, when you think over it later. And 
 I can't allow any friends of mine any people I 
 think fit to associate with to be spoken of as 
 ' dreadful creatures ' no, Patrice, not even by 
 you. The reason I didn't go to Wymondham's 
 house was the one I've given you ; and there was no 
 other. But you've heard a wickedly perverse ac- 
 count of something that I've been doing for you 
 for you, Patrice in London, while I was left
 
 1 86 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 there by myself; and you'll surely be just enough 
 to let me give you my own version of it." 
 
 " I gave you every chance," Patrice replied, 
 dropping her eyes on her magazine and carefully 
 scrutinising an unsolicited promise, apparently 
 made by an insane millionaire, to award solid 
 eighteen-carat "gold-filled Alberts" (whatever 
 these may be) to all members of the public who 
 would take the small trouble of writing to ask for 
 them. " I gave you every chance ; and you only 
 tried to pretend you didn't know what I meant." 
 
 Henry felt his anger surging up in a fresh tumult 
 at the words, but being unable conscientiously to 
 deny the implication, he sat silently swallowing his 
 wrath, with actual physical actions of the throat, 
 for some moments before he was able to pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 " If you 'Id let me speak . I do think I'm en- 
 titled to explain; and I am surprised, Patrice, that 
 you should accept as true the statement of a fellow 
 like Chalmers, without hearing what I have to say 
 on the subject. I thought you had more trust in 
 me and sympathy with me than that." 
 
 His voice fell in a pathetically appealing full 
 close; but Patrice, with a firmness that struck him 
 as being a little obstinate, continued to study her 
 advertisements in silence. 
 
 " When I was in town this summer," began 
 Henry, with a cautious deliberation, and a pause
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 187 
 
 between every two or three words, " I happened to 
 meet this this lady you've referred to " 
 
 " Where?" asked Miss Beaufoy, lifting her eye- 
 brows but not her eyelids, and speaking in a cold 
 tone. 
 
 D'Albiac could hardly say " In a row," and the 
 nature of the disturbance, so far from being any 
 excuse for it in his lover's eyes, would, he was well 
 aware, only make it more distasteful to her. He 
 raised his hand in a deprecatory gesture of en- 
 treaty. 
 
 " Shall I just tell you the whole story first without 
 questions, darling? Otherwise we shall get so 
 mixed. I just ran across her somewhere, I don't 
 exactly " his voice fell into an inarticulate mur- 
 mur, and then sprang to a higher tone and greater 
 strength to continue : " And it appeared she was a 
 portrait painter quite a well-known one, I be- 
 lieve; Chalmers knows all about her. It occurred 
 to me we got talking about pictures, and so on 
 < I thought . Of course, I mean to say, one 
 usually has to pay such enormous prices for por- 
 traits that unless one is very pleased with one's ap- 
 pearance," he laughed at the words, with a hope- 
 ful glance at Patrice's immovable face; and it was 
 strange, he thought, that he had never noticed be- 
 fore what a sulky, almost heavy, expression those 
 full red lips could take in displeasure. " Unless one is 
 pretty vain, you know, it's hardly to be thought
 
 188 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 of, except by millionaires. It struck me that it 
 would be a surprise for you that you 'Id like, as 
 you're so fond of Art, to have a good portrait done 
 of myself as a present to you; and here was a chance 
 of getting one on the spot; and at such a price 
 that it didn't much matter if it railed. So I gave 
 this this Mrs. Evans her name is a sitting 
 or two, before I came to stay here ; and when I de- 
 cided not to go to Wymondham's, having nothing 
 to do in London, it was obviously a good time to 
 get the thing over and done with, before you came 
 back to town; so that the present would be ready 
 for you by Christmas. That's literally all that has 
 happened just a few sittings. But that imbecile 
 Chalmers happened to come to her studio when I 
 was there, and naturally thought he had a splendid 
 joke to spread about me. Not that I cared at the 
 time ; for I didn't think I can't help saying this, 
 my darling I didn't think that you " 
 
 He was getting along quite well in his own con- 
 ceit, and happily conscious of the just triumph of 
 innocence, when his lover looked up at him with 
 a glance that suddenly cut the stream of his speech 
 and exercised a depressing effect on his renascent 
 courage. Patrice's eyes were undoubtedly swollen 
 and vague ; which was natural enough, for she had 
 wept through the great part of a sleepless night, 
 during the long hours of which Roddy Chalmers' 
 phrase " and a jolly nice-looking woman, too "
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 189 
 
 had recurred a thousand times like some persistent 
 leit-motif in the discordant symphony of her medita- 
 tions; but there was a dangerous smoulder in her 
 glance, too, as she replied : 
 
 " I wonder you can have the face to scold me, 
 Henry," she said, " when you know that you're 
 not telling me the truth." 
 
 " If you accuse me " he began, hotly. 
 
 " You know you're not," she persisted. " You 
 can't have forgotten how you met her. Oh, it's no 
 use pretending to be surprised! I had a talk with 
 Roddy Chalmers after dinner last night. He'd, 
 put me to shame before the whole table, after let- 
 ting out about meeting you, by laughing in that 
 hideous, idiotic way that he has, and saying that he 
 was awfully sorry, because he'd promised not to 
 say anything about it." 
 
 D'Albiac literally bounded on the window-seat 
 with fury at this lying suggestion. 
 
 " I swear I never he never ! Patrice, how 
 can you believe ? " 
 
 "So I made him tell me everything; I said he 
 knew that I was the last person to be jealous and 
 suspicious; and he gave me the whole story. Of 
 course he saw nothing wrong in it a man 
 wouldn't and he said you found this this per- 
 son fighting in the street, and you fought too, and 
 helped her to escape ; and you and he and she have 
 been out together; and you, yourself, have been
 
 190 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 alone for hours with her, without even Roddy Chal- 
 mers knowing about it, over and over again lately. 
 I couldn't think what was the matter with you when 
 you were down here last; full of all sorts of crazes 
 that you 'Id only have laughed at in your right mind. 
 This your friend, Roddy says, is a sort of anarch- 
 ist and has all these horrible ideas ; and you 'Id 
 been infected with them after only a day or two of 
 her company. What can I think ? Anyone in their 
 senses must see it at once; at any rate I do; and 
 I know now why you were so touchy and unkind 
 when you stayed here, and why you haven't written 
 to me for weeks. You're in love with this 
 creature." 
 
 " In love with her ? " Henry repeated, staring on 
 her blankly. " Patrice, you're not thinking what 
 you're saying; you're laughing at me or 
 you're " 
 
 The girl's restraint on her grief and rage sud- 
 denly gave way, and she burst into a flood of bitter 
 tears, through which she spoke with hardly dimin- 
 ished vigour, staunching them from time to time 
 with a lace handkerchief that diffused an agreeable 
 odour of night-scented stock. 
 
 " You are ! You can't deny it ! Why do you 
 give up all your engagements and hide -in London, 
 when it's quite empty? Why are you always go- 
 ing to see her ? " 
 
 " To have my portrait painted," cried Henry, al-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 191 
 
 most himself in tears. " And besides I'm not in 
 love with everybody I call on. You don't think 
 that?" 
 
 " You know you wouldn't dream of calling on 
 her if you weren't a dreadful, low woman!" 
 Patrice retorted passionately. 
 
 " She's nothing of the kind," replied Henry 
 loudly, as angry now as his lover. " She's just as 
 much a lady as as anybody is." 
 
 " She isn't. How can you sit there and say 
 such things? Her husband was a common engi- 
 neer or something; and she lives in a horrid 
 slum." 
 
 " She's as well-behaved as anyone I've ever met 
 in our set, and and a hundred times cleverer," 
 Henry panted, careless of results in his sudden rather 
 inexplicably violent attack of wrath. " And she's 
 a friend of mine, and a very nice woman." 
 
 " You see," sobbed Patrice. " You can't bear a 
 word against her. A friend! As if you would 
 make friends with a low-class working woman who 
 fights in the streets and and lives on on hor- 
 rible nuts and things. Goodness knows what she is 
 to you!" 
 
 The innuendo struck D'Albiac into sudden and 
 amazed silence. Till this moment he had regarded 
 his betrothed as innocently unconscious even of the 
 existence of squalor and wickedness in the world. 
 
 " Patrice ! " he said in a low, breathless voice,
 
 192 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 lowering his intonation a seventh on the second 
 syllable. "Patrice!" 
 
 And at the same moment came a step in the 
 passage and the door opened, as Patrice hurriedly 
 turned, holding her handkerchief to her mouth, 
 towards the window. The melancholy figure of 
 Morrison was displayed in the entrance, announcing 
 in sepulchral tones that Mrs. Beaufoy had bidden 
 him say that lunch awaited Miss Beaufoy and her 
 lover. D'Albiac confronted the intruder with 
 proud heroism, despite his consciousness of a single 
 tear, that ran in a ticklish manner down the side 
 of his aristocratic nose, and of certain inarticulate 
 gasps from Patrice, whose emotions forbade her 
 attempting a reply. 
 
 " Miss Beaufoy will be coming directly, Mor- 
 rison," he said, with a dignity not entirely in con- 
 sonance with his overwrought appearance. On the 
 features of the imperturbable functionary, however, 
 appeared no sign of any recognition of the storm 
 that was in progress; he regarded D'Albiac's tear- 
 coursed nose and the heaving back of his young mis- 
 tress with an eye that was dignified, but wholly 
 unspeculative. 
 
 " Very good, Sir," was all his reply, in the 
 same hollow, charnel-house voice. 
 
 What were the emotions of the members of this 
 unfriendly race of employers to him? None the 
 less would he feed to repletion thrice daily, and
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 193 
 
 draw his handsome monthly honorarium; for the 
 rest, they were no more realities to him than he to 
 them. 
 
 After the door had shut behind him a heavy si- 
 lence fell. Perhaps both of the young people were 
 a little ashamed of their heated recriminations; yet 
 there remained in each a firm conviction that it 
 was wholly the fault of the other that such inde- 
 corum had been shown; nor did either feel justi- 
 fied in stooping to make overtures of peace. Pa- 
 trice had been childish, unreasonably jealous, ready 
 to believe any calumny of one whom she professed 
 to trust and love more than all the world. Henry 
 had been loose, perfidious, deceitful, altogether vile; 
 and viler because still so handsome and strong and 
 dear, and because his voice in anger was so thrill- 
 ingly dominant and masculine. How could Henry 
 be the first to renew a conversation that had been 
 broken off by a wicked and injurious charge against 
 a stainless lady who was numbered amongst his 
 friends? Or how could a maiden press home this 
 accusation that she knew to be true, although she 
 hardly understood its nature, but which was quite 
 unsuitable for open discussion among civilised per- 
 sons? The position threatened to become an im- 
 passe; particularly as they both felt the danger of 
 their smouldering anger bursting forth again into 
 regrettable flame at the first renewal of argument. 
 It was Patrice who decided, after some minutes, to
 
 194 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 end the matter finally and calmly in a few words; 
 confident of the result, and humbly proud of her 
 own forgiving spirit. She, who was so queenly, 
 so inaccessible to ordinary mortals, would show 
 how she could pardon the man to whom she had 
 given her heart ; but the indulgence must necessarily 
 be accepted with proper humility and gratitude. 
 
 " Henry," she said, returning to the toneless 
 monotony of her first carefully rehearsed remarks. 
 " It's no good going on like this. It must be her 
 or me." 
 
 The words seemed to fall on her own ear with a 
 gratefully familiar sound. Some play or book that 
 she had loved had surely given them birth; and 
 she was proud to observe that they had a stupefying 
 effect on Henry. 
 
 "Her or you?" he repeated, with wide-opened 
 eyes. " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 The indelicacy of asking for an explanation 
 caused her to drop her eyes and blush a little. She 
 had hoped and believed that he would instantly 
 make his choice, with suitable abasement of spirit, 
 and that the subject need never be mentiond again. 
 Surely he was unusually dull to-day? 
 
 " Don't let's talk about it more than we can 
 help," she protested, with a look of faint disgust. 
 " I know that men and in France particularly . 
 There was Monsieur de Dehan, at Nice. When 
 he married " A blush and a faltering voice
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 195 
 
 hinted only too plainly at the nature of the story 
 concealed by this maidenly aposiopesis. 
 
 " But but by what right," Henry burst in, 
 stammering and red, " do you compare me to 
 Dehan? Do you still suggest that there's any- 
 thing anything wrong between me and Mrs. 
 Evans, when I tell you " 
 
 "Henry, Henry!" cried Patrice plaintively, un- 
 consciously plagiarising Gretchen. " How can 
 you force me to talk of such dreadful things? 
 I don't want to know or hear anything. If you 
 love me, you can't hesitate, surely. Her or me." 
 
 " But what about her ? " the distracted French- 
 man almost screamed, in his irritation at the repeti- 
 tion of this mystical phrase. 
 
 " You must give her up," murmured his lover, 
 with her breast heaving almost as obviously and 
 rapidly as that of a gut routiniert Brunhilde, when 
 awakened by the amorous Volsung. 
 
 " Give her up ? But I've never taken her down. 
 I don't know what you mean. How give her up? " 
 
 His obstinate and over-acted obtuseness hurt Miss 
 Beaufoy's pride and love unbearably. She looked 
 up with eyes of grief and anger, and her voice was 
 tremulous. 
 
 "If you really love me you wouldn't ask that," 
 she cried. " You'ld promise, without another 
 word, that you'ld never see her or think of her 
 again."
 
 196 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " But that would be to admit there was some- 
 thing wrong," Henry argued with a face and voice 
 of fire. " I've pledged my word that this lady's 
 only a casual friend of mine. Why should I give 
 her up, as you call it? Why should I behave as if 
 I'd been found out in some disgraceful act? Why 
 should I insult her reputation by agreeing " 
 
 " Because I ask you," broke in the girl, stung 
 once more to rage, " and because you once said 
 that anything I asked, reasonable or unreason*- 
 able " 
 
 " So long as it only affected me," Henry inter- 
 rupted her. " There's the honour of a lady at 
 stake here " 
 
 "A lady!" Patrice interjected scornfully. 
 
 " A lady," he repeated firmly. " And more 
 than that, there's all your trust in me concerned. 
 If I'm to pretend penitence, for no reason, and 
 promise to cut perfectly respectable people, merely 
 because you choose to believe any infamous, stupid 
 scandal about them and me " 
 
 " You dare to talk like that ? " cried Patrice, the 
 tears again springing from her eyes. " You don't 
 love me. I always knew you didn't. You want to 
 get rid of me." 
 
 "That you know isn't true," D'Albiac thun- 
 dered. " It's because I love you, Patrice, that I'm 
 ashamed to see you so childish and ridiculous and 
 jealous "
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 197 
 
 The furious words died on his lips as his lover 
 tore from her left hand the diamond half-hoop ring 
 that he had put on her finger one happy day, cen- 
 turies, it seemed, ago, and averting her face held 
 it out to him with a royal gesture. 
 
 " Here's the ring you gave me," she said, in 
 passionate undertone. " Take it away. I don't 
 want ever to see you again." 
 
 " But " he gasped, with a sudden sense of 
 the futility and strangeness of this unforeseen 
 tragedy. 
 
 " Don't speak," she continued in the same hur- 
 ried manner. " Go away. I can't bear any more. 
 Here's a book you gave me. Take it too. Here's 
 another. The the other things I'll send to you 
 and your your letters." 
 
 She was moving hurriedly about the room as she 
 spoke, picking up the objects she mentioned and 
 thrusting them into the unwilling hands of D'Al- 
 biac; and her words were punctuated with little 
 gasps and sobs, while tears poured in unrestrained 
 streams over her pretty cheeks. 
 
 "You don't mean what you say?" he asked, 
 gaping in a foolish manner on her, and yet unable 
 to utter a word of dissuasion. 
 
 " Go away," she repeated. " Go to that vile 
 woman." 
 
 A moment before, he had had thoughts of suing 
 humbly for a reconciliation on any terms; but at
 
 198 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 the repetition of this charge he burst into new re- 
 bellion and defiance. 
 
 " Very well," he said bitterly. " You've ruined 
 my life, Patrice. You're cruel and unreasonable. 
 But I won't I can't humble myself like that, or 
 behave as if there was any truth in these abomin- 
 able accusations. If you wish us to part, we must 
 part. It's not my doing." 
 
 Patrice was past further utterance, ' and with her 
 handkerchief pressed to her eyes, brushed past him, 
 tore open the door, and fled to her bedroom; leav- 
 ing her lover grinding his teeth in the middle of the 
 boudoir, with a large-paper copy of an illustrated 
 and be-ribboned Omar, a diamond ring and a col- 
 lection of Ronsard's poems, bound in a tooth-on- 
 edge fabric of dull purple, encumbering his hands. 
 Suddenly and furiously conscious of these impedi- 
 ments, he thrust them all three violently into the 
 cheerfully blazing fire, spurned a hassock from his 
 path with an oath, and plunged out of the room, 
 with rumpled hair and blazing eyes. On the wings 
 of rage he fled from the house, still further in- 
 furiated to find that in his absence his driver had 
 stabled the car and was now feasting with the 
 servants of the house. In trembling tones, and with 
 mental vows of vengeance against this unfaithful 
 steward, he gave orders to a footman, unwillingly 
 drawn from his midday meal, that the motor was 
 to follow him to the village; and set off on foot
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 199 
 
 through a heavy drizzle along the long avenue 
 towards the lodge. Throughout the walk and the 
 subsequent ill-served meal of partially cooked cold 
 beef and flat beer at the Beaufoy Arms he nursed 
 his injured pride and sense of injustice with an 
 almost loving care; and, convinced of his broken 
 heart, was unable to conceal from himself that for 
 the present his two dominant emotions were rage 
 and an odd sense of having triumphed in a 
 righteous cause. The first of these was vented to 
 some extent on his unhappy chauffeur during the 
 homeward journey; and Henry arrived in London 
 in a thoughtful and almost contented condition 
 which he did not then seek to analyse, glad only 
 to find that he supported his intense grief and the 
 destruction of his future life with so much heroism 
 and fortitude.
 
 VIII 
 
 THE rejected lover's broken heart confined him for 
 a little while, almost continually, to his house in 
 Cowley Street in the same not unpleasant conscious- 
 ness of having behaved with justice and dignity in 
 a trying situation. As the realisation of the full 
 extent of his loss seemed, like many overwhelming 
 emotions, to be a little slow in its development, con- 
 fining itself, at present, largely to a regretful con- 
 templation in retrospect of Miss Beaufoy's physical 
 beauty, he determined, before very long, to antici- 
 pate its arrival by permitting himself to seek those 
 consolations proper to such occasions. He was 
 aware that the correct course for one in his dismal 
 case was to plunge into dissipation, the wilder the 
 better; and the correctness of his life during the 
 last few months, while engaged in his chaste rap- 
 tures with Patrice, had the effect of making this 
 lurid prospect so little repugnant to him that he 
 found himself obliged to check his fancies with the 
 reminder that the step he proposed to take must 
 be regarded only as an anodyne and not as a stimu- 
 lant. It is true that his earliest idea of soothing 
 his torments, on his return to London, had been 
 the absurd one of seeking out Flora Evans and 
 confiding his sorrows to her; but the painter and 
 
 200
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 201 
 
 dissoluteness were such widely dissociated concep- 
 tions that he quickly realised his foolishness. Be- 
 sides, she had been the unconscious and innocent 
 cause of the whole tragedy; if he sought consola- 
 tion with her it might truly seem to worldlings that 
 Patrice had been partly justified in her ridiculous 
 jealousy. By-and-by (if his wild escapades did not 
 first destroy him or cast him into the depths) he 
 might hope to hold Flora Evans' hand again in 
 calm and affectionate friendship. Meanwhile, it 
 behoved him to put the thought of her aside and 
 robe himself in scarlet for the dance of death. To 
 this end, he sent the artist a cheque for the unfin- 
 ished picture, explaining in suitably cryptic terms 
 that events had made its completion unnecessary; 
 but that he hoped, in brighter days, to renew his 
 friendship with her; and then precipitated himself 
 into the whirlpool. 
 
 The Maelstrom chosen was the Continental 
 Restaurant, which struck him at the time as per- 
 haps rather a mildly commercial gateway to the 
 Inferno. But his limited knowledge of the lower 
 regions of London set itself in the way of a truly 
 worthy beginning. In Paris he could have shown 
 to better advantage; meanwhile, he looked upon 
 this dull and commonplace restaurant, with its 
 rows of dejected damsels sitting in solitary expec- 
 tation at the small round tables, as but a step 
 towards the excesses of Elagabalus, Tiberius and
 
 202 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 Commodus. Without any enthusiasm, he selected 
 for his first partner in the mad dance a slim, dark 
 young woman in a blue silk evening dress, past 
 its first freshness, who had a suggestion in her ap- 
 pearance of Patrice, as she might appear after ris- 
 ing from a bed of sickness or at the completion of 
 a long journey on the Sleeping Cars. Miss Kitty 
 Wilson was not so tall or plump as Miss Beaufoy, 
 nor did she, of course, approach her in beauty ; and, 
 instead of the scornful pride of the lovely young 
 patrician, she displayed an apologetic and anxious 
 manner in her relations with Henry that had the 
 effect of saddening him more than a little. Her 
 conversation was largely of indigestion (to which, 
 it seemed, she was a martyr), and, in rare moments 
 of expansion, of a certain mythical Cambridge un- 
 dergraduate, whom she accused of being the first 
 cause of her becoming " gay." The highly regret- 
 ful manner in which she referred to this " gaiety " 
 did not strike Henry as suitable to the orgies of 
 wickedness in which it was his aim to wallow; but 
 she was such a kind-hearted and rigidly respectable 
 girl, apart from her Cytherean avocations, in which 
 she plainly took no more than a conscientious and 
 economic interest, that he had not the heart to re- 
 linquish her in favour of a more Messalinan com- 
 panion; the more that she speedily developed a 
 deeply respectful devotion to him, chiefly the re- 
 sult of a gratitude for his oddly polite treatment
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 203 
 
 of herself. Moreover, he had a suspicion that he 
 might be equally unlucky in his next venture; and 
 was unable in any case to summon the necessary 
 energy for any protracted quest of the infamous. 
 Under the influence of Miss Wilson's gentle de- 
 pression of demeanour and regrets for the innocent 
 and irrevocable past, Henry, no lover by nature 
 of depravity, speedily discovered the objections to 
 his rakish scheme ; and as soon as he was no longer 
 intent on his own ruin, the society of this indiffer- 
 ently educated and dyspeptic lady filled him with 
 infinite gloom and distaste. Drunkenness was not, 
 of course, to be thought of ; it was so extremely in- 
 elegant and unpleasant; there was gambling, to be 
 sure, but he seemed to lack the true gambler's 
 spirit, and conscientiously lost a good deal of money 
 with neither regret, pleasure, nor excitement. It 
 was plain that he was not marked out to be a Don 
 Juan; and he became regretfully cognisant of the 
 existence of a churchwarden's soul beneath the dis- 
 guise of a dangerously dashing physical presence. 
 Obviously, however, even the mild and provincial 
 dissipation through which he had passed had had 
 the desired effect; for he looked back on the days 
 of his engagement without a regret or a heart- 
 throb. The magic web thrown over him by his 
 beautiful mistress had been rent, by her own act 
 and the struggles of his pride, into a thousand 
 fragments; and the flames of his subsequent tepid
 
 204 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ardours had consumed the shreds, so that nothing 
 but a few sentimental ashes remained. 
 
 Patrice meanwhile had confidently awaited the 
 return of her penitent lover, and, amazed at his 
 silence, had, at last, written a short letter to him, 
 offering him full pardon, if he would but give her 
 the promise that she had sought from him at their 
 interview. Henry was, of course, unconscious of 
 the bitter tears, agonies of humbled pride, in death- 
 grips with passionate longing for her lost lover, 
 and many sleepless nights that this little, pathetically 
 haughty and misspelt note had cost the spoilt prin- 
 cess. He was therefore able to regard it with 
 some reason as merely a renewal of her former un- 
 just accusations, and to reply to it with a cool, 
 judicial intimation that he was willing and anxious 
 for a reconciliation, but could never consent to sue 
 for pardon for imaginary sins to one who had no 
 trust in him, and made an act of falsity the con- 
 dition of their union. Miss Beaufoy had received 
 this chilly correction with a burst of passionate 
 and almost incredulous resentment that made things 
 very unpleasant for her family and dependents for 
 some days; and had written back, in her haste, a 
 few fiery lines to Henry which, in his uncompro- 
 mising frame of mind, were sufficient to make the 
 rupture absolutely and permanently irremediable. 
 It was after reading this note and indignantly 
 burning the pieces, so that the wicked suggestions
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 205 
 
 against the character of a kind and pure-minded 
 lady might not fall into other hands, that he realised 
 the completion of his cure, and the consequent re- 
 lease from the necessity of pursuing his late miry 
 and unpleasant paths in life. He was, he told him- 
 self, a soured, disappointed man; embittered by 
 experience and the discovery of woman's perversity ; 
 a twentieth century Childe Harold; and it was odd 
 how agreeable the knowledge of this new cyni- 
 cism was to him, and with what anticipatory enjoy- 
 ment he excused his desertion of Miss Wilson, who 
 received his present of money and patent mendaci- 
 ties with a philosophical melancholy that showed 
 she was no longer sensitive to the whips and scorns 
 of time. 
 
 " I am sorry, dear," was all she said, in a low- 
 spirited manner. " You'll come and see me again, 
 if you ever do come back to England, won't you? " 
 
 The endearing appellation was merely introduced 
 professionally, out of habit; and, to Henry's ears, 
 the respectful tone, in which it was always em- 
 ployed towards him, made it only a synonym for 
 " sir." He assured her earnestly that it should be 
 his first pleasure and duty, on return from this un- 
 specified exile, to acquaint himself with her circum- 
 stances ; and, perceiving the Stoic incredulity in her 
 sad eyes, shook her warmly by the hand, and es- 
 caped from her presence, before she had time duti- 
 fully to offer him the customary indeclinable kiss.
 
 206 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 A deep depression of mind, as of the philanthro- 
 pist leaving the incurable ward or the abode of 
 hopeless poverty, accompanied him in his flight, in 
 place of the sense of shuddering yet delicious shame 
 or defiant wantonness suitable to one parting from 
 dainty vice; but the relief of escaping from this 
 yawning and bourgeois association was so great 
 that he was soon able to throw off his memories 
 with a little shake of his broad shoulders, and antici- 
 pate, with his usual optimistic delight in living, the 
 pleasures that the future held for him. Among 
 these there were some that had been necessarily 
 closed to him since his engagement innocent flir- 
 tations and sentimental friendships with maidens 
 and young married women, his favorite com- 
 panions of all the human race. Without outrag- 
 ing his opinion of his own fidelity, he could now 
 contemplate the regaining of his freedom with 
 positive satisfaction. He had loved, and been cast 
 away; the fault was not his; and it was moreover 
 plain, from the behaviour of his betrothed in the 
 matter, that they had never been really destined 
 thoroughly to understand and freely to trust in 
 each other. Memories of the limited nature of 
 their intercourse, of the probably unjustifiable con- 
 struction that he had put, in the fondness of his 
 heart, on Patrice's constant reticence and mystic 
 aloofness from his enthusiasms, supported this be- 
 lief. How much better to have found this out in
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 207 
 
 time, instead of embracing the destiny of a young 
 man married to one whom he could not hope to 
 make happy! How bitter to have lost the licit 
 pleasures of gay and popular youth for a mutual 
 bondage shortly to become abhorred of both ! 
 
 " Young married women," suggested Mrs. 
 Evans, naturally enough ; and as he sauntered along 
 the Fulham Road from Stamford Bridge, near 
 which Kitty Wilson had her flat, it occurred to 
 him that he was within a few minutes' walk of 
 the studio. The idea of the slender, alert presence 
 of the painter and of the tumbling, glittering brook 
 of her speech set him smiling, and acted on his 
 mind and body as a positive tonic after the lym- 
 phatic sentimentality and anxiously polite sadness 
 of his late " gay " companion. Marriage nay, 
 the whole sex obsession seemed to him at this 
 moment morbid, unwholesome and cloying. Here 
 was almost an ideal friend ; one with whom he felt 
 he would be glad daily to pass hours in open-hearted 
 comradeship. She happened to be a woman, it is 
 true; but had she been a man (if one could imagine 
 such a very flower-like little person as a coarse, un- 
 decorative man!) it would have been of course ex- 
 actly the same. For here, at least, there could be 
 no question of love, still less of marriage; the 
 mere idea was ridiculous; and the realisation of 
 the absurdity added greatly to Henry's apprecia- 
 tion of the disinterestedness of their queer friend-
 
 208 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ship. Yes, he would go and see Flora; he was 
 just in the mood for her mischievous impertinences 
 and millennial enthusiasms. 
 
 Mrs. Evans was at work as usual on a design; 
 but she put it aside at once and shook hands with 
 flattering warmth; contemplating his face at the 
 same time with an expression of obvious com- 
 miseration, quite unlike her habitual boyish anima- 
 tion or occasional impishness. 
 
 " Mr. D'Albiac ! I am glad ! I was rather 
 afraid I'd seen the last of you," she said, blushing 
 brightly and transitorily at the surprise of the visit. 
 
 "Why?" asked Henry, smiling, with genuine 
 pleasure, down at her vivid face. " I told you I'd 
 look you up again before long, didn't I? " 
 
 " You didn't say before long. Oh ! By-the-by, 
 thank you very much for the cheque. I owe you 
 some of the money back again, though, because it 
 was meant to include a frame; and besides the 
 picture wasn't really finished." 
 
 " Well, finish it now," Henry suggested. " I 
 want to have a good, long talk with you, if you're 
 not too busy; and if you're painting you won't get 
 sick of me so soon. Besides I've changed my mind. 
 I should like to have the picture after all." 
 
 " Would you ? " she asked, with her head on one 
 side, studying his eyes intently. " That's nice. 
 I'll get it out, then." 
 
 Within a few moments Flora was painting and
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 209 
 
 Henry talking and laughing, as if the past few 
 weeks, with their dismal catastrophe and consequent 
 excesses, had never intervened. 
 
 " Is it all right again, then?" Flora asked, pres- 
 ently, and Henry, in spite of the suddenness of this 
 question, coming on top of several minutes of in- 
 different conversation, was well aware of her mean- 
 ing. 
 
 "All right? Oh, yes, thanks. It's all right} 
 now." 
 
 " I'm so glad. Of course, I knew at once what 
 must have happened. So you've made it up, like 
 sensible children ? " 
 
 " No," said Henry, briefly, assuming a masculine 
 sternness of demeanour. 
 
 Flora looked up in quick surprise at the word; 
 and, after her eyes had rested for a minute at least 
 on his haughty face, turned them back again, with 
 the faintest flutter at the corners of her mouth, 
 towards her canvas. 
 
 " Oh? " she said, with unobtrusive interrogation. 
 If he was inclined to be confidential, the monosyl- 
 lable seemed to say, well and good; and if not, let 
 him suggest a new subject of conversation. In 
 Henry, however, an overmastering desire for sym- 
 pathy and confession had sprung up. 
 
 " No," he repeated, gravely. " My engagement 
 is broken off. I wonder you didn't see it in The 
 Morning Post."
 
 210 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " I take in the News, pending the publication of 
 anything better," she explained, apologetically. 
 
 " It only appeared yesterday," said Henry, 
 briefly, with a Roman calm; and a heavy silence 
 succeeded, during which Flora seemed to ru- 
 minate. 
 
 " Much cut up about it ?" she suggested suddenly, 
 with enquiring eyebrows and parted lips. 
 
 It seemed incumbent on Henry, at this point, 
 to press his finger nails into his palms and reply 
 to the question, at first, in low broken accents, 
 with eyes averted from his interrogator. Thus 
 therefore he answered, not without a slight sensa- 
 tion of artificiality; but it was necessary to convey 
 to her something of the unbearable agonies that 
 he might have endured, had he not taken the drowsy 
 drugs of dissipation in time. 
 
 " At first yes," he muttered, searching the 
 floor with a haggard gaze. " But I faced it. And 
 now now," he continued, in a brighter, braver 
 tone, lifting his eyes to the watchful face before 
 him, " I feel that it was for the best, perhaps. We 
 didn't understand eath other; we never had. Bet- 
 ter to know in time. So we agreed to part. There 
 was an ugly wrench of course; but the pain's over 
 now; nothing left but a dull aching." 
 
 A sigh finished the speech; and he had a warm 
 sense of enjoyment of his own manly English 
 words; an enjoyment which seemed to find a re-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 211 
 
 sponse in Flora's bright eyes and the faint ripple 
 that played so constantly over the calm, .cool sur- 
 face of her attentive face. She allowed a decent 
 interval for reflective regret and the mastery of 
 emotional weakness ; much as the priest pauses, gen- 
 erally rather inadequately, after the words " all 
 sick persons" in the Litany; and then added a 
 phrase of consolation. 
 
 " I think you were both unusually brave and 
 wise. And, if you won't think me rude, I believe 
 that a descendant of the Conqueror wouldn't have 
 been quite the sort of wife that'ld have suited you 
 best, perhaps." 
 
 Henry started and frowned. 
 
 " You mean I'm a snob ? " he enquired, in an 
 offended tone. 
 
 " Everybody's some sort of snob, I s'pose," Flora 
 said, soothingly. " And I shouldn't dream of us- 
 ing such a horrid word about you in particular. 
 But the Conqueror side of your character shall 
 we say? has been sufficiently developed. I 
 think there are other influences that'ld be likely to 
 be more useful to you. Avito vires honore a little, 
 I think, don't you? And I hope I'm not tutoyant 
 you, Mr. D'Albiac; because I've forgotten most of 
 my Latin. But you know you're capable of doing 
 something on your own account, and it takes so 
 little encouragement to make one content to be an 
 idler."
 
 212 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " I mean to do something, you know that," 
 Henry protested. " We've talked that over often, 
 before." 
 
 " But one may go on meaning, until it's too late. 
 Something's always wanted generally it's 
 hunger to give one the push off. Well, now 
 you've got it. Here's something to be forgotten; 
 you're depressed and disillusioned and discon- 
 tented. Get some good, hard work, and you'll be 
 cured in no time." 
 
 The principal feeling in Henry's mind at the 
 precise moment being one of placid and entire con- 
 tentment with his situation, he was inclined to seek 
 out some specious reason for delay. But he re- 
 membered he had spoken of a dull aching at his 
 heart; and he was naturally averse from recanting 
 the statement and substituting a confession of com- 
 plete recovery. 
 
 " No doubt you've just been hanging about dis- 
 consolately all these weeks, bothering yourself day 
 and night about your disappointment," Flora con- 
 tinued, and Henry, unable even to refer to the es- 
 sentially masculine medicine he had exhibited, 
 nodded silently. " Haven't you often wished you'd 
 some occupation that forced your mind off the sub- 
 ject? One can't pine while one's ri vetting, for in- 
 stance, or writing a book, or doing an operation, 
 or digging in a coal mine." 
 
 " Oh," he replied, lightly. " One need never
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 213 
 
 be at a loss for something to do, as long as one's 
 pretty well off." 
 
 " But that's such a futile prospect to look for- 
 ward to," Flora insisted. " Constantly planning 
 how to spend your money, just so as to avoid bore- 
 dom. Besides it always catches you in the end; 
 you know it does. And a young man, and a clever 
 man, to be content with that! Haven't you any 
 ambition ? " 
 
 " Not a scrap," said Henry, with cool shameless- 
 ness. " Not a scrap, I'm afraid." 
 
 The painter, however, appeared to be entirely 
 unimpressed by this confession. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " she cried, laughing with an 
 impudent enjoyment that brought the colour to the 
 cheeks of the cynic. " You, of all people ! Why, 
 you know you'd simply revel in success or fame. 
 And please don't try to look like Gallio; at least 
 not for my benefit; because British phlegm, and 
 Parisian blague, and aristocratic or artistic or intel- 
 lectual snobbery Oh ! all sorts of egoism and 
 aloofness and apathy are perfectly odious to me. 
 It's just because I know they're quite unnatural to 
 you, Mr. D'Albiac, that I like you. Be yourself 
 that's all that's wanted. Why, think of all the 
 advantages you've got over most people, to launch 
 you education, proper physical development, 
 good manners, self-confidence, no worry about 
 means. It'd be nothing less than a disgrace, if you
 
 214 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 settled down into a dull country squire or a stupid, 
 noxious man-about-town. Do something! Oh, 
 if I'd had your sex advantages and your brains and 
 your opportunities! I might have been some use 
 in the world then; I've got the wish to be, at least. 
 And surely you're not going to shirk ? " 
 
 There was a ring in her voice and an inspiration 
 in her flung hands, cheeks aflame and crepitant eyes 
 that strangely stirred her auditor. 
 
 " Not if you'll be my friend ! " he cried, with 
 quite boyish ardour and responsiveness. 
 
 " Why, of course I am," Flora said, with a sud- 
 den, swift drop into tranquil good-humour. " Not 
 that I'm much good to you, I'm afraid, except to 
 stir you up with a long pole when you're inclined 
 to be lazy. However, that's a very necessary duty, 
 too." 
 
 Enthusiasm was so strange to D'Albiac, after 
 his long association with the politely unmoved 
 people of the well-bred world, that its very novelty 
 inspired and delighted him; and gave him a brief 
 and welcome holiday from his bravely sustained 
 struggle with his naturally excitable and fiery dis- 
 position. A few sermonising words from this 
 young woman seemed to have sent through him a 
 thrill which none of his recent experiments in lib- 
 ertinism had succeeded in inducing. In the interest 
 of this already disastrous and undoubtedly peculiar 
 friendship, it almost seemed to him, for the time,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 215 
 
 that he had been wasting his life in seeking the 
 ordinary pursuits of a gentleman, and that perhaps 
 these eccentrics had after all discovered a better 
 secret of happiness. At least it was one that was 
 at the disposition of everyone, to a greater or less 
 degree; whereas he was well aware of the con- 
 stant and ungrateful struggle that many of his own 
 set had to support, in order to keep their place in 
 society. With the usual hot-headedness of his 
 chameleonic nature, he was convinced that he had 
 no friend so valuable to him as this fantastic 
 young woman ; and an idea that had long stirred at 
 the back of his mind now boldly broke its way 
 out of its prison. 
 
 " Roddy Chalmers and well, most of your 
 friends Mr. Sutton, for instance call you 
 Flora. Would you mind may I too ? " 
 
 " Of course, if you like," Flora answered, tran- 
 quilly unaware, it seemed, of his schoolboy abrupt- 
 ness and the stammer that overtook him before he 
 finished his speech. Mercifully, too, she forbore 
 to look round at him, as she gave him the permis- 
 sion; for he was furiously aware that his face had 
 become crimson and damp with quite unaccount- 
 able embarrassment and a delight which seemed 
 out of all proportion to the favour granted. 
 
 " I think it's so difficult to talk when one is on 
 terms of when one has to call " he began in 
 lame explanation.
 
 216 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " Oh, I quite agree. I never feel I know any- 
 body, really, until I get to the Christian-name stage 
 with them. As a rule, it doesn't take long with 
 the people I meet I forget what your name is? 
 Not Jules?" 
 
 " No, no, that's only Roddy's nonsense. 
 Henry," he said, with a smiling gasp that he knew 
 to be fatuous. 
 
 " Henry," she repeated. " Well, Henry, if you 
 and I are going to be friends, you've got to ' dig 
 out,' as Roddy himself would say. I haven't been 
 used to the leisured classes, and I'm afraid we 
 shouldn't agree long if it's your only ambition to 
 belong to them." 
 
 " I put myself in your hands," said Henry, with 
 humorous submission. " But I wish I'd half your 
 energy, Flora." 
 
 " Oh, me ! " said Flora, ungrammatically, with a 
 little shrug. " I haven't ever had the chance to 
 idle, since the day that Father sent me to the High 
 School. It's no merit of mine; it's necessity." 
 
 And brushing aside any further personal refer- 
 ence to herself, she plunged into one of her vigorous 
 discussions of social questions, in which Henry fol- 
 lowed her with something more than his custom- 
 ary interest, and scarcely a touch of that peevish 
 recalcitrance that he so often manifested in argu- 
 ment with her. It seemed to him to-day that the 
 personal duties which she strove to heap upon him
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 217 
 
 appeared far more reasonably possible than they 
 had, during his engagement To the future hus- 
 band of Patrice, with his aristocratic obligations 
 and inevitable association, for the most part, with 
 the rich and noble members of the population alone, 
 such schemes for his future as Flora persistently 
 advanced were patently unworthy and impossible. 
 But, for the time being, he seemed to have severed 
 his ties with his own class and the people among 
 whom by right of birth he should move. Here, 
 in an empty town, his only companion a working 
 artist of the lower middle class, he was no longer 
 so acutely and constantly sensible of his title, his 
 position in society and his wealth. He could al- 
 most believe, almost enjoy believing, that Flora 
 was his social equal, that they were two unknown 
 members of the indistinguishable herd; with noth- 
 ing to entitle them to admiration beyond the pos- 
 sible results of their own exertions a mean and 
 begrudged substitute for the generous homage uni- 
 versally yielded to costly clothes and ornaments, 
 whether paid for or otherwise, vast and swift 
 motor cars, spacious houses and estates and, per- 
 haps most admired and least troublesome of all, 
 the right to use sonorous and insolent prefixes to 
 one's name in the place of such cacophonous styles 
 as Mister, Missis or Miss. D'Albiac had already 
 known Flora's fanaticisms to be infectious; and in 
 her company he found himself docilely agreeing
 
 218 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 with her that it was really a matter of urgent im- 
 portance so to recast our social system as to make 
 the existence of degraded and hopeless poverty, no 
 doubt permitted on earth for excellent reasons, as 
 often explained by the pious, a national disgrace 
 and an impossibility, even at the expense of shear- 
 ing the well-to-do of much of the beauty and colour 
 of their life. He swallowed, with only the faint- 
 est of gulps and wry faces, such propositions as 
 that women were merely a servile class so long as 
 political freedom was denied them, and that to 
 be told that you were lucky to be looked after and 
 have things done for you " much better than you 
 could do them yourself " was an insult to the in- 
 telligence of mature human beings and a feebly un- 
 convincing excuse for tyranny; that monarchy was 
 a ridiculous and costly survival of the world's in- 
 fancy, and that in the face of the unscrupulously 
 sentimental and snobbish use made by political 
 parties of the sacrosanct and occult personality of 
 the monarch, and of the pestilent example of serv- 
 ility and jobbery set throughout society by the in- 
 fluence of Courts, it was utterly untrue to main- 
 tain that the system was, at least, entirely harmless, 
 and valuable as a prophylactic against Presiden- 
 tial fever; that an established Church, with its 
 enormous archiepiscopal stipends, its "palaces," 
 its gifts of livings, its sweating of many of the 
 working clergy, and its attachment to the moneyed
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 219 
 
 classes, was about as unchristian an institution as 
 could have been devised, and one that would have 
 aroused the most righteously indignant invective 
 from the communistic, self-denying founder of the 
 religion it professed to administer; besides being 
 an unjust imposition in a country where the ma- 
 jority of the population were either directly opposed 
 to or entirely uninterested in the establishment; 
 that the monopoly of land, the inheritance of 
 wealth, and the exploitation of labour by a com- 
 paratively small class of men with the special, by 
 no means valuable and generally quite unintellec- 
 tual faculty of acquiring and accumulating capital, 
 were diseases that would have to be treated with 
 the knife before the body politic could hope for 
 health; that the modern system of education, with 
 its hypocritical concealment or denial of the com- 
 monest and most honourable truths of nature, is 
 productive of absolutely .incalculable harm and 
 wickedness; that patriotism, in its general signifi- 
 cation of the glorification and aggrandisement of 
 one's own particular geographical or linguistic area 
 at the expense of the rest of the world, was an 
 outworn ideal, once perhaps useful, but now ripe 
 to be cast, with all its Mumbo-jumbo symbolism 
 and flag-worship, on the scrap heap; that the 
 apathetic toleration of theological creeds and dis- 
 credited social conventions by those who neither 
 cared for nor believed in them, on the ground that
 
 220 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 they " were good for women and the poor," or that 
 if they were destroyed something worse might take 
 their place, was either cowardly or intentionally 
 immoral; for that truth and frankness were the 
 two fundamental safeguards of society; that most 
 of our penal system was revengeful, barbarous, and 
 not only entirely useless, but most effective in pro- 
 ducing and maintaining a rebel class; that a car- 
 nivorous diet was only worthy of wild beasts, and 
 that it took a dire revenge on its adherents in the 
 form of preventable disease in short, that a 
 world which generally supposed itself far advanced 
 in progress was still wilfully fostering ignorance, 
 with all its consequences of cruelty and misery. All 
 these fantasies were advanced without any sem- 
 blance of anger or malevolence, Flora's flashes of 
 excitement being reserved for moments of hope and 
 encouragement, while her criticism of men and 
 things was delivered always in reasoning, half-in- 
 terrogative tones, with droll little cocks of the head, 
 and upward glances at her companion under lifted 
 eyebrows. On the tide of these heresies Henry 
 floated in interested contentment, with hardly a pro- 
 test against such outrageous nonsense ; until internal 
 qualms caused him at last to draw his watch from 
 his pocket, and make an astonished mental calcu- 
 lation of the length of their conversation. 
 
 " I say, Flora," he said, conscious as he spoke 
 that, since he had been permitted to use the name,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 221 
 
 he had been playing with it in almost every sentence 
 he addressed to her, as a child with a new toy. " I 
 don't like to interrupt you when you're painting, 
 but what time do you generally lunch ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'm sorry ! " Flora cried, apologetically. 
 "Why didn't you protest before? I eat at all 
 sorts of time; whenever I feel the spirit moves me, 
 so to speak. I haven't any regular meal-hours. I 
 do hope you're not starving, are you? What's 
 the time?" 
 
 " Twenty past two. I am rather hungry," he 
 admitted. " Won't you come and lunch with me 
 somewhere, Flora? Then we could come back and 
 finish the sitting." 
 
 " I can't spare this afternoon ; there's some work 
 I must finish for Williams and Lloyd. I'd no idea 
 it was so late. But I shan't want you any more 
 now; I can finish it off without you. Will you 
 leave the frame to me, or would you like to look 
 in at Chenil's and choose one ? " 
 
 " You'ld do that better than I could," Henry re- 
 plied. " But I s'pose you don't live entirely on 
 air and Causes, do you? Won't you come and 
 have something to eat with me? I want to hear 
 more about your socialist society, and perhaps I 
 mayn't catch you alone again for some little while." 
 
 " All right, certainly," Flora said, hastily cast- 
 ing aside her long linen painting-robe, and emerg- 
 ing from it a slender, maidenly figure in dark blue
 
 222 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 serge. " I'll just wash, and then I'm ready. 
 You go on in front." 
 
 Outdoors, it was one of the warm, damp days 
 that often come in the early part of November; 
 and Flora, when she ran downstairs to join Henry 
 on the pavement, had not altered her indoor garb 
 except to the extent of covering her soft, bright 
 hair with one of the untrimmed felt hats which 
 she generally affected. Henry was, as usual, ele- 
 gantly appointed, and, even in his present Bohemian 
 frame of mind, could have wished that his friend 
 had decorated herself with a little more care. 
 There was hardly anybody he knew likely to be 
 lunching at any of the smart places; but there were, 
 of course, Americans and other foreigners ; and the 
 personnel of his favourite restaurants naturally 
 knew him well. However, Flora looked boyishly 
 pretty and fresh, and would pass at a pinch for a 
 country cousin, he reflected. 
 
 " Where's the nearest place that we can get a 
 taxi ? " he asked. 
 
 " What do you want one for ? " she replied, in 
 the Scottish manner. 
 
 " I thought we'd drive down to the Carlton," 
 he explained. " They can produce quite a good 
 vegetarian meal there. I know that, because I 
 dined there once in the same party as the Duchess 
 of Dartmoor; she goes in for grass, you know." 
 
 " Where is it ? " enquired the painter.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 223 
 
 " The Carlton? " he said, staring. " At the bot- 
 tom of the Haymarket ; on Pall Mall." 
 
 " Oh, that big hotel. I know ! " said Flora. 
 " Good gracious ! I'm not going all that way. 
 There's a shop round the corner in the King's Road, 
 where I nearly always eat. Let's go there." 
 
 "What sort of a shop?" Henry said, with a 
 sulky hesitation, for he was something of an ama- 
 teur of food and wine, and unusually nice as to 
 service and table appointments, as well as the com- 
 pany among which he sat. " What sort of a place, 
 Flora? Pretty decent?" 
 
 " Quite," said Flora, carelessly. " You're not 
 particularly greedy, I s'pose ? " 
 
 " I don't think so," he replied, reluctantly. " So 
 long as things are properly served " 
 
 " Oh, you'll find this all right," she assured him. 
 " It's one of Baer's ordinary bun-shops, you 
 know." 
 
 Henry felt a distinct shudder run through him. 
 If, as he had said, he was not greedy, at least, like 
 most idle people, he was a good deal interested in 
 his meals, and the giving and partaking of lunches 
 and dinners, the discovery of new and amusing 
 restaurants, and the slow degustation of dishes and 
 wine, followed by leisurely smoking and coffee 
 drinking, formed no inconsiderable part of his or- 
 dinary diversion in life. He felt that he had en- 
 couiitered in Flora a person who regarded drink-
 
 224 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ing and eating as merely preventatives of thirst and 
 hunger, and was unaware that dining wisely may 
 be a fine art and an amusement; and he shuddered 
 again in anticipation of the entertainment that she 
 was preparing for him. Like all Londoners, he 
 was acquainted with the exterior of Baer's many 
 shops, out of the conduct of which the enterprising 
 German was making a large and well-deserved for- 
 tune. If only as the first discoverer of the fact 
 that it is possible to provide mankind, for two- 
 pence, with a cup of reasonably good tea, freshly 
 made with boiling water, Herr Baer had 
 earned a statue better than most of the actual 
 recipients of that honour, now dismally displayed 
 in the streets of London; not that, among such a 
 sorry herd of mediocre monarchs, second-rate sol- 
 diers and forgotten politicians, that is saying much. 
 D'Albiac had glanced casually in more than once 
 through the open doors of these establishments, and 
 had been dimly aware of close-set tables at which 
 silent hordes of pallid men and women, mostly 
 young and the reverse of smart, ate hastily, gener- 
 ally with a newspaper and a breakfast cup beside 
 them peculiar adjuncts to one's lunch; while 
 quaintly capped and aproned maidens, with warm 
 haste, fled continually between the serried ranks of 
 guests, laden with trays of high piled plates and 
 dishes. These were the adequate but unappetising 
 resorts of the proletariat, he had thought; but it
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 225 
 
 had hardly occurred to him as conceivable that he 
 would ever pass through their portals. And yet, 
 as a lamb to the slaughter, he was being led away 
 unprotesting, in words at least, by this unconcerned 
 young woman, who did not even seem to realise 
 that there could be any objection in the mind of any 
 reasonable person to such a house of call. 
 
 Baer's was nearly deserted by the time they ar- 
 rived, although plain evidence of the numbers that 
 had been recently fed was provided in the heated and 
 occasionally irritable faces of the waitresses, and 
 in the debris and soiled utensils under which the 
 small tables, good, sturdy marble though they were, 
 fairly groaned. Flora led the way down the room 
 to a corner where, she explained, the waitress was 
 a friend of hers; and Henry, bashfully following 
 in secret rebellion, sat down gingerly beside her 
 at a table, which, to his disgust, was not even 
 cleared for their reception; but remained covered 
 with little plates, bearing the remains of rolls, 
 cakes, broken egg shells, and even, horrible to re- 
 late, cold bones and congealed gravy. His com- 
 panion, however, seemed unaware of his disgust, 
 which obviously she did not share, passing him a 
 bill of fare, over which some careless guest had 
 previously, it seemed, spilt coffee, without any 
 comment. It was unmanly to be finical, he felt; 
 and yet he could not deny that his temper was im- 
 paired by his surroundings, and by the renewed
 
 226 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 conviction that Flora was a common, sloppy little 
 thing, to tolerate such unrefined circumstances. 
 
 "Can't we get these things taken away?" he 
 asked, rather irritably. 
 
 " Ethel'll be here in a minute," Flora replied, 
 calmly; and fell into a rapid perusal of a crumpled 
 evening paper left by some previous visitor on the 
 chair beside her, while Henry, fretting at every un- 
 necessary moment spent in this inacceptable spot, 
 glanced savagely at a beast of a man, three tables 
 off, who, having clearly enjoyed his repast, was 
 living it over again in memory, sucking his teeth 
 with an audible sound of relish, and blandly un- 
 conscious of the distaste with which he was be- 
 ing regarded. 
 
 A friendly young person, who greeted Flora with 
 a radiant smile as " quite a stranger " and remained 
 in private and personal conversation with her for 
 several very long minutes, having taken their 
 orders, Mrs. Evans lunched vaguely off a Welsh 
 rabbit, abundant conversation and a cup of coffee; 
 while D'Albiac, chary of risking anything but the 
 simplest fare, consumed some poached eggs and 
 toast rather sulkily. The undisturbed good- 
 humour of his companion and her gay laughter 
 finally melted him, however, particularly after the 
 departure of the cud-chewing luncher and the gen- 
 eral clearing and swabbing with damp cloths of the 
 surrounding tables. The food, too, was quite good,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 227 
 
 so far as it went, and by the time he pulled out 
 his cigarette case he felt more at peace with the 
 world. 
 
 " You mustn't smoke up here," Flora informed 
 him. " Besides I must get back as soon as I've had 
 a little fresh air. Come for a stroll by the river 
 with your cigarette, will you ? " 
 
 He agreed, heartily and, as they left the shop, 
 glanced with curiosity at the clock on the wall. 
 Twelve minutes, including at least three wasted in 
 conversation with Ethel, about " Ma " and her own 
 health and her young brother on the Tube Railway ! 
 And this was called a meal! However, he had in- 
 vited Flora to lunch, and so insisted in taking her 
 bill from her when they reached the cash desk, 
 rather sorry he had made so much fuss about it 
 when he saw that the amount to be discharged was 
 five pence. Flora, however, thanked him politely; 
 and as she seemed quite unaware of any humour in 
 the situation, he refrained from calling her atten- 
 tion to it, and followed her out into Kings Road, 
 and thence by a narrow passage on to the embank- 
 ment.
 
 IX 
 
 DOWN by the Thames the afternoon was warm and 
 misty; and a white woolly vapour rolled heavily 
 off the surface of the water, and was carried by an 
 imperceptible stirring of the air south-west, in 
 whorls and wreaths, over the dimly-descried 
 squalor of Wandsworth. The tide was flowing 
 swiftly, swirling and foaming tumultuously about 
 the piers of Battersea Bridge, as Flora and Henry 
 set foot on it. Flora had dropped the subjects of 
 sociology and politics since lunch, and after fall- 
 ing into a brief mood of silence, during which she 
 seemed unconscious of her companion's presence 
 and gazed out dreamily, over the smoothly gliding 
 river, at the lazy mist-ghosts that fled from before 
 their footsteps, she began to talk of pictures. The 
 Barbizon School was, it seemed, one of her pas- 
 sions; and Henry was unreasonably abashed that 
 he was so ill-informed about this manifestation of 
 the art of his own country, in various other de- 
 partments of which he had from time to time en- 
 deavoured to rouse her interest; conscious that 
 under her polite air of attention and enquiry she 
 was emotionally unmoved. Post-naturalist fiction 
 did not seem to stir her; the names of Rene Bazin 
 and Bourget moved her to no comment; even Ana- 
 
 228
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 229 
 
 tole France only aroused a moderate interest; the 
 present-day painters she had had, she admitted, little 
 opportunity of studying; and indeed Henry knew 
 nothing of them himself. The genius of Rodin 
 she seemed to acknowledge with unexpressed private 
 reservations ; and the revolutionary modern French 
 musicians, with the names of whom he confidently 
 approached her, received merely an unresponsively 
 courteous welcome. It was unfortunate that her 
 obviously real enthusiasm should be reserved for 
 the work of men with whose names, of course, he 
 was extremely familiar, but of whose actual 
 achievements he had only a vague impression in 
 his memory. By dint of a delicately reticent adroit- 
 ness he flattered himself that he partially concealed 
 this ignorance, encouraging her with nods of ac- 
 quiescence and occasional discreet questions to open 
 her heart to him on the subject. Flora might not 
 be entirely deceived by this, perhaps, but at least 
 she continued the conversation ; and it was so pleas- 
 ant to lean side by side, elbow touching elbow on 
 the parapet of the bridge, gazing down on the grey- 
 yellow water that slid away and boiled beneath 
 their feet, and giving an occasional side-glance at 
 her swiftly changing colour and busy lips, as she 
 discoursed rapturously of Daubigny. Rousseau, 
 Diaz and Corot; turning her face quickly to him 
 from time to time to ask if he remembered some 
 picture of which she was speaking. Henry felt
 
 230 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 that he could pass hours in perfect contentment in 
 this opaline, vague atmosphere, undisturbed except 
 by the rare passage of a cart over the bridge, with 
 the soft, clear voice mingling with the gurgling and 
 plashing of the stream, charged with an affectionate 
 friendship that was better than all the wild rap- 
 tures and wilder agonies of the love from which he 
 had lately emerged. Lazily he stroked and patted 
 the idea of a life passed amid such peaceful and 
 pleasant companions, and half regretted, although 
 without any bitterness, the fate that had forced 
 his steps into higher paths. It would be good, he 
 thought, to be one of these irresponsible artists, 
 harassed by no idea of any greater destiny, living 
 a hand-to-mouth Henri Murger existence (in his 
 present mood, a thoroughly Bowdlerised Vie de 
 Boheme) among the studios of Chelsea ; and under 
 the spell of these dreams it seemed to him that to- 
 bacco had never tasted so good as it did in this 
 brief loitering on Battersea Bridge on this quiet 
 November afternoon. 
 
 Flora, however, before long broke up his luxuri- 
 ously idle mood by an enquiry about her constant 
 tyrant, time, and revealed a guilty surprise on hear- 
 ing the hour. 
 
 " Your society's too agreeable, Henry," she said, 
 regretfully, " or else I enjoy the sound of my own 
 voice too much; for it doesn't seem to me that 
 I've let you speak. I must hurry back. Shall I
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 231 
 
 leave you here? I know you hate walking fast, 
 don't you?" 
 
 He pleaded to be allowed to escort her to her 
 door, and they turned to leave the bridge. Chel- 
 sea Embankment was almost deserted, except for 
 a little party of poorly dressed children who were 
 playing by the river parapet, just above the bridge. 
 
 " Look at those wicked urchins ! " Flora cried, 
 laughing, as they approached this noisy group. " I 
 can't think how Chelsea children aren't drowned in 
 scores every day. I never pass here without see- 
 ing some of these monkeys climbing on the wall, 
 and balancing themselves on one leg over the river." 
 
 " There's a boy now practising his rope-walk- 
 ing," Henry added. " Oh, they hardly ever come 
 to any harm. It's only losing confidence that makes 
 one fall, you know. Look at the risks drunkards 
 and sleep-walkers take, without being any the worse 
 for it." 
 
 " I s'pose that's so," Flora agreed, as they 
 turned off the bridge, her eyes, as she spoke, still 
 resting on the youthful acrobat. " And yet you'd 
 think that now and then, with the best nerve in 
 world, one's foot would slip on the wet My 
 goodness! He's in!" 
 
 Henry had not been regarding the children of 
 whom they spoke during the past few seconds, his 
 eyes having wandered again to Flora's face, a habit 
 which they seemed to have acquired. All he was
 
 232 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 conscious of, therefore, was her sudden cry, be- 
 fore she had bounded away from his side, clat- 
 tered down the stone steps, and was scudding along 
 the embankment, as he remembered to have seen 
 her run that summer day in Battersea Park. The 
 surprise to Henry's less alert mind was so great 
 that before he even realised the meaning of her 
 words, she was perhaps twenty yards further down 
 the river bank, had flung herself bodily on to the 
 top of the wall that guarded the edge, rolled over 
 and over across it before his astonished eyes, like 
 a shot rabbit, and disappeared in a bundle, with a 
 prodigious splash, beneath the surface of the water. 
 The next instant with a loud, hoarse, wordless cry 
 that seemed to tear his heart up by the roots, 
 Henry had rushed in pursuit of her, ploughed his 
 was through a screaming party of terrified children, 
 and reached the edge of the river in time to see 
 Flora's almost unrecognisable head, black-haired, 
 hatless and of a seal-like smoothness, emerge from 
 the surface directly in the path of another and 
 smaller figure that drifted down swiftly towards 
 her, tumbling over in the stream, disappearing and 
 reappearing, and on one occasion displaying mo- 
 mentarily an agonised face, from the open mouth 
 of which proceeded an inarticulate and gurgling 
 scream that was instantly drowned again by the 
 smoothly gliding, yellow waters. Before the sound 
 of it was lost the little, submerged body had come
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 233 
 
 in contact with the upright form of Flora, who was 
 steadying herself against the flow of the tide, and 
 she had clapped her arms tightly about it, lifting the 
 head above the water and holding it pressed against 
 her own face. At the same instant she looked up 
 at the bank and perceived D'Albiac clambering on to 
 the low wall. 
 
 " Don't come," she cried in a clear, high voice. 
 "All right! I've got him!" 
 
 By this time Henry was kneeling on the coping, 
 and the words barely stopped him before he plunged 
 into the stream. In his agonising excitement he 
 could find no breath or voice for speech, but the 
 horror expressed in his face and outstretched hands 
 was obvious to Flora, even in her difficult position. 
 
 " All right ! " she cried again. " Drifting on to 
 steps." Her mouth went under water for a mo- 
 ment, but she emerged the next, still clinging to her 
 burden, and added, " Treading water. Don't 
 come ! " 
 
 There was a confidence in the tone of her cries 
 which convinced Henry that she was not in imme- 
 diate extremity, and, leaping off the wall, he rushed 
 to the flight of iron steps leading down to the water, 
 towards which the two shining heads closely pressed 
 against each other, were rapidly floating. With- 
 out loosing the hold of her arms, Flora was edg- 
 ing herself, by movements of her feet, close under 
 the embankment, so that by the time Henry had
 
 234 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 reached the river level, she was carried gently on to 
 the stairway, instantly to be seized by Henry be- 
 neath the arms and lifted, with her rescued child, 
 into a position of safety. 
 
 " Take the boy," she said, breathlessly. " I'm 
 all right now; I'm on the steps." 
 
 Henry picked up the streaming urchin, who in- 
 stantaneously broke into renewed screams and sobs ; 
 and, holding him against his immaculately coated 
 bosom, carried him swiftly up to the embankment, 
 where he put him down on his feet among his lit- 
 tle friends, who were gathered at the top of the 
 steps, with pallid and tear-stained faces. 
 
 " You little idiot ! " Henry cried furiously to the 
 sobbing urchin. " Why on earth must you play 
 the fool on the wall like that? You might have 
 drowned the lady. Your father ought to give you 
 a good thrashing." 
 
 Gurgling gasps and streaming tears were the un- 
 fortunate child's only reply; and a little girl, who 
 was apparently in charge of the party, herself 
 about eleven years of age, took up the indict- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yer naughty boy, Orris ! What'll yer muvver 
 sy? Where's yer cap? Yer've bin an lost it. 
 You'll catch it when yer get ome, yer naughty 
 boy!" 
 
 To relieve her excessive agitation she seized the 
 delinquent by his collar, and, still weeping herself,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 235 
 
 began to cuff him heartily. In the meantime 
 Flora, pathetically small and bedraggled in appear- 
 ance, with her thin blue dress clinging and stream- 
 ing about her slender body, and her drenched, 
 smooth hair dripping round her face, had squelched 
 her way up the steps and now joined the party. 
 
 " Oh, don't hit him ! " she cried. " Poor mite ! 
 He couldn't help it! Never mind, Horace," she 
 continued, rescuing him from the hands of the 
 avenger, who still blubbered and abused him sotto 
 voce. " Don't cry, dear. Mother won't scold 
 you. My friend will go home with you and tell 
 her not to; won't you, Henry? Or would you 
 rather come with me and have your clothes dried, 
 and then mother needn't know ? " 
 
 " Want to go 'ome to Muvver," sobbed Horace 
 in a desperate crescendo. 
 
 " That's a brave man," Flora said, bending over 
 him consolingly. " He can't be frightened of her, 
 or he wouldn't say that," she said, aside to Henry. 
 "Take the poor tiny home, will you? Where do 
 you live, Horace dear?" 
 
 Horace could only shake a dejected head, but 
 his friends joined in, in a sort of chorus. 
 
 "Ashley buildings, Miss!" 
 
 " Oh, the model dwellings ! I know," said Flora. 
 " Milman street, Henry. The children will show 
 you the way. You don't mind? " 
 
 Poor Henry, gasping and half in tears, was still
 
 236 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 staring at the little drowned rat that represented his 
 friend. He had no idea that he could have been so 
 utterly and helplessly terrified at the sight of hu- 
 man life in danger; and he made a shameful effort 
 to say something in reply, to pull himself together 
 and be helpful; conscious that his own part in the 
 late proceedings had had little chance of being 
 heroic. 
 
 " Flora ! " he stammered, in a faint, breathless 
 voice; and then after a pause of a few seconds, 
 " But you you're " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right ! " she answered, in a matter- 
 of-fact way, as if she had just designedly arrived 
 by water to meet him. " It's only a step to my 
 place and dry clothes, and then I'm none the worse. 
 But I don't want this poor baby smacked. Go with 
 him, will you ? " 
 
 " Of course," said Henry, moving off slowly with 
 the party of children, whose fears had been changed 
 by this time into a round-eyed curiosity and ad- 
 miration of their splendidly attired and distin- 
 guished escort. 
 
 " 'E's lost 'is cap, Miss," the leader of the party 
 repeated suggestively. 
 
 " So've I," said Flora, laughing. " We're in the 
 same boat there, Horace. Never mind, he shall 
 have another. Give him a shilling, for me, to buy 
 one, Henry. And hurry him home now, or he'll 
 catch a cold. What luck that it's a warm day!
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 237 
 
 Good-bye, Henry. Look in to-morrow, if you've 
 nothing better to do." 
 
 So saying she extricated herself from a little 
 gaping group of adult spectators, that had silently 
 gathered about her in the past few minutes, and set 
 off for her rooms at a fast walk, while Henry, who, 
 like most Frenchmen, was by nature fond of chil- 
 dren and was at present too shaken to think of ap- 
 pearances, took Horace's damp little hand and led 
 him back to his home, where the splendour of this 
 unexpected apparition, and the unnecessarily large 
 sums of money, bestowed as consolatory presents 
 on the penitent scapegrace, made Horace's mother, 
 so far from beating him, regard him as a hero and 
 benefactor; and provided that hard-working young 
 woman not only with an unaccustomed supper of 
 sausages for her entire family, but material for 
 much boastfully redundant conversation with her 
 neighbours. 
 
 "'Ah! Are you this little feller's mother?' 'e 
 says; and he smiles that beautiful and raises 'is 
 'at. So I says ' Yus,' I says. So 'e says ' I'm 
 afraid 'e's got 'isself into trouble,' 'e says. So I 
 says 'Oh?' I says. So 'e says ' Yus,' 'e says, ' but 
 I 'opes,' 'e says, ' as yer won't be 'ard on 'im,' 'e 
 says." 
 
 It would be supererogatory to set out the moth- 
 er's account, in confused oratio obliqua, of the ac- 
 cident, or record the imaginary speeches that she
 
 238 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 put into her own mouth, as being her ready replies 
 to this fascinating and magnificent stranger; but 
 they were enough to make her the envy of Milman 
 Street for many days, while Horace, among his 
 own set, succeeded in time in imparting the notion, 
 and himself believing, that it would be more ac- 
 curate to state that it was he that saved the lidy, 
 rather than that the lidy had rendered him any par- 
 ticular service by injudiciously following him into 
 the water. 
 
 His duty in respect of the rescued child dis- 
 charged, D'Albiac put himself into a cab and in a 
 few minutes was in his little library in Cowley 
 Street, alone with his newly-found, exquisite secret. 
 The few crowded seconds of horror through which 
 he had passed, while he believed his friend to be in 
 danger, had stripped the veils from a fact that, it 
 seemed, should have been patently recognisable in 
 any garb, many weeks ago, to any but a wilful ob- 
 scurantist. At least he had greeted it now, and 
 took it to his heart in the first moment of en- 
 thusiasm without a thought of the doleful conse- 
 quences that such an acquaintanceship might in- 
 volve. He loved Flora; he had loved her, he be- 
 lieved, since the first glimpse of that pale, tortured 
 face among the turmoil of the street riot; but cer- 
 tainly, even if that were not the case, since that 
 bright summer day when he had been so absurdly 
 stiff and reticent with her and Chalmers in Bat-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 239 
 
 tersea Park. How was it that, knowing his con- 
 stant hunger for her society, he had yet been able 
 to deceive himself so grossly as to his feelings to- 
 wards her, and keep up this vain pretence of a 
 friendship, calm, unemotional and void of passion? 
 In that interminable instant of time, before she 
 cried out her reassurance to him from the hurry- 
 ing yellow water, he had recognised, without the 
 least surprise, that this vivid, flower-like face, slen- 
 der body and kind, soft voice were everything in 
 the world to him, and that if they were to be swept 
 into the horror of the shade he would at least and 
 instantly follow them thither. Dull and deaf must 
 he have been to refuse to hear until this moment 
 what his wise heart had, for so many weeks, been 
 crying loudly and persistently within him. He 
 could laugh now, with a happy thrill of newly- 
 learnt wisdom, as he reflected upon the sophistries 
 he had been contented to accept as excuses for con- 
 duct utterly insane and incomprehensible, but for 
 the admission of his love for Flora; his growing 
 dissatisfaction with Patrice and his unsympathetic 
 relations with her; his craving for a wider, 
 acuter vision in the girl, whose beauty had at first 
 been all-sufficient ; his sudden and absurd desire for 
 a portrait of himself; his boredom among his usual 
 associates and surroundings, and glad anticipation 
 of the quiet hours in the studio; his tolerance of 
 Flora's odd friends; his concealment from his be-
 
 240 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 trothed of his acquaintance with the artist ; his quar- 
 rels and arguments with his friends on subjects 
 that he had, all his life, accepted as immutable and 
 unimprovable; his strangely rapid conversion to 
 humanitarian, social and political heresies that were 
 anathema to most of his own class and repudiated 
 unconsidered, until now, by himself. In the dis- 
 covery of the cause of these rapid alterations in his 
 point of view, he found himself anxiously consid- 
 ering whether his unacknowledged passion had 
 merely blinded his judgment, so that he was pre- 
 pared to accept any monstrosity of untruth as un- 
 assailable fact, so long as it was enunciated by the 
 lips that were dear to him and in the tones he 
 adored. Yet he could not think it was so; for he 
 was unable to separate Flora from her opinions. 
 He knew he did not love her, as for instance he had 
 loved Patrice, for her physical attributes only, or 
 even mainly; in such respects no doubt his be- 
 trothed had been far the more richly endowed. 
 On one side was a notable and acknowledged 
 beauty; on the other a pretty, but by no means re- 
 markable, young woman. It was her ideas that he 
 loved; it was the rebel, the fighter in her that 
 stirred his very soul; it was the passionate pity 
 within the frail, womanly body that made her blue 
 eyes the only eyes in the world for him; the kind, 
 cheerful tolerance that gave the greatest charm to 
 the humorously tender lines of the pure mouth;
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 241 
 
 the strain of the actively heroic that lit up the whole 
 gay, dimpled face, and added that to ordinary 
 patiently courageous womanhood which is, through 
 millenniums of suppression, the one last supreme 
 virtue generally lacking ; that, when present in some 
 exceptional member of the sex, makes her the 
 matchless boast of humanity, comparable only to 
 those few great men in whom a generous admixture 
 of feminine tenderness has softened the rough 
 tyranny of man. " The female male in which shall 
 culminate the race " Henry repeated to himself, 
 thoughtfully; and if "God in the garden hid his 
 face " it could only be to conceal his blushes for 
 having failed for so long to see the beautiful possi- 
 bility of such a creature. The heroic! It was 
 that, above all, that struck home to the enthusiastic 
 heart of the Frenchman, member of a race whose 
 national ideal is the lovely, girlish magnanimity and 
 courage of Jeanne of Domremy. And what won- 
 der that he should have accepted her leadership, 
 much as rough La Hire accepted the leadership of 
 the Maid herself, in sober trust that a nature so 
 sweet, so self-denying, so aspiring could at least 
 draw one on to no mean and selfish end; that such 
 frank, gentle reasonableness was likely to be a true 
 guide ; one that it would be foolish and masterful to 
 reject? These ideas and ideals of hers, some al- 
 ready half accepted by him, others still clamour- 
 ing confidently for acceptance what was their
 
 242 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 ancestry? And why were they to be so easily vic- 
 torious over his own prejudices? One and all they 
 sprang from Compassion, the basis of the great 
 Buddhistic and primitive Christian beliefs, the in- 
 spiration of all that was, to Henry's mind, best in 
 modern rationalistic philosophy. Admit that many 
 of them might ultimately prove impossible of at- 
 tainment, Utopian, Millennial; none the less they 
 were in themselves fine and noble conceptions, 
 worthy of something better than the scornfully 
 smiling rejection without examination, which was 
 their usual fate, at least in the circles of society in 
 which he moved; deserving, it seemed to him, of 
 life-long study and struggle, in the hope that it 
 might one day prove that the impossible became 
 possible; the unpractical and sentimental the high- 
 est form of wisdom and racial efficiency. And al- 
 ready he had been forced to admit that many of the 
 difficulties and cloudy barriers with which they 
 were surrounded were artificial; the work of con- 
 scious selfishness at times, but more often of mere 
 inertia, the desperate resistance to movement and 
 change that is the master-passion of the average 
 human being. Henry was abashedly aware of the 
 presence of this intellectual sloth and cowardice in 
 his own nature. How likely was it, he reflected 
 humbly, that he would ever have recognised the 
 mighty possibilities of the future and the absolute 
 obligation on all men and women to contribute their
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 243 
 
 individual push at the great wheel, however puny 
 their strength, had Flora's personality not come 
 haphazard across his path? 
 
 So, with the requickened memory of the beloved 
 woman herself, his speculative mood passed, and he 
 fell into the ordinary day-dreams of a lover. 
 Flora! Flora! He repeated the name to himself 
 a hundred times aloud in his comfortable solitude, 
 with a rapture that was no doubt fatuous enough. 
 It seemed to him the loveliest name borne by 
 woman; worthy, as no other name could be, of that 
 exquisitely tinted face, that was itself so like some 
 fair garden rose, and of the whole slender delicacy 
 of the lithe body. Thus only, indeed, must the 
 goddess of flowers and the gay Springtime have 
 been conceived by the poets. There was the 
 requisite dash of the brave and adventurous in its 
 sound, too. Flora Macdonald his recollection 
 of the exploits of this famous lady was not alto- 
 gether clear ; but at least he was confident that they 
 were of a gallant and self-sacrificing character. 
 
 Love to D'Albiac was a serious matter; none of 
 the tepid, well-disciplined emotions that, as a rule, 
 are the forerunners of marriage. Nor, in his mind, 
 had it any necessary association with the domestic 
 union. Truly, in the case of Patrice, it had led 
 him to make the approved proposition; for the love 
 that she inspired there was no other possible end. 
 In a previous attack of the same madness, in his
 
 244 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 own country, the object being of inferior class, his 
 passion had conducted to an irregular communion, 
 broken off, after a couple of years, at the cost of 
 some tears and various economic arrangements. 
 For the present at least neither of these ends oc- 
 curred to his mind as desirable; indeed they hardly 
 presented themselves at all. , Had they done so, the 
 second would have been rejected at once, as un- 
 worthy of association, even mentally, with Flora; 
 while the first, although it would have struck his re- 
 lations and friends as impossibly absurd and repre- 
 hensible, might, in the excitement of the moment, 
 have received perfectly serious and careful consid- 
 eration. But so far the conception of the beloved 
 object in his mind was so entirely spiritual and re- 
 moved from the usual emotions of sex, that he had 
 no other thought or desire than to be allowed to be 
 enrolled as a humble friend and disciple, amply re- 
 warded by a gay smile of comradeship, or by one 
 of her stirring phrases of encouragement and en- 
 thusiasm. His earliest feeling towards her, one of 
 distrust and disaffection for her opinions, warring 
 with invincible attraction to her personality, had 
 thus by this time almost entirely boxed the compass. 
 Flora had become to him the symbol of human 
 ideals and, as such, her personality was at times al- 
 most forgotten; and his most constant present un- 
 easiness was due to the feeling that he was still so 
 far removed from her in comprehension and dar-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 245 
 
 ing; so slow-witted, unworthy, narrow and cow- 
 ardly. What must she think of a young man 
 who was such a slave to the opinion of his class, so 
 selfishly averse from putting himself to any per- 
 sonal inconvenience in a noble cause? How swift 
 and brave she was, this weak slip of a woman, who 
 exposed herself voluntarily to the brutality of 
 angry, fighting crowds; gladly underwent the 
 cruelties and privations of prison; flung herself 
 without the hesitation of a moment into a swirling 
 river, for the sake of a ragged child; lost friends, 
 money, reputation, and invited coarse insult, tyranny 
 and stupid contempt for the thing that she believed 
 to be right! The memory of that small, drowned 
 figure, black-haired, shivering and dismally drip- 
 ping and squelching, as it bent with lovely mother- 
 liness over the unfortunate ragamuffin that it had 
 snatched from death, was dearer and more beauti- 
 ful to his mental vision than the fairest image of 
 his flaming-haired, statuesque Patrice, in all the 
 artistry of her wonderful raiment. How she would 
 have clasped her pretty, helpless hands, and called 
 ineffectually on her maman, while the child 
 drowned; useless as he himself, who was capable 
 of letting the disaster end while he hung in inde- 
 cision ! " Don't cry, dear ! " The little phrase 
 persistently haunted his mind, with its soft, sooth- 
 ing gentleness, and that faintly discernible North- 
 ern intonation which added a kindly charm to the
 
 246 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 endearment. So about and about the common- 
 place and undistinguished figure of the painter 
 Henry wandered ceaselessly, viewing it from every 
 point, and finding ever, in his enthusiasm, new and 
 admirable qualities and fresh reasons for his de- 
 termination to be worthy of her friendship and to 
 keep it for his own, even at the cost of losing every- 
 thing else that he had, until now, held dear. 
 
 Sleep did not cure or weaken his obsession; nor, 
 as the days passed, did time affect it, further than 
 to strengthen his confident belief that his life was 
 inseverably bound to Flora's. It was now his main 
 object to remodel his mind on hers ; and he frankly 
 accepted the position of pupil, which he would have 
 before proudly rejected in relation to any, even the 
 greatest, of instructors; glad only to be able to be 
 of service in small matters to his mistress. The 
 obedience of his attitude amused her at first, but, 
 before long, roused her to a friendly remon- 
 strance. 
 
 " I don't know what's come over you, Henry," 
 she said, laughing at his servile acceptance of some 
 proposition that she herself realised to be highly de- 
 batable. " I think the society of us cranks has 
 knocked all the spirit out of you. When I first 
 knew you, you were a most contradictory and war- 
 like person. You mustn't get into the other ex- 
 treme, and believe everything we tell you, without 
 thinking."
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 247 
 
 " But you're always right," he replied, in per- 
 fect good faith. 
 
 " Oh, no, we're not," Flora said, shaking her 
 head vigorously. " Don't you see we're always 
 disagreeing among ourselves ? In fact, there's only 
 one point in which I feel confident that we're right, 
 and that is that we stir each other up to argue 
 things out and quarrel about them, instead of living 
 entirely on phrases acquired from our grandparents. 
 And you've got to help, you know. Come on, let's 
 quarrel about something ! " 
 
 He protested that he would have no chance in 
 such an encounter; that, moreover, he agreed with 
 everything she said; but his friend would not let 
 him off in that way. 
 
 " You don't, you wicked humbug ! " she said re- 
 provingly. " Just think of the things you've swal- 
 lowed whole, when I've offered them to you tenta- 
 tively! Some of them I've hardly believed myself. 
 And yet they don't seem to make any difference 
 to you." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " he asked with an uneasy 
 prescience of her reply. 
 
 " Well, you're still quite contented to be idle and 
 luxurious. It's no good denying it. Spiritually 
 you're fat; probably one day you'll be so 
 corporeally, unless you reform and take exercise. 
 You don't want to remain a bull of Bashan, do 
 you?"
 
 248 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " You know that I intend I see the necessity 
 ' I'm only looking about I quite agree with 
 you," he stammered, knowing the accusation to be 
 deserved. 
 
 " You agree, principally, to keep me quiet, I be- 
 lieve," Flora replied, with the ruminative twist of 
 her mouth, as she turned her clear-seeing eyes upon 
 him. They were, at the time, in his gorgeous little 
 drawing-room, where he had persuaded her for the 
 first time to be his guest at tea. " And I'm afraid 
 you don't look very hard, do you? You haven't 
 even asked me if I can suggest anything fpr you to 
 do; because you probably know I could, you lazy 
 person." 
 
 It was true. Henry had an unacknowledged 
 dread of some extremely inacceptable job being 
 thrust upon him, if he left the choice to Flora, who 
 seemed to have little sympathy with the niceness 
 acquired from his upbringing. He was very com- 
 fortable as he was ; and lacked the necessary energy 
 to turn theory, of his own initiative, into action. 
 
 " But do you know of any positions ? " he be- 
 gan. 
 
 " Oh, heaps. You see the question of means 
 doesn't arise; and there's always plenty of useful 
 unpaid work going begging." 
 
 " But suitable to me ? " he urged, nervously. 
 
 " Everything's suitable in some degree to every- 
 body," Flora declared. " That's to say if one's
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 249 
 
 normal. I don't mean that professional football 
 would be exactly the thing for you, if you'd been 
 born without any legs. But, of course, there are 
 places in which your particular powers would be 
 more useful than in others. Oh, I'll find you some- 
 thing, if you'll let me. Don't you be afraid of 
 that." 
 
 " Thank you," he said humbly. " You know I 
 want to be some good in the world, Flora. I hate 
 you to think of me as fat." 
 
 Indeed he writhed in spirit at the picture pre- 
 sented of graceless pinguitude wallowing among the 
 fleshpots in the midst of a strenuous world. 
 
 Flora laughed delightedly at his ruefulness; and 
 her laughter was so pretty and infectious that he 
 joined in at last, with a sudden insane impulse to 
 take her in his arms and punish her mockery with 
 kisses. It was the first time that such a desire had 
 manifested itself so plainly and strongly; and, but 
 that he felt that such a rough and unheralded ac- 
 tion would probably put an end there and then to 
 their friendship, he had yielded to his longing; the 
 force of which sent a dark flush to his face. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! What a shame to laugh at you," 
 said Flora presently, with mock contrition, observ- 
 ing his change of colour and attributing it, prob- 
 ably, to wounded vanity or anger. " But you are 
 rather a hedonist, aren't you? Think of you, at 
 your age, in this truly charming house! Sofas
 
 250 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 and armchairs," she looked about the room for 
 material for the indictment, " beautiful teacups and 
 silver ; two men servants, at least, for I've seen them 
 already; several maids, I s'pose; probably an ex- 
 pensive cook; a grand piano; your great, snorting 
 motor car; lovely clothes," she dimpled as she re- 
 garded him. " Lots of fine books and pictures ; 
 velvet curtains all for one young man, who prob- 
 ably only spends quite an insignificant part of his 
 day here, and hasn't done one stroke of useful work 
 in his life. Oh, it's so bad for you! You can't 
 think how fattening it all is ! " 
 
 "What d'you want me to do?" he asked, rest- 
 ively; for he was well aware of his Sybaritic 
 proclivities, and had until lately, indeed, made a 
 merit of them, and proclaimed them, candidly, in 
 society. 
 
 " I ? It's not for me to exact anything, even if 
 I could. But I wonder at you being contented to 
 be a drone. You're capable of better things than 
 that." 
 
 " But if one happens to have money " he pro- 
 tested " It's no good hoarding it." 
 
 " But surely there are better objects to spend it 
 on than gratifying one's senses. I'm not thinking 
 now about the effect on others for the actual 
 sum's insignificant but on the person who spends 
 it. Every man's a potential reformer; and the rich 
 have the greatest chances and the greatest tempta-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 2-51 
 
 tions of all, of course. It does seem odd, to one 
 who hasn't been put in the position, that they should 
 almost always give way to the temptation, and 
 swamp their souls in eating and drinking and lying 
 soft." 
 
 " But then you admire renunciation. That's 
 quite a bygone creed," Henry argued, morally. 
 
 " I admit it," she sighed, " but it's got to come 
 back again, if the world's to go forward instead of 
 backward. And now I'm off; I've got appoint- 
 ment in Oxford Street in five-and-twenty minutes." 
 
 " I never saw such a person to run about," he 
 grumbled. " You haven't been here more than half 
 an hour. When shall I see you again? May I 
 call to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Not to-morrow. I've got a meeting in the 
 afternoon, and it'll take me all I know to get 
 through my work before it. Friday, I promised to 
 spend part of the day with Adelaide Perry. Sat- 
 urday afternoon, Fred Sutton's coming round and 
 Emily Westbrook. Would you like to come too ? " 
 
 " I will if I can. But I want to talk to you by 
 yourself," he said rather sheepishly, without look- 
 ing at her. " I really do mean to work, Flora, and 
 I want to discuss it with you, so that you can help 
 me to find some. There's something going on at 
 the Opera next week German music, I believe. 
 Would you like to come some evening with me, and 
 have some supper afterwards? "
 
 252 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 "Yes. That'll be nice. Let's see Meister- 
 singer's on Tuesday; I could manage that." 
 
 " I'll take a couple of stalls," said Henry grate- 
 fully. 
 
 " Not stalls, I beg. I can't stand the lower part 
 of the house. There's a sort of sympathetic bore- 
 dom all over it that's quite destructive of one's full 
 enjoyment. And then it's expensive." 
 
 " But you're coming with me." 
 
 " Oh, that's very kind ; but I'd rather pay for 
 myself, unless you're very anxious to be generous. 
 Two amphitheatre stalls, Henry, near the front, if 
 you can get them. I won't ask you yet to come up 
 to the slips, though that's where I take most of my 
 opera. Good-bye; and send me a post card about 
 meeting you, in case I don't see you on Saturday." 
 
 She shook his hand, and was gone and out of the 
 house, before a lethargic footman had time to at- 
 tend to the bell that his employer rang. Henry 
 himself, peeping out between the curtains, watched 
 the retreating figure until it turned the corner of 
 the street, and then returning to the middle of the 
 room paced restlessly up and down for a time, with 
 his hands clasped tightly behind him and his eyes 
 on the ground. Presently he knelt swiftly down 
 on the carpet by the armchair in which his guest had 
 sat, and, with tears in his foolish eyes, kissed the 
 arms on which her hands had rested and the has- 
 sock on which she had placed her foot. The foot-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 253 
 
 man, entering inopportunely to remove the tea- 
 tray, would have surprised him engaged in these 
 amorous exercises, had his master not craftily 
 feigned, by sweeping his hand over the carpet, to 
 be looking for something beneath the chair; subse- 
 quently speaking to the man of a gold pencil 
 dropped, which the housemaids were to seek. It 
 is embarrassing to be compelled to depict one's hero 
 in such grovelling and sentimental postures; but he 
 was young, and, what is more, the member of a 
 race whose views as to what is befitting conduct 
 for a man when emotionally stirred are perennially 
 diverting to us. 
 
 For the first time since their acquaintance had 
 begun, the idea of marriage with Flora openly 
 marched into his mind and entrenched itself inex- 
 pugnably. It seemed to the enamoured gentleman 
 manifest that his previous cardiacal experiences 
 had been the foolish delusions of one too anxious 
 to love, before having realised the true nature of 
 the passion. In both of the only entanglements 
 that could be considered at all serious, it was the 
 physical aspect of the matter that had alone ap- 
 pealed to him. Yes; he acknowledged now that it 
 had been none the less so in the case of the proud 
 Miss Beaufoy than in that of Jeanne Allard. 
 Patrice and he had never been truly joined by any 
 spiritual bond, much as he had striven to believe so; 
 a fact that had become instantly patent to both
 
 254 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 when the first opportunity for full intellectual in- 
 tercourse had arisen. It was but the least endur- 
 ing portion of her that he had adored; certain 
 trivialities of form and colour that would be ex- 
 changed at no distant date, no doubt, for the un- 
 lovely pachydermy of Mrs. Beaufoy. Flora, on 
 the other hand, had drawn him from the first by 
 her mental qualities, chiefly if not altogether. It 
 was the love of her wise and friendly comradeship 
 that had separated him so swiftly from his be- 
 trothed and bade him follow her into a hundred 
 paths in life utterly remote from the high roads to 
 which he was accustomed; nor was it until this 
 afternoon that the bodily attraction, necessary to 
 complete the love of the sexes, had frankly dis- 
 closed itself. Yet it was no faint longing bred of 
 frequent propinquity. The violence of it had been 
 almost overpowering; had as nearly as possible 
 precipitated him into action that would have de- 
 stroyed their relations. This then was true love; 
 intellect and senses inextricably interwoven, so that 
 it passed the wit of man to say which was warp 
 and which woof. The surprise of this remark- 
 able discovery was as great to Henry as if it was 
 not being made around him by ten thousand other 
 minds at the identical moment; as it was in the 
 beginning, or very near it, is now, and probably 
 shall be for a considerable time to come. 
 
 But marry her marry her ? The proposition
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 255 
 
 seemed simple enough; and yet his mind was torn 
 a dozen ways by doubt and convention. She would 
 not marry him, he tried to say, to account for this 
 indecision. But his pride and intelligence rebelled 
 at this statement. It was plain she liked him at least 
 as well, probably better than any of her other male 
 friends, except perhaps Sutton; and the Socialist's 
 age and appearance must surely, even with Flora, 
 put him out of the question. With the least con- 
 ventional woman, youth and strength and good 
 looks must necessarily start with a considerable ad- 
 vantage. Then she was lonely; a reason for many 
 marriages. Moreover she was badly off; though 
 he did not believe that the prospect of a large in- 
 come would offer any very strong inducement to 
 an acceptance. Still it probably counted for some- 
 thing. And however levelling and democratic her 
 creed, she must indeed be an unique specimen of 
 her class if, in the depths of her heart, she was quite 
 unmoved by the position of her wooer; or, at least, 
 touched by the sacrifice he was making in asking 
 her hand. For to marry Flora, there was no de- 
 nying, would almost undoubtedly mean cutting him- 
 self adrift from his own class; throwing over all 
 the large circle of pleasant friends that he had ac- 
 cumulated since his boyhood, and casting himself 
 into an entirely new stratum of life, with no inti- 
 mate but his wife. It was not that Flora was not 
 as well-behaved as any, better educated than most,
 
 256 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 and cleverer than all of them. But even if she con- 
 sented to disguise her opinions, which was little 
 likely, even if she changed them when changing 
 her station, which was hardly credible, the question 
 as to where he had found his bride would still be 
 asked, and a misalliance would be immediately de- 
 tected. Misalliances may with patience be lived 
 down, where the contemned partner is particularly 
 imitative and compliant; but compliance was not 
 Flora's leading virtue, he thought, with a lover's 
 smile at the remembrance of an impudently tilted 
 head and a softly defiant voice. Again it would 
 be possible to take her back with him as his wife to 
 his own land, where in the present extremely agree- 
 able and no doubt indestructible relations between 
 the two countries, a charming English Mees, mar- 
 ried or unmarried, aristocratic or canaille, would 
 be likely to be received with something like en- 
 thusiasm. But would she go ? Would she give up 
 all her interests in her own country to expatriate 
 herself permanently? And, if not, what other 
 course was open, except for him to leave his proper 
 circle and enter one which, he could not deny, did 
 not at the moment seem at all an adequate sub- 
 stitute for that to which he was accustomed. It 
 was good to be revolutionary, brotherly and all the 
 rest of it for part of the day, in theory, with the 
 prospect of returning home at will; but it was a 
 different thing to burn one's bridges behind one.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 257 
 
 Henry paused in his walk, as the full realisation 
 of the step that he would have to take dawned upon 
 him, and stood as the benighted traveller stands, 
 haggardly gazing over the dark precipice at the 
 brink of which he has hardly contrived to stop in 
 time. A life of Suttons, Miss Perrys, and Mrs. 
 Westbrooks; of Baer's tea-shops; of interminable 
 bothering and hard work over political and social 
 matters; of vain attempts to win a footing for a 
 perversely revolutionary wife among the people 
 whose society he really enjoyed and who pitied him, 
 no doubt, as one who has taken an unfortunate 
 false step ; invited sometimes to dinners, en gargon; 
 probably precipitated, as some form of rich radical 
 member, into the House of Commons, to be reviled 
 as a renegade, and associate with abhorred plutoc- 
 racy; treated as a pariah, to whom his rank and 
 wealth were worthless as unable to purchase that 
 consideration and awe which is their chiefest and 
 most precious use. 
 
 By this time poor Henry's brain was spinning 
 with the whippings to which he subjected it from 
 every point. Such a picture of his life was suffi- 
 ciently uninviting; and yet the gay- faced, sweet- 
 voiced will-of -the- wisp still floated temptingly be- 
 fore him over the treacherously green marsh, and 
 his feet seemed to have lost the power of standing 
 still to allow him even the briefest space for seri- 
 ous consideration of his peril. He sighed fatal-
 
 258 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 istically; for the present, he felt, he was incapable of 
 any scheme or resolution, and resigned himself as 
 recklessly to the stream, as his friend had done to 
 save a child's life. One thing alone was certain 
 among all these divers embarrassments; Flora was 
 too dear to him to be cast aside, whatever the ulti- 
 mate consequences might be. Let it be for the 
 future to decide the end of the story; for the pres- 
 ent all he hoped or desired was the speedy advent 
 of their next meeting.
 
 X 
 
 ONCE wholly resigned to the influence of the 
 Chelsea artist the dcgringolade of the Baron 
 D'Albiac was necessarily rapid and complete. 
 Still torn by conflicting doubts as to the possibility 
 of marrying the object of his infatuation, he was 
 at least determined to make himself " worthy of 
 her," as he fondly phrased it, by embracing every 
 article of her creed; political, social, artistic, theo- 
 logical et tout le bataclan, to quote Monsier Lechat. 
 The natural result of such behaviour, although at 
 first he failed to recognise the fact, was to separate 
 him from his friends hardly less suddenly and en- 
 tirely than the marriage, over which he exercised 
 his mind daily, could have done. He was not con- 
 stantly, or even very frequently, in her company; 
 for her many occupations and friends monopolised 
 the greater part of her time, and he was jealous of 
 sharing her with others. But, in the intervals be- 
 tween their meetings, he could not often so far vary 
 his mood as to enjoy the occupations proper to his 
 condition; and it became notorious that Mr. 
 D'Albiac, although well-known to be in London, 
 was refusing invitations, with a persistence which 
 deliciously suggested some hidden scandal. Many 
 ingenious and pleasant stories were related in ex- 
 
 259
 
 260 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 planation of this state of things; but the only two 
 sources from which some inkling of the real truth 
 might have been drawn were temporarily stopped; 
 the Beaufoys for obvious reasons, and Roddy 
 Chalmers, because he was competing in a motor 
 race round Europe, which he was unlikely to win, 
 having through an oversight, as he afterwards ex- 
 plained, started the wrong way round. 
 
 The cerebral dialectics over the marriage question 
 were only indulged in solitary hours ; while he was 
 actually in the presence of his Flora, he swum in a 
 bliss that he hardly endeavoured to disguise from 
 her. Covent Garden Theatre being then open for 
 a season of music-drama, Mrs. Evans' artistic side 
 was displayed uppermost for a few weeks; and she 
 introduced Henry, from various uncomfortable and 
 crowded positions in the great house, to certain 
 extremely serious entertainments. Probably he 
 had attended at performances of most of them be- 
 fore ; but they were not of the kind dear to Patrice ; 
 and, for any recollection he had of them, they might 
 have all been entire novelties. With such an 
 eminently practical nature as Flora's, he was as- 
 tonished to observe with what unnecessary concern 
 and enthusiasm she partook of these intricate and 
 generously lengthy dramas. The private affairs 
 and misadventures of all these prolix and monoc- 
 ular greybeards, the highly ramified love tragedies 
 of these hearthrug-clad and nightgowned gentle-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 261 
 
 men and ladies, most of whom did not appear to 
 have lost any weight through their troubles, de- 
 pressed or exalted Flora, as if those concerned 
 had been members of her own family. After one 
 particularly trying evening in the hot gallery, dur- 
 ing the latter part of which Henry had almost 
 screamed aloud, at times, in a sort of agitated bore- 
 dom, at the repeated delirious throes of a sick man 
 on a couch, attended by one of the inevitable grey- 
 beards, who confined his ministrations to pulling 
 the disordered bedclothes up to the patient's chin 
 between each incomprehensible attack, Flora's 
 cheeks were wet with tears, and she was not able 
 to utter more than a few broken words on the way 
 home. Oddly enough, too, Henry found that he 
 himself began to be strangely interested, after a 
 few performances, in this welter of extraordinary 
 sounds, vast and complicated scenery, passionate 
 and uncomprehended invective and grief, and oc- 
 casional nerve-shattering outbursts of orchestral 
 riot. His homeward-bound questions to Flora on 
 the meaning of what he had seen became less duti- 
 ful, more frequent and more spontaneous. From 
 the abdominal gruntings and bello wings of the 
 greybeards, from the crashes and polyphonic con- 
 fusion of the band, from the extraordinary inter- 
 vals and screams of the soprani, a music slowly 
 distilled, a weird, unforgettable, unrememberable 
 music, that worried him and yet drove him back,
 
 262 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 even without Flora's companionship, to hear more 
 and ever more of it. When there was no more 
 available opera, he took to following the same 
 music in concert halls; and here occasionally Flora 
 joined him, insisting on these occasions, with her 
 usual perversity, that they should be seated close 
 under the roof ; and at these dizzy altitudes he made 
 his first acquaintance with the A major symphony, 
 and sat open-mouthed, striving to attach a mean- 
 ing to the tricksy caprioles of Eulenspiegel, or the 
 insoluble riddles of Zarathustra. 
 
 Even more heroic was his dietary reform. At- 
 tendance at unloved entertainments had, after all, 
 been a regular feature of his social life; but sub- 
 jection of the natural appetites was a daily and life- 
 long discipline for which he had had as yet no 
 practice or inclination. It astounded him to dis- 
 cover how much interest he, by no means a 
 gourmand, must have taken in his meals, when he 
 observed the hardship and sense of loss that at- 
 tended his abjuration of feasting. Flora seemed 
 provokingly unconscious of the sacrifice he was 
 making for her, whether because she was by nature 
 something of an ascetic or had become so by long 
 habit, he could not say. It mortified him at times 
 to be aware of the rebellion of his stomach at the 
 insipidity of its entertainment, and of the warm de- 
 sire for a comfortable meal, long-drawn and dain- 
 tily served, at some moment when his friend was
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 263 
 
 saying carelessly, " Well, I s'pose we'd better get 
 something to eat somewhere now, because I've got 
 an appointment in ten minutes, and I expect it'll 
 keep me for two or three hours." It reminded 
 the delicately nourished Frenchman of nothing so 
 much as the inconsiderate behaviour related of a 
 famous private detective, on the occasion when he 
 invoked the assistance pf a medical friend in a case 
 of crime, on the distinct understanding that after 
 its denouement he would entertain him at lunch; 
 and, after a most athletic morning, during which 
 his dupe had violently arrested several dangerous 
 criminals on his friend's behalf, coolly informed the 
 unhappy Esculapian that there was just time to 
 get a biscuit before going to hear Sarasate (in 
 whom it is inconceivable that the worthy doctor 
 took any sort of interest) play at St. James' Hall. 
 However it seemed an unworthy thing for a man 
 and a soldier to be crying out for his comforts and 
 luxuries in the face of this feminine austerity; and 
 he made it so much of a pose to appear equally 
 unconscious of these grovelling desires that the 
 thing became an artistic pleasure, and ultimately 
 passed into a habit that he had scarcely a wish to 
 break. But this consummation was not reached 
 before he had fought down many regrets for the 
 loss of the amateur's appreciation of fragrant red 
 wine, subtly spiced dishes and the rare aroma that 
 tobacco reserves for the replete.
 
 264 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 As a citizen he went from bad to worse. Fred 
 Sutton, a man of a diabolically insinuating interest, 
 had had Henry tossed to him by Flora, as a biscuit 
 is tossed to a dog; and, for fear of offending her, 
 D'Albiac submitted, with as good a grace as he 
 could assume, to the arguments and theories of her 
 friend; permitting himself to be introduced into 
 societies and clubs of like heretical opinions, and 
 joining at times in their discussions, with the dis- 
 tressing result that he came away on each occasion 
 more and more ashamed of his own comfortable 
 circumstances, which he had come to regard as un- 
 merited. The consequences of this wicked in- 
 gratitude for the manifold bounties that had been 
 showered upon him may be conceived; little by 
 little Henry developed into that justly abhorred 
 and boycotted personality, " a traitor to his class " ; 
 one who encourages the base jealousy and incom- 
 prehensible acquisitiveness of the proletariat 
 against those more cultured and refined sections of 
 the community, among which such vices are prac- 
 tically unknown. Even his outer man began to 
 deteriorate; sometimes, horrible to relate, he hardly 
 was unmistakably a gentleman. He was known to 
 have put his comfortable bachelor house into the 
 hands of agents for disposal, to have been deserted 
 by his butler in consequence of his revised method 
 of life, and by his footman and valet because he 
 took no steps to fill the vacancy caused by the first
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 265 
 
 defection, thus rendering the household one in 
 which they could not, with proper self-respect, re- 
 main. Shutters appeared at the windows in Cowley 
 Street; an imaginatively eulogistic notice-board 
 hung before it; and where the late owner now 
 resided, or in what way he was spending his con- 
 siderable wealth, remained mysteries to the society 
 world. His appearances in any civilised part of 
 the town grew rare to the vanishing point; nor 
 would his late friends have thought of looking for 
 him in the dingy office near Holborn Viaduct, 
 where, about Christmas-time, he began to pass part 
 of each day, concerned in activities that were little 
 better than criminal. 
 
 The marring of a gentleman makes unpleasant 
 matter for relation; but it is necessary to mention 
 one or two trumpery details, if only to show into 
 what absurdities his perverted tendencies inevitably 
 led him. The name of a certain Henry Dalbiac 
 came into public notice, in a manner shortly to be 
 described; and it appeared subsequently that this 
 Dalbiac of January was identical with the 
 D'Albiac of November. Henry had, on some oc- 
 casion, referred with natural annoyance, in Flora's 
 hearing, to the insulting carelessness of an English 
 friend, who constantly addressed letters to him, 
 spelling his name in the less noble manner ; and had 
 elicited the unsympathetic reply, to be expected 
 from a woman of her class, that " all that sort of
 
 266 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 thing struck her as rather trivial; her landlady 
 made up her weekly book under the name of Mrs. 
 Heavens or Mrs. Evans quite indifferently, accord- 
 ing to the fancy of the moment; and as long as it 
 was obvious who was meant, it wasn't worth 
 bothering about." It is hardly credible, but none 
 the less true, that this careless and plebeian remark 
 was sufficient to cause Henry deliberately to vul- 
 garise his own patronymic; and it serves to display 
 the influence that the painter had acquired over his 
 character in hardly a less degree than the fact that 
 he ceased to conform to 1 his observances as a 
 Roman Catholic without, it seemed, embracing any 
 alternative form of public worship. Like many 
 men of his class, he had always regarded religion 
 more from its political than its spiritual standpoint; 
 and it was this view of it to which Flora took ex- 
 ception. 
 
 " If you must believe something of that kind," 
 she remarked, " I don't want to interfere with your 
 belief. Everyone's got to decide that for himself. 
 But it's outrageously wicked to play on people's 
 superstitions for social reasons." 
 
 There was a play running at that time in London, 
 an adaptation from the French, which emphasised 
 the cruelty of endangering the comfort of people 
 in their theological beliefs by revealing one's own 
 infidelity. A priest, who was one of the principal 
 characters, decided it to be his duty to present a
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 267 
 
 periodical miracle to the people, rather than see 
 their unhappiness at being told that it was a sham. 
 Henry pleaded this authority, but received only an 
 obstinate reply. 
 
 " Truth's the only possible thing to cling to ; any- 
 thing that depends on lies and humbug is noxious 
 and doomed to disaster," she maintained, with her 
 dimpled chin in the air. " I call your play a dis- 
 gustingly immoral one." And, as usual, the com- 
 pliant lover was quickly of the like opinion. 
 
 Christmas-time found him ensconced in an ob- 
 scure lodging not far from the studio; and it was 
 here that he hung up his portrait, when it arrived 
 from the framemakers; and here that he received 
 Flora's Christmas present, a red-leather copy of 
 " Beauchamp's Career," accompanied by a note, 
 containing the hope that the Commander would be- 
 come Henry's favourite " hero " in fiction, as he 
 was that of yours very sincerely F. Evans. The 
 value that the Frenchman attached to this small 
 volume was out of all proportion to the three shill- 
 ings and sixpence that it had cost the purchaser; 
 and, although the luxurious and effulgent beauty of 
 the author's style seemed at first likely to thin his 
 perplexed reader's glossy hair, it was not long be- 
 fore his enjoyment of the story aroused an unap- 
 peasable hunger for more from the same great pen ; 
 and he had shortly added a trinity of womanhood 
 to his theogony Loveliness, Wit, and Courage
 
 268 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 in the persons of Clara, Diana, and Carinthia. 
 So far, foolish as he had been, Henry had not 
 actually committed himself beyond recovery. Sup- 
 posing his infatuation for Flora to have passed off, 
 he might yet have returned to the sphere he had 
 previously adorned, and " no questions asked," as 
 the advertisements for lost dogs express it. But, 
 about the middle of January, a blow fell on the 
 circle of his acquaintance, at first incredible, but 
 subsequently to be confirmed, which destroyed the 
 last hope of his rehabilitation. Another of these 
 odious disturbances over the franchise, which had 
 recurred lately with disgraceful frequency, took 
 place ; and among the casualties was Henry Dalbiac, 
 25, no occupation, taken prisoner. A very clear 
 case of obstructing the police in the execution of 
 their duty and of attempted rescue having been 
 made out against him, the magistrate, who took a 
 sound, commonsense view of the enfranchisement 
 question, and had more than once sternly silenced 
 the prisoner's impudent attempts to defend himself 
 from certain of the accusations, sentenced the fallen 
 aristocrat to fourteen days in the second division; 
 adding a well-merited eulogium of his own leniency, 
 and foreshadowing the most far-reaching and awe- 
 inspiring improvements of the present law, if these 
 manifestations did not immediately cease. These 
 remarks having been greeted with " applause in 
 court," distinctly audible to the Press Agency re-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 269 
 
 porter who was present, the convicted fanatic was 
 removed for a fortnight's meditation over his mis- 
 deeds. 
 
 Roddy Chalmers, returning from his Continental 
 trip at about this time, was one of the first people 
 to greet the malefactor on his release; and his ac- 
 count of the lamentable transformation of the for- 
 merly smart and popular young man-about-town 
 caused quite a nine days' wonder at the dinner and 
 lunch tables that he frequented. Patrice received 
 the news with a shuddering silence, which she de- 
 clined to break by the expression of any opinion. 
 It cannot be said whether she congratulated herself 
 on her escape from a man of these atrocious pro- 
 clivities, or whether, which is more likely, she at- 
 tributed his ruin to that vile woman who was no 
 more than a name and a vague idea of infamy to 
 her. No word could be drawn from her on the sub- 
 ject, although her maman made several attempts to 
 discuss it; and finally, at the mere mention of Hen- 
 ry's name, she would instantly seek the privacy of 
 her own room. Mrs. Beaufoy was however avid of 
 any news on the subject ; and, in the absence of her 
 daughter on a visit, succeeded at last in capturing 
 the elusive Chalmers for a dinner party, at which 
 several of Henry's old friends, including Mr. Col- 
 man and Lord Honiton, were present. 
 
 " Now, let's hear somthing about this unhappy 
 Henry D'Albiac," she said, as soon as a suitable
 
 270 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 silence fell on the table. " I'm sure you can tell 
 us all about it. You've got such extraordinary 
 friends, Roddy; and, besides, you've actually met 
 that dreadful person that he's entangled himself 
 with." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Please ! " cried out another lady, 
 from lower down the table. " Poor Monsieur 
 D'Albiac! I thought he was so nice when I met 
 him." 
 
 " I always thought I always said and in this 
 you'll bear me out I'm sure, Mrs. Beaufoy," Lord 
 Honiton began, weightily, " that there was some- 
 thing wrong about the young man. In the position 
 towards your family that he then held, I was 
 scarcely able " 
 
 " Oh, but he was quite charming and sensible." 
 his hostess interrupted him, " until he met this 
 creature. Poor Henry! I was very fond of him. 
 Have you actually seen him since he disgraced 
 himself, Roddy?" 
 
 " What, old Jools ! " answered Chalmers buoy- 
 antly. " Rather ! I called on him in the two-pair 
 back only last week." 
 
 " The two-pair back ! Capital ! " cried Mr. Col- 
 man, shrilly. " Do tell us where it is, and why 
 he lives there." 
 
 " Why, it's in a side street off Chelsea Embank- 
 ment. Bedroom, sitting-room, and use of bath 
 twice a week. Probably young, musical society,
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 271 
 
 too," Roddy added, in contortions of laughter, 
 " and hot dinner with the family, at one, on Sun- 
 days." 
 
 " With the family? With the persons who keep 
 the lodging house ? " asked Honiton, frowning 
 heavily at the suggestion. 
 
 " Oh, of course, I won't swear to that," Roddy 
 said, with a spasm of gravity. " But that's what I 
 should think; and fourteen shillings a week rent." 
 
 " Roddy ! " protested Mrs. Beauf oy. 
 
 " It's a fact," he maintained, as earnestly as if 
 he was speaking from knowledge and not imagina- 
 tion. " And there was old Jools sitting in a rum 
 little room, furnished with kitchen chairs and a 
 portrait of himself and a lot of Meredith's novels. 
 I give you my word he tried to palm one of 'em 
 off on me, but I told him I hadn't read anything for 
 months except ' Where's Master ? by Csesar ' 
 hadn't any time for it. Oh, he's lovely, Mrs. 
 Beauf oy ! You really ought to call on him." 
 
 The jocosity of his memories was so extreme 
 that he almost choked himself to death in an en- 
 deavour to combine excessive laughter with con- 
 tinuing his meal. 
 
 " Is he so very odd ? You don't mean he's 
 mad?" 
 
 " Not a bit ; at least not really mad. I mean to 
 say, he doesn't think he's a teapot or anything 
 yet. In fact, to my taste, he's a jolly sight more
 
 272 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 amusing than he ever was before, and that's saying 
 something too, because he was always rather witty. 
 But you'd hardly know him now, if you met him." 
 
 " Why not? Is he altered in appearance? " 
 
 " You remember what lovely clothes Jools al- 
 ways wore, don't you? I used quite to blush for 
 my own when I was out with him. Well, he 
 turned up the other evening rushed in suddenly 
 while I was waiting for him, pretending he'd been 
 working so hard that he couldn't get away before 
 in an old shooting coat a Norfolk jacket 
 with the belt hanging down behind; about half an 
 inch of moustache, and his hair all sticking up on 
 end, as if he hadn't brushed it for a fortnight. 
 Sort of Great- What-is-it, or Woolly Wonder of the 
 Wild West, don't y' know? Frightful hurry he 
 was in; said he could only give me half-an-hour, 
 unless I liked to come and dine with him at Miles', 
 because he'd promised Fred Sutton that's an- 
 other patient to go to a meeting of the Jolly 
 Dynamiters, or something." 
 
 " Miles' ? Miles' ? " said Mrs. Beauf oy, re- 
 flectively. 
 
 "Yes. It's a place where you sit on perches and 
 eat nuts. Jools won't eat meat now, because he's 
 afraid the cow will say he's no gentleman. So, of 
 course, I went with him to Miles' I'd often been 
 before with other people and he kept me in fits all 
 through dinner ; if you can call it dinner. And we
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 273 
 
 were waited on by a jolly good-looking girl, too," 
 he concluded, with a reminiscent sentimentality. 
 
 " But is he really an anarchist and all those 
 dreadful things, as people say?" asked someone. 
 
 " Oh, rather ! I got quite nervous, at times, at 
 the awful things he said he was going to do to us 
 all, presently; and I told our little waitress not to 
 give him too sharp a knife to cut up his roast 
 Prochick with, in case I got the wrong side of him, 
 by mistake." 
 
 " I believe you're making fun of us," cried 
 Colman, with a pretty pout of dissatisfaction. 
 " You're a dreadful tease. Mrs. Beaufoy, don't 
 let's believe him, shall we ? " 
 
 " Do you seriously say, Chalmers," Lord Honiton 
 said, with a grave lowering of his voice, " that in 
 a few months this wretched young man has abso- 
 lutely discarded all the principles that safeguard 
 his Empire, his class, and the faith of his fathers, 
 and has deliberately made himself a social out- 
 law?" 
 
 " I don't think I quite said that," Roddy shrieked, 
 upsetting his champagne by throwing his head rashly 
 forward among his glasses. " I say ! I'm fright- 
 fully sorry. Shall I stand up for the rest of the 
 meal? No, I'm sure I didn't say that; I couldn't, 
 even if I wanted to. But he's got every sort of fad 
 that was ever invented, if that's what you mean; 
 and seems to enjoy 'em."
 
 274 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " But why? I ask, why? " asked the peer, spread- 
 ing his hands abroad. " How can a man's whole 
 sane, healthy point of view " 
 
 " But Jools hasn't got any point of view, my dear 
 sir. He does whatever Flora Evans tells him, like 
 a good little boy," Roddy said, rather exhausted by 
 his mirth, and easing his collar with one finger. 
 
 " That's the person who's got hold of him," Mrs. 
 Beaufoy explained, behind her fan, in a delicate 
 sotto voce, to her nearest neighbours. Some of the 
 men appeared to prick up their ears a little at this; 
 and a young married woman fulfilled the wish of the 
 majority of the guests by asking: 
 
 " And have you ever seen her ? Is she so very 
 fascinating? Beautiful?" 
 
 " Flora ? Oh, no. I know her quite well ; I like 
 her very much." 
 
 Mrs. Beaufoy's pinched glance was expressive, 
 but Roddy insisted. 
 
 " I do, really. She's a real good sort ; and of 
 course," he added in a discreet manner, in view of 
 the presence at the table of one virgin, aged forty- 
 three, " she's quite respectable and all that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 "But if she's not good-loking "began the 
 same lady amazedly. 
 
 " I didn't say she wasn't. She's pretty and amus- 
 ing and that. Only she's not Cleopatra, y'know; 
 you wouldn't pick her out among a crowd. How-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 275 
 
 ever, poor old Jools thinks she's splendid; he can't 
 keep her out of his conversation. ' Flora says this ' 
 and ' Flora says that '. It's quite pretty to hear 
 him." 
 
 " You don't suppose he'll marry this woman 
 your friend, I should say," Mrs. Beaufoy asked, with 
 a half-hearted attempt to refer to her politely. " I 
 beg your pardon ; I forgot for the moment that " 
 
 " Please don't apologise," Roddy cried, staring 
 wildly about the room with a grin of delight. " She 
 is a woman all right. At least she wears skirts, so 
 I s'pose she is. Yes, I expect to hear they're en- 
 gaged before very long. She's a widow; older than 
 Jools ; no children. It'll be a pretty good match for 
 her." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " ejaculated his shocked hostess; 
 and quite a groan of incredulity proceeded from one 
 or two of the guests. Colman shook his head from 
 side to side, smiling feebly, as if the situation was 
 beyond his comment. Only Lord Honiton had the 
 heart to pursue the subject. 
 
 " And is she a lady ? Is she a member of the 
 same class as D'Albiac? " 
 
 " Lor' no ! " Roddy answered, cheerfully. " She's 
 a lower-middle-class Scotch girl, and married an en- 
 gine driver or something of that sort. But she talks 
 all right, and knows how to behave. Sort of girl 
 you see in a cash desk, or behind a typewriter." 
 
 Lord Honiton raised his hands slightly and
 
 276 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 dropped them on his knees again. There seemed to 
 be no more to be said on so unnatural a union. 
 
 " I say, I s'pose it really was D'Albiac that they 
 sent to I mean to say, whose name we saw 
 one of the young men guests asked rather indis- 
 creetly, considering how painful the pursuit of this 
 side of the subject must be to the lady who was so 
 nearly connected by family ties to the malefactor. 
 
 " To quod ? That was Jools. He told me all 
 about it ; the food was pretty beastly ; but he wasn't 
 fed, like a hen, with a foot-pump, because it didn't 
 occur to him, I s'pose. Otherwise he's just the chap 
 to insist on it, and say he preferred dining that 
 way." 
 
 " He was not ashamed of it, of course ? He 
 brazened it out, did he ? " enquired Lord Honiton, 
 with a sneering disgust at such effrontery. 
 
 " Oh ! He was quite uppish about it ; and really, 
 y'know, it was rather interesting. He told me " 
 
 " My dear Roddy, I don't think we should care 
 for poor Henry's prison reminiscences. I'm afraid 
 he's done for himself. Probably this young woman, 
 if he marries her, will run through all his money in 
 a year or so, and that'll be the end of him." 
 
 " She'd better hurry up and marry him then, or 
 there won't be much to run through, as far as I can 
 make out," Chalmers objected. " According to 
 what he told me, he seems to be slinging it about 
 anyhow."
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 277 
 
 The presence of the spinster prevented Mrs. 
 Beaufoy enquiring outright whether this prodigality 
 was due to the harpy into whose power Henry had 
 fallen; but the words "On her?" were so plainly 
 written in her raised eyebrows and indignant mouth, 
 that her guest answered them as though she had 
 spoken them. 
 
 " Oh, no ! On all sorts of crazy things. I didn't 
 understand more than half of 'em. Societies to 
 make us all perfect in ten minutes, and repopulate 
 the world entirely with people who agree with all 
 Jools' new fads. All that sort of thing. It doesn't 
 seem to matter much to him what he spends his 
 money on, so long as he gets rid of the responsibil- 
 ity of having any. I suggested helping him a bit; 
 that's just the sort of job I'm really good at ; but he 
 only called me a fool for my pains." 
 
 He finished his narration with a surprisingly shrill 
 scream, and plunged forthwith, without any logical 
 transition, into a discussion of the performance of a 
 well-known Society lady; who, in the holy cause of 
 charity, had been recently regaling crowded audi- 
 ences of convivial racing men, festive clerks and 
 undergraduates and their lady associates at a Lon- 
 don music hall, with a generous display of her 
 corporeal charms and of the slightly rudimentary 
 dancing that she had " picked up " from a charming 
 professional in half-a-dozen lessons ; never knowing 
 before, as she explained, that she had any natural
 
 278 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 aptitude for that sort of thing. Even in Roddy's 
 harmlessly absurd mouth this subject became a 
 trifle risque, but most of her guests were so enter- 
 tained that Mrs. Beaufoy had not the heart to inter- 
 rupt the discussion; the more so as it killed all 
 further conversation on the subject of Henry 
 D'Albiac, of whom she wished to hear no more. 
 The news of the dissipation of his fortune was all 
 that was needed to confirm the opinion, already de- 
 livered by her upon him, that he had " done for him- 
 self." And this opinion became, before long, the 
 general verdict of Society. 
 
 Meanwhile, unconscious and careless of this re- 
 luctant condemnation of his behaviour, Henry con- 
 tinued his new life of self-education, arduous, un- 
 paid work, hasty meals and undistinguished com- 
 panionship with an enjoyment that was already by 
 no means wholly due to his desire to please Flora 
 Evans. It had not seemed possible to him that he 
 could have willingly taken up such a career for its 
 own sake; foregoing all those graceful pursuits that 
 had previously filled his life so pleasantly. He be- 
 gan to find the world out to be a terribly interesting 
 and complex place; filled with the blackness of un- 
 dreamt-of horror, pain and sorrow; but shot across 
 and across with the bright lights of self-sacrifice 
 and courage. From this newly discovered continent 
 his previous idle oasis seemed to recede until it be- 
 came of a smallness almost invisible and negligible.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 279 
 
 That ceaseless, objectless dance, as he thought of it 
 in his perverted frame of mind, had nothing to do 
 with the great, sweating, groaning, gallantly strug- 
 gling world, that was ever gaining another inch of 
 foothold, tearing away yet another of the myriad 
 bonds that prevented it putting forth its full 
 strength, and straightening itself, little by 
 little, from a bowed and bound giant to a vic- 
 torious Titan, erect, free and rejoicing. The 
 dance was but the foolish play of epheme- 
 ral gnats about the contorted and damp body 
 from which they draw their life; a wave of 
 whose mighty hand would, before long, drive the 
 useless, irritating crowd away for ever. It has been 
 said before that, when Henry was diverted on to 
 any path, he would pursue it to its end, of his own 
 accord, with all his strength and swiftness; and, al- 
 though Flora was directly responsible for the sub- 
 versive and strenuous activities into which he had 
 thrown himself, he was amused at times to find that 
 the very interest of his work made his visits to the 
 painter fewer than they had been before. 
 
 Still, however, he had a good deal of her society, 
 and each successive hour passed with her strength- 
 ened the resolution, over which his mind had at first 
 been so wearily exercised, to take her as his wife. 
 It was plain that her opinion of him was im- 
 measurably improved since his downfall. The ele- 
 ment of mischief was almost entirely absent now
 
 280 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 from her attitude towards him ; although there were 
 times when it momentarily revived, when some 
 moribund characteristic of his former self lifted its 
 feeble head. The frank and unsentimental friend- 
 liness with which she treated him was still unaltered ; 
 but he could not doubt that more lay behind it, did 
 he choose to draw the veil from it. In the early 
 months of the year his tongue faltered a hundred 
 times on the very threshold of a declaration ; and as 
 many times crept abashed away before the smiling 
 and apparently unconscious good-fellowship with 
 which the tentative overtures were received. Some 
 special incident, some particularly favourable or ro- 
 mantic environment or opportunity was necessary to 
 give him the heart to take the plunge. He who had 
 been so thoroughly at ease in what he had previously 
 considered affairs of the heart, even when they were 
 of such a nature that he ran the risk, in declaring 
 himself, of an indignant or grieved rebuff, was now 
 as tongue-tied as a schoolboy making his first ad- 
 vances, over the garden wall, to the girl with the 
 plaits, who lives next door. 
 
 A late frost, at the beginning of March, suddenly 
 threw London into an unwonted carnival of skating. 
 For the best part of a week the sky above was of a 
 soft, clear, apricot colour, the ground beneath one's 
 feet ringing, cracking, and glistening, and the orna- 
 mental waters in the Parks crowded with holiday- 
 makers. On the Saturday afternoon, Flora called
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 281 
 
 at Henry's rooms and carried him off with her to 
 the Kensington Gardens, with an invitation to sub- 
 sequent tea in the studio. The Round Pond was 
 packed with people ; and, after a vain attempt to find 
 space to skate, Flora gave up the effort, and amused 
 herself in watching the endless files of merrymakers 
 travelling, in every attitude of confidence and 
 anxiety, down the long slides. Standing beside her, 
 as absorbed in the spectacle as herself, Henry could 
 hardly believe that he was among dull, melancholy 
 Londoners. These poor folk, for whom so slight 
 and rare amusement is provided, were changed in 
 the briefest space to a gay, laughing, shrieking, 
 genial crowd that would have befitted any Conti- 
 nental town. Over and above the unusual excite- 
 ment of having something definite to do, be- 
 sides hanging about the streets, witnessing cine- 
 matographic exhibitions or drinking in public- 
 houses, there was abroad the special exhilaration 
 that is induced by three things alone: swimming, 
 skating, and mountaineering. The air was so full of 
 laughter and merriment that the Gardens, for a quar- 
 ter of a mile about the water, hummed like a busy 
 hive. Rosy shop girls and servants, smart clerks and 
 drapers' assistants, screaming children, piped and 
 capped workmen, mature and bulky uncles and fa- 
 thers, anaemic dressmakers, tall youths from Univer- 
 sities or public schools, even fat elderly mothers of the 
 working class, passed before the eye in an endless,
 
 282 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 rapid procession; holding each other up; knocking 
 each other down; calling out encouragements, jeers 
 and triumphant taunts; finishing at the end of the 
 slide, as often as not, through the fall of a single 
 person, in one enormous, struggling heap, from 
 which the component parts emerged breathless, 
 bruised, but with unruffled tempers. And among 
 and around all hordes of demon boys flickered and 
 squirmed, full of mischief and excitement; a general 
 and yet indulgently tolerated nuisance to the whole 
 community. 
 
 It was as pleasant a sight as Henry had ever seen ; 
 and he took from it a new and pathetic knowledge 
 of what this sad, northern people might become 
 under only slightly different conditions. Flora be- 
 side him was full of the spirit of the ice; her eyes 
 danced and crackled; and her laughter at each new 
 harmless disaster was sweetest music in her lover's 
 ears. 
 
 " I can't stand still any longer," she cried, at last. 
 " Come on, Henry. Let's find places in the line." 
 
 " Slide ? " he asked, with a momentary astonish- 
 ment, and yet with a warm desire, too, in his voice. 
 
 " Slide," said Flora firmly, and was gone from 
 his side and waiting at the top of the course for her 
 opportunity before Henry had time to say another 
 word on the subject. 
 
 The next moment, as he hurriedly followed her, 
 he saw her take a short, swift run and fly smoothly
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 283 
 
 down the slide, with the same address that she 
 seemed to bring to all bodily exercises ; feet together, 
 arms hanging easily, and body erect. Pressure 
 from behind and encouraging cries sent Henry, an 
 instant afterwards, gliding in the wake of the slim, 
 white- jerseyed figure; and the exhilaration of the 
 thing made him instantly forget that there was any 
 other duty in the world than to travel, in this breath- 
 less rush, down the narrow, slippery path, turn at 
 the end and run seriously back with all speed to 
 await one's next turn. For a good half -hour they 
 continued the sport; sometimes, travelling too fast 
 for those who preceded them, they rushed unavoid- 
 ably into their backs, and carried total strangers in 
 their embrace to the goal; sometimes the like fate 
 befell themselves from more athletic persons behind 
 them. A dozen times at least they were knocked 
 down; and on these occasions Flora showed ex- 
 traordinary speed and address in rolling out of the 
 way of the oncoming procession, and picking her- 
 self up, smiling philosophically, as a school-boy does 
 on such occasions. 
 
 Henry, weightier and less adroit, was not always 
 so fortunate, and on more than one occasion the 
 Baron D'Albiac of Chateau D'Albiac found himself 
 the base of a hot and violently agitated heap of the 
 lieges, male and female; and, strange to say, ac- 
 cepted the misadventure as amusing. The mad- 
 ness in the air, the utter disappearance of
 
 284 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 conventionality and class distinctions, filled 
 Henry with a desire to settle his fate at 
 once. He wished to be a man of the people; to 
 call a woman of the people his wife ; to be one of the 
 great, patient crowd, fundamentally so brave and 
 cheerful and lovable, even in the conditions that Na- 
 ture and a mistaken social system have jointly forced 
 upon them. This slender, boyish creature, with her 
 laughing, open face, her easy clothes, soft, untidy 
 hair and swift grace, was to his newly born spirit 
 the one woman in the world capable of making him 
 an ideal companion. He must not lose her ; he must 
 not let her out of his sight again until he had made 
 sure of her. A retrospective terror as to what might 
 have happened in the past through his foolish hesi- 
 tation came over him and filled him with contempt 
 for his want of resolution. 
 
 Dusk began to fall, and Flora regretfully pro- 
 posed that they should return to her rooms. 
 
 " I haven't enjoyed myself so much for years," 
 she sighed, beating the snow out of her skating cap. 
 " We must come up again to-morrow, unless it thaws 
 to-night. Can you ? " 
 
 He agreed, with a rapturous anticipation of what 
 was to happen between then and now. To-day they 
 were friends ; to-morrow they might be must be, 
 should be betrothed lovers. The fateful question 
 nearly escaped from him in the noisy, unromantic 
 streets on the way home; and when Flora, as was
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 285 
 
 a habit with her, took him momentarily by the arm 
 to impress some point on him, he almost fondled the 
 little, warm hand, in prophetic proprietorship. 
 
 At the corner of the Fulham Road, as they were 
 waiting to cross, a woman, who was slowly passing 
 them, stopped suddenly, looked into D'Albiac's face, 
 and said quickly, " Henry ! " 
 
 The young man, recognising in a flash that it was 
 his associate in his brief career of consolatory dissi- 
 pation, Miss Kitty Wilson, turned his face quickly 
 away from her, and made an unsuccessful attempt 
 to cross the road, under the very nose of a van- 
 horse. 
 
 The next moment Flora touched his arm. 
 
 " Henry," she said, casually, " there's somebody 
 speaking to you." 
 
 Miss Wilson, suddenly realising that the French- 
 man was not alone, had moved discreetly away, and 
 Henry made an effort to pass the matter off. 
 
 " Some mistake. Come on," he said, reddening. 
 
 There was a look of watchfulness and resolution 
 in Flora's eyes. 
 
 " No, please," she said. " She called you by your 
 name. Do go and speak to her. There's no hurry ; 
 you can follow me on ; I'll walk slowly." 
 
 Henry gave a fling of annoyance ; the more so that 
 he saw that Miss Wilson was looking back at them. 
 But he knew Flora too well to resist. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Of course," he said awkwardly. " I
 
 286 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 didn't see. All right ; I'll follow you in a minute." 
 Flora nodded and crossed the road, while he 
 moved impatiently after the retreating figure of his 
 dyspeptic friend. It struck him that she looked 
 shabby and worn, and her face, as she smiled at him, 
 was pale; and the sight immediately quenched his 
 rising fire of anger at this awkward rencounter.
 
 XI 
 
 THE interview between Dalbiac and his former 
 friend proved unexpectedly long, for Flora had been 
 a sufficient time in her studio to boil the water for 
 tea, before his foot was heard upon the stair and he 
 entered, with a drawn and serious face; a contrast 
 to the cheerful countenance with which he had left 
 the Kensington Gardens. He sat down in silence in 
 the saddle-bag chair which Flora reserved for the 
 use of her guests, being herself one of those lively 
 personalities for whom lounging has no charm, and 
 received his tea-cup from her hands with quite a per- 
 functory smile. Clearly something had happened 
 that had temporarily diverted his mind from its 
 pleasant recollections and anticipations ; for he 
 scarcely glanced at his friend's attentive face as he 
 thanked her. 
 
 " Nothing wrong, I hope? " she asked, softly. 
 
 Henry gave a little start, and seemed to shake him- 
 self together. 
 
 " Nothing at all, thanks," he replied, with a more 
 natural smile. " I was only wool-gathering." 
 
 " Bread and butter? Who was your friend? " 
 
 " Oh, just a woman I used to know," Henry said, 
 blushingly, with a slight frown at her stupidity in 
 asking.
 
 288 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " So I supposed," Flora answered whimsically. 
 " A woman you usedn't to know would hardly have 
 greeted you in the street by your Christian name. 
 Who is she? Not one of your old set, is she? " 
 
 This inquisitiveness surprised him, for she was 
 usually the reverse of curious ; and it struck him with 
 a sudden rapture, mixed with slight discomfort, 
 that she was jealous. There was madness in the 
 thought ; the delirium of confident love. 
 
 " I can't tell you," he said, in a low voice, hoping 
 that she would now have the good taste to drop the 
 subject. 
 
 " Why not ? Don't you know her name ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. I mean that that she's not 
 the sort of woman I can discuss with you, Flora; 
 that's all. Please don't ask any more about it." 
 
 Flora was by this time perched in an uncomfort- 
 able and temporary manner on a high stool, without 
 a back, that she used sometimes in connection with 
 her standing desk; and, with her feet on the rungs 
 and her small toes turned ungracefully inwards, was 
 drinking her tea in little sips, watching Henry, with 
 serious eyes, over the edge of her cup. 
 
 " I can't imagine any sort of woman that it'd be 
 impossible to discuss with me," she replied, with 
 obstinate good-humour. " However, of course, I've 
 no right whatever to pry into your affairs. I apol- 
 ogise for being indiscreet. I know that I'm inclined 
 to be too confidential for lots of my friends."
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 289 
 
 The slightly humble pout that accompanied the 
 apology was cleverly managed, and had the intended 
 effect of throwing Henry into immediate explana- 
 tion. 
 
 "I like to tell you everything; you know that," 
 he cried. " But there are subjects that one 
 can't " 
 
 " You mean one's ashamed. But that's silly. 
 One can't undo what one's done by hiding it." 
 
 " It isn't only that," he protested. " With a 
 lady with a woman it's not possible " 
 
 " Oh ! What stuff and nonsense ! " Flora 
 laughed. " At my age, and with my experience ! 
 Well, Henry, if you're so excessively modest, I can 
 break the ice for you by beginning the subject my- 
 self. Your friend was some old lover of yours that 
 you wanted to avoid meeting; because you'd got 
 tired of her long ago, probably; and she's in trouble 
 of some sort, and that's worrying you." 
 
 D'Albiac sighed. 
 
 "Partly true. The poor thing's been ill, and has 
 lost any small savings she had, and doesn't know 
 where to turn. But she was never my lover, 
 Flora." 
 
 "What then? A relation? She called you 
 ' Henry'." 
 
 The Frenchman reddened; wishing devoutly that 
 Flora was either less dense or less inquisitive. 
 
 " Don't you understand ? " he mumbled. " Men
 
 290 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 are coarse and horrible, I know. She was just an 
 episode of " 
 
 " Well, but that's what I mean by lover," Flora 
 replied, unabashed. " Presumably you felt some 
 sort of emotion for her once. She's one of these un- 
 happy women that your beautiful male system of 
 organising society has driven into a loathsome trade. 
 Poor, poor girl! What are you going to do for 
 her?" 
 
 " I gave her some money," he replied, rather 
 sulkily. 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " A couple of pounds. I hadn't any more on me. 
 Besides " 
 
 " Did you tell her where she could find you, in 
 case she wanted you ? " Flora persisted, relent- 
 lessly. 
 
 He remembered, with a sense of guilt, that he 
 had managed to convey the idea to Miss Wilson that 
 he was only passing through London. 
 
 " No," he answered. Women did not understand 
 these relations; how should they? And it was 
 therefore useless to enter into an argument on the 
 subject. 
 
 Flora blushed and frowned a little, and her 
 dimpled chin went up. 
 
 " Men are extraordinary creatures in some ways. 
 I don't hope ever to understand their views on these 
 things. Here's a girl who's practically been your
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 291 
 
 wife; one of a class that your sex has deliberately 
 created for your amusement, and maintain by every 
 ingenuity. She falls ill and is at her wits' end how 
 to live; and, as you didn't succeed in avoiding her 
 entirely, as you'd hoped, you give her two pounds 
 and escape; not caring tuppence what happens to 
 her, so long as she doesn't bother you in any way. 
 And you're rather an exceptionally good-hearted 
 man! Where does she live? " 
 
 "Why?" he asked, ashamed and angry at the 
 rebuke. 
 
 " I'm going to see her," Flora answered, pushing 
 her hair back from her face defiantly; and Henry 
 gave quite a bound at the words. 
 
 "You can't," he gasped. "You can't, Flora!" 
 
 "Can't I? I'm going, all the same. If you, a 
 friend of mine, won't behave decently, I must do it 
 for you. How do you know what crime or what 
 what beastliness she may drift into? A woman 
 who's been your lover ! " 
 
 Unreasonable as, in his inmost heart, he took this 
 point of view to be, Henry was as much struck with 
 admiration of Flora's angry reproof as he was now- 
 adays by all her actions. How pretty and brave 
 was her indignation for her sex ! How fine her de- 
 fence of it, even if the point of view was impractica- 
 ble! And, moreover, he had not felt easy in his 
 own mind about Kitty; the tale of her misfortunes 
 was a dismal one enough, and was amply borne out
 
 292 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 by her shabby clothes, haggard cheeks, and the de- 
 spairing smoulder of her fine, sad eyes. Without 
 another moment of reflection he sprang from his 
 chair and came towards the artist, on her high stool, 
 with his face crimson and his eyes blazing. 
 
 " Flora, you're the best woman in the world ! " he 
 cried, stretching out his hands to her. "Of course, 
 you're quite right. You're always right. I've been 
 a brute to do anything to support such a vile state of 
 things, I know; we're all brutes, we men all of 
 us. But it's all over and done with, as far as I'm 
 concerned ; I swear it is. And I am really ashamed 
 of the way I've treated this girl Kitty Wilson. 
 Tell me what to do about her, and I'll do it, what- 
 ever it is. Tell me what to do about anything, 
 Flora, and I'll do it at once. Why, you know I 
 don't live for anything but to please you, and do 
 what you think is what is right. I love you bet- 
 ter than everything in the world; you know that. 
 Won't you forgive me for what's over? I haven't 
 been any worse than most men, I think ; and I mean 
 to be whatever you like to make of me. Flora, you 
 will you will take me, won't you? " 
 
 He stood, trembling from head to foot, with his 
 hands still stretched out imploringly towards her, 
 jerking out his spasmodic phrases almost in sobs, 
 and staring with passionate hope into the bright blue 
 eyes, beneath high arched brows, that gazed back at 
 him with an obvious surprise at this sudden declara-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 293 
 
 tion, that was repeated in the parted lips and rosily 
 bright cheeks. 
 
 " Marry you, do you mean ? " she asked presently, 
 in a puzzled tone. 
 
 " Yes," he gasped, the tears springing suddenly 
 from his beseeching eyes ; and the next moment had 
 sunk down on the ground before the stool, and 
 dropped his handsome head in humble adoration 
 over the small, swinging feet. 
 
 His lips had hardly touched her warm, brown- 
 stockinged instep, however, before Flora slid hastily 
 from her perch and retreated to the window, where 
 for a moment she stood gazing at him, as he re- 
 mained on his knees by the stool, his eyes downcast 
 to conceal his childish weakness. 
 
 Presently, as she did not seem inclined to break 
 the silence, he rose from his abject position and, 
 swallowing his unshed tears, confronted her with 
 better courage, the first shattering plunge being 
 taken. After all, her swift retreat from his homage, 
 her very silence might be held to be exactly what 
 was to be expected ; even encouraging. A few mo- 
 ments of masterful insistence and passionate appeal, 
 and the field was won. Before he could open his 
 lips, however, to sue for his answer, Flora spoke 
 herself. 
 
 " I am sorry," she said, softly and heartfully. " I 
 never dreamt of such a thing, Henry. Please believe 
 that. How should I? And yet, I don't know. I
 
 294 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 suppose it was stupid of me; I ought to have 
 guessed." 
 
 She returned to her high stool, slowly climbed 
 upon it, and sat for a moment, gazing out of the 
 window at the twilight southern sky, fading from 
 pale lemon to cobweb grey, though her eyes plainly 
 saw no outward objects. 
 
 Henry made a desperate effort to burst in on her 
 meditations with a flood of impassioned pleading 
 that should sweep all before him, but there was 
 something so sad and concerned in Flora's face, now 
 pale and calm again, that he searched his mind in 
 vain for means of expression. 
 
 " I've always looked on you as quite a boy," she 
 said, slowly. " And thought of you one day find- 
 ing some nice girl of your own age to replace Miss 
 Beaufoy. But me!" 
 
 " You ! " Henry suddenly cried, passionately. 
 " Only you in the world, Flora. I'm not a boy, I'm 
 a man. And I'm not speaking on a sudden impulse. 
 I've known for weeks months, now, that you're 
 the only woman I can ever care for. Oh, Flora! 
 I do love you so ! " 
 
 The unfortunate swain realised that this conclu- 
 sion was slightly impotent ; but the words seemed to 
 be beyond his control ; and all his carefully precon- 
 ceived eloquence was to seek. 
 
 " I believe you do," she said, turning her eyes on 
 to his flushed, agitated face, with a compassionate
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 295 
 
 look. " I'm sure you do ; though I don't quite see 
 why. However, there's no ' why ' in these things. 
 Poor Henry!" 
 
 For the first time since his determination to ask 
 her to marry him had taken full possession of him, 
 his heart gave an agonising drop that took away his 
 breath, and he felt himself begin to shiver again, 
 this time with a curious sense of chill fear, instead 
 of with the unbearable excitement that had shaken 
 him a few minutes before. 
 
 " But you you will marry me? " he managed to 
 say, panting. 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Flora, shaking her head a lit- 
 tle, and still contemplating his face with the same re- 
 gretful look. " Oh, no. I couldn't really." 
 
 " You won't ? " he cried, wide-eyed and pale. 
 " That's all you'll say to me? Just that you won't? 
 You don't like me a bit ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. I like you very much. And I'm 
 proud of you, too; you've been a great credit to 
 me," she replied, with a suggestion of her sly 
 smile. 
 
 "Then why? Why not?" stammered Henry, 
 confusedly. 
 
 Flora dimpled a little more pronouncedly. 
 
 " A man may not marry his grandmother," she 
 reminded him. 
 
 " How can you be so absurd ? " Henry said, with 
 unexpected crossness.
 
 296 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " Grandfather's wife. Wife's grandmother," 
 added Flora reflectively. 
 
 " I didn't think you'd laugh at me. You might 
 at least be sorry for me," poor Henry remonstrated 
 desolately, with moist eyes. 
 
 " I'm not laughing at you ; and I'm dreadfully 
 sorry, particularly as I'm afraid it's largely my own 
 stupid fault. But I haven't thought of such a thing 
 for so long it seems so absurd in connexion with 
 myself, nowadays. Sit down and let's talk about 
 it." 
 
 The discouraged lover dropped miserably down on 
 an upright wooden chair; there seemed to be no 
 smallest hope left in his heart, although, he tried to 
 believe, she had said nothing that made his case ut- 
 terly desperate; and he detested his stupidity in be- 
 ing unable to find an immediate plea to make her 
 withdraw her refusal. 
 
 " You see, Henry," said Flora, " I really am much 
 too old for you, to begin with " 
 
 " What nonsense ! " he protested angrily. " You 
 don't look a day older than me." 
 
 " I'm thirty-one," she informed him. " And 
 you're twenty-five. But that doesn't represent the 
 real difference in age. With your life and my life, 
 I'm at least twenty years older than you." 
 
 " But when I say that I swear I'll never marry 
 anyone else " he began, in tones of despairing 
 appeal.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 297 
 
 " I know. Oh! If that was the only objection, 
 I might . Lots of unsuitable marriages, as 
 they're called, turn out all right, like Mahomet's; 
 although there's a risk, of course; and it's always 
 rather a tragedy to see a young man tied to a mid- 
 dle-aged woman, to knock all the fun out of things 
 for him." 
 
 " You talk as if you were about seventy," he broke 
 in, indignantly. 
 
 " Well, I know I'm not quite decrepit yet," she 
 admitted, laughing. " But, as I said, that's not the 
 real objection. I don't love you. I like you very 
 much as a friend ; as much as almost any of my men 
 friends. But I'm not in love with you." 
 
 A flash of suspicious rage illuminated the despair- 
 ing depths of his mind. 
 
 " I s'pose it's Fred Sutton that you're in love 
 with," he said bitterly. " No doubt you like him 
 better than me." 
 
 " I think I do," Flora agreed. " It isn't unkind 
 to say that, is it? You see I've known Fred for 
 years, and, really, I'm fonder of him than of any- 
 body else I can think of, except his wife, who's per- 
 haps my best friend." 
 
 "Wife?" Henry cried, amazedly, with a slight 
 renascence of hope. If Sutton was out of the run- 
 ning, there might be a chance for himself yet. 
 " Wife? I'd no idea he was married." 
 
 " Oh, yes. He's married all right, and has two
 
 298 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 boys, almost grown up. In the ordinary course, as 
 a friend of mine, you'd have seen Helena Sutton 
 pretty constantly; only, for the past few months, 
 she's been over in Canada and the States, lecturing." 
 
 " Then who is it that you like better than me? " 
 he asked, dismally. 
 
 " I've told you Fred, and some of my women 
 friends. But I'm not in love with anybody, if that's 
 what you mean, and I never shall be." 
 
 " You shall," he cried, with manly courage. 
 " You shall love me, Flora." 
 
 She shook her head, smiling ; and the undisturbed 
 calm of her triangular face was more dispiriting 
 than any protests could have been. 
 
 " In time," he urged. " If I don't worry you 
 about it, if I " 
 
 " I hate to have to disappoint you, Henry," Flora 
 said, with a ring of unfeigned sorrow in her voice. 
 " But it'd only be cowardly and selfish to let you 
 deceive yourself. No time nothing that you can 
 do, could possibly make any difference." 
 
 " Am I so utterly uninteresting and unpleasant to 
 you?" he asked, with a sparkle of ill-temper and 
 wounded pride. 
 
 " You don't understand. How should you ? " she 
 asked, mournfully. " You're young, and you think 
 that's the only thing in the world. And you've not 
 been lucky in love, so far. First Miss Beaufoy; 
 then me."
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 299 
 
 " Only you," he protested. " I never was really 
 in love with Patrice, and as soon as I met you I 
 knew it'" 
 
 " Do you mean that it was because of me ? " 
 Flora asked, with startled eyes and distressed lips. 
 
 " Of course it was," he answered, with a mirth- 
 less laugh. " She gave me up, theoretically; but it 
 was all my doing. I loved you, Flora." 
 
 " Heavens ! What a tangle ! " she cried, in 
 humorous despair. " Henry, I'm quite over- 
 whelmed ; I am indeed. I wish I genuinely wish 
 I could think it possible for me to give you what 
 you want. If I could think it would make you per- 
 manently happy, I almost believe I " 
 
 At this first sign of surrender, Henry sprang 
 radiantly to his feet and seized her hands impul- 
 sively. 
 
 " It would. You know it would. I don't ask 
 any more than that," he urged her. 
 
 Flora did not try to withdraw her hands, but her 
 expression was unalterably calm. 
 
 " I didn't mean to encourage you," she remon- 
 strated. " Please don't think it's any pleasure to 
 me to play with you. I want you to be quite unde- 
 ceived, at once. It isn't possible. It isn't really." 
 
 She was so obviously entirely sincere and immov- 
 able that he dropped the unresponsive hands and re- 
 treated to his chair. 
 
 " How can you know positively? Why can't I
 
 300 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 even be allowed to hope ? " he asked rebelliously, 
 devoutly wishing that his voice would not break and 
 quaver in so contemptible a manner. 
 
 " Because it'd only be prolonging your unhappi- 
 ness, you silly fellow," she said, smiling. " Think, 
 Henry. I've known you now for months, and we've 
 seen rather an unusual lot of each other, what with 
 the sittings and so on. It's never occurred to me, 
 in all that time, to think of you with the least ap- 
 proach to sentiment. You're good-looking and 
 pleasant and rather clever; you've got a good heart 
 and some ideals. But I've known all that a long 
 time. There can't remain anything important to 
 discover in you. What you are to me now I hope 
 you always will be; but it's absolutely inconceivable 
 that you should ever be any more." 
 
 " I see," he ejaculated, brokenly, on the verge of 
 another attack of tears. 
 
 " You mustn't take it too much to heart, please," 
 she urged him anxiously. " I'm not in the least 
 worth bothering about. The world's full of much 
 nicer and younger and cleverer and better-looking 
 people than me. Only you happen to have been 
 thrown up against me. It isn't only you that I 
 couldn't love ; the whole idea is unthinkable for me. 
 There's practically no chance that I shall ever fall 
 in love again, or wish, for any other reason, to 
 marry." 
 
 Henry did not answer. Her tone was so reason-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 301 
 
 able that he knew argument was vain; so sympa- 
 thetic that he could not even have the meagre con- 
 solation of being offended or affronted. 
 
 Flora climbed off her high perch and ensconced 
 herself in the deep armchair, crossing one knee over 
 the other and lying back lazily. 
 
 " Console yourself with a cigarette, if you've got 
 one," she recommended him, " and I'll tell you why 
 I'm so positive, as you say. It's not that I think 
 love and marriage are undesirable things; I've as 
 high an opinion of them as you have. In fact, it's 
 because I have so high an opinion of them that I 
 know they're not to be repeated, for me." 
 
 " Other people some of the best of people 
 have repeated them," he argued. 
 
 " Oh, it's only a matter of temperament, I know. 
 P'raps I'm rather self-contained by nature like 
 the cheap flats. My own society and my own 
 thoughts content me a good deal ; I'm never unhappy 
 for want of sympathy or companionship, although 
 I like both. There isn't the inducement of loneli- 
 ness, you see, that drives most people into second 
 marriages. If ever there was a touch of it, I out- 
 wore it years ago." 
 
 There was a new pathos in her voice; the tran- 
 quil sadness of memory, the painless regret for past 
 days. She continued speaking in phrases, now long, 
 now short, with little pauses between; moments of 
 abstraction ; glances about the room, at the windows,
 
 302 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 at Henry's face. For his part, he sat attentive, but 
 irresponsive; the agony of his refusal, the excite- 
 ment of his declaration were over, and he had the 
 almost pleasant melancholy of one meditatively 
 seated, on some serene Summer evening, by the 
 quiet grave of some long dead friend. 
 
 " I don't know how they can bear it the second 
 marriage people, I mean. It must be a dreadful 
 hunger for sympathy and love than can induce them 
 to go through it all again, when they've been happy 
 the first time . . . and it's notorious that those 
 are the very people who do it. ... I don't 
 know if you know about my married life ? " 
 
 Henry shook his head. 
 
 " It wasn't ... it was only a short one. I 
 met my poor Bill when I was at South Kensington, 
 as a student, when I was nineteen; he was a few 
 years older. We weren't very well off ; but we had 
 two years together that were better than most peo- 
 ple have. I think we were extraordinarily well 
 suited ... it was really odd we should have 
 met. I don't remember that we ever had any seri- 
 ous difference of opinion in those years, except one ; 
 and that was the one that . . . that spoilt 
 everything." 
 
 " You mean you parted ? You quarrelled ? " 
 
 " No. Bill and I never had a real quarrel ; Bill, 
 p'raps, was hardly capable of quarrelling," she said, 
 looking up with raised brows, and appearing to re-
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 303 
 
 gard the statement almost with the surprise of dis- 
 covery, " which was odd, too ; for he had very 
 definite opinions. But we disagreed about that hor- 
 rible war in South Africa. To Bill, it was a neces- 
 sity; a disgusting operation that had to be per- 
 formed, for the sake of civilisation. He thought 
 that every healthy man in the country was morally 
 bound to lend a hand to finish it off as soon as pos- 
 sible ... I don't mean that he caught that 
 ghastly war- fever 'Remember Majuba! ' and so 
 on which disgraced the country then. He hated 
 it, but he felt he had to go. ... Well, I 
 begged and prayed him not to my little girl had 
 been born only a short while, and I was still laid up. 
 This war was only vile to me; hateful bullying; a 
 hypocritical fraud on our poor credulous people, 
 engineered by a crowd of money-grubbers; almost 
 without excuse . . . and miserably mismanaged 
 and muddled from the start. Bill went, soon after 
 the new year nineteen hundred and one. He'd 
 only been out there a week or two when he was 
 killed. The Yeomanry got into a skirmish at a 
 place called Boshof, and my poor man was shot 
 through the lungs." 
 
 D'Albiac looked up quickly, with the feeling that 
 he ought to say something, and yet conscious that it 
 was rather ridiculous to offer condolences for a 
 tragedy that was nearly ten years old. His doubt 
 was set at rest by Flora, however, who continued
 
 304 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 with hardly a pause, in the same even, soft voice. 
 " So there I was left alone, with my baby as my 
 only companion. Of course, I knew that it was 
 silly to make this little creature too much to me 
 . . . one ought to keep one's head, I s'pose, and 
 not put all one's eggs in one basket, even over one's 
 children. But it's practically impossible to avoid 
 doing it in a case like mine. As soon as I could get 
 about ... I lived for a time on the money 
 that poor Bill had insured his life for; it wasn't 
 much, but it was all I had ... as soon as I 
 was strong enough, I went to work again. I'd al- 
 ways stuck to it, until I was laid up over my child, 
 for Bill didn't make very much, and besides, nat- 
 urally, I liked to help. Now it was all I had to keep 
 myself and Betty on. Well, those were lonely days, 
 particularly at first; because I missed my man so 
 horribly, and I had hardly any friends, then, in Lon- 
 don, and was too busy to make more, what with my 
 work, and nursing Betty, and keeping our two rooms 
 in order. . . . But by-and-by I got to love my 
 queer, speechless life, almost as much as I'd loved 
 my married days. It was fine to sit in the evenings, 
 after my work was done, with the baby on my knees 
 and my tea by me on the table, and tell her what I 
 was going to make of her; what a fine, clever 
 woman she was going to be High School, Col- 
 lege, if I could manage it, and a profession or art 
 to make her free to please herself about love and
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 305 
 
 marriage. . . . And when she began to speak 
 there was no end to the fun we had. . . . She 
 was so quick and clever; just like her father in every 
 way . . I half felt it coming; I was haunted 
 sometimes by a sense of disaster, because I knew I 
 was attaching myself too much to this little, frail 
 bit of a creature. And yet, you know, one has a 
 ridiculous feeling that there must be some kind of 
 justice in the world; that after some cruel blow has 
 fallen, one has taken one's share of the world's 
 tragedies, and probably will be let off any more of 
 the worst punishments for the future. ... I 
 couldn't really believe that I was to be the victim 
 again so soon; it seemed to me that I was a harm- 
 less sort of creature, and doing my best, and that 
 someone, something ought to treat me moderately 
 gently. What odd superstitions cling to one! 
 . . . She was barely six when she died of a 
 quite ordinary child's illness scarlet fever and, 
 for some minutes after I'd been told it was all over, 
 it seemed so inconceivable that I wouldn't believe it 
 told the doctor he must have made a mistake." 
 
 Flora stopped speaking and glanced at Henry's 
 face. The simple gentleman was weeping unaf- 
 fectedly. Something in Flora's calm, outworn 
 grief was more horrible to him than any expressed 
 misery could have been. The consideration of the 
 long agonies, from which such tranquillity must 
 have emerged, tore his soft heart.
 
 306 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " I don't tell you this to depress you, you kind 
 person," Flora said affectionately. " It's only to 
 make you understand me better than you've done so 
 far. That was four years ago; I've no more tears 
 for it now. I see the world more clearly than I 
 did ... 
 
 " ' Je sais que vous avez bien autre chose a faire 
 
 Que de nous plaindre tous, 
 Et qu'un enfant qui meurt, desespoir de sa mere, 
 
 Ne vous fait rien, a vous. 
 Je sais que le fruit tombe . . .' 
 
 " How does it go? . 
 
 " ' Que la creation est une grande roue 
 
 Qui ne peut se mouvoir sans ecraser quelqu'un; 
 
 Les mois, les jours, les flots des mers, les yeux qui pleurent, 
 
 Passent sous le ciel bleu; 
 II faut que 1'herbe pousse et que les enfants meurent; 
 
 Je le sais, 6 mon Dieu ! ' 
 
 " I say it horribly ... I forgot you were 
 French." 
 
 "I think you say it beautifully," Henry replied, 
 drying his eyes. 
 
 " But then you're in love with me," Flora repre- 
 sented, smiling, " so you're a prejudiced witness. 
 Don't be sad, poor man; I'm not unhappy about it 
 myself any longer. As soon as the worst time was 
 over, I looked about for some new ideal. Up till 
 then I'd had my art such as it was and my 
 family. Now I was reduced to public interests; or 
 that was the way I thought of it in those days.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 307 
 
 Henry, I'm sure that the social mind is the true 
 solution of all our unhappiness. Men have been 
 shutting themselves up in their caves; magnifying 
 their private joys and sorrows, and shutting their 
 eyes to everyone else's for untold centuries. When 
 one sees a whole world in struggle and grief, one 
 hasn't time or inclination to pet up one's own mis- 
 fortunes. I know I've done practically nothing for 
 the world; but I've tried that's the main thing; 
 and you can't think of the consolation it's been to 
 me. . . . But you do see now, don't you, that 
 the idea of deliberately beginning life all over again 
 is out of the question for me? " 
 
 " If you fell in love " Henry suggested de- 
 spairingly. 
 
 " Yes. Then one takes any risks, or plunges into 
 any horrors. But I'm not in love. And I'm not go- 
 ing to try to make myself fall in love, with you or 
 anyone else. As I said just now, I might be willing 
 to sacrifice myself, if I felt any conviction that I 
 should be making your life happy; although I do 
 think I've earned a little peace for myself. But I 
 don't believe I'm indispensable to you; although I 
 know you think so at present. You'll get over it in 
 no time ; why, at your age, and with your tempera- 
 ment good gracious ! " 
 
 He shook his head miserably. 
 
 " Yes, you shall. Don't be weak and foolish, and 
 make us both unhappy, Henry. If you're fond of
 
 3 o8 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 me, you ought to try to be brave, for my sake as 
 well as your own." 
 
 D'Albiac realised that all hope was gone ; and a re- 
 bellious mood seized him as he thought of the curi- 
 ous course his life had taken since his chance meet- 
 ing with the arrested rioter at the corner of Down- 
 ing Street, eight months ago. For a moment he 
 recaptured his old habit of thought, the nature of 
 that dead Baron D'Albiac, fashionable in mind as 
 in clothes; intolerant of the colourless herd, that 
 was chiefly serviceable as a foil to and worshipper 
 of his own distinguished set; ceaselessly and agree- 
 ably occupied with the amusements and social duties 
 of the well-born and wealthy; impeccable in his 
 views on all subjects. And he found himself con- 
 templating with wonder the strange beast into which 
 he had been metamorphosed, wholly, he knew, 
 through the influence of the young woman who had 
 just refused the honours and worldly advantages 
 that he had humbly offered her. 
 
 " I've given up a lot of things for you, Flora," he 
 grumbled, in this sudden flash of amazed self-rec- 
 ognition. " All my old friends and amusements ; 
 Patrice ..." 
 
 Here, however, he broke off, feeling that regrets 
 for his lost betrothed might appear too obviously 
 hypocritical, in view of his previous remarks on the 
 subject. Flora looked at him with an eye that be- 
 gan to sparkle again with mischief.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 309 
 
 " Social splendour, laziness, feasting ; all kinds of 
 fun and luxury; and you've got nothing in ex- 
 change but hard work and crazy ideals. It's true, 
 Henry; but you must forgive me, for I'd no idea, 
 you see, that you were only changing all your beliefs 
 because you'd fallen in love with me. I flattered 
 myself with the conceited belief that I'd convinced 
 you by my godlike reason. You know you pre- 
 tended to be so impressed and earnest about it all, 
 that I can't really be blamed for not suspecting you. 
 Besides, where's the harm? You've still got your 
 money, or most of it, I s'pose. You've given up 
 one house; but you can take another, equally fine; 
 and fill it even fuller than before with idle servants ; 
 and give dinners and lunches just as you did in the 
 brave days of old. And a little hair oil and a 
 change of clothes would turn you back into just the 
 same politely condescending person who saw me to 
 my 'bus that first night, and told me what a silly 
 woman I was. After all, it'll be an amusing episode 
 to look back on." 
 
 Under her first few teasing sentences, Henry had 
 maintained an obstinately sulky silence ; but, before 
 long, he began to writhe with impatience, and at 
 this point broke in angrily. 
 
 " Flora, you are a little brute ! " he cried, crim- 
 soning. 
 
 The artist laughed with unrepentant pleasure at 
 the success of her attack.
 
 310 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 " Now that's the proper way to look at it," 
 she agreed. " I'm delighted to see your spirit 
 isn't crushed. Oh! You'll get over it in no 
 time." 
 
 " You know," he persisted, angrily, " that I was 
 convinced. It wasn't hypocrisy. And it'd be quite 
 impossible for me, now, to go back to my old life; 
 I should be bored to death in a week, and I shouldn't 
 be able to stand the people I met." 
 
 " Then you prefer to be as you are ? " Flora asked 
 innocently. 
 
 " Of course I do," he said shortly. 
 
 " Why, what harm have I done then ? I don't 
 see that you've any grievance against me; on the 
 contrary, you ought to be grateful." 
 
 " I am," he replied humbly. " But I can't help 
 being in love with you, can I, Flora ? And being in 
 love makes one selfish and exacting." 
 
 The note of mockery dropped out of her voice 
 and face in a flash, as she came over and laid her 
 small hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Forgive me, and be friends," she said simply. 
 " The other isn't possible ; but don't think I'm not 
 very proud and touched to think that you should 
 feel about me like that." 
 
 He looked up and tried to answer ; but, at the sight 
 of the kind blue eyes and the tender, parted lips, he 
 fell only into a fit of trembling and longing that for 
 a minute left him dumb.
 
 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 311 
 
 " There's nothing to forgive," he said at last halt- 
 ingly, " but everything to be grateful for. I was 
 stupid vain, I suppose. I looked forward so 
 much I felt so hopeful Flora, won't you let me 
 kiss you before I go? Just once ... it isn't 
 much to ask. I shan't bother you again." 
 
 The delicate face at which he gazed up passion- 
 ately grew a shade less serious. 
 
 " Oh, you rash person ! " she said, shaking her 
 head. "If you're really in love with me, that 
 would only make you a hundred times unhappier. 
 No, oh no, Henry ! Try not to think of me in that 
 way at all." 
 
 He had expected no other answer and rose un- 
 steadily to his feet. 
 
 " Good-bye, then," he said holding out his hand. 
 " You won't ever see me again." 
 
 Without taking the outstretched hand, she stood 
 looking back at him with a grave regret. Then she 
 gave a little shrug. 
 
 " If you feel that you can't meet me without un- 
 happiness, we must say good-bye, I s'pose," she 
 agreed. " But you won't give me up just for the 
 sake of some conventional emotion, out of books, 
 will you? I don't see why in the world, now that 
 you're quite sure I can't ever be your wife, you 
 shouldn't be content to keep me as a friend. There 
 must be lots of other men's wives that you could 
 easily fall in love with, if they weren't out of the
 
 312 THE DECLENSION OF HENRY D'ALBIAC 
 
 question. That wouldn't prevent you being good 
 comrades with them, would it? " 
 
 Henry shifted uneasily from foot to foot; he 
 knew that the parting he had suggested was utterly 
 opposed to his every wish, and that in his heart, 
 putting aside the correct behaviour in such cases, he 
 would rather keep Flora, even as the most distant 
 of acquaintances, than lose her altogether. Appar- 
 ently his tell-tale face revealed his indecision, for 
 the artist gave a little relieved laugh. 
 
 " Think it over reasonably to-night," she sug- 
 gested, " and I'm quite sure you'll turn up here to- 
 morrow morning, to take me sliding again." 
 
 He looked up and, in the presence of that laugh- 
 ing face, could not himself forbear to smile, al- 
 though still somewhat ruefully. 
 
 " I I s'pose I shall," he admitted. 
 
 " Of course you will," Flora said gaily, holding 
 out her hand. " Friends ? " 
 
 Henry took her hand and pressed it heartily. 
 
 " Friends," he replied. 
 
 THE END
 
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