1 116 
 
 Irrational Kno 
 
 by G.Bernard Shaw 
 
If')* 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GOLDWIN SMITH 
 HALL 
 
 FROM THE FUND GIVEN BY 
 GOLDWIN SMITH 
 
 jTk^u^ 1909 
 
t Date Due 
 Sir— i- 
 
 gft^a^CT' 
 
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 Cornell University Library 
 PR 5365.17 1905 
 
 The irrational knot; being the second nov 
 
 3 1924 013 547 223 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
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THE IRRATIONAL KNOT 
 
BY G. BERNARD SHAW 
 
 An Unsocial Socialist . . . . $1.25 
 
 The Irrational Knot 1.50 
 
 Love Among the Artists . . . . 1 . 50 
 
 Cashel Byron's Profession . . . 1.25 
 
 The Quintessence of Ibsenism . . 1.00 
 
 The Perfect Wagnerite . . . . 1.25 
 Plays, Pleasant and Unpleasant, 2 v. Net 2.50 
 
 Three Plays for Puritans . . . . 1.50 
 
 Man and Superman . . . Net, 1.25 
 
THE IRRATIONAL KNOT 
 BY BERNARD SHAW BE- 
 ING THE SECOND NOVEL 
 OF HIS NONAGE 
 
 NEW YORK: BRENTANO'S 1905 
 
 £ *£ (:Ojvk'i I- 1. 
 
 UN 1 VI iu-h Y 
 
 I IJJUKY 
 
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 /US' 
 
 <3.s.-r<7<) 
 
 Copyright, iqOf 
 
 By G. Bernard Shaw 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 
 Published September, /goj 
 
 Reprinted December, 1905. 
 
PREFACE TO AMERICAN 
 EDITION OF 1905 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO THE AMERICAN EDITION OF I905 
 
 THIS novel was written in the year 1880, only a 
 few years after I had exported myself from 
 Dublin to London in a condition of extreme raw- 
 ness and inexperience concerning the specifically English 
 side of the life with which the book pretends to deal. 
 Everybody wrote novels then. It was my second attempt ; 
 and it shared the fate of my first. That is to say, nobody 
 would publish it, though I tried all the London publishers 
 and some American ones. And I should not greatly 
 blame them if I could feel sure that it was the book's 
 faults and not its qualities that repelled them. 
 
 I have narrated elsewhere how in the course of time 
 the rejected MS. became Mrs. Annie Besant's excuse for 
 lending me her ever helping hand by publishing it as a 
 serial in a little propagandist magazine of hers. That was 
 how it got loose beyond all possibility of recapture. It is 
 out of my power now to stand between it and the Ameri- 
 can public : all I can do is to rescue it from unauthorized 
 mutilations and make the best of a jejune job. 
 
 At present, of course, I am not the author of The 
 Irrational Knot. Physiologists inform us that the sub- 
 stance of our bodies (and consequently of our souls) is 
 shed and renewed at such a rate that no part of us lasts 
 longer than eight years : I am therefore not now in any 
 atom of me the person who wrote The Irrational Knot 
 
 vii 
 
Preface 
 
 in 1880. The last of that luthor perished in 1888; and 
 two of his successors have since joined the majority. 
 Fourth of his line, I cannot be expected to take any 
 very lively interest in the novels of my literary great- 
 grandfather. Even my personal recollections of him 
 are becoming vague and overlaid with those most mis- 
 leading of all traditions, the traditions founded on the 
 lies a man tells, and at last comes to believe, about him- 
 self to himself. Certain things, however, I remember 
 very well. For instance, I am significantly clear as to 
 the price of the paper on which I wrote The Irrational 
 Knot. It was cheap — a white demy of unpretentious 
 quality — so that sixpennorth lasted a long time. My 
 daily allowance of composition was five pages of this 
 demy in quarto; and I held my natural laziness sternly 
 to that task day in, day out, to the end. I remember also 
 that Bizet's Carmen being then new in London, I used 
 it as a safety-valve for my romantic impulses. When I 
 was tired of the sordid realism of Whatshisname (I have 
 sent my only copy of The Irrational Knot to the 
 printers, and cannot remember the name of my hero) I 
 went to the piano and forgot him in the glamorous so- 
 ciety of Carmen and her crimson toreador and yellow 
 dragoon. Not that Bizet's music could infatuate me as 
 it infatuated Nietzsche. Nursed on greater masters, I 
 thought less of him than he deserved; but the Carmen 
 music was — in places — exquisite of its kind, and could 
 enchant a man like me, romantic enough to have come 
 to the end of romance before I began to create in art 
 for myself. 
 
 When I say that I did and felt these things, I mean, 
 of course, that the predecessor whose name I bear did 
 and felt them. The I of to-day is ( ? am) cool towards 
 
 viii 
 
Preface 
 
 Carmen ; and Carmen, I regret to say, does not take the 
 slightest interest in him (? me). And now enough of 
 this juggling with past and present Shaws. The gram- 
 matical complications of being a first person and several 
 extinct third persons at the same moment are so fright- 
 ful that I must return to the ordinary misusage, and ask 
 the reader to make the necessary corrections in his or her 
 own mind. 
 
 This book is not wholly a compound of intuition and 
 ignorance. Take for example the profession of my hero, 
 an Irish-American electrical engineer. That was by no 
 means a flight of fancy. For you must not suppose, be- 
 cause I am a man of letters, that I never tried to earn 
 an honest living. I began trying to commit that sin 
 against my nature when I was fifteen, and persevered, 
 from youthful timidity and diffidence, until I was twenty- 
 three. My last attempt was in 1879, when a company was 
 formed in London to exploit an ingenious invention by 
 Mr. Thomas Alva Edison — a much too ingenious inven- 
 tion as it proved, being nothing less than a telephone 
 of such stentorian efficiency that it bellowed your most 
 private communications all over the house instead of 
 whispering them with some sort of discretion. This was 
 not what the British stockbroker wanted; so the com- 
 pany was soon merged in the National Telephone Com- 
 pany, after making a place for itself in the history of 
 literature, quite unintentionally, by providing me with a 
 job. Whilst the Edison Telephone Company lasted, it 
 crowded the basement of a huge pile of offices in Queen 
 Victoria Street with American artificers. These deluded 
 and romantic men gave me a glimpse of the skilled pro- 
 letariat of the United States. They sang obsolete senti- 
 mental songs with genuine emotion; and their language 
 
 ix 
 
Preface 
 
 was frightful even to an Irishman. They worked with a 
 ferocious energy which was out of all proportion to the 
 actual result achieved. Indomitably resolved to assert 
 their republican manhood by taking no orders from a 
 tall-hatted Englishman whose stiff politeness covered 
 his conviction that they were, relatively to himself, in- 
 ferior and common persons, they insisted on being slave- 
 driven with genuine American oaths by a genuine free 
 and equal American foreman. They utterly despised the 
 artfully slow British workman who did as little for his 
 wages as he possibly could; never hurried himself; and 
 had a deep reverence for anyone whose pocket could be 
 tapped by respectful behavior. Need I add that they 
 were contemptuously wondered at by this same British 
 workman as a parcel of outlandish adult boys, who 
 sweated themselves for their employer's benefit instead 
 of looking after their own interests? They adored Mr. 
 Edison as the greatest man of all time in every possible 
 department of science, art and philosophy, and execrated 
 Mr. Graham Bell, the inventor of the rival telephone, as 
 his Satanic adversary; but each of them had (or pre- 
 tended to have) on the brink of completion, an improve- 
 ment on the telephone, usually a new transmitter. They 
 were free-souled creatures, excellent company: sensitive, 
 cheerful, and profane ; liars, braggarts, and hustlers ; with 
 an air of making slow old England hum which never left 
 them even when, as often happened, they were wrestling 
 with difficulties of their own making, or struggling in 
 no-thoroughfares from which they had to be retrieved 
 like strayed sheep by Englishmen without imagination 
 enough to go wrong. 
 
 In this environment I remained for some months. As 
 I was interested in physics and had read Tyndall and 
 
Preface 
 
 Helmholtz, besides having learnt something in Ireland 
 through a fortunate friendship with a cousin of Mr. 
 Graham Bell who was also a chemist and physicist, I 
 was, I believe, the only person in the entire establishment 
 who knew the current scientific explanation of telephony ; 
 and as I soon struck up a friendship with our official 
 lecturer, a Colchester man whose strong point was pre- 
 scientific agriculture, I often discharged his duties for 
 him in a manner which, I am persuaded, laid the foun- 
 dation of Mr. Edison's London reputation: my sole re- 
 ward being my boyish delight in the half-concealed in- 
 credulity of our visitors (who were convinced by the 
 hoarsely startling utterances of the telephone that the 
 speaker, alleged by me to be twenty miles away, was 
 really using a speaking-trumpet in the next room), and, 
 their obvious uncertainty, when the demonstration was 
 over, as to whether they ought to tip me or not : a ques- 
 tion they either decided in the negative or never decided 
 at all ; for I never got anything. 
 
 So much for my electrical engineer ! To get him into 
 contact with fashionable society before he became famous 
 was also a problem easily solved. I knew of three Eng- 
 lish peers who actually preferred physical laboratories to 
 stables, and scientific experts to gamekeepers : in fact, one 
 of the experts was a friend of mine. And I knew from 
 personal experience that if science brings men of all ranks 
 into contact, art, especially music, does the same for men 
 and women. An electrician who can play an accompani- 
 ment can go anywhere and know anybody. As far as 
 mere access and acquaintance go there are no class bar- 
 riers for him. My difficulty was not to get my hero into 
 society, but to give any sort of plausibility to my picture 
 of society when I got him into it. I lacked the touch of 
 
 xi 
 
Preface 
 
 the literary diner-out; and I had, as the reader will 
 probably find to his cost, the classical tradition which 
 makes all the persons in a novel, except the comically 
 vernacular ones, or the speakers of phonetically spelt 
 dialect, utter themselves in the formal phrases and studied 
 syntax of eighteenth century rhetoric. In short, I wrote 
 in the style of Scott and Dickens; and as fashionable 
 society then spoke and behaved, as it still does, in no style 
 at all, my transcriptions of Oxford and Mayf air may nowa- 
 days suggest an unaccountable and ludicrous ignorance 
 of a very superficial and accessible code of manners. I 
 was not, however, so ignorant as might have been in- 
 ferred at that time from my somewhat desperate financial 
 condition. 
 
 I had, to begin with, a sort of backstairs knowledge; 
 for in my teens I struggled for life in the office of an 
 Irish gentleman who acted as land agent and private 
 banker for many persons of distinction. Now it is pos- 
 sible for a London author to dine out in the highest 
 circles for twenty years without learning as much about 
 the human frailties of his hosts as the family solicitor 
 or (in Ireland) the family land agent learns in twenty 
 days ; and some of this knowledge inevitably reaches his 
 clerks, especially the clerk who keeps the cash, which 
 was my particular department. He learns, if capable of 
 the lesson, that the aristocratic profession has as few 
 geniuses as any other profession; so that if you want a 
 peerage of more than, say, half a dozen members, you 
 must fill it up with many common persons, and even with 
 some deplorably mean ones. For " service is no inheri- 
 tance " either in the kitchen or the House of Lords ; and 
 the case presented by Mr. Barrie in his play of The 
 Admirable Crichton, where the butler is the man of 
 
 xii 
 
Preface 
 
 quality, and his master, the Earl, the man of rank, is no 
 fantasy, but a quite common occurrence, and indeed to 
 some extent an inevitable one, because the English are 
 extremely particular in selecting their butlers, whilst 
 they do not select their barons at all, taking them as 
 the accident of birth sends them. The consequences in- 
 clude much ironic comedy. For instance, we have in 
 England a curious belief in first rate people, meaning 
 all the people we do not know ; and this consoles us for 
 the undeniable secondrateness of the people we do know, 
 besides saving the credit of aristocracy as an institution. 
 The unmet aristocrat is devoutly believed in; but he is 
 always round the corner, never at hand. That the smart 
 set exists ; that there is above and beyond that smart set 
 a class so blue of blood and exquisite in nature that it 
 looks down even on the King with haughty condescen- 
 sion; that scepticism on these points is one of the stig- 
 mata of plebeian baseness: all these imaginings are so 
 common here that they constitute the real popular soci- 
 ology of England as much as an unlimited credulity as 
 to vaccination constitutes the real popular science of 
 England. It is, of course, a timid superstition. A Brit- 
 ish peer or peeress who happens by chance to be genu- 
 inely noble is just as isolated at court as Goethe would 
 have been among all the other grandsons of publicans, if 
 they had formed a distinct class in Frankfurt or Weimar. 
 This I knew very well when I wrote my novels ; and if, 
 as 1 suspect, I failed to create a convincingly verisimi- 
 lar atmosphere of aristocracy, it was not because I had 
 any illusions or ignorances as to the common humanity 
 of the peerage, and not because I gave literary style to 
 its conversation, but because, as I had never had any 
 money, I was foolishly indifferent to it, and so, having 
 
 xiii 
 
Preface 
 
 blinded myself to its enormous importance, necessarily 
 missed the point of view, and with it the whole moral 
 basis, of the class which rightly values money, and plenty 
 of it, as the first condition of a bearable life. 
 
 Money is indeed the most important thing in the world ; 
 and all sound and successful personal and national mo- 
 rality should have this fact for its basis. Every teacher 
 or twaddler who denies it or suppresses it, is an enemy 
 of life. Money controls morality; and what makes the 
 United States of America look so foolish even in foolish 
 Europe is that they are always in a state of flurried con- 
 cern and violent interference with morality, whereas they 
 throw their money into the street to be scrambled for, 
 and presently find that their cash reserves are not in their 
 own hands, but in the pockets of a few millionaires who, 
 bewildered by their luck, and unspeakably incapable of 
 making any truly economic use of it, endeavor to " do 
 good " with it by letting themselves be fleeced by philan- 
 thropic committee men, building contractors, librarians 
 and professors, in the name of education, science, art and 
 what not; so that sensible people exhale relievedly when 
 the pious millionaire dies, and his heirs, demoralized by 
 being brought up on his outrageous income, begin the 
 socially beneficent work of scattering his fortune through 
 the channels of the trades that flourish by riotous living. 
 
 This, as I have said, I did not then understand ; for I 
 knew money only by the want of it. Ireland is a poor 
 country ; and my father was a poor man in a poor coun- 
 try. By this I do not mean that he was hungry and 
 homeless, a hewer of wood and a drawer of water. My 
 friend Mr. James Huneker, a man of gorgeous imagi- 
 nation and incorrigible romanticism, has described me 
 to the American public as a peasant lad who has raised 
 
 xiv 
 
Preface 
 
 himself, as all American presidents are assumed to have 
 raised themselves, from the humblest departments of 
 manual labor to the loftiest eminence. James flatters me. 
 Had I been born a peasant, I should now be a tramp. 
 My notion of my father's income is even vaguer than 
 his own was — and that is saying a good deal — but he 
 always had an income of at least three figures (four, if 
 you count in dollars instead of pounds) ; and what made 
 him poor was that he conceived himself as born to a 
 social position which even in Ireland could have been 
 maintained in dignified comfort only on twice or thrice 
 what he had. And he married on that assumption. For- 
 tunately for me, social opportunity is not always to be 
 measured by income. There is an important economic 
 factor, first analyzed by an American economist (General 
 Walker) , and called rent of ability. Now this rent, when 
 the ability is of the artistic or political sort, is often paid 
 in kind. For example, a London possessor of such ability 
 may, with barely enough money to maintain a furnished 
 bedroom and a single presentable suit of clothes, see 
 everything worth seeing that a millionaire can see, and 
 know everybody worth knowing that he can know. Long 
 before I reached this point myself, a very trifling accom- 
 plishment gave me glimpses of the sort of fashionable 
 life a peasant never sees. Thus I remember one evening 
 during the novel-writing period when nobody would pay 
 a farthing for a stroke of my pen, walking along Sloane 
 Street in that blessed shield of literary shabbiness, even- 
 ing dress. A man accosted me with an eloquent appeal 
 for help, ending with the assurance that he had not a 
 penny in the world. I replied, with exact truth, " Neither 
 have I." He thanked me civilly, and went away, appar- 
 ently not in the least surprised, leaving me to ask myself 
 
 xv 
 
Preface 
 
 why I did not turn beggar too, since I felt sure that a 
 man who did it as well as he, must be in comfortable 
 circumstances. 
 
 Another reminiscence. A little past midnight, in the 
 same costume, I was turning from Piccadilly into Bond 
 Street, when a lady of the pavement, out of luck that 
 evening so far, confided to me that the last bus for 
 Brampton had passed, and that she should be grateful 
 to any gentleman who would give her a lift in a hansom. 
 My old-fashioned Irish gallantry had not then been worn 
 off by age and England : besides, as a novelist who could 
 find no publisher, I was touched by the similarity of our 
 trades and predicaments. I excused myself very politely 
 on the ground that my wife (invented for the occasion) 
 was waiting for me at home, and that I felt sure so at- 
 tractive a lady would have no difficulty in finding another 
 escort. Unfortunately this speech made so favorable an 
 impression on her that she immediately took my arm and 
 declared her willingness to go anywhere with me, on 
 the flattering ground that I was a perfect gentleman. 
 In vain did I try to persuade her that in coming up Bond 
 Street and deserting Piccadilly, she was throwing away 
 her last chance of a hansom: she attached herself so 
 devotedly to me that I could not without actual violence 
 shake her off. At last I made a stand at the end of Old 
 Bond Street. I took out my purse; opened it; and held 
 it upside down. Her countenance fell, poor girl! She 
 turned on her heel with a melancholy flirt of her skirt, 
 and vanished. 
 
 Now on both these occasions I had been in the com- 
 pany of people who spent at least as much in a week 
 as I did in a year. Why was I, a penniless and unknown 
 young man, admitted there? Simply because, though I 
 
 xvi 
 
Preface 
 
 was an execrable pianist, and never improved until the 
 happy invention of the pianola made a Paderewski of 
 me, I could play a simple accompaniment at sight more 
 congenially to a singer than most amateurs. It is true 
 that the musical side of London society, with its streak 
 of Bohemianism, and its necessary toleration of foreign 
 ways and professional manners, is far less typically Eng- 
 lish than the sporting side or the political side or the 
 Philistine side; so much so, indeed, that people may and 
 do pass their lives in it without ever discovering what 
 English plutocracy in the mass is really like : still, if you 
 wander in it nocturnally for a fitful year or so as I did, 
 with empty pockets and an utter impossibility of ap- 
 proaching it by daylight (owing to the deplorable decay 
 of the morning wardrobe), you have something more 
 actual to go on than the hallucinations of a peasant lad 
 setting his foot manfully on the lowest rung of the social 
 ladder. I never climbed any ladder: I have achieved 
 eminence by sheer gravitation; and I hereby warn all 
 peasant lads not to be duped by my pretended example 
 into regarding their present servitude as a practicable 
 first step to a celebrity so dazzling that its subject cannot 
 even suppress his own bad novels. 
 
 Conceive me then at the writing of The Irrational 
 Knot as a person neither belonging to the world I 
 describe nor wholly ignorant of it, and on certain points 
 quite incapable of conceiving it intuitively. A whole 
 world of art which did not exist for it lay open to me. 
 I was familiar with the greatest in that world: mighty 
 poets, painters, and musicians were my intimates. I 
 found the world of artificial greatness founded on con- 
 vention and money so repugnant and contemptible by 
 comparison that I had no sympathetic understanding of 
 
 xvii 
 
Preface 
 
 it. People are fond of blaming valets because no man is 
 a hero to his valet. But it is equally true that no man is 
 a valet to his hero; and the hero, consequently, is apt 
 to blunder very ludicrously about valets, through judg- 
 ing them from an irrelevant standard of heroism : hero- 
 ism, remember, having its faults as well as its qualities. 
 I, always on the heroic plane imaginatively, had two 
 disgusting faults which I did not recognize as faults be- 
 cause I could not help them. I was poor and (by day) 
 shabby. I therefore tolerated the gross error that pov- 
 erty, though an inconvenience and a trial, is not a sin 
 and a disgrace; and I stood for my self-respect on the 
 things I had : probity, ability, knowledge of art, laborious- 
 ness, and whatever else came cheaply to me. Because I 
 could walk into Hampton Court Palace and the National 
 Gallery (on free days) and enjoy Mantegna and Michael 
 Angelo whilst millionaires were yawning miserably over 
 inept gluttonies ; because I could suffer more by hearing 
 a movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony taken at a 
 wrong tempo than a duchess by losing a diamond neck- 
 lace, I was indifferent to the repulsive fact that if I 
 had fallen in love with the duchess I did not possess a 
 morning suit in which I could reasonably have expected 
 her to touch me with the furthest protended pair of 
 tongs; and I did not see that to remedy this I should 
 have been prepared to wade through seas of other peo- 
 ple's blood. Indeed it is this perception which consti- 
 tutes an aristocracy nowadays. It is the secret of all 
 our governing classes, which consist finally of people 
 who, though perfectly prepared to be generous, humane, 
 cultured, philanthropic, public spirited and personally 
 charming in the second instance, are unalterably resolved, 
 in the first, to have money enough for a handsome and 
 
 xviii 
 
Preface 
 
 delicate life, and will, in pursuit of that money, batter 
 in the doors of their fellow men, sell them up, sweat 
 them in fetid dens, shoot, stab, hang, imprison, sink, 
 burn and destroy them in the name of law and order. 
 And this shews their fundamental sanity and rightmind- 
 edness; for a sufficient income is indispensable to the 
 practice of virtue; and the man who will let any unselfish 
 consideration stand between him and its attainment is 
 a weakling, a dupe and a predestined slave. If I could 
 convince our impecunious mobs of this, the world would 
 be reformed before the end of the week; for the slug- 
 gards who are content to be wealthy without working 
 and the dastards who are content to work without being 
 wealthy, together with all the pseudo-moralists and ethi- 
 cists and cowardice mongers generally, would be exter- 
 minated without shrift, to the unutterable enlargement 
 of life and ennoblement of humanity. We might even 
 make some beginnings of civilization under such happy 
 circumstances. 
 
 In the days of The Irrational Knot I had not learnt 
 this lesson; consequently I did not understand the Brit- 
 ish peerage, just as I did not understand that glorious 
 and beautiful phenomenon, the " heartless " rich Ameri- 
 can woman, who so thoroughly and admirably under- 
 stands that conscience is a luxury, and should be indulged 
 in only when the vital needs of life have been abundantly 
 satisfied. The instinct which has led the British peerage 
 to fortify itself by American alliances is healthy and well 
 inspired. Thanks to it, we shall still have a few people 
 to maintain the tradition of a handsome, free, proud, 
 costly life, whilst the craven mass of us are keeping up 
 our starveling pretence that it is more important to 
 be good than to be rich, and piously cheating, robbing, 
 
 xix 
 
Preface 
 
 and murdering one another by doing our duty as police- 
 men, soldiers, bailiffs, jurymen, turnkeys, hangmen, 
 tradesmen, and curates, at the command of those who 
 know that the golden grapes are not sour. Why, good 
 heavens! we shall all pretend that this straightforward 
 truth of mine is mere Swiftian satire, because it would 
 require a little courage to take it seriously and either act 
 on it or make me drink the hemlock for uttering it. 
 
 There was the less excuse for my blindness because I 
 was at that very moment laying the foundations of my high 
 fortune by the most ruthless disregard of all the quack 
 duties which lead the peasant lad of fiction to the White 
 House, and harness the real peasant boy to the plough 
 until he is finally swept, as rubbish, into the workhouse. 
 I was an ablebodied and ableminded young man in the 
 strength of my youth; and my family, then heavily em- 
 barrassed, needed my help urgently. That I should have 
 chosen to be a burden to them instead was, according 
 to all the conventions of peasant lad fiction, monstrous. 
 Well, without a blush I embraced the monstrosity. I 
 did not throw myself into the struggle for life: I threw 
 my mother into it. I was not a staff to my father's old 
 age : I hung on to his coat tails. His reward was to live 
 just long enough to read a review of one of these silly 
 novels written in an obscure journal by a personal friend 
 of my own (now eminent in literature as Mr. John Mack- 
 innon Robertson) prefiguring me to some extent as a 
 considerable author. I think, myself, that this was a 
 handsome reward, far better worth having than a nice 
 pension from a dutiful son struggling slavishly for his 
 parent's bread in some sordid trade. Handsome or not, 
 it was the only return he ever had for the little pension 
 he contrived to export from Ireland for his family. My 
 
 xx 
 
Preface 
 
 mother reinforced it by drudging in her elder years at 
 the art of music which she had followed in her prime 
 freely for love. I only helped to spend it. People won- 
 dered at my heartlessness : one young and romantic lady 
 had the courage to remonstrate openly and indignandy 
 with me, " for the which " as Pepys said of the ship- 
 wright's wife who refused his advances, " I did respect 
 her." Callous as Comus to moral babble, I steadily wrote 
 my five pages a day and made a man of myself (at my 
 mother's expense) instead of a slave. And I protest that 
 I will not suffer James Huneker or any romanticist to 
 pass me off as a peasant boy qualifying for a chapter in- 
 Smiles's Self Help, or a good son supporting a helpless 
 mother, instead of a stupendously selfish artist leaning 
 with the full weight of his hungry body on an energetic 
 and capable woman. No, James: such lies are not only 
 unnecessary, but fearfully depressing and fundamentally 
 immoral, besides being hardly fair to the supposed peas- 
 ant lad's parents. My mother worked for my living in- 
 stead of preaching that it was my duty to work for hers : 
 therefore take off your hat to her, and blush.* 
 
 It is now open to anyone who pleases to read The 
 Irrational Knot. I do not recommend him to; but it 
 is possible that the same mysterious force which drove 
 me through the labor of writing it may have had some 
 purpose which will sustain others through the labor of 
 reading it, and even reward them with some ghastly en- 
 joyment of it. For my own part I cannot stand it. It 
 
 * James, having read the above in proof, now protests he never 
 called me a peasant lad : that being a decoration by the sub-editor. 
 The expression he used was " a poor lad." This is what James 
 calls tact. After all, there is something pastoral, elemental, well 
 aerated, about a peasant lad. But a mere poor lad ! really, James, 
 realty—!!! 
 
 xxi 
 
Preface 
 
 is to me only one of the heaps of spoiled material that 
 all apprenticeship involves. I consent to its publication 
 because I remember that British colonel who called on 
 Beethoven when the elderly composer was working at 
 his posthumous quartets, and offered him a commission 
 for a work in the style of his jejune septet. Beethoven 
 drove the Colonel out of the house with objurgation. I 
 think that was uncivil. There is a time for the septet, 
 and a time for the posthumous quartets. It is true that 
 if a man called on me now and asked me to write some- 
 thing like The Irrational Knot I should have to exer- 
 cise great self-control. But there are people who read 
 Man and Superman, and then tell me (actually to my 
 face) that I have never done anything so good as 
 Cashel Byron's Profession. After this, there may be 
 a public for even The Irrational Knot ; so let it go. 
 
 London, May 26, 1905. 
 
 P.S. — Since writing the above I have looked through 
 the proof-sheets of this book, and found, with some 
 access of respect for my youth, that it is a fiction of the 
 first order. By this I do not mean that it is a master- 
 piece in that order, or even a pleasant example of it, 
 but simply that, such as it is, it is one of those fictions 
 in which the morality is original and not readymade. 
 Now this quality is the true diagnostic of the first order 
 in literature, and indeed in all the arts, including the 
 art of life. It is, for example, the distinction that sets 
 Shakespear's Hamlet above his other plays, and that 
 sets Ibsen's work as a whole above Shakespear's work 
 as a whole. Shakespear's morality is a mere reach-me- 
 down; and because Hamlet does not feel comfortable 
 
 xxii 
 
Preface 
 
 in it, and struggles against the misfit, he suggests some- 
 thing better, futile as his struggle is, and incompetent 
 as Shakespear shews himself in his effort to think out 
 the revolt of his feeling against readymade morality. 
 Ibsen's morality is original all through: he knows well 
 that the men in the street have no use for principles, 
 because they can neither understand nor apply them; 
 and that what they can understand and apply are arbi- 
 trary rules of conduct, often frightfully destructive and 
 inhuman, but at least definite rules enabling the common 
 stupid man to know where he stands and what he may 
 do and not do without getting into trouble. Now to all 
 writers of the first order, these rules, and the need for 
 them produced by the moral and intellectual incompe- 
 tence of the ordinary human animal, are no more in- 
 variably beneficial and respectable than the sunlight 
 which ripens the wheat in Sussex and leaves the desert 
 deadly in Sahara, making the cheeks of the ploughman's 
 child rosy in the morning and striking the ploughman 
 brainsick or dead in the afternoon; no more inspired 
 (and no less) than the religion of the Andaman island- 
 ers; as much in need of frequent throwing away and 
 replacement as the community's boots. By writers of 
 the second order the readymade morality is accepted as 
 the basis of all moral judgment and criticism of the 
 characters they portray, even when their genius forces 
 them to represent their most attractive heroes and hero- 
 ines as violating the readymade code in all directions. 
 Far be it from me to pretend that the first order is 
 more readable than the second! Shakespear, Scott, 
 Dickens, Dumas pkre are not, to say the least, less read- 
 able than Euripides and Ibsen. Nor is the first order 
 always more constructive; for Byron, Oscar Wilde, and 
 
 xxiii 
 
Preface 
 
 Larochefoucauld did not get further in positive phi- 
 losophy than Ruskin and Carlyle, though they could 
 snuff Ruskin's Seven Lamps with their fingers without 
 flinching. Still, the first order remains the first order 
 and the second the second for all that: no man who 
 shuts his eyes and opens his mouth when religion and 
 morality are offered to him on a long spoon can share 
 the same Parnassian bench with those who make an 
 original contribution to religion and morality, were it 
 only a criticism. 
 
 Therefore on coming back to this Irrational Knot as a 
 stranger after 25 years, I am proud to find that its 
 morality is not readymade. The drunken prima donna 
 of a bygone type of musical burlesque is not depicted 
 as an immoral person, but as a person with a morality 
 of her own, no worse in its way than the morality of her 
 highly respectable wine merchant in its way. The soci- 
 ology of the successful inventor is his own sociology too ; 
 and it is by his originality in this respect that he passes 
 irresistibly through all the readymade prejudices that 
 are set up to bar his promotion. And the heroine, nice, 
 amiable, benevolent, and anxious to please and behave 
 well, but hopelessly secondhand in her morals and nice- 
 nesses, and consequently without any real moral force 
 now that the threat of hell has lost its terrors for her, 
 is left destitute among the failures which are so puzzling 
 to thoughtless people. " I cannot understand why she 
 is so unlucky : she is such a nice woman ! " : that is the 
 formula. As if people with any force in them ever 
 were altogether nice! 
 
 And so I claim the first order for this jejune exploit 
 of mine, and invite you to note that the final chapter, so 
 remote from Scott and Dickens and so close to Ibsen, 
 
 xxiv 
 
Preface 
 
 was written years before Ibsen came to my knowledge, 
 thus proving that the revolt of the Life Force against 
 readymade morality in the nineteenth century was not 
 the work of a Norwegian microbe, but would have 
 worked itself into expression in English literature had 
 Norway never existed. In fact, when Miss Lord's trans- 
 lation of A Doll's House appeared in the eighteen- 
 eighties, and so excited some of my Socialist friends 
 that they got up a private reading of it in which I was 
 cast for the part of Krogstad, its novelty as a morally 
 original study of a marriage did not stagger me as it 
 staggered Europe. I had made a morally original study 
 of a marriage myself, and made it, too, without any 
 melodramatic forgeries, spinal diseases, and suicides, 
 though I had to confess to a study of dipsomania. At all 
 events, I chattered and ate caramels in the back drawing- 
 room (our green-room) whilst Eleanor Marx, as Nora, 
 brought Helmer to book at the other side of the folding 
 doors. Indeed I concerned myself very little about Ibsen 
 until, later on, William Archer translated Peer Gynt to 
 me viva voce, when the magic of the great poet opened 
 my eyes in a flash to the importance of the social phi- 
 losopher. 
 
 I seriously suggest that The Irrational Knot may be 
 regarded as an early attempt on the part of the Life 
 Force to write A Doll's House in English by the instru- 
 mentality of a very immature writer aged 24. And 
 though I say it that should not, the choice was not such 
 a bad shot for a stupid instinctive force that has to work 
 and become conscious of itself by means of human brains. 
 If we could only realize that though the Life Force sup- 
 plies us with its own purpose, it has no other brains to 
 work with than those it has painfully and imperfectly 
 
 XXV 
 
Preface 
 
 evolved in our heads, the peoples of the earth would learn 
 some pity for their gods ; and we should have a religion 
 that would not be contradicted at every turn by the thing 
 that is giving the lie to the thing that ought to be. 
 
 Welwyn, Sunday, June 25, 1905. 
 
 xxvi 
 
THE IRRATIONAL KNOT 
 
PAGE 
 
 BOOK I 5 
 
 BOOK II 129 
 
 BOOK III 233 
 
 BOOK IV 349 
 
BOOK I 
 
THE IRRATIONAL KNOT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT seven o'clock on a fine evening in April the 
 gas had just been lighted in a room on the first 
 floor of a house in York Road, Lambeth. A 
 man, recently washed and brushed, stood on the hearth- 
 rug before a pier glass, arranging a white necktie, part 
 of his evening dress. He was about thirty, well grown, 
 and fully developed muscularly. There was no cloud of 
 vice or trouble upon him : he was concentrated and calm, 
 making no tentative movements of any sort (even a white 
 tie did not puzzle him into fumbling), but acting with a 
 certainty of aim and consequent economy of force, dread- 
 ful to the irresolute. His face was brown, but his auburn 
 hair classed him as a fair man. 
 
 The apartment, a drawing-room with two windows, was 
 dusty and untidy. The paint and wall paper had not been 
 renewed for years ; nor did the pianette, which stood near 
 the fireplace, seem to have been closed during that time ; 
 for the interior was dusty, and the inner end of every key 
 begrimed. On a table between the windows were some 
 tea things, with a heap of milliner's materials, and a brass 
 candlestick which had been pushed back to make room 
 for a partially unfolded cloth. There was a second table 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 near the door, crowded with coils, batteries, a galvanom- 
 eter, and other electrical apparatus. The mantelpiece 
 was littered with dusty letters, and two trays of Doulton 
 ware which ornamented it were filled with accounts, 
 scraps of twine, buttons, and rusty keys. 
 
 A shifting, rustling sound, as of somebody dressing, 
 which had been audible for some minutes through the 
 folding doors, now ceased, and a handsome young woman 
 entered. She had thick black hair, fine dark eyes, an 
 oval face, a clear olive complexion, and an elastic figure. 
 She was incompletely attired in a petticoat that did not 
 hide her ankles, and stays of bright red silk with white 
 laces and seams. Quite unconcerned at the presence of 
 the man, she poured out a cup of tea; carried it to the 
 mantelpiece; and began to arrange her hair before the 
 glass. He, without looking round, completed the ar- 
 rangement of his tie, looked at it earnestly for a moment, 
 and said, " Have you got a pin about you? " 
 
 "There is one in the pincushion on my table," she 
 said ; " but I think it's a black one. I dont know where 
 the deuce all the pins go to." Then, casting off the sub- 
 ject, she whistled a long and florid cadenza, and added, 
 by way of instrumental interlude, a remarkably close 
 imitation of a violoncello. Meanwhile the man went into 
 her room for the pin. On his return she suddenly became 
 curious, and said, " Where are you going to-night, if one 
 may ask ? " 
 
 " I am going out." 
 
 She looked at him for a moment, and turned contemp- 
 tuously to the mirror, saying, " Thank you. Sorry to be 
 inquisitive." 
 
 " I am going to sing for the Countess of Carbury at a 
 concert at Wandsworth." 
 
 8 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Sing ! You ! The Countess of Barbury ! Does she 
 live at Wandsworth ? " 
 
 " No. She lives in Park Lane." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg her pardon." The man made no com- 
 ment on this; and she, after looking doubtfully at him 
 to assure herself that he was in earnest, continued, " How 
 does the Countess of Whatshername come to know you, 
 pray?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 A long pause ensued. Then she said : " Stuff ! ", but 
 without conviction. Her exclamation had no apparent 
 effect on him until he had buttoned his waistcoat and 
 arranged his watch-chain. Then he glanced at a sheet of 
 pink paper which lay on the mantelpiece. She snatched 
 it at once ; opened it ; stared incredulously at it ; and said, 
 " Pink paper, and scalloped edges ! How filthily 
 vulgar! I thought she was not much of a Countess! 
 Ahem ! ' Music for the People. Parnassus Society. A 
 concert will be given at the Town Hall, Wandsworth, on 
 Tuesday, the 25th April, by the Countess of Carbury, 
 assisted by the following ladies and gentlemen. Miss 
 Elinor McQuinch ' — what a name ! ' Miss Marian Lind ' 
 — who's Miss Marian Lind ? " 
 
 "How should I know?" 
 
 " I only thought, as she is a pal of the Countess, that 
 you would most likely be intimate with her. ' Mrs. Leith 
 Fairfax.' There is a Mrs. Leith Fairfax who writes 
 novels, and very rotten novels they are, too. Who are 
 the gentlemen ? ' Mr. Marmaduke Lind ' — brother to 
 Miss Marian, I suppose. ' Mr. Edward Conolly ' — save 
 the mark! they must have been rather hard up for gen- 
 tlemen when they put you down as one. The Conolly 
 family is looking up at last. Hm! nearly a dozen alto- 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 gether. 'Tickets will be distributed to the families of 
 working men by the Rev. George Lind ' — pity they didnt 
 engage Jenny Lind on purpose to sing with you. 'A 
 limited number of front seats at one shilling. Please 
 turnover. Parti. Symphony in F : Haydn. Arranged 
 for four English concertinas by Julius Baker. Mr. Julius 
 Baker; Master Julius Abt Baker; Miss Lisette Baker 
 (aged 8); and Miss Totty Baker (aged 6j^)\ Good 
 Lord ! ' Song : Rose softly blooming : Spohr. Miss 
 Marian Lind.' I wonder whether she can sing ! ' Polo- 
 naise in A flat major : Chopin ' — what rot ! As if work- 
 ing people cared about Chopin! Miss Elinor McQuinch 
 is a fool, I see. 'Song: The Valley: Gounod.' Of 
 course : I knew you would try that. Oho ! Here's some- 
 thing sensible at last. ' Nigger melody. Uncle Ned. 
 Mr. Marmaduke Lind, accompanied by himself on the 
 banjo.' 
 
 Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum, drum. Dum — 
 'And there was an ole nigga ; and his name was Uncle Ned ; 
 
 An' him dead long ago, long ago. 
 An' he had no hair on the top of his head 
 
 In the place where the wool ought to grow.' 
 
 Mr. Marmaduke Lind will get a double encore; and 
 no one will take the least notice of you or the others, 
 ' Recitation. The Faithful Soul. Adelaide Proctor. 
 Mrs. Leith Fairfax.' Well, this certainly is a blessed 
 attempt to amuse Wandsworth. Another reading by 
 
 the Rev. " 
 
 Here Conolly, who had been putting on his overcoat, 
 picked the program deftly from his sister's fingers, and 
 left the room. She, after damning him very heartily, 
 
 10 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 returned to the glass, and continued dressing, taking her 
 tea at intervals until she was ready to go out, when she 
 sent for a cab, and bade the driver convey her to the 
 Bijou Theatre, Soho. 
 
 Conolly, on arriving at the Wandsworth Town Hall, 
 was directed to a committee room, which served as green- 
 room on this occasion. He was greeted by a clean shaven 
 young clergyman who protested that he was glad to see 
 him there, but did not offer his hand. Conolly thanked 
 him briefly, and went without further ceremony to the 
 table, and was about to place his hat and overcoat on a 
 heap of similar garments, when, observing that there were 
 some hooks along the wall, he immediately crossed over 
 and hung up his things on them, thereby producing an 
 underbred effect of being more prudent and observant 
 than the rest. Then he looked at his program, and 
 calculated how soon his turn to sing would come. Then 
 he unrolled his music, and placed two copies of Le Vallon 
 ready to his hand upon the table. Having made these 
 arrangements with a self-possession that quite discon- 
 certed the clergyman, he turned to examine the rest of 
 the company. 
 
 His first glance was arrested by the beauty of a young 
 lady with light brown hair and gentle grey eyes, who sat 
 near the fire. Beside her, on a lower chair, was a small, 
 lean, and very restless young woman with keen dark eyes 
 staring defiantly from a worn face. These two were at- 
 tended by a jovial young gentleman with curly auburn 
 hair, who was twanging a banjo, and occasionally pro- 
 voking an exclamation of annoyance from the restless 
 girl by requesting her opinion of his progress in tuning 
 the instrument. Near them stood a tall man, dark and 
 handsome. He seemed unused to his present circum- 
 
 II 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 stances, and contemptuous, not of the company nor the 
 object for which they were assembled, but in the abstract, 
 as if habitual contempt were part of his nature. 
 
 The clergyman, who had just conducted to the platform 
 an elderly professor in a shabby frock coat, followed by 
 three well-washed children, each of whom carried a con- 
 certina, now returned and sat down beside a middle-aged 
 lady, who made herself conspicuous by using a gold 
 framed eyeglass so as to convey an impression that she 
 was an exceedingly keen observer. 
 
 " It is fortunate that the evening is so fine," said the 
 clergyman to her. 
 
 " Yes, is it not, Mr. Lind? " 
 
 " My throat is always affected by bad weather, Mrs. 
 Leith Fairfax. I shall be so handicapped by the inevi- 
 table comparison of my elocution with yours, that I am 
 glad the weather is favorable to me, though the compari- 
 son is not." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Fairfax, with decision. " I am not in 
 the least an orator. I can repeat a poem: that is all. 
 Oh ! I hope I have not broken my glasses." They had 
 slipped from her nose to the floor. Conolly picked them 
 up and straightened them with one turn of his fingers. 
 
 " No harm done, madam," said he, with a certain 
 elocutionary correctness, and rather in the strong voice 
 of the workshop than the subdued one of the drawing- 
 room, handing the glasses to her ceremoniously as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Thank you. You are very kind, very kind indeed." 
 Conolly bowed, and turned again toward the other 
 group. 
 
 " Who is that ? " whispered Mrs. Fairfax to the clergy- 
 man. 
 
 12 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Some young man who attracted the attention of the 
 Countess by his singing. He is only a workman." 
 
 " Indeed! Where did she hear him sing? " 
 
 " In her son's laboratory, I believe. He came there to 
 put up some electrical machinery, and sang into a tele- 
 phone for their amusement. You know how fond Lord 
 Jasper is of mechanics. Jasper declares that he is a 
 genius as an electrician. Indeed it was he, rather than 
 the Countess, who thought of getting him to sing for us." 
 
 " How very interesting ! I saw that he was clever 
 when he spoke to me. There is so much in trifles — in 
 byplay, Mr. Lind. Now, his manner of picking up my 
 glass had his entire history in it. You will also see it 
 in the solid development of his head. That young man 
 deserves to be encouraged." 
 
 " You are very generous, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. It 
 would not be well to encourage him too much, however. 
 You must recollect that he is not used to society. Inju- 
 dicious encouragement might perhaps lead him to forget 
 his real place in it." 
 
 " I do not agree with you, Mr. Lind. You do not read 
 human nature as I do. You know that I am an expert. 
 I see men as he sees a telegraph instrument, quite unin- 
 fluenced by personal feeling." 
 
 " True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. But the heart is deceitful 
 above all things and des — at least I should say — er. 
 That is, you will admit that the finest perception may err 
 in its estimate of the inscrutable work of the Almighty." 
 
 " Doubtless. But really, Mr. Lind, human beings are 
 so shallow ! I assure you there is nothing at all inscru- 
 table about them to a trained analyst of character. It 
 may be a gift, perhaps ; but people's minds are to me only 
 little machines made up of superficial motives." 
 
 13 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "I say," said the young gentleman with the banjo, 
 interrupting them : " have you got a copy of ' Rose softly 
 blooming' there?" 
 
 " I ! " said Mrs. Fairfax. " No, certainly not." 
 
 " Then it's all up with the concert. We have forgotten 
 Marian's music; and there is nothing for Nelly — I beg 
 pardon, I mean Miss McQuinch — to play from. She is 
 above playing by ear." 
 
 " I cannot play by ear," said the restless young lady, 
 angrily. 
 
 " If you will sing ' Coal black Rose ' instead, Marian, 
 I can accompany you on the banjo, and back you up in 
 the chorus. The Wandsworthers — if they survive the 
 concertinas — will applaud the change as one man." 
 
 " It is so unkind to joke about it," said the beautiful 
 young lady. " What shall I do ? If somebody will vamp 
 an accompaniment, I can get on very well without any 
 music. But if I try to play for myself I shall break 
 down." 
 
 Conolly here stepped aside, and beckoned to the 
 clergyman. 
 
 " That young man wants to speak to you," whispered 
 Mrs. Fairfax. 
 
 " Oh, indeed. Thank you," said the Rev. Mr. Lind, 
 stiffly. " I suppose I had better see what he requires." 
 
 " I suppose you had," said Mrs. Fairfax, with some 
 impatience. 
 
 " I dont wish to intrude where I have no business," 
 said Conolly quietly to the clergyman ; " but I can play 
 that lady's accompaniment, if she will allow me." 
 
 The clergyman was too much afraid of Conolly by this 
 time — he did not know why — to demur. " I am sure she 
 will not object," he said, pretending to be relieved by the 
 
 H 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 offer. " Your services will be most acceptable. Excuse 
 me for one moment, whilst I inform Mjss Lind." 
 
 He crossed the room to the lady, and said in a lower 
 tone, " I think I have succeeded in arranging the matter, 
 Marian. That man says he will play for you." 
 
 " I hope he can play," said Marian doubtfully. " Who 
 is he?" 
 
 " It is Conolly. Jasper's man." 
 
 Miss Lind's eyes lighted. " Is that he ? " she whis- 
 pered, glancing curiously across the room at him. 
 " Bring him and introduce him to us." 
 
 " Is that necessary ? " said the tall man, without lower- 
 ing his voice sufficiently to prevent Conolly from hearing 
 him. The clergyman hesitated. 
 
 " It is quite necessary : I do not know what he must 
 think of us already," said Marian, ashamed, and looking 
 apprehensively at Conolly. He was staring with a police- 
 manlike expression at the tall man, who, after a vain 
 attempt to ignore him, had eventually to turn away. 
 The Rev. Mr. Lind then led the electrician forward, and 
 avoided a formal presentation by saying with a simper: 
 " Here is Mr. Conolly, who will extricate us from all 
 our difficulties." 
 
 Miss McQuinch nodded. Miss Lind bowed. Mar- 
 maduke shook hands good-naturedly, and retired some- 
 what abashed, thrumming his banjo. Just then a faint 
 sound of clapping was followed by the return of the 
 quartet party, upon which Miss Lind rose and moved 
 hesitatingly toward the platform. The tall man offered 
 his hand. 
 
 " Nonsense, Sholto," said she, laughing. " They will 
 expect you to do something if you appear with me." 
 
 "Allow me, Marian," said the clergyman, as the tall 
 
 IS 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 man, offended, bowed and stood aside. She, pretending 
 not to notice her brother, turned toward Conolly, who 
 at once passed the Rev. George, and led her to the 
 platform. 
 
 "The original key?" he enquired, as they mounted 
 the steps. 
 
 " I dont know," she said, alarmed. 
 
 For a moment he was taken aback. Then he said, 
 " What is the highest note you can sing? " 
 
 "I can sing A sometimes — only when I am alone. I 
 dare not attempt it before people." 
 
 Conolly sat down, knowing now that Miss Lind was 
 a commonplace amateur. He had been contrasting her 
 with his sister, greatly to the disparagement of his home 
 life; and he was disappointed to find the lady break 
 down where the actress would have succeeded so well. 
 Consoling himself with the reflexion that if Miss Lind 
 could not rap out a B flat like Susanna, neither could she 
 rap out an oath, he played the accompaniment much 
 better than Marian sang the song. Meanwhile, Miss 
 McQuinch, listening jealously in the green-room, hated 
 herself for her inferior skill. 
 
 " Cool, and reserved, is the modern Benjamin Frank- 
 lin," observed Marmaduke to her. 
 
 " Better a reserved man who can do something than 
 a sulky one who can do nothing," she said, glancing at 
 the tall man, with whom the clergyman was nervously 
 striving to converse. 
 
 " Exquisite melody, is it not, Mr. Douglas ? " said Mrs. 
 Fairfax, coming to the clergyman's rescue. 
 
 " I do not care for music," said Douglas. " I lack the 
 maudlin disposition in which the taste usually thrives." 
 
 Miss McQuinch gave an expressive snap, but said 
 16 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 nothing; and the conversation dropped until Miss Lind 
 had sung her song, and received a round of respectful 
 but not enthusiastic applause. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Conolly," she said, as she left the 
 platform. " I am afraid that Spohr's music is too good 
 for the people here. Dont you think so ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Conolly. " There is nothing 
 so very particular in Spohr. But he requires very good 
 singing — better than he is worth." 
 
 Miss Lind colored, and returned in silence to her seat 
 beside Miss McQuinch, feeling that she had exposed 
 herself to a remark that no gentleman would have made. 
 
 " Now then, Nelly," said Marmaduke : " the parson is 
 going to call time. Keep up your courage. Come, get 
 up, get up." 
 
 " Do not be so boisterous, Duke," said Marian. " It 
 is bad enough to have to face an audience without being 
 ridiculed beforehand." 
 
 " Marian," said Marmaduke, " if you think Nelly will 
 hammer a love of music into the British workman, you 
 err. Lots of them get their living by hammering, and 
 they will most likely resent feminine competition. Bang ! 
 There she goes. Pity the sorrows of a poor old piano, 
 and let us hope its trembling limbs wont come through 
 the floor." 
 
 " Really, Marmaduke," said Marian, impatiently, " you 
 are excessively foolish. You are like a boy fresh from 
 school." 
 
 Marmaduke, taken aback by her sharp tone, gave a 
 long whispered whistle, and pretended to hide under the 
 table. He had a certain gift of drollery which made it 
 difficult not to laugh even at his most foolish antics, and 
 Marian was giving way in spite of herself when she 
 
 17 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 found Douglas bending over her and saying, in a low 
 voice : 
 
 "You are tired of this place. The room is very 
 draughty: I fear it will give you cold. Let me drive 
 you home now. An apology can be made for whatever 
 else you are supposed to do for these people. Let me 
 get your cloak and call a cab." 
 
 Marian laughed. "Thank you, Sholto," she said; 
 " but I assure you I am quite happy. Pray do not look 
 offended because I am not so uncomfortable as you think 
 I ought to be." 
 
 " I am glad you are happy," said Douglas in his for- 
 mer cold tone. " Perhaps my presence is rather a draw- 
 back to your enjoyment than otherwise." 
 
 " I told you not to come, Sholto ; but you would. Why 
 not adapt yourself to the circumstances, and be agree- 
 able?" 
 
 " I am not conscious of being disagreeable." 
 1 " I did not mean that. Only I do not like to see you 
 making an enemy of every one in the room, and forcing 
 me to say things that I know must hurt you." 
 
 " To the enmity of your new associates I am supremely 
 indifferent, Marian. To that of your old friends I am 
 accustomed. I am not in the mood to be lectured on my 
 behavior at present; besides, the subject is hardly worth 
 pursuing. May I gather from your remarks that I shall 
 gratify you by withdrawing?" 
 
 " Yes," said Marian, flushing slightly, and looking 
 steadily at him. Then, controlling her voice with an 
 effort, she added, "Do not try again to browbeat me 
 into telling you a falsehood, Sholto." 
 
 Douglas looked at her in surprise. Before he could 
 answer, Miss McQuinch reappeared. 
 
 18 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Well, Nelly," said Marmaduke : " is there any piano 
 left?" 
 
 "Not much," she replied, with a sullen laugh. "I 
 never played worse in my life." 
 
 " Wrong notes ? or deficiency in the sacred fire ? " 
 
 " Both." 
 
 " I believe your song comes next," said the clergyman 
 to Conolly, who had been standing apart, listening to 
 Miss McQuinch's performance. 
 
 " Who is to accompany me, sir ? " 
 
 " Oh — ah — Miss McQuinch will, I am sure," replied 
 the Rev. Mr. Lind, smiling nervously. Conolly looked 
 grave. The young lady referred to closed her lips; 
 frowned ; said nothing. Marmaduke chuckled. 
 
 " Perhaps you would rather play your own accompani- 
 ment," said the clergyman, weakly. 
 
 Conolly shook his head decisively, and said, " I can 
 do only one thing at a time, sir." 
 
 " Oh, they are not very critical : they are only work- 
 men," said the clergyman, and then reddened deeply as 
 Marmaduke gave him a very perceptible nudge. 
 
 " I'll not take advantage of that, as I am only a work- 
 man myself," said Conolly. " I had rather leave the 
 song out than accompany myself." 
 
 " Pray dont suppose that I wish to be disagreeable, 
 Mr. Lind," said Miss McQuinch, as the company looked 
 doubtfully at her ; " but I have disgraced myself too com- 
 pletely to trust my fingers again. I should spoil the song 
 if I played the accompaniment." 
 
 " I think you might try, Nell," said Marmaduke, re- 
 proachfully. 
 
 "I might," retorted Miss Quinch; "but I wont." 
 
 19 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " If somebody doesnt go out and do something, there 
 will be a shindy," said Marmaduke. 
 
 Marian hesitated a moment and then rose. " I am a 
 very indifferent player," she said; "but since no better 
 is to be had, I will venture— if Mr. Cpnolly will trust me." 
 
 Conolly bowed. 
 
 "If you would rather not," said Miss McQuinch, 
 shamed into remorse, " I will try the accompaniment. 
 But I am sure to play it all wrong." 
 
 "I think Miss McQuinch had better play," said 
 Douglas. 
 
 Conolly looked at Marian; received a reassuring glance; 
 and went to the platform with her without further ado. 
 She was not a sympathetic accompanist ; but, not know- 
 ing this, she was not at all put out by it. She felt too 
 that she was, as became a lady, giving the workman a 
 lesson in courtesy which might stand him in stead when 
 he next accompanied " Rose, softly blooming." She was 
 a little taken aback on finding that he not only had a rich 
 baritone voice, but was, as far as she could judge, an 
 accomplished singer. 
 
 " Really," she said as they left the platform, " you sing 
 most beautifully." 
 
 " One would hardly have expected it," he said, with a 
 smile. 
 
 Marian, annoyed at having this side of her compli- 
 ment exposed, did not return the smile, and went to her 
 chair in the green-room without taking any further notice 
 of him. 
 
 " I congratulate you," said Mrs. Leith Fairfax to Con- 
 olly, looking at him, like all the rest except Douglas, with 
 a marked access of interest. "Ah! what wonderful 
 depth there is in Gounod's music ! " 
 
 20 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 He assented politely with a movement of his head. 
 
 " I know nothing at all about music," said Mrs. Fair- 
 fax. 
 
 " Very few people do." 
 
 " I mean technically, of course," she said, not quite 
 pleased. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 A tremendous burst of applause here followed the 
 conclusion of the first verse of " Uncle Ned." 
 
 " Do come and listen, Nelly," said Marian, returning 
 to the door. Mrs. Fairfax and Conolly presently went 
 to the door too. 
 
 "Would you not like to help in the chorus, Nelly?" 
 said Marian in a low voice, as the audience began to join 
 uproariously in the refrain. 
 , " Not particularly," said Miss McQuinch. 
 
 " Sholto," said Marian, " come and share our vulgar 
 joy. We want you to join in the chorus." 
 
 " Thank you," said Douglas, " I fear I am too indiffer- 
 ent a vocalist to do justice to the occasion." 
 
 " Sing with Mr. Conolly and you cannot go wrong," 
 said Miss McQuinch. 
 
 " Hush," said Marian, interposing quickly lest Douglas 
 should retort. " There is the chorus. Shall we really 
 join?" 
 
 Conolly struck up the refrain without further hesi- 
 tation. Marian sang with him. Mrs. Fairfax and the 
 clergyman looked furtively at one another, but forbore 
 to swell the chorus. Miss McQuinch sang a few words 
 in a piercing contralto voice, and then stopped with a 
 gesture of impatience, feeling that she was out of tune. 
 Marian, with only Conolly to keep her in countenance, 
 felt relieved when Marmaduke, thrice encored, entered 
 
 21 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the room in triumph. Whilst he was being congratu- 
 lated, Douglas turned to Miss McQuinch, who was pre- 
 tending to ignore Marmaduke's success. 
 
 " I hope, Miss McQuinch," he said in a low tone, " that 
 you will be able to relieve Marian at the piano next time. 
 You know how she dislikes having to play accompani- 
 ments for strangers." 
 
 " How mean it is of you to be jealous of a plumber ! " 
 said Miss McQuinch, with a quick glance at him which 
 she did not dare to sustain, so fiercely did he return it. 
 When she looked again, he seemed unconscious of her 
 presence, and was buttoning his overcoat. 
 
 "Really going at last, Sholto?" said Marian. Doug- 
 las bowed. 
 
 " I told you you wouldnt be able to stand it, old man," 
 said Marmaduke. " Mrs. Bluestockings wont be pleased 
 with you for not staying to hear her recite." This re- 
 ferred to Mrs. Fairfax, who had just gone upon the 
 platform. 
 
 " Good night," said Miss McQuinch, shortly, anxious 
 to test how far he was offended, but unwilling to appear 
 solicitous for a reconciliation. 
 
 "Until to-morrow, farewell," he said, approaching 
 Marian, who gave him her hand with a smile: Conolly 
 looking thoughtfully at him meanwhile. He- left the 
 room ; and so, Mrs. Fairfax having gone to the platform 
 to recite, quiet prevailed for a few minutes. 
 
 " Shall I have the pleasure of playing the accompani- 
 ment to your next song? " said Conolly, sitting down near 
 Marian. 
 
 " Thank you," said Marian, shrinking a little : " I think 
 Miss McQuinch knows it by heart." Then, still anxious 
 
 22 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to be affable to the workman, she added, " Lord Jasper 
 says you are a great musician." 
 
 " No, I am an electrician. Music is not my business : 
 it is my amusement." 
 
 "You have invented something very wonderful, have 
 you not ? " 
 
 " I have discovered something, and I am trying to 
 invent a means of turning it to account. It will be only 
 a cheap electro-motor if it comes to anything." 
 
 " You must explain that to me some day, Mr. Conolly. 
 I'm afraid I dont know what an electro-motor means." 
 
 " I ought not to have mentioned it," said Conolly. " It 
 is so constantly in my mind that I am easily led to talk 
 about it. I try to prevent myself, but the very effort 
 makes me think of it more than ever." 
 
 " But I like to hear you talk about it," said Marian. 
 " I always try to make people talk shop to me, and of 
 course they always repay me by trying to keep on in- 
 different topics, of which I know as much—or as little — 
 as they." 
 
 " Well, then," said Conolly, " an electro-motor is only 
 an engine for driving machinery, just like a steam engine, 
 except that it is worked by electricity instead of steam. 
 Electric engines are so imperfect now that steam ones 
 come cheaper. The man who finds out how to make the 
 electric engine do what the steam engine now does, and 
 do it cheaper, will make his fortune if he has his wits 
 about him. Thats what I am driving at." 
 
 Miss Lind, in spite of her sensible views as to talking 
 shop, was not interested in the least. " Indeed!" she said. 
 " How interesting that must be ! But how did you find 
 time to become so perfect a musician, and to sing so 
 exquisitely ? " 
 
 23 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I picked most of it up when I was a boy. My grand- 
 father was an Irish sailor with such a tremendous voice 
 that a Neapolitan music master brought him out in opera 
 as a buffo. When he had roared his voice away, he went 
 into the chorus. My father was reared in Italy, and 
 looked more Italian than most genuine natives. He had 
 no voice; so he became first accompanist, then chorus 
 master, and finally trainer for the operatic stage. He 
 speculated in an American tour ; married out there ; lost 
 all his money; and came over to England, when I was 
 only twelve, to resume his business at Covent Garden. 
 I stayed in America, and was apprenticed to an electrical 
 engineer. I worked at the bench there for six years." 
 
 " I suppose your father taught you to sing." 
 
 " No. He never gave me a lesson. The fact is, Miss 
 Lind, he was a capital man to teach stage tricks and 
 traditional renderings of old operas ; but only the excep- 
 tionally powerful voices survived his method of teaching. 
 He would have finished my career as a singer in two 
 months if he had troubled himself to teach me. Never 
 go to Italy to learn singing." 
 
 " I fear you are a cynic. You ought either to believe 
 in your father or else be silent about him." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Why ! Surely we should hide the failings of those 
 we love? I can understand now how your musical and 
 electrical tastes became mixed up; but you should not 
 confuse your duties. But please excuse me: " (Conolly's 
 eyes had opened a little wider) " I am lecturing you, 
 without the least right to. It is a failing of mine which 
 you must not mind." 
 
 " Not at all. Youve a right to your opinion. But 
 the world would never get on if every practical man were 
 
 24 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to stand by his father's mistakes. However, I brought 
 it on myself by telling you a long story. This is the first 
 opportunity I ever had of talking about myself to a lady, 
 and I suppose I have abused it." 
 
 Marian laughed. " We had better stop apologizing to 
 one another," she said. " What about the accompani- 
 ments to our next songs ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Marmaduke and Miss McQuinch were be- 
 coming curious about Marian and Conolly. 
 
 " I say, Nelly," he whispered, " Marian and that young 
 man seem to be getting on uncommonly well together. 
 She looks sentimentally happy, and he seems pleased with 
 himself. Dont you feel jealous?" 
 
 " Jealous ! Why should I be ? " 
 
 " Out of pure cussedness. Not that you care for the 
 electric man, but because you hate any one to fall in love 
 with any one else when you are by." 
 
 " I wish you would go away." 
 
 " Why ? Dont you like me ? " 
 
 " I loathe you. Now, perhaps you understand me." 
 
 " That's a nice sort of thing to say to a fellow," said 
 Marmaduke, roused. " I have a great mind to bring you 
 to your senses as Douglas does, by not speaking to you 
 for a week." 
 
 " I wish you would let me come to my senses by not 
 speaking to me at all." 
 
 "Oh ! Well, I am off ; but mind, Nelly, I am offended. 
 We are no longer on speaking terms. Look as contemp- 
 tuous as you please: you will be sorry when you think 
 over this. Remember: you said you loathed me." 
 
 " So I do," said Elinor, stubbornly. 
 
 "Very good," said Marmaduke, turning his back on 
 her. Just then the concertinists returned from the plat- 
 
 25 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 form, and a waiter appeared with refreshments, which 
 the clergyman invited Marmaduke to assist him in dis- 
 pensing. Conolly, considering the uncorking of bottles 
 of soda water a sufficiently skilled labor to be more in- 
 teresting than making small talk, went to the table and 
 busied himself with the corkscrew. 
 
 " Well, Nelly," said Marian, drawing her chair close 
 to Miss McQninch, and speaking in a low voice, " what 
 do you think of Jasper's workman?" 
 
 " Not much," replied Elinor, shrugging her shoulders. 
 " He is very conceited, and very coarse." 
 
 " Do you really think so ? I expected to find you de- 
 lighted with his unconventionality. I thought him rath- 
 er amusing." 
 
 " I thought him extremely aggravating. I hate to 
 have to speak to people of that sort." 
 
 " Then you consider him vulgar," said Marian, dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 " N — no. Not vulgarer than anybody else. He 
 couldnt be that." 
 
 " Sherry and soda, Marian ? " said Marmaduke, ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 " No, thank you, Marmaduke. Get Nelly something." 
 
 "As Miss McQuinch and I are no longer on speaking 
 terms, I leave her to the care of yonder scientific amateur, 
 who has just refused, on teetotal grounds, to pledge the 
 Rev. George in a glass of eighteen shilling sherry." 
 
 " Dont be silly, Marmaduke. Bring Nelly some soda 
 water." 
 
 " Do nothing of the sort," said Miss McQuinch. 
 
 Marmaduke bowed and retired. 
 
 "What is the matter between you and Duke now 2" 
 said Marian. 
 
 26 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Nothing. I told him I loathed him." 
 
 " Oh ! I dont wonder at his being a little huffed. 
 How can you say things you dont mean ? " 
 
 " I do mean them. What with his folly, Sholto's mean 
 conceit, George's hypocrisy, that man's vulgarity, Mrs. 
 Fairfax's affectation, your insufferable amiability, and the 
 dreariness of those concertina people, I feel so wretched 
 that I could find it in my heart to loathe anybody and 
 everybody." 
 
 " Nonsense, Nelly ! You are only in the blues." 
 
 " Only in the blues ! " said Miss McQuinch sarcastic- 
 ally. "Yes. That is all." 
 
 " Take some sherry. It will brighten you up." 
 
 "Dutch courage! Thank you: I prefer my present 
 moroseness." 
 
 " But you are not morose, Nelly." 
 
 " Oh, stuff, Marian ! Dont throw away your amiability 
 on me. Here comes your new friend with refreshments. 
 I wonder was he ever a waiter? 'He looks exactly like 
 one." 
 
 After this the conversation flagged. Mrs. Fairfax 
 grew loquacious under the influence of sherry, but pres- 
 ently a reaction set in, and she began to yawn. Miss 
 McQuinch, when her turn came, played worse than be- 
 fore, and the audience, longing for another negro melody, 
 paid little attention to her. Marian sang a religious song, 
 which was received with the respect usually accorded to 
 a dull sermon. The clergyman read a comic essay of 
 his own composition, and Mrs. Fairfax recited an ode 
 to Mazzini. The concertinists played an arrangement 
 of a quartet by Onslow. The working men and women 
 of Wandsworth gaped, and those who sat near the door 
 began to slip out. Even Miss McQuinch pitied them. 
 
 27 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "The idea of expecting them to be grateful for an 
 infliction like that ! " she said. " What do people of their 
 class care about Onslow's quartets ? " 
 
 " Do you think that people of any class, high or low, 
 would be gratified by such an entertainment?" said 
 Conolly, with some warmth. No one had sufficient spirit 
 left to reply. 
 
 At last the concertinists went home, and the reading 
 drew to a close. Conolly, again accompanied by Marian, 
 sang " Tom Bowling." The audience awoke, cheered 
 the singer heartily, and made him sing again. On his 
 return to the green-room, Miss McQuinch, much affected 
 at the fate of Bowling, and indignant with herself for 
 being so, stared defiantly at Conolly through a film of 
 tears. When Marmaduke went out, the people also were 
 so moved that they were ripe for laughter, and with 
 roars of merriment forced him to sing three songs, in the 
 choruses of which they joined. Eventually the clergy- 
 man had to bid them' go home, as Mr. Lind had given 
 them all the songs he knew. 
 
 " I suppose you will not come with us, Duke," said 
 Marian, when all was over, and they were preparing to 
 leave. " We can drop you at your chambers if you like ; 
 but you will have to sit on the box. Mrs. Leith Fairfax, 
 George, Nelly, and I, will be a carriageful." 
 
 Marmaduke looked at his watch. " By Jove ! " he cried, 
 " it is only ten. I forgot how early we began to-night. 
 No thank you, Marian: I am not going your way; but 
 you may take the banjo and keep it until I call. Ta ta! " 
 
 They all went out together; and the ladies, followed 
 by the clergyman, entered ■ their carriage and drove 
 away, leaving Marmaduke and Conolly standing on the 
 
 28 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 pavement. Having shared the success of the concert, 
 each felt well disposed to the other. 
 
 " What direction are you going in ? " said Marmaduke. 
 
 " Westminster Bridge or thereabouts," replied Conolly. 
 "This place is rather out of the way." 
 
 " Have you anything particular to do before you turn 
 in for the night?" 
 
 " Nothing at all." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you what it is, old man. Lets take a 
 hansom, and drive off to the Bijou. We shall just be in 
 time to see Lalage Virtue in the burlesque; and — look 
 here! I'll introduce you to her: youre just the sort of 
 chap she would like to know. Eh ? " 
 
 Conolly looked at him, nodded, and burst out laugh- 
 ing. Marmaduke, who had set him down as a cool, un- 
 demonstrative man, was surprised at his hilarity for a 
 moment, but presently joined in it. Whilst they were 
 both laughing a hansom appeared, and Conolly, recover- 
 ing himself, hailed the driver. 
 
 " We shall get on together, I see," said Marmaduke, 
 jumping into the cab. "Hallo! The Bijou Theatre, 
 Soho, and drive as fast as you can afford to for half a 
 sovereign." 
 
 " Right you are, sir," replied the driver, whipping his 
 horse. 
 
 The rattling of the cab silenced Conolly ; but his com- 
 panion persisted for some time in describing the burlesque 
 to which they were going, and particularly the attractions 
 of Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, who enacted a principal 
 character therein, and with whom he seemed to be in love. 
 When they alighted at the theatre Marmaduke payed the 
 cabman, and Conolly took advantage of this to enter the 
 theatre and purchase two stall tickets, an arrangement 
 
 29 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 which Lind, suddenly recollecting his new friend's po- 
 sition, disapproved of, but found it useless to protest 
 against. He forgot it on hearing the voice of Lalage 
 Virtue, who was at that moment singing within; and he 
 went to his stall with his eyes turned' to the stage, 
 treading on toes and stumbling as children commonly 
 do when they walk in one direction and look in another. 
 An attendant, who seemed to know him, proffered a glass 
 for hire. He took it, and leveled it at Mademoiselle La- 
 lage, who was singing some trivial couplets much better 
 than they deserved. Catching sight of him presently, 
 she greeted him with a flash of her dark eye that made 
 him writhe as though his heart had received a fillip from 
 a ponderable missile. She did not spare these roguish 
 glances. They darted everywhere; and Conolly, looking 
 about him to note their effect, saw rows of callow young 
 faces with parted lips and an expression which seemed 
 to have been caught and fixed at the climax of a blissful 
 chuckle. There were few women in the stalls, and the 
 silly young faces were relieved only by stupid old ones. 
 
 The couplets ended amidst great applause. Marma- 
 duke placed his glass on his knees, and, clapping his 
 hands vigorously, turned to his companion with a trium- 
 phant smile, mutely inviting him to clamor for a 
 repetition of the air. But Conolly sat motionless, with 
 his arms folded, his cheek flushed, and his brow lowered. 
 
 " You dont seem used to this sort of thing," said Lind, 
 somewhat disgusted. 
 
 " It was well sung," replied Conolly " — better than 
 most of these blackguards know." 
 
 "Then why dont you clap?" 
 
 " Because she is not giving herself any trouble. That 
 
 30 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 sort of thing, from a woman of her talent, is too cheap 
 to say ' thank you ' for." 
 
 Marmaduke looked at him, and began to think that he 
 was a priggish fellow after all. But as the burlesque 
 went on, Mademoiselle Lalage charmed away this disa- 
 greeable impression. She warbled in an amorous duet, 
 and then sang the pleasures of champagne; tossing her 
 head ; waving a gilt goblet ; and, without the least appear- 
 ance of effort, working hard to captivate those who were 
 to be won by bold smiles and arch glances. She dis- 
 played her person less freely than her colleagues, being, 
 not more modest, but more skilful in the art of seduc- 
 tion. The slang that served for dialogue in her part was 
 delivered in all sorts of intonations, now demure and 
 mischievous, anon strident and mock tragic. Marmaduke 
 was delighted. 
 
 " What I like about her is that she is such a genuine 
 little lady," he said, as her exit released his attention. 
 " With all her go, she is never a bit vulgar. Off the stage 
 she is just the same. Not a spark of affectation about 
 her. It is all natural." 
 
 " You know her, then ? " said Conolly. 
 
 " I should think I do," replied Marmaduke, energetic- 
 ally. " You have no idea what a rattling sort she is." 
 
 " To you, who only see her occasionally, no doubt she 
 gives — as a rattling sort — a heightened charm to the 
 order, the refinement, the — the beauty of the home life 
 which you can enjoy. Excuse my introducing such a 
 subject, Mr. Lind; but would you bring your cousin — 
 the lady who sang to-night at the concert — to see this 
 performance ? " 
 
 " I would if she asked me to," said Marmaduke, some- 
 what taken aback. 
 
 3i 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " No doubt. But should you be surprised if she asked 
 you?" 
 
 "Not a bit. Fine ladies are neither such fools nor 
 such angels as you- — as some fellows think. Miss Lind's 
 notion is to see everything. And yet she is a thoroughly 
 nice woman too. It is the same with Lalage there. She 
 is not squeamish, and she is full of fun ; but she knows as 
 well as anybody how to pull up a man who doesnt behave 
 himself." 
 
 "And you actually think that this Lalage Virtue is as 
 respectable a woman as your cousin ? " 
 
 " Oh, I dont bother myself about it. I shouldnt have 
 thought of comparing them if you hadnt started the idea. 
 Marian's way is not the other one's way, and each of 
 them is all right in her own way. Look here. I'll in- 
 troduce you to Lalage. We can pick up somebody else 
 to make a party for you, and finish with a supper at 
 Jellicoe's." 
 
 "Are you privileged to introduce whom you like to 
 Miss Lalage?" 
 
 " Well, as to that, she doesnt stand much on ceremony ; 
 but then, you see, that cuts two ways. The mere intro- 
 ducing is no difficulty ; but it depends .on the man him- 
 self whether he gets snubbed afterward or not. By the 
 bye, you must understand, if you dont know it already, 
 that Lalage is as correct in her morals as a bishop's wife. 
 I just tell you, because some fellows seem to think that 
 a woman who goes on the stage leaves her propriety 
 behind as a matter of course. In fact, I rather thought 
 so myself once. Not that you wont find loose women 
 there as well as anywhere else, if you want to. But dont 
 take it for granted, that's all." 
 
 "Well," said Conolly, "you may introduce me, and 
 
 32 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 we can consider the supper afterwards. Would it be 
 indiscreet to ask how you obtained your own introduc- 
 tion? You dont, I suppose, move in the same circle 
 as she; and if she is as particular as your own people, 
 she can hardly form promiscuous acquaintanceships." 
 
 "A man at the point of death does not stop to think 
 about etiquet. She saved my life." 
 
 " Saved your life ! That sounds romantic." 
 " There was precious little romance about it, though 
 I owe my being alive now to her presence of mind. It 
 happened in the rummest way. I was brought behind 
 the scenes one night by a Cambridge chum. We were 
 painting the town a bit red. We were not exactly drunk ; 
 but we were not particularly sober either ; and I was very 
 green at that time, and made a fool of myself about 
 Lalage: staring; clapping like a madman in the middle 
 of her songs; getting into the way of everybody and 
 everything, and so on. Then a couple of fellows we 
 knew turned up, and we got chatting at the wing 
 with some girls. At last a fellow came in with a bag 
 of cherries; and we began trying that old trick — you 
 know — taking the end of a stalk between your lips and 
 drawing the cherry into the mouth without touching 
 it with your hand, you know. I tried it ; and I was just 
 getting the cherry into my mouth when some idiot gave 
 me a drive in the waistcoat. I made a gulp; and the 
 cherry stuck fast in my throat. I began to choke. No- 
 body knew what to do ; and while they were pushing me 
 about, some thinking I was only pretending, the girls 
 beginning to get frightened, and the rest shouting at me 
 to swallow the confounded thing, I was getting black in 
 the face, and my head was bursting : I could see nothing 
 but red spots. It was a near thing, I tell you. Suddenly 
 
 33 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I got a shake; and then a little fist gave me a stunning 
 thump on the back,, that made the cherry bounce out 
 against my palate. I gasped and coughed like a gram- 
 pus : the stalk was down my throat still. Then the little 
 hand grabbed my throat and made me open my mouth 
 wide; and the cherry was pulled out, stalk and all. It 
 was Lalage who did this while the rest were gaping 
 helplessly. I dont remember what followed. I thought 
 I had fainted; but it appears that I nearly cried, and 
 talked the most awful nonsense to her. I suppose the 
 choking made me hysterical. However, I distinctly rec- 
 ollect the stage manager bullying the girls, and turning 
 us all out. I was very angry with myself for being 
 childish, as they told me I had been; and when I got 
 back to Cambridge I actually took to reading. A few 
 months afterward I made another trip to town, and went 
 behind the scenes again. She recognized me, and chaffed 
 me about the cherry. I jumped at my chance; I im- 
 proved the acquaintance; and now I know her pretty 
 well." 
 
 " You doubt whether any of the ladies that were with 
 us at the concert would have been equally useful in such 
 an emergency ? " 
 
 " I should think I do doubt it, my boy. Hush ! Now 
 that the ballet is over, we are annoying people by talking." 
 
 "You are right," replied Conolly. "Aha! Here is 
 Miss Lalage again." 
 
 Marmaduke raised' his opera-glass to his eyes, eager 
 for another smile from the actress. He seemed about to 
 be gratified; for her glance was travelling toward him 
 along the row of stalls. But it was arrested by Conolly, 
 on whom she looked with perceptible surprise and dismay. 
 Lind, puzzled, turned toward his companion, and found 
 
 34 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 him smiling maliciously at Mademoiselle Lalage, who 
 recovered her vivacity with an effort, and continued her 
 part with more nervousness than he had ever seen her 
 display before. 
 
 Shortly before the curtain fell, they left the theatre, 
 and re-entered it by the stage door. 
 , " Queer place, isnt it ? " said Lind. 
 
 Conolly nodded, but went forward like one well ac- 
 customed to the dingy labyrinth of old-fashioned stages. 
 Presently they came upon Lalage. She was much heated 
 by her exertions, thickly painted, and very angry. 
 
 " Well ? " she said quarrelsomely. 
 
 Marmaduke, perceiving that her challenge was not 
 addressed to him, but to Conolly, looked from one to the 
 other, mystified. 
 [ " I have come to see you act at last," said Conolly. 
 
 " You might have told me you were coming. I could 
 have got you a stall, although I suppose you would 
 have preferred to throw away your money like a fool." 
 
 " I must admit, my dear," said Conolly, " that I could 
 have spent it to much greater advantage." 
 
 " Indeed ! and you ! " she said, turning to Lind, whose 
 deepening color betrayed his growing mortification: 
 " what is the matter with you?" 
 
 " I have played a trick on your friend," said Conolly. 
 " He suggested this visit ; and I did not tell him of the 
 relation between us. Finding us on terms of familiarity, 
 if not of affection, he is naturally surprised." 
 
 "As I have never tried to meddle with your private 
 affairs," said Marmaduke to Lalage, " I need not apolo- 
 gize for not knowing your husband. But I regret-- — " 
 
 The actress laughed in spite of her vexation. " Why, 
 
 35 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 you silly old thing ! " she exclaimed, " he is no more my 
 husband than you are ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Marmaduke. " Indeed ! " 
 
 " I am her brother," said Conolly considerately, stifling 
 a smile. 
 
 " Why," said Mademoiselle Lalage fiercely, raising her 
 voice, " what else did you think? " 
 
 " Hush," said Conolly, " we are talking too much in 
 this crowd. You had better change your dress, Susanna, 
 and then we can settle what to do next." 
 
 " You can settle what you please," she replied. " I 
 am going home." 
 
 " Mr. Lind has suggested our supping together," said 
 Conolly, observing her curiously. 
 
 Susanna looked quickly at them. 
 
 " Who is Mr. Lind? " she said. 
 
 "Your friend, of course," said Conolly, with an an- 
 swering flash of intelligence that brought out the re- 
 semblance between them startlingly. " Mr. Marmaduke 
 Lind." 
 
 Marmaduke became very red as they both waited for 
 him to explain. 
 
 " I thought that you would perhaps join us at supper," 
 he said to Susanna. 
 
 " Did you? " she said, threateningly. Then she turned 
 her back on him and went to her dressing-room. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Lind," said Conolly, " what do you think 
 of Mademoiselle Lalage now ? " 
 
 " I think her annoyance is very natural," said Marma- 
 duke, gloomily. " No doubt you are right to take care 
 of your sister, but you are very much mistaken if you 
 think I meant to act badly toward her." 
 
 " It is no part of my duty to take care of her," said 
 
 36 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Conolly, seriously. " She is her own guardian, and she 
 has never been encouraged to suppose that her respon- 
 sibility lies with any one but herself." 
 
 " It doesnt matter now," said Marmaduke ; " for I 
 intend never to speak to her again." 
 
 Conolly laughed. " However that may turn out," he 
 said, " we are evidently not in the mood for further 
 conviviality, so let us postpone the supper to some other 
 occasion. May I advise you not to wait until Susanna 
 returns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night." 
 
 " I dont want any, reconciliation." 
 
 " Of course not ; I had forgotten," replied Conolly, 
 placably. " Then I suppose you will go before she has 
 finished dressing." 
 
 " I shall go now," said Marmaduke, buttoning his 
 overcoat, and turning away. 
 
 " Good-night," said Conolly. 
 
 " Good-night," muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not over- 
 take Lind. He then went for a cab, and waited at the 
 stage door until his sister came down, frowning. She 
 got into the hansom without a word. 
 
 " Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going 
 about in cabs ? " he said, as they drove away. 
 
 " Because I like a hansom better than a brougham ; and 
 I had rather pay four shillings a night and travel com- 
 fortably, than thirteen and be half suffocated." 
 
 " I thought the appearance of " 
 
 " There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear 
 a word you say going over these stones." 
 
 When they were alone together in their drawing-room 
 in Lambeth, he, after walking up and down the room a 
 
 37 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 few times, and laughing softly to himself, began to sing 
 the couplets from the burlesque. 
 
 "Are you aware," she inquired, "that it is half past 
 twelve, and that the people of the house are trying to 
 sleep." 
 
 " True," said he, desisting. " By the bye, I, too, have 
 had my triumphs this evening. I shared the honors of 
 the concert with Master Lind, who was so delighted that 
 he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. He loves 
 you to distraction, poor devil ! " 
 
 " Yes : you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where 
 is he?" 
 
 " Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to 
 you again." 
 
 " Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it? " 
 
 "Didnt you know?" 
 
 " No, or I should have told you when I read the pro- 
 gram this evening. The young villain pretended that 
 his name was Marmaduke Sharp." 
 
 "Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, 
 a little spitfire that snaps at every one who presumes to 
 talk to her." 
 
 " His cousins ! Oh, of course ; you met them at the 
 concert. What are they like? Are they swells?" 
 
 " Yes, they seem to be. There were only two cousins, 
 Miss McQuinch and a young woman named Marian, 
 blonde and rather good looking. There was a brother 
 of hers there, but he is only a parson, and a tall fellow 
 named Douglas, who made rather a fool of himself. I 
 could not make him out exactly." 
 
 "Did they snub you?" 
 
 "I dont know. Probably they tried. Are you inti- 
 
 38 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 mate with many of our young nobility under assumed 
 names ? " 
 
 " Steal a few more marches to the Bijou, and perhaps 
 you will find out." 
 
 " Good-night ! Pardon my abrupt departure, but you 
 are not the very sweetest of Susannas to-night." 
 
 " Oh, good-night." 
 
 " By the bye," said Conolly, returning, " this must be 
 the Mr. Duke Lind who is going to marry Lady Con- 
 stance Carbury, my noble pupil's sister." 
 
 " I am sure it matters very little whom he marries." 
 
 " If he will pay us a visit here, and witness the work- 
 ing of perfect frankness without affection, and perfect 
 liberty without refinement, he may find reason to con- 
 clude that it matters a good deal. Good-night." 
 
 39 
 
M 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ARIAN LIND lived at Westbourne Terrace, 
 Paddington, with her father, the fourth son of 
 a younger brother of the Earl of Carbury. Mr. 
 Reginald Harrington Lind, at the outset of his career, 
 had no object in life except that of getting through it as 
 easily as possible ; and this he understood so little how to 
 achieve that he suffered himself to be married at the 
 age of nineteen to a Lancashire cotton spinner's heiress. 
 She bore him three children, and then eloped with a pro- 
 fessor of spiritualism, who deserted her on the eve of 
 her fourth confinement, in the course of which she caught 
 scarlet fever and died. Her child survived, but was sent 
 to a baby farm and starved to death in the usual manner. 
 Her husband, disgusted by her behavior (for she had been 
 introduced by him to many noblemen and gentlemen, his 
 personal friends, some one at least of whom, on the 
 slightest encouragement, would, he felt sure, have taken 
 the place of the foreign charlatan she had disgraced him 
 by preferring), consoled himself for her bad taste by 
 entering into her possessions, which comprised a quantity 
 of new jewellery, new lace, and feminine apparel, and an 
 income of nearly seven thousand pounds a year. After 
 this, he became so welcome in society that he could have 
 boasted with truth at the end of any July that there were 
 few marriageable gentlewomen of twenty-six and up- 
 ward in London who had not been submitted to his 
 inspection with a view to matrimony. But finding it 
 easy to delegate the care of his children to school princi- 
 
 40 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 pals and hospitable friends, he concluded that he had 
 nothing to gain and much comfort to lose by adding a 
 stepmother to his establishment; and, after some time, it 
 became the custom to say of Mr. Lind that the memory 
 of his first wife kept him single. Thus, whilst his sons 
 were drifting to manhood through Harrow and Cam- 
 bridge, and his daughter passing from one relative's house 
 to another's on a continual round of visits, sharing such 
 private tuition as the cousins with whom she happened 
 to be staying happened to be receiving just then, he lived 
 at his club and pursued the usual routine of a gentleman- 
 bachelor in London. 
 
 In the course of time, Reginald Lind, the eldest child, 
 entered the army, and went to India with his regiment. 
 His brother George, less stolid, weaker, and more stu- 
 dious, preferred the Church. Marian, the youngest, from 
 being constantly in the position of a guest, had early 
 acquired habits of self-control and consideration for 
 others, and escaped the effects, good and evil, of the 
 subjection in which children are held by the direct au- 
 thority of their parents. 
 
 Of the numerous domestic circles of her father's kin, 
 that with which she was the least familiar, because it was 
 the poorest, had sprung from the marriage of one of her 
 father's sisters with a Wiltshire gentleman named Hardy 
 McQuinch, who had a small patrimony, a habit of farm- 
 ing, and a love of hunting. In the estimation of the 
 peasantry, who would not associate lands, horses, and a 
 carriage, with want of money, he was a rich man ; but 
 Mrs. McQuinch found it hard to live like a lady on their 
 income, and had worn many lines into her face by con- 
 stantly and vainly wishing that she could afford to give 
 a ball every season, to get a new carriage, and to appear 
 
 41 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 at church with her daughters in new dresses oftener than 
 twice a year. Her two eldest girls were plump and 
 pleasant, good riders and hearty eaters; and she had 
 reasonable hopes of marrying them to prosperous country 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Elinor, her third and only other child, was one of her 
 troubles. At an early age it was her practice, once a 
 week or thereabouts, to disappear in the forenoon; be 
 searched anxiously for all day; and return with a torn 
 frock and dirty face at about six o'clock in the afternoon. 
 She was stubborn, rebellious, and passionate under re- 
 proof or chastisement: governesses had left the house 
 because of her; and from one school she had run away, 
 from another eloped with a choir boy who wrote verses. 
 Him she deserted in a fit of jealousy, quarter of an hour 
 after her escape from school. The only one of her tastes 
 that conduced to the peace of the house was for reading ; 
 and even this made her mother uneasy ; for the books she 
 liked best were fit, in Mrs. McQuinch's opinion, for the 
 bookcase only. Elinor read openly what she could ob- 
 tain by asking, such as Lamb's Tales from Shakespear, 
 and The Pilgrim's Progress. The Arabian Nights En- 
 tertainments were sternly refused her; so she read them 
 by stealth; and from that day there was always a col- 
 lection of books, borrowed from friends, or filched from 
 the upper shelf in the library, beneath her mattress. 
 Nobody thought of looking there for them; and even if 
 they had, they might have paused to reflect on the con- 
 sequences of betraying her. Her eldest sister having 
 given her a small workbox on her eleventh birthday, had 
 the present thrown at her head two days later for report- 
 ing to her parents that Nelly's fondness for sitting in a 
 certain secluded summer-house was due to her desire to 
 
 42 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 read Lord Byron's poetry unobserved. Miss Lydia's 
 forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, though bitterly 
 remorseful, not only refused to beg pardon for her fault, 
 but shattered every brittle article in the room to which 
 she was confined for her contumacy. The vicar, on 
 being consulted, recommended that she should be well 
 whipped. This counsel was repugnant to Hardy Mc- 
 Quinch, but he gave his wife leave to use her discretion 
 in the matter. The mother thought that the child ought 
 to be beaten into submission; but she was afraid to un- 
 dertake the task, and only uttered a threat, which was 
 received with stubborn defiance. This was forgotten next 
 day when Elinor, exhausted by a week of remorse, terror, 
 rage, and suspense, became dangerously ill. When she 
 recovered, her parents were more indulgent to her, and 
 were gratified by finding her former passionate resistance 
 replaced by sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and 
 Elinor began to write fiction. The beginning of a novel, 
 and many incoherent verses imitated from Lara, were 
 discovered by her mother, and burnt by her father. This 
 outrage she never forgave. She was unable to make her 
 resentment felt, for she no longer cared to break glass 
 and china. She feared even to remonstrate lest she 
 should humiliate herself by bursting into tears, as, since 
 her illness, she had been prone to do in the least agitation. 
 So she kept silence, and ceased to speak to either of her 
 parents except when they addressed questions to her. 
 Her father would neither complain of this nor confess 
 the regret he felt for his hasty destruction of her manu- 
 scripts; but, whilst he proclaimed that he would burn 
 every scrap of her nonsense that might come into his 
 hands, he took care to be blind when he surprised her 
 with suspicious bundles of foolscap, and snubbed his 
 
 43 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 wife for hinting that Elinor was secretly disobeying him. 
 Meanwhile her silent resentment never softened, and 
 the life of the family was embittered by their conscious- 
 ness of it. It never occurred to Mrs. McQuinch, an ex- 
 cellent mother to her two eldest daughters, that she was 
 no more fit to have charge of the youngest than a turtle 
 is to rear a young eagle. The discomfort of their rela- 
 tions never shook her faith in their " naturalness." Like 
 her husband and the vicar, she believed that when God 
 sent children he made their parents fit to rule them. And 
 Elinor resented her parents' tyranny, as she felt it to be, 
 without dreaming of making any allowances for their 
 being in a false position towards her. 
 
 One morning a letter from London announced that Mr. 
 Lind had taken a house in Westbourne Terrace, and 
 intended to live there permanently with his daughter. 
 Elinor had not come down to breakfast when the post 
 came. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. McQuinch, when she had commu- 
 nicated the news : " I knew there was something the mat- 
 ter when I saw Reginald's handwriting. It must be fully 
 eighteen months since I heard from him last. I am 
 very glad he has settled Marian in a proper home, instead 
 of living like a bachelor and leaving her to wander about 
 from one house to another. I wish we could have af- 
 forded to ask her down here oftener." 
 
 " Here is a note from Marian, addressed to Nelly," 
 said Lydia, who had been examining the envelope. 
 
 " To Nelly! " said Mrs. McQuinch, vexed. " I think 
 she should have invited one of you first." 
 
 " Perhaps it is not an invitation," said Jane. 
 
 " What else is it likely to be, child ? " said Mrs. Mc- 
 Quinch. Then, as she thought how much pleasanter her 
 
 44 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 home would be without Elinor, she added, "After all, it 
 will do Nelly good- to get away from here. She needs 
 change, I think. I wish she would come down. It is 
 too bad of her to be always late like this." 
 
 Elinor came in presently, wearing a neglected black 
 gown; her face pale; her eyes surrounded by dark cir- 
 cles ; her black hair straggling in wisps over her forehead. 
 Her sisters, dressed twinlike in white muslin and gold 
 lockets, emphasized her by contrast. Being blond and 
 gregarious, they enjoyed the reputation of being pretty 
 and affectionate. They had thriven in the soil that had 
 starved Elinor. 
 
 " There's a letter for you from Marian," said Mrs. 
 McQuinch. 
 
 " Thanks," said Elinor, indifferently, putting the note 
 into her pocket. She liked Marian's letters, and kept 
 them to read in her hours of solitude. 
 
 "What does she say?" said Mrs. McQuinch. 
 
 " I have not looked," replied Elinor. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. McQuinch, plaintively, " I wish you 
 would look. I want to know whether she says anything 
 about this letter from your uncle Reginald." 
 
 Elinor plucked the note from her pocket, tore it open, 
 and read it. Suddenly she set her face to hide some, 
 emotion from her family. 
 
 " Marian wants me to go and stay with her," she said. 
 " They have taken a house." 
 
 " Poor Marian ! " said Jane. "And will you go ? " 
 
 " I will," said Elinor. " Have you any objection? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no," said Jane, smoothly. 
 
 " I suppose you will be glad to get away from your 
 home," said Mrs. McQuinch, incontinently. 
 
 "Very glad," said Elinor. Mr. McQuinch, hurt, 
 
 45 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 looked at her over his newspaper. Mrs. McQuinch was 
 huffed. 
 
 " I dont know what you are to do for clothes," she 
 said, " unless Lydia and Jane are content to wear their 
 last winter's dresses again this year." 
 
 The faces of the young ladies elongated. "That's 
 nonsense, mamma," said Lydia. "We cant wear those 
 brown reps again." Women wore reps in those days. 
 
 "You need not be alarmed," said Elinor. "I dont 
 want any clothes. I can go as I am." 
 
 "You dont know what you are talking about, child," 
 said Mrs. McQuinch. 
 
 "A nice figure you would make in uncle Reginald's 
 drawing-room with that dress on ! " said Lydia. 
 
 "And your hair in that state ! " added Jane. 
 
 "You should remember that there are others to be 
 considered besides yourself," said Lydia. " How would 
 you like your guests to look like scarecrows ? " 
 
 " How could you expect Marian to go about with you, 
 or into the Park? I suppose " 
 
 " Here, here ! " said Mr. McQuinch, putting down his 
 paper. "Let us have no more of this. What else do 
 you need in the Park than a riding habit? You have 
 that already. Whatever clothes you want you had better 
 get in London, where you will get the proper things for 
 your money." 
 
 " Indeed, Hardy, she is not going to pay a London 
 milliner four prices for things she can get quite as 
 good down here." 
 
 " I tell you I dont want anything," said Elinor impa- 
 tiently. " It will be time enough to begrudge me some 
 decent clothes when I ask for them." 
 
 46 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I dont begrudge " 
 
 Mrs. McQuinch's husband interrupted her. "Thats 
 enough, now, everybody. It's settled that she is to 
 go, as she wants to. I will get her what is neces- 
 sary. Give me another egg, and talk about something 
 else." 
 
 Accordingly, Elinor went to live at Westbourne Ter- 
 race. Marian had spent a month of her childhood in 
 Wiltshire, and had made of Elinor an exacting friend, 
 always ready to take offence, and to remain jealous and 
 sulky for days if one of her sisters, or any other little 
 girl, engaged her cousin's attention long. On the other 
 hand, Elinor's attachment was idolatrous in its intensity ; 
 and as Marian was sweet-tempered, and more apt to fear 
 that she had disregarded Elinor's feelings than to take 
 offence at her waywardness, their friendship endured 
 after they were parted. Their promises of correspond- 
 ence were redeemed by Elinor with very long letters at 
 uncertain intervals, and by Marian with shorter epistles 
 notifying all her important movements. Marian, often 
 called upon to defend her cousin from the charge of being 
 a little shrew, was led to dwell upon her better qualities. 
 Elinor found in Marian what she had never found at her 
 own home, a friend, and in her uncle's house a refuge 
 from that of her father, which she hated. She had been 
 Marian's companion for four years when the concert 
 took place at Wandsworth. 
 
 Next day they were together in the drawing-room at 
 Westbourne Terrace: Marian writing, Elinor at the piano- 
 forte, working at some technical studies, to which she 
 had been incited by the shortcoming of her performance 
 on the previous night. She stopped on hearing a bell 
 ring. 
 
 47 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "What o'clock is it?" she said, after listening a mo- 
 ment. " Surely it is too early for a visit." 
 
 " It is only half past two," replied Marian. " I hope 
 it is not anybody. I have not half finished my corre- 
 spondence." 
 
 " If you please, Miss," said a maid, entering, " Mr. 
 Douglas wants to see you, and he wont come up." 
 
 " I suppose he expects you to go down and talk to him 
 in the hall," said Elinor. 
 
 " He is in the dining-room, and wishes to see you most 
 particular," said the maid. 
 
 " Tell him I will come down," said Marian. 
 
 " He heard me practising," said Elinor, " that is why 
 he would not come up. I am in disgrace, I suppose." 
 
 " Nonsense, Nelly ! But indeed I have no doubt he 
 has come to complain of our conduct, since he insists on 
 seeing me alone." 
 
 Miss McQuinch looked sceptically at Marian's guileless 
 eyes, but resumed her technical studies without saying 
 anything. Marian went to the dining-room, where she 
 found Douglas standing near the window, tall and hand- 
 some, frock coated and groomed to a spotless glossiness 
 that established a sort of relationship between him and 
 the sideboard, the condition of which did credit to Ma- 
 rian's influence over her housemaids. He looked intently 
 at her as she bade him good morning. 
 
 "lain afraid I am rather early," he said, half stiffly, 
 half apologetically. 
 
 " Not at all," said Marian. 
 
 " I have come to say something which I do not care to 
 keep unsaid longer than I can help; so I thought it 
 better to come when I could hope to find you alone. I 
 
 48 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 hope I have not disturbed you. I have something rather 
 important to say." 
 
 " You are the same as one of ourselves, of course, 
 Sholto. But I believe you delight in stiffness and cere- 
 mony. Will you not come upstairs ? " 
 
 " I wish to speak to you privately. First, I have to 
 apologize to you for what passed last night." 
 
 " Pray dont, Sholto : it doesnt matter. I am afraid we 
 were rude to you." 
 
 " Pardon me. It is I who am in fault. I never before 
 made an apology to any human being ; and I should not 
 do so now without a painful conviction that I forgot what 
 I owed to myself." 
 
 " Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself — I mean 
 for never having apologized before. I am quite sure you 
 have not got through life without having done at least 
 one or two things that required an apology." 
 
 " I am sorry you hold that opinion of me." 
 
 " How is Brutus's paw ? " 
 
 " Brutus ! " 
 
 " Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is 
 what Mrs. Fairfax calls a display of tact. I know it is 
 very annoying; so you may talk about anything you 
 please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog is." 
 
 " His paw is nearly healed." 
 
 " I'm so glad — poor old dear ! " 
 
 " You are aware that I did not come here to speak of 
 my mother's dog, Marian ? " 
 
 " I supposed not," said Marian, with a smile. " But 
 now that you have made your apology, wont you come 
 upstairs? Nelly is there." 
 
 " I have something else to say — to you alone, Marian. 
 I entreat you to listen to it seriously." Marian looked as 
 
 49 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 grave as she could. " I confess that in some respects I 
 do not understand you; and before you enter upon an- 
 other London season, through which I cannot be at your 
 side, I would obtain from you some assurance of the 
 nature of your regard for me. I do not wish to harass 
 you with jealous importunity. You have given me the 
 most unequivocal tokens of a feeling different from that 
 which inspires the ordinary intercourse of a lady and 
 gentleman in society; but of late it has seemed to me 
 that you maintain as little reserve toward other men 
 as toward me. I am not thinking of Marmaduke : he is 
 your cousin. But I observed that even the working man 
 who sang at the concert last night was received — I do not 
 say intentionally — with a cordiality which might have 
 tempted a more humbly disposed person than he seemed 
 
 to be to forget " Here Douglas, seeing Marian's 
 
 bearing change suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray 
 eyes, always pleading for peace like those of a good angel, 
 were now full of reproach ; and her mouth, but for those 
 eyes, would have suggested that she was at heart an 
 obstinate woman. 
 
 " Sholto," she said, " I dont know what to say to you. 
 If this is jealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is 
 ridiculous. If it is a lecture, seriously intended, it is — 
 it is really most insulting. What do you mean by my 
 having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Of 
 course I think of you very differently from the chance 
 acquaintances I make in society. It would be strange 
 if I did not, having known you so long and been your 
 mother's guest so often. But you talk almost as if I had 
 been making love to you." 
 
 " No," said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious man- 
 
 50 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 ner and speaking angrily and naturally; "but you talk 
 as though / had not been making love to you." 
 
 " If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it." 
 
 " Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my 
 acquaintance, you must be the most innocent." 
 
 " Tell me of one single occasion on which anything 
 has passed between us that justifies your speaking to me 
 as you are doing now." 
 
 " Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel 
 you to acknowledge them, it would be useless to cite 
 them." 
 
 "All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood 
 one another," she said, after a pause. 
 
 He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down 
 at it with angry determination. Marian, too uneasy to 
 endure silence, added : 
 
 " But I shall know better in future." 
 
 " True," said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat 
 and advancing a step. " You cannot plead misunder- 
 standing now. Can you give me the assurance I seek? " 
 
 " What assurance ? " 
 
 Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently. 
 
 "You expect me to know everything by intuition," 
 she said. 
 
 "Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even 
 for you. Do you love me ? " 
 
 " No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do 
 not — in the way you mean. I wish you would not talk 
 like this, Sholto. We have all got on so pleasantly to- 
 gether : you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and my 
 father. And now you begin making love, and stuff of 
 that kind. Pray let us agree to forget all about it, and 
 remain friends as before." 
 
 51 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " You need not be anxious about our future relations : 
 I shall not embarrass you with my society again. I 
 hoped to find you a woman capable of appreciating a 
 man's passion, even if you should be unable to respond 
 to it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet 
 aware of the deeper life that underlies the ice of con- 
 ventionality." 
 
 " That is a very good metaphor for your own case," 
 said Marian, interrupting him. "Your ordinary man- 
 ner is all ice, hard and chilling. One may suspect that 
 there are depths beneath, but that is only an additional 
 inducement to keep on the surface." 
 
 " Then even your amiability is a delusion ! Or is it 
 that you are amiable to the rest of the world, and reserve 
 taunts of coldness and treachery for me ? " 
 
 " No, no," she said, angelic again. " You have taken 
 me up wrongly. I did not mean to taunt you." 
 
 " You conceal your meaning as skilfully as — according 
 to you — I have concealed mine. Good-morning." 
 
 "Are you going already ? " 
 
 " Do you care one bit for me, Marian? " 
 
 " I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special 
 friends.*' 
 
 " I do not want to be one of your friends. Will you 
 be my wife ? " 
 
 "Sholto!" 
 
 " Will you be my wife ? " 
 
 "No. I " 
 
 "Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morn- 
 ing. 
 
 The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face 
 shewed she had a temper. She did not move a muscle 
 until she heard the house door close behind him. Then 
 
 52 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 she ran upstairs to the drawing-room, where Miss Mc- 
 Quinch was still practising. 
 
 " Oh, Nelly," she cried, throwing herself into an easy 
 chair, and covering her face with her hands. " Oh ! 
 Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! " She opened her fingers and looked 
 whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stage busi- 
 ness, said, impatiently: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Do you know what Sholto came for?" 
 
 " To propose to you." 
 
 " Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things 
 one may say in jest. He has proposed." 
 
 " When will the wedding be? " 
 
 "Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I 
 have behaved, or what the meaning of the whole scene 
 is, yet. Listen. Did you ever suspect that he was — 
 what shall I say ? — courting me ?" 
 
 " I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own 
 conceited way. I fully expected he would propose some 
 day, if he could once reconcile himself to a wife who 
 was not afraid of him." 
 
 "And you never told me." 
 
 " I thought you saw it for yourself ; particularly as 
 you encouraged him." 
 
 " There ! The very thing he has been accusing me of ! 
 He said I had given him unequivocal tokens — yes, une- 
 quivocal tokens — that I was madly in love with him." 
 
 " What did you say ? — if I may ask." 
 
 " I tried to explain things to him ; but he persisted in 
 asking me would I be his wife; and when I refused he 
 would not listen to anything else, and went off in a rage." 
 
 "Yes, I can imagine Sholto's feelings on discovering 
 
 53 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 that he had humbled himself in vain. Why did you re- 
 fuse him ? " 
 
 " Why ! Fancy being Sholto's wife ! I would as soon 
 think of marrying Marmaduke. But I cannot forget 
 what he said about my flirting with him. Nelly: will 
 you promise to tell me whenever you think I am be- 
 having in a way that might lead anybody on to — like 
 Sholto, you know ? " 
 
 "Nonsense! If men choose to make fools of them- 
 selves, you cannot prevent them. Hush ! I hear someone 
 coming upstairs. It is Marmaduke, I think." 
 
 " Marmaduke would never come up so slowly. He 
 generally comes up three steps at a time." 
 
 " Sulky after last night, no doubt. I suppose he wont 
 speak to me." 
 
 Marmaduke entered listlessly. "Good morning, Ma- 
 rian," he said, sitting down on an uncomfortable chair. 
 " Good morrow, Nell." 
 
 Elinor, surprised at the courtesy, looked up and saluted 
 him snappishly. 
 
 " Is there anything the matter, Duke ? " said Marian. 
 "Are you ill?" 
 
 " No, I'm all right. Rather busy: thats all." 
 
 " Busy ! " said Elinor. " There must be something 
 even more unusual than that, when you are too low 
 spirited to keep up a quarrel with me. Why dont you 
 sit on the easy chair, or sprawl on the ottoman, after 
 your manner?" 
 
 " Anything for a quiet life," he replied, moving to the 
 ottoman. 
 
 " You must be hungry," said Marian, puzzled by his 
 obedience. "Let me get you something." 
 
 " No, thank you," said Marmaduke. " I couldnt eat. 
 
 54 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Just had lunch. Ive come to pack up a few things of 
 mine that you have here." 
 
 " We have your banjo." 
 
 " Oh, I dont want that. You may keep it, or put it in 
 the fire, for all I care. I want some clothes I left behind 
 me when we had the theatricals." 
 
 "Are you leaving London ? " 
 
 " Yes. I am getting tired of loafing about here. I 
 think I ought to go home for a while. My mother wants 
 me to." 
 
 Miss McQuinch, by a subdued but expressive snort, 
 conveyed the most entire scepticism as to his solicitude 
 about his mother. She then turned to the piano calmly, 
 observing, " You have probably eaten something that dis- 
 agrees with you." 
 
 " What a shame ! " said Marian. " Come, Duke : I 
 have plenty of good news for you. Nelly and I are 
 invited to Carbury Park for the autumn; and there will 
 be no visitors but us three. We shall have the whole 
 place to ourselves." 
 
 " Time enough to think of the autumn yet awhile," 
 said Marmaduke, gloomily. 
 
 "Well," said Miss McQuinch, "here is some better 
 news for you. Constance — Lady Constance — will be in 
 town next week:" 
 
 Marmaduke muttered something. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " said Elinor, quickly. 
 
 " I didnt say anything." 
 
 "I may be wrong; but I thought I heard you say 
 ' Hang Lady Constance ! '." 
 
 " Oh, Marmaduke ! " cried Marian, affectedly. " How 
 dare you speak so of your betrothed, sir ? " 
 
 55 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Who says she is my betrothed?" he said, turning 
 on her angrily. 
 
 "Why, everybody. Even Constance admits it." 
 
 " She ought to have the manners to wait until I ask 
 her," he said, subsiding. "I'm not betrothed to her; 
 and I dont intend to become so in a hurry, if I can help 
 it. But you neednt tell your father I said so. It might 
 get round to my governor; and then there would be a 
 row." 
 
 " You must marry her some day, you know," said 
 Elinor, maliciously. 
 
 " Must I ? I shant marry at all. I've had enough of 
 women." 
 
 " Indeed ? Perhaps they have had enough of you." 
 Marmaduke reddened. " You seem to have exhausted 
 the joys of this world since the concert last night. Are 
 you jealous of Mr. Conolly's success?" 
 
 "Your by-play when you found how early it was at 
 the end of the concert was not lost on us," said Marian 
 demurely. " You were going somewhere, were you not?" 
 
 " Since you are so jolly curious," said Marmaduke, 
 unreasonably annoyed, " I went to the theatre with Con- 
 oily; and my by-play, as you call it, simply meant my 
 delight at finding that we could get rid of you in time 
 to enjoy the evening." 
 
 "With Conolly!" said Marian, interested. "What 
 kind of man is he? " 
 
 " He is nothing particular. You saw him yourself." 
 
 "Yes. But is he well educated, and — and so forth?" 
 
 " Dont know, I'm sure. We didnt talk about mathe- 
 matics and classics." 
 
 "Well; but— do you like him?" 
 
 " I tell you I dont care a damn about him one way or 
 
 56 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the other," said Marmaduke, rising and walking away to 
 the window. His cousins, astonished, exchanged looks. 
 
 " Very well, Marmaduke," said Marian softly, after a 
 pause : " I wont tease you any more. Dont be angry." 
 
 " You havnt teased me," said he, coming back some- 
 what shamefacedly from the window. " I feel savage 
 to-day, though there is no reason why I should not be 
 as jolly as a shrimp. Perhaps Nelly will play some 
 Chopin, just to soothe me. I should like to hear that 
 polonaise again." 
 
 " I should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your 
 word," said Elinor. " But I heard Mr. Lind come in, 
 a moment ago; and he is not so fond of Chopin as you 
 and I." 
 
 Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was 
 a dignified gentleman, with delicately chiselled features 
 and portly figure. His silky light brown hair curled 
 naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly. His 
 hands were white and small, with tapering fingers, and 
 small thumbs. 
 
 "How do you do, sir?" said Marmaduke, blushing. 
 
 " Thank you : I am better than I have been." 
 
 Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at 
 his watch as if pressed for time. " I must be off now," 
 he said, rising. " I was just going when you came in." 
 
 " So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. 
 I heard from your father this morning. He is very 
 anxious to see you settled in life." 
 
 " I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir." 
 
 " You have very good opportunities — very exceptional 
 opportunities. Has Marian told you that Constance is 
 expected to arrive in town next week?" 
 
 " Yes : we told him," said Marian. 
 
 57 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly 
 believe us," added Elinor. 
 
 Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, 
 worldly wise as he was, of the inevitable conspiracy of 
 youth against age. They smiled too, except Marmaduke, 
 who, being under observation, kept his countenance like 
 the Man in the Iron Mask. " It is quite true, my boy," 
 said the uncle, kindly. " But before she arrives, I should 
 like to have a talk with you. When can you come to 
 breakfast with me ? " 
 
 "Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very 
 glad.'.' 
 
 " Let us say to-morrow morning. Will that be too 
 soon ? " 
 
 " Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good eve- 
 ning, sir." 
 
 " Good evening to you." 
 
 When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a 
 while considering which way to go. Before the arrival 
 of his uncle, he had intended to spend the afternoon with 
 his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means of killing 
 time. On one point he was determined. There was a 
 rehearsal that day at the Bijou Theatre; and thither, at 
 least, he would not go. He drove to Charing Cross, and 
 drifted back to Leicester Square. He turned away from 
 the theatre, and wandered down Piccadilly. Then he 
 thought he would return as far as the Criterion, and 
 drink. Finally he arrived at the stage door of the Bijou 
 Theatre, and inquired whether the rehearsal was over. 
 
 " Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will 
 be pretty nigh til the stage is wanted for to-night," said 
 the janitor. " I'd as lief youd wait here as go up, if 
 
 58 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and he aint 
 in the best o' tempers. I'll send word up." 
 
 Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise 
 of tramping and singing began. 
 
 " Thats the new procession," continued the door- 
 keeper. " Sixteen hextras took on for it. It's Miss 
 Virtue's chance for lunch, sir: you wont have long to 
 wait now." 
 
 Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the 
 staircase. Marmaduke started, and stood biting his lips 
 as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry, and in haste, 
 hurried towards the door. 
 
 " Come ! Come on," she said impatiently to him, as 
 she went out. " Go and get a cab, will you. I must have 
 something to eat ; and I have to get back sharp. Do be 
 
 qu there goes a hansom. Hi!" She whistled shrilly, 
 
 and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was direct- 
 ed by Marmaduke to a restaurant in Regent Street. 
 
 " I am absolutely starving," she said as they drove off. 
 " I have been in since eleven this morning ; and of course 
 they only called the band for half-past. They are such 
 damned fools : they drive me mad." 
 
 " Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make 
 them arrange it properly for next day? " 
 
 "Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, 
 and lose my rehearsal. It is bad enough to lose my 
 temper. I swore, I can tell you." 
 
 " I have no doubt you did." 
 
 "This horse thinks he's at a funeral. What o'clock 
 is it?" 
 
 " It's only eight minutes past four. There is plenty 
 of time." 
 
 When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restau- 
 
 59 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 rant; scrutinized the tables; and selected the best lighted 
 one. The waiter, a decorous elderly man, approached 
 with some severity of manner, and handed a bill of fare 
 to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and ad- 
 dressed the waiter sharply. / 
 
 "Bring me some thin soup; /and get me a steak to 
 follow. Let it be a thick juicy one. If its purple and 
 raw I wont have it ; and if its done to a cinder, I wont 
 have it : it must be red. And get me some spring cab- 
 bage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne — the 
 decentest you have. And be quick." 
 
 "And what for you, sir?" said the waiter, turning to 
 Marmaduke. 
 
 "Never mind him," interrupted Susanna. "Go and 
 attend to me." 
 
 The waiter bowed and retired. 
 
 " Old stick-in-the-mud ! " muttered Miss Lalage. " Is 
 it half-past four yet ? " 
 
 " No. It's only quarter past. There's lots of time." 
 
 Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal 
 of bread, the steak, the vegetables, and the pint of cham- 
 pagne — less a glassful taken by her companion — had 
 disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and 
 consumed two ices. 
 
 " Have an ice to finish up with ? " he said. 
 
 " No. I cant work on sweets," she replied. " But I 
 am beginning to feel alive again and comfortable. Whats 
 the time?" 
 
 " Confound the time ! " said Marmaduke. " It's twenty 
 minutes to five." 
 
 "Well, I'll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start 
 for quarter of an hour yet." 
 
 60 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Thank heaven ! " said Marmaduke. " I was afraid 
 I should not be able to get a word with you." 
 
 " That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, 
 Mr. Marmaduke Lind. What did you mean by telling 
 me your name was Sharp ? " 
 
 " It's the name of a cousin of mine," said Marmaduke, 
 attempting to dismiss the subject with a laugh. 
 
 " It may be your cousin's name ; but it's not yours. 
 By the bye, is that the cousin youre engaged to ? " 
 
 " What cousin ? I'm not engaged to anybody." 
 
 " That's a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, 
 come, Master Marmaduke : you cant humbug me. Youre 
 too young. Hallo! What do you want?" 
 
 It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing 
 a bill on the table. Marmaduke put his hand into his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Just wait a minute, please," said Susanna. The 
 waiter retired. 
 
 " Now then," she resumed, placing her elbows on the 
 table, " let us have no more nonsense. What is your 
 little game ? Are you going to pay that bill or am I ? " 
 
 " I am, of course." 
 
 " There is no of course in it — not yet, anyhow. What 
 are you hanging about the theatre after me for? Tell 
 me that. Dont stop to think." 
 
 Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally 
 he brightened, and said, " Look here. Youre angry with 
 me for bringing your brother last night. But upon my 
 soul I had no idea " 
 
 "That's not what I mean at all. You are dodging a 
 plain question. When you came to the theatre, I thought 
 you were a nice fellow; and I made friends with you. 
 Now I find you have been telling me lies about yourself, 
 
 •61 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 and trying to play fast and loose. You must either give 
 that up or give me up. I wont have you pass that stage 
 door again if you only want to amuse yourself like other 
 lounging cads about town." 
 
 "What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and 
 being a cad about town?" said Marmaduke angrily. 
 " I hope youre not going to make a row here in public." 
 
 " No ; but I have you where you cant make a row ; and 
 I intend to have it out with you once and for all. If you 
 quarrel now, so help me Heaven I'll never speak to you 
 again ! " 
 
 " It is you who are quarrelling." 
 
 "Very well," said Susanna, opening her purse as 
 though the matter were decided. "Waiter." 
 
 " I am going to pay." 
 
 " So you can — for what you had yourself. I dont 
 take dinners from strange men, nor pay for their ices." 
 
 Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse de- 
 terminedly; glanced angrily at her; and muttered, "I 
 never thought you were that sort of woman." 
 
 " What sort of woman ? " demanded Susanna, in a tone 
 that made the other occupants of the room turn and stare. 
 
 " Never mind," said Marmaduke. She was about to 
 retort, when she saw him looking into his purse with an 
 expression of dismay. The waiter came. Susanna, in- 
 stead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the 
 money, changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke 
 searched his pockets. Finding nothing, he muttered an 
 imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain, glanced 
 doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the 
 tablecloth. 
 
 "There," said Susanna, putting down a sovereign. 
 
 Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter 
 
 62 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 changed the coin and thanked Susanna for her gratuity. 
 Then he said, " You must let me settle with you for this 
 to-night. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket of 
 another waistcoat." 
 
 " You will not have the chance of settling with me, 
 either to-night or any other night. I am done with you." 
 And she rose and left the restaurant. Marmaduke sat 
 doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he went out, 
 and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face 
 to face in search of her. At last he saw her walking at 
 a great pace a little distance ahead of him. He made a 
 dash and overtook her. 
 
 " Look here, Lalage," he said, keeping up with her as 
 she walked : " this is all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. 
 I dont know what you mean, or what you want me to do. 
 Dont be so unreasonable." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " I can stand a good deal from you ; but it's too much 
 to be kept at your heels as if I were a beggar or a 
 troublesome dog. Lalage." She took no notice of him ; 
 and he stopped, trying to compose his features, which 
 were distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into 
 Glasshouse Street. When she had gone twenty yards, 
 she heard him striding behind her. 
 
 " If you wont stop and talk to me," he said, " I'll make 
 you. If anybody interferes with me I'll smash him into 
 jelly. It would serve you right if I did the same to 
 you." 
 
 He put his hand on her arm ; and she instantly turned 
 and struck him across the face, knocking off his hat. 
 He, who a moment before had been excited, red, and 
 almost in tears, was appalled. There was a crowd in a 
 moment; and a cabman drew up close to the kerb with 
 
 63 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 a calm conviction that his hansom would be wanted 
 presently. 
 
 " How dare you put your hand on me, you coward? " 
 she exclaimed, with remarkable crispness of utterance 
 and energy of style. " Who are you? I dont know you. 
 Where are the police?" She paused for a reply; and 
 a bracelet, broken by the blow she had given him, dropped 
 on the pavement, and was officiously picked up and 
 handed to her by a battered old woman who shewed in 
 every wrinkle her burning sympathy with Woman turn- 
 ing at bay against Man. Susanna looked at the broken 
 bracelet, and tears of vexation sprang to her eyes. 
 "Look at what you've done!" she cried, holding out 
 the bracelet in her left hand and shewing a scrape which 
 had drawn blood on her right wrist. " For two pins I'd 
 knock your head off ! " 
 
 Marmaduke, quite out of countenance, and yet sullenly 
 very angry, vacillated for a moment between his con- 
 flicting impulses to knock her down and to fly to the 
 utmost ends of the earth. If he had been ten years older 
 he would probably have knocked her down: as it was, 
 he signed to the cabman, who gathered up the reins and 
 held them clear of his fare's damaged hat with the grati- 
 fication of a man whose judgment in a delicate matter 
 had just been signally confirmed by events. 
 
 As they started, Susanna made a dash at the cab, which 
 was pulled up, amid a shout from the crowd, just in time 
 to prevent an accident. Then, holding on to the rail and 
 standing on the step, she addressed herself to the cabman, 
 and, sacrificing all propriety of language to intensity of 
 vituperation, demanded whether he wanted to run his 
 cab over her body and kill her. He, with undisturbed 
 foresight, answered not a word, but again shifted the reins 
 
 64 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 so as to make way for her bonnet. Acknowledging the 
 attention with one more epithet, she seated herself in 
 the cab, from which Marmaduke at once indignantly rose 
 to escape. But the hardiest Grasmere wrestler, stooping 
 under the hood of a hansom, could not resist a vigorous 
 pull at his coat tails ; and Marmaduke was presently back 
 in his seat again, with Susanna clinging to him and half 
 sobbing : 
 
 "Oh, Bob, youve killed me. How could you?" 
 Then, with a suspiciously sudden recovery of energy, 
 she screamed " Bijou Theatre. Drive on, will you " up 
 at the cabman, who was looking down through the trap- 
 door. The horse plunged forward, and, with the jolt, 
 she was fawning on Marmaduke's arm again, saying, 
 " Dont be brutal to me any more, Bob. I cant bear it. 
 I have enough trouble without your turning on me." 
 
 He was young and green, and too much confused by 
 this time to feel sure that he had not been the aggressor. 
 But he did, on the whole, the wisest thing — folded his 
 arms and sat silent, with his cheeks burning. 
 
 " Say something to me," she said, shaking his arm. 
 
 " I have nothing to say," he replied. " I shall leave 
 town for home to-night. I cant shew my face again 
 after this." 
 
 " Home," she said, in her former contemptuous tone, 
 flinging his arm away. " That means your cousin Con- 
 stance." 
 
 "Who told you about her?" 
 
 " Never mind. You are engaged to her." 
 
 "You lie!" 
 
 Susanna was shaken. She looked hard at him, won- 
 dering whether he was deceiving her or not. " Look me 
 in the face, Bob," she said. If he had complied, she 
 
 65 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 would not have believed him. But he treated the chal- 
 lenge with supreme disdain and stared straight ahead, 
 obeying his male instinct, which taught him that the 
 woman, with all the advantages on her side, would 
 nevertheless let him win if he held on. At last she 
 came caressingly to his shoulder again, and said : 
 
 "Why didnt you tell me about her yourself?" 
 
 " Damn it all," he exclaimed, violently, " there is noth- 
 ing to tell ! I am not engaged to her : on my oath I am 
 not. My people at home talk about a match between us 
 as if it were a settled thing, though they know I dont care 
 for her. But if you want to have the truth, I cant afford 
 to say that I wont marry her, because I am too hard up 
 to quarrel with the governor, who has set his heart on it. 
 You see, the way I am circumstanced " 
 
 " Oh, bother your circumstances ! Look here, Bob, 
 I dont want you to introduce me to your swell relations ; 
 it is not worth my while to waste time on people who 
 cant earn their own living. And never mind your gov- 
 ernor : we can get on without him. If you are hard up 
 for money, and he is stingy, you had better get it from 
 me than from the Jews." 
 
 " I couldnt do that," said Marmaduke, touched. " In 
 fact, I am well enough off. By the bye, I must not for- 
 get to pay you for that lunch. But if I ever am hard up, 
 I will come to you. Will that do ? " 
 
 " Of course : that is what I meant. Confound it, here 
 we are already. You mustnt come in, you would only be 
 in the way. Come to-night after the burlesque, if you 
 like. Youre not angry with me, are you ? " 
 
 Her breast touched his arm just then; and as if she 
 had released some spring, all his love for her suddenly 
 surged up within him and got the better of him. " Wait 
 
 66 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 — listen," he said, in a voice half choked with tenderness. 
 " Look here, Lalage: the honest truth is that I shall be 
 ruined if I marry you openly. Let us be married quietly, 
 and keep it dark until I am more independent." 
 
 "Married! Catch me at it — if you can. No, dear 
 boy, I am very fond of you, and you are one of the right 
 sort to make me the offer; but I wont let you put a 
 collar round my neck. Matrimony is all very fine for 
 women who have no better way of supporting them- 
 selves, but it wouldnt suit me. Dont look so dazed. 
 What difference does it make to you?" 
 ■ " But " He stopped, bewildered, gazing at her. 
 
 " Get out, you great goose ! " she said, and suddenly 
 sprang out of the hansom and darted into the theatre. 
 
 He Bat gaping after her, horrified — genuinely horrified. 
 
 67 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE Earl of Carbury was a youngish man with 
 no sort of turn for being a nobleman. He could 
 not bring himself to behave as if he was any- 
 body in particular; and though this passed for perfect 
 breeding whenever he by chance appeared in his place 
 in society, on the magisterial bench, or in the House of 
 Lords, it prevented him from making the most of the 
 earldom, and was a standing grievance with his relatives, 
 many of whom were the most impudent and uppish 
 people on the face of the earth. He was, if he had only 
 known it, a born republican, with no natural belief in 
 earls at all ; but as he was rather too modest to indulge his 
 consciousness with broad generalizations of this kind, 
 all he knew about the matter was that he was sensible of 
 being a bad hand at his hereditary trade of territorial 
 aristocrat. At a very early age he had disgraced him- 
 self by asking his mother whether he might be a watch- 
 maker when he grew up, and his feeble sense on that 
 occasion of the impropriety of an earl being anything 
 whatsoever except an earl had given his mother an im- 
 perious contempt for him which afterward got curiously 
 mixed with a salutary dread of his moral superiority to 
 her, which was considerable. His aspiration to become 
 a watchmaker was an early symptom of his extraor- 
 dinary turn for mechanics. An apprenticeship of sir 
 years at the bench would have made an educated work- 
 man of him: as it was, he pottered at every mechanical 
 
 68 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 pursuit as a gentleman amateur in a laboratory and work- 
 shop which he had got built for himself in his park. In 
 this magazine of toys — for such it virtually was at first — 
 he satisfied his itchings to play with tools and machines. 
 He was no sportsman ; but if he saw in a shop window 
 the most trumpery patent improvement in a breechloader, 
 he would go in and buy it; and as to a new repeating 
 rifle or liquefied gas gun, he would travel to St. Peters- 
 burg to see it. He wrote very little ; but he had sixteen 
 different typewriters, each guaranteed perfect by an 
 American agent, who had also pledged himself that the 
 other fifteen were miserable impostures. A really ingen- 
 ious bicycle or tricycle always found in him a ready 
 purchaser; and he had patented a roller skate and a rail- 
 way brake. When the electric chair for dental opera- 
 tions was invented, he sacrificed a tooth to satisfy his 
 curiosity as to its operation. He could not play brass 
 instruments to any musical purpose ; but his collection of 
 double slide trombones, bombardons with patent com- 
 pensating pistons, comma trumpets, and the like, would 
 have equipped a small military band; whilst his newly 
 tempered harmonium with fifty-three notes to each oc- 
 tave, and his pianos with simplified keyboards that nobody 
 could play on, were the despair of all musical amateurs 
 who came to stay at Towers Cottage, as his place was 
 called. He would buy the most expensive and elabo- 
 rate lathe, and spend a month trying to make a true 
 billiard ball at it. At the end of that time he would 
 have to send for a professional hand, who would cor- 
 rect the ball with apparently miraculous skill in a few 
 seconds. He got on better with chemistry and photog- 
 raphy; but at last he settled down to electrical engineer- 
 ing, and, giving up the idea of doing everything with his 
 
 69 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 own half-trained hand, kept a skilled man always in his 
 laboratory to help him out. 
 
 All along there had been a certain love of the marvel- 
 ous at the bottom of his fancy for inventions. There- 
 fore, though he did not in the least believe in ghosts, he 
 would " investigate " spiritualism, and part with innu- 
 merable guineas to mediums, slatewriters, clairvoyants, 
 and even of turbaned rascals from the East, who would 
 boldly offer at midnight to bring him out into the back 
 yard and there and then raise the devil for him. And 
 just as his tendency was to magnify the success and 
 utility of his patent purchases, so he would lend himself 
 more or less to gross impostures simply because they in- 
 terested him. This confirmed his reputation for being 
 a bit of a crank; and as he had in addition all the 
 restlessness and eccentricity of the active spirits of his 
 class, arising from the fact that no matter what he busied 
 himself with, it never really mattered whether he ac- 
 complished it or not, he remained an unsatisfied and 
 (considering the money he cost) unsatisfactory speci- 
 men of a true man in a false position. 
 
 Towers Cottage was supposed to be a mere appendage 
 to Carbury Towers, which had been burnt down, to the 
 great relief of its noble owners, in the reign of Will- 
 iam IV. The Cottage, a handsome one-storied Tudor 
 mansion, with tall chimneys, gabled roofs, and transom 
 windows, had since served the family as a very sufficient 
 residence, needing a much smaller staff of servants than 
 the Towers, and accommodating fewer visitors. At first 
 it had been assumed on all hands that the stay at the 
 Cottage was but a temporary one, pending the re-erection 
 of the Towers on a scale of baronial magnificence; but 
 this tradition, having passed through its primal stage of 
 
 70 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 being a standing excuse with the elders into that of being 
 a standing joke with the children, had naturally lapsed 
 as the children grew up. Indeed, the Cottage was now 
 too large for the family ; for the Earl was still unmarried, 
 and all his sisters had contracted splendid alliances ex- 
 cept the youngest, Lady Constance Carbury, a maiden of 
 twenty-two, with a thin face and slight angular figure, 
 who was still on her mother's hands. The illustrious 
 matches made by her sisters had, in fact, been secured 
 by extravagant dowering, which had left nothing for 
 poor Lady Constance except a miserable three hundred 
 pounds a year, at which paltry figure no man had as yet 
 offered to take her. The Countess (Dowager) habitually 
 assumed that Marmaduke Lind ardently desired the hand 
 of his cousin; and Constance herself supported tacitly this 
 view ; but the Earl was apt to become restive when it was 
 put forward, though he altogether declined to improve his 
 sister's pecuniary position, having already speculated 
 quite heavily enough in brothers-in-law. 
 
 In the August following the Wandsworth concert 
 Lord Carbury began to take his electrical laboratory with 
 such intensified seriousness that he flatly refused to en- 
 tertain any visitors until the I2th, and held fast to his 
 determination in spite of his mother's threat to leave the 
 house, alleging, with a laugh, that he had got hold of 
 a discovery with money in it at last. But he felt at 
 such a disadvantage after this incredible statement that 
 he hastened to explain that his objection to visitors did 
 not apply to relatives who would be sufficiently at home 
 at Towers Cottage to require no attention from him. 
 Under the terms of this capitulation Marian, as univer- 
 sal favorite, was invited; and since there was no getting 
 Marian down without Elinor, she was invited too, in 
 
 7i 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 spite Of the Countess's strong dislike for her, a senti- 
 ment which she requited with a pungent mixture of de- 
 testation and contempt. Marian's brother, the Reverend 
 George Lind, promised to come down in a day or two; 
 and Marmaduke, who was also invited, did not reply. 
 
 The morning after her arrival, Marian was awakened 
 at six o'clock by a wagon rumbling past the window 
 of her room with a sound quite different from that made 
 by the dust-cart in Westbourne Terrace. She peeped 
 out at it, and saw that is was laden with packages of 
 irregular shape, which, judging by some strange-look- 
 ing metal rods that projected through the covering, she 
 took to be apparatus for Lord Jasper's laboratory. From 
 the wagon, with its patiently trudging horse and dull 
 driver, she lifted her eyes to the lawn, where the patches 
 of wet shadow beneath the cedars refreshed the sunlit 
 grass around them. It looked too fine a morning to 
 spend in bed. Had Marian been able to taste and smell 
 the fragrant country air she would not have hesitated 
 a moment. But she had been accustomed to believe that 
 fresh air was unhealthy at night, and though nothing 
 would have induced her to wash in dirty water, she 
 thought nothing of breathing dirty air; and so the win- 
 dow was shut and the room close. Still, the window 
 did not exclude the loud singing of the birds or the sun- 
 light. She ventured to open it a little, not without a 
 sense of imprudence. Twenty minutes later she was 
 dressed. 
 
 She first looked into the drawing-room, but it was 
 stale and dreary. The dining-room, which she tried 
 next, made her hungry. The arrival of a servant with 
 a broom suggested to her that she had better get out of 
 the way of the household work. She felt half sorry for 
 
 72 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 getting up, and went out on the lawn to recover her 
 spirits. There she heard a man's voice trolling a stave 
 somewhere in the direction of the laboratory. Thinking 
 that it might be Lord Carbury, and that, if so, he would 
 probably not wait until half past nine to break his fast, 
 she ran gaily off round the southwest corner of the 
 Cottage to a terrace, from which there was access 
 through a great double window, now wide open, to a 
 lofty apartment roofed with glass. 
 
 At a large table in the middle of the room sat a man 
 with his back to the window. He had taken off his 
 coat, and was bending over a small round block with 
 little holes sunk into it. Each hole was furnished with 
 a neat brass peg, topped with ebony; and the man was 
 lifting and replacing one of these pegs whilst he gravely 
 watched the dial of an instrument that resembled a small 
 clock. A large straw hat concealed his head, and pro- 
 tected it from the rays that were streaming through the 
 glass roof and open window. The apparent triviality 
 of his occupation, and his intentness upon it, amused 
 Marian. She stole into the laboratory, came close be- 
 hind him, and said: 
 
 " Since you have nothing better to do than play 
 cribbage with yourself, I " 
 
 She had gently lifted up his straw hat, and found be- 
 neath a head that was not Lord Carbury's. The man, 
 who had cowered with surprise at her touch and voice, 
 but had waited even then to finish an observation of his 
 galvanometer before turning, now turned and stared at 
 her. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Marian, blushing vigor- 
 ously. " I thought it was Lord Carbury. I have dis- 
 turbed you very rudely. I " 
 
 73 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Not at all," said the man. " I quite understand. I 
 was not playing cribbage, but I was doing nothing very 
 important. However, as you certainly did take me by 
 surprise, perhaps you will excuse my coat." 
 
 " Oh, pray dont mind me. I must not interrupt your 
 work." She looked at his face again, but only for an 
 instant, as he was watching her. Then, with another 
 blush, she put out her hand and said, " How do you do, 
 Mr. Conolly. I did not recognize you at first." 
 
 He shook hands, but did not offer any further conver- 
 sation. " What a wonderful place ! " she said, looking 
 round, with a view to making herself agreeable by taking 
 an interest in everything. "Wont you explain it all to 
 me? To begin with, what is electricity?" 
 
 Conolly stared rather at this question, and then shook 
 his head. " I dont know anything about that," he said ; 
 " I am only a workman. Perhaps Lord Carbury can 
 tell you : he has read a good deal about it." 
 
 Marian looked incredulously at him. " I am sure you 
 are joking," she said. " Lord Carbury says you know 
 ever so much more than he does. I suppose I asked 
 a stupid question. What are those reels of green silk 
 for?" 
 
 "Ah," said Conolly, relaxing. "Come now, I can 
 tell you that easily enough. I dont know, what it is, 
 but I know what it does, and I can lay traps to catch 
 it. Here now, for instance " 
 
 And he went on to deliver a sort of chatty Royal 
 Institution Children's Lecture on Electricity which pro- 
 duced a great impression on Marian, who was accustomed 
 to nothing better than small talk. She longed to interest 
 him by her comments and questions, but she found that 
 they had a most discouraging effect on him. Redoub- 
 
 74 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 ling her efforts, she at last reduced him to silence, of 
 which she availed herself to remark, with great earnest- 
 ness, that science was a very wonderful thing. 
 
 " How do you know ? " he said, a little bluntly. 
 
 " I am sure it must be," she replied, brightening ; for 
 she thought he had now made a rather foolish remark. 
 "Is Lord Carbury a very clever scientist?" 
 
 Conolly looked just grave enough to suggest that the 
 question was not altogether a discreet one. Then, brush- 
 ing off that consideration, he replied : 
 
 "He has seen a great deal and read a great deal. 
 You see, he has great means at his disposal. His prop- 
 erty is as good as a joint-stock company at his back. 
 Practically, he is very good, considering his method of 
 working: not so good, considering the means at his 
 disposal." 
 
 " What would you do if you had his means ? " 
 
 Conolly made a gesture which plainly signified that 
 he thought he could do a great many things. 
 
 "And is science, then, so expensive? I thought it was 
 beyond the reach of money." 
 
 " Oh, yes : science may be. But I am not a scientific 
 man: I'm an inventor. The two things are quite differ- 
 ent. Invention is the most expensive thing in the world. 
 It takes no end of time, and no end of money. Time is 
 money; so it costs both ways." 
 
 " Then why dont you discover something and make 
 your fortune?" 
 
 "I have already discovered something." 
 
 "Oh! What is it?" 
 
 " That it costs a fortune to make experiments enough 
 to lead to an invention." 
 
 75 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "You are exaggerating, are you not? What do you 
 mean by a fortune ? " 
 
 " In my case, at least four or five hundred pounds." 
 
 " Is that all ? Surely you would have no difficulty in 
 getting five hundred pounds." 
 
 Conolly laughed. " To be sure," said he. " What is 
 five hundred pounds ? " 
 
 "A mere nothing— considering the importance of the 
 object. You really ought not to allow such a consider- 
 ation as that to delay your career. I have known people 
 spend as much in one day on the most worthless things." 
 
 " There is something in that, Miss Lind. How would 
 you recommend me to begin?" 
 
 " First," said Marian, with determination, " make up 
 your mind to spend the money. Banish all scruples 
 about the largeness of the sum. Resolve not to grudge 
 even twice as much to science." 
 
 " That is done already. I have quite made up my 
 mind to spend the money. What next?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose the next thing is to spend it." 
 
 " Excuse me. The next thing is to get it. It is a 
 mere detail, I know ; but I should like to settle it before 
 we go any further." 
 
 " But how can I tell you that? You forget that I am 
 quite unacquainted with your affairs. You are a man, 
 and understand business, which of course I dont." 
 
 " If you wanted five hundred pounds, Miss Lind, how 
 would you set about getting it ? — if I may ask." 
 
 "What? I! But, as I say, I am only a woman. I 
 should ask my father for it, or sign a receipt for my 
 trustees, or something of that sort." 
 
 "That is a very simple plan. But unfortunately I 
 
 76 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 have no father and no trustees. Worse than that, I have 
 no money. You must suggest some other way." 
 
 " Do what everybody else does in your circumstances. 
 Borrow it. I am sure Lord Carbury would lend it to 
 you." 
 
 Conolly shook his Jiead. " It doesnt do for a man in 
 my position to start borrowing the moment he makes the 
 acquaintance of a man in Lord Carbury's," he said. 
 " We are working a little together already on one of my 
 ideas, and that is as far as I care to ask him to go. I 
 am afraid I must ask you for another suggestion." 
 
 " Save up all your money until you have enough." 
 
 " That would take some time. Let me see. As I am 
 an exceptionally fortunate and specially skilled workman, 
 I can now calculate on making from seventy shillings to 
 six pounds a week. Say four pounds on the average." 
 
 "Ah," said Marian, despondingly, " you would have to 
 wait more than two years to save five hundred pounds." 
 
 "And to dispense with food, clothes, and lodging in 
 the meantime." 
 
 " True," said Marian. " Of course, I see that it is 
 impossible for you to save anything. And yet it seems 
 absurd to be stopped by the want of such a sum. I have 
 a cousin who has no money at all, and no experiments to 
 make, and he paid a thousand pounds for a race-horse 
 last spring." 
 
 Conolly nodded, to intimate that he knew that such 
 things happened. 
 
 Marian could think of no further expedient. She 
 stood still, thinking, whilst Conolly took up a bit of 
 waste and polished a brass cylinder. 
 
 " Mr. Conolly," she said at last, " I cannot absolutely 
 promise you; but I think I can get you five hundred 
 
 77 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 pounds." Conolly stopped polishing the cylinder, and 
 stared at her. " If I have not enough, I am sure we 
 could make the rest by a bazaar or something. I should 
 like to begin to invest my money ; and if you make some 
 great invention, like the telegraph or steam engine, you 
 will be able to pay it back to me, and to lend me money 
 when / want it." 
 
 Conolly blushed. " Thank you, Miss Lind," said he, 
 " thank you very much indeed. I — It would be ungrate- 
 ful of me to refuse; but I am not so ready to begin my 
 experiments as my talking might lead you to suppose. 
 My estimate of their cost was a mere guess. I am not 
 satisfied that it is not want of time and perseverance 
 more than of money that is the real obstacle. However, 
 
 I will — I will — a Have you any idea of the value of 
 
 money, Miss Lind? Have you ever had the handling 
 of it?" 
 
 " Of course," said Marian, secretly thinking that the 
 satisfaction of shaking his self-possession was cheap at 
 five hundred pounds. " I keep house at home, and do 
 all sorts of business things." 
 
 Conolly glanced about him vaguely; picked up the 
 piece of waste again as if he had been looking for that; 
 recollected himself; and looked unintelligibly at her. 
 Her uncertainty as to what he would do next was a 
 delightful sensation: why, she did not know nor care. 
 To her intense disappointment, Lord Carbury entered 
 just then, and roused her from what was unaccountably 
 like a happy dream. 
 
 Nothing more of any importance happened that day 
 except the arrival of a letter from Paris, addressed to 
 Lady Constance in Marmaduke's handwriting. Miss 
 McQuinch first heard of it in the fruit garden, where 
 
 78 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 she found Constance sitting with her arm around Ma- 
 rian's waist in a summer-house. She sat down opposite 
 them, at a rough oak table. 
 
 "A letter, Nelly! " said Marian. "A letter! A letter 
 from Marmaduke! I have extorted leave for you to 
 read it. Here it is. Handle it carefully, pray." 
 
 " Has he proposed ? " said Elinor, taking it. 
 
 Constance changed color. Elinor opened the letter in 
 silence, and read: 
 
 My dear Constance: 
 
 I hope you are quite well. I am having 
 an awfully jolly time of it here. What a pity it 
 is you dont come over! I was wishing for you 
 yesterday in the Louvre, where we spent a pleas- 
 ant day looking at the pictures. I send you the 
 silk you wanted, and had great trouble hunting 
 through half-a-dozen shops for it. Not that I 
 mind the trouble, but just to let you see my de- 
 votion to you. I have no more to say at present, 
 as it is nearly post hour. Remember me to the 
 clan. Yours ever, 
 
 Duke. 
 
 PS. — How do Nelly and your mother get 
 along together? 
 
 Whilst Elinor was reading, the gardener passed the 
 summer-house, and Constance went out and spoke to 
 him. Elinor looked significantly at Marian. 
 
 "Nelly," returned Marian, in hushed tones of re- 
 proach, " you have stabbed poor Constance to the heart 
 by telling her that Marmaduke never proposed to her. 
 That is why she has gone out." 
 
 "Yes," said Elinor, "it was brutal. But I thought, 
 as you made such a fuss about the letter, that it must 
 
 79 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 have been a proposal at least. It cant be helped now. 
 It is one more enemy for me, that is all." 
 
 "What do you think of the letter? Was it not kind 
 of him to write — considering how careless he is usually? " 
 
 " Hm! Did he match the silk properly?" 
 
 "To perfection. He must really have taken some 
 trouble. You know how he botched getting the ribbon 
 for his fancy dress at the ball last year." 
 
 "That is just what I was thinking about. Do you 
 remember also how he ridiculed the Louvre after his 
 first trip to Paris, and swore that nothing would ever 
 induce him to enter it again ? " 
 
 " He has got more sense now. He says in the letter 
 that he spent yesterday there." 
 
 " Not exactly. He says ' we spent a pleasant day 
 looking at the pictures.' Who is 'we'?" 
 
 " Some companion of his, I suppose. Why ? " 
 
 " I was just thinking could it be the person who has 
 matched the silk so well. The same woman, I mean." 
 
 "Oh, Nelly!" 
 
 " Oh, Marian ! Do you suppose Marmaduke would 
 spend an afternoon at the Louvre with a man, who could 
 just as well go by himself ? Do men match silks ? " 
 
 " Of course they do. Any fly-fisher can do it better 
 than a woman. Really, Nell, you have an odious imag- 
 ination." 
 
 "Yes — when my imagination is started on an odious 
 track. Nothing will persuade me that Marmaduke cares 
 a straw for Constance. He does not want to marry her, 
 though he is too great a coward to own it." 
 
 " Why do you say so ? I grant you he is unceremonious 
 and careless. But he is the same to everybody." 
 
 "Yes: to everybody we know. What is the use of 
 
 80 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 straining after an amiable view of things, Marian, when 
 a cynical view is most likely to be the true one." 
 
 " There is no harm in giving people credit for being 
 good." 
 
 "Yes, there is, when people are not good, which is 
 most often the case. It sets us wrong practically, and 
 holds virtue cheap. If Marmaduke is a noble and warm- 
 hearted man, and Constance a lovable, innocent girl, all 
 I can say is that it is not worth while to be noble or 
 lovable. If amiability consists in maintaining that black 
 is white, it is a quality anyone may acquire by telling a 
 lie and sticking to it." 
 
 " But I dont maintain that black is white. Only it 
 seems to me that as regards white, you are color blind. 
 
 Where I see white, you see black; and hush! Here 
 
 is Constance." 
 
 " Yes," whispered Elinor : " she comes back quickly 
 enough when it occurs to her that we are talking about 
 her." 
 
 Instead of simply asking why Constance should not 
 behave in this very natural manner if she chose to, Ma- 
 rian was about to defend Constance warmly by denying 
 all motive to her return, when that event took place and 
 stopped the discussion. Marian and Nelly spent a con- 
 siderable part of their lives in bandying their likes and 
 dislikes under the impression that they were arguing im- 
 portant points of character and conduct. 
 
 They knew that Constance wanted to answer Marma- 
 duke's letter; so they alleged correspondence of their 
 own, and left her to herself. 
 
 Lady Constance went to her brother's study, where 
 there was a comfortable writing-table. She began to 
 write without hesitation, and her pen gabbled rapidly un- 
 
 81 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 til she had covered two sheets of paper, when, instead 
 of taking a fresh sheet, she wrote across the lines already 
 written. After signing the letter, she read it through, 
 and added two postscripts. Then she remembered some- 
 thing she had forgotten to say; but there was no 
 more room on her two sheets, and she was reluctant to 
 use a third, which might, in a letter to France, involve 
 extra postage. Whilst she was hesitating her brother 
 entered. 
 
 "Am I in your way ? " she said. " I shall have done 
 in a moment." 
 
 " No, I am not going to write. By-the-bye, they tell 
 me you had a letter from Marmaduke this morning. Has 
 he anything particular to say ? " 
 
 "Nothing very particular. He is in Paris." 
 
 " Indeed ? Are you writing to him ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Constance, irritated by his disparaging 
 tone. "Why not?" 
 
 " Do as you please, of course. I am afraid he is a 
 scamp." 
 
 "Are you? You know a great deal about him, I dare 
 say." 
 
 " I am not much reassured by those who do know 
 about him." 
 
 "And who may they be? The only person you know 
 who has seen much of him is Marian, and she doesnt 
 speak ill of people behind their backs." 
 
 " Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of every- 
 body, Marmaduke included. You should talk to Nelly 
 about him." 
 
 " I knew it. I knew, the minute you began to talk, 
 who had set you on." 
 
 82 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I am afraid Nelly's opinion is worth more than 
 Marian's." 
 
 "Her opinion! Everybody knows what her opinion 
 is. She is bursting with jealousy of me." 
 
 "Jealousy!" 
 
 " What else ? Marmaduke has never taken the least 
 notice of her, and she is madly in love with him." 
 
 " This is quite a new light upon the affair. Con- 
 stance, are you sure you are not romancing? " 
 
 "Romancing! Why, she cannot conceal her venom. 
 She taunted me this morning in the summer-house be- 
 cause Marmaduke has never made me a formal proposal. 
 It was the letter that made her do it. Ask Marian." 
 
 "I can hardly believe it : I should not have supposed, 
 from what I have observed, that she cared about him." 
 
 " You should not have supposed it from what she said : 
 is that what you mean? I dont care whether you believe 
 it or not." 
 
 " Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to 
 be acrimonious about Elinor. She is more to be pitied 
 than blamed." 
 
 "Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant 
 have her wish and make me wretched," said Constance, 
 beginning to cry. Whereupon Lord Carbury immedi- 
 ately left the room. 
 
 83 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 LONG before the harvest was home, preparations 
 were made at Towers Cottage to receive another 
 visitor. The Rev. George Lind was coming. Lord 
 Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, 
 and met him on the platform. 
 
 " How are you, my dear fellow ? " cried the clergyman, 
 shaking the earl's hand. " Why did you trouble to meet 
 me ? I could have taken a fly. Most kind of you, I am 
 sure. How is your dear mother ? And Constance : how 
 is she?" 
 
 "All quite well, thank you. Just show my fellow your 
 traps ; he will see to them." 
 
 " Oh, there is no need to trouble him. I myself or a 
 porter — oh, thank you, I am sure; the brown one with 
 G. L. on it — and that small green metal box too, if you 
 will be so good. Thank you very much. And how are 
 you, Jasper, if I may call you so ? Studious still, eh ? I 
 hope he will be careful of the box. No, not a word to 
 him, I beg : it does not matter at all. What a charming 
 little trap ! What air ! Happy man, Jasper ! These fields 
 are better than the close alleys and garrets to which my 
 profession leads me." 
 
 "Jump in." 
 
 " Thank you. And how is Marian ? " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. Everybody is quite well. 
 The girls are at a tennis party, or they would have come 
 to meet you. Constance desired me particularly to 
 apologize." 
 
 " Oh, needless, most needless. Why should they not 
 
 84 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 enjoy themselves? What a landscape! The smiling 
 beauty of nature in the country is like a — like a message 
 to us. This is indeed a delightful drive." 
 
 " Yes, she is a capital trotter, this mare of mine. What 
 do you think of her ? " 
 
 "A noble animal, Jasper. Although I never studied 
 horseflesh much, even in my university days, I can ad- 
 mire a spirited nag on occasion. But I have to content 
 myself with humbler means of locomotion in my own 
 calling. A poor parson cannot entertain his friends as 
 a magnate like you can. Have you any one at the hall 
 now, besides the girls ? " 
 
 " No. The place will be rather dull for you, I am 
 afraid." 
 
 " Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all. I shall be 
 satisfied and thankful under all circumstances." 
 
 "We have led a humdrum life for the past month. 
 Marian and Elinor have begun to potter about in my 
 laboratory. They come there every day for an hour to 
 work and study, as they call it." 
 
 " Indeed ! I have no doubt Marian will find the study 
 of nature most improving. It is very generous of you 
 to allow her to trespass on you." 
 
 " I occupy myself chiefly with Nelly McQuinch. Ma- 
 rian is my assistant's pupil, and he has made a very ex- 
 pert workwoman of her already. With a little direction, 
 she can put a machine together as well as I can." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it. And dear Nelly? " 
 
 " Oh, dear Nelly treats the subject in her usual way. 
 But she is very amusing." 
 
 "Ah, Jasper! Ah! An unstable nature there, an un- 
 stable nature ! Elinor has not been firmly trained. She 
 needs to be tried by adversity." 
 
 85 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " No doubt she will be. Most of us are." 
 
 "And dear Constance ? Does she study? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Ahem! A— have you ? That is St. Mildred's 
 
 yonder, is it not ? " 
 
 " It is. They have put a new clock in the tower, worth 
 about sixty pounds. I believe they collected a hundred 
 and fifty for the purpose. But you were going to say 
 something else." 
 
 " No. At least, I indended to ask you about Marma- 
 duke. He is coming down, I understand." 
 
 " I dont know what he is doing. Last week he wrote 
 to us that he had just returned from Paris ; but I hap- 
 pened to know that he had then been back for some time. 
 He has arranged to come twice, but on each occasion, 
 at the last moment, he has made excuses. He can do as 
 he likes now. I wish he would say definitely that he 
 doesnt intend to come, instead of shilly-shallying from 
 week to week. Hallo, Prentice, have the ladies returned 
 yet ? " This was addressed to the keeper of the gate- 
 lodge, at which they had now arrived. He replied that 
 the ladies were still absent. 
 
 "Then," said Lord Carbury, "we had better get 
 down and stroll across the lawn. Perhaps you are tired, 
 though?" 
 
 " Not at all. I should prefer it. What a lovely ave- 
 nue I What greenery! How — " 
 
 " We were talking about Marmaduke. Do you know 
 what he is doing at present? He talks of being busy, 
 and of not having a moment to spare. I can understand 
 a fellow not having a moment to spare in June or July, 
 but what Marmaduke has to do in London in September 
 is more than I can imagine." 
 
 86 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I do not care to enquire into these things too closely. 
 I had intended to speak to you on the subject. Marma- 
 duke, as I suppose you know, has taken a house at West 
 Kensington." 
 
 "A house at West Kensington! No, I did not know 
 it. What has he done that for? " 
 
 " I fear he has been somewhat disingenuous with me on 
 the subject. I think he tried to prevent the matter com- 
 ing to my ears; and when I asked him about it, he 
 certainly implied — in fact, I grieve to say he left me 
 under the impression that he had taken the house with 
 a view to marrying dear Constance, and settling down. 
 I expressed some surprise at his going so far out of town; 
 but he did not volunteer any further explanation, and 
 so the matter dropped." The Rev. George paused, and 
 then continued in a lower tone, " Not long afterward I 
 met him at a very late hour. He had perhaps exceeded 
 a little in his cups; for he spoke to me with the most 
 shocking cynicism, inviting me to supper at this house 
 of his, and actually accusing me of knowing perfectly 
 well the terrible truth about his occupation of it. He 
 assured me that she — meaning, I presume, the unhappy 
 person with whom he lives there — was exceptionally at- 
 tractive; and I have since discovered that she is con- 
 nected with the theatre, and of great notoriety. I need 
 not tell you how dreadful all this is to me, Jasper; but 
 to the best of my judgment, which I have fortified by 
 earnest prayers for guidance, it is my imperative duty 
 to tell you of it." 
 
 " The vagabond ! It is exactly as I have always said : 
 Constance is too tame for him. He does not care a 
 d " 
 
 87 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Jasper, my dear fellow, gently," said the clergyman, 
 pressing his arm. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the Earl, " I dont care. I think Con- 
 stance is well out of it. Let us drop the subject for the 
 present. I hear the carriage." 
 
 "Yes, here it is. Dear Lady Carbury has recognized 
 me, and is waving her hand." The Rev. George stood 
 on tiptoe as he spoke, and flourished his low-crowned soft 
 felt hat. 
 
 During the ensuing greetings Carbury stood silent, 
 looking at the horses with an expression that made the 
 coachman uneasy. At dinner he ate sedulously, and left 
 the task of entertaining the visitor to his mother and the 
 girls. The clergyman was at no loss for conversation. 
 He was delighted with the dinner, delighted with the 
 house, delighted to see the Countess looking so well, and 
 delighted to hear that the tennis party that day had been 
 a pleasant one. The Earl listened with impatience, and 
 was glad when his mother rose. Before she quitted the 
 dining-room he made a sign to her, and she soon re- 
 turned, leaving Marian, Constance, and Elinor in the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " You will not mind my staying, I hope, George," she 
 said, as she resumed her seat. 
 
 "A delightful precedent, and from a distinguished 
 source," said the Rev. George. "Allow me to pass the 
 bottle. Ha! ha!" 
 
 " Thank you, no," said the Countess. " I never take 
 wine." Her tone was inconclusive, as if she intended to 
 take something else. 
 
 "Will you take brandy-and-soda ? " said her son, 
 rather brusquely. 
 
 Lady Carbury lowered her eyelids in protest. Then 
 
 88 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 she said: "A very little, if you please, Jasper. I dare 
 not touch wine," she continued to the clergyman. " I 
 am the slave of my medical man in all matters relating 
 to my unfortunate digestion." 
 
 " Mother," said Jasper, " George has brought us a nice 
 piece of news concerning your pet Marmaduke." 
 
 The clergyman became solemn and looked steadily at 
 his glass. 
 
 " I do not know that it is fair to describe him as my 
 pet exactly," said the Countess, a little troubled. " I trust 
 there is nothing unpleasant the matter." 
 
 "Oh, nothing! He has settled down domestically in 
 a mansion at West Kensington, that is all." 
 
 "What! Married!" 
 
 " Unhappily," said the Rev. George, " no, not married." 
 
 " Oh ! " said the Countess slowly, as an expression of 
 relief. " It is very shocking, of course ; very wrong in- 
 deed. Young men will do these things. It is especially 
 foolish in Marmaduke's case, for he really cannot afford 
 to make any settlement such as this kind of complication 
 usually involves when the time comes for getting rid of 
 it. Pray do not let it come to Constance's ears. It is 
 not a proper subject for a girl." 
 
 " Quite as proper a subject as marriage with a fellow 
 like Marmaduke," said Jasper, rising coolly and lighting 
 a cigaret. " However, it will be time enough to trouble 
 about that when there is any sign of his having the 
 slightest serious intentions toward Constance. For my 
 part I dont believe, and I never did believe, that there 
 was anything real in the business. This last move of 
 his proves it — to my satisfaction, at any rate." 
 
 Lady Carbury, with a slight but impressive bridling, 
 and yet with an evident sense of discomfiture, proceeded 
 
 89 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to assert herself before the clergyman. " I beg you will 
 control yourself, Jasper," she said. " I do not like to be 
 spoken to in that tone. In discharging the very great 
 responsibility which rests with a mother, I am compelled 
 to take the world as I find it, and to acknowledge that 
 certain very deplorable tendencies must be allowed for 
 in society. You, in the solitude of your laboratory, con- 
 template an ideal state of things that we all, I am sure, 
 long for, but which unhappily does not exist. I have 
 never enquired into Marmaduke's private life, and I 
 think you ought not to have done so. I could not 
 disguise from myself the possibility of his having en- 
 tered into some such relations as those you have alluded 
 to." 
 
 Jasper, without the slightest appearance of having 
 heard this speech, strolled casually out of the room. The 
 Countess> baffled, turned to her sympathetic guest. 
 
 " I am sure that you, George, must feel that it is abso- 
 lutely necessary for us to keep this matter to ourselves." 
 
 The Rev. George said, gravely, " I do not indeed see 
 what blessing can rest on our interference in such an 
 inexpressibly shocking business. It is for Marmaduke 
 to wrestle with his own conscience." 
 
 " Quite so," said the Countess, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders as if to invite her absent son's attention to this con- 
 firmation of her judgment. " Is it not absurd of Jasper 
 to snatch at such an excuse for breaking off the match ? " 
 
 " I can sympathize with Jasper's feeling, I trust. It 
 is natural for a candid nature to recoil from duplicity. 
 But all our actions need charitable construction; and, 
 remembering that, we should take heed to prevent our 
 forebearance toward others from wavering. Who knows 
 that the alliance with your pure and lovely daughter may 
 
 90 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 not be the means specially ordained to rescue him from 
 his present condition." 
 
 " I think it very possible," drawled the Countess, look- 
 ing at him, nevertheless, with a certain contempt for 
 what she privately considered his priggish, underbred 
 cant. " Besides, such things are recognized, though of 
 course they are not spoken of. No lady could with 
 common decency pretend to know that such connexions 
 are possible, much less assign one of them as a reason 
 for breaking off an engagement." 
 
 " Pardon me," said the Rev. George ; " but can these 
 worldly considerations add anything to the approval of 
 our consciences? I think not. We will keep our own 
 counsel in this matter in the sight of Heaven. Then, 
 whatever the world may think, all will surely come right 
 in the end." 
 
 " Oh, it is sure to come right in the end : these wretched 
 
 businesses always do. I cannot imagine men having 
 
 / such low tastes — as if there were anything in these 
 
 women more than in anybody else! Come into the 
 
 drawing-room, George." 
 
 They went into the drawing-room and found it de- 
 serted. The ladies were in the veranda. The Count- 
 ess took up the paper and composed herself for a nap. 
 George went into the porch, where the girls, having 
 seen the sun go down, were now watching the deepening 
 gloom among the trees that skirted the lawn. Marian 
 proposed that they should walk through the plantation 
 whilst there was still a little light left, and the clergy- 
 man readily assented. He rather repented of this when 
 they got into the deep gloom under the trees, and Elinor 
 began to tell stories about adders, wild cats, poachers, 
 and anything else that could possibly make a nervous 
 
 9i 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 man uncomfortable under such circumstances. He was 
 quite relieved when they saw the spark of a cigaret 
 ahead of them and heard the voices of Jasper and Con- 
 olly coming toward them through the darkness. 
 
 " Oh, I believe I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. 
 Conolly," said the Rev. George, formally, when they met. 
 " I am glad to see you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Conolly. " If you ladies have thin 
 shoes on as usual, we had better come out of this." 
 
 "As we ladies happen to have our boots on," said 
 Marian, " we shall stay as long as we like." 
 
 Nevertheless, they soon turned homeward, and as 
 the path was narrow, they walked in pairs. The clergy- 
 man, with Constance, led the way. Lord Jasper fol- 
 lowed with Elinor. Conolly and Marian came last. 
 
 "Does that young man — Mr. Conolly — live at the 
 Hall ? " was the Rev. George's first remark to Constance. 
 
 " No. He has rooms in Rose Cottage, that little place 
 on Quilter's farm." 
 
 " Ha ! Then he is very well off here." 
 
 "A great deal too well off. Jasper allows him to speak 
 to him as though he were an equal. However, I suppose 
 Jasper knows his own business best." 
 
 " I have observed that he is rather disposed to presume 
 upon any encouragement he receives. It is a bad sign in 
 a young man, and one, I fear, that will greatly interfere 
 with his prospects." 
 
 " He is an American, and I suppose thinks it a fine 
 thing to be republican. But it is Jasper's fault. He 
 spoils him. He once wanted to have him in the draw- 
 ing-room in the evenings to play accompaniments; but 
 mamma positively refused to allow it. Jasper is exces- 
 sively obstinate, and though he did not make a fuss, he 
 
 92 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 got quite a habit of going over to Rose Cottage and 
 spending his evenings there singing and playing. Every- 
 body about the place used to notice it. Mamma was 
 greatly disgusted." 
 
 " Do you find him unpleasant — personally, I mean? " 
 
 " I ! Oh dear, no ! I should never dream of speaking 
 to him. His presence is unpleasant, because he exercises 
 a bad influence on Jasper; so I wish, on that account 
 alone, that he would go." 
 
 " I trust Marian is careful to limit her intercourse 
 with him as much as possible." 
 
 " Well, Marian learns electricity from him ; and of 
 course that makes a difference. I do not care about 
 such things; and I never go into the laboratory when 
 he is there ; so I do not know whether Marian lets him be 
 familiar with her or not. She is rather easygoing; and 
 he is insufferably conceited. However, if she wants to 
 learn electricity, I suppose she must put up with him. 
 He is no worse, after all, than the rest of the people one 
 has to learn things from. They are all impossible." 
 
 " It is a strange fancy of the girls, to study science." 
 
 " I am sure I dont know why they do it. It is great 
 nonsense for Jasper to do it, either. He will never 
 keep up his position properly until he shuts up that 
 stupid workshop. He ought to hunt and shoot and en- 
 tertain a great deal more than he does. It is very hard 
 on us, for we are altogether in Jasper's hands for such 
 matters. I think he is very foolish." 
 
 " Not foolish. Dont say that. Excuse my giving you 
 a little lecture ; but it is not right to speak, even without 
 thought, of your brother as a fool. No doubt he is a 
 little injudicious; but all men are not called to the same 
 pursuits." 
 
 93 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " If people have a certain position, they ought to make 
 up their minds to the duties of their position, whether 
 they are called to them or not." 
 
 The Rev. George, missing the deference with which 
 ladies not related to him usually received his admoni- 
 tions, changed the subject. 
 
 Meanwhile, Conolly and Marian, walking more slowly 
 than the rest, had fallen far behind. They had been 
 silent at first. She seemed to be in trouble. At last, 
 after some wistful glances at him, she said : 
 
 " Have you resolved to go to London to-morrow ; or 
 will you wait until Friday ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, Miss Lind. Can I do anything for you 
 in town?" 
 
 Marian hesitated painfully. 
 
 "Do not mind giving me plenty of bother," he said. 
 " I am so accustomed to superintend the transit of ma- 
 chines as cumbersome as trunks and as fragile as bonnet 
 boxes, that the care of a houseful of ordinary luggage 
 would be a mere amusement for me." 
 
 " Thank you ; but it is not that. I was only thinking 
 
 Are you likely to see my cousin, Mr. Marmaduke 
 
 Lind, whilst you are in London ? " 
 
 "N — no. Unless I call upon him, which I have no 
 excuse for doing." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought you knew him." 
 
 " I met him at that concert." 
 
 " But I thought you were in the habit of going about 
 with him. At least, I understood him one day to say 
 that you had been to the theatre together." 
 
 " So we were ; but only once. We went there after 
 the concert, and I have never seen him since." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I quite mistook." 
 
 94 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " If you have any particular reason for wishing me to 
 see him, I will. It will be all right if I have a message 
 from you. Shall I call on him ? It will be no trouble to 
 me." 
 
 " No, oh no. I wanted — it was something that could 
 only be told to him indirectly by an intimate friend — by 
 some one with influence over him. More a hint than 
 anything else. But it does not matter. At least, it can- 
 not be helped." 
 
 Conolly did not speak until they had gone some thirty 
 yards or so in silence. Then he said : " If the matter is 
 of serious importance to you, Miss Lind, I think I can 
 manage to have a message conveyed to him by a person 
 who has influence over him. I am not absolutely cer- 
 tain that I can ; but probably I shall succeed without any 
 great difficulty." 
 
 Marian looked at him in some surprise. " I hardly 
 know what I ought to do," she said, doubtfully. 
 
 "Then do nothing," said Conolly bluntly. "Or, if 
 you want anything said to this gentleman, write to him 
 yourself." 
 
 "But I dont know his address, and my brother says 
 I ought not to write to him. I dont think I ought, either ; 
 but I want him to be told something that may prevent a 
 great deal of unhappiness. It seems so unfeeling to 
 sit down quietly and say, ' It is not my business to inter- 
 fere,' when the mischief might so easily be prevented." 
 
 " I advise you to be very cautious, Miss Lind. Taking 
 care of other people's happiness is thankless and danger- 
 ous. You dont know your cousin's address, you say?" 
 
 " No. I thought you did." 
 
 Conolly shook his head. "Who does know it?" he 
 said. 
 
 95 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " My brother George does ; but he refused to tell me. 
 I shall not ask him again." 
 
 " Of course not. I can find it out for you. But of 
 what use will that be, since you think you ought not to 
 write to him ? " 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Conolly, that if it only concerned 
 myself, I would not hesitate to tell you the whole story, 
 and ask your advice. I feel sure you would shew me 
 what was right. But this is a matter which concerns 
 other people only." 
 
 " Then you have my advice without telling me. Dont 
 meddle in it." 
 
 " But—" 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "After all, what I wish to do could not possibly bring 
 about mischief. If Marmaduke could be given a hint to 
 come down here at once — he has been invited, and is 
 putting off his visit from week to week — it would be 
 sufficient. He will get into trouble if he makes any 
 more excuses. And he can set everything right by com- 
 ing down now." 
 
 "Are you sure you dont mean only that he can smooth 
 matters over for the present? " 
 
 " No, you mistake. It is not so much to smooth 
 matters over as to rescue him from a bad influence that 
 is ruining him. There is a person in London from whom 
 he must be got away at all hazards. If you only knew — 
 I wish you knew." 
 
 " Perhaps I know more than you suppose. Come, Miss 
 Lind, let us understand one another. Your family want 
 your cousin to marry Lady Constance. I know that. 
 She does not object. I know that too. He does." 
 
 96 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Marian, " you are wrong. He does 
 not." 
 
 "Anyhow," continued Conolly, " he acts with a certain 
 degree of indifference toward her — keeps away at pres- 
 ent, for instance. I infer that the bad influence you have 
 mentioned is the cause of his remissness." 
 
 " Yes, you are right ; only, looking at it all from without 
 as you do, you are mistaken as to Marmaduke's charac- 
 ter. He is easily led away, and very careless about the 
 little attentions that weigh so much with women; but he 
 is thoroughly honorable, and incapable of trifling with 
 Lady Constance. Unfortunately, he is easily imposed 
 on, and impatient of company in which he cannot be a 
 little uproarious. I fear that somebody has taken ad- 
 vantage of this part of his character to establish a great 
 ascendency over him. I " — here Marian became nervous, 
 and controlled her voice with difficulty — " I saw this 
 person once in a theatre; and I can imagine how she 
 would fascinate Marmaduke. She was so clever, so 
 handsome, and — and so utterly abominable. I was angry 
 with Duke for bringing us to the place; and I remember 
 now that he was angry with me because I said she made 
 me shudder." 
 
 " Utterly abominable is a strong thing for one woman 
 to say of another," said Conolly, with a certain sternness. 
 "However, I can understand your having that feeling 
 about her. I know her; and it is through her that I 
 hope to find out his address for you." 
 
 " But her address is his address now, Mr. Conolly. I 
 think it is somewhere in West Kensington." 
 
 Conolly stopped, and turned upon her so suddenly that 
 she recoiled a step, frightened. 
 
 " Since when, pray ? " 
 
 97 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Very lately, I think. I do not know." 
 
 They neither moved nor spoke for some moments: 
 she earnestly regretting that she had lingered so far be- 
 hind her companions in the terrible darkness. He walked 
 on at last faster than before. No more words passed 
 between them until they came out into the moonlight 
 close to the veranda. Then he stopped again, and took 
 off his hat. 
 
 " Permit me to leave you now," he said, with an 
 artificial politeness worthy of Douglas himself. . " Good- 
 night." 
 
 "Good-night," faltered Marian. 
 
 He walked gravely away. Marian hurried into the 
 veranda, where she found Jasper and Elinor. The other 
 couple had gone into the drawing-room. 
 
 " Hallo ! " said Jasper, " where is Conolly ? I want 
 to say a word to him before he goes." 
 
 " He has just gone," said Marian, pointing across the 
 lawn. Jasper immediately ran out in the direction indi- 
 cated, and left the two cousins alone together. 
 
 " Well, Marian," said Elinor, " do you know that you 
 have taken more than quarter of an hour longer to 
 come from the plantation than we did, and that you look 
 quite scared? Our sweet Constance, as the parson calls 
 her, has been making some kind remarks about it." 
 
 " Do I look disturbed ? I hope Auntie wont notice it. 
 I wish I could go straight to bed without seeing anybody." 
 
 "Why? What is the matter?" 
 
 " I will tell you to-night when you come in to me. I 
 am disgusted with myself; and I think Conolly is mad." 
 
 "Mad!" 
 
 "On my word, I think Conolly has gone mad," said 
 
 98 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Lord Jasper, returning at this moment out of breath and 
 laughing. 
 
 Elinor, startled, glanced at Marian. 
 
 "He was walking quite soberly toward the fence of 
 the yellow field when I caught sight of him. Just as I 
 was about to hail him, he started off and cleared the 
 fence at a running jump. He walked away at a furious 
 rate, swinging his arms about, and laughing as if he was 
 enjoying some uncommonly good joke. I am not sure 
 that I did not see him dance a hornpipe; but as it is so 
 dark I wont swear to that." 
 
 " You had better not," said Elinor, sceptically. " Let 
 us go in; and pray do not encourage George to talk. 
 I have a headache, and want to go to bed." 
 
 " You have been in very good spirits, considering your 
 headache," he replied, in the same incredulous tone. , " It 
 has come on rather suddenly, has it not? " 
 
 When they went into the drawing-room they found 
 that Constance had awakened her mother, and had al- 
 ready given her an account of their walk. Jasper added 
 a description of what he had just witnessed. " I have 
 not laughed so much for a long time," he said, in con- 
 clusion. " He is usually such a steady sort of fellow." 
 
 " I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken 
 workman," said the Countess. " How you could have 
 left Marian in his care even for a moment I am at 
 a loss to conceive." 
 
 " He was not drunk, indeed," said Marian. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Jasper, rather indignantly. " I 
 was walking with him for some time before we met the 
 girls. You are very pale, Marian. Have you also a 
 headache ? " 
 
 99 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "I have been- playing tennis all day; and I am quite 
 tired out." 
 
 Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss 
 McQuinch, according to a nightly custom of theirs, was 
 seated on the coverlet with her knees doubled up to her 
 chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure 
 very earnestly. 
 
 " Dont understand him at all, I confess," said Elinor, 
 when Marian had related what had passed in the plan- 
 tation. "Wasnt it rather rash to make a confidant of 
 him in such a delicate matter ? " 
 
 " That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He 
 might have known that I only wanted to do good. I 
 thought he was so entirely above false delicacy." 
 
 " I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is 
 true? You only have it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax's let- 
 ter; and she is perhaps the greatest liar in the world." 
 
 " Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about 
 people. She would never venture to tell me a made-up 
 tale about Marmaduke." 
 
 " In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for 
 the sake of using her tongue or pen." 
 
 " It is so hard to know what to do. There was no- 
 body whom I could trust, was there ? Jasper has always 
 been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of course, was 
 out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not 
 like to tell her." 
 
 " Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no 
 nice woman would talk to on such a subject," said 
 Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her heel. 
 
 " Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should 
 say something like that before other people, out of sheer 
 habit." 
 
 ioo 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. 
 No use regretting what cannot be recalled. You cannot 
 have the security of conventionality along with the self- 
 respect of sincerity. By the bye, do you remember that 
 Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family 
 council after dinner ? You may be sure that George has 
 told them everything." 
 
 "What! Then my wretched attempt to have Mar- 
 maduke warned was useless. Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. 
 Do you really think so? When I told him before din- 
 ner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he 
 feared it was true, and refused to give me the address." 
 
 "And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the 
 responsibility rests with George. He knew very well 
 that it was true; for he had only just been telling 
 Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. 
 Master Georgy has no right to be your brother. He 
 is worse than a dissenter. Dissenters try to be gentle- 
 men; but George has no misgivings about himself on 
 that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his 
 efforts to be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite." 
 
 " I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely 
 believes that his duty to the Church requires him to 
 behave as he does." 
 
 " Then he is a donkey, which is worse." 
 
 " I wish he were more natural in his manner." 
 
 " He is natural enough. It is always the same with 
 parsons : ' it is their nature to.' Good-night. Men are 
 all the same, my dear, all the same." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 " Never mind. Good-night." 
 
 IOI 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 A LITTLE removed from a pretty road in West 
 Kensington, and communicating with it by a 
 shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at this 
 time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the op- 
 posite side were pairs of recently built houses, many of 
 them still unlet. These, without depriving the neigh- 
 bourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade any feeling 
 of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna 
 Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke 
 Lind. 
 
 One morning in September they were at breakfast 
 together. Beside each was a pile of letters. Marma- 
 duke deferred opening his until his hunger was satisfied ; 
 but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the 
 uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the 
 flap, and burst it open. 
 
 " Hm," she said. " First rehearsal next Monday. 
 Here he is at me again to make the engagement renew- 
 able after Christmas. What an old fool he must be not 
 to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! 
 Just look at the Times, Bob, and see if the piece is ad- 
 vertized yet." 
 
 " I should think so, by Jupiter," said Marmaduke, pa- 
 tiently interrupting his meal to open the newspaper. 
 " Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. ' The 
 latest Parisian success. La petite Maison du Roi. 
 Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr. Faulkner has the honor 
 to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of M. de 
 Jongleur's opera bouffe La petite Maison du Roi, en- 
 
 102 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 titled King Lewis on the lewis ' — what the deuce does 
 that mean?" 
 
 " On the loose, of course." 
 
 " But it is spelt 1-e-w oh ! its a pun. What an in- 
 fernal piece of idiocy ! Then it goes on as usual, except 
 that each name in the cast has a separate line of large 
 print. Here you are: 'Lalage Virtue as Madame Du- 
 barry' " 
 
 "Is that at the top?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Before Rose Stella?" 
 
 " Yes. Why ! — I didnt notice it before — you are down 
 fifteen times ! Every alternate space has your name over 
 again. ' Lalage Virtue as Madame Dubarry. Fred 
 Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. 
 Felix Sumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue 
 as la belle Jeanneton.' By the way, that is all rot. Car- 
 dinal Richelieu died four or five hundred years before 
 Madame Dubarry was born." 
 
 " Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose 
 Stella the last line with a big and before it. No matter. 
 She is down only once ; and I am down fifteen times." 
 
 " I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! 
 This is a bill, of course. The West Kensington Wine 
 Company. Whew! We are getting through the cham- 
 pagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not 
 counting what we pay for when we dine in town." 
 
 "Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any 
 harm; and I get awfully low without it." 
 
 "All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, 
 and dont injure your health, I dont care. Here's a letter 
 of yours put among mine by mistake. It has been for- 
 warded from your old diggings at Lambeth." 
 
 103 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " It's from Ned," said Susanna, turning pale. " He 
 must be coming home, or he would not write. Yes, he 
 is. What shall I do?" 
 
 "What does he say?" said Marmaduke, taking the 
 letter from her. "'Back at 6 on Wednesday evening. 
 Have high tea. N. C Short and sweet! Well, he 
 will not turn up til to-morrow, at all events, even if he 
 knows the address, which of course he doesnt." 
 
 " He knows nothing. His note shews that. What 
 will he do when he finds me gone? He may get the 
 address at the post-office, where I told them to send on 
 my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for 
 her own information. There is no mistake about it," 
 said Susanna, rising and walking to the window : " I 
 am in a regular funk about him. I have half a mind to 
 go back to Lambeth and meet him. I could let the 
 murder out gradually, or, perhaps, get him off to the 
 country again before he discovers anything." 
 
 " Go back ! oh no, nonsense ! The worst he can do 
 is to cut you — and a good job too." 
 
 " I wish he would. It would be a relief to me at 
 present to know for certain that he would." 
 
 " He cant be so very thin-skinned as you fancy, con- 
 sidering the time you have been on the stage." 
 
 " There's nothing wrong in being on the stage. 
 There's nothing wrong in being here either, in spite 
 of Society. After all, what do I care about Ned, or 
 anybody else? He always went his own way when it 
 suited him; and he has no right to complain if I go 
 mine. Let him come if he likes: he will not get much 
 satisfaction from me." Susanna sat down again, and 
 drank some tea, partly defiant, partly disconsolate. 
 
 104 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Dont think any more about it," said Marmaduke. 
 " He wont come/' 
 
 " Oh, let him, if he likes," said Susanna, impatiently. 
 Marmaduke did not quite sympathize with her sudden 
 recklessness. He hoped that Conolly would have the 
 good sense to keep away. 
 
 " Look here, Bob," said she, when they had finished 
 breakfast. " Let us go somewhere to-day. I feel aw- 
 fully low. Let us have a turn up the river." 
 
 "All right," said Marmaduke, with alacrity. " What- 
 ever you please. How shall we go ? " 
 
 "Anyhow. Let us go to Hampton by train. When 
 we get there we can settle what to do afterward. Can 
 you come now ? " 
 
 " Yes, whenever you are ready." 
 
 " Then I will run up-stairs and dress. Go out and 
 amuse yourself with that blessed old lawn-mower until I 
 come." 
 
 " Yes, I think I will," said Marmaduke, seriously. 
 " That plot near the gate wants a trimming badly." 
 
 " What a silly old chap you are, Bob ! " she said, 
 stopping to kiss him on each cheek as she left the room. 
 Marmaduke had become attached to the pursuit of gar- 
 dening since his domestication. He put on his hat ; went 
 out ; and set to work on the plot near the gate. The sun 
 was shining brightly ; and when he had taken a few turns 
 with the machine he stopped, raising his face to the breeze, 
 and saw Conolly standing so close to him that he started 
 backward, and made a vague movement as if to ward 
 off a blow. Conolly, who seemed amused by the mow- 
 ing, said quietly : " That machine wants oiling : the clat- 
 ter prevented you from hearing me come. I have just 
 
 105 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 returned from Carbury Towers. Miss Lind is staying 
 there; and she has asked me to give you a message." 
 
 This speech perplexed Marmaduke. He inferred from 
 it that Conolly was ignorant of Susanna's proceedings, 
 but he had not sufficient effrontery to welcome him un- 
 concernedly at once. So he stood still and stared at him. 
 
 " I am afraid I have startled you," Conolly went on, 
 politely. " I found the gate unlocked, and thought it 
 would be an unnecessary waste of time to ring the bell. 
 You have a charming little place here." 
 
 "Yes, it's a pretty little place, isnt it?" said Marma- 
 duke. "A — wont you come in and have a — excuse my 
 bringing you round this way, will you? My snuggery 
 is at the back of the house." 
 
 " Thank you; but I had rather not go in. I have a 
 great deal of business to do in town to-day; so I shall 
 just discharge my commission and go." 
 
 "At any rate, come into the shade," said Marmaduke, 
 glancing uneasily toward the windows of the house. 
 " This open place is enough to give us sunstroke." 
 
 Conolly followed him to a secluded part of the shrub- 
 bery, where they sat down on a bench. 
 
 "Is there anything up?" said Marmaduke, much 
 oppressed. 
 
 "Will you excuse my speaking without ceremony?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly. Fire away ! " 
 
 " Thank you. I must then tell you that the relations 
 between you and Lady Constance are a source of anxiety 
 to her brother. You know the way men feel bound to 
 look after their sisters. You have, I believe, sisters of 
 your own?" 
 
 Marmaduke nodded, and stole a doubtful glance at 
 Conolly's face. 
 
 106 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "It appears that Lord Carbury has all along consid- 
 ered your courtship too cool to be genuine. In this view 
 he was quite unsupported, the Countess being strongly 
 in your favor, and the young lady devoted to you." 
 
 " Well, I knew all that. At least, I suspected it. What 
 is up now ? " 
 
 " This. The fact of your having taken a villa here 
 has reached the ears of the family at Carbury. They are, 
 not unnaturally, curious to know what use a bachelor can 
 have for such an establishment." 
 
 " But I have my rooms in Clarges Street still. This 
 is not my house. It was taken for another person." 
 
 " Precisely what they seem to think. But, to be brief 
 with you, Miss Lind thinks that unless you wish to break 
 with the Earl, and quarrel with your family, you should 
 go down to Towers Cottage at once." 
 
 " But I cant go away just now. There are reasons." 
 
 " Miss Lind is fully acquainted with your reasons. 
 They are her reasons for wishing you to leave London 
 immediately. And now, having executed my commis- 
 sion, I must ask you to excuse me. My time is much 
 occupied." 
 
 "Well, I am greatly obliged to you for coming all 
 this way out of town to give me the straight tip," said 
 Marmaduke, relieved at the prospect of getting rid of 
 his visitor without alluding to Susanna. " It is very 
 good of you; and I am very glad to see you. Jolly place, 
 Carbury Park is, isnt it? How will the shooting be? " 
 
 " First rate, I am told. I do not know much about it 
 myself." They had risen, and were strolling along the 
 path leading to the gate. 
 
 " Shall I see you down there — if I go? " 
 
 " Possibly. I shall have to go down for a day at least, 
 
 107 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to get my luggage, in case I decide not to renew my en- 
 gagement with Lord Jasper." 
 
 " I hope so," said Marmaduke. Then, as they reached 
 the gate, he proffered his hand, in spite of an inward 
 shrinking, and said heartily, " Good-bye, old fellow. 
 Youre looking as well as possible." 
 
 Conolly took his hand, and retained it whilst he said : 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Lind. I am quite well, thank you. If 
 I may ask — how is Susanna ? " 
 
 Marmaduke was prevented by a spasm of the throat 
 from replying. Before he recovered, Susanna herself, 
 attired for her proposed trip to Hampton, emerged from 
 the shrubbery and stood before them, confounded. Con- 
 olly, still wearing the cordial expression with which he 
 had shaken Marmaduke's hand, looked at her, then at 
 her protector, and then at her again. 
 
 " I have been admiring the villa, Susanna," said he, 
 after an emphatic silence. " It is better than our place 
 at Lambeth. You wont mind my hurrying away: I have 
 a great deal to do in town. Good-bye. Good-bye, Mr. 
 Lind." 
 
 Susanna murmured something. Marmaduke, after 
 making an effort to bid his guest good-bye genially, 
 opened the gate, and stood for a minute watching him 
 as he strode away. 
 
 " What does he care what becomes of me, the selfish 
 brute! " cried Susanna, passionately. 
 
 " He didnt complain: he has nothing to complain of," 
 said Marmaduke. "Anyhow, why didnt he stay at home 
 and look after you? By George, Susanna, he is the 
 coolest card I ever came across." 
 
 " What brought him here?" she demanded, vehemently. 
 
 108 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " That reminds me. I am afraid I must go down to 
 Carbury for a few days." 
 
 "And what am I to do here alone ? Are you going to 
 leave me too ? " 
 
 " Well, I cannot be in two places at the same time. I 
 suppose you can manage to get on without me for a few 
 days." 
 
 " I will go home. I can get on without you altogether. 
 I will go home." 
 
 " Come, Susanna! what is the use of kicking up a row? 
 I cant afford to quarrel with all my people because you 
 choose to be unreasonable." 
 
 " What do I care about your people, or about you 
 either?" 
 
 "Very well, then," said Marmaduke, offended, "you 
 can go home if you like. Perhaps your brother appre- 
 ciates this sort of thing. I dont." 
 
 "Ah, you coward! You taunt me because you think 
 I have no home. Do you flatter yourself that I am de- 
 pendent on you ? " 
 
 "Hold your tongue," said Marmaduke, fiercely. 
 " Dont you turn on me in that fashion. Keep your 
 temper if you want me to keep mine." 
 
 "You have ruined me," said Susanna, sitting down 
 on the grass, and beginning to cry. 
 
 "Oh, upon my soul, this is too much," said Marma- 
 duke, with disgust. " Get up out of that and dont make 
 a fool of yourself. Ruined indeed ! Will you get up ? " 
 
 " No ! " screamed Susanna. 
 
 "Then stay where you are and be damned," retorted 
 Marmaduke, turning on his heel and walking toward the 
 house. In the hall he met a maid carrying an empty 
 champagne bottle and goblet. 
 
 109 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Missis is looking for you, sir," said the maid. 
 
 "All right," said Marmaduke, "I have seen her. 
 Listen to me. I am going to the country. My man 
 Mason will come here to-day to pack up my traps, and 
 bring them after me. You had better take a note of 
 my address from the card in the strap of my valise." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the maid. "Any message for missis ? " 
 
 "No," said Marmaduke. He then changed his coat 
 and hat, and went out again. As he approached the gate 
 he met Susanna, who had risen and was walking toward 
 the house. 
 
 " I am going to Carbury," he said. " I dont know 
 when I shall be back." 
 
 She passed on disdainfully, as if she had not heard 
 him. 
 
 1 10 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THREE days later Lord Carbury came to luncheon 
 with a letter in his hand. Marian had not yet 
 come in; and the Rev. George was absent, his 
 place being filled by Marmaduke. 
 
 " Good news for you and Constance, mother." 
 
 " Indeed ? " said the Countess, smiling. 
 
 " Yes. Conolly is coming down this afternoon to col- 
 lect his traps and leave you forever." 
 
 " Really, Jasper, you exaggerate Mr. Conolly's impor- 
 tance. Intelligence of his movements can hardly be news 
 — good or bad — either to me or to Constance." 
 
 " I am glad he is going," said Constance, " for Jasper's 
 sake." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Jasper. " I thought you would 
 be. He will be a great loss to me." 
 
 " Nonsense!" said the Countess. " If another work- 
 man is needed, another can easily be had." 
 
 " If I can be of any assistance to you, old man," said 
 Marmaduke, " make what use of me you like. I picked 
 up something about the business yesterday." 
 
 " Yes," said Elinor. " While you were away, Jasper, 
 he went to the laboratory with Constance, and fired off 
 a brass cannon with your new pile until he had used up 
 all the gunpowder and spoiled the panels of the door. 
 That is what he calls picking up something about the 
 business." 
 
 " Nothing like experiment for convincing you of the 
 
 III 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 power of electricity," said Marmaduke. " Is there, 
 Conny?" 
 
 "It's very wonderful; but I hate shots." 
 
 "Where is Marian?" said Lady Carbury. 
 
 " I left her in the summer-house in the fruit garden," 
 said Elinor. " She was reading." 
 
 " She must have forgotten the hour," said the Count- 
 ess. " She has been moping, I think, for the last few 
 days. I hope she is not unwell. But she would never 
 stay away from luncheon intentionally. I shall send for 
 her." 
 
 " I'll go," said Marmaduke, eagerly. 
 
 "No, no, Duke. You must not leave the table. I 
 will send a servant." 
 
 " I will fetch her here in half the time that any 
 servant will. Poor Marian, why shouldnt she have her 
 lunch? I shall be back in a jiffy." 
 
 " What a restless, extraordinary creature he is ! " said 
 Lady Carbury, displeased, as Marmaduke hastily left 
 the room. " The idea of a man leaving the table in that 
 way!" 
 
 " I suspect he has his reasons," said Elinor. 
 
 " I think it is a perfectly natural thing for him to do," 
 said Constance, pettishly. " I see nothing extraordinary 
 in it." 
 
 Marmaduke found Marian reading in the summer- 
 house in the fruit garden. She looked at him in lazy 
 surprise as he seated himself opposite to her at the table. 
 
 " This is the first chance I've had of talking to you 
 privately since I came down," he said. " I believe you 
 have been keeping out of my way on purpose." 
 
 " Well, I concluded that you wanted as many chances 
 
 112 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 as possible of talking to some one else in private; so I 
 gave you as many as I could." 
 
 " Yes, you and the rest have been uncommonly con- 
 siderate in that respect: thank you all awfully. But I 
 mean to have it out with you, Miss Marian, now that I 
 have caught you alone." 
 
 " With me ! Oh, dear ! What have I done? " 
 
 " What have you done ? I'll tell you what youve done. 
 Why did you send Conolly, of all men in the world, to 
 tell me that I was in disgrace here ? " 
 
 " There was no one else, Marmaduke." 
 
 " Well, suppose there wasnt ! Suppose there had been 
 no one else alive on the earth except you, and I, and he, 
 
 and Constance, and Su and Constance! how could you 
 
 have offered him such a job?" 
 
 "Why not? Was there any special reason " 
 
 "Any special reason! Didnt your common sense tell 
 you that a meeting between him and me must be particu- 
 larly awkward for both of us ? " 
 
 " No. At least I . Marmaduke: I think you must 
 
 fancy that I told him more than I did. I did not know 
 where you were; and as he was going to London, and I 
 thought you knew him well, and I had no other means 
 of warning you, I had to make use of him. Jasper will 
 tell you how thoroughly trustworthy he is. But all I 
 said — and I really could not say less — was that I was 
 afraid you were in bad company, or under bad influ- 
 ence, or something like that ; and that I only wanted you 
 to come down here at once." 
 
 "Oh! Indeed! That was all, was it? Merely that 
 I was in bad company." 
 
 " I think I said under bad influence. I was told so; 
 and I believed it at the time. I hope it's not true, Mar- 
 
 "3 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 maduke. If it is not, I beg your pardon with all my 
 heart." 
 
 Marmaduke stared very hard at her for a while, and 
 then said, with the emphasis of a man baffled by utter 
 unreason : " Well, I am damned ! " at which breach of 
 good manners she winced. " Hang me if I understand 
 you, Marian," he continued, more mildly. " Of course 
 it's not true. Bad influence is all bosh. But it was a 
 queer thing to say to his face. He knew very well you 
 meant his sister. Hallo! what's the matter? Are you 
 going to faint ? " 
 
 " No, I Never mind me." 
 
 " Never mind you ! " said Marmaduke. " What are 
 you looking like that for ? " 
 
 " Because it is nothing : I only blushed. Dont be 
 
 stupid, Duke." 
 
 " Blushed ! Why dont you blush red, like other people, 
 and not green? Shall I get you something? " 
 
 " No, no. Oh, Duke, why did you not tell me ? How 
 could you be so heartless as to leave us all in the dark 
 when we were talking about you before him every day! 
 Oh, are you in earnest, Duke? Pray dont jest about it. 
 What do you mean by his sister? I never knew he had 
 one. Who is she? What happened? I mean when you 
 saw him ? " 
 
 " Nothing happened. I was mowing in the garden. 
 He just walked in ; bade me good morning ; admired the 
 place; and told me he came with a message from you 
 that things were getting hot here. Then he went off, as 
 cool as you please. He didnt seem to mind." 
 
 "And he warned you, in spite of all." 
 
 " More for your sake than for mine, I suspect. He's 
 rather sweet on you, isnt he ? " 
 
 114 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Oh, Duke, Duke, are you not ashamed of yourself ? " 
 
 " Deuce a bit. But I'm in trouble; and I want you to 
 stand by me. Look here, Marian, you have no non- 
 sense about you, I know. I may tell you frankly how I 
 am situated, maynt I ? " 
 
 Marian loked at him apprehensively, and said nothing. 
 
 "You see you will only mix up matters worse than 
 before unless you know the truth. Besides, I offered to 
 marry her: upon my soul I did; but she refused. Her 
 real name is Susanna Conolly: his sister, worse luck." 
 
 " Dont tell me any more of this, Duke. It is not right." 
 
 " I suppose it's not right, as you say. But what am 
 I to do? I must tell you; or you will go on making 
 mischief with Constance." 
 
 "As if I would tell her ! I promise that she shall never 
 know from me. Is that enough ? " 
 
 " No: its too much. The plain truth is that I dont care 
 whether she finds me out or not. I want her to under- 
 stand thoroughly, once and for ever, that I wont marry 
 her." 
 
 "Marmaduke!" 
 
 " Not if I were fifty Marmadukes ! " 
 
 " Then you will break her heart." 
 
 "Never fear! Her heart is pretty tough, if she has 
 one. Whether or no, I am not going to have her forced 
 on me by the Countess or any one else. The truth is, 
 Marian, they have all tried to bully me into this match. 
 Constance cant complain." 
 
 "No, not aloud." 
 
 " Neither aloud or alow. I never proposed to her." 
 
 " Very well, Marmaduke : there is no use now in blam- 
 ing Auntie or excusing yourself. If you have made up 
 your mind, there is an end." 
 
 "5 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, 
 Marian. Why, I have everything to lose by giving 
 her up. There is her money, and I suppose I must pre- 
 pare for a row with the family; unless the match could 
 be dropped quietly. Eh ? " 
 
 "And is that what you want me to manage for you ? " 
 
 " Well . Come, Marian! dont be savage. I have 
 
 been badly used in this affair. They forced it on me. I 
 did all I could to keep out of it. She was thrown at my 
 head. Besides, I once really used to think I could settle 
 down with her comfortably some day. I only found out 
 what an insipid little fool she was when I had a woman 
 of sense to compare her with." 
 
 " DoHt say hard things about her. I think you might 
 have a little forbearance towards her under the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Hm ! I dont feel very forbearing. She has been 
 sticking to me for the last few days like a barnacle. Our 
 respectable young ladies think a lot of themselves, but — 
 except you and Nelly — I dont know a woman in society 
 who has as much brains in her whole body as Susanna 
 Conolly has in her little finger nail. I cant imagine how 
 the deuce you all have the cheek to expect men to talk 
 to you, much less marry you." 
 
 " Perhaps there is something that honest men value 
 more than brains." 
 
 " I should like to know what it is. If it is something 
 that ladies have and Susanna hasnt, it is not either good 
 looks or good sense. If it's respectability, that depends 
 on what you consider respectable. If Conny's respect- 
 able and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu " 
 
 " Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to 
 
 116 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 me like this. Let us think of poor Constance. How is 
 she to be told the truth? " 
 
 " Let her find it out. I shall go back to London as 
 soon as I can; and the affair will drop somehow or an- 
 other. She will forget all about me." 
 
 " Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke. I think if neglect and 
 absence could make her forget you, you would have been 
 forgotten before this." 
 
 " Yes. You see you must admit that I gave her no 
 reason to suppose I meant anything." 
 
 " I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both 
 in your neglect and your attentions, Duke. The more you 
 try to excuse yourself, the more inexcusable your con- 
 duct appears. I do not know how to advise you. If 
 Constance is told, you may some day forget all about 
 your present infatuation; and then a mass of mischief 
 and misery will have been made for nothing. If she is 
 not told, you will be keeping up a cruel deception and 
 
 wasting her chances of but she will never care for 
 
 anybody else." 
 
 " Better do as I say. Leave matters alone for the 
 present. But mind ! no speculating on my changing my 
 intentions. I wont marry her." 
 
 " I wish you hadnt told me about it." 
 
 " Well, Marian, I couldnt help it. I know, of course, 
 that you only wanted to make us all happy; but you 
 nursed this match and kept it in Constance's mind as 
 much as you could. Besides — though it was not your 
 fault — that mistake about Conolly was too serious not to 
 explain. Dont be downcast: I am not blaming you a bit." 
 
 " It seems to me that the worst view of things is al- 
 ways the true one in this world. Nelly and Jasper were 
 right about you." 
 
 "7. 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Aha! So they saw what I felt. You cant say I did 
 not make my intentions plain enough to every unbiassed 
 person. The Countess was determined to get Constance 
 off her hands; Constance was determined to have me; and 
 you were determined to stick up for your own notions 
 of love and honeysuckles." 
 
 " I was determined to stick up for you, Marmaduke." 
 
 "Dont be indignant: I knew you would stick up for 
 me in your own way. But what I want to shew is, that 
 only three people believed that I was in earnest; and 
 those three were prejudiced." 
 
 " I wish you had enlightened Constance, and deceived 
 all the rest of the world, instead. No doubt I was wrong, 
 very wrong. I am very sorry." 
 
 " Pshaw ! It doesnt matter. It will all blow over some 
 day. Hush, I hear the garden gate opening. It is Con- 
 stance, come to spy what I am doing here with you. She 
 is as jealous as a crocodile — very nearly made a scene 
 yesterday because I played with Nelly against her at 
 tennis. I have to drive her to Bushy Copse this after- 
 noon, confoUnd it ! " 
 
 "And will you, after what you have just confessed?" 
 
 " I must. Besides, Jasper says that Conolly is coming 
 this evening to pack up his traps and go; and I want to 
 be out of the way when he is about." 
 
 "This evening! " 
 
 "Yes. Between ourselves, Marian, Susanna and I 
 were so put out by the cool way he carried on when he 
 called, that we had a regular quarrel after he went; and 
 we havent made it up yet." 
 
 " Pray dont talk about it to me, Duke. Here is Con- 
 stance." 
 
 " So you are here," said Constance, gaily, but with a 
 118 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 quick glance at them. " That is a pretty way to bring 
 your cousin in to luncheon, sir." 
 
 " We got chatting about you, my ownest," said Mar- 
 maduke; " and the subject was so sweet, and the moments 
 were so fleet, that we talked for quite an hour on the 
 strict q. t. Eh, Marian ? " 
 
 "As a punishment, you shall have no lunch. Mamma 
 is very angry with you both." 
 
 "Always ready to make allowances for her, provided 
 she sends you to lecture me, Conny. Why dont you wear 
 your hat properly ? " He arranged her hat as he spoke. 
 Constance laughed and blushed. Marian shuddered. 
 " Now youre all that fancy painted you : youre lovely, 
 youre divine. Are you ready for Bushy Copse? " 
 
 Constance replied by singing: 
 
 " Oh yes, if you please, kind sir, she said ; sir, she 
 said; sir, she said; 
 Oh ! yes if you pie — ease, kind sir, she said." 
 
 "Then come along. After your ladyship," he said, 
 taking her elbows as if they were the handles of a wheel- 
 barrow, and pushing her out before him through the 
 narrow entrance to the summer-house. On the thresh- 
 old he turned for a moment; met Marian's reproachful 
 eyes with a wink; grinned; and disappeared. 
 
 For half an hour afterward Marian sat alone in the 
 summer-house, thinking of the mistake she had made. 
 Then she returned to the Cottage, where she found Miss 
 McQuinch writing in the library, and related to her all 
 that had passed in the summer-house. Elinor listened, 
 seated in a rocking-chair, restlessly clapping her pro- 
 tended ankles together. When she heard of Conolly's 
 
 119 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 relationship to Susanna, she kept still for a few moments, 
 looking with widely opened eyes at Marian. Then, with 
 a sharp laugh, she said: 
 
 " Well, I beg his pardon. I thought he was another 
 of that woman's retainers. I never dreamt of his being 
 her brother." 
 
 Marian was horror stricken. " You thought — ! Oh, 
 Nelly, what puts such things into your head ? " 
 
 " So would you have thought it if you had the least 
 gumption about people. However, I was wrong; and 
 I'm glad of it. However, I was right about Marmaduke. 
 I told you so, over and over and over again." 
 
 " I know you did; but I didnt think you were in ear- 
 nest." 
 
 " No, you never can conceive my being in earnest when 
 I differ from you, until the event proves me to be right." 
 
 " I am afraid it will kill Constance." 
 
 " Dont, Marian ! " cried Elinor, giving her chair a vio- 
 lent swing. 
 
 " I am quite serious. You know how delicate she is." 
 
 " Well, if she dies of any sentiment, it will be wounded 
 vanity. Serve her right for allowing a man to be forced 
 into marrying her. I believe she knows in her soul that 
 he does not care about her. Why else should she be 
 jealous of me, of you, and of everybody? " 
 
 " It seems to me that instead of sympathizing with 
 the unfortunate girl, both you and Marmaduke exult in 
 her disappointment." 
 
 " I pity her, poor little wretch. But I dont sympa- 
 thize with her. I dont pity Marmaduke one bit: if the 
 whole family cuts him he will deserve it richly, but I do 
 sympathize with him. Can you wonder at his prefer- 
 ence? When we went to see that woman last June I 
 
 120 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 envied her. There she was, clever, independent, suc- 
 cessful, holding her own in the world, earning her living, 
 fascinating a crowd of people, whilst we poor respectable 
 nonentities sat pretending to despise her — as if we were 
 not waiting until some man in want of a female slave 
 should offer us our board and lodging and the privilege 
 of his lordly name with ' Missis ' before it for our life- 
 long services. You may make up as many little bread- 
 and-butter romances as you please, Marian; but I defy 
 you to give me any sensible reason why Marmaduke 
 should chain himself for ever to a little inane thing like 
 Constance, when he can enjoy the society of a capable 
 woman like that without binding himself at all." 
 
 " Nonsense, Nelly ! Really, you oughtnt to say such 
 things." 
 
 " No. I ought to keep both eyes tight shut so that 
 I may be contented in that station to which it has 
 pleased God to call me." 
 
 " Imagine his proposing to marry her, Nell ! I am 
 just as wicked as you; for I am very glad she refused; 
 though I cant conceive why she did it." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Miss McQuinch, becoming excited, 
 " she refused because she had too much good sense : aye, 
 and too much common decency to accept. It is all very 
 well for us fortunate good-for-nothings to resort to 
 pros'titution " 
 
 "Oh, Nelly!" 
 
 -I say, to prostitution, to secure ourselves a home 
 
 and an income. Somebody said openly in Parliament the 
 other day that marriage was the true profession of 
 women. So it is a profession; and except that it is a 
 harder bargain for both parties, and that society counte- 
 nances it, I dont see how it differs from what we— bless 
 
 121 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 our virtuous indignation!— stigmatize as prostitution. I 
 dont mean ever to be married, I can tell you, Marian. 
 I would rather die than sell myself forever to a man, 
 and stand in a church before a lot of people whilst 
 George or somebody read out that cynically plain-spoken 
 marriage service over me." 
 
 " Stop Nelly ! Pray stop ! If you thought for a mo- 
 ment you would never say such awful things." 
 
 " I thought we had agreed long ago that marriage is 
 a mistake." 
 
 " Yes ; but that is very different to what you are saying 
 now." 
 
 " I cannot see " 
 
 " Pray stop, Nelly. Dont go on in that strain. It 
 does no good; and it makes me very uncomfortable." 
 
 " I'll take it out in work," said Nelly calmly, return- 
 ing to her manuscript. " I can see that, as you say, 
 talking does no good. All the more reason why I should 
 have another try at earning my own living. When I 
 become a great novelist I shall say what I like and do 
 what I please. For the present I am your obedient, 
 humble servant." 
 
 At any other time Marian would have protested, and 
 explained, and soothed. Now she was too heavily pre- 
 occupied by her guilty conscience. She strolled discon- 
 solately to the window, and presently, seeing that Miss 
 McQuinch was at work in earnest and had better not be 
 disturbed, went off for a lonely walk. It was a glorious 
 afternoon; and nature heaped its peculiar consolations 
 on her; so that she never thought of returning until the 
 sun was close to the horizon. As she came, tired, 
 through the plantation, with the evening glow and the 
 light wind, in which the branches were rustling and the 
 
 122 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 leaves dropping, lulling her luxuriously, she heard some 
 one striding swiftly along the path behind. She looked 
 back; but there was a curve in the way; and she could 
 not see who was coming. Then it occurred to her that 
 it might be Conolly. Dreading to face him after what 
 had happened, she stole aside among the trees a little 
 way, and sat down on a stone, hoping that he might pass 
 by without seeing her. The next moment he came round 
 the curve, looking so resolute and vigorous that her 
 heart became fainter as she watched him. Just opposite 
 where she sat, he stopped, having a clear view of the 
 path ahead for some distance, and appeared puzzled. 
 Marian held her breath. He looked to the left through 
 the trees, then to the right, where she was. 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Lind," he said respectfully, 
 raising his hat. 
 
 " Good-evening," said she, trembling. 
 
 " You are not looking quite well." 
 
 "I have walked too much; and I feel a little tired. 
 That is why I had to sit down. I shall be rested pres- 
 ently." 
 
 Conolly sat down on a felled trunk opposite Marian. 
 " This is my last visit to Carbury Towers," he said. " No 
 doubt you know that I am going for good." 
 
 " Yes," said Marian. " I — I am greatly obliged to 
 you for all the pains you have taken with me in the 
 laboratory. You have been very patient. I suppose I 
 have often wasted your time unreasonably." 
 
 " No," said Conolly, unceremoniously, " you have not 
 wasted my time: I never let anybody do that. My time 
 belonged to Lord Carbury, not to myself. However, 
 that is neither here nor there. I enjoyed giving you 
 
 123 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 lessons. Unless you enjoyed taking them, the whole ob- 
 ligation rests on me." 
 
 " They were very pleasant." 
 
 He shifted himself into an easier position, looking well 
 pleased. Then he said, carelessly, " Has Mr. Marma- 
 duke Lind come down ? " 
 
 Marian reddened and felt giddy. 
 
 " I want to avoid meeting him," continued Conolly; 
 " and I thought perhaps you might know enough of his 
 movements this evening to help me to do so. It does 
 not matter much; but I have a reason." 
 
 Marian felt the hysteric globe at her throat as she 
 tried to speak; but she repressed it, and said : 
 
 " Mr. Conolly: I know the reason. I did not know 
 before: I am sure you did not think I did. I made a 
 dreadful mistake." 
 
 " Why ! " said Conolly, with some indignation, " who 
 has told you since? " 
 
 " Marmaduke," said Marian, roused to reply quickly 
 by the energy of the questioner. " He did not mean to 
 be indiscreet: he thought I knew." 
 
 " Thought ! He never thought in his life, Miss Lind. 
 , However, he was right enough to tell you; and I am glad 
 you know the truth, because it explains my behavior 
 the last time we met. It took me aback a bit for the 
 moment." 
 
 "You were very forbearing. I hope you will not 
 think me intrusive if I tell you how sincerely sorry I am 
 for the misfortune which has come to you." 
 
 "What misfortune?" 
 
 Marian lost confidence again, and looked at him in 
 silent distress. 
 
 "To be sure," he interposed, quickly. "I know; but 
 124 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 you had put it all out of my head. I am much obliged 
 to you. Not that I am much concerned about it. You 
 will perhaps think it an instance of the depravity of my 
 order, Miss Lind; but I am not one of those people who 
 think it pious to consider their near relatives as if they 
 were outside the natural course of things. I never was 
 a good son or a good brother or a good patriot in the 
 sense of thinking that my mother and my sister and my 
 native country were better than other people's because 
 I happened to belong to them. I knew what would hap- 
 pen some day, though, as usual, my foreknowledge did 
 not save me from a little emotion when the event came 
 to pass. Besides, to tell you the truth, I dont feel it as 
 a misfortune. You know what my sister's profession is. 
 You told me how you felt when you saw her act. Now, 
 tell me fairly, and without stopping to think of whether 
 your answer will hurt me, would you consent to know her 
 in private even if you had heard nothing to her disad- 
 vantage? Would you invite her to your house, or go 
 to a party at which all the other women were like her? 
 Would you introduce young ladies to her, as you would 
 introduce them to Miss McQuinch? Dont stop to imag- 
 ine exceptional circumstances which might justify you 
 in doing these things; but tell me yes or no, would, you ? " 
 
 " You see, Mr. Conolly, I should really never have an 
 opportunity of doing them." 
 
 " By your leave, Miss Lind, that means No. Hon- 
 estly, then, what has Susanna to lose by disregarding 
 your rules of behavior? Even if, by marrying, she con- 
 ciliated the notions of your class, she would only give 
 some man the right to ill-treat her and spend her earn- 
 ings, without getting anything in return — and remem- 
 ber there is a special danger of that on the stage, for 
 
 "5 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 several reasons. She would not really conciliate you by 
 marrying, for you wouldnt associate with her a bit the 
 more because of her marriage certificate. Of course I 
 am putting her self-respect out of the question, that be- 
 ing a matter between herself and her conscience, with 
 which we have no concern. Believe me, neither actresses 
 nor any other class will trouble themselves about the 
 opinion of a society in which they are allowed to have 
 neither part nor lot. Perhaps I am wrong to talk about 
 such matters to you; but you are trained to feel all the 
 worst that can be felt for my sister; and I feel bound to 
 let you know that there is something to be said in her 
 defence. I have no right to blame her, as she has done 
 me no harm. The only way in which her conduct can 
 influence my prospects will be through her being an un- 
 desirable sister-in-law in case I should want to marry." 
 
 " If the person you choose hesitate on that account, 
 you can let her go without regret," said Marian. " She 
 will not be worthy of your regard." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said Conolly, laughing. 
 " You see, Miss Lind, if that invention of mine succeeds, 
 I may become a noted man; and it is fashionable nowa- 
 days for society to patronize geniuses who hit on a new 
 illustration of what people call the marvels of science. 
 I am ambitious. As a celebrity, I might win the affec- 
 tions of a duchess. Who knows ? " 
 
 " I should not advise you to marry a duchess. I do 
 not know many of them, as I am a comparatively humble 
 person; but I am sure you would not like them." 
 
 "Aye. And possibly a lady of gentle nurture would 
 not like me." 
 
 " On the contrary, clever people are so rare in society 
 
 126 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 that I think you would have a better chance than most 
 men." 
 
 " Do you think my manners would pass ? I learnt to 
 dance and bow before I was twelve years old from the 
 most experienced master in Europe; and I used to mix 
 with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father's 
 opera company, not to mention the fashionable people 
 I have read about in novels." 
 
 " You are jesting, Mr. Conolly. I do not believe that 
 your manners give you the least real concern." 
 
 "And you think that I may aspire in time — if I am 
 successful in public — to the hand of a lady ? " 
 
 " Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why 
 should you not marry a lady, if you wish to ? " 
 
 " I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for 
 me, after all." 
 
 " I dont think so. What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly ? " 
 
 " It wants ten minutes of seven." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Marian, rising. " Miss McQuinch is 
 probably wondering whether I am drowned or lost. I 
 must get back to the Hall as fast as I can. They have 
 returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure 
 they are asking about me." 
 
 Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as 
 the path from the cottage to the laboratory. 
 
 " This is my way, Miss Lind," said he. " I am going 
 to the laboratory. Will you be so kind as to give my 
 respects to Miss McQuinch. I shall not see her again, 
 as I must return to town by the last train to-night." 
 
 " And are you not coming back — not at all, I mean ? " 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Marian slowly. 
 
 " Good bye, Miss Lind." 
 
 127 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, 
 with a smile, put out her hand. He took it for the first 
 time; looked at her for a moment gravely; and left her. 
 
 Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither 
 of them looked back at the other as they went their 
 several ways. 
 
 128 
 
BOOK II 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 IN the spring, eighteen months after his daughter's 
 visit to Carbury Towers, Mr. Reginald Harrington 
 Lind called at a house in Manchester Square and 
 found Mrs. Douglas at home. Sholto's mother was a 
 widow lady older than Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy 
 eye and shaky hand, who would have looked weak and 
 shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of money, 
 unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference 
 from attendants who were all trained artists in their 
 occupation, made a fair shew of being a dignified and 
 interesting old lady. When he was seated, her first 
 action was to take a new photograph from a little table 
 at her side, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting 
 his recognition of it with a shew of natural pride and 
 affection which was amateurish in comparison to the 
 more polished and skilful comedy with which her visitor 
 took it and pretended to admire it. 
 
 " Capital. Capital," said Mr. Lind. " He must give 
 us one." 
 
 "You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do 
 you?" said Mrs. Douglas. 
 
 " Certainly not : it is an improvement," said Mr. Lind, 
 decisively. " You are glad to have him back again with 
 you, I dare say. Ah yes, yes" (Mrs. Douglas's eyes 
 had answered for her). "Did he tell you that he met 
 me? I saw him on Wednesday last for the first time 
 since his return to London. How long was he away? " 
 
 131 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Two years," she replied, with slow emphasis, as if 
 such an absence were hardly credible. " Two long 
 years. He has been staying in Paris, in Venice, in 
 Florence : a month here, a week there, dissatisfied every- 
 where. He would have been almost as happy with me 
 at home. And how is Marian ? " 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Lind, smiling, " I believe she is still 
 disengaged; and she professes to be fancy free. She is 
 fond of saying, generally, that she will never marry, and 
 so forth. That is the new fashion with young women — 
 if saying what they dont mean can be called a new 
 fashion." 
 
 " Marian is sure to get married," said Mrs. Douglas. 
 " She must have had offers already. There are few 
 parents who have not cause to envy you." 
 
 " We have both been happy in that respect, Mrs. 
 Douglas. Sholto is a highly distinguished young man. 
 I wish I had started in life with half his advantages. I 
 thought at one time he was perhaps becoming attached 
 to Marian." 
 
 " You are quite sure, Mr. Lind, that you could forgive 
 his being a plain gentleman? A little bird whispered to 
 me that you desired a title for Marian." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Douglas, we, who are familiar with 
 titles, understand their true value. I should be very 
 sorry to see Marian lose, by an unsuitable alliance, the 
 social position I have been able to give her. I should 
 set my face resolutely against such an alliance. But 
 few English titles can boast a pedigree comparable 
 with Sholto's. The name of Douglas is historic — far 
 more so than that of Lind, which is not even English 
 except by naturalization. Besides, Sholto's talents are 
 very remarkable. He will certainly adopt a political 
 
 132 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 career; and, with his opportunities and abilities, a peer- 
 age is anything but a remote contingency." 
 
 " Sholto, you know, is perfectly unembarrassed. There 
 is not a charge on his property. I think that even Ma- 
 rian, good as she is, and lovely as she is, will not easily 
 find a better match. But I am well known to be a little 
 crazy about my dear boy. That is because I know him 
 so much better than anyone else does. Now let us 
 talk about other matters. Let me see. Oh yes, I got 
 a prospectus of some company from the city the other 
 day; and whose name should there be upon the list of 
 directors but Reginald Harrington Lind's! And Lord 
 Carbury's, too! Pray, is the entire family going into 
 business ? " 
 
 " Well, I believe the undertaking to be a commercially 
 sound one; and " 
 
 " Fancy you talking about commercial soundness ! " 
 
 " True. It must sound strange to you. But it is no 
 longer unusual for men in my position to take an active 
 part in the direction of commerce. We have duties as 
 well as privileges. I gave my name and took a few 
 shares chiefly on the recommendation of Jasper and of 
 my own stockbroker. I think there can be no doubt 
 that Jasper and Mr. Conolly have made a very remark- 
 able discovery, and one which must prove highly remu- 
 nerative and beneficial." 
 
 "What is the discovery? I did not quite understand 
 the prospectus." 
 
 " Well, it is called the Conolly Electro-motor." 
 
 " Yes, I know that." 
 
 "And it — it turns all sorts of machinery. I cannot 
 explain it scientifically to you: you would not understand 
 me. But it is, in short, a method of driving machinery 
 
 133 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 by electricity at a less cost than by steam. It is con- 
 nected in principle with the conservation of energy and 
 other technical matters. You must come and see the 
 machinery at work some day." 
 
 " I must, indeed. And is it true that Mr. Conolly was 
 a common working man? " 
 
 " Yes, a practical man, undoubtedly, but highly edu- 
 cated. He speaks French and Italian fluently, and is a 
 remarkable musician. Altogether a man of very superior 
 attainments, and by no means deficient in culture." 
 
 "Dear me! Jasper told me something of that sort 
 about him; but Lady Carbury gave him a very different 
 character. She assured me that he was sprung from 
 the dregs of the people, and that she had a great deal 
 of trouble to teach him his proper place. Still, we know 
 that she is not very particular as to what she says when 
 she dislikes people. Yet she ought to know; for he was 
 Jasper's laboratory servant — at least so she said." 
 
 " Oh, surely not a servant. Jasper never regarded 
 him in that light. The Countess disapproves of Jasper's 
 scientific pursuits, and sets her face against all who en- 
 courage him in them. However, I really know nothing 
 about Mr. Conolly's antecedents. His manner when he 
 appears at our board meetings is quiet and not unpleas- 
 ant. Marian, it appears, met him at Towers Cottage 
 the year before last, and had some scientific lessons from 
 him. He was quite unknown then. It was rather a 
 curious coincidence. I did not know of it until about 
 a month ago, when he read a paper at the Society of 
 Arts on his invention. I attended the meeting with Ma- 
 rian; and when it was over, I introduced him to her, and 
 was surprised to learn that they knew one another al- 
 ready. He told me afterward that Marian had shewn 
 
 134 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 an unusual degree of cleverness in studying electricity, 
 and that she greatly interested him at the time." 
 
 " No doubt. Marian interests everybody; and even 
 great discoverers, when they are young, are only human." 
 
 "Ah! Perhaps so. But she must have shewn some 
 ability or she would never have elicited a remark from 
 him. He is full of his business." 
 
 "And what is the latest news of the family scamp ? " 
 
 " Do you mean my Reginald ? " 
 
 " Dear me, no ! What a shame to call poor Reggy 
 a scamp! I mean young Marmaduke, of course. Is 
 it true that he has a daughter now ? " 
 
 "Oh yes. Perfectly true." 
 
 " The reprobate ! And he was always such a pleasant 
 fellow." 
 
 " Yes; but he is annoyingly inconsiderate. About a 
 fortnight ago, Marian and Elinor went to Putney to a 
 private view at Mr. Scott's studio. On their way back 
 they saw Marmaduke on the river, and, rather unneces- 
 sarily, I think, entered into conversation with him. He 
 begged them to come to Hammersmith in his boat, say- 
 ing that he had something there to shew them. Elinor, it 
 appears, had the sense to ask whether it was anything 
 they ought not to see; but he replied on his honor that 
 it was something perfectly innocent, and promised that 
 they should be delighted with it. So they foolishly con- 
 sented, and went with him to Hammersmith, where they 
 left the river and walked some distance with him. He 
 left them in a road somewhere in West Kensington, and 
 came back after about fifteen minutes with a little girl. 
 He actually presented her to Marian and Elinor as a 
 member of the family whom they, as a matter of course, 
 would like to know." 
 
 135 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Well, such a thing to do ! And what happened ? " 
 
 "Marian seems to have thought of nothing but the 
 
 prettiness of the unhappy child. She gravely informed 
 
 me that she forgave Marmaduke everything when she 
 
 saw how he doted on it. Elinor has always shewn a 
 
 disposition to defend him " 
 
 " She is full of perversity, and always was." 
 
 • and this incident did not damage his credit with 
 
 her. However, after the little waif had been sufficiently 
 petted and praised to gratify Master Marmaduke's pa- 
 ternal feelings, they came home, and, instead of holding 
 their tongues, began to tell all our people what a dear little 
 child Marmaduke had, and how they considered that it 
 ought not to be made to suffer for his follies. In fact, 
 I think they would have adopted it, if I had allowed 
 them." 
 
 " That is Marian all over. Some of her ideas will 
 serve her very well when she goes to heaven; but they 
 will get her into scrapes in this wicked world if you do 
 not take care of her." 
 
 " I fear so. For that reason I tolerate a degree of 
 cynicism in Elinor's character which would otherwise be 
 most disagreeable to me. It is often useful in correcting 
 Marian's extravagances. Unfortunately, the incident at 
 Hammersmith did not pass off without making mischief. 
 It happens that my sister Julia is interested in a Home 
 for foundling girls — a semi-private place, where a dozen 
 children are trained as domestic servants." 
 
 "Yes. I have been through it. It is very neat and 
 pretty; but they really treat the poor girls as if they 
 ought to be thankful for permission to exist. Their 
 dresses are so ugly ! " 
 
 " Possibly. I assure you that presentations are much 
 
 136 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 sought after, and are very difficult to get. Julia is a 
 patroness. Marian told her about this child of Mar- 
 maduke's; and it happened that a vacancy had just oc- 
 curred at the Home in consequence of one of the girls 
 dying of melancholia and spinal affection. Julia, who 
 has perhaps more piety than tact, wrote to Marmaduke 
 offering to present his daughter, and expatiating on the 
 advantages of the Home to the poor little lost one. In 
 her desire to reclaim Marmaduke also, she entrusted the 
 letter to George, who undertook to deliver it, and further 
 Julia's project by personal persuasion. George described 
 the interview to me, and shewed me, I am sorry to say, 
 how much downright ferocity may exist beneath an ap- 
 parently frank, jovial, reckless exterior like Marma- 
 duke's." 
 
 "Well, I hardly wonder at his refusing. Of course, 
 he might have known that the motive of the offer was 
 a kind one." 
 
 " Refused ! A gentleman can always refuse an offer 
 with dignity. Marmaduke was outrageous. George — a 
 clergyman— owed his escape from actual violence to the 
 interference of the woman, and to a timely representa- 
 tion that he had undertaken to bear the message in order 
 to soften any angry feelings that it might give rise to. 
 Marmaduke repeatedly applied foul language to his aunt 
 and to her offer; and George with great difficulty dis- 
 suaded him from writing a most offensive letter to her. 
 Julia was so hurt by this that she complained to Dora — 
 Marmaduke's mother — who had up to that time been 
 kept in ignorance of his doings; and now it is hard to 
 say where the mischief will end. Dora is overwhelmed 
 by the revelation of the life her son is leading. Mar- 
 maduke has consequently forfeited his father's counte- 
 
 137 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 nance, which had to be extended to him so far as to 
 allow of his occasional appearance at home, in order to 
 keep Dora in the dark. Now that she is enlightened, 
 of course there is an end of all that, and he is forbidden 
 the house." 
 
 " What a lot of mischief ! Dear me ! " 
 
 " So I said to Marian. Had she refused to go up the 
 river with Marmaduke, as she should have done, all this 
 would not have occurred. She will not see it in that 
 light, but lays all the blame on her aunt Julia, whose 
 offer fell somewhat short of her own notions of pro- 
 viding for the child's future." 
 
 " How does Marmaduke stand with respect to money? 
 I suppose his father has stopped his allowance." 
 
 " No. He threatened to do it, and went so far as to 
 make his solicitor write to that effect to Marmaduke, who 
 had the consummate impudence to reply that he should 
 in that case be compelled to provide for himself by con- 
 tracting a marriage of which he could not expect his 
 family to approve. Still, he added, if the family chose 
 to sever their connexion with him, they could not ex- 
 pect him to consult their feelings in his future disposal 
 of himself. In plain English, he threatened to marry 
 this woman if his income was cut off. He carried his 
 point, too ; for no alteration has been made in his allow- 
 ance. Indeed, as he has money of his own, and as part 
 of the property is entailed, it would be easier to irritate 
 him uselessly than to subject him to any material depri- 
 vation," 
 
 " The young scamp ! I wonder he was clever enough 
 to take advantage like that." 
 
 " He has shewn no lack of acuteness of late. I sus- 
 pect he is under shrewd guidance." 
 
 138 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Have you ever seen the — the guidance? " 
 
 " Not in person. I seldom enter a theatre now. But 
 I am of course familiar with her appearance from the 
 photographic portraits of her. They are in all the shop 
 windows." 
 
 " Yes. I think I have noticed them." 
 
 "And now, Mrs. Douglas, I fear I have paid you a 
 very long visit." 
 
 " Why dont you come oftener ? " 
 
 " I wish I could find time. I have not so much leisure 
 for enjoyment as I used." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. But we are always glad 
 to have a chat with one another, I know. We are agreed 
 about the dear children, I think? " 
 
 " Cordially. Cordially. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 139 
 
o 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 N the morning of the first Friday in May Ma- 
 rian received this letter: 
 
 " Uxbridge Road, Holland Park, W. 
 
 " Dear Miss Lind : I must begin by explaining why 
 I make this communication to you by letter instead of 
 orally. It is because I am about to ask you to do me a 
 favor. If you asked me to do anything for you, then, 
 no matter how much my judgment might protest against 
 my compliance, I could not without pain to myself re- 
 fuse you face to face. I have no right to assume that 
 your heart would plead on my behalf against your head 
 in this fashion; but, on the other hand — the wish is 
 father to the thought here — I have no right to assume that 
 it would not. Therefore, to spare you all influences ex- 
 cept the fair ones of your own interest and inclination, 
 I make my proposal in writing. You will please put 
 the usual construction on the word ' proposal.' What I 
 desire is your consent to marry me. If your first im- 
 pulse now is to refuse, I beg you to do so in plain terms 
 at once, and destroy this letter without reading further. 
 If you think, on the contrary, that we could achieve a 
 future as pleasant as our past association has been — to 
 me at least, here is what, as I think, you have to consider. 
 
 "You are a lady, rich, well-born, beautiful, loved 
 by many persons besides myself, too happily cicum- 
 stanced to have any pressing inducement to change your 
 condition, and too fortunately endowed in every way to 
 have reason to anticipate the least difficulty in changing 
 it to the greatest worldly advantage when you please. 
 
 "What I am and have been, you know. I may es- 
 trange from you some of the society which you enjoy, 
 and I can introduce you to none that would compensate 
 you for the loss. I am what you call poor: my income at 
 
 140 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 present does not amount to much more than fifteen 
 hundred pounds; and I should not ask you to marry me 
 if it were not that your own inheritance is sufficient, as 
 I have ascertained, to provide for you in case of my early 
 death. You know how my sister is situated ; how your 
 family are likely to feel toward me on her account and 
 my own; and how impatient I am of devoting much time 
 to what is fashionably supposed to be pleasure. On the 
 other hand, as I am bidding for a consent and not for a 
 refusal, I hope you will not take my disadvantages for 
 more, or my advantages for less, than they are honestly 
 worth. At Carbury Park you often said that you would 
 never marry; and I have said the same myself. So, as 
 we neither of us overrate the possibilities of happiness 
 in marriage, perhaps we might, if you would be a little 
 forbearing with me, succeed in proving that we have 
 greatly underrated them. As for the prudence of the 
 step, I have seen and practised too much prudence to 
 believe that it is worth much as a rule of conduct in a 
 world of accidents. If there were a science of life as 
 there is one of mechanics, we could plan our lives 
 scientifically and run no risks; but as it is, we must — 
 together or apart — take our chance: cautiousness and 
 recklessness divide the great stock of regrets pretty 
 equally. 
 
 " Perhaps you will wonder at my selfishness in wanting 
 you, for my own good, to forfeit your present happy in- 
 dependence among your friends, and involve your for- 
 tunes with those of a man whom you have only seen 
 on occasions when ceremony compelled him to observe 
 his best behavior. I can only excuse myself by remind- 
 ing you that no matter whom you marry, you must do 
 so at the same disadvantages, except as to the approval 
 of your friends, of which the value is for you to consider. 
 That being so, why should I not profit by your hazard 
 as well as another? Besides, there are many other feel- 
 ings impelling me. I should like to describe them to you, 
 and would if I understood them well enough to do it 
 accurately. 
 
 " However, nothing is further from my intention than 
 
 141 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to indite a love letter; so I will return to graver questions. 
 One, in particular, must be clearly understood between 
 us. You are too earnest to consider an allusion to re- 
 ligious matters out of place here. I do not know exactly 
 what you believe; but I have gathered from stray re- 
 marks of yours that you belong to what is called the 
 Broad Church. If so, we must to some extent agree 
 to differ. I should never interfere in any way with 
 your liberty as far as your actions concerned yourself 
 only. But, frankly, I should not permit my wife to 
 teach my children to know Christianity in any other way 
 than that in which an educated Englishman knows Bud- 
 dhism. I will not go through any ceremony whatever in 
 a church, or enter one except to play the organ. I am 
 prejudiced against religions of all sorts. The Church 
 has made itself the natural enemy of the theatre; and I 
 was brought up in the theatre until I became a poor 
 workman earning wages, when I found the Church al- 
 ways taking part against me and my comrades with the 
 rich who did no work. If the Church had never set 
 itself against me, perhaps I should never have set myself 
 against the Church; but what is done is done: you will 
 find me irreligious, but not, I hope, unreasonable. 
 
 " I will be at the Academy to-morrow at about four 
 o'clock, as I do not care to remain longer in suspense 
 than is absolutely necessary ; but if you are not prepared 
 to meet me then, I shall faithfully help you in any effort 
 I may perceive you make to avoid me. 
 " I am, dear Miss Lind, 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 " Edward Conolly." 
 
 This letter conveyed to Marian hardly one of the 
 considerations set forth in it. She thought it a frank, 
 strong, admirable letter, just what she should have hoped 
 from her highest estimate ©f him. In the quaint ear- 
 nestness about religion, and the exaggerated estimate 
 (as she. thought) of the advantages which she might 
 
 143 , 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 forfeit by marrying him, there was just enough of the 
 workman to make them characteristic. She wished that 
 she could make some real sacrifice for his sake. She 
 was afraid to realize her situation at first, and, to keep 
 it off, occupied herself during the forenoon with her 
 household duties, with some pianoforte practice, and 
 such other triflings as she could persuade herself were 
 necessary. At last she quite suddenly became impa- 
 tient of further delay. She sat down in a nook behind 
 the window curtain, and re-read the letter resolutely. It 
 disappointed her a little, so she read it again. The third 
 time she liked it better than the first; and she would 
 have gone through it yet again but for the arrival of 
 Mrs. Leith Fairfax, with whom they had arranged to 
 go to Burlington House. 
 
 " It is really a tax on me, this first day at the Academy," 
 said Mrs. Fairfax, when they were at luncheon. "I 
 have been there at the press view, besides seeing all the 
 pictures long ago in the studios. But, of course, I am 
 expected to be there." 
 
 " If I were in your place," said Elinor, " I " 
 
 " Last night," continued Mrs. Fairfax, deliberately 
 ignoring her, " I was not in bed until half-past two 
 o'clock. On the night before, I was up until five. On 
 Tuesday I did not go to bed at all." 
 
 " Why do you do such things ? " said Marian. 
 
 " My dear, I must. John Metcalf, the publisher, came 
 to me on Tuesday at three o'clock, and said he must 
 have an article on the mango experiments at Kew ready 
 for the printer before ten next morning. For his paper, 
 the Fortnightly Naturalist, you know. ' My dear John 
 Metcalf,' I said, ' I dont know what a mango is.' 'No 
 more do I, Mrs. Leith Fairfax,' said he: 'I think it's 
 
 143 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 something that blooms only once in a hundred years. 
 No matter what it is, you must let me have the article. 
 Nobody else can do it.' I told him it was impossible. 
 My London letter for the Hart Kari was not even begun; 
 and the last post to catch the mail to Japan was at a 
 quarter-past six in the morning. I had an article to 
 write for your father, too. And, as the sun had been 
 shining all day, I was almost distracted with hay fever. 
 ' If you were to go down on your knees,' I said, ' I could 
 not find time to read up the Jlora of the West Indies 
 and finish an article before morning.' He went down 
 on his knees. ' Now Mrs. Leith Fairfax,' said he, ' I 
 am going to stay here until you promise.' What could 
 I do but promise and get rid of him? I did it, too: 
 how, I dont know; but I did it. John Metcalf told me 
 yesterday that Sir James Hooker, the president of the 
 Society for Naturalizing the Bread Fruit Tree in Britain, 
 and the greatest living authority on the subject, has got 
 the credit of having written my article." 
 
 " How flattered he must feel ! " said Elinor. 
 
 "What article had you to write for papa?" said Ma- 
 rian. 
 
 " On the electro-motor — the Conolly electro-motor. I 
 went down to the City on Wednesday, and saw it work- 
 ing. It is most wonderful, and very interesting. Mr. 
 Conoily explained it to me himself. I was able to follow 
 every step that his mind has made in inventing it. I 
 remember him as a common workman. He fitted the 
 electric bell in my study four years ago with his own 
 hands. You may remember that we met him at a con- 
 cert once. He is a thorough man of business. The 
 Company is making upward of fifty pounds an hour by 
 the motor at present; and they expect their receipts to be 
 
 144 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 a thousand a day next year. ' My article will be in the 
 Dynamic Statistician next week. Have you seen Sholto 
 Douglas since he came back from the continent ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I want to see him. When you meet him next, tell 
 him to call on me. Why has he not been here? Surely 
 you are not keeping up your old quarrel ? " 
 
 "What old quarrel?" 
 
 " I always understood that he went abroad on your 
 account." 
 
 " I never quarreled with him. Perhaps he did with 
 me, as he has not come to see us since his return. It 
 used to be so easy to offend him that his retirement in 
 good temper after a visit was quite exceptional." 
 
 " Come, come, my dear child! that is all nonsense. 
 You must be kind to the poor fellow. Perhaps he will 
 be at the Academy." 
 
 " I hope not," said Marian, quickly. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I mean if he cherishes any grudge against me; for 
 he will be very disagreeable." 
 
 "A grudge against you! Ah, Marian, how little you 
 understand him ! What perverse creatures all you young 
 people are! I must bring about an eclair xissement." 
 
 " I advise you not to," said Elinor. " If you succeed, 
 no one will admit that you have done anything; and if 
 you fail, everybody will blame you." 
 
 " But there is nothing to be eclairci," said Marian. 
 " We are talking nonsense, which is silly " 
 
 "And French, which is vulgar," interposed Miss Mc- 
 Quinch, delivering the remark like a pistol shot at Mrs. 
 Fairfax, who had been trying to convey by facial ex- 
 pression that she pitied the folly of Elinor's advice, and 
 
 145 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 was scandalized by her presumption in offering it. " It 
 is time to start for the Academy." 
 
 When they arrived at Burlington House, Mrs. Fair- 
 fax put on her gold rimmed spectacles, and led the way 
 up the stairs like one having important business in a 
 place to which others came for pleasure. When they 
 had passed the turnstiles, Elinor halted, and said : 
 
 " There is no sort of reason for our pushing through 
 this crowd in a gang of three. Besides, I want to look 
 at the pictures, and not after you to see which way you 
 go. I shall meet you here at six o'clock, sharp. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 " What an extraordinary girl ! " said Mrs. Fairfax, as 
 Elinor opened her catalogue at the end, and suddenly dis- 
 appeared to the right amongst the crowd. 
 
 " She always does so," said Marian; " and I think she 
 is quite right. Two people cannot make their way about 
 as easily as one; and they never want to see the same 
 pictures." 
 
 " But, my dear, consider the impropriety of a young 
 girl walking about by herself." 
 
 " Surely there is no impropriety in it. Lots of people 
 — all sensible women do it. Who can tell, in this crowd, 
 whether you are by yourself or not? And what does it 
 matter if—" 
 
 Here Mrs. Fairfax's attention was diverted by the ap- 
 proach of one of her numerous acquaintances. Marian, 
 after a moment's indecision, slipped away and began her 
 tour of the rooms alone, passing quickly through the first 
 in order to escape pursuit. In the second she tried to look 
 at the pictures; but as she now for the first time realized 
 that she might meet Conolly at any moment, doubt as to 
 what answer she should give him seized her; and she 
 
 146 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 felt a strong impulse to fly. The pictures were unintel- 
 ligible to her: she kept her face turned to the inharmo- 
 nious shew of paint and gilding only because she shrank 
 from looking at the people about. Whenever she stood 
 still, and any man approached and remained near her, 
 she contemplated the wall fixedly, and did not dare to 
 look round or even to stir until he moved away, lest he 
 should be Conolly. When she passed from the second 
 room to the large one, she felt as though she were mak- 
 ing a tremendous plunge; and indeed the catastrophe 
 occurred before she had accomplished the movement, for 
 she came suddenly face to face with him in the doorway. 
 He did not flinch : he raised his hat, and prepared to pass 
 on. She involuntarily put out her hand in remonstrance. 
 He took it as a gift at once; and she, confused, said 
 anxiously : " We must not stand in the doorway. The 
 people cannot pass us," as if her action had meant noth- 
 ing more than an attempt to draw him out of the way. 
 Then, perceiving the absurdity of this pretence, she was 
 quite lost for a moment. When she recovered her self- 
 possession they were standing together in the less 
 thronged space near a bust of the Queen; and Con- 
 olly was saying: 
 
 " I have been here half an hour; and I have not seen 
 a single picture." 
 
 " Nor I," she said timidly, looking down at her cata- 
 logue. " Shall we try to see some now ? " 
 
 He opened his catalogue; and they turned together 
 toward the pictures and were soon discussing them sedu- 
 lously, as if they wished to shut out the subject of the 
 very recent crisis in their affairs, which was nevertheless 
 constantly present in their minds. Marian was saluted 
 by many acquaintances. At each encounter she made 
 
 147 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 an effort to appear unconcerned, and suffered immedi- 
 ately afterward from a suspicion that the effort had de- 
 feated its own object, as such efforts often do. Conolly 
 had something to say about most of the pictures: gener- 
 ally an unanswerable objection to some historical or 
 technical inaccuracy, which sometimes convinced her, 
 and always impressed her with a confiding sense of ig- 
 norance in herself and infallible judgment in him. 
 
 " I think we have done enough for one day," she said 
 at last. " The watercolors and the sculpture must wait 
 until next time." 
 
 " We had better watch for a vacant seat. You must 
 be tired." 
 
 "I am, a little. I think I should like to sit in some 
 other room. Mrs. Leith Fairfax is over there with Mr. 
 Douglas — a gentleman whom I know and would rather 
 not meet just now. You saw him at Wandsworth." 
 
 "Yes. That tall man? He has let his beard grow 
 since." 
 
 " That is he. Let us go to the room where the draw- 
 ings are: we shall have a better chance of a seat there. 
 I have not seen Sholto for two years; and our last meet- 
 ing was rather a stormy one." 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 Marian was a little hurt by being questioned. She 
 missed the reticence of a gentleman. Then she re- 
 proached herself for not understanding that his frank 
 curiosity was a delicate appeal to her confidence in him, 
 and answered : " He proposed to me." 
 
 Conolly immediately dropped the subject, and went in 
 search of a vacant seat. They found one in the little 
 room where the architects' drawings languish. They 
 were silent for some time. 
 
 148 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Then he began, seriously : " Is it too soon to call you 
 by your own name ? ' Miss Lind ' is distant; but ' Ma- 
 rian ' might shock you if it came too confidently without 
 preparation." 
 
 " Whichever you please." 
 
 " Whichever I please ! " 
 
 " That is the worst of being a woman. Little speeches 
 that are sheer coquetry when you analyze them, come to 
 our lips and escape even when we are most anxious to 
 be straightforward." 
 
 " In the same way," said Conolly, " the most enlight- 
 ened men often express themselves in a purely conven- 
 tional manner on subjects on which they have the deepest 
 convictions." This sententious utterance had the effect 
 of extinguishing the conversation for some moments, Ma- 
 rian being unable to think of a worthy rejoinder. At last 
 she said : 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 "Edward, or, familiarly, Ned. Commonly Ted. In 
 America, Ed. With, of course, the diminutives Neddy, 
 Teddy, and Eddy." 
 
 " I think I should prefer Ned." 
 
 " I prefer Ned myself." 
 
 " Have you any other name? " 
 
 " Yes; but it is a secret. Why people should be plagued 
 with two Christian names, I do not know. No one 
 would have believed in the motor if they had known 
 that my name was Sebastian." 
 
 "Sebastian!" 
 
 " Hush. I was actually christened Edoardo Sebasti- 
 ano Conolly. My father used to spell his name Conollj 
 whilst he was out of Italy. I have frustrated the bounty 
 
 149 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 of my godfathers by suppressing all but the sensible 
 Edward Conolly." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Marian spoke. 
 
 " Do you intend to make our — our engagement known 
 at once ? " 
 
 "I have considered the point; and as you are the 
 person likely to be inconvenienced by its publication, I 
 am bound to let you conceal it for the present, if you wish 
 to. It must transpire sometime: the sooner the better. 
 You will feel uncomfortably deceitful with such a secret ; 
 and as for me, every time your father greets me cordially 
 in the City I shall feel mean. However, you can watch 
 for your opportunity. Let me know at once when the 
 cat .comes out of the bag." 
 
 " I will. I think, as you say, the right course is to tell 
 at once." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. But from the moment you do so until 
 we are married you will be worried by remonstrances, 
 entreaties, threats, and what not; so that we cannot 
 possibly make that interval too short." 
 
 " We must take Nelly into our confidence. You will 
 not object to that?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I like Miss McQuinch." 
 
 "You really do! Oh, I am so glad. Well, we are 
 accustomed to go about together, especially to picture 
 galleries. We can come to the Academy as often as we 
 like; and you can come as often as you like, can you not? " 
 
 " Opening day, for instance." 
 
 "Yes, if you wish." 
 
 " Let us say between half-past four and five, then. I 
 would willingly be here when the doors open in the 
 morning; but my business will not do itself while I am 
 philandering and making you tired of me before your 
 
 150 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 time. The consciousness of having done a day's work 
 is necessary to my complete happiness." 
 
 " I, too, have my day's work to do, silly as it is. I 
 have to housekeep, to receive visitors, to write notes 
 about nothing, and to think of the future. We can say 
 half-past four or any later hour that may suit you." 
 
 "Agreed. And now, Marian " 
 
 " Dont let me disturb you," said Miss McQuinch, at 
 his elbow, to Marian; "but Mrs. Leith Fairfax will be 
 here with Sholto Douglas presently; and I thought you 
 might like to have an opportunity of avoiding him. How 
 do you do, Mr. Conolly?" 
 
 " I must see him sooner or later," said Marian, rising. 
 " Better face him at once and get it over. I will go 
 back by myself and meet them." Then, with a smile at 
 Conolly, she went out through the door leading to the 
 water-color gallery. 
 
 " Marian does not stand on much ceremony with you, 
 Mr. Conolly," said Miss McQuinch, glancing at him. 
 
 "No," said Conolly. "Do you think you could face 
 the Academy again on Monday at half-past four? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Miss Lind is coming to meet me here at that hour." 
 
 "Marian!" 
 
 " Precisely. Marian. She has promised to marry me. 
 At present it is a secret. But it was to be mentioned 
 to you." 
 
 " It will not be a secret very long if you allow people 
 to overhear you calling her by her Christian name in the 
 middle of the Academy, as you did me just now," said 
 Elinor, privately much taken aback, but resolute not to 
 appear so. 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Did you overhear us? I should have been more 
 careful. You do not seem surprised." 
 
 " Just a little, at your audacity. Not in the least at 
 Marian's consenting." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 "I did not mean it in that way at all," said Elinor 
 resentfully. "I think you have been very fortunate, 
 as I suppose you would have married somebody in any 
 case. I believe you are able to appreciate her. That's 
 a compliment." 
 
 "Yes. I hope I deserve it. Do you think you will 
 ever forgive me for supplanting the hero Marian de- 
 serves? " 
 
 " If you had let your chance of her slip, I should have 
 despised you, I think : at least, I should if you had missed 
 it with your eyes open. I am so far prejudiced in your 
 favor that I think Marian would not like you unless you 
 were good. I have known her to pity people who deserved 
 to be strangled; but I never knew her to be attracted by 
 any unworthy person except myself ; and even I have my 
 good points. You need not trouble yourself to agree 
 with me: you could not do less, in common politeness. 
 As I am rather tired, I shall go and sit in the vestibule 
 until the others are ready to go home. In the meantime 
 you can tell me all the particulars .you care to trust me 
 with. Marian will tell me the rest when we go home." 
 
 " That is an undeserved stab," said Conolly. 
 
 " Never mind : I am always stabbing people. I sup- 
 pose I like it," she added, as they went together to the 
 vestibule. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Leith Fairfax had not been wasting 
 her time. She had come upon Douglas in the large 
 room, and had recognized him by his stature and proud 
 
 152 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 bearing, in spite of the handsome Assyrian beard he had 
 allowed to grow during his stay abroad. 
 
 " I have been very anxious to see you," said she, 
 forcing a conversation upon him, though he had saluted 
 her formally, and had evidently intended to pass on with- 
 out speaking. " If your time were not too valuable to 
 be devoted to a poor hard-working woman, I should have 
 asked you to call on me. Dont deprecate my forbear- 
 ance. You are Somebody in the literary world now." 
 
 " Indeed ? I was not aware that I had done anything 
 to raise me from obscurity." 
 
 " I assure you you are very much mistaken, or else 
 very modest. Has no one told you about the effect your 
 book produced here ? " 
 
 " I know nothing of it, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I never 
 enquire after the effect of my work. I have lived in 
 comparative seclusion; and I scarcely know what col- 
 lection of fugitive notes of mine you honor by describing 
 as a book." 
 
 " I mean your ' Note on three pictures in last year's 
 Salon,' with the sonnets, and the fragment from your 
 unfinished drama. Is it finished, may I ask ? ' 
 
 " It is not finished. I shall never finish it now." 
 
 " I will tell you — between ourselves — that I heard one 
 of the foremost critics of the age say, in the presence of 
 a great poet (whom we both know), that it was such 
 another fragment as the Venus of Milo, ' whose lost 
 arms,' said he, ' we should fear to see, lest they should 
 be unworthy of her.' ' You are right,' said the poet: ' I, 
 for one, should shudder to see the fragment completed.' 
 That is a positive fact. But look at some of the sonnets ! 
 Burgraves says that his collection of English sonnets is 
 incomplete because it does not contain your ' Clytem- 
 
 153 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 nestra,' which he had not seen when his book went to 
 press. You stand in the very forefront of literature — 
 far higher than I, who am — dont tell anybody — five years 
 older than you." 
 
 " You are very good. I do not value any distinction 
 of the sort. I write sometimes because, I suppose, the 
 things that are in me must come out, whether I will or 
 not. Let us talk of something else. You are quite well 
 I hope?" 
 
 " Very far from it. I am never well ; but since I never 
 have a moment's rest from work, I must bear with it. 
 People expect me to think, when I have hardly time to 
 eat." 
 
 " If you have no time to think, I envy you. But I am 
 truly sorry that your health remains so bad." 
 
 " Thank you. But what is the cause of all this gloomy 
 cynicism, Mr. Douglas? Why should you, who are 
 young, distinguished, gifted, and already famous, envy 
 me for having no leisure to think ? " 
 
 "You exaggerate the sadness of my unfortunate in- 
 sensibility to the admiration of the crowd," said Douglas, 
 coldly. " I am, nevertheless, flattered by the interest you 
 take in my affairs." 
 
 " You need not be, Mr. Douglas," said Mrs. Fairfax, 
 earnestly, fearing that he would presently succeed in re- 
 buffing her. " I think you are much better off than you 
 deserve. You may despise your reputation as much as 
 you like: that only affects yourself. But when a beauti- 
 ful girl pays you the compliment of almost dying of love 
 for you, I think you ought to buy a wedding-ring and 
 jump for joy, instead of sulking in remote corners of the 
 continent." 
 
 154 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "And pray, Mrs. Leith Fairfax, what lady has so 
 honored me ? " 
 
 " You must know, unless you are blind." 
 
 " Pardon me. I do not habitually imply what is not 
 the case. I beg you to believe that I do not know." 
 
 " Not know ! What moles men are ! Poor Marian ! " 
 
 " Oblige me by taking this seat," said Douglas, sternly, 
 pointing to one just vacated. " I shall not detain you 
 many minutes," he added, sitting down beside her. " May 
 I understand that Miss Lind is the lady of whom you 
 spoke just now?" 
 
 " Yes. Remember that I am speaking to you as a 
 friend, and that I trust to you not to mention the effort 
 I am making to clear up the misunderstanding which 
 causes her so much unhappiness." 
 
 "Are you then in Miss Lind's confidence? Did she 
 ask you to tell me this ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Douglas ? " 
 
 " I am quite innocent of any desire to shock or offend 
 you, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. Does your question imply a 
 negative?" 
 
 " Most certainly. Marian ask me to tell ! you must 
 be dreaming. Do you think, even if Marian were cap- 
 able of making an advance, that / would consent to act 
 as a go-between? Really, Mr. Douglas!" 
 
 " I confess I do not understand these matters; and you 
 must bear with my ineptitude. If Miss Lind entertains 
 any sentiment for me but one of mistrust and aversion, 
 her behavior is singularly misleading." 
 
 " Mistrust ! Aversion ! I tell you she is in love with 
 you." 
 
 " But you have not, you admit, her authority for say- 
 ing so, whereas I have her authority for the contrary." 
 
 155 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " You do not understand girls. You are mistaken." 
 
 " Possibly ; but you must pardon me if I hesitate to set 
 aside my own judgment in deference to your low esti- 
 mate of it." 
 
 " Very well," said Mrs. Fairfax, her patience yielding 
 a little to his persistent stiffness: " be it so. Many men 
 would be glad to beg what you will not be bribed to 
 accept." 
 
 " No doubt. I trust that when they so humble them- 
 selves they may not encounter a flippant repulse." 
 
 " If they do, it will spring from her unmerited regard 
 for you." 
 
 He bowed slightly, and turned away, arranging his 
 gloves as if about to rise. 
 
 " Pray what is that large picture which is skied over 
 there to the right?" said Mrs. Fairfax, after a pause, 
 during which she had feigned to examine her catalogue. 
 " I cannot see the number at this distance." 
 
 " Do you defend her conduct on the ground of that 
 senseless and cruel caprice which your sex seem to con- 
 sider becoming to them; or has she changed her mind 
 in my absence ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you are talking of Marian. I do not know what 
 you have to complain of in her conduct. Mind, she has 
 never breathed a word to me on the subject. I am quite 
 ignorant of the details of your difference with her. But 
 she has confessed to me that she is very sorry for what 
 passed — I am abusing her confidence by telling you so — 
 and I am a woman, with eyes and brains, and know what 
 the poor girl feels well enough. I will tell you nothing 
 more : I have no right to; and Marian would be indignant 
 if she knew how much I have said already. But I know 
 what I should do were I in your place." 
 
 156 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Expose myself to another refusal, perhaps ? " 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax, learning now for the first time that he 
 had actually proposed to Marian, looked at him for some 
 moments in silence with a smile which was assumed to 
 cover her surprise. He thought it expressed incredulity 
 at the idea of his being refused again. 
 
 "Are you sure ? " he began, speaking courteously to 
 her for the first time. " May I rely upon the accuracy 
 of your impressions on this subject? I know you are in- 
 capable of trifling in a matter which might expose me 
 to humiliation; but can you give me any guarantee — 
 any—" 
 
 " Certainly not, Mr. Douglas. I am really sorry that 
 I cannot give you a written undertaking that your suit 
 shall succeed: perhaps that might encourage you to brave 
 the scorn of a poor child who adores you. But if you 
 need so much encouragement, I fear you do not greatly 
 relish the prospect of success. Doubtless it has already 
 struck her that since you found absence from her very 
 bearable for two years, and have avoided meeting her on 
 your return, her society cannot be very important to your 
 happiness." 
 
 " But it was her own fault. If she accuses me of 
 having gone away to enjoy myself, her thoughts are a 
 bitter sarcasm on the truth." 
 
 " Granted that it was her own fault, if you please. 
 But surely you have punished her enough by your long 
 seclusion, and can afford to shew a tardy magnanimity 
 by this time. There she is, I think, just come in at the 
 door on the left. My sight is so wretched. Is it not 
 she?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then let us get up and speak to her. Come." 
 
 157 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "You must excuse me, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. I have 
 distinctly given her my word that I will not intrude upon 
 her again." 
 
 " Dont be so foolish." 
 
 Douglas's face clouded. "You are privileged to say 
 so," he said. 
 
 "Not at all," said Mrs. Fairfax, frightened. "But 
 when I think of Marian, I feel like an old woman, and 
 venture to remonstrate with all the presumption of age. 
 I beg your pardon." 
 
 He bowed. Then Marian joined them, and Mrs. Fair- 
 fax again gave tongue. 
 
 " Where have you been ? " she cried. " You vanished 
 from my side like a sprite. I have been searching for 
 you ever since." 
 
 " I have been looking at the pictures, of course. I am 
 so glad you have come back, Sholto. I think you might 
 have made time to pay us a visit before this. You look 
 so strong and well ! Your beard is a great improvement. 
 Have you met Nelly ? " 
 
 " I think we saw her at some distance," said Douglas. 
 " I have not been speaking to her." 
 
 " How did you enjoy yourself while you were away ? " 
 
 "As best I could." 
 
 " You look as if you had succeeded very fairly. What 
 o'clock is it? Remember that we have to meet Nelly at 
 the turnstiles at six." 
 
 " It is five minutes to six now, Miss Lind." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Douglas. We had better go, I 
 think." 
 
 As they left the room, Mrs. Fairfax purposely lingered 
 behind them. 
 
 158 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Am I right in concluding that you are as frivolous 
 as ever, Marian?" he said. 
 
 " Quite," she replied. " To-day especially so. I am 
 very happy to-day." 
 
 "May I ask why?" 
 
 " Something has happened. I will tell you what it is 
 some day perhaps, but not now. Something that realizes 
 a romantic dream of mine. The dream has been hover- 
 ing vaguely about me for nearly two years; but I never 
 ventured to teach myself exactly what it was until 
 to-day." 
 
 " Realized here ? in the Academy ? " 
 
 " It was foreshadowed — promised, at home this morn- 
 ing; but it was realized here." 
 
 "Did you know beforehand that I was coming?" 
 
 " Not until to-day. Mrs. Leith Fairfax said that you 
 would most likely be here." 
 
 "And you are happy? " 
 
 " So much so that I cannot help talking about my hap- 
 piness to you, who are the very last person — as you will 
 admit when everything is explained — to whom I should 
 unlock my lips on the subject." 
 
 "And why? Am I not interested in your happiness? " 
 
 " I suppose so. I hope so. But when you learn the 
 truth, you will be more astonished than gratified." 
 
 " I dare swear that you are mistaken. Is this dream 
 of yours an affair of the heart ? " 
 
 " Now you are beginning to ask questions." 
 
 "Well, I will ask no more at present. But if you 
 fear that my long absence has rendered me indifferent 
 •in the least degree to your happiness, you do me a great 
 injustice." 
 
 159 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Well, you were not in a very good humor with me 
 when you went away." 
 
 " I will forget that if you wish me to." 
 
 " I do wish you to forget it. And you forgive me? " 
 
 " Most assuredly." 
 
 " Then we are the best friends in the world again. 
 This is a great deal better than meeting and pretending 
 to ignore the very thing of which our minds are full. 
 You will not delay visiting us any longer now, I hope." 
 
 " I will call on your father to-morrow morning. 
 May I?" 
 
 " He is out of town until Monday. He will be de- 
 lighted to see you then. He has been talking to me 
 about you a great deal of late. But if you want to see 
 him in the morning you had better go to the club. I 
 will write to him to-night if you like ; so that he can write 
 to you and make an appointment." 
 
 " Do. Ah, Marian, instinct is better and truer than 
 intellect. I have been for two years trying to believe all 
 kinds of evil of you; and yet I knew all the time that 
 you were an angel." 
 
 Marian laughed. " I suppose that under our good un- 
 derstanding I must let you say pretty things to me. You 
 must write me a sonnet before your enthusiasm evapo- 
 rates. I am sure I deserve it as well as Clytemnestra." 
 
 " I will. But I fear I shall tear it up for its unworthi- 
 ness afterward." 
 
 " Dont : I am not a critic. Talking of critics, where 
 has Mrs. Leith Fairfax gone to ? Oh, there she is 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax came up when she saw Marian look 
 round for her. "My dear," she said: "it is past six. 
 We must go. Elinor may be waiting for us." 
 
 They found Elinor seated in the vestibule with Conolly, 
 
 160 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 at whom Mrs. Fairfax plunged, full of words. Conolly 
 and Douglas, introduced to one another by Marian, grave- 
 ly raised their hats. When they had descended the stairs, 
 they stood in a group near one of the doors whilst 
 Conolly went aside to get their umbrellas. Just then 
 Marmaduke Lind entered the building, and halted in 
 surprise at finding himself among so many acquaintances. 
 
 " Hallo ! " he cried, seizing Douglas's hand, and at- 
 tracting the attention of the bystanders by his boisterous 
 tone. " Here you are again, old man ! Delighted to see 
 you. Didnt spot you at first, in the beard. George 
 told me you were back. I met your mother in Knights- 
 bridge last Thursday; but she pretended not to see me. 
 How have you enjoyed yourself abroad, eh? Very 
 much in the old style, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Thank you," said Douglas. " I trust your people 
 are quite well." 
 
 "Hang me if I know!" said Marmaduke. "I have 
 not troubled them much of late. How d'ye do, Mrs. 
 Leith Fairfax? How are all the celebrities?" Mrs. 
 Fairfax bowed coldly. 
 
 " Dont roar so, Marmaduke," said Marian. " Every- 
 body is looking at you." 
 
 " Everybody is welcome," said Marmaduke, loudly. 
 " Douglas: you must come and see me. By Jove, now 
 that I think of it, come and see me, all of you. I am by 
 myself on week-nights from six to twelve; and I should 
 enjoy a housewarming. If Mrs. Leith Fairfax comes, it 
 will be all proper and right. Let us have a regular party." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax looked indignantly at him. Elinor 
 looked round anxiously for Conolly. Marian, struck 
 with the same fear, moved toward the door. 
 
 " Here, Marmaduke," she said, offering him her hand. 
 
 161 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Good-bye. You are in one of your outrageous humors 
 this afternoon." 
 
 "What am I doing?" he replied. "I am behaving 
 myself perfectly. Let us settle about the party before 
 we go." 
 
 "Good evening, Mr. Lind," said Conolly, coming up 
 to them with the umbrellas. "This is yours, I think, 
 Mrs. Leith Fairfax." 
 
 " Good evening," said Marmaduke, subsiding. " I 
 
 Well, you are all off, are you ? " 
 
 "Quite time for us, I think," said Elinor. "Good- 
 bye." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax, with a second and more distant bow, 
 passed out with Conolly and Douglas. Elinor waited a 
 moment to whisper to Marmaduke. 
 
 " First rate," said Marmaduke, in reply to the whisper ; 
 " and beginning to talk like one o'clock. Oh yes, I tell 
 you ! " He shook Elinor's hand at such length in his 
 gratitude for the inquiry that she was much relieved 
 when a servant in livery interrupted him. 
 
 " Missus wants to speak to you, sir, afore she goes," 
 said the man. 
 
 Elinor shook her head at Marmaduke, and hurried 
 away to rejoin the rest outside. As they went through 
 the courtyard, they passed an open carriage, in which 
 reclined a pretty woman with dark eyes and delicate 
 artificial complexion. Her beauty and the elegance of 
 her dress attracted their attention. Suddenly Marian 
 became aware that Conolly was watching her as she 
 looked at the woman in the carriage. She was about to 
 say something, when, to her bewilderment, Elinor nudged 
 her. Then she understood too, and looked solemnly at 
 Susanna. Susanna, observing her, stared insolently in 
 
 162 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 return, and Marian averted her head like a guilty person 
 and hurried on. Conolly saw it all, and did not speak 
 until they rejoined Mrs. Fairfax and Douglas in Picca- 
 dilly. 
 
 " How do you propose to go home? " said Douglas. 
 
 " Walk to St. James's Street, where the carriage is 
 waiting at the club; take Uncle Reginald with us; and 
 drive home through the park," said Elinor. 
 
 " I will come with you as far as the club, if you will 
 allow me," said Douglas. 
 
 Conolly then took leave of them, and stood still until 
 they disappeared, when he returned to the courtyard, 
 and went up to his sister's carriage. 
 
 " Well, Susanna," said he. " How are you ? " 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing the matter with me," she re- 
 plied carelessly, her eyes filling with tears, nevertheless. 
 
 " I hear that I have been an uncle for some time past." 
 
 " Yes, on the wrong side of the blanket." 
 
 " What is its name ? " he said more gravely. 
 
 " Lucy." 
 
 "Is it quite well?" 
 
 " I suppose not. According to Nurse, it is always ill." 
 
 Conolly shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into the 
 cynical manner in which he had used to talk with his 
 sister. "Tired of it already?" he said. "Poor little 
 wretch!" 
 
 " It is very well off," she retorted, angrily : " a pre- 
 cious deal better than I was at its age. It gets petting 
 enough from its father, heaven knows ! He has nothing 
 else to do. I have to work." 
 
 " You have it all your own way at the theatre now, 
 I suppose. You are quite famous." 
 
 163 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Yes," she said, bitterly. "We are both celebrities. 
 Rather different from old times." 
 
 " We certainly used to get more kicks than halfpence. 
 However, let us hope all that is over now." 
 
 "Who were those women who were with you a 
 minute ago?" 
 
 " Cousins of Lind. Miss Marian Lind and Miss Mc- 
 Quinch." 
 
 " I remember. She is pretty. I suppose, as usual, 
 she hasnt an idea to bless herself with. The other looks 
 more of a devil. Now that you are a great man, why 
 dont you marry a swell ? " 
 
 " I intend to do so." 
 
 "The Lord help her then!" 
 
 " Amen. Good-bye." 
 
 "Oh, good-bye. Go on to Soho," she added, to the 
 coachman, settling herself fretfully on the cushions. 
 
 164 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 ON Monday morning Douglas received a note 
 inviting him to lunch at Mr. Lind's club. He 
 had spent the greater part of the previous night 
 composing a sonnet, which he carried with him in his 
 pocket to St. James's Street. Mr. Lind received him cor- 
 dially; listened to an account of his recent stay abroad; 
 and described his own continental excursions, both gen- 
 tlemen expressing great interest at such coincidences 
 as their having put up at the same hotel or travelled by 
 the same line of railway. When luncheon was over, Mr. 
 Lind proposed that they should retire to the smoking- 
 room. 
 
 " I should like to have a few words with you first, as 
 we are alone here," said Douglas. 
 
 " Certainly/' said Mr. Lind, assuming a mild dignity 
 in anticipation, of being appealed to as a parent. " Cer- 
 tainly, SholtoJ" 
 
 "What I have to say, coming so soon after my long 
 absence, will probably surprise you. I had it in con- 
 templation before my departure, and was only prevented 
 from broaching it to you then by circumstances which 
 have happily since lost their significance. When I tell 
 you that my communication has reference to Marian, 
 you will perhsips guess its nature." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Mr. Lind, affecting surprise. " Well, 
 Sholto, if it be so, you have my heartiest approval. You 
 know what a .lonely life her marriage will entail on me; 
 so you will not expect me to consent without a few 
 regrets., gut I could not desire a better settlement for 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 her. She must leave me some day. I have no right to 
 complain." 
 
 " We shall not be very far asunder, I hope; and it is 
 in Marian's nature to form many ties, but to break none." 
 
 " She is an amiable girl, my— my darling child. Does 
 she know anything of this ? " 
 
 " I am here at her express request ; and there remains 
 to me the pleasure of getting her own final consent, 
 which I would not press for until armed with your 
 sanction." 
 
 Except for an involuntary hitch of his eyelids, Mr. 
 Lind looked as if he believed perfectly in Douglas's re- 
 spect for his parental claims. " Quite right," he said, 
 "quite right. You have my best wishes. I have no 
 doubt you will succeed: none. There are, of course, a 
 few affairs to be settled — a few contingencies to be pro- 
 vided for — children — accidents — and so forth. No 
 difficulty is likely to arise between us on that score; but 
 still, these things have to be arranged." 
 
 " I propose a very simple method of arranging them. 
 You are a man of honor, and more conversant with 
 business than I. Give me your instructions. My lawyer 
 shall have them within half an hour." 
 
 " That is said like a gentleman and a Douglas, Sholto. 
 But I must consider before giving you an answer. You 
 have thrown upon me the duty of studying your position 
 as well as Marian's; and I must neither abuse your gen- 
 erosity nor neglect her interest." 
 
 " You will, nevertheless, allow me to consider the con- 
 ditions as settled, since I leave them entirely in your 
 hands." 
 
 " My own means have been seriously crippled by the 
 extravagance of Reginald. Indeed both my boys have 
 
 166 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 cost me much money. I had not, like you, the good 
 fortune to be an only son. I was the fourth son of a 
 younger son: there was very little left for me. I will 
 treat Marian as liberally as I can; but I fear I cannot 
 do anything for her that will bear comparison with your 
 munificence." 
 
 " Surely I can give her enough. I should prefer to 
 be solely responsible for her welfare." 
 
 " Oh no. That would be too bad. Oh no, Sholto: 
 I will give her something, please God." 
 
 "As you wish, Mr. Lind. We can arrange it to your 
 satisfaction afterward. Do you intend returning to West- 
 bourne Terrace soon ? " 
 
 " I am afraid not. I have to go into the City. If you 
 would care to come with me, I can shew you the Com- 
 pany's place there, and the working of the motor. It is 
 well worth seeing. Then you can return with me to the 
 Terrace and dine with us. After dinner you can talk 
 to Marian." i 
 
 Douglas consented; and they went to Queen Victoria 
 Street, to a building which had on each doorpost a brass 
 shield inscribed The Conolly Electro-Motor Com- 
 pany of London, Limited. At the offices, on the first 
 floor, they were received obsequiously and informed that 
 Mr. Conolly was within. They then went to a door on 
 which appeared the name of the inventor, and entered a 
 handsomely furnished office containing several working 
 models of machinery, and a writing-table, from his seat 
 at which Conolly rose to salute his visitors. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Lind. How do you do, Mr. 
 Douglas?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Lind. " You two are acquainted. I 
 did not know that." 
 
 167 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Yes," said Conolly, " I had the pleasure of meeting 
 Mr. Douglas at the Academy yesterday evening." 
 
 "Indeed? Marian did not mention that you were 
 there. Well, can we see the wonders of the place, Mr. 
 Conolly; or do we disturb you ? " 
 
 " Not at all," replied Conolly, turning to one of the 
 models, and beginning his showman's lecture with dis- 
 quieting promptitude. " Hitherto, as you are no doubt 
 aware, Mr. Douglas, steam has kept electricity, as a motive 
 power, out of the field ; because it is much less expensive. 
 Even induced magnetic currents, the cheapest known 
 form of electric energy, can be obtained only by the use 
 of steam power. You generate steam by the combustion 
 of coal : electricity, without steam, can only be generated 
 by the combustion of metals. Coal is much cheaper than 
 metal: consider the vast amount of coal consumed in 
 smelting metals. Still, electricity is a much greater force 
 than steam: it's stronger, so to speak. Sixpennorth of 
 electricity would do more work than sixpennorth of 
 steam if only you could catch it and hold it without waste. 
 Up to the present the waste has been so enormous in 
 electric engines as compared with steam engines that 
 steam has held its own in spite of its inferior strength. 
 What I have invented is, to put it shortly, an electric 
 engine in which there is hardly any waste; and we can 
 now pump water, turn mill-stones, draw railway trains, 
 and lift elevators, at a saving, in fuel and labor, of nearly 
 seventy per cent, of the cost of steam. And," added 
 Conolly, glancing at Douglas, " as a motor of six-horse- 
 power can be made to weigh less than thirty pounds, 
 including fuel, flying is now perfectly feasible." 
 
 "What!" said Douglas, incredulously. "Does not all 
 trustworthy evidence prove that flying is a dream?" 
 
 168 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " So it did; because a combination of great power with 
 little weight, such as an eagle, for instance, possesses, 
 could not formerly be realized in a machine. The light- 
 est known four-horse-power steam engine weighs nearly 
 fifty pounds. With my motor, a machine weighing 
 thirty pounds will give rather more than six-horse-power, 
 or, in other words, will produce a wing power com- 
 petent to overcome much more than its own gravity. If 
 the Aeronautical Society does not, within the next few 
 years, make a machine capable of carrying passengers 
 through the air to New York in less than two days, 
 I will make one myself." 
 
 " Very wonderful, indeed," said Douglas, politely, look- 
 ing askance at him. 
 
 " No more wonderful than the flight of a sparrow, I 
 assure you. We shall presently be conveyed to the top 
 of this building by my motor. Here you have a model 
 locomotive, a model steam hammer, and a sewing machine: 
 all of which, as you see, I can set to work. However, 
 this is mere show. You must always bear in mind that 
 the novelty is not in the working of these machines, but 
 the smallness of the cost of working." 
 
 Douglas endured the rest of the exhibition in silence, 
 understanding none of the contrivances until they were 
 explained, and not always understanding them even then. 
 It was disagreeable to be instructed by Conolly — to feel 
 that there were matters of which Conolly knew everything 
 and he nothing. If he could have but shaped a pertinent 
 question or two, enough to prove that he was quite capa- 
 ble of the subject if he chose to turn his attention to it, 
 he could have accepted Conolly's information on the ma- 
 chinery as indifferently as that of a policeman on the 
 shortest way to some place that it was no part of a 
 
 169 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 gentleman's routine to frequent. As it was, he took 
 refuge in his habitual reserve, and, lest the exhibition 
 should be prolonged on his account, took care to shew no 
 more interest in it than was barely necessary to satisfy 
 Mr. Lind. At last it was over; and they returned west- 
 ward together in a hansom. 
 
 " He is a Yankee, I suppose/" said Douglas, as if 
 ingenuity were a low habit that must be tolerated in an 
 American. 
 
 " Yes. They are a wonderful people for that sort of 
 thing. Curious turn of mind the mechanical instinct is ! " 
 
 " It is one with which I have no sympathy. It is gen- 
 erally subject to the delusion that it has a monopoly of 
 utility. Your mechanic hates art; pelts it with lumps 
 of iron; and strives to extinguish it beneath all the hard 
 and ugly facts of existence. On the other hand, your 
 artist instinctively hates machinery. I fear I am an 
 artist." 
 
 " I dont think you are quite right there, Sholto. No. 
 Look at the steam engine, the electric telegraph, the — the 
 other inventions of the century. How could we get on 
 without them ? " 
 
 " Quite as well as Athens got on without them. Our 
 mechanical contrivances seem to serve us; but they are 
 really mastering us, crowding and crushing the beauty 
 out of our lives, and making commerce the only god." 
 
 " I certainly admit that the coarser forms of Radical- 
 ism have made alarming strides under the influence of 
 our modern civilization. But the convenience of steam 
 conveyance is so remarkable that I doubt if we could 
 now dispense with it. Nor, as a consistent Liberal, a 
 moderate Liberal, do I care to advocate any retrogression, 
 even in the direction of ancient Greece." 
 
 170 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Douglas was seized with a certain impatience of Mr. 
 Lind, as of a well-mannered man who had never learned 
 anything, and had forgotten all that he had been taught. 
 He did not attempt to argue, but merely said, coldly: 
 " I can only say that I wish Fate had made me an 
 Athenian instead of an Englishman of the nineteenth 
 century." 
 
 Mr. Lind smiled complacently: he knew Douglas, if 
 not Athens, better, but was in too tolerant a humor to 
 say so. Little more passed between the two until they 
 reached Westbourne Terrace, where Marian and her 
 cousin were dressing for dinner. When Marian came 
 down, her beauty so affected Douglas that his voice was 
 low and his manner troubled as he greeted her. He took 
 her in to dinner, and sat in silence beside her, heedless 
 alike of his host's commonplaces and Miss McQuinch's 
 acridities. 
 
 Mr. Lind unceremoniously took a nap after his wine 
 that evening, and allowed his guest to go upstairs alone. 
 Douglas hoped that Elinor would be equally considerate, 
 but, to his disappointment, he found her by herself in 
 the drawing-room. She hastened to explain. 
 
 " Marian is looking for some music. She will be back 
 directly." 
 
 He sat down and took an album from the table, saying : 
 " Have you many new faces here ? " 
 
 " Yes. But we never discard old faces for new ones. 
 It is the old ones that are really interesting." 
 
 " I have not seen this one of Mr. Lind before. It is 
 capital. Ah! this of you is an old friend." 
 
 "Yes. What do you think of the one of Constance 
 on the opposite page ? " 
 
 171 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " She looks as if she were trying to be as lugubrious 
 as possible. What dress is that? Is it a uniform ? " 
 
 " Yes. She joined a nursing guild. Didnt Mrs. Doug- 
 las tell you?" 
 
 "I believe so. I forgot. She went into a cottage 
 hospital or something of that kind, did she not ? " 
 
 " She left it because one of the doctors offended her. 
 He was rather dreadful. He said that in two months 
 she had contributed more to the mortality among the 
 patients than he had in two years, and told her flatly that 
 she had been trained for the drawing-room and ought to 
 stay there. She was glad enough to have an excuse for 
 leaving; for she was heartily sick of making a fool of 
 herself." 
 
 " Indeed ! Where is she now ? " 
 
 " Back at Towers Cottage, moping, I suppose. That's 
 Mr. Conolly the inventor, there under Jasper." 
 
 " So I perceive. Clever head, rather ! A plain, hard 
 nature, with no depths in it. Is that his wife, with the 
 Swiss bonnet ? " 
 
 " His wife ! Why, that is a Swiss girl, the daughter 
 of a guide at Chamounix, who nursed Marian when she 
 sprained her ankle. Mr. Conolly is not married." 
 
 " I thought men of his stamp always married early." 
 
 " No. He is engaged, and engaged to a lady of very 
 good position." 
 
 "He owes that to the diseased craving of modern 
 women for notoriety of any sort. What an admirable 
 photograph of Marian! I never saw it before. It is 
 really most charming. When was it taken ? " 
 
 "Last August, at Geneva. She does not like it — 
 thinks it too coquettish." 
 
 " Then perhaps she will give it to me." 
 
 172 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " She will be only too glad, I daresay. You have 
 caught her at a soft moment to-night." 
 
 " I cannot find that duet anywhere," said Marian, 
 entering. "What! up already, Sholto? Where is 
 papa ? " 
 
 " I left him asleep in the dining-room. I have just 
 been asking Miss McQuinch whether she thought you 
 would give me a copy of this carte." 
 
 " That Geneva one. It is most annoying how people 
 persist in admiring it. It always looks to me as if it 
 belonged to an assortment of popular beauties at one 
 shilling each. I dont think I have another. But you 
 may take that if you wish." 
 
 " Thank you," said Douglas, drawing it from the book. 
 
 " I think you have a copy of every photograph I have 
 had taken in my life," she said, sitting down near him, 
 and taking the album. "I have several of yours, too. 
 You must get one taken soon for me ; I have not got you 
 with your beard yet. I have a little album upstairs which 
 Aunt Dora gave me on my eighth birthday; and the first 
 picture in it is you, dressed in flannels, holding a bat, 
 and looking very stern as captain of your eleven at Eton. 
 I used to stand in great awe of you then. Do you re- 
 member telling me once that ' Zanoni ' was a splendid 
 book, and that I ought to read it? " 
 
 " Pshaw I No. I must have been a young fool. But 
 it seems that I had the grace even then to desire your 
 sympathy." 
 
 " I assure you I read it most reverently down in Wilt- 
 shire, where Nelly kept a select library of fiction con- 
 cealed underneath her mattress; and I believed every 
 word of it. Nelly and I agreed that you were exactly 
 
 173 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 like Zanoni; but she was hardly to blame; for she had 
 never seen you." 
 
 " Things like that make deep impressions on children," 
 said Elinor, thoughtfully. "You were a Zanoni in my 
 imagination for years before I saw you. When we first 
 met you treated me insufferably. If you had known how 
 my childish fancy had predisposed me to worship you, 
 you might have vouchsafed me some more consideration, 
 and I might have gone on believing you a demigod to 
 the end of the chapter. I have hardly forgiven you yet 
 for disenchanting me." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Douglas sarcastically. " I must 
 have been sadly lacking in impressiveness. But on the 
 other hand I recollect that you did not disappoint me in 
 the least. You fully bore out the expectations I had 
 been led to form of you." 
 
 " I have no doubt I did," said Elinor. " Yet I protest 
 that my reputation was as unjust as yours. However, 
 I have outlived my sensitiveness to this injustice, and 
 have even contracted a bad habit of pretending to act up 
 to it occasionally before foolish people. Marian: are you 
 sure that duet is not on the sofa in my room ? " 
 
 " Oh, the sofa ! I looked only in the green case." 
 
 " I will go and hunt it out myself. Excuse me for a 
 few minutes." 
 
 Douglas was glad to see her go. Yet he was con- 
 fused when he was alone with Marian. He strolled to 
 the window, outside which the roof of the porch had 
 been converted into a summer retreat by a tent of pink- 
 striped canvass. "The tent is up already," he said. 
 " I noticed it as we came in." 
 
 " Yes. Would you prefer to sit there? We can carry 
 
 174 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 out this little table, and put the lamp on it. There is 
 just room for three chairs." 
 
 "We need not crowd ourselves with the table," he 
 said. "There will be light enough. We only want to 
 talk." 
 
 " Very well," said Marian, rising. " Will you give 
 me that woolen thing that is on the sofa ? It will do me 
 for a shawl." He placed it on her shoulders, and they 
 went out. 
 
 " I will sit in this corner," said Marian. " You are 
 too big for the campstool. You had better bring a chair. 
 I am fond of sitting here. When the crimson shade is 
 on the lamp, and papa asleep in its roseate glow, the view 
 is quite romantic: there is something ecstatically snug 
 in hiding here and watching it." Douglas smiled, and 
 seated himself as she suggested, near her, with his 
 shoulder against the stone balustrade. 
 
 " Marian," said he, after a pause: " you remember what 
 passed between us at the Academy yesterday ? " 
 
 "You mean our solemn league and covenant. Yes." 
 
 "Why did we not make that covenant before? Life 
 is not so long, nor happiness so common, that we can 
 afford to trifle away two years of it. I wish you had 
 told me when I last came here of that old photograph 
 of mine in your album." 
 
 " But this is not a new covenant. It is only an old 
 one mended. We were always good friends until you 
 quarrelled and ran away." 
 
 " That was not my fault, Marian." 
 
 "Then it must have been mine. However, it does 
 not matter now." 
 
 "You are right. Prometheus is unbound now; and 
 his despair is only a memory sanctifying his present hap- 
 
 175 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 piness. You know why I called on your father this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " It was to see the electro-motor in the city, was it 
 not?" 
 
 " Good Heavens, Marian!" he said, rising, " what spirit 
 of woman or spirit of mischief tempts you to coquet with 
 me even now ? " 
 
 "I really thought that was the reason — besides, of 
 course, your desire to make papa amends for not having 
 been to see him sooner after your return." 
 
 " Marian ! " he said, still remonstrantly. 
 
 She looked at him with sudden dread, and instinc- 
 tively recognized the expression in his face. 
 
 " You know as well as I," he continued, " that I went 
 to seek his consent to our solemn league and covenant, 
 as you call it. If that covenant were written on your 
 heart as it is on mine, you would not inflict on me this 
 pretty petty torture. Your father has consented: he is 
 delighted. Now may I make a guess at that happy secret 
 you told me of yesterday, and promised I should know 
 one day?" 
 
 " Stop ! Wait," said Marian, very pale. " I must tell 
 you that secret myself." 
 
 " Hush. Do not be so moved. Remember that your 
 confession is to be whispered to me alone." 
 
 " Dont talk like that. It is all a mistake. My secret 
 has nothing to do with you." Douglas drew back a little 
 way. 
 
 " I am engaged to be married." 
 
 "What do you mean?" he said sternly, advancing a 
 step and looking down menacingly at her with his hand 
 on the back of his chair. 
 
 "I have said what I mean," replied Marian with 
 
 176 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 dignity. But she rose quickly as soon as she had spoken, 
 and got past him into the drawing-room. He followed 
 her; and she turned and faced him in the middle of the 
 room, paler than before. 
 
 " You are engaged to me," he said. 
 
 " I am not," she replied. 
 
 " That is a lie ! " he exclaimed, struggling in his rage 
 to break through the strong habit of self-control. " It 
 is a damnable lie; but it is the most cruel way of getting 
 rid of me, and therefore the one most congenial to your 
 heartlessness." 
 
 " Sholto," said Marian, her cheeks beginning to redden: 
 " you should not speak to me like that." 
 
 " I say," he cried fiercely, " that it is a lie ! " 
 
 " Whats the matter ? " said Elinor, coming hastily into 
 the room. 
 
 " Sholto has lost his temper," said Marian, firmly, her 
 indignation getting the better of her fear now that she 
 was no longer alone with him. 
 
 " It is a lie," repeated Douglas, unable to shape a 
 new sentence. Elinor and Marian looked at one another 
 in perplexity. Then Mr. Lind entered. 
 
 " Gently, pray," said he. " You can be heard all 
 through the house. Marian: what is the matter?" 
 
 She did not answer; but Douglas succeeded, after a 
 few efforts, in speaking intelligibly. "Your daughter," 
 he said, " with the assistance of her friend Mrs. Leith 
 Fairfax, and a sufficient degree of direct assurance on 
 her own part, has achieved the triumph of bringing me 
 to her feet a second time, after I had unfortunately 
 wounded her vanity by breaking her chains for two 
 years." 
 
 177 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " That is utterly false," interrupted Marian, with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " I say," said Douglas, in a deeper tone and with a 
 more determined manner, " that she set Mrs. Leith Fair- 
 fax on me with a tale of love and regret for my absence. 
 She herself with her own lips deliberately invited me to 
 seek your consent to our union. She caused you to write 
 me the invitation I received from you this morning. She 
 told me that my return realized a dream that had been 
 haunting her for two years. She begged me to forgive 
 her the past, and to write her a sonnet, of which she 
 said she was at least more worthy than Clytemnestra, 
 and of which I say she is at best less worthy than Cres- 
 sida." He took a paper from his pocket as he spoke* 
 and, with a theatrical gesture, tore it into fragments. 
 
 " This is very extraordinary," said Mr. Lind irreso- 
 lutely. " Is it some foolish quarrel, or what is the mat- 
 ter? Pray let us have no more unpleasantness." 
 
 " You need fear none from me," said Douglas. " I 
 do not propose to continue my acquaintance with Miss 
 Lind." 
 
 " Mr. Douglas has proposed to marry me; and I have 
 refused him," said Marian. " He has lost his temper and 
 insulted me. I think you ought to tell him to go away." 
 
 " Gently, Marian, gently. What am I to believe about 
 this?" 
 
 " What I have told you," said Douglas, " I confirm 
 on my honor, which you can weigh against the pretences 
 of a twice perjured woman." 
 
 "Sholto!" 
 
 " I have to speak plainly on my own behalf, Mr. Lind. 
 I regret that you were not in a position this morning to 
 warn me of your daughter's notable secret." 
 
 178 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " If it is a secret, and you are a gentleman, you will 
 hold your tongue," interposed Elinor, sharply. 
 
 " Papa," said Marian: " I became engaged yesterday to 
 Mr. Conolly. I told Mr. Douglas this in order to save 
 him from making me a proposal. That is the reason he 
 has forgotten himself. I had not intended to tell you 
 so suddenly; but this misunderstanding has forced me to." 
 
 "Engaged to Mr. Conolly!" cried Mr. Lind. "I 
 
 begin to fear that Enga " He took breath, and 
 
 continued, to Marian : " I forbid you to entertain any 
 such engagement. Sholto: there is evidently nothing to 
 be gained by discussing this matter in hot blood. It is 
 some girlish absurdity — some — some — some — " 
 
 " I apologize for having doubted the truth of the ex- 
 cuse," said Douglas; "but I see that I have failed to 
 gauge Miss Lind's peculiar taste. I beg you to under- 
 stand, Mr. Lind, that my pretensions are at an end. I 
 do not aspire to the position of Mr. Conolly's rival." 
 
 " You are already in the position of Mr. Conolly's 
 unsuccessful rival; and you fill it with a very bad grace," 
 said Elinor. 
 
 " Pray be silent, Elinor," said Mr. Lind. " This mat- 
 ter does not concern you. Marian: go to your room for 
 the present. I shall speak to you afterwards." 
 
 Marian flushed, and repressed a sob. " I wish I were 
 under his protection now," she said, looking reproach- 
 fully at Douglas as she crossed the room. 
 
 "What can you expect from a father but hostility?" 
 said Elinor, bitterly. " You are a coward, like all your 
 sex," she added, turning to Douglas. Then she suddenly 
 opened the door, and passed out through it with Marian, 
 whilst the housemaids fled upstairs, the footman shrank 
 
 179 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 into a corner of the landing, and the page hastily drag- 
 ged the cook down to the kitchen. 
 
 The two men, left together in the drawing-room, were 
 for some moments quite at a loss. Then Mr. Lind, after 
 a preliminary cough or two, said : " Sholto: I cannot 
 describe to you how shocked I am by what I have just 
 heard. I am deeply disappointed in Marian. I trusted 
 her implicitly ; but of course I now see that I have been 
 wrong in allowing her so much liberty. Evidently a 
 great deal has been going on of which I had not any 
 suspicion." 
 
 Douglas said nothing. His resentment was unabated; 
 but his rage, naturally peevish and thin in quality, was 
 subsiding, though it surged back on him at intervals. 
 But now that he no longer desired to speak passionately, 
 he would not trust himself to speak at all. Suddenly 
 Mr. Lind broke out with a fury that astonished him, pre- 
 occupied as he was. 
 
 " This — this fellow must have had opportunities of 
 thrusting himself into her society of which I knew noth- 
 ing. I thought she barely knew him. And if I had known, 
 could I have suspected her of intriguing with an ill-bred 
 adventurer ! Yes, I might : my experience ought to have 
 warned me that the taint was in her blood. Her mother 
 did the same thing — left the position I had given her to 
 run away with a charlatan, disgracing me without the 
 shadow of an excuse or reason except her own innate 
 love for what was low. I thought Marian had escaped 
 that. I was proud of her — placed un — unbounded con- 
 fidence in her." 
 
 " She has struck me a blow," said Douglas, " the in- 
 fernal treachery ." He checked himself, and after a 
 
 moment resumed in his ordinary formal manner. " I 
 
 1 80 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 must leave you, Mr. Lind. I am quite unable at present 
 to discuss what has passed. Any conventional expres- 
 sions of regret would be Good-night." 
 
 He bowed and left the room. Mr. Lind, taken aback, 
 did not attempt to detain him or even return his bow, but 
 stood biting his lips with a frown of discomfiture and 
 menace. When he was alone, he paced the room several 
 times. Then he procured some writing materials and 
 sat down before them. He wrote nothing, but, after 
 sitting for some time, he went upstairs. Passing Ma- 
 rian's room he listened. The sharp voice and restless 
 movements of his niece were the only sounds he heard. 
 They seemed to frighten him; for he stole on quickly to 
 his own room, and went to bed. Even there he could 
 hear a shrill note of conversation occasionally from the 
 opposite room, where Marian was sitting on a sofa, try- 
 nig to subdue the hysteria which had been gaining on 
 her since her escape from the balcony; whilst Elinor, 
 seated on the corner of a drawer which projected from 
 the dressing-table, talked incessantly in her most acrid 
 tones. 
 
 " Henceforth," she said, " Uncle Reginald is welcome 
 to my heartiest detestation. I have been waiting ever 
 since I knew him for an excuse to hate him; and now he 
 has given me one. He has taken part — like a true parent 
 —against you with a self-intoxicated fool whom he ought 
 to have put out of the house. He has told me to mind 
 my own business. I shall be even with him for that 
 some day. I am as vindictive as an elephant: I hate 
 people who are not vindictive: they are never grateful 
 either, only incapable of any enduring sentiment. And 
 Douglas! Sholto Douglas! The hero, the Newdigate 
 poet, the handsome man! What a noble fellow he is 
 
 181 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 when a little disappointment rubs his varnish off ! I am 
 glad I called him a coward to his face. I am thoroughly 
 well satisfied with myself altogether : at last I have come 
 out of a scene without having forgotten the right thing 
 to say. You never see people in all their selfishness un- 
 til they pretend to love you. See what you owe to your 
 loving suitor, Sholto Douglas! See what you owe to 
 your loving father, Reginald Lind ! " 
 
 " I do not think that my father should have told me 
 to leave the room," said Marian. " It was Sholto's place 
 to have gone, not mine." 
 
 " Mr. Lind, who has so suddenly and deservedly de- 
 scended from ' papa ' to ' my father,' judiciously sided 
 with the stronger and richer party." 
 
 " Nelly: I shall be as unhappy after this as even Sholto 
 can desire. I feel very angry with papa; and yet I have 
 no right to be. I suppose it is because I am in the wrong. 
 I deceived him about the engagement." 
 
 " Bosh ! You didnt tell him because you knew you 
 couldnt trust him; and now you see how right you were." 
 
 " Even so, Nelly, I must not forget all his past care 
 of me." 
 
 "What care has he ever taken of you? He was very 
 little better acquainted with you than he was with me, 
 when you came to keep house for him and make yourself 
 useful. Of course, he had to pay for your board and 
 lodging and education. The police would not have al- 
 lowed him to leave you to the parish. Besides, he was 
 proud of having a nice, pretty daughter to dispose of. 
 You were quite welcome to be happy so long as you did 
 not do anything except what he approved of. But the 
 moment you claim your independence as a grown woman ! 
 the moment you attempt to dispose of yourself instead 
 
 182 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 of letting him dispose of you ! Bah ! / might have been 
 my father's pet, if I had been a nonentity. As it was, 
 he spared no pains to make me miserable; and as I was 
 only a helpless little devil of a girl, he succeeded to his 
 heart's content. Uncle Reginald will try to do exactly 
 the same to-morrow. He will come and bully you, in- 
 stead of apologizing as he ought. See if he doesnt ! " 
 
 " If I had as much reason to complain of my childhood 
 as you have, perhaps I should not feel so shocked and 
 disappointed by his turning on me to-night. Surely, 
 when he saw me attacked as I was, he ought to have 
 come to my assistance." 
 
 "Any stranger would have taken your part. The foot- 
 man would, if you had asked him. But then, James is 
 not your father." 
 
 " It seems a very small thing to be bidden to leave 
 the room. But I will never expose myself to a repetition 
 of it." 
 
 " Quite right. But what do you mean to do ? for, 
 after all, though parental love is an imposition, parental 
 authority is a fact." 
 
 " I will get married." 
 
 " Out of the frying pan into the fire ! Certainly, if you 
 are resolved to marry, the present is as good as another 
 time, and more convenient. But there must be some 
 legal formalities to go through. You cannot turn into 
 the first church you meet, and be married off-hand." 
 
 " Ned must find out all that. I am sadly disappointed 
 and disilluded, Nelly." 
 
 " Time will cure you as it does everybody; and you 
 will be the better for being wiser. By the bye, what did 
 Sholto mean about Mrs. Fairfax?" 
 
 " I dont know." 
 
 l8 3 , 
 
The Irrational Knot [ 
 
 " She has evidently been telling him a parcel of lies. 
 Do you remember her hints about him yesterday at lunch ? 
 I have not the least doubt that she has told him you 
 are frantically in love with him. She as good as told 
 you the same about him." 
 
 " Oh ! she is not capable of doing such a thing." 
 
 "Isntshe? We shall see." 
 
 " I dont know what to think," said Marian, despond- 
 ently. " I used to believe that both you and Ned thought 
 too little of other people; but it seems now that the world 
 is nothing but a morass of wickedness and falsehood. 
 And Sholto, too! Who would have believed that he 
 . could break out in that coarse way ? Do you remember 
 the day that Fleming, the coachman, lost his temper 
 with Auntie down at the Cottage. Sholto was exactly 
 like that; not a bit more refined or dignified." 
 
 "Rather less so, because Fleming was in the right. 
 Let us go to bed. We can do nothing to-night, but fret, 
 and wish for to-morrow. Better get to sleep. Resent- 
 ment does not keep me awake, I can vouch for that: 
 I got well broken in to it when I was a child. I heard 
 Uncle Reginald going to his room some time ago. I 
 am getting sleepy, too, though I feel the better for the 
 excitement." 
 
 " Very well. To bed be it," said Marian. But she did 
 not sleep at all as well as Nelly. 
 
 184 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 NEXT morning Mr. Lind rose before his daughter 
 was astir, and went to his club, where he break- 
 fasted. He then went to the offices in Queen 
 Victoria Street. Finding the board-room unoccupied, 
 he sat down there, and said to one of the clerks: 
 
 " Go and tell Mr. Conolly that I desire to speak to 
 him, if he is disengaged. And if anyone wants to come 
 in, say that I am busy here. I do not wish to be dis- 
 turbed for half an hour or so." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the clerk, departing. A minute later, 
 he returned, and said : " Mr. Conly is disengaged ; and 
 he says will you be so good as to come to his room, sir." 
 
 " I told you to ask him to come here," said Mr. Lind. 
 
 " Well, thats what he said, sir," said the clerk, speak- 
 ing in official Board School English. " Shloy gow to 
 him and tell him again ? " 
 
 "No, no: it does not matter," said Mr. Lind, and 
 walked out through the office. The clerk held the door 
 open for him, and carefully closed it when he had passed 
 through. 
 
 " Ow, oy sy ! " cried the clerk. " This is fawn, this is." 
 
 " Wots the row ? " said another clerk. 
 
 " Woy, owld Lind sends me in to Conly to cam in to 
 him into the board-room. 'Aw right,' says Conly, ' awsk 
 him to cam in eah to me.' You should 'a seen the owld 
 josser's feaches wnoy towld im. ' Oyd zoyred jou to 
 sy e was to cam in eah to me.' ' Shloy gow and tell him 
 
 185 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 again?' I says, as cool as ennything. 'Now,' says he, 
 ' OH gow myself.' Thets wot Aw loike in Conly. He 
 tikes tham fellers dahn wen they troy it on owver im." 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Lind went to Conolly's room; returned 
 his greeting by a dignified inclination of the head; and 
 accepted, with a cold " Thank you," the chair offered 
 him. Conolly, who had received him cordially, checked 
 himself. There was a pause, during which Mr. Lind 
 lost countenance a little. Then Conolly sat down, and 
 waited. 
 
 "Ahem ! " said Mr. Lind. " I have to speak to you 
 with — with reference to — to a — a matter which has 
 accidentally come to my knowledge. It would be painful 
 and unnecessary — quite unnecessary, to go into particu- 
 lars." 
 
 Conolly remained politely attentive, but said nothing. 
 Mr. Lind began to feel very angry, but this helped him 
 to the point. 
 
 " I merely wish — that is, I quite wish you to under- 
 stand that any intimacy that may have arisen between 
 you and — and a member of my family must — must, in 
 short, be considered to be at an end. My daughter is — 
 I may tell you — engaged to Mr. Sholto Douglas, whom 
 you know; and therefore — you understand." 
 
 " Mr. Lind," said Conolly, decisively: " your daughter 
 is engaged to me." 
 
 Mr. Lind lost his temper, and rose, exclaiming, "I beg 
 you will not repeat that, either here or elsewhere . " 
 
 " Pray be seated," said Conolly courteously. 
 
 " I have nothing more to say, sir." 
 
 Conolly rose, as though the interview were at an end, 
 and seemed to wait for his visitor to go. 
 
 "We understand one another, I presume," said Mr. 
 Lind, dubiously. 
 
 1 86 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Not quite, I think," said Conolly, relenting. "I 
 should suggest our discussing the matter in full, now 
 that we have a favorable opportunity — if you will be so 
 good." 
 
 Mr. Lind sat down, and said with condescension, " I 
 am quite willing to listen to you." 
 
 " Thank you," said Conolly. " Will you tell me what 
 your objections are to my engagement with your daugh- 
 ter?" 
 
 " I had hoped, sir, that your common sense and know- 
 ledge of the world would have rendered an explanation 
 superfluous." 
 
 " They havnt," said Conolly. 
 
 Mr. Lind rose to boiling point again. " Oh, Mr. 
 Conolly, I assure you I have no objection to explain 
 myself : none whatever. I merely wished to spare you as 
 far as possible. Since you insist on my mentioning what 
 I think you must be perfectly well aware of, I can only 
 say that from the point of view of English society our 
 positions are different ; and therefore an engagement be- 
 tween you and any member of my family is unsuitable, 
 and — in short — out of the question, however advanta- 
 geous it might be to you. That is all." 
 
 Mr. Lind considered he had had the better of that, 
 and leaned back in his chair more_ confidently. Conolly 
 smiled and shook his head, appreciative of the clearness 
 with which Mr. Lind had put his case, but utterly un- 
 moved by it. He considered for a moment, and then 
 said, weighing his words carefully: 
 
 " Your daughter, with her natural refinement and deli- 
 cate habits, is certainly not fit to be married to a foul- 
 mouthed fellow, ignorant, dirty, besotted, and out of 
 place in any company except at the bar in a public 
 house. That is probably your idea of a workman. But 
 
 187 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the fact of her having consented to marry me is a proof 
 that I do not answer to any such description. As you 
 have hinted, it will be an advantage to me in some ways 
 to have a lady for my wife ; but I should have no diffi- 
 culty in purchasing that advantage, even with my present 
 means, which I expect to increase largely in the course 
 of some years. Do you not underrate your daughter's 
 personal qualities when you assume that it was her 
 position that induced me to seek her hand ? " 
 
 " I am quite aware of my daughter's personal advan- 
 tages. They are additional reasons against her con- 
 tracting an imprudent marriage." 
 
 " Precisely. But in what respect would her marriage 
 with me be imprudent? I possess actual competence, 
 and a prospect of wealth. I come of a long lived and 
 healthy family. My name is, beyond comparison, more 
 widely known than yours. [Mr. Lind recoiled]. I now 
 find myself everywhere treated with a certain degree of 
 consideration, which an alliance with your daughter will 
 not diminish." 
 
 " In fact, you are conferring a great honor on my 
 family by condescending to marry into it ? " 
 
 " I dont understand that way of looking at things, 
 Mr. Lind; and so I leave you to settle the question of 
 honor as you please. But you must not condemn me 
 for putting my position in the best possible light in order 
 to reconcile you to an inevitable fact." 
 
 "What do you mean by an inevitable fact, sir?" 
 
 " My marriage, of course. I assure you that it will 
 take place." 
 
 " But I shall not permit it to take place. Do you think 
 to ignore me in the matter ? " 
 
 " Practically so. If you give your consent, I shall be 
 glad for the sake of Marian, who will be gratified by it. 
 
 188 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 But if you withhold it, we must dispense with it. By 
 opposing us, you will simply — by making Marian's home 
 unbearable to her — precipitate the wedding." Conolly, 
 under the influence of having put the case neatly, here 
 relaxed his manner so far as to rest his elbows on the 
 table and look pleasantly at his visitor. 
 
 " Do you know to whom you are speaking ? " said 
 Mr. Lind, driven by rage and a growing fear of defeat 
 into desperate self-assertion. 
 
 " I am speaking," said Conolly with a smile, " to my 
 future father-in-law." . 
 
 " I am a director of this company, of which you .are 
 the servant, as you shall find to your cost if you persist 
 in holding insulting language to me." 
 
 " If I found any director of this company allowing 
 other than strictly business considerations to influence 
 him at the Board, I should insist on his resigning." 
 
 Mr. Lind looked at him severely, then indignantly, 
 then unsteadily, without moving him in the least. At 
 last he said, more humbly : " I hope you will not abuse 
 your position, Mr. Conolly. I do not know whether you 
 have sufficient influence over Marian to induce her to 
 defy me ; but however that may be, I appeal to your 
 better feelings. Put yourself in my place. If you had 
 an only daughter " 
 
 " Excuse my interrupting you," said Conolly, gently; 
 " but that will not advance the argument unless you put 
 yourself in mine. Besides, I am pledged to Marian. If 
 she asks me to break off the match, I shall release her 
 instantly." 
 
 "You will bind yourself to do that?" 
 
 " I cannot help myself. I have no more power to 
 make her marry me than you have to prevent her." 
 
 "I have the authority of a parent. And I must tell 
 
 189 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 you, Mr. Conolly, that it will be my duty to enlighten 
 my poor child as to the effect a union with you must 
 have on her social position. You have made the most 
 of your celebrity and your prospects. She may be daz- 
 zled for the moment; but her good sense will come to 
 the rescue yet, I am convinced." 
 
 "I have certainly spared no pains to persuade her. 
 Unless the habit of her childhood can induce Marian to 
 defer to your prejudice — you must allow me to call it 
 so: it is really nothing more — she will keep her word 
 to me." 
 
 Mr. Lind winced, recollecting how little his conduct 
 toward Marian during her childhood was calculated to 
 accustom her to his influence. " It seems to me, sir," 
 he said, suddenly thinking of a new form of reproach, 
 " that, to use your own plain language, you are nothing 
 more or less than a Radical." 
 
 " Radicalism is not considered a reproach amongst 
 workmen," said Conolly. 
 
 " I shall not fail to let her know the confidence with 
 which you boast of your power over her." 
 
 " I have simpry tried to be candid with you. You 
 know exactly how I stand. If I have omitted anything, 
 ask me, and I will tell you at once." 
 
 Mr. Lind rose. " I know quite as much as I care to 
 know," he said. " I distinctly object to and protest 
 against all your proceedings, Mr. Conolly. If my 
 daughter marries you, she shall have neither my counte- 
 nance in society nor one solitary farthing of the fortune 
 I had destined for her. I recommend the latter point 
 to your attention." 
 
 " I have considered it carefully, Mr. Lind ; and I am 
 satisfied with what she possesses in her own right." 
 
 "Oh! You have ascertained that, have you?" 
 
 190 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I should hardly have proposed to marry her but for 
 her entire pecuniary independence of me." 
 
 " Indeed. And have you explained to her that you 
 wish to marry her for the sake of securing her income? " 
 
 " I have explained to her everything she ought to 
 know, taking care, of course, to have full credit for my 
 frankness." 
 
 Mr. Lind, after regarding him with amazement for a 
 moment, walked to the door. 
 
 " I am a gentleman," he said, pausing there for a 
 moment, " and too old-fashioned to discuss the obliga- 
 tions of good breeding with a Radical. If I had believed 
 you capable of the cynical impudence with which you 
 have just met my remonstrances, I should have spared 
 myself this meeting. Good-morning." 
 
 " Good-morning," said Conolly, gravely. When the 
 door closed, he sprang up and walked to and fro, chuck- 
 ling, rubbing his hands, and occasionally uttering a short 
 laugh. When he had sufficiently relieved himself by 
 this exercise, he sat down at his desk, and wrote a note. 
 
 "The Conolly Electro-Motor Company of London, 
 Limited. Queen Victoria Street, E. C. 
 
 " This is to let your ever-radiant ladyship know that 
 I am fresh from an encounter with your father, who has 
 retired in great wrath, defeated, but of opinion that he 
 deserved no better for arguing with a Radical. I thought 
 it better to put forth my strength at once so as to save 
 future trouble. I send this post haste in order that you 
 may be warned in case he should go straight home and 
 scold you. I hope he will not annoy you much. — E. C." 
 
 Having despatched the office boy to Westbourne Ter- 
 race with this letter, Conolly went off to lunch. Mr. 
 Lind went back to his club, and then to Westbourne 
 Terrace, where he was informed that the young ladies 
 
 191 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 were together in the drawing-room. Some minutes 
 later, Marian, discussing Conolly's letter with Elinor, 
 was interrupted by a servant, who informed her that 
 her father desired to see her in his study. 
 
 " Now for it, Marian!" said Nelly, when the servant 
 was gone. " Remember that you have to meet the most 
 unreasonable of adversaries, a parent asserting his pro- 
 prietary rights in his child. Dont be sentimental. Leave 
 that to him : he will be full of a father's anguish on dis- 
 covering that his cherished daughter has feelings and 
 interests of her own. Besides, Conolly has crushed him; 
 and he will try to crush you in revenge." 
 
 " I wish I were not so nervous," said Marian. " I 
 am not really afraid, but for all that, my heart is beating 
 very unpleasantly." 
 
 " I wish I were in your place," said Elinor. " I feel 
 like a charger at the sound of the trumpet." 
 
 " I am glad, for poor papa's sake, that you are not," 
 said Marian, going out. 
 
 She knocked at the study door ; and her father's voice, 
 as he bade her come in, impressed her more than ever 
 before. He was seated behind the writing-table, in 
 front of which a chair was set for his daughter. She, 
 unaccustomed from her childhood to submit to any con- 
 straint but that which the position of a guest, which she 
 so often occupied, had trained her to impose on her- 
 self, was rather roused than awed by this magisterial 
 arrangement. She sat down with less than her usual 
 grace of manner, and looked at him with her brows 
 knitted. It was one of the rare moments in which she 
 reminded him of her mother. An angry impulse to bid 
 her not dare look so at him almost got the better of him. 
 However, he began prudently with a carefully premedi- 
 tated speech. 
 
 192 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " It is my duty, Marian," he said gravely, " to speak 
 of the statement you made last night. We need not al- 
 lude to the painful scene which took place then: better 
 let that rest and be forgotten as soon as possible. But 
 the discovery of what you have been doing without my 
 knowledge has cost me a sleepless night and a great 
 deal of anxiety. I wish to reason with you now quite 
 calmly and dispassionately; and I trust you will remember 
 that I am older and have far more experience of the 
 world than you, and that I am a better judge of your 
 interests than you yourself can possibly be. Ahem! I 
 have been this morning to the City, where I saw Mr. 
 Conolly, and endeavored to make him understand the 
 true nature of his conduct toward me — and, I may add, 
 toward you — in working his way clandestinely into an 
 intimacy with you. I shall not describe to you what 
 passed; but I may say that I have found him to be a 
 person with whom you could not hope for a day's hap- 
 piness. Even apart from his habits and tastes, which 
 are those of a mere workman, his social (and, I fear, his 
 religious) views are such as no lady, no properly-minded 
 woman of any class, could sympathize with. You will 
 be better able to judge of his character when I tell you 
 that he informed me of his having taken care, before 
 making any advances to you, to ascertain how much 
 money you had. He boasted in the coarsest terms of 
 his complete influence over you, evidently without a sus- 
 picion of the impression of venality and indelicacy which 
 his words were calculated to make on me. Besides, Ma- 
 rian, I am sure you would not like to contract a mar- 
 riage which would give me the greatest pairi; which 
 would offend my family; and which would have the 
 ?ffect of shutting you out from all good society." 
 
 " You are mistaken in him, papa." 
 
 193 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "I beg you will allow me to finish, Marian. [He 
 had to think for a moment before he could substantiate 
 this pretence of having something more to say.] I have 
 quite made up my mind, from personal observation of 
 Mr. Conolly, that even an ordinary acquaintance be- 
 tween you is out of the question. I, in short, refuse to 
 allow anything of the kind to proceed; and I must ask 
 you to respect my wishes in the matter. There is an- 
 other subject which I will take this opportunity of men- 
 tioning ; but as I have no desire to force your inclinations, 
 I shall not press you for a declaration of your feelings 
 at present. Sholto Douglas " 
 
 " I do not want to hear anything about Sholto Doug- 
 las," said Marian, rising. 
 
 " I expect you, Marian, to listen to what I have to say." 
 
 "On that subject I will not listen. I have felt very 
 sore and angry ever since you told me last night to leave 
 the room when Sholto insulted me, as if I were the 
 aggressor." 
 
 "Angry ! I am sorry to hear you say so to me." 
 
 " It is better to say so than to think so. There is no 
 use in going on with this conversation, papa. It will 
 only lead to more bitterness between us; and I had enough 
 of that when I tasted it for the first time last night. .We 
 shall never agree about Mr. Conolly. I have promised 
 to marry him; and therefore I am not free to withdraw, 
 even if I wished to." 
 
 "A promise made by you without my sanction is riot 
 binding. And — listen to me, if you please — I have ob- 
 tained Mr. Conolly's express assurance that if you wish 
 to withdraw, he is perfectly willing that y||u should." 
 
 "Of course. He would not marry me if I did not 
 wish it." " * 
 
 194 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "But he is willing that you should withdraw. He 
 leaves you quite free." 
 
 " Yes ; and, as you told me, he is quite confident that 
 I will keep faith with him ; and so I will. I have had a 
 letter from him since you saw him." 
 
 " What ! " said Mr. Lind, rising also. 
 
 " Dont let us quarrel, papa," said Marian, appealingly. 
 " Why may I not marry whom I please? " 
 
 "Who wants to prevent you, pray? I have most 
 carefully abstained from influencing you with regard 
 to Sholto Douglas. But this is a totally different ques- 
 tion. It is my duty to save you from disgracing your- 
 self." 
 
 " Where is the disgrace ? Mr. Conolly is an eminent 
 man. I am not poor, and can afford to marry anyone 
 I can respect. I can respect him. What objection have 
 you to him? I am sure he is far superior to Sholto." 
 
 " Mr. Douglas is a gentleman, Marian : Mr. Conolly 
 is not; and it is out of the question for you to ally 
 yourself with a — a member of the proletariat, however 
 skilful he may be in his handicraft." 
 
 "What is a gentleman, papa?" 
 
 "A gentleman, Marian, is one who is well born and 
 well bred, and who has that peculiar tone and culture 
 which can only be acquired by intercourse with the best 
 society. I think you should know that as well as I. I 
 hope you do not put these questions from a desire to 
 argue with me." 
 
 " I only wish to do what is right. Surely there is no 
 harm in arguing when one is not convinced." 
 
 " Humph ! Well, I have said all that is necessary. I 
 feel sure that you will not take any step calculated to 
 
 195 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 inflict pain on me— at least an act of selfishness on your 
 part would be a new and shocking experience for me." 
 
 " That is a very unfair way of putting it, papa. You 
 give me no good reason for breaking my word, and mak- 
 ing myself unhappy; and yet you accuse me of selfish- 
 ness in not being ready to do both." 
 
 "I think I have already given you my assurance, 
 weighted as it is by my age, my experience, my regard 
 for your welfare, and, I hope, my authority as a parent, 
 that both your honor and happiness will be secured by 
 your obeying me, and forfeited by following your own 
 headstrong inclinations." 
 
 Marian, almost crushed by this, hesitated a moment, 
 twisting her fingers and looking pitiably at him. Then 
 she thought of Conolly; rallied; and said: " I can only 
 say that I am sorry to disagree with you; but I am not 
 convinced." 
 
 " Do you mean that you refuse to obey me ? " 
 
 " I cannot obey you in this matter, papa. I — — " 
 
 " That is enough," said Mr. Lind, gravely, beginning 
 to busy himself with the writing materials. Marian for 
 a moment seemed about to protest against this dismissal. 
 Then she checked herself and went out of the room, 
 closing the door quite quietly behind her, thereby un- 
 consciously terrifying her father, who had calculated on 
 a slam. 
 
 "Well," said Elinor, when her cousin rejoined her in 
 the drawing-room: " have you been selfish and disobe- 
 dient? Have you lacerated a father's heart?" 
 
 " He is thoroughly unfair," said Marian. " However, 
 it all comes to this: he is annoyed at my wanting to 
 marry Ned; and I believe there will be no more peace 
 for me until I am in a house of my own. What shall 
 
 196 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 we do in the meantime? Where shall we go? I cannot 
 stay here." 
 
 "Why not? Uncle Reginald will sulk; sit at dinner 
 without speaking to us; and keep out of our way as 
 much as he can. But you can talk to me: we neednt 
 mind him. It is he who will be out in the cold, biting 
 his nose to vex his face. Such a state of things is new 
 to you; but I have survived weeks of it without a single 
 sympathizer, and been none the worse, except, perhaps, 
 in temper. He will pretend to be inexorable at first: 
 then he will come down to wounded affection; and he 
 will end by giving in." 
 
 " No, Nelly, I couldnt endure that sort of existence. 
 If people cannot remain friends they should separate at 
 once. I will not sleep in this house to-night." 
 
 "Hurrah!" cried Miss McQuinch. "That will be 
 beginning the war with spirit. If I were in your place, 
 I would stay and fight it out at close quarters. I would 
 make myself so disagreeable that nobody can imagine 
 what life in this house would be. But your plan is the 
 best — if you really mean it." 
 
 " Certainly I mean it. Where shall we go, Nelly ? " 
 
 " Hm ! I am afraid none of the family would make 
 us very comfortable under the circumstances, except 
 Marmaduke. It would be a splendid joke to go to West 
 Kensington; only it would tell as much against 
 us and Ned as against the Roman father. I have it! 
 We will go to Mrs. Toplis's in St. Mary's Terrace: my 
 mother always stays there when she is in town. Mrs. 
 Toplis knows us: if she has a room to spare she will 
 give it to us without making any bother." 
 
 " Yes, that will do. Are you ready to come now ? " 
 
 " If you can possibly wait five minutes I should like 
 
 197 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to put on my hat and change my boots. We will have 
 to come back and pack up when we have settled about 
 the room. We cannot go without clothes. I should 
 like to have a nightdress, at least. Have you any 
 money ? " 
 
 " I have the housekeeping money; but that, of course, 
 I shall not take. I have thirty pounds of my own." 
 
 "And I have my old stocking, which contains nearly 
 seventeen. Say fifty in round numbers. That will keep 
 us going very comfortably for a month." 
 
 " Ridiculous ! It will last longer than that. Oh ! " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " We mustnt go, after all. I forgot you." 
 
 "What of me?" 
 
 " Where will you go when I am married ? You cant 
 live by yourself; and papa may not welcome you back 
 if you take my part against him." 
 
 " He would not, in any case; so it makes no difference 
 to me. I can go home if the worst comes to the worst. 
 It does not matter : my present luxurious existence must 
 come to an end some time or another, whether we go to 
 Mrs. Toplis's or not." 
 
 " I am sure Ned will not object to your continuing with 
 me, if I ask him." 
 
 " No, poor fellow ! He wont object — at first ; but he 
 might not like it. You have no right to inflict me on 
 him. No : I stick to my resolution on that point. Send 
 for the carriage. It is time for us to be off; and Mrs. 
 Toplis will be more impressed if we come in state than 
 if we trudge afoot." 
 
 " Hush," said Marian, who was standing near the 
 window. "Here is Georga, with a face full of im- 
 portance." 
 
 198 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Uncle Reginald has written to him," said Elinor. 
 
 " Then the sooner we go, the better," said Marian. 
 " I do not care to have the whole argument over again 
 with George." 
 
 As they passed through the hall on their way out they 
 met the clergyman. 
 
 "Well, George," said Elinor, "how are the heathen 
 getting on in Belgravia ? You look lively." 
 
 "Are you going out, Marian," he said, solemnly, dis- 
 regarding his cousin's banter. 
 
 " We are going to engage a couple of rooms for some 
 errant members of the family," said Elinor. " May we 
 give you as a reference ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I may want to speak to you before I go, 
 Marian. When will you return ? " 
 
 " I do not know. Probably we shall not be long. You 
 will have plenty of opportunities, in any case." 
 
 " Will you walk into the study, please, sir," said the 
 parlormaid. 
 
 The Rev. George was closeted with his father for an 
 hour. When he came out, he left the house, and travelled 
 by omnibus to Westbourne Grove, whence he walked to a 
 house in Uxbridge Road. Here he inquired for Mr. Con- 
 oily, and, learning that he had just come in, sent up a 
 card. He was presently ushered into a comfortable room, 
 with a pleasant view of the garden. A meal of tea, 
 wheatcakes, and fruit was ready on the table. Conolly 
 greeted his visitor cordially, and rang for another cup. 
 The Rev. George silently noted that his host dined in 
 the middle of the day and had tea in the evening. Afraid 
 though as he was of Conolly, he felt strengthened in his 
 mission by these habits, quite out of the question for 
 Marian. The tea also screwed up his courage a little; 
 
 199 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 but he talked about the electro-motor in spite of himself 
 until the cloth was removed, when Conolly placed two 
 easy chairs opposite one another at the window; put a 
 box of cigarets on a little table close at hand ; and invited 
 his visitor to smoke. But as it was now clearly time to 
 come to business, the cigaret was declined solemnly. So 
 Conolly, having settled himself in an easy attitude, waited 
 for the clergyman to begin. The Rev. George seemed 
 at a loss. 
 
 " Has your father spoken to you about an interview 
 he had with me this morning?" said Conolly, good- 
 naturedly helping him out. 
 
 " Yes. That, in fact, is one of the causes of my visit." 
 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 " I believe he adheres to the opinion he expressed to 
 you. But I fear he may not have exhibited that self-con- 
 trol in speaking to you which I fully admit you have as 
 much right to expect as anyone else." 
 
 " It does not matter. I can quite understand his feel- 
 ing." 
 
 " It does matter — pardon me. We should be sorry to 
 appear wanting in consideration for you." 
 
 " That is a trifle. Let us keep the question straight 
 before us. We need make no show of consideration 
 for one another. I have shown none toward your 
 family." 
 
 " But I assure you our only desire is to arrange every- 
 thing in a friendly spirit." 
 
 " No doubt. But when I am bent on doing a certain 
 thing which you are equally bent on preventing, no very 
 friendly spirit is possible except one of us surrender un- 
 conditionally." 
 
 " Hear me a moment, Mr. Conolly. I have no doubt 
 
 200 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I shall be able to convince you that this romantic project 
 of my sister's is out of the question. Your ambition — 
 if I may say so without offence — very naturally leads 
 you to think otherwise; but the prompting of self-inter- 
 est is not our safest guide in this life." 
 
 " It is the only guide I recognize. If you are going 
 to argue the question, and your arguments are to prevail, 
 they must be addressed to my self-interest." 
 
 " I cannot think you quite mean that, Mr. Conolly." 
 
 " Well, waive the point for the present : I am open to 
 conviction. You know what my mind is. I have not 
 changed it since I saw your father this morning. You 
 think I am wrong ? " 
 
 " Not wrong. I do not say for a moment that you 
 are wrong. I " 
 
 " Mistaken. Ill-advised. Any term you like." 
 
 " I certainly believe that you are mistaken. Let me 
 urge upon you first the fact that you are causing a 
 daughter to disobey her father. Now that is an awful 
 fact. May I — appealing to that righteousness in which 
 I am sure you are not naturally deficient — ask you 
 whether you have reflected on that fact ? " 
 
 " It is not half so awful to me as the fact of a father 
 forcing his daughter's inclinations. However, awful 
 is hardly the word for the occasion. Let us come to 
 business, Mr. Lind. I want to marry your sister be- 
 cause I have fallen in love with her. You object. Have 
 you any other motive than aristocratic exclusiveness ? " 
 
 " Indeed, you quite mistake. I have no such feeling. 
 We are willing to treat you with every possible con- 
 sideration." 
 
 "Then why object?" 
 
 "Well, we are bound to look to her happiness. We 
 
 201 
 
The Irrational Knot ( 
 
 cannot believe that it would be furthered by an unsuit- 
 able match. I am now speaking to you frankly as a 
 man of the world." 
 
 "As a man of the world you know that she has a right 
 to choose for herself. You see, our points of view are 
 different. On Sundays, for instance, you preach to a 
 highly privileged audience at your church in Belgravia; 
 whilst I lounge here over my breakfast, reading Rey- 
 nold's Newspaper. I have not many social prejudices. 
 Although a workman, I dont look on every gentleman as 
 a bloodsucker who seizes on the fruits of my labor only 
 to pursue a career of vice. I will even admit that there 
 are gentlemen who deserve to be respected more than 
 the workmen who have neglected all their opportunities 
 — slender as they are — of cultivating themselves a little. 
 You, on the other hand, know that an honest man's the 
 noblest work of God; that nature's gentlemen are the 
 only real gentlemen; that kind hearts are more than 
 coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood, and so 
 forth. But when your approval of these benevolent 
 claptraps is brought to such a practical test as the mar- 
 riage of your sister to a workman, you see clearly enough 
 that they do not establish the suitability of personal in- 
 tercourse between members of different classes. That 
 being so, let us put our respective philosophies of society 
 out of the question, and argue on the facts of this par- 
 ticular case. What qualifications do you consider essen- 
 tial in a satisfactory brother-in-law ? " 
 
 " I am not bound to answer that ; but, primarily, I 
 should consider it necessary to my sister's happiness 
 that her husband should belong to the same rank as she." 
 
 " You see you are changing your ground. I am not 
 in the same rank — after your sense — as she; but a mo- 
 
 202 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 ment ago you objected to the match solely on the ground 
 of unsuitability." 
 
 "Where is the difference?" said the clergyman, with 
 some warmth. " I have not changed my ground at all. 
 It is the difference in rank that constitutes the unsuit- 
 ability. 
 
 " Let us see, then, how far you are right — how far 
 suitability is a question of rank. A gentleman may be, 
 and frequently is, a drunkard, a gambler, a libertine, or 
 all three combined." 
 
 " Stay, Mr. Conolly ! You show how little you under- 
 stand the only true significance " 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Lind. You are about to explain 
 away the term gentleman into man of honor, honest 
 man, or some other quite different thing. Let me put 
 a case to you. I have a fellow at Queen Victoria Street 
 working for thirty shillings a week, who is the honestest 
 man I know. He is as steady as a rock; supports all 
 his wife's family without complaining; and denies him- 
 self beer to buy books for his son, because he himself 
 has experienced what it is to be without education. But 
 he is not a gentleman." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir. He is a true gentleman." 
 
 " Suppose he calls on you to-morrow, and sends up his 
 name with a request for an interview. You wont know 
 his name; and the first question you will put to your 
 servant is ' What sort of person is he ? ' Suppose the 
 servant knows him, and, sharing your professed opinion 
 of the meaning of the word, replies ' He is a gentleman ! ' 
 On the strength of that you will order him to be shewn 
 in ; and the moment you see him you will feel angry with 
 your servant for deceiving you completely as to the sort 
 of man you were to expect by using the word gentleman 
 
 203 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 in what you call its true sense. Or reverse the case. 
 Suppose the caller is your cousin, Mr. Marmaduke Lind, 
 and your high-principled servant by mistaking the name 
 or how not, causes you to ask the same question with 
 respect to him. The answer will be that Mr. Marmaduke 
 — being a scamp — is not a gentleman. You would be 
 just as completely deceived as in the other case. No, 
 Mr. Lind, you might as well say that this workman of 
 mine is a true lord or a true prince as a true gentleman. 
 A gentleman may be a rogue; and a knifegrinder may be 
 a philosopher and philanthropist. But they dont change 
 their ranks for all that." 
 
 The clergyman hesitated. Then he said timidly, 
 "Even admitting this peculiar view of yours, Mr. Con- 
 oily, does it not tell strongly against yourself in the 
 present instance ? " 
 
 " No ; and I will presently shew you why not. When 
 we digressed as to the meaning of the word gentleman, 
 we were considering the matter of suitability. I was 
 saying that a gentleman might be a drunkard, or, briefly, 
 a scoundrel. A scoundrel would be a very unsuitable 
 husband for Marian — I perceive I annoy you by call- 
 ing her by her name." 
 
 " N — no. Oh, no. It does not matter." 
 
 "Therefore gentility alone is no guarantee of suita- 
 bility. The only gentlemanliness she needs in a husband 
 is ordinary good address, presentable manners, sense 
 enough to avoid ridiculous solecisms in society, and so 
 forth. Marian is satisfied with me on these points; and 
 her approval settles the question finally. As to rank, I 
 am a skilled workman, the first in my trade; and it is 
 only by courtesy and forbearance that I suffer any man 
 to speak of my class as inferior. Take us all, professions 
 
 204 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 and trades together; and you will find by actual measure- 
 ment round the head and round the chest, and round our 
 manners and characters, if you like, that we are the only 
 genuine aristocracy at present in existence. Therefore 
 I meet your objection to my rank with a point-blank 
 assertion of its superiority. Now let us have the other 
 objections, if there are any others." 
 
 The clergyman received this challenge in silence. 
 Then, after clearing his throat uneasily twice, he said : 
 
 " I had hoped, Mr. Conolly, to have been able to per- 
 suade you on general grounds to relinquish your design. 
 But as you are evidently not within reach of those con- 
 siderations which I am accustomed to see universally 
 admitted, it becomes my painful duty to assure you that 
 a circumstance, on the secrecy of which you are relying, 
 is known to me, and, through me, to my father." 
 
 "What circumstance is that?" 
 
 "A circumstance connected with Mr. Marmaduke 
 Lind, whom you mentioned just now. You understand 
 me, I presume ? " 
 
 "Oh! you have found that out?" 
 
 " I have. It only remains for me to warn my sister 
 that she is about to contract a close relationship with one 
 who is — I must say it — living in sin with our cousin." 
 
 " What do you suppose will be the result of that ? " 
 
 " I leave you to imagine," said the clergyman indig- 
 nantly, rising. 
 
 " Stop a bit. You do not understand me yet, I see. 
 You have said that my views are peculiar. What if I 
 have taken the peculiar view that I was bound to tell 
 Marian this before proposing to her, and have actually 
 told her?" 
 
 " But surely That is not very likely." 
 
 205 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "The whole affair is not very likely. Our marriage 
 is not likely; but it is going to happen, nevertheless. 
 She knows this circumstance perfectly well. You told 
 her yourself." 
 
 "I! When?" 
 
 " The year before last, at Carbury Towers. It is worth 
 your consideration, too, that by mistrusting Marian at 
 that time, and refusing to give her my sister's address, 
 you forced her to appeal to me for help, and so advanced 
 me from the position of consulting electrician to that of 
 friend in need. She knew nothing about my relation- 
 ship to the woman in a state of sin (as you call it), and 
 actually deputed me to warn your cousin of the risk he 
 was running by his intimacy with her. Whilst I was 
 away running this queer errand for her, she found out 
 that the woman was my sister, and of course rushed to 
 the conclusion that she had inflicted the deepest pain on 
 me. Her penitence was the beginning of the sentimental 
 side of our acquaintance. Had you recognized that she 
 was a woman with as good a right as you to know the 
 truth concerning all matters in this world which she has 
 to make her way through, you would have answered 
 her question, and then I suppose I should have gone 
 away without having exchanged a word with her on 
 any more personal matters than induction coils and ohms 
 of resistance; and in all probability you would have been 
 spared the necessity of having me for a brother-in-law." 
 
 "Well, sir," said the Rev. George dejectedly, "if 
 what you say be true, I cannot understand Marian, I 
 can only grieve for her. I shall not argue with you on 
 the nature of the influence you have obtained over her. 
 I shall speak to her myself; since you will not hear me." 
 
 206 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " That is hardly fair. I have heard you, and am will- 
 ing to hear more, if you have anything new to urge." 
 
 " You have certainly listened to my voice, Mr. Conolly. 
 But I fear I have used it to very little purpose." 
 
 " You will fail equally with Marian, believe me. Even 
 I, whose ability to exercise influence you admit, never 
 obtained the least over my own sister. She knew me 
 too well on my worst side and not at all on my best. If, 
 as I presume, your father has tried in vain, what hope 
 is there for you ? " 
 
 " Only my humble trust that a priest may be blessed 
 in his appeal to duty even where a father's appeal to 
 natural affection has been disregarded." 
 
 " Well, well," said Conolly, kindly, rising as his visitor 
 disconsolately prepared to go, "you can try. / got on 
 by dint of dogged faith in myself." 
 
 "And I get on by lowly faith in my Master. I would 
 I could imbue you with the same feeling ! " 
 
 Conolly shook his head; and they went downstairs in 
 silence. " Hallo ! " said he, as he opened the door, " it is 
 raining. Let me lend you a coat." 
 
 " Thank you, no. Not at all. Good-night," said the 
 clergyman, quickly, and hastened away through the rain 
 from Conolly's civilities. 
 
 When he arrived at Westbourne Terrace, there was a 
 cab waiting before the house. The door was opened to 
 him by Marian's maid, who was dressed for walking. 
 
 " Master is in the drawing-room, sir, with Miss Mc- 
 Quinch," she said, meaning, evidently, " Look out for 
 squalls." 
 
 He went upstairs, and found Elinor, with her hat on, 
 standing by the pianoforte, with battle in her nostrils. 
 
 207 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Mr. Lind, looking perplexed and angry, was opposite 
 to her. 
 
 " George," said Mr. Lind, " close the door. Do you 
 know the latest news ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Marian has run away ! " 
 
 "Run away!" 
 
 " Yes," said Miss McQuinch. " She has fled to Mrs. 
 Toplis's,, at St. Mary's Terrace, with — as Uncle Regi- 
 nald was just saying — a most dangerous associate." 
 
 "With ?" 
 
 " With me, in short." 
 
 "And you have counselled her to take this fatal step ? " 
 
 " No. I advised her to stay. But she is not so well 
 used to domestic discomfort as I am ; so she insisted on 
 going. We have got very nice rooms: you may come 
 and see us, if you like." 
 
 " Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant 
 humor ? " said the Rev. George, indignantly. " I think 
 the spectacle of a wrecked home " 
 
 "Stuff!" interrupted Elinor, impatiently. "What 
 else can I say? Uncle Reginald tells me I have cor- 
 rupted Marian, and refuses to believe what I tell him. 
 And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you 
 have driven her away. If you want to see her, she is 
 within five minutes walk of you. It is you who have 
 wrecked her home, not she who has wrecked yours." 
 
 " There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George," said 
 Mr. Lind, with the air of a man who had tried it. " You 
 had better go to Marian, and tell her what you mentioned 
 this afternoon. What has been the result of your visit? " 
 
 "He maintains that she knows everything," said the 
 
 208 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Rev. George, with a dispirited glance at Elinor. "I 
 fear my visit has been worse than useless." 
 
 " It is impossible that she should know. He lies," 
 said Mr. Lind. " Go and tell her the truth, George; and 
 say that I desire her — I order her — to come back at once. 
 Say that I am waiting here for her." 
 
 " But, Uncle Reginald," began Elinor, in a softer tone 
 than before, whilst the clergyman stood in doubt 
 
 "I think," continued Mr. Lind, "that I must request 
 you, Elinor, to occupy the rooms you have taken, until 
 you return to your parents. I regret that you have 
 forced me to take this step; but I cannot continue to 
 offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my 
 daughter. I will charge myself with all your expenses 
 until you go to Wiltshire." 
 
 Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason. 
 Then, seeing her cousin slowly going to the door, she 
 said: 
 
 " You dont really mean to go on such a fool's errand 
 to Marian, George ? " 
 
 " Elinor! " cried Mr. Lind. 
 
 "What else is it?" said Elinor. "You asserted all 
 your authority yourself this morning, and only made 
 matters worse. Yet you expect her to obey you at 
 second hand. Besides, she is bound in honor not to 
 desert me now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any 
 sign of her letting herself be bullied." 
 
 " I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say 
 to her," said the clergyman. 
 
 " If you are coming," said Elinor, " you had better 
 come in my cab. Good-night, Uncle Reginald." 
 
 " Stay," said Mr. Lind, irresolutely. " Elinor, I — 
 
 209 
 
The Irrational. Knot 
 
 you — Will you exercise your influence to induce Ma- 
 rian to return? I think you owe me at least so much." 
 
 " I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her 
 marriage and let her do as she likes. But if you can give 
 her no better reason for returning than that she can be 
 more conveniently persecuted here than at St. Mary's 
 Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter 
 how I may influence her." 
 
 " If she is resolved to quarrel with me, I cannot help 
 it," said Mr. Lind, pettishly. 
 
 "You know very well that she is the last person on 
 earth to quarrel with anyone." 
 
 " She has been indulged in every way. This is the 
 first time she has been asked to sacrifice her own wishes." 
 
 " To sacrifice her whole life, you mean. It is the first 
 time she has ever hesitated to sacrifice her own comfort, 
 and therefore the first time you are conscious that any 
 sacrifice is required. Let me tell her that you will 
 allow her to take her own course, Uncle Reginald. He 
 is well enough off; and they are fond of one another. 
 A man of genius is worth fifty men of rank." 
 
 " Tell her, if you please, Elinor, that she must choose 
 between Mr. Conolly and me. If she prefers him, well 
 and good: I have done with her. That is my last word." 
 
 " So now she has nobody to turn to in the world 
 except him. That is sensible. Come, cousin George! 
 I am off." 
 
 " I do not think I should do any good by going," 
 said the clergyman. 
 
 "Then stay where you are," said Elinor. "Good- 
 night." And she abruptly left the room. 
 
 " It was a dreadful mistake ever to have allowed that 
 
 2IO 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 young fury to enter the house," said Mr. Lind. "She 
 must be mad. What did he say ? " 
 
 " He said a great deal in attempted self-justification. 
 But I could make no impression on him. We have no 
 feelings in common with a man of his type. No. He is 
 evidently bent on raising himself by a good marriage." 
 
 " We cannot prevent it." 
 
 " Oh, surely we " 
 
 " I tell you we cannot prevent it," repeated Mr. Lind, 
 turning angrily upon his son. "How can we? What 
 can we do? She will marry this — this — this — this beg-, 
 gar. I wish to God I had never seen her mother." 
 
 The clergyman stood by, cowed, and said nothing. 
 
 " You had better go to that woman of Marmaduke's," 
 continued Mr. Lind, " and try whether she can persuade 
 her brother to commute his interest in the company, and 
 go back to America, or to the devil. I will take care 
 that he gets good terms, even if I have to make them 
 up out of my own pocket. If the worst comes, she must 
 be persuaded to leave Marmaduke. Offer her money. 
 Women of that sort drive a hard bargain; but they have 
 their price." 
 
 " But, sir, consider my profession. How can I go to 
 drive a bargain with a woman of evil reputation?" 
 
 " Well, I must go myself, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, no. I will go. Only I thought I would men- 
 tion it." 
 
 "A clergyman can go anywhere. You are privileged. 
 Come to breakfast in the morning: we can talk over 
 matters then." 
 
 211 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 ONE morning the Rev. George Lind received a 
 letter addressed in a handwriting which he did 
 not remember and never thenceforth forgot. 
 Within the envelope he found a dainty little bag made of 
 blue satin, secured by ribbons of the same material. This 
 contained a note written on scented paper, edged with 
 gold, and decorated with a miniature representation of 
 a pierrot, sitting cross-legged, conning a book, on the 
 open pages of which appeared the letters L. V. The 
 clergyman recognized the monogram no more than the 
 writing. But as it was evidently from a lady, he felt 
 a pleasant thrill of expectation as he unfolded the paper. 
 
 " Laurel Grove West Kensington 
 " Wednesday 
 "Dear Mr. George 
 
 " I have made poor little Lucy believe that Kew 
 is the most heavenly place on earth to spend a May morn- 
 ing so Bob has had to promise to row her down there 
 to-morrow (Thursday) after breakfast and I shall be 
 at home alone from eleven to one this is very short 
 notice I know but opportunities are scarce and another 
 might not present itself for a month. 
 " Believe me Dear Mr. George 
 
 "Yours sincerely 
 
 Lalage Virtue." 
 
 The Rev. George became thoughtful, and absently put 
 the note in a little rack over the mantelpiece. Then, 
 recollecting that a prying servant or landlady might 
 
 212 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 misinterpret it, he transferred it to his pocket. After 
 breakfast, having satisfied himself before the mirror 
 that his dress was faultless, and his expression saintly, 
 he went out and travelled by rail from Sloane Square 
 to West Kensington, whence he walked to Laurel Grove. 
 An elderly maid opened the gate. It was a rule with the 
 Rev. George not to look at strange women ; and this , 
 morning the asceticism which he thought proper to his 
 office was unusually prominent in his thoughts. He did 
 not look up once while the maid conducted him through 
 the shrubbery to the house; and he fully believed that 
 he had not seen at the first glance that she was remark- 
 ably plain, as Susanna took care that all her servants 
 should be. Passing by the drawing-room, where he had 
 been on a previous occasion, they went on to a smaller 
 apartment at the back of the house. 
 
 " What room is this ? " he asked, uneasily. 
 
 " Missus's Purjin bodoor, sir," replied the maid. 
 
 She opened the door; and the clergyman, entering, 
 found himself in a small room, luxuriously decorated in 
 sham Persian, but containing ornaments of all styles and 
 periods, which had been purchased and introduced just 
 as they had caught Susanna's fancy. She was seated 
 on an ottoman, dressed in wide trousers, Turkish slip- 
 pers, a voluminous sash, a short Greek jacket, a long 
 silk robe with sleeves, and a turban, all of fine soft 
 materials and rare colors. Her face was skilfully paint- 
 ed, and her dark hair disposed so as not to overweight 
 her small head. The clergyman, foolishly resisting a 
 natural impulse to admire her, felt like St. Anthony 
 struggling with the fascination of a disguised devil. He 
 responded to her smile of welcome by a stiff bow. 
 
 " Sit down," she said. " You mustnt mind this absurd 
 
 213 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 dress: it belongs to a new piece I am studying. I always 
 study in character. It is the only way to identify my- 
 self with my part, you see." 
 
 " It seems a very magnificent dress, certainly," said 
 the clergyman, nervously. 
 
 " Thank you for the compliment " 
 
 " No, no," said he, hastily. " I had no such intention." 
 
 " Of course not," said Susanna, with a laugh. " It 
 was merely an unpremeditated remark: all compliments 
 are, of course. I know all about that. But do you think 
 it a proper costume?" 
 
 " In what sense, may I ask? " 
 
 " Is it a correct Eastern dress ? I am supposed to be 
 one of the wives of the Caliph Somebody al Something. 
 You have no idea how difficult it is to get a reliable 
 model for a dress before laying out a heap of money on 
 it. This was designed in Paris; but I should like to 
 hear it criticized — chronologically, or whatever you call 
 it — by a scholar." 
 
 " I really do not know, Madam. I am not an Ori- 
 entalist; and my studies take a widely different direction 
 from yours." 
 
 " Yes, of course," said Susanna, with a sigh. " But 
 I assure you I often wish for your advice, particularly 
 as to my elocution, which is very faulty. You are such 
 a master of the art." 
 
 The clergyman bowed in acceptance of the compli- 
 ment, and began to take heart; for to receive flattery 
 from ladies in exchange for severe reproof was part 
 of his daily experience. 
 
 " I have come here," he said, " to have a very serious 
 conversation with you." 
 
 "All right, Doctor. Fire away." 
 
 214 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 This sudden whim of conferring on him a degree in 
 divinity, and her change of manner — implying that she 
 had been laughing at him before — irritated him. " I 
 presume," he said, "that you are acquainted with the 
 movements of your brother." 
 
 " Of Ned ? " said Susanna, frowning a little. " No. 
 What should I know about him? " 
 
 " He is, I believe, about to be married." 
 
 " No ! " screamed Susanna, throwing herself back, and 
 making her bangles and ornaments clatter. " Get out, 
 Doctor. You dont mean it." 
 
 " Certainly I mean it. It is not my profession to jest. 
 I must also tell you that his marriage will make it quite 
 impossible for you to continue here with my cousin." 
 
 "Why? Who is he going to marry?" 
 
 "Ahem ! He has succeeded in engaging the affections 
 of my sister." 
 
 " What ! Your sister ? Marian Lind ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Susanna uttered a long whistle, and then, with a con- 
 viction and simplicity which prevented even the Rev. 
 George from being shocked, said : " Well, I am damned ! 
 I know more than one fool of a girl who will be sick 
 and sorry to hear it." She paused, and added carelessly : 
 " I suppose all your people are delighted ? " 
 
 " I do not know why you should suppose so. We have 
 had no hand in the matter. My sister has followed her 
 own inclinations." 
 
 " Indeed ! Let me tell you, young man, that your 
 sister might have gone farther and fared worse." 
 
 "Doubtless. However, you will see now how impos- 
 sible it is that you should remain in your present — that 
 you should continue here, in fact." 
 
 215 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " You cannot," said the clergyman, accustomed to be 
 bold and stern with female sinners, " when you are sister- 
 in-law to Miss Lind, live as you are now doing with her 
 cousin." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because it would be a scandal. I will say nothing 
 at present of the sin of it: you will have to account for 
 that before a greater than I." 
 
 " Just so, Doctor. You dont mind the sin; but when 
 it comes to a scandal ! " 
 
 "I did not say so. I abhor the sin. I have prayed 
 earnestly for your awakening, and shall do so in spite 
 of the unregenerate hardness of heart " 
 
 " Hallo, Doctor! draw it mild, if you please. I am not 
 one of your parishioners, you know. Perhaps that is the 
 reason your prayers for me have not met with much 
 attention. Let us stick to business: you may talk shop 
 as much as you please afterwards. What do you want me 
 to do?" 
 
 " To sever your connexion with Marmaduke at once. 
 Believe me, it will not prove so hard a step as it may 
 seem. You have but to ask for strength to do it, and 
 you will find yourself strong. It will profit you even 
 more than poor Marmaduke." 
 
 "Will it? I dont see it, Doctor. You think it will 
 profit you: thats plain enough. But it wont profit me; 
 it wont profit Bob ; and it wont by any means profit the 
 child." 
 
 " Not immediately, perhaps, in a worldly sense " 
 
 " That is the sense I mean. Drop all that other stuff : 
 I dont believe in you parsons: you are about the worst lot 
 going, as far as I can see. Just tell me this, Doctor. 
 
 216 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Your sister is a very nice girl, I have no doubt: she 
 would hardly have snapped up Ned if she wasnt. But 
 why is she to have everything her own way ? " 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 " Well, listen. Here is a young woman who has had 
 every chance in life that luck could give her : silk cradles, 
 gold rattles, rank, wealth, schooling, travelling, swell 
 acquaintances, and anything else she chose to ask for. 
 Even when she is fool enough to want to get married, 
 her luck sticks to her, and she catches Ned, who is a 
 man in a thousand — though Lord forbid we should have 
 many of his sort about! Yet she's not satisfied. She 
 wants me to give up my establishment just to keep her 
 family in countenance." 
 
 " She knows nothing of my visit, I assure you." 
 
 " Even if she doesnt, it makes no odds as to the facts. 
 She can go her own way; and I will go mine. I shant 
 want to visit her; and I dont suppose she will visit me. 
 So she need trouble herself no more than if there was 
 no such person as I in the world." 
 
 " But you will find that it will be greatly to your ad- 
 vantage to leave this house. It is not our intention that 
 you shall suffer in a pecuniary point of view by doing so. 
 My father is rich " 
 
 " What is that to me ? He doesnt want me to go and 
 live with him, does he ? " 
 
 " You quite misunderstand me. No such idea ever 
 entered " 
 
 " There ! go on. I only said that to get a rise out of 
 you, Doctor. How do you make out that I should gain 
 by leaving this house ? " 
 
 " My father is willing to make you some amends for 
 
 217 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the withdrawal of such portion of Marmaduke's income 
 as you may forfeit by ceasing your connexion with him." 
 
 "You have come to buy me out, in fact: is that it? 
 What a clever old man your father must be! Knows 
 the world thoroughly, eh ? " 
 
 " I hope I have not offended you ? " 
 
 " Bless you, Doctor! nobody could be offended with 
 you. Suppose I agree to oblige you (you have a very 
 seductive High Church way about you) who is to make 
 Marmaduke amends for such portion of my income as 
 our separation will deprive him of? Eh? I see that 
 that staggers you a little. If you will just tot up the 
 rent of this house since we have had it; the price of the 
 furniture ; our expenses, including my carriage and Mar- 
 maduke's horse and the boat ; six hundred pounds of debt 
 that he ran up before he settled down with me ; and other 
 little things ; and then find out from his father how much 
 money he has drawn within the last two years, I think 
 you will find it rather hard to make the two balance. 
 Your uncle is far too good a man to give Marmaduke 
 money to spend on me ; but he was not too good to keep 
 me playing in the provinces all through last autumn just 
 to make both ends meet, when I ought to have been 
 taking my holiday. I wish you would tell his mother, 
 your blessed pious Aunt Dora, to send Bob the set of 
 diamonds his grandmother left him, instead of sermons 
 which he never reads." 
 
 " I thought Marmaduke had nearly a thousand a year, 
 independently of his father." 
 
 "A thousand a year ! What is that? And your uncle 
 would stop even that, if he could, to keep it out of my 
 hands. You may tell him that if it didnt come into my 
 hands it would hardly last a week. Only for the child, 
 
 218 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 and the garden, and the sort of quiet life he leads here, 
 he would spend a thousand a month. And look at my 
 expenses! Look at my dresses! I suppose you think 
 that people wear cotton velvet and glazed calico on the 
 stage, as Mrs. Siddons did in the old days when they 
 acted by candlelight. Why, between dress and jewellery, 
 I have about two hundred pounds on my back at the 
 present moment ; and you neednt think that any manager 
 alive will find dresses to that tune. At the theatre they 
 think me overpaid at fifty pounds a week, although they 
 might shut up the house to-morrow if my name was 
 taken out of the bills. Tell your father that so far from 
 my living on Bob, it is as much as I can do to keep this 
 place going by my work — not to mention the worry of 
 it, which always falls on the woman." 
 
 " I certainly had no idea of the case being as you de- 
 scribe," said the clergyman, losing his former assurance. 
 " But would it not then be better for you to separate ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I want my house and home. So does 
 he. If an income is rather tight, halving it is a very 
 good way to make it tighter. No: if I left Bob, he 
 would go to the devil; and very likely I should go to the 
 devil, too, and disgrace you iri earnest." 
 
 " But, my dear madam, consider the disgrace at pres- 
 ent!" 
 
 " What disgrace ? When your sister becomes Mrs. 
 Ned, what will be the difference between her position 
 and mine? Dont look aghast. What will be the differ- 
 ence ? " 
 
 " Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense 
 with the sacrament of marriage before casting in her 
 lot with your brother!" 
 
 " I bet you my next week's salary that you dont get Ned 
 
 219 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to enter a church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of 
 course, your sister will have the law of him somehow : she 
 cant help herself. She is not independent; and so she 
 must be guaranteed against his leaving her without bread 
 and butter. I can support myself, and may shew Bob 
 a clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if 
 she has money of her own, she darent stick to her free- 
 dom for fear of society. / snap my fingers at society, 
 and care as little about it as it cares about me; and I 
 have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she 
 had the pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a 
 regular legal bargain of going to live with a man. I dont 
 care to make love a matter of money ; it gives it a taste 
 of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to be 
 honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. 
 George's, Hanover Square, before we came to live here; 
 but, of course, I refused, as any decent woman in my 
 circumstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: I 
 dont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast 
 of behaving better than your sister. I know the world; 
 and I know that she will marry Ned just as much because 
 she thinks it right as because she cant help herself. But 
 dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about 
 my disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I 
 am. I can respect myself; and I dont care whether you 
 or your family respect me or not. If you dont approve 
 of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me. If 
 you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If 
 I want it, I can fill this house to-morrow. Not with 
 stupid fine ladies, but with really clever people, who are 
 not at all shy of me. Look at me at the present moment ! 
 I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and 
 most popular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, 
 
 220 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 what your parishioners would think if they could see 
 you now." 
 
 " I must confess that I do not understand you at all. 
 You seem to see everything reversed — upside down. 
 You — I — you bewilder me, Miss Conol — " 
 
 " Sh ! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or 
 you may call me Susanna, if you like, since we are as 
 good as related." 
 
 " I fear," said the clergyman, blushing, " that we have 
 no common ground on which to argue. I am sorry I 
 have no power to influence you." 
 
 " Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and 
 would do more for you than most people. If your father 
 had had the cheek to come himself to offer me money, 
 and so forth, I would have put him out of the house 
 double quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. 
 Never mind your hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne 
 with me?" 
 
 " Thank you, no." 
 
 "Dont you drink at all?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You should. It would give a fillip to your sermons. 
 Let me send you a case of champagne. Promise to 
 drink a bottle every Sunday in the vestry before you 
 come out to preach, and I will take a pew for the season 
 in your church. Thats good of me, isnt it? " 
 
 " I must go," said the Rev. George, rising, after hastily 
 pretending to look at his watch. " Will you excuse me ? " 
 
 " Nonsense," she said, rising also, and slipping her 
 hand through his arm to detain him. " Wait and have 
 some luncheon. Why, Doctor, I really think youre 
 afraid of me. Do stay." 
 
 " Impossible. I have much business which I am 
 
 221 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 bound Pray, let me go," pleaded the clergyman, 
 
 piteously, ineffectually struggling with Susanna, who 
 had now got his arm against her breast. " You must 
 be mad ! " he cried, drops of sweat breaking out on his 
 brow as he felt himself being pulled helplessly toward the 
 ottoman. She got her knee on it at last; and he made 
 a desperate effort to free himself. 
 
 " Oh, how rough you are ! " she exclaimed in her 
 softest voice, adroitly tumbling into the seat as if he 
 had thrown her down, and clinging to his arms; so that 
 it was as much as he could do to keep his feet as he 
 stooped over her, striving to get upright. At which 
 supreme moment the door was opened by Marmaduke, 
 who halted on the threshold to survey the two reproach- 
 fully for a moment. Then he said: 
 
 " George: I'm astonished at you. I have not much 
 opinion of parsons as a rule; but I really did think that 
 you were to be depended on." 
 
 " Marmaduke," said the clergyman, colouring furi- 
 ously, and almost beside himself with shame and anger: 
 " you know perfectly well that I am actuated in coming 
 here by no motive unworthy of my profession. You 
 misunderstand what you have seen. I will not hear my 
 calling made a jest of." 
 
 " Quite right, Doctor," said Susanna, giving him a 
 gentle pat of encouragement on the shoulder. " Defend 
 the cloth, always. I was only asking him to stay to 
 lunch, Bob. Cant you persuade him ? " 
 
 " Do, old fellow," said Marmaduke. " Come ! you 
 must: I havnt had a chat with you for ever so long. 
 I'm really awfully sorry I interrupted you. What on 
 earth did you make Susanna rig herself out like that 
 for?" 
 
 222 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Bob. Mr. George has nothing to 
 do with my being in character. This is what came last 
 night in the box: I could not resist trying it on this 
 morning. I am Zobeida, the light of the harem, if you 
 please. I must have your opinion of the rouge song, 
 Doctor. Observe. This is a powder puff: I suppose 
 you never saw such a thing before. I am making up my 
 face for a visit of the Sultan; and I am apologizing to 
 the audience for using cosmetics. The original French 
 is improper; so I will give you the English version, by 
 the celebrated Robinson, the cleverest adapter of the day : 
 
 ' Poor odalisques in captive thrall 
 Must never let their charms pall : 
 If they get the sack 
 They ne'er come back ; 
 For the Bosphorus is the boss for all 
 In this harem, harem, harem, harem, harum 
 scarum place.' 
 
 Intellectual, isnt it?" 
 
 Susanna, whilst singing, executed a fantastic slow 
 dance, stopping at certain points to clink a pair of little 
 cymbals attached to her ankles, and to look for a moment 
 archly at the clergyman. 
 
 " No," he said, hurt and offended into a sincerity of 
 manner which compelled them to respect him for the 
 first time, " I will not stay; and I am very sorry I came." 
 And he left the room, his cheeks tingling. Marmaduke 
 followed him to the gate. " Come and look us up soon 
 again, old fellow," he said. 
 
 " Marmaduke," said the clergyman: " you are travel- 
 ling as fast as you can along the road to Hell." 
 
 223 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 As he hurried away, Marmaduke leaned against the 
 gate and made the villas opposite echo his laughter. 
 
 " On my soul, it's a shame," said he, when he returned 
 to the house. " Poor old George ! " 
 
 " He found no worse than he had made up his mind 
 to find," said Susanna. "What right has he to come 
 into my house and take it for granted, to my face, that 
 I am a disgrace to his sister? One would think I was 
 a common woman from the streets." 
 
 " Pshaw ! What does he know ? He is only a molly- 
 coddling parson, poor fellow. He will give them a rare 
 account of you when he goes back." 
 
 " Let him," said Susanna. " He can tell them how 
 little I care for their opinion, anyhow." 
 
 The Rev. George took the next train to the City, and 
 went to the offices of the Electro-Motor Company, where 
 he found his father. They retired together to the board- 
 room,' which was unoccupied just then. 
 
 " I have been to that woman," said the clergyman. 
 
 " Well, what does she say ? " 
 
 " She is an entirely abandoned person. She glories 
 in her shame. I have never before met with such an 
 example of complete and unconscious depravity. Yet 
 she is not unattractive. There is a wonderfully clever 
 refinement even in her coarseness which goes far to 
 account for her influence over Marmaduke." 
 
 " No doubt ; but apart from her personal charms, about 
 which I am not curious, is she willing to assist us ? " 
 
 " No. I could make no impression on her at all." 
 
 "Well, it cannot be helped. Did you say anything 
 about Conolly's selling his interest here and leaving the 
 country ? " 
 
 " No," said the clergyman, struck with a sense of re- 
 
 224 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 missness. "I forgot that. The fact is, I hardly had 
 the oppor " 
 
 " Never mind. It is just as well that you did not : it 
 might have made mischief." 
 
 " I do not think it is of the least use to pursue her with 
 any further overtures. Besides, I really could not un- 
 dertake to conduct them." 
 
 " May I ask," said Mr. Lind, turning on him suddenly, 
 " what objection you have to Marian's wishes being con- 
 sulted in this matter ? " 
 
 The Rev. George recoiled, speechless. 
 
 " I certainly think," said Mr. Lind, more smoothly, 
 " that Marian might have trusted to my indulgence in- 
 stead of hurrying away to a lodging and writing the 
 news in all directions. But I must say I have received 
 some very nice letters about it. Jasper is quite con- 
 gratulatory. The Court Journal has a paragraph this 
 week alluding to it with quite good taste. Conolly is a 
 very remarkable man; and, as the Court Journal truly 
 enough remarks, he has won a high place in the repub- 
 lic of art and science. As a Liberal, I cannot say that 
 I disapprove of Marian's choice; and I really think that 
 it will be looked on in society as an interesting one." 
 
 Mr. Lind's son eyed him dubiously for quite a long 
 time. Then he said, slowly, "Am I to understand that 
 I may now speak of the marriage as a recognized thing ? " 
 
 "Why not, pray?" 
 
 " Of course, since you wish it, and it cannot be 
 helped — " The clergyman again looked at his father, 
 still more dubiously. He saw in his eye that there would 
 be a quarrel if the interview lasted much longer. So 
 he said " I must go home now. I have to write my ser- 
 mon for next Sunday." 
 
 225 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Very good. Do not let me detain you. Good-bye." 
 The Rev. George returned to his rooms quite dazed 
 by the novelty of his" sensations. He had always re- 
 spected his father beyond other men; and now he knew 
 that his father did not deserve his respect in the least. 
 That was one conviction uprooted. And Susanna had 
 done something to him — he did not exactly know what; 
 but he felt altogether a different man from the clergy- 
 man of the day before. He had come face to face with 
 what he called Vice for the first time, and found it not 
 at all what he had supposed it to be. He had believed 
 that he knew it to be most dangerously attractive to the 
 physical, but utterly repugnant to the moral sense; and 
 such fascination he was prepared to resist to the utmost. 
 But he was attacked in just the opposite way, and thereby 
 so thrown off his guard that he did not know he was 
 attacked at all; so that he told himself vaingloriously 
 that the shafts of the enemy had fallen harmlessly from 
 his breastplate of faith. For he was not in the least 
 charmed by Susanna's person. He had detected the 
 paint on her cheeks, and had noted with aversion a 
 certain unhealthy bloat in her face, and an alcoholic taint 
 in her breath. He exulted in the consciousness that he 
 had been genuinely disgusted, not as a matter of duty, 
 but unaffectedly, as a matter of simple nature. What 
 interested him in her was her novel and bold moral 
 attitude, her self-respect in the midst of her sin, her 
 striking arguments in favor of an apparently indefensible 
 course of life. Hers was no common case of loose liv- 
 ing, he felt: there was a soul to be saved there, if 
 only Heaven would raise her up a friend in some man 
 absolutely proof against the vulgar fascination of her 
 prettiness. He began to imagine a certain greatness 
 
 226 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 of character about her, a capacity for heroic repentance 
 as well as for heroic sin. Before long he was amusing 
 himself by thinking how it might have gone with her 
 if she had him for her counsellor instead of a gross and 
 thoughtless rake like Marmaduke. 
 
 It is not necessary to follow the wild goose chase 
 which the Rev. George's imagination ran from this 
 starting-point to the moment when he was suddenly 
 awakened, by an unmistakable symptom, to the fact 
 that he was being outwitted and beglamoured, like the 
 utter novice he was, by a power which he believed to 
 be the devil. He rushed to the little oratory he had 
 arranged with a screen in the corner of his sitting-room, 
 and prayed aloud, long and earnestly. But the hypno- 
 tizing process did not tranquilize him as usual. It ex- 
 cited him, and led him finally to a passionate appeal for 
 pardon and intercession to a statuet of the Virgin 
 Mother, of whom he was a very devout adorer. He 
 had always regarded himself as her especial champion 
 in the Church of England; and now he had been faith- 
 less to her, and indelicate into the bargain. And yet, 
 in spite of his contrition, he felt that he was having a 
 tremendous spiritual experience, which he would not for 
 worlds have missed. The climax of it was the compo- 
 sition of his Sunday sermon, the labor of which secured 
 him a sound sleep that night. It was duly delivered on 
 the following Sunday morning in this form : 
 
 " Dearly beloved Brethren : In the twenty-third verse 
 of the third chapter of St. Mark's gospel, we find this 
 question : ' How can Satan cast out Satan? ' How can 
 Satan cast out Satan? If you will read what follows, 
 you will perceive that that question was not answered. 
 My brethren, it is unanswerable : it never has been, and 
 it never can be answered. 
 
 227 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " In these latter days, when the power of Satan has 
 become so vast, when his empire and throne tower in 
 our midst so that the faithful are cast down by the ex- 
 ceeding great shadow thereof, and when temples innu- 
 merable are open for his worship, it is no strange thing 
 that many faint-hearted ones should give half their hearts 
 to Beelzebub, and should hope by the prince of devils to 
 cast out devils. Yes, this is what is taking place daily 
 around us. Oh, you, who seek to excuse this book to 
 infidel philosophers by shewing with how much facility 
 a glib tongue may reconcile it with their so-called science, 
 I tell you that it is science and not the Bible that shall 
 need that apology in the great day of wrath. And, there- 
 fore, I would have you, my brethren, earnestly dis- 
 countenance all endeavors to justify the Word of God 
 by explaining it in conformity with the imaginations of 
 the 1 men of science. How can Satan cast out Satan? 
 He cannot; but he can lead you into the sin of adding 
 to and of taking from the words of this book. He can add 
 plagues unto you, and take away your part out of the 
 holy city. 
 
 " In this great London which we inhabit we are 
 come upon evil days. The rage of the blasphemer, the 
 laugh at the scoffer, the heartless lip-service of the world- 
 ling, and the light dalliance of the daughters of music, 
 are offered every hour upon a thousand Baal-altars with- 
 in this very parish. I would ask some of you who spend 
 your evenings in the playhouses which multiply around 
 us like weeds sown in the rank soil of human frailty, 
 what justification you make to yourselves when you are 
 alone in the watches of the night, and your conscience 
 saith, 'What went ye out for to see?' You will then 
 complain of the bitterness of life, and prate of the re- 
 fining influences of music ; of the help to spiritual-mind- 
 edness given by the exhibition on the public stage of 
 mockeries of God's world, wherein some pitiful tempo- 
 ral triumph of simulated virtue in the last act is the 
 apology for the vicious trifling that has gone before. 
 And in whom do you there see typified that virtue which 
 
 228 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 you should shield in your hearts from the contamination 
 of the theatre? Is it not in some woman whose private 
 life is the scandalous matter of your whispered conver- 
 sations, and whose shameless face smirks at you from 
 the windows of those picture-shops which are a disgrace 
 to our national morality? Is it from such as she that 
 you will learn to be spiritual-minded? Does she appear 
 before your carnal crowds repentant, her forehead cov- 
 ered with ashes, her limbs covered with sackcloth ? No ! 
 Her brow is glowing with unquenchable fire to kindle the 
 fuel that the devil has hidden in your hearts. Her raiment 
 is cloth of gold; and she is not covered with it. Naked 
 and unashamed, she smiles and weeps in mockery of the 
 virtue which you would persuade yourselves that she 
 represents to you. Will you learn spiritual-mindedness 
 from the sight of her eyes, from the sound of her mouth, 
 from the measure of her steps, or from the music and 
 the dancing that cease not within the doors of her temple ? 
 How can Satan cast out Satan? Whom think ye to 
 deceive by whitening the sepulchre? Is it yourselves? 
 The devil has blinded you already. Is it God? Who 
 shall hide anything from Him? I tell you that he who 
 makes the pursuit of virtue a luxury, and takes refuge 
 from sin, not before the altar, but in the playhouse, is 
 casting out devils by Beelzebub, the prince of the devils. 
 " As I look about me in this church, I see many things 
 intended to give pleasure to the carnal eye. Were the 
 cost of all these dainty robes, this delicate headgear, these 
 clouds of silk, of satin, of lace, and of sparkling jewels, 
 were the price of these things brought into the Church's 
 treasury, how loudly might the Gospel resound in lands 
 between whose torrid shores and the tropical sun the 
 holy shade of Calvary has not yet fallen ! But, you will 
 say, it is a good thing to be comely in the house of the 
 Lord. The sight of what is beautiful elevates the mind. 
 Uncleanness is a vice. This, then, is how you will war 
 with uncleanness. Not by prayer and holy living. Not 
 by pouring of your superfluity into the lap of the poor, 
 and entering by the strait gate upon the narrow path in a 
 garment without seam. No. By the dead and damning 
 
 229 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 gold ; by the purple and by the scarlet ; by the brightness 
 of the eyes that is born of new wine ; by the mincing gait 
 and the gloved fingers ; and by the musk and civet instead 
 of the myrrh and frankincense: by these things are you 
 fain to purge your uncleanness. And will they suffice? 
 Can Satan cast out Satan ? Beware ! ' For though thou 
 zvash thee with nitre and take thee much soap, yet thine 
 iniquity is marked before me, saith the Lord God.' 
 There shall come a day when your lace and feathers 
 shall hang on you as heavy as your chains of gold, to 
 drag you down to him in whose name you have thought 
 to cast out devils. Do not think that these things are 
 harmless vanities. Nothing can fill the human heart and 
 be harmless. If your thoughts be not of God, they will 
 keep your minds distraught from His grace as effectually 
 as the blackest broodings of crime. ' Can a maid forget 
 her ornaments, or a bride her attire? Yet my people have 
 forgotten me days without number, saith the Lord God.' 
 Yes, your minds are too puny to entertain the full wor- 
 ship of God: do you think they are spacious enough to 
 harbor the worship of Baal side by side with it? Much 
 less dare you pretend that the Baal altar is erected for 
 the honor of God, that you may come into His presence 
 comely and clean. It is but a few days since I stood in 
 the presence of a woman who boasted to me that she 
 bore upon her the value of two hundred pounds of our 
 money. I cared little for the value of money that was 
 upon her. But what shall be said of the weight of sin 
 her attire represented ? For, those costly garments were 
 the wages of sin — of hardened, shameless, damnable sin. 
 Yet there is not before me a finer dress or a fairer face. 
 Will you, my sisters, trust to the comeliness of visage 
 and splendor of raiment in which such a woman as this 
 can outshine you? Will you continue to cast out your 
 devils by Beelzebub, the prince of devils? Be advised 
 whilst there is yet time. Ask youself again and again, 
 how can Satan cast out Satan? 
 
 "When sin is committed in a great city for wages, 
 is there no fault on the side of those who pay the 
 wages? There is more than fault: there is crime. I 
 
 230 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 trust there are few among you who have done such 
 crime. But I know full well that it may be said of 
 London to-day ' Thou art full of stirs, a joyous city : thy 
 slain men are not slain with the sword, nor dead in battle.' 
 No. Our young men are slain by the poison of Beel- 
 zebub, the prince of the devils. Nor is the crafty old 
 subterfuge lacking here. There are lost ones in this 
 town who say, ' It is by our means that virtue is pre- 
 served to the rich : it is we who appease the wicked rage 
 which would otherwise wreck society.' There are men 
 who boast that they have brought their sins only to the 
 houses of shame, and that they have respected purity in 
 the midst of their foulness. ' Such things must be,' they 
 say : ' let us alone, lest a worse thing ensue.' When 
 they are filled full with sin, they cry ' Lo ! our appetite 
 has gone from us and we are clean.' They are willing 
 to slake lust with satiety, but not to combat it with 
 prayer. They tread one woman into the mire, and ex- 
 cuse themselves because the garment of her sister is 
 spotless. How vain is this lying homage to virtue! 
 How can Satan cast out Satan? 
 
 " Oh, my brethren, this hypocrisy is the curse and 
 danger of our age. The Atheist, no longer an execra- 
 tion, an astonishment, a curse, and a reproach, poses 
 now as the friend of man and the champion of right. 
 Those who incur the last and most terrible curse in 
 this book, do so in the name of that truth for which 
 they profess to be seeking. Art, profanely veiling its 
 voluptuous nakedness with the attributes of religion, dis- 
 guises folly so subtly that it seems like virtue in the 
 slothful eyes of those who neglect continually to watch 
 and pray. The vain woman puts on her ornaments to 
 do honor to her Creator's handiwork: the lustful man 
 casts away his soul that society may be kept clean: 
 there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not 
 pretend to work the world's salvation, nor a man who 
 flatters not himself that the sin of one may be the purg- 
 ing of many. To such I say, Look to your own soul: of 
 no other shall any account be demanded of you. A day 
 shall come in which a fire shall be kindled among your 
 
 231 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 gods. The Lord shall array Himself with this land as 
 a shepherd putteth on his garment. Be sure that then 
 if ye shall say ' I am a devil; but I have cast out many 
 devils/ He will reply unto you, How can Satan cast out 
 Satan? Who shall prompt you to an answer to that 
 question ? Nay, though in His boundless mercy He give 
 you a thousand years to search, and spread before you 
 all the books of science and sociology in which you were 
 wont to find excuses for sin, what will it avail you? 
 Will a scoff, or a quibble over a doubtful passage, serve 
 your turn? No. You cannot scoff whilst your tongue 
 cleaves to the roof of your mouth for fear, and there 
 will be no passage doubtful in all the Scriptures on that 
 day ; for the light of the Lord's countenance will be over 
 all tilings." 
 
 2S2 
 
BOOK III 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ONE Sunday afternoon, as the sun was making 
 rainbows in the cloud of spray thrown from 
 the fountain in Kew Gardens, Sholto Douglas 
 appeared there amongst the promenaders on the banks 
 of the pond. He halted on the steps leading down to 
 the basin, gazing idly at the waterfowl paddling at his 
 feet. A lady in a becoming grey dress came to the top 
 of the steps, and looked curiously at him. Somehow 
 aware of this, he turned indifferently, as if to leave, and 
 found that the lady was Marian. Her ripened beauty, 
 her perfect self-possession, a gain in her as of added 
 strength and wisdom, and a loss in her as of gentleness 
 outgrown and timidity overcome, dazzled him for a mo- 
 ment—caused a revulsion in him which he half recog- 
 nized as the beginning of a dangerous passion. His 
 former love for her suddenly appeared boyish and unreal 
 to him; and this ruin of a once cherished illusion cost 
 him a pang. Meanwhile, there she was, holding out her 
 hand and smiling with a cool confidence in the success 
 of her advance that would have been impossible to Ma- 
 rian Lind. 
 
 " How do you do ? " she said. 
 
 "Thank you: I am fairly well. You are quite well, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " I am in rude health. I hardly knew you at first." 
 
 "Am I altered?" 
 
 " You are growing stout." 
 
 235 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Indeed ? Time has not been so bounteous to me as 
 to you." 
 
 "You mean that I am stouter than you?" She 
 laughed; and the sound startled him. He got from it 
 an odd impression that her soul was gone. But he 
 hastened to protest. 
 
 "No, no. You know I do not. I meant that you 
 have achieved the impossible — altered for the better." 
 
 "I am glad you think so. I cling to my good looks 
 desperately now that I am growing matronly. How is 
 Mrs. Douglas?" 
 
 " She is quite well, thank you. Mr. Conolly is, I 
 trust—" 
 
 "He is suffering from Eucalyptus on the brain at 
 present. Do not trouble yourself to maintain that ad- 
 mirable expression of shocked sadness. Eucalyptus 
 means gum-tree; and Ned is at present studying the 
 species somewhere in the neighborhood. He came here 
 with that object: he never goes anywhere without an 
 object. He wants to plant Eucalyptuses round some 
 new works where the people suffer from ague." 
 
 " Oh ! You mean that he is here in the gardens." 
 
 "Yes. I left him among the trees, as I prefer the 
 flowers. I want to see the lilies. There used to be 
 some in a hot-house, or rather a hot bath, near this." 
 
 " That is it on our right. May I go through it with 
 you?" 
 
 " Just as you please." 
 
 "Thank you. It is a long time since we last met, 
 is it not?" 
 
 " More than a year. Fifteen months. I have not 
 seen you since I was married." 
 
 Douglas looked rather foolish at this. He was fatter, 
 
 236 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 lazier, altogether less tenacious of his dignity than of 
 old; and his embarrassment brought out the change 
 strikingly. Marian liked him all the better for it; he 
 was less imposing; but he was more a man and less a 
 mere mask. At last, reddening a little, he said, " I 
 remember our last meeting very well. We were very 
 angry then: I was infuriated. In fact, when I recog- 
 nized you a minute ago, I was not quite sure that you 
 would renew our acquaintance." 
 
 " I had exactly the same doubt about you." 
 "A very unnecessary doubt. Not a sincere one, I am 
 afraid. You know too well that your least beck will 
 bring me to you at any time." 
 
 "Dont you think we had better not begin that. I 
 generally repeat my conversations to Ned. Not that 
 he will mind, if you dont." 
 
 Douglas now felt at his ease and in his element. He 
 was clearly welcome to philander. Recovering his 
 poise at once, he began, in his finest voice, " You need 
 not chide me. There can be no mistake on my part 
 now. You can entangle me without fear; and I can 
 love without hope. Ned is an unrepealed statute of 
 Forbiddance. Go on, Mrs. Conolly. Play with me: it 
 will amuse you. And — spiritless wretch that I am! — it 
 will help me to live until you throw me away, crushed 
 again." 
 
 "You seem to have been quite comfortable without 
 me : at least you look extremely well. I suspect you are 
 becoming a little lazy and attached to your dinner. Your 
 old haughtiness seems to have faded into a mere habit. 
 It used to be the most active principle in you. Are you 
 quite sure that nobody else has been helping you to live, 
 as you call it ? " 
 
 237 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Helping me to forget, you mean. No, not one. 
 Time has taught me the way to vegetate; and so I no 
 longer need to live. As you have remarked, I have 
 habits, not active principles. But one at least of these 
 principles is blossoming again even as I speak. If I 
 could only live as that lily lives now ! " 
 
 "In a warm bath?" 
 
 " No. Floating on the surface of a quiet pool, looking 
 up into your eyes, with no memory for the past, no an- 
 ticipation of the future." 
 
 " Delightful ! especially for me. I think we had better 
 go and look for Ned." 
 
 " Were I in his place I would not be absent from your 
 side now— or ever." 
 
 " That is to say, if you were in his place, you wouldnt 
 be in his place — among the gum trees. Perhaps you 
 would be right." 
 
 " He is the only man I have ever stooped to envy." 
 
 "You have reason to," said Marian, suddenly grave. 
 " I envy him sometimes myself. What would you give 
 to be never without a purpose, never with a regret, to 
 regard life as a succession of objects each to be ac- 
 complished by so many days' work ; to take your pleasure 
 in trifling lazily with the consciousness of possessing a 
 strong brain ; to study love, family affection, and friend- 
 ship as a doctor studies breathing or digestion; to look 
 on disinterestedness as either weakness or hypocrisy, 
 and on death as a mere transfer of your social function 
 to some member of the next generation?" 
 
 " I could achieve all that, if I would, at the cost of 
 my soul. I would not for worlds be such a man, save 
 on one condition." 
 
 "To wit?" 
 
 238 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " That only as such could I win the woman I loved." 
 
 " Oh, you would not think so much of an insignificant 
 factor like love if you were Ned." 
 
 " May I ask, do you, too, think of love as ' an insig- 
 nificant factor'?" 
 
 " I ? Oh, I am not a sociologist. Besides, I have 
 never been in love." 
 
 " What ! You have never been in love ? " 
 
 " Not the real, romantic, burning, suicidal love your 
 sonnets used to breathe." 
 
 " Then you do not know what love is." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 " You should know whether I do or not." 
 
 " Should I ? Then I conclude that you do not. You 
 are growing stout. Your dress is not in the least neg- 
 lected. I am certain you enjoy life thoroughly. No, 
 you have never known love in all its novelistic-poetic 
 outrageousness. That respectable old passion is a myth." 
 
 " You look for signs that only children shew. When 
 an oak dies, it does not wither and fall at once as a 
 sapling does. Perhaps you will one day know what it 
 is to love." 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 " In any case, you will be able to boast of having in- 
 spired the passion." 
 
 " I hope so — at least, I mean that it is all nonsense. 
 Do look at that vegetable lobster of a thing, that cactus." 
 
 " In order to set off its ugliness properly, you should 
 see yourself against the background of palms, with that 
 great fan-like leaf for a halo, and " 
 
 " Thank you. I see it all in my mind's eye by your 
 eloquent description. You are quite right in supposing 
 that I like compliments ; but I am particular about their 
 
 239 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 qualify ; and I dont need to be told I am pretty in com- 
 parison with a hideous cactus. You would not have 
 condescended to make such a speech long ago. You 
 are changed." 
 
 " Not toward you, on my honor." 
 
 " I did not mean that : I meant toward yourself." 
 
 "lam glad you have taken even that slender note of 
 me. I find you somewhat changed, too." 
 
 " I did not know that I shewed it; but it is true. I 
 feel as if Marian Lind was a person whom I knew once, 
 but whom I should hardly know again." 
 
 " The change in me has not produced that effect I 
 feel as though Marian Lind were the history of my life." 
 
 " You have become quite a master of the art of saying 
 pretty tilings. You are nearly as ghb at it as Ned." 
 
 " We have the same incentive to admiration." 
 
 " The same ! You do not suppose that Ned pays me 
 compliments. He never did such a thing in his life. 
 No: I first discovered his talent in that direction at 
 Palermo, where I surprised him in an animated dis- 
 course with the dark-eyed daughter of an innkeeper 
 there. That was the first conversation in Italian I suc- 
 ceeded in following. A week later I could understand 
 the language almost as well as he. However, dont let 
 us waste the whole afternoon talking stuff. I want to 
 ask you about your mother. I should greatly like to 
 call upon her; but she has never made me any sign 
 since my marriage; and Mrs. Leith Fairfax tells me that 
 she never allows my name to be mentioned to her. I 
 thought she was fond of me." 
 
 " So she was. But she has never forgiven you for 
 making me suffer as you did. You see she has more 
 spirit than I. She would be angered if she saw me 
 
 240 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 now tamely following the triumphal chariot of my fair 
 tyrant." 
 
 " Seriously, do you think, if I made a raid on Man- 
 chester Square some morning, I could coax back her 
 old feeling for me?" 
 
 " I think you will be quite safe in calling, at all events. 
 Tell me what day you intend to venture. I know my 
 mother will not oppose me if I shew that I wish you 
 to be kindly received." 
 
 " Most disinterested of you. Thank you : I will fail 
 or succeed on my own merits, not on your recommen- 
 dation. You must not say a word to her about me or 
 my project." 
 
 " If you command me not to " 
 
 " I do command you." 
 
 "I must obey. But I fear that the more submissive 
 I am, the more imperious you will become." 
 
 " Very likely. And now look along that avenue to 
 the left. Do you see a man in a brown suit, with straw 
 hat to match, walking towards us at a regular pace, and 
 keeping in a perfectly straight course? He looks at 
 everybody he passes as if he were counting them." 
 
 " He is looking back at somebody now, as if he had 
 missed the number." 
 
 "Just so; but that somebody is a woman; doubtless 
 a pretty one, probably dark. You recognize him, I see. 
 There is a frost come over you which convinces me that 
 you are preparing to receive him in your old ungracious 
 way. I warn you that I am accustomed to see Ned 
 made much of. He has caught sight of us." 
 
 "And has just remarked that there is a man talking 
 to his wife." 
 
 "Quite right. See his speculative air! Now he no 
 
 241 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 longer attends to us. He is looking at the passers-by as 
 before. That means that he has recognized you, and 
 has stowed the observation compactly away in his brain, 
 to be referred to when he comes up to us." 
 
 " So much method must economize his intellect very 
 profitably. How do you do, Mr. Conolly? It is some 
 time since we have had the pleasure of meeting." 
 
 " Glad to see you, Mr. Douglas. We have been away 
 all the winter. Are you staying in London ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I hope you will spend an occasional hour with us at 
 Holland Park." 
 
 " You are very kind. Thank you : yes, if Mrs. Con- 
 olly will permit me." 
 
 " I should make you come home with us now," said 
 Marian, " but for this Sunday being a special occasion. 
 Nelly McQuinch is to spend the evening with us ; and as 
 I have not seen her since we came back, I must have her 
 all to myself. Come next Sunday, if you care to." 
 
 "Do," said Conolly. "Half past three is our Sun- 
 day hour. If you cannot face that, we are usually at 
 home afterwards the entire evening. Marian: we have 
 exactly fifteen minutes to catch our train." 
 
 " Oh ! let us fly. If we miss it, Nelly will be kept 
 waiting half an hour." 
 
 Then they parted, Douglas promising to come to them 
 on that day week. 
 
 "Dont you think he is growing very fat?" said she, 
 as they walked away. 
 
 " Yes. He is beginning to take the world easily. He 
 does not seem to be making much of his life." 
 
 "What matter, so long as he enjoys it?" 
 
 " Pooh ! He doesnt know what enjoyment means." 
 
 242 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 They said nothing further until they were in the 
 train, where Marian sat looking listlessly through the 
 window, whilst Conolly, opposite, reclining against the 
 cushions, looked thoughtfully at her. 
 
 " Ned," said she, suddenly. 
 
 " My dear." 
 
 " Do you know that Sholto is more infatuated about 
 me than ever?" 
 
 " Naturally. You are lovelier than when he last saw 
 you." 
 
 " You are nearly as complimentary as he," said Marian, 
 blushing with a gratification which she was very unwil- 
 ling to betray. " He noticed it sooner than you. I dis- 
 covered it myself in the glass before either of you." 
 
 " No doubt you did. What station is this? " 
 
 " I dont know." Then, raising her voice so as to be 
 overheard, she exclaimed " Here is a stupid man coming 
 into our carriage." 
 
 A young man entered the compartment, and, after one 
 glance at Marian, who turned her back on him impa- 
 tiently, spent the remainder of the journey making fur- 
 tive attempts to catch a second glimpse of her face. 
 Conolly looked a shade graver at his wife's failure in 
 perfect self-control; but he by no means shared her 
 feelings toward the intrusive passenger. Marian and 
 he were in different humors; and he did not wish to 
 be left alone with her. 
 
 As they walked from Addison Road railway station 
 to their house, Conolly mused in silence with his eyes 
 on the gardens by the way. Marian, who wished to 
 talk, followed his measured steps with impatience. 
 
 " Let me take your arm, Ned : I cannot keep up with 
 you." 
 
 243 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " I hope I am not inconveniencing you/' she said, after 
 a further interval of silence. 
 
 " Hm— no." 
 
 "lam afraid I am. It does not matter. I can get on 
 by myself." 
 
 "Arm in arm is such an inconvenient and ridiculous 
 mode of locomotion — you need not struggle in the pub- 
 He street: now that you have got my arm you shall 
 keep it — I say it is such an inconvenient and rediculous 
 mode of locomotion that if you were any one else I 
 should prefer to wheel you home in a barrow. Our 
 present mode of proceeding would be inexcusable if I 
 were a traction-engine, and you my tender." 
 
 " Then let me go. What will the people think if they 
 see a great engineer violating the laws of mechanics by 
 dragging his wife by the arm? " 
 
 " They will appreciate my motives ; and, in fact, if you 
 watch them, you will detect a thinly-disguised envy in 
 their countenances. I violate the laws of mechanics — to 
 use your own sarcastic phrase — for many reasons. I like 
 to be envied when there are solid reasons for it. It 
 gratifies my vanity to be seen in this artistic quarter with 
 a pretty woman on my arm. Again, the sense of pos- 
 sessing you is no longer an abstraction when I hold you 
 bodily, and feel the impossibility of keeping step with 
 you. Besides, Man, who was a savage only yesterday, 
 has his infirmities, and finds a poetic pleasure in the 
 touch of the woman he loves. And I may add that you 
 have been in such a bad temper all the afternoon that I 
 suspect you of an itching to box my ears, and therefore 
 feel safer with your arm in my custody." 
 
 244 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Oh! Indeed I have not been in a bad temper. I 
 have been most anxious to spend a happy day." 
 
 "And I have been placidly reflective, and not anxious 
 at all. Is that what has provoked you ? " 
 
 " I am not provoked. But you might tell me what 
 your reflections are about" 
 
 " They would fill volumes, if I could recollect them." 
 
 " You must recollect some of them. From the time 
 we left the station until a moment ago, when we began 
 to talk, you were pondering something with the deepest 
 seriousness. What was it ? " 
 
 "I forget." 
 
 " Of course you forget — just because I want to know. 
 What a crowded road this is ! " She disengaged herself 
 from his arm; and this time he did not resist her. 
 
 "That reminds me of it. The crowd consists partly 
 of people going to the pro-Cathedral. The pro-Cathe- 
 dral contains an altar. An altar suggests kneeling on 
 hard stone; and that brings me to the disease called 
 'housemaids' knee,' which was the subject of my re- 
 flections." 
 
 "A pleasant subject for a fine Sunday! Thank you. 
 I dont want to hear any more." 
 
 "But you will hear more of it; for I am going to 
 have the steps of our house taken away and replaced 
 by marble, or slate, or something that can be cleaned 
 with a mop and a pail of water in five minutes." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " My chain of thought began at the door steps we 
 have passed, all whitened beautifully so as to display every 
 footprint, and all representing an expenditure of useless, 
 injurious labor in hearthstoning, that ought to madden 
 an intelligent housemaid. I dont think our Armande is 
 
 245 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 particularly intelligent ; but I am resolved to spare her 
 knees and her temper in future by banishing hearth- 
 stone from our establishment forever. I shudder to 
 think that I have been walking upon those white steps 
 and flagways of ours every day without awakening to 
 a sense of their immorality." 
 
 " I cannot understand why you are always disparaging 
 Armande. And I hate an ill-kept house front. None of 
 our housemaids ever objected to hearthstoning, or were 
 any the worse for it" 
 
 " No. They would not have gained anything by ob- 
 jecting: they would only have lost their situations. You 
 need not fear for your house front. I will order a 
 porch with porphyry steps and alabaster pillars to re- 
 place your beloved hearthstone." 
 
 " Yes. That will be clever. Do you know how easy 
 it is to stain marble? Armande will be on her knees 
 all day with a bottle of turpentine and a bit of flannel." 
 
 " You are thinking of inkstains, Marian. You forget 
 that it does not rain ink, and that Nelly will hardly select 
 the porch to write her novels in." 
 
 "Lots of people bring ink on a doorstep. Tax col- 
 lectors and gasmen carry bottles in their pockets." 
 
 "Ask them into the drawing-room when they call, my 
 dear; or, better still, dont pay them, so that they will 
 have no need to write a receipt. Let me remind you 
 that ink shews as much on white hearthstone as it can 
 possibly do on marble. Yet extensive disfigurements of 
 steps from the visits of tax collectors are not common." 
 
 "Now, Ned, you know that you are talking utter 
 nonsense." 
 
 " Yes, my dear. I think I perceive Nelly looking out 
 of the window for us. Here she is at the door." 
 
 246 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Marian hastened forward and embraced her cousin. 
 Miss McQuinch looked older; and her complexion was 
 drier than before. But she had apparently begun to 
 study her appearance; for her hat and shoes were neat 
 and even elegant, which they had never been within 
 Marian's previous experience of her. 
 
 " You are not changed in the least," she said, as she 
 gave Conolly her hand. " I have just been wondering 
 at the alteration in Marian. She has grown lovely." 
 
 " I have been telling her so all day, in the vain hope 
 of getting her into a better temper. Come into the 
 drawing-room. Have you been waiting for us long ? " 
 
 "About fifteen minutes. I have been admiring your 
 organ. I should have tried the piano; but I did not 
 know whether that was allowable on Sunday." 
 
 " Oh ! Why did you not pound it to your heart's 
 content? Ned scandalizes the neighbors every Sunday 
 by continually playing. Armande: dinner as soon as 
 possible, please." 
 
 " I like this house. It is exactly my idea of a com- 
 fortable modern home." 
 
 " You must stay long enough to find out its defects," 
 said Conolly. " We read your novel at Verona; but we 
 could not agree as to which characters you meant to 
 be taken as the good ones." 
 
 " That was only Ned's nonsense," said Marian. " Most 
 novels are such rubbish ! I am sure you will be able to 
 live by writing just as well as Mrs. Fairfax can." Con- 
 olly shewed Miss McQuinch his opinion of this unhappy 
 remark by a whimsical glance, which she repudiated by 
 turning sharply away from him, and speaking as affec- 
 tionately as she could to Marian. 
 
 After dinner they returned to the drawing-room, which 
 
 247 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 ran from the front to the back of the house. Marian 
 opened a large window which gave access to the garden, 
 and sat down with Elinor on a little terrace outside. 
 Conolly went to the organ. 
 
 " May I play a voluntary while you talk ? " he asked. 
 " I shall not scandalize any one : the neighbors think 
 all music sacred when it is played on the organ." 
 
 " We have a nice view of the sunset from here," said 
 Marian, in a low voice, turning her forehead to the cool 
 evening breeze. 
 
 " Stuff! " said Elinor. "We didnt come here to talk 
 about the sunset, and what a pretty house you have, and 
 so forth. I want to know — good heavens ! what a thun- 
 dering sound that organ makes ! " 
 
 " Please dont say anything about it to him : he likes 
 it," said Marian. " When he wishes to exalt himself, 
 he goes to it and makes it roar until the whole house 
 shakes. Whenever he feels an emotional impulse, he 
 vents it at the organ or the piano, or by singing. When 
 he stops, he is satisfied; his mind is cleared; and he is in 
 a good-humored, playful frame of mind, such as / can 
 gratify." 
 
 " But you were always very fond of music. Dont 
 you ever play together, as we used to do; or. sing to one 
 another's accompaniments ? " 
 
 " I cannot. I hardly ever touch the piano when he is 
 in the house." 
 
 " Why ? Are you afraid of preventing him from hav- 
 ing his turn ? ' 
 
 "No: it is not so much that. But — it sounds very 
 silly — if I attempt to play or sing in his presence, I 
 become so frightfully nervous that I hardly know what 
 I am doing. I know he does not like my singing." 
 
 248 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Are you sure that is not merely your fancy? It 
 sounds very like it." 
 
 " No. At first I used to play a good deal for him, 
 knowing that he was fond of music, and fancying — poor 
 fool that I was! [here Marian spoke so bitterly that 
 Nelly turned and looked hard at her] that it was 
 part of a married woman's duty in a house to supply 
 music after dinner. At that time he was working hard 
 at his business; and he spent so much time in the city 
 that he had to give up playing himself. Besides, we 
 were flying all about England opening those branch 
 offices, and what not. He always took me with him; 
 and I really enjoyed it, and took quite an interest in the 
 Company. When we were in London, although I was 
 so much alone in the daytime, I was happy in anticipating 
 our deferred honeymoon. Then the time for that para- 
 dise came. Ned said that the Company was able to walk 
 by itself at last, and that he was going to have a long 
 holiday after his dry-nursing of it. We went first to 
 Paris, where we heard all the classical concerts that 
 were given while we were there. I found that he never 
 tired of listening to orchestral music; and yet he never 
 ceased grumbling at it. He thought nothing of the 
 great artists in Paris. Then we went for a tour through 
 Brittany; and there, in spite of his classical tastes, he 
 used to listen to .the peasants' songs and write them 
 down. He seemed to like folk songs of all kinds, Irish, 
 Scotch, Russian, German, Italian, no matter where from. 
 So one evening, at a lodging where there was a piano, 
 I played for him that old arrangement of Irish melodies 
 — you know — ' Irish Diamonds,' it is called." 
 
 " Oh Lord ! Yes, I remember. ' Believe me if all,' 
 with variations." 
 
 249 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Yes. He thought I meant it in jest : he laughed at it, 
 and played a lot of ridiculous variations to burlesque it. 
 I didnt tell him that I had been in earnest: perhaps you 
 can imagine how I felt about it. Then, after that, in 
 Italy, he got permission — or rather bought it — to try 
 the organ in a church. It was growing dusk; I was 
 tired with walking; and somehow between the sense of 
 repose, and the mysterious twilight in the old church, 
 I was greatly affected by his playing. I thought it must 
 be part of some great mass or symphony ; and I felt how 
 little I knew about music, and how trivial my wretched 
 attempts must appear to him when he had such grand 
 harmonies at his fingers' ends. But he soon stopped; 
 and when I was about to tell him how I appreciated his 
 performance, he said, ' What an abominable instrument 
 a bad organ is ! ' I had thought it beautiful, of course. 
 I asked him what he had been playing. I said was it not 
 by Mozart; and then I saw his eyebrows go up; so I 
 added, as a saving clause, that perhaps it was some- 
 thing of his own. ' My dear girl,' said he, ' it was only 
 an entr'acte from an opera of Donizetti's.' He was car- 
 rying my shawl at the time; and he wrapped it about my 
 shoulders in the tenderest manner as he said this, and 
 made love to me all the evening to console me. In his 
 opinion, the greatest misfortune that can happen any- 
 one is to make a fool of oneself; and whenever I do it, 
 he pets me in the most delicate manner, as if I were a 
 child who had just got a tumble. When we settled 
 down here and got the organ, he began to play con- 
 stantly, and I used to practise the piano in the daytime 
 so as to have duets with him. But though he was always 
 ready to play whenever I proposed it, he was quite dif- 
 ferent then from what he was when he played by himself. 
 
 250 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 He was all eyes and ears, and the moment I played a 
 wrong note he would name the right one. Then I gen- 
 erally got worse and stopped. He never lost his patience 
 or complained ; but I used to feel that he was urging me 
 on, or pulling me back, or striving to get me to do some- 
 thing which I could not grasp. Then he would give 
 me up in despair, and play on mechanically from the 
 notes before him, thinking of something else all the 
 time. I practised harder, and tried again. I thought 
 at first I had succeeded; because our duets went so 
 smoothly and we were always so perfectly together. But 
 I discovered — by instinct I believe — that instead of 
 having a musical treat, he was only trying to please me. 
 He thought I liked playing duets with him; and accord- 
 ingly he used to sit down beside me and accompany me 
 faithfully, no matter how I chose to play." 
 
 " Dear me ! Why doesnt he get Rubinstein to play 
 with him, since he is so remarkably fastidious ? " 
 
 " It is not so much mechanical skill that I lack ; but 
 there is something — I cannot tell what it is. I found 
 it out one night when we were at Mrs. Saunders's. She 
 is an incurable flirt; and she was quite sure that she had 
 captivated Ned, who is always ready to make love to 
 anyone that will listen to him." 
 
 " A nice sort of man to be married to ! " 
 
 " He only does it to amuse himself. He does not 
 really care for them: I almost wish he did, sometimes; 
 but it is often none the less provoking. What is worse, 
 no amount of flirtation on my part would make him 
 angry. What happened at Mrs. Saunders's was this. 
 The Scotts, of Putney, were there; and the first remark 
 Ned made to me was, ' Who is the woman that knows 
 how to walk ? ' It was Mrs. Scott : you know you used 
 
 251 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 to say she moved like a panther. Afterward Mrs. Scott 
 sang ' Caller Herrin ' in that vulgar Scotch accent that 
 leaks out occasionally in her speech, with Ned at the 
 piano. Everybody came crowding in to listen ; and there 
 was great applause. I cannot understand it: she is as 
 hard and matter-of-fact as a woman can be: I dont be- 
 lieve the expression in her singing comes one bit from 
 true feeling. I heard Ned say to her, ' Thank you, Mrs. 
 Scott: no Englishwoman has the secret of singing a 
 ballad as you have it.' I knew very well what that 
 meant. / have not the secret. Well, Mrs. Scott came 
 over to me and said ' Mr. Conolly is a very ^otrtina- 
 ceous man. He persuaded me into shewing him the 
 way the little song is sung in Scotland; and I stood up 
 without thinking. And see now, I have been regularly 
 singing a song in company for the first time in my life.' 
 Of course, it was a ridiculous piece of affectation. Ned 
 talked about Mrs. Scott all the way home, and played 
 ' Caller Herrin' four times next day. That finished my 
 domestic musical career. I have never sung for him 
 since, except once or twice when he has asked me to 
 try the effect of some passage in one of his music-books." 
 
 "And do you never sing when you go out, as you 
 used to?" 
 
 " Only when he is not with me, or when people force 
 me to. ' If he is in the room, I am so nervous that I can 
 hardly get through the easiest song. He never offers to 
 accompany me now, and generally leaves the room when 
 I am asked to sing." 
 
 " Perhaps he sees the effect his presence has on you." 
 
 " Even so, he ought to stay. He used to like me to 
 listen to him, at first." 
 
 Miss McQuinch looked at the sunset with exceeding 
 
 252 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 glumness. There was an ominous pause. Then she 
 said, abruptly, "You remember how we used to debate 
 whether marriage was a mistake or not. Have you 
 found out?" 
 
 " I dont know." 
 
 " That sounds rather as if you did know. Are you 
 quite sure you are not in low spirits this evening? He 
 was bantering you about being out of temper when you 
 came in. Perhaps you quarrelled at Kew." 
 
 " Quarrel ! He quarrel ! I cannot explain to you how 
 we are situated, Nelly. You would not understand me." 
 
 " Suppose you try. For instance, is he as fond of you 
 as he was before you married him ? " 
 
 " I dont know." 
 
 Miss McQuinch shrugged herself impatiently. 
 
 " Really I do not, Nelly. He has changed in a way — 
 I do not quite know how or why. At first he was not 
 very ceremonious. He used to make remarks about 
 people, and discuss everything that came into his head 
 quite freely before me. He was always kind, and never 
 grumbled about his dinner, or lost his temper, or any- 
 thing of that kind; but — it was not that he was coarse 
 exactly: he was not that in the least; but he was very 
 open and unreserved and plain in his language; and 
 somehow I did not quite like it. He must have found 
 this out: he sees and feels everything by instinct; for 
 he slipped back into his old manner, and became more 
 considerate and attentive than he had ever been. before. 
 I was made very happy at first by the change; but I do 
 not think he quite understood what I wanted. I did not 
 at all object to going down to the country with him on 
 his business trips; but he always goes alone now; and 
 he never mentions his work to me. And he is too care- 
 
 253 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 ful as to what he says to me. Of course, I know that 
 he is right not to speak ill of anybody; but still a man 
 need not be so particular before his wife as before 
 strangers. He has given up talking to me altogether: 
 that is the plain truth, whatever he may pretend. When 
 we do converse, his manner is something like what it 
 was in the laboratory at the Towers. Of course, he 
 sometimes becomes more familiar; only then he never 
 seems in earnest, but makes love to me in a bantering, 
 half playful, half sarcastic way." 
 
 " You are rather hard to please, perhaps. I remem- 
 ber you used to say that a husband should be just as 
 tender and respectful after marriage as before it. You 
 seem to have broken poor Ned into this; and now you 
 are not satisfied." 
 
 " Nelly, if there is one subject on which girls are more 
 idiotically ignorant than on any other, it is happiness in 
 marriage. A courtier, a lover, a man who will not let 
 the winds of heaven visit your face too harshly, is very 
 nice, no doubt; but he is not a husband. I want to be 
 a wife and not a fragile ornament kept in a glass case. 
 He would as soon think of submitting any project of his 
 to the judgment of a doll as to mine. If he has to ex- 
 plain or discuss any serious matter of business with me, 
 he does so apologetically, as if he were treating me 
 roughly." 
 
 " Well, my dear, you see, when he tried the other 
 plan, you did not like that either. What is the unfor- 
 tunate man to do ? " 
 
 " I dont know. I suppose I was wrong in shrink- 
 ing from his confidence. I am always wrong. It seems 
 to me that the more I try to do right, the more mischief 
 I contrive to make." 
 
 254 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " This is all pretty dismal, Marian. What sort of 
 conduct on his part would make you happy ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are so many little things. He makes me 
 jealous of everything and everybody. I am jealous of 
 the men in the city — I was jealous of the sanitary in- 
 spector the other day — because he talks with interest to 
 them. I know he stays in the city later than he need. 
 It is a relief to me to go out in the evening, or to have 
 a few people here once or twice a week; but I am angry 
 because I know it is a relief to him too. I am jealous 
 even of that organ. How I hate those Bach fugues! 
 Listen to the maddening thing twisting and rolling and 
 racing and then mixing itself up into one great boom. 
 He can get on with Bach: he cant get on with me. I 
 have even condescended to be jealous of other women — 
 of such women as Mrs. Saunders. He despises her: he 
 plays with her as dexterously as she thinks she plays 
 with him ; but he likes to chat with her; and they rattle 
 away for a whole evening without the least constraint. 
 She has no conscience : she talks absolute nonsense about 
 art and literature : she flirts even more disgustingly than 
 she used to when she was Belle Woodward; but she is 
 quickwitted, like most Irish people; and she enjoys a 
 broad style of jesting which Ned is a great deal too 
 tolerant of, though he would as soon die as indulge 
 in it before me. Then there is Mrs. Scott, who is just as 
 shrewd as Belle, and much cleverer. I have heard him 
 ask her opinion as to whether he had acted well or not 
 in some stroke of business' — something that I had never 
 heard of, of course. I wish I were half as hard and 
 strong and self-reliant as she is. Her husband would 
 be nothing without her." 
 " I am afraid I was right all along, Marian. Marriage 
 
 255 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 is a mistake. There is something radically wrong in 
 the institution. If you and Ned cannot be happy, no 
 pair in the world can." 
 
 "We might be very happy if " Marian stopped 
 
 to repress a sob. 
 
 "Anybody might be very happy If. There is not 
 much consolation in Ifs. You could not be better off 
 than you are unless you could be Marian Lind again. 
 Think of all the women who would give their souls to 
 have a husband who would neither drink, nor swear 
 at them, nor kick them, nor sulk whenever he was kept 
 waiting half a minute for anything. You have no little 
 pests of children " 
 
 " I wish I had. That would give us some interest in 
 common. We sometimes have Lucy, Marmaduke's little 
 girl, up here; and Ned seems to me to be fond of her. 
 She is a very bold little thing." 
 
 " I saw Marmaduke last week. He is not half so 
 jolly as he was." 
 
 " He lives in chambers in Westminster now, and only 
 comes out in this direction occasionally to see Lucy. I 
 am afraid she has taken to drinking. I believe she is 
 going to America. I hope she is; for she makes me un- 
 comfortable when I think of her." 
 
 " Does your — your Ned ever speak of her ? " 
 
 " No. He used to, before he changed as I described. 
 Now, he never mentions her. Hush ! Here he is." 
 
 The sound of the organ had ceased; and Conolly came 
 out and stood between them. ■ 
 
 "How do you like my consoler, as Marian calls it?" 
 said he. 
 
 "Do you mean the organ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 256 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "I wasnt listening to you." 
 
 "You should have: I played the great fugue in A 
 minor expressly for your entertainment: you used to 
 work at Liszt's transcription of it.. The organ is only 
 occasionally my consoler. For the most part I am driven 
 to it by habit and a certain itching in my fingers. Ma- 
 rian is my real consoler." 
 
 " So she has just been telling me," said Elinor. Con- 
 olly's surprise escaped him for just a moment in a quick 
 glance at Marian. She colored, and looked reproach- 
 fully at her cousin, who added, " I am sure you must be 
 a nuisance to the neighbors." 
 
 " Probably," said Conolly. 
 
 " I do not think you should play so much on Sunday," 
 said Marian. 
 
 " I know. [Marian winced.] Well, if the neighbors 
 will either melt down the church bells they jangle so 
 horribly within fifteen yards or so of my unfortunate 
 ears, or else hang them up two hundred feet high in a 
 beautiful tower where they would sound angelic, as they 
 do at Utrecht, then perhaps I will stop the organ to 
 listen to them. Until then, I will take the liberty of 
 celebrating the day of rest with such devices as the 
 religious folk cannot forbid me." 
 
 " Pray do not begin to talk about religion, Ned." 
 
 " My way of thinking is too robust for Marian, Miss 
 McQuinch. I admit that it does not, at first sight, seem 
 pretty or sentimental. But . I do not know how even 
 Marian can prefer the church bells to Bach." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' even Marian ' ? " said Eli- 
 nor, sharply. 
 
 " I should have said, ' Marian, who is tolerant and 
 kind to everybody and everything.' I hope you have 
 
 257 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 forgiven me for carrying her off from you, Miss Mc- 
 Quinch. You are adopting an ominous tone toward 
 me. I fear she has been telling you of our quarrels, 
 and my many domestic shortcomings." 
 
 " No," said Elinor. "As far as I can judge from her 
 account, you are a monotonously amiable husband." 
 
 "Indeed! Hm! Would you like your coffee out 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do not stir, Marian : I will ring for it." 
 
 When he was gone, Marian said " Nelly: for Heaven's 
 sake say nothing that could make the slightest coldness 
 between Ned and me. I am clinging to him with all 
 my heart and soul; and you must help me. Those sharp 
 things that you say to him stab me cruelly; and he is 
 clever enough to guess everything I have said to you 
 from them." 
 
 " If I cannot keep myself from making mischief, I 
 shall go away," said Elinor. " Dont suppose I am in a 
 huff: I am quite serious. I have an unlucky tongue; 
 and my disposition is such that when I see that a jug is 
 cracked, I feel more inclined to smash and have done 
 with it than to mend it and handle it tenderly ever after. 
 However, I hope your marriage is not a cracked jug 
 yet" 
 
 258 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 ON the following Wednesday Douglas called on 
 his mother at Manchester Square in the after- 
 noon. As if to emphasize the purely filial 
 motive of his visit, he saluted his mother so affection- 
 ately that she was emboldened to be more demonstrative 
 with him than she usually ventured to be. 
 
 " My darling boy," she said, holding him fondly for a 
 moment, " this is the second visit you have paid your 
 poor old mother this week. I want to speak to you 
 about something, too. Marian has been with me this 
 morning." 
 
 " What ! Has she gone ? " said Douglas. 
 
 " Why ? " said Mrs. Douglas. " Did you know she 
 was coming ? " 
 
 " She mentioned to me that she intended to come," 
 he replied, carelessly; "but she bade me not to tell you." 
 
 "That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, 
 I do not blame you for spending your time in gayer places 
 than this." 
 
 " You must not reproach me for neglecting you, 
 mother. You know my disposition. I am seldom good 
 company for any one; and I do not care to come only 
 to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am 
 morose. I hope you received Marian kindly." 
 
 " I did not expect to see her ; and I told her so." 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 " But it made no difference. There is no holding her 
 
 259 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 in check now, Sholto; she cares no more for what I 
 say than if I was her father or you. What could I do 
 but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of me." 
 
 " Yes," said Douglas, gloomily. " She has a wonder- 
 ful face." 
 
 "The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I 
 hope you will not go to her house too often." 
 
 "Do you doubt my discretion, mother?" 
 
 " No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasant- 
 ness arising between you and that man. These working 
 men are so savage to their wives, and so jealous of gen- 
 tlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all." 
 
 "Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a 
 navvy in fustian and corduroys. He seems a sensible 
 man: his address is really remarkably good, considering 
 what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the 
 reverse. His head is full of figures and machinery ; and 
 I am told that he does nothing at home but play the 
 piano. He must bore Marian terribly. I do not want 
 to go to his house particularly ; but Marian and he are, 
 of course, very sensitive to anything that can be con- 
 strued as a slight; and I shall visit them once or twice 
 to prevent them from thinking that I wish to snub Con- 
 oily. He will be glad enough to have me at his dinner- 
 table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have 
 an appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you 
 in town ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have 
 stayed with me for a cup of tea." 
 
 " Thank you, dear mother, no : not to-day.. I prom- 
 ised to be at the club." 
 
 " If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. 
 You will come again soon, will you not?" 
 
 260 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, 
 mother." 
 
 Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his 
 club, where he had no real appointment, but to avoid 
 spending the afternoon with his mother, who, though a 
 little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved 
 by being rid of him. They maintained toward one 
 another an attitude which their friends found beautiful 
 and edifying; but, like artists' models, they found the 
 attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice and its 
 dignity. 
 
 At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name un- 
 ceremoniously shouted. Turning, he saw Marmaduke 
 Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little behind him. 
 
 " Where are you going to ? " said Marmaduke, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " Why do you ask ? " said Douglas, never disposed to 
 admit the right of another to question him. 
 
 " I want to have a talk with you. Come and lunch 
 somewhere, will you?" 
 
 " Yes, if you wish." 
 
 " Let's go to the South Kensington Museum." 
 
 "The South ! My dear fellow, why not suggest 
 
 Putney, or the Star and Garter? Why do you wish 
 to go westward from Hyde Park in search of luncheon ? " 
 
 " I have a particular reason. I am to meet someone 
 at the Museum this afternoon; and I want to ask your 
 advice first. You might as well come ; it's only a matter 
 of a few minutes if we drive." 
 
 " Well, as you please. I have not been to the Museum 
 for years." 
 
 "All right. Come al oh, damn! There's Lady 
 
 261 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Carbury and Constance coming out of the Park. Dont 
 look at them. Come on." 
 
 But Constance, sitting a little more uprightly than 
 her mother, who was supine upon the carriage cushions, 
 had seen the two gentlemen as they stood talking. 
 
 " Mamma," she said, " there's Marmaduke and Sholto 
 Douglas." 
 
 " Where ? " said the Countess, lifting her head quick- 
 ly. "Josephs, drive slowly. Where are they, Cons- 
 tance?" 
 
 " They are going away. I believe Marmaduke saw 
 us. There he is, passing the hospital." 
 
 " We must go and speak to them. Look pleasant, 
 child; and dont make a fool of yourself." 
 
 " Surely youll not speak to him, mamma ! You dont 
 expect me " 
 
 " Nonsense. I heard a great deal about him the other 
 day. He has moved from where he was living, and is 
 quite reformed. His father is very ill. Do as I tell 
 you. Josephs, stop half way to the hotel." 
 
 " I say," said Marmaduke, finding himself out-ma- 
 nceuvred: " come back. There they are right ahead, 
 confound them. What are they up to ? " 
 
 " It cannot be helped," said Douglas. " There is no 
 escape. You must not cross: it would be pointedly 
 rude." 
 
 Marmaduke went on grumbling. When he attempted 
 to pass, the Countess called his name, and greeted him 
 with smiles. 
 
 " We want to know how your father is," she said. 
 " We have had such alarming accounts of him. I hope 
 he is better." 
 
 " They havnt told me much about him," said Mar- 
 
 262 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 maduke. " There was deuced little the matter with the 
 governor when I saw him last." 
 
 " Wicked prodigal ! What shall we do to reform him, 
 Mr. Douglas ? He has not been to see us for three years 
 past, and during that time we have had the worst re- 
 ports of him." 
 
 " You never asked me to go and see you." 
 
 " Silly fellow ! Did you expect me to send you invi- 
 tations and leave cards on you, who are one of our- 
 selves? Come to-morrow to dinner. Your uncle the 
 Bishop will be there; and you will see nearly all the 
 family besides. You cannot plead that you have not 
 been invited now. Will you come ? " 
 
 " No. I cant stand the Bishop. Besides, I have taken 
 to dining in the middle of the day." 
 
 " Come after dinner, then? " 
 
 " Mamma," said Constance, peevishly, " cant you see 
 that he does not want to come at all? What is the use 
 of persecuting him?" 
 
 " No, I assure you," said Marmaduke. " It's only 
 the Bishop I object to. I'll come after dinner, if I can." 
 
 "And pray what is likely to prevent you?" said the 
 Countess. 
 
 "Devilment of some sort, perhaps," he replied. 
 " Since you have all given me a bad name, I dont see 
 why I should make any secret of earning it." 
 
 The Countess smiled slyly at him, implying that she 
 was amused, but must not laugh at such a sentiment in 
 Constance's presence. Then, turning so as to give the 
 rest of the conversation an air of privacy, she whispered, 
 " I must tell you that you no longer have a bad name. 
 It is said that your wild oats are all sown, and I will 
 
 263 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 answer for it that even the Bishop will receive you with 
 open arms." 
 
 "And dry my repentant tears on his apron, the old 
 hypocrite," said Marmaduke, speaking rather more 
 loudly than before. " Well, we must be trotting. We 
 are going to the South Kensington Museum— to improve 
 our minds." 
 
 " Why, that is where we are going; at least, Constance 
 is. She is going to work at her painting while I pay 
 a round of visits. Wont you come with us ? " 
 
 " Thank you : I'd rather walk. A man should have 
 gloves and a proper hat for your sort of travelling." 
 
 " Nonsense ! you look very nice. Besides, it is only 
 down the Brompton Road." 
 
 " The worst neighborhood in London to be seen in 
 with me. I know all sorts of queer people down Bromp- 
 ton way. I should have to bow to them if we met; and 
 that wouldnt do before her," — indicating Constance, 
 who was conversing with Douglas. 
 
 " You are incorrigible : I give you up. Good-bye, and 
 dont forget to-morrow evening." 
 
 " I wonder," said Marmaduke, as the carriage drove 
 off, " what she's saying about me to Constance now." 
 
 " That you are the rudest man in London, perhaps." 
 
 " Serve her right ! I hate her. I have got so now 
 that I cant stand that sort of wontan. You see her 
 game, dont you; she cant get Constance off her hands; 
 and she thinks there's a chance of me still. How well 
 she knows about the governor's state of health! And 
 Conny, too, grinning at me as if we were the best friends 
 in the world. If that girl had an ounce of spirit she 
 would not look on the. same side of the street with me." 
 
 Douglas, without replying, called a cab. Marma- 
 
 264 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 duke's loud conversation was irksome in the street, and 
 it was now clear that he was unusually excited. At the 
 museum they alighted, and passed through the courts 
 into the grill-room, where they sat down together at 
 a vacant table, and ordered luncheon. 
 
 " You were good enough to ask my advice about some- 
 thing," said Douglas. "What is the matter?" 
 
 " Well," said Marmaduke, " I am in a fix. Affairs 
 have become so uncomfortable at home that I have had 
 to take up my quarters elsewhere." 
 
 " I did not know that you had been living at home. 
 I thought your father and you were on the usual terms." 
 
 " My father ! Look here : I mean home — my home. 
 My place at Hammersmith, not down at the governor's." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Of course, you know all about my establishment 
 there with Lalage Virtue? her real name is Susanna 
 Conolly." 
 
 " Is it true, then, that she is a cousin of Marian's hus- 
 band?" 
 
 " Cousin ! She's his sister, and Marian's sister-in- 
 law." 
 
 " I never believed it." 
 
 " It's true enough. But thats not the mischief. 
 Douglas : I tell ypu she's the cleverest woman in London. 
 She can do anything she likes. She can manage a con- 
 versation with any foreigner in his own language, 
 whether she knows it or not. She gabbles Italian like 
 a native. She can learn off her part in a new piece, 
 music and all, between breakfast and luncheon, any day. 
 She can cook: she can make a new bonnet out of the 
 lining of an old coat: she can drive a bargain with a 
 Jew. She says she never learns a thing at all unless 
 
 265 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 she can learn it in ten minutes. She can fence, and shoot. 
 She can dance anything in the world. I never knew 
 such a mimic as she is. If you saw her take off the 
 Bones at the Christy Minstrels, youd say she was the 
 lowest of the low. Next minute she will give herself 
 the airs of a duchess, or do the ingenuous in a style that 
 would make Conny burst with envy. To see her preach- 
 ing like George would make you laugh for a week. 
 There's nothing she couldnt do if she chose. And now, 
 what do you think she has taken to? Liquor. Cham- 
 pagne by the gallon. She used to drink it by the bottle : 
 now she drinks it by the dozen — by the case. She 
 wanted it to keep up her spirits. That was the way it 
 began. If she felt down, a glass of champagne would 
 set her up. Then she was always feeling down, and 
 always setting herself up. At last feeling down came 
 to mean the same thing as being sober. You dont know 
 what a drunken woman is, Douglas, unless youve lived 
 in the same house with one." Douglas recoiled, and 
 looked very sternly at Marmaduke, who proceeded more 
 vehemently. " She's nothing but a downright beast. 
 She's either screaming at you in a fit of rage, or clawing 
 at you in a fit of fondness that makes you sick. When 
 she falls asleep, there she is, a besotted heap tumbled 
 anyhow into bed, snoring and grunting like a pig. When 
 she wakes, she begins planning how to get more liquor. 
 Think of what you or I would feel if we saw our mothers 
 tipsy. By God, that child of mine wouldnt believe 
 its eyes if it saw its mother sober. Only for Lucy, I'd 
 have pitched her over long ago. I did all I could when 
 I first saw that she was overdoing the champagne. I 
 swore I'd break the neck of any man I caught bringing 
 wine into the house. I sacked the whole staff of servants 
 
 266 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 twice because I found a lot of fresh corks swept into the 
 dustpan. I stopped drinking at home myself: I got in 
 doctors to frighten her: I tried bribing, coaxing, threat- 
 ening : I knocked her down once when I caught her 
 with a bottle in her hand; and she fell with her head 
 against the fender, and frightened me a good deal more 
 than she hurt herself. It was no use. Sometimes she 
 used to defy me, and say she would drink, she didnt care 
 whether she was killing herself or not. Other times she 
 cried; implored me to save her from destroying herself; 
 asked me why I didnt thrash the life out of her when- 
 ever I caught her drunk; promised on her oath never 
 to touch another drop. The same evening she would 
 be drunk again, and, when I taxed her with it, say that 
 she wasnt drunk, that she was sick, and that she prayed 
 the Almighty on her knees to strike her dead if she had 
 a bottle in the house. Aye, and the very stool she knelt 
 on would be a wine case with a red cloth stuck to it 
 with a few gilt-headed nails to make it look like a piece 
 of furniture. Next day she would laugh at me for 
 believing her, and ask me what use I supposed there was 
 in talking to her. How she managed to hold on at the 
 theatre, I dont know. She wouldnt learn new parts, and 
 stuck to old ones that she could do in her sleep, she 
 knew them so well. She would go on the stage and get 
 through a long part when she couldnt walk straight from 
 the wing to her dressing-room. Of course, her voice 
 went to the dogs long ago; but by dint of screeching 
 and croaking she pulls through. She says she darent 
 go on sober now ; that she knows she should break down. 
 The theatre has fallen off, too. The actors got out of 
 the place one by one — they didnt like playing with her — 
 and were replaced by a third-rate lot. The audiences 
 
 267 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 used to be very decent: now they are all cads and fast 
 women. The game is up for her in London. She has 
 been offered an engagement in America on the strength 
 of her old reputation; but what is the use of it if she 
 continues drinking." 
 
 "That is very sad," said Douglas, with cold disgust, 
 perfunctorily veiled by a conventional air of sympathy. 
 " But if she is irreclaimable, why not leave her ? " 
 
 " So I would, only for the child. I have left her — at 
 least, Ive taken lodgings in town ; but I am always run- 
 ning out to Laurel Grove. I darent trust Lucy to her; 
 and she knows it; for she wouldnt let me take the poor 
 little creature away, although she doesnt care two straws 
 for it. She knows that it gives her a grip over me. 
 Well, I have not seen her for a week past. I have tried 
 the trick of only going out in the evening when she has 
 to be at the theatre. And now she has sent me a long 
 letter; and I dont exactly know what to do about it. She 
 swears she has given up drinking — not touched a spoon- 
 ful since I saw her last. She's as superstitious as an old 
 woman ; and yet she will swear to that lie with oaths that 
 make me uncomfortable, although I am pretty thick- 
 skinned in religious matters. Then she goes drivelling 
 on about me having encouraged her to drink at first, 
 and then turned upon her and deserted her when I found 
 out the mischief I had done. I used to stand plenty of 
 champagne, but I am sure I never thought what would 
 come of it. Then she says she gave up every friend in 
 the world for me: broke with her brother, and lost her 
 place in society. Her place in society, mind you, Doug- 
 las! Thats not bad, is it? Then, of course, I am leav- 
 ing her to die alone with her helpless child: I might 
 have borne with her a little longer : she will not trouble 
 
 268 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 me nor anyone else much more ; and so on. The upshot 
 is that she wants me to come back. She says I ought 
 to be there to save the child from her, if I dont care to 
 save her from herself; that I was the last restraint on 
 her; and that if I dont come she will make an end of 
 the business by changing her tipple to prussic acid. The 
 whole thing is a string of maudlin rot from beginning to 
 end; and I believe she primed herself with about four 
 bottles of champagne to write it. Still, I dont want to 
 leave her in the lurch. You are a man who stand pretty 
 closely on your honor. Do you think I ought to go 
 back? I may tell you that as regards money she is 
 under no compliment to me. Her earnings were a good 
 half of our income; and she saved nothing out of them. 
 In fact, I owe her some money for two or three old debts 
 she paid for me. We always shared like husband and 
 wife." 
 
 " I hardly understand your hesitation, Lind. You can 
 take the little girl out of her hands ; allow her something ; 
 and be quit of her." 
 
 "Thats very easy to say; but I cant drag her child 
 away from her if she insists on keeping it." 
 
 "Well, so much the better for you. It would be a 
 burden to you. Pay her for its maintenance : that is prob- 
 ably what she wants." 
 
 " No, no," said Marmaduke, impatiently. " You dont 
 understand. Youre talking as if I were a rake living 
 with a loose woman." 
 
 Douglas looked at him doubtfully. "I confess I do 
 not understand," he said. " Perhaps you will be good 
 enough to explain." 
 
 " It's very simple. I went to live with her because 
 I fell in love with her, and she wouldnt marry me. She 
 
 269 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 had a horror of marriage; and I was naturally not very 
 eager for it myself. Matters must be settled between 
 us as if we were husband and wife. Paying her off is 
 all nonsense. She doesnt want money; and I want the 
 child; so she has the advantage of me. Only for the 
 drink I would go back to her to-morrow; but I cant 
 stand her when she is not sober. I bore with it long 
 enough; and now all I want is to get Lucy out of her 
 hands and be quit of her, as you say — although it seems 
 mean to leave her." 
 
 " She must certainly be a very extraordinary woman 
 if she refused to marry you. Are you sure she is not 
 married already ? " 
 
 " Bosh ! Not she. She likes to be independent ; and 
 she has a sort of self-respect — not like Constance and 
 the old Countess, who hunted me long enough in the 
 hope of running me down at last in a church." 
 
 " If you offered her marriage, that certainly frees you 
 from the least obligation to stay with her. She reserved 
 liberty to leave you; and, of course, the same privilege 
 was implied on your part. If you have no sentimental 
 wish to return to her, you are most decidedly not bound 
 in honor to." 
 
 " I'm fond enough of her when she is sober ; but I 
 loathe her when she is fuddled. If she would only give 
 up drinking, we might make a fresh start. But she 
 wont." 
 
 " You must not think of doing that. Get rid of her, 
 my dear fellow. This marriage of Marian's has put 
 the affair on a new footing altogether. I tell you can- 
 didly, I think that under the circumstances your con- 
 nexion with Conolly's sister is a disgraceful one." 
 
 " Hang Conolly ! Everybody thinks of Marian, and 
 
 270 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 nobody of Susanna. I have heard enough of that side 
 of the question. Marian married him with her eyes 
 open." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that she knew ? " 
 
 " Of course she did. Conolly told her, fairly enough. 
 He's an extraordinary card, that fellow." 
 
 " Reginald Lind told my mother that the discovery 
 was made by accident after the marriage, and that they 
 were all shocked by it. It was he who said that it was 
 Conolly's cousin that you were with." 
 
 " Uncle Rej. is an old liar. So are most of the family : 
 I never believe a word they say." 
 
 " Marian must have been infatuated. I advise you to 
 break the connexion. She will be glad to give you the 
 child if she sees that you are resolved to leave her. She 
 only holds on because she hopes to make it the means 
 of bringing you back." 
 
 " I expect youre about right. She wants me to meet 
 her here to-day at half past three. Thats the reason I 
 came." 
 
 " Do you know that it now wants twenty minutes of 
 four?" 
 
 " Whew ! So it does. I had better go and look for 
 her. I'm very much obliged to you, old fellow, for 
 talking it over with me. I suppose you dont want to 
 meet her." 
 
 " I should be in the way at present." 
 
 " Then good-bye." 
 
 Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went 
 up-stairs to the picture galleries, where several students 
 were more or less busy at their easels. Lady Constance 
 was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying " Sterne's 
 Maria," by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She 
 
 271 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 had been annoyed some minutes before by the behavior 
 of a stout woman in a rich costume of black silk, who 
 had stopped for a moment to inspect her drawing. Lady 
 Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was 
 considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady 
 Constance out of countenance, and then deliberately 
 scanned her work with an expression which conveyed 
 a low opinion of its merit. Having thus revenged her- 
 self, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute, 
 and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. 
 A few minutes later Marmaduke entered, looking round 
 as if in search of someone. 
 
 "Here I am," said Constance to him, playfully. 
 
 " So I see," said Marmaduke, recognizing her with 
 rueful astonishment. " You knew I was looking for 
 you, did you ? " 
 
 " Of course I did, sir." 
 
 "Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing 
 here?" 
 
 " Dont you see ? I am copying a picture." 
 
 " Oh! it's very pretty. Which one are you copying? " 
 
 "What an impertinent question! You can tell my 
 poor copy well enough, only you pretend not to." 
 
 " Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it's a little 
 like Mary the maid of the inn there." 
 
 "It's not Mary: it's Maria— Sterne's Maria." 
 
 " Indeed ! Do you read Sterne ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Constance, looking very serious. 
 
 "Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do 
 you know whether she is a fit subject for you ? " 
 
 " Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work." 
 
 " I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art 
 studies, eh?" 
 
 272 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " You, and all the other girls here." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them." 
 
 " Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make your- 
 self cheap. I hope none of the low beggars ever have 
 the audacity to speak to you." 
 
 " I dont know anything about them," said Lady Con- 
 stance, pettishly. " All I mean is that they are strangers 
 to me." 
 
 " Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick 
 to the little pictures tremendously. Why dont you go 
 in for high art? There's a big picture of Adam and 
 Eve! Why dont you paint that?" 
 
 " Will you soon be leaving town ? " she replied, looking 
 steadily at her work, and declining to discuss Adam and 
 Eve, who were depicted naked. Receiving no reply, she 
 looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the room 
 with the woman in the black silk dress. 
 
 " Who is that girl ?" said Susanna, as they went out. 
 
 " That's Lady Constance, whom I was to have mar- 
 ried." 
 
 " I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. 
 She is a true English lady, heaven bless her! I took 
 the liberty of looking at her painting ; and she stared at 
 me as if I had bitten her." 
 
 " She is a little fool." 
 
 " She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub 
 me again, I think. Bob: did you get my letter? " 
 
 " Of course I got it, or I shouldnt be here." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, I dont believe a word of it." 
 
 " That's plain speaking." 
 
 273 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "There is no use mincing matters. You are just 
 as likely to stop drinking as you are to stop breathing." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall stop breathing before long." 
 
 " Very likely, at your present rate." 
 
 " That will be a relief to you." 
 
 "It will be a relief to everybody, and a release for 
 yourself. You have made me miserable for a year past; 
 and now you expect me to be frightened at the prospect 
 of being rid of you." 
 
 " I dont expect you to be frightened. I expect you 
 to do what all men do: throw me aside as soon as I 
 have served your turn." 
 
 " Yes. Of course, you are the aggrieved party. 
 Where's Lucy?" 
 " I dont know, and I dont care." 
 
 "Well, I want to know; and I do care. Is she at 
 home?" 
 
 " How do I know whether she is at home or not. I 
 left her there. Very likely she is with her Aunt Marian, 
 telling stories about her mother." 
 
 " She is better there than with you. What harm has 
 she done you that you should talk about her in that 
 way?" 
 
 " No harm. I dont object to her being there. She 
 has very pleasant conversations with Mrs. Ned, which 
 she retails to me at home. 'Aunty Marian : why do you 
 never drink champagne? Mamma is always drinking 
 it.' And then, 'Mamma: why do you drink so much 
 wine? Aunty Marian never drinks any.' Good heavens! 
 the little devil told me this morning by way of conso- 
 lation that she always takes care not to tell her Aunty 
 that I get drunk." 
 
 " What did you do to her for saying it? " 
 
 274 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Dont lose your temper. I didnt strangle her, nor 
 even box her ears. Why should I? She only repeats 
 what you teach her." 
 
 " She repeats what her eyes and ears teach her. If 
 she learned the word from me, she learned the meaning 
 from you. A nice lesson for a child hardly three years 
 old." 
 
 Susanna sat down on a bench, and looked down at her 
 feet. After a few moments, she tightened her lips; rose; 
 and walked away. 
 
 " Hallo ! Where are you going to? " said Marrriaduke, 
 following her. 
 
 " I'm going to get some drink. I have been sober and 
 miserable ever since I wrote to you. I have not got 
 much thanks for it, except to be made more miserable. 
 So I'll get drunk, and be happy." 
 
 " No, you shant," said Marmaduke, seizing her arm, 
 and forcibly stopping her. 
 
 "What does it matter to you whether I do or not? 
 You say you wont come back. Then leave me to go my 
 own way." 
 
 " Here ! you sit down," he said, pushing her into a 
 chair. " I know your game well enough. You think you 
 have me safe as long as you have the child." 
 
 "Oh, thats it, is it? Why dont you go out; take a 
 cab; and go to Laurel Grove for her? There is nothing 
 to prevent you taking her away." 
 
 " I have a good mind to do it." 
 
 " Well, do it. I wont stop you. Why didnt you do 
 it long ago? Her home is no place for her. I'm not 
 fit to have charge of her. I have no fancy for having her 
 talking about me, and most likely mimicking me to 
 other people." 
 
 275 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Thats exactly what I want to arrange with you to 
 do, if you will only be reasonable. Listen. Let us part 
 friends, Susanna, since there is no use in our going on 
 together. You must give me the child. It would only 
 be a burden to you; and I can have it well taken care 
 of. You can keep the house just as it is: I will pay 
 the rent of it." 
 
 " What good is the house to me ? " 
 
 " Cant you hear me out? It will be good to you to 
 live in, I suppose; or you can set it on fire, and wipe it 
 off the face of the earth, for what I care. I can give 
 you five hundred pounds down " 
 
 " Five hundred pounds ! And what will you live on 
 until your October dividends come in? On credit, I 
 suppose. Do you think you can impose on me by flour- 
 ishing money before me? I will never take a halfpenny 
 from you ; no, not if I starve for it." 
 
 " Thats all nonsense, Susanna. You must." 
 
 " Must I ? Do you think you can make me take your 
 money as you made me sit down here ? by force ! " 
 
 " I only offer you what I owe you. Those debts " 
 
 " I dont want what you owe me. If you think it mean 
 to leave me, you shant plaster up your conscience with 
 bank notes. You would like to be able to say in your 
 club that you treated me handsomely." 
 
 " I dont think it mean to leave you, not a bit of it. 
 Any other man would have left you months ago. If I 
 had married that little fool inside there, and she had 
 taken to drink, I wouldnt have stood it a week. I have 
 stood it from you nearly a year. Can you expect me 
 to stay under the same roof with you, with the very 
 thought of you making me sick and angry? I was 
 looking at some of your old likenesses the other day; 
 
 276 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 and I declare that it is enough to make a man cry to 
 look at your face now and listen to your voice. When 
 you used to lecture me for losing a twenty pound note 
 at billiards, and coming home half screwed — no man 
 shall ever see me drunk again — I little thought which 
 of us would be the first to go to the dogs." 
 
 " I shall not trouble you long." 
 
 " What is the use of harping on that ? I have seen 
 you drunk so often that I should almost be glad to see 
 you dead." 
 
 " Stop ! " said Susanna, rising. "All right ; you need 
 say no more. Talking will not remedy matters; and it 
 makes me feel pretty much as if you were throwing big 
 stones at my heart. Youre in the right, I suppose : Ive 
 chosen to make a beast of myself, and I must take the 
 consequences. You can have the child. I will send for 
 my things: you wont see me at Laurel Grove again. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Dont say another word, Bob. Good-bye." He took 
 her hand irresolutely. She drew it quickly away; nodded 
 to him; and went out, whilst he stood wondering whether 
 it would be safe — seeing that he did not desire a recon- 
 ciliation — to kiss her good-bye. 
 
 277 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ON Sunday afternoon Douglas walked, facing a 
 glorious sunset, along Uxbridge Road to Hol- 
 land Park, where he found Mrs. Conolly, Miss 
 McQuinch, and Marmaduke. A little girl was playing 
 in the garden. They were all so unconstrained, and so 
 like their old selves, that Douglas at once felt that Con- 
 olly was absent. 
 
 " I am to make Ned's excuses," said Marian. " He 
 has some pressing family affairs to arrange." She 
 seemed about to explain further ; but Marmaduke looked 
 so uneasily at her that she stopped. Then, resuming gaily, 
 she added, " I told Ned that he need not stand on cere- 
 mony with you. Fancy my saying that of you, the most 
 punctilious of men ! " 
 
 "Quite right. I am glad that Mr. Conolly has not 
 suffered me to interfere with his movements," he replied, 
 with a smile, which he suppressed as he turned and 
 greeted Miss McQuinch with his usual cold composure. 
 But to Marmaduke, who seemed much cast down, he 
 gave an encouraging squeeze of the hand. Not that he 
 was moved by the misfortunes of Marmaduke; but he 
 was thawed by the beauty of Marian. 
 
 "We shall have a pleasant evening," continued Ma- 
 rian. " Let us fancy ourselves back at Westbourne Ter- 
 race again. Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously 
 aged and sad. Let us think that it is one of our old 
 Sunday afternoons. Sholto had better go up-stairs and 
 shave, to heighten the illusion." 
 
 278 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Not for me, since I cannot see myself, particularly 
 if I have to call you Mrs. Conolly. If I may call you 
 Marian, as I used to do, I think that our conversation 
 will contain fewer reminders of the lapse of time." 
 
 " Of course," said Marian, disregarding an anxious 
 glance from Elinor. "What else should you call me? 
 We were talking about Nelly's fame when you came in. 
 The colonial edition of her book has just appeared. 
 Behold the advertisement ! " 
 
 There was a newspaper open on the table; and Marian 
 pointed to one of its columns as she spoke. Douglas 
 took it up and read the following : 
 
 Now Ready, a New and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, 5s. 
 
 THE WATERS OF MARAH, 
 By Elinor McQuinch. 
 
 " Superior to many of the numerous tales which find 
 a ready sale at the railway bookstall." Athenaum. 
 
 " There is nothing to fatigue, and something to gratify, 
 the idle reader." Examiner. 
 
 " There is a ring of solid metal in ' The Waters of 
 Marah.' " Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " Miss McQuinch has fairly established her claim to 
 be considered the greatest novelist of the age." Mid- 
 dlingtown Mercury. 
 
 " Replete with thrilling and dramatic incident 
 
 Instinct with passion and pathos." Ladies' Gazette. 
 
 Tabuteau & Son, Covent Garden. 
 
 " That is very flattering," said Douglas, as he replaced 
 the paper on the table. 
 
 279 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Highly so," said Elinor. " Coriolanus displaying his 
 wounds in the Forum is nothing to it." And she ab- 
 ruptly took the paper, and threw it disgustedly behind the 
 sofa. Just then a message from the kitchen engaged 
 Marian's attention, and Douglas, to relieve her from her 
 guests for the moment, strolled out upon the little ter- 
 race, whither Marmaduke had moodily preceded him. 
 
 " Still in your difficulties, Lind?" he said, with his 
 perfunctory air of concern, looking at the garden with 
 some interest. 
 
 " I'm out of my .difficulties clean enough," said Mar- 
 maduke. " There's the child among the currant bushes ; 
 and I am rid of her mother: for good, I suppose." 
 
 " So much the better ! I hope it has not cost you too 
 much." 
 
 " Not a rap. I met her in the museum after our 
 confab on Wednesday, and told her what you recom- 
 mended: that I must have the child, and that she must 
 go. She said all right, and shook hands. I havnt seen 
 her since." 
 
 " I congratulate you." 
 
 " I dont feel comfortable about her." 
 
 "Absurd, man ! What better could you have done ? " 
 
 " Thats just what I say. It was her own fault ; I did 
 all in my power. I offered her five hundred pounds down. 
 She wouldnt have it, of course; but could I help that? 
 Next day, when she sent her maid, for her things, I felt 
 so uneasy that I came to Conolly, and told him the whole 
 affair. He behaved very decently about it, and said that 
 I might as well have left her six months ago for all the 
 good my staying had done or was likely to do. He has 
 gone off to see her to-day — she is in lodgings somewhere 
 near the theatre; and he will let me know in case any 
 
 280 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 money is required. I should like to know what they are 
 saying to one another about me. Theyre a rum pair." 
 
 " Well, let us eat and drink ; for to-morrow we die," 
 said Douglas, with an unnatural attempt at humor. 
 " Marian seems happy. We must not spoil her evening." 
 
 " Yes: she is always in good spirits when he is away." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " It seems to me that they dont pull together. I think 
 she is afraid of him." 
 
 " You dont mean to say that he ill-treats her ? " said 
 Douglas, fiercely. 
 
 " No : I dont mean that he thrashes her, or anything 
 of that sort. And yet he is just that sort of chap that 
 I shouldnt be surprised at anything he might do. As 
 far as ordinary matters go, he seems to treat her particu- 
 larly well. But Ive noticed that she shuts up and gets 
 anxious when he comes into the room; and he has his 
 own way in everything." 
 
 " Is that all ? He embarrasses her by his behavior, I 
 suppose. Perhaps she is afraid of his allowing his 
 breeding to peep out." 
 
 " Not she. His manners are all right enough. Be- 
 sides, as he is a genius and a celebrity and all that, people 
 dont expect him to be conventional. He might stand 
 on his head, if he chose." 
 
 " Sholto," said Marian, joining them; " have you 
 spoken to little Lucy ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then you are unacquainted with the most absolute 
 imp on the face of the earth," said Elinor. " You neednt 
 frown, Marmaduke: it is you who have made her so." 
 
 " Leave her alone," said Marmaduke to Marian, who 
 
 281 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 was about to call the child. " Petting babies is not in 
 Douglas's line: she will only bore him." 
 
 " Not at all," said Douglas. 
 
 " It does not matter whether she bores him or not," 
 said Marian. " He must learn to take a proper interest 
 in children. Lucy: come here." 
 
 Lucy stopped playing, and said, " What for ? " 
 
 " Because I ask you to, dear," said Marian, gently. 
 
 The child considered for a while, and then resumed 
 her play. Miss McQuinch laughed. Marmaduke mut- 
 tered impatiently, and went down the garden. Lucy did 
 not perceive him until he was within a few steps of her, 
 when she gave a shrill cry of surprise, and ran to the 
 other side of a flower-bed too wide for him to spring 
 across. He gave chase ; but she, with screams of laugh- 
 ter, avoided him by running to and fro so as to keep 
 on the opposite side to him. Feeling that it was un- 
 dignified to dodge his child thus, he stopped and bade 
 her come to him; but she only laughed the more. He 
 called her in tones of command, entreaty, expostulation, 
 and impatience. At last he shouted to her menacingly. 
 She placed her thumbnail against the tip of her nose; 
 spread her fingers; and made him a curtsy. He uttered 
 an imprecation, and returned angrily to the house, saying, 
 between his teeth : 
 
 " Let her stay out, since she chooses to be obstinate." 
 
 " She is really too bad to-day," said Marian. " I am 
 quite shocked at her." 
 
 " She is quite right not to come in and be handed 
 round for inspection like a doll," said Elinor. 
 
 " She is very bold not to come when she is told," said 
 Marian. 
 
 282 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Yes, from your point of view," said Elinor. " I 
 like bold children." 
 
 Marmaduke was sulky and Marian serious for some 
 time after this incident They recovered their spirits at 
 dinner, when Marian related to Douglas how she had 
 become reconciled to his mother. Afterward, Marma- 
 duke suggested a game at whist. 
 
 " Oh no, not on Sunday," said Marian. " Whist is 
 too wicked." 
 
 " Then what the dickens may we do ? " said Marma- 
 duke. " May Nelly play ecarte with me? " 
 
 "Well, please dont play for money. And dont sit 
 close to the front window." 
 
 " Come along, then, Nell. You two may sing hymns, 
 if you like." 
 
 " I wish you could sing, Sholto," said Marian. " It 
 is an age since we last had a game of chess together. 
 Do you still play? " 
 
 "Yes," said Douglas: "I shall be delighted. But I 
 fear you will beat me now, as I suppose you have been 
 practising with Mr. Conolly." 
 
 " Playing with Ned ! No: he hates chess. He says it 
 is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they 
 are doing something very clever when they are only 
 wasting their time. He actually grumbled about the 
 price of the table and the pieces; but I insisted on hav- 
 ing them, I suppose in remembrance of you." 
 
 " It is kind of you to say that, Marian.' Will you 
 have black or white ? " 
 
 "White, please, unless you wish me to be always 
 making moves with your men." 
 
 " Now. Will you move? " 
 
 " I think I had rather you began. Remember our old 
 
 283 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 conditions. You are not to checkmate me in three moves; 
 and you are not to take my queen." 
 
 " Very well. You may rely upon it I shall think more 
 of my adversary than of my game. Check." 
 
 " Oh ! You have done it in three moves. That is not 
 fair. I wont play any more unless you take back that." 
 
 "No, I assure you it is not checkmate. My bishop 
 should be at the other side for that. There! of course, 
 that will do." 
 
 " What a noise Marmaduke makes over his cards ! I 
 hope the people next door will not hear him swearing." 
 
 " Impossible. You must not move that knight: it ex- 
 poses your king. Do you know, I think there is a great 
 charm about this house." 
 
 " Indeed? Yes, it is a pretty house." 
 
 "And this sunset hour makes it additionally so. Be- 
 sides, it is inexpressibly sad to see you Jiere, a perfectly 
 happy and perfectly beautiful mistress of this romantic 
 foreign home." 
 
 " What do you mean, Sholto ? " 
 
 " I call it a foreign home because, though it is yours, 
 I have no part nor lot in it. Remember, we are only 
 playing at old times to-night. Everything around, from 
 the organ to the ring on your finger, reminds me that I 
 am a stranger here. It seems almost unkind of you to 
 regret nothing whilst I am full of regrets." 
 
 " Check," said Marian. " Mind your game, sir." 
 
 " Flippant ! " exclaimed Douglas, impatiently moving 
 his king. " I verily believe that if your husband were at 
 the bottom of the Thames at this moment, you would 
 fly off unconcernedly to some other nest, and break 
 hearts with as much indifference as ever." 
 
 " I wish you would not make suggestions of that 
 
 284 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 sort, Sholto. You make me uncomfortable. Something 
 might happen to Ned. I wish he were home. He is 
 very late." 
 
 " Happy man. You can be serious when you think 
 about him. I envy him." 
 
 "What! Sholto Douglas stoop to envy any mortal! 
 Prodigious ! " 
 
 " Yes: it has come to that with me. Why should I not 
 envy him? His career has been upward throughout. 
 He has been a successful worker in the world, where I 
 have had nothing real to do. When the good things I 
 had been dreaming of and longing for all my life came 
 in his path, he had them for the mere asking. I valued 
 them so highly that when I fancied I possessed them, I 
 was the proudest of men. I am humble enough now 
 that I am beggared." 
 
 " You are really talking the greatest nonsense." 
 
 " No doubt I am. Still in love, Marian, you see. 
 There is no harm in telling you so now." 
 
 " On the contrary, it is now that there is harm. For 
 shame, Sholto ! " 
 
 " I am not ashamed. I tell you of my love because 
 now you can listen to me without uneasiness, knowing 
 that it is no longer associated with hope, or desire, or 
 anything but regret. You see that I do not affect the 
 romantic lover. I eat very well; I play chess; I go 
 into society; and you reproach me for growing fat." 
 
 Marian bent over the chessboard for a moment to 
 hide her face. Then she said in a lower voice, " I have 
 thoroughly convinced myself that there is no such thing 
 as love in the world." 
 
 "That means that you have never experienced it." 
 
 " I have told you already that I have never been in 
 
 285 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 love, and that I dont believe a bit in it. I mean romantic 
 love, of course." 
 
 " I verily believe that you have not. The future has 
 one more pang in store for me; for you will surely love 
 some day." 
 
 " I am getting too old for that, I fear. At what age, 
 pray, did you receive the arrow in your heart? " 
 
 " When I was a boy, I loved a vision. The happiest 
 hours of my life were those in which I was slowly, 
 tremulously daring to believe that I had found my vision 
 at last in you. And then the dreams that followed! 
 What a career was to have been mine ! I remember how 
 you used to reproach me because I was austere with 
 women and proud with men. How could I have been 
 otherwise? I contrasted the gifts of all other women 
 with those of my elect, and the lot of all other men 
 with my own. Can you wonder that, doing so, I carried 
 my head among the clouds? You must remember how 
 unfamiliar failure was to me. At school, at Oxford, in 
 society, I had sought distinction without misgiving, and 
 attained it without difficulty. My one dearest object I 
 deemed secure long before I opened my lips and asked 
 expressly for it. I think I walked through life at that 
 time like a somnambulist; for I have since seen that I 
 must have been piling mistake upon mistake until out 
 of a chaos of meaningless words and smiles I had woven 
 a Paphian love temple. At the first menace of disap- 
 pointment — a thing as new and horrible to me as death 
 — I fled the country. I came back with only the ruins 
 of the doomed temple. You were not content to destroy 
 a ruin: the feat was too easy to be glorious. So you 
 rebuilt it in one hour to the very dome, and lighted its 
 altars with more than their former radiance. Then, as 
 
 286 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 though it were but a house of cards — as indeed it was 
 nothing else — you gave it one delicate touch and razed 
 it to its foundations. Yet I am afraid those altar lamps 
 were not wholly extinguished. They smoulder beneath 
 the ruins still." 
 
 " I wonder why they made you the Newdigate poet at 
 Oxford, Sholto: you mix your metaphors most dread- 
 fully. Dont be angry with me : I understand what you 
 mean ; and I am very sorry. I say flippant things because 
 I must. How can one meet seriousness in modern society 
 except by chaff ? " 
 
 " I am not angry. I had rather you did not under- 
 stand. The more flippant you are, the more you harden 
 my heart ; and I want it to be as hard as the nether mill- 
 stone. Your pity would soften me; and I dread that." 
 
 " I believe it does every man good to be softened. 
 If you ever really felt what you describe, you greatly 
 over-estimated me. What can you lose by a little more 
 softness? I often think that men — particularly good 
 men — make their way through the world too much as 
 if it were a solid mass of iron through which they must 
 cut — as if they dared not relax their hardest edge and 
 finest temper for a moment. Surely, that is not the 
 way to enjoy life." 
 
 " Perhaps not. Still, it is the way to conquer in life. 
 It may be pleasant to have a soft heart ; but then someone 
 is sure to break it." 
 
 " I do not believe much in broken hearts. Besides, 
 I do not mean that men should be too soft. For in- 
 stance, sentimental young men of about twenty are 
 odious. But for a man to get into a fighting attitude 
 at the barest suggestion of sentiment ; to believe in nature 
 
 287 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 as something inexorable, and to aim at being as inexo- 
 rable as nature : is not that almost as bad ? " 
 
 "Do you know any such man? You must not at- 
 tribute that sort of hardness to me." 
 
 "Oh no: I was not thinking of you. I was not 
 thinking of anyone in fact. I only put a case. I some- 
 times have disputes with Ned on the subject. One of 
 his cardinal principles is that there is no use in crying 
 for spilt milk. I always argue that as irremediable dis- 
 asters are the only ones that deserve or obtain sympathy, 
 he might as well say that there is no use in crying for 
 anything. Then he slips out of the difficulty by saying 
 that that was just what he meant, and that there is 
 actually no place for regret in a well-regulated scheme 
 of life. In debating with women, men brazen out all 
 the ridiculous conclusions of which they are convicted; 
 and then they say that there is no use in arguing with 
 a woman. Neither is there, because the woman is al- 
 ways right." 
 
 " Yes ; because she suffers her heart to direct her." 
 
 " You are just as bad as the rest of your sex, I see. 
 Where you cannot withold credit from a woman, you 
 give it to her heart and deny it to her head." 
 
 " There ! I wont play any more," said Miss McQuinch, 
 suddenly, at the other end of the room. " Have you 
 finished your chess, Marian ? " 
 
 "We are nearly done. Ring for the lamps, please, 
 Nelly. Let us finish, Sholto." 
 
 "Whose turn is it to move? I beg your pardon for 
 my inattention." 
 
 " Mine— no, yours. Stop ! it must be mine. I really 
 dont know." 
 
 " Nor do I. I have forgotten my game." 
 
 288 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Then let us put up the board. We can finish some 
 other night." 
 
 It had become dark by this time ; and the lamps were 
 brought in whilst Douglas was replacing the chessmen 
 in their box. 
 
 " Now," said Marian, " let us have some music. Mar- 
 maduke: will you sing Uncle Ned for us? We have 
 not heard you sing for ages." 
 
 " I believe it is more than three years since that abomi- 
 nable concert at Wandsworth ; and I have not heard you 
 sing since," said Elinor. 
 
 " I forget all my songs — havnt sung one of them for 
 months. However, here goes! Have you a banjo in 
 the house ? " 
 
 " No," said Marian. " I will play an accompaniment 
 for you." 
 
 "All right. See here: you need only play these three 
 chords. When one sounds wrong, play another. Youll 
 learn it in a moment." 
 
 Marmaduke's voice was not so fresh, nor his fun so 
 spontaneous, as at Wandsworth; but they were not 
 critical enough to appreciate the difference : they laughed 
 like children at him. Elinor was asked to play; but 
 she would not: she had renounced that folly, she said. 
 Then, at Douglas's request, Marian sang, in memory 
 of Wandsworth, " Rose, softly blooming." When she 
 had finished, Elinor asked for some old melodies, know- 
 ing that Marian liked these best. So she began gaily 
 with The Oak and the Ash and Robin Adair. After 
 that, finding both herself and the others in a more pa- 
 thetic vein, she sang them The Bailiff's Daughter of 
 Islington, and The Banks of Allan Water, at the end of 
 which Marmaduke's eyes were full of tears, and the rest 
 
 289 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 sat quite still. She paused for a minute, and then 
 broke the silence with Auld Robin Gray, which affected 
 even Douglas, who had no ear. As she sang the last 
 strain, the click of a latchkey was heard from without. 
 Instantly she rose; closed the pianoforte softly.; and sat 
 down at some distance from it. Her action was reflected 
 by a change in their behavior. They remembered that 
 they were not at home, and became more or less uneasily 
 self-conscious. Elinor was the least disturbed. Conolly's 
 first glance on entering was at the piano : his next went 
 in search of his wife. 
 
 "Ah ! " he said, surprised. " I thought somebody was 
 singing." 
 
 " Oh dear no ! " said Elinor drily. " You must have 
 been mistaken." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said he, smiling. " But I have been 
 listening carefully at the window for ten minutes ; and I 
 certainly dreamt that I heard Auld Robin Gray." 
 
 Marian blushed. Conolly did not seem to have been 
 moved by the song. He was alert and loquacious : before 
 he had finished his greeting and apology to Douglas, they 
 all felt as little sentimental as they had ever done in their 
 lives. Marian, after asking whether he had dined, be- 
 came silent, and dropped the pretty airs of command 
 which, as hostess, she had worn before. 
 
 "Have you any news?" said Marmaduke at last. 
 " Douglas knows the whole business. We are all friends 
 here." 
 
 " Only what we expected," said Conolly. "Affairs are 
 exactly as they were. I called to-day at her address " 
 
 " How did you get it? " said Marmaduke. 
 
 " I wrote for it to her at the theatre." 
 
 "And did she send it?" 
 
 290 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Of course. But she did not give me any encourage- 
 ment to call on her, and, in fact, evidently did not want 
 to see me. Her appearance has altered very much for 
 the worse. She is a confirmed dipsomaniac; and she 
 knows it. I advised her to abstain in future. She asked 
 me, in her sarcastic, sisterly way, whether I had any 
 other advice to give her. I told her that if she meant to 
 go on, her proper course was to purchase a hogshead of 
 brandy; keep it by her side; and condense the process of 
 killing herself, which may at present take some years, 
 into a few days." 
 
 "Oh, Ned, you did not really say that to her! " said 
 Marian. 
 
 "I did indeed. The shocking part of the affair is 
 not, as you seem to think, my giving the advice, but that 
 it should be the very best advice I could have given." 
 
 " I do not think I would have said so." 
 
 " Most likely not," said Conolly, with a smile. " You 
 would have said something much prettier. But dipso- 
 mania is not one of the pretty things of life; nor can 
 it by any stretch of benevolent hypocrisy be made to 
 pass as one. When Susanna and I get talking, we do 
 not waste time in trying to spare one another's feelings. 
 If we did, we should both see through the attempt and 
 be very impatient of it." 
 
 " Did she tell you what she intends to do ? " said 
 Marmaduke. 
 
 " She has accepted an American engagement. When 
 that draws to a close, it will, she says, be time enough 
 for her to consider her next step. But she has no in- 
 tention of leaving the stage until she is compelled." 
 
 "Has she any intention of reforming her habits?" 
 said Elinor, bluntly. 
 
 291 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I should say every intention, but no prospect of 
 doing so. Dipsomaniacs are always intending to reform; 
 but they rarely succeed. Has Lucy been put to bed?" 
 
 " Lucy is in disgrace," said Elinor. Marian looked 
 at her apprehensively. 
 
 " In disgrace ! " said Conolly, more seriously. " How 
 so?" 
 
 Elinor described what had taken place in the garden. 
 When she told how the child had disregarded Marian's 
 appeal, Conolly laughed. 
 
 " Lucy has no sense of how pretty she would have 
 looked toddling in obediently because her aunt asked 
 her to," he said. " She is, like all children, very practi- 
 cal, and will not assist in getting up amiable little scenes 
 without good reason rendered." 
 
 Elinor glanced at Marian, and saw that though Doug- 
 las was speaking to her in a low voice, she was listening 
 nervously to her husband. So she said sharply, " It is 
 a pity you were not here to tell us what to do." 
 
 "Apparently it is," said Conolly, complacently. 
 
 "What would you have done?" said Marian sud- 
 denly, interrupting Douglas. 
 
 " I suppose," said Conolly, looking round at her in 
 surprise, " I should have answered her questions-told 
 her what she was wanted for. If I asked you to do 
 anything, and you enquired why, you would be extremely 
 annoyed if I answered, ' because I ask you.' " 
 
 " I would not ask why," said Marian. " I would do it." 
 
 " That would be very nice of you," said Conolly; " but 
 you cannot expect such a selfish, mistrustful, and curious 
 animal as a little child to be equally kind and confiding. 
 Lucy is too acute not to have learned long since that 
 
 292 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 grown people systematically impose on the credulity arid 
 helplessness, of children." 
 
 " Thats true," said Elinor, reluctantly. Marian turned 
 away and quietly resumed her conversation with Douglas. 
 After a minute she strolled with him into the garden, 
 whither Marmaduke had already retired to smoke. 
 
 " Has the evening been a pleasant one, Miss Mc- 
 Quinch ? " said Conolly, left alone with her. 
 
 " Yes: we have had a very pleasant evening indeed. 
 We played chess and ecarte; and we all agreed to make 
 old times of it. Marmaduke sang for us; and Marian 
 had us nearly in tears with those old ballads of hers." 
 
 "And then I came in and spoiled it all. Eh ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Why do you say that ? " 
 
 " Merely a mischievous impulse to say something true : 
 jealousy, perhaps, because I missed being here earlier. 
 You think, then, that if I had been here, the evening 
 would have been equally pleasant, and Marian equally 
 happy in her singing ? " 
 
 " Dont you like Marian's singing ? " 
 
 " Could you not have refrained from that most indis- 
 creet question?" 
 
 " I ought to have. It came out unawares. Do not 
 answer it." 
 
 " That would make matters worse. And there is no 
 reason whatever why the plain truth should not be told. 
 When I was a child I heard every day better perform- 
 ances than Marian's. She believes there is something 
 pretty and good in music, and patronizes it accordingly 
 to the best of her ability. I do not like to hear music 
 patronized; and when Marian, lovely as she is, gives her 
 pretty renderings of songs which I have heard a hun- 
 dred times from singers who knew what they were about, 
 
 293 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 then, though I admire her as I must always, my admi- 
 ration is rather increased than otherwise when she stops ; 
 because then I am no longer conscious of a deficiency 
 which even my unfortunate sister could supply." 
 
 " Your criticism of her singing sounds more sincere 
 than your admiration of her loveliness. I am not musi- 
 cian enough to judge. All I know is that her singing 
 is good enough for me." 
 
 " I know you are displeased because it is not good 
 enough for me; but how can I help myself? Poor 
 Marian " 
 
 " Do hush ! " said Elinor. " Here she is." 
 
 " You need not be in such a hurry, Duke," said Marian. 
 " What can it matter to you how late you get back? " 
 
 " No," said Marmaduke. " Ive got to write home. 
 The governor is ill ; and my mammy will send me a five- 
 sheet sermon if I neglect writing to-night. You will 
 keep Lucy for another week, wont you? Box her ears 
 if she gives you any cheek. She wants it: she's been 
 spoiled." 
 
 " If we find we can do no better than that with her, 
 we shall hand her back to you," said Conolly. Then 
 the visitors took their leave. Marian gently pressed 
 Douglas's hand and looked into his eyes as he bade her 
 farewell. Elinor, seeing this, glanced uneasily at Con- 
 olly, and unexpectedly met his eye. There was a gleam 
 of cynical intelligence in it that did not reassure her. 
 A few minutes later she went to bed, leaving the couple 
 alone together. Conolly looked at his wife for a moment 
 with an amused expression; but she closed her lips irre- 
 sponsively, and went to the table for a book which she 
 wanted to bring upstairs. She would have gone with- 
 out a word had he not spoken to her. 
 
 294 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Marian: Douglas is in love with you." 
 
 She blushed; thought a moment; and said quietly, 
 " Very well. I shall not ask him to come again." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 She colored more vividly and suddenly, and said, " I 
 thought you cared. I beg your pardon." 
 
 " My dear," he replied, amiably: " if you exclude every- 
 body who falls in love with you, we shall have no one in 
 the house but blind men." 
 
 " And do you like men to be in love with me ? " 
 
 " Yes. It makes the house pleasant for them ; it makes 
 them attentive to you; and it gives you great power for 
 good. When I was a romantic boy, any good woman 
 could have made a saint of me. Let them fall in love 
 with you as much as they please. Afterwards they will 
 seek wives according to a higher standard than if they 
 had never known you. But do not return the compli- 
 ment, or your influence will become an evil one." 
 
 " Ned: I had not intended to tell you this; but now I 
 will. Sholto Douglas not only loves me, but he told me 
 so to-day." 
 
 " Of course. A man always does tell it, sooner or 
 later." 
 
 Marian sat down on the sofa and looked at him for 
 some time gravely and a little wistfully. " I think," she 
 said, " I should feel very angry if any woman made such 
 a confession to you." 
 
 "A Christian British lady does not readily forgive a 
 breach of convention; nor a woman an invasion of her 
 privileges, even when they have become a burden to her." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " she said, rising. 
 
 " Marian," he said, looking straight at her; " are you 
 dissatisfied ? " 
 
 295 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " What reason have I to—" 
 
 " Never mind the reasons. Are you?" 
 
 " No," said she, steadfastly. 
 
 He smiled indulgently ; pressed her hand for a moment 
 against his cheek; and went out for the short walk he 
 was accustomed to take before retiring. 
 
 296 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN October Marian was at Sark, holiday making at 
 the house of Hardy McQuinch's brother, who had 
 recently returned to England with a fortune made 
 in Australia. Conolly, having the house at Holland 
 Park to himself, fitted a spare room as a laboratory, 
 and worked there every night. One evening, returning 
 home alone a little before five o'clock, he shut himself 
 into this laboratory, and had just set to work when 
 Armande, the housemaid, interrupted him. 
 
 "Mrs. Leith Fairfax, sir." 
 
 Conolly had had little intercourse with Mrs. Fairfax 
 since before his marriage, when he had once shewn her 
 the working of his invention at Queen Victoria Street; 
 and as Marian had since resented her share of Douglas's 
 second proposal by avoiding her society as far as pos- 
 sible without actually discontinuing her acquaintance, 
 this visit was a surprise. Conolly looked darkly at Ar- 
 mande, and went to the drawing-room without a word. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Conolly ? " said Mrs. Fairfax, 
 as he entered. " I need not ask: you are looking so 
 well. Have I disturbed you?" 
 
 " You have — most agreeably. Pray sit down." 
 
 " I know your time is priceless. I should never have 
 ventured to come, but that I felt sure you would like to 
 hear all the news from Sark. I have been there for 
 the last fortnight. Marian told me to call on you the 
 moment I returned." 
 
 297 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Yes," said Conolly, convinced that this was not 
 true. " She promised to do so in her last letter." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax, on the point of publishing a few sup- 
 plementary fictions, checked herself, and looked sus- 
 piciously at him. 
 
 " The air of Sark has evidently benefited you," he 
 said, as she paused. " You are looking very well — I 
 had almost said charming." 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax glanced archly at him, and said, " Non- 
 sense! but, indeed, the trip was absolutely necessary 
 for me. I should hardly have been alive had I remained 
 at work ; and poor Willie McQuinch was bent on having 
 me. 
 
 " He has been described to me as an inveterate lion 
 hunter." 
 
 " It is not at all pleasant, I assure you, to be persecuted 
 with invitations from people who wish to see a real live 
 novelist. But William McQuinch's place at Sark is 
 really palatial. He is called Sarcophagus on account 
 of his wealth. A great many people whom he knew 
 were staying in the island, besides those in the house 
 with us. Marian was the beauty of the place. How 
 every one admires her! Why do you not go down, 
 Mr. Conolly?" 
 
 " I am too busy. Besides, it will do Marian good 
 to be rid of me for a while." 
 
 "Absurd, Mr. Conolly! You should not leave her 
 there by herself." 
 
 "By herself! Why, is not the place full?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I do not mean that. There is nobody be- 
 longing to her there." 
 
 "You forget. Miss McQuinch is her bosom friend. 
 There is Marmaduke, her cousin; and his mother, her 
 
 298 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Aunt Dora. Then, is there not Mr. Sholto Douglas, 
 one of her oldest and most attached friends ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Is Mr. Douglas in charge of her ? " 
 
 " No doubt he will take charge of her, if she is over- 
 taken by her second childhood whilst he is there. Mean- 
 while, she is in charge of herself, is she not ? And there 
 is hardly any danger of her feeling lonely." 
 
 " No. Sholto Douglas will provide against that." 
 
 " Your opinion confirms the accounts I have had from 
 other sources. It appears that Mr. Douglas is very 
 attentive to my wife." 
 
 "Very, indeed, Mr. Conolly. You must not think 
 that I am afraid of anything — anything — " 
 
 "Anything?" 
 
 "Well — Oh, you know what I mean. Anything wrong. 
 At least, not exactly wrong, but — " 
 
 "Anything undomestic." 
 
 " Yes. You see, Marian's position is a very difficult 
 one. She is so young and so good looking that she is 
 very much observed; and it seems so strange her being 
 without her husband." 
 
 " Pretty ladies whose husbands are never seen, often 
 get talked about in the world, do they not ? " 
 
 " That is just what I mean. How cleverly you get 
 everything out of me, Mr. Conolly ! I called here with- 
 out the faintest idea of alluding to Marian's situation; 
 and now you have made me say all sorts of things. 
 What a fortune you would have made at the bar ! " 
 
 " I must apologize, I did not mean to cross-examine 
 you. Naturally, of course, you would not like to make 
 me uneasy about Marian." 
 
 " It is the very last thing I should desire. But now 
 
 299 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 that it has slipped out, I really think you ought to go 
 to Sark." 
 
 " Indeed ! I rather infer that I should be very much 
 in the way." 
 
 " The more reason for you to go, Mr. Conolly." 
 
 " Not at all, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. The attentions of 
 a husband are stale, unsuited to holiday time. Picture 
 to yourself my arrival at Sark with the tender assurance 
 in my mouth, ' Marian, I love you.' She would reply, 
 ' So you ought. Am I not your wife ? ' The same ad- 
 vance from another — Mr. Douglas, for instance — would 
 affect her quite differently, and much more pleasantly." 
 
 " Mr. Conolly; is this indifference, or supreme con- 
 fidence ? " 
 
 " Neither of these conjugal claptraps. I merely de- 
 sire that Marian should enjoy herself as much as pos- 
 sible; and the more a woman is admired, the happier 
 she is. Perhaps you think that, in deference to the 
 general feeling in such matters, I should become jeal- 
 ous." 
 
 Mrs. -Fairfax again looked doubtfully at him. " I 
 cannot make you out at all, Mr. Conolly," she said sub- 
 missively. " I hope I have not offended you." 
 
 " Not in the least. I take it that having observed 
 certain circumstances which seemed to threaten the wel- 
 fare of one very dear to you (as, I am aware, Marian is), 
 the trouble they caused you found unpremeditated ex- 
 pression in the course of a conversation with me." Con- 
 olly beamed at her, as if he thought this rather neatly 
 turned. 
 
 " Exactly so. But I do not wish you to think that I 
 have observed anything particular." 
 
 " Certainly not. Still, you think there would be no 
 
 300 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 harm in my writing to Marian to say that her behavior 
 has attracted your notice, and——" 
 
 " Good heavens, Mr. Conolly, you must not mention 
 me in the matter! You are so innocent — at least so 
 frank, so workmanlike, if I may say so, in your way of 
 dealing with things! I would not have Marian know 
 what I have said — I really did not notice anything — for 
 worlds. You had better not write at all, but just go 
 down as if you went merely to enjoy yourself; and dont 
 on any account let Marian suspect that you have heard 
 anything. Goodness knows what mischief you might 
 make, in your — your ingenuousness ! " 
 
 " But I should have thought that the opinion of an 
 old and valued friend like yourself would have special 
 weight with her." 
 
 " You know nothing about it. Clever engineer as you 
 are, you do not understand the little wheels by which 
 our great machine of society is worked." 
 
 " True, Mrs. Leith Fairfax," he rejoined, echoing the 
 cadence of her sentence. " Educated as a mere mechanic, 
 I am still a stranger to the elegancies of life. I usually 
 depend on Marian for direction ; but since you think that 
 it would be injudicious to appeal to her in the present 
 instance " 
 
 " Out of the question, Mr. Conolly." 
 
 " — I must trust to your guidance in the matter. What 
 do you suggest?" 
 
 Mrs. Fairfax was about to reply, when the expression 
 which she habitually wore like a mask in society, wavered 
 and broke. Her lip trembled: her eyes filled with tears; 
 she rose with a sniff that was half a sob. When she 
 spoke, her voice was sincere for the first time, and at 
 
 301 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the sound of it Conolly's steely, hard manner melted, 
 and his inhuman self-possession vanished. 
 
 "You think," she said, "that I came here to make 
 mischief. I did not. Marian is nothing to me: she 
 does not even like me; but I dont want to see her ruin 
 herself merely because she is too inexperienced to know 
 when she is well off. I have had to fight my way in 
 London; and I know what it is, and what the world is. 
 She is not fit to take charge of herself. Good-bye, Mr. 
 Conolly : you are a great deal too young yourself to know 
 the danger, for all your cleverness. You may tell her 
 that I came here and gossipped against her, if you like. 
 She will never speak to me again; but if it saves her, 
 I dont care. Good-bye." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Fairfax," he said, with entire frank- 
 ness, " I am now deeply and sincerely obliged to you." 
 And in proof that he was touched, he kissed her hand 
 with the ease and grace of a man who had been carefully 
 taught how to do it. Mrs. Fairfax recovered herself 
 and almost blushed as he went with her to the door, 
 chatting easily about the weather and the Addison Road 
 trains. 
 
 She was not the last visitor that evening. She had 
 hardly been fifteen minutes gone when the Rev. George 
 presented himself, and was conducted to the laboratory, 
 where he found Conolly, with his coat off, surrounded 
 by apparatus. The glowing fire, comfortable chairs, 
 and preparations for an evening meal, gladdened him 
 more than the presence of his brother-in-law, with whom 
 he never felt quite at ease. 
 
 "You wont mind my fiddling with these machines 
 while I talk," said Conolly. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all. I shall witness your operations 
 
 302 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 with great interest. You must not think that the won- 
 ders of science are indifferent to me." 
 
 " So you are going on to Sark, you say ? " 
 
 "Yes. May I ask whether you will be persuaded to 
 come ? " 
 
 " No, for certain. I have other fish to fry here." 
 
 " I think it would renovate your health to come for 
 a few days." 
 
 " My health is always right as long as I have work. 
 Did you meet Mrs. Fairfax outside ? " 
 
 "A — yes. I passed her." 
 
 " You spoke to her, I suppose ? " 
 
 "A few words. Yes." 
 
 "Do you know what she came here for?" 
 
 " No. But stay. I am wrong. She mentioned that 
 she came for a book she lent you." 
 
 " She mentioned what was not true. What did she 
 say to you about Marian ? " 
 
 " Well, she — She was just saying that it is perhaps 
 as well that I should go down to Sark at once, as Marian 
 is quite alone." 
 
 The clergyman looked so guilty as he said this that 
 Conolly laughed outright at him. " You mean," he said, 
 " that Marian is not quite alone. Well, very likely 
 Douglas occupies himself a good deal with her. If so, 
 there may be some busybody or another down there fool 
 enough to tell her that people are talking about her. 
 That would spoil her holiday ; so it is lucky that you are 
 going down. No one will take it upon themselves 
 to speak to her when you are there; and if they say 
 anything to you, you can let it in at one ear and out 
 at the other." 
 
 3°3 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "That is, of course, unless I should see her really 
 acting indiscreetly." 
 
 " I had better tell you beforehand what you will see 
 if you keep your eyes open. You will see very plainly 
 that Douglas is in love with her. Also that she knows 
 that he is in love with her. In fact, she told me so. 
 And you will see she rather likes it. Every married 
 woman requires a holiday from her husband occasion- 
 ally, even when he suits her perfectly." 
 
 The Rev. George stared. " If I follow you aright — 
 I am not sure that I do — you impute to Marian the sin 
 of entertaining feelings which it is her duty to repress." 
 
 " I impute no sin to her. You might as well tell a 
 beggar that he has no right to be hungry, as a woman 
 that it is her duty to feel this and not to feel that." 
 
 " But Marian has been educated to feel only in ac- 
 cordance with her duty." 
 
 " So have you. How does it work? However," con- 
 tinued Conolly, without waiting for an answer, " I dont 
 deny that Marian shews the effects of her education. 
 They are deplorably evident in all her conscientious 
 actions." 
 
 " You surprise and distress me. This is the first in- 
 timation I have received of your having any cause to 
 complain of Marian." 
 
 " Nonsense ! I dont complain of her. But what you 
 call her education, as far as I can make it out, appears 
 to have consisted of stuffing her with lies, and making 
 it a point of honor with her to believe them in spite 
 of sense and reason. The sense of duty that rises on that 
 sort of foundation is more mischievous than downright 
 want of principle. I dont dispute your right, you who 
 constitute polite society, to skin over all the ugly facts 
 
 304 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 of life. But to make your daughters believe that the 
 skin covers healthy flesh is a crime. Poor Marian thinks 
 that a room is clean when all the dust is swept out of 
 sight under the furniture; and if honest people rake it 
 out to bring it under the notice of those whose duty it 
 is to remove it, she is disgusted with them, and ten to 
 one accuses them of having made it themselves. She 
 doesnt know what sort of world she is in, thanks to the 
 misrepresentations of those who should have taught her. 
 She will deceive her children in just the same way, if 
 she ever has any. If she had been taught the truth in 
 her own childhood, she would know how to face it, and 
 would be a strong woman as well as an amiable one. 
 But it is too late now. The truth seems natural to a 
 child ; but to a grown woman or man, it is a bitter lesson 
 in the learning, though it may be invigorating when it 
 is well mastered. And you know how seldom a hard 
 task forced on an unwilling pupil is well mastered." 
 
 "What is truth?" said the clergyman, sententiously. 
 
 "All that we know, Master Pilate," retorted Conolly 
 with a laugh. "And we know a good deal. It may 
 seem small in comparison with what we dont know; but 
 it is more than any one of us can hold, for all that. We 
 know, for instance, that the world was not planned by 
 a sentimental landscape gardener. If Marian ever learns 
 that — which she may, although I am neither able nor 
 willing to teach it to her — she will not thank those who 
 gave her so much falsehood to unlearn. Until then, she 
 will, I am afraid, do little else than lay up a store of re- 
 grets for herself." 
 
 " This is very strange. We always looked upon Ma- 
 rian as an exceptionally amiable girl." 
 
 " So she is, unfortunately. There is no institution so 
 
 305 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 villainous but she will defend it ; no tyranny so oppressive 
 but she will make a virtue of submitting to it ; no social 
 cancer so venomous but she will shrink from cutting it 
 out, and plead that it is a comfortable thing, and much 
 better as it is. She knows that she disobeyed her father, 
 and that he deserved to be disobeyed; yet she condemns 
 other women who are disobedient, and stands out against 
 Nelly McQuinch in defence of the unselfishness of pa- 
 rental love. She knows that the increased freedom of 
 movement allowed to her as a married woman has been 
 healthy for her; yet she looks coldly at other young 
 women who assert their right to freedom, and are not 
 afraid to walk through the streets without a sheepdog, 
 human or otherwise, at their heels. She knows that 
 marriage is not what she expected it to be, and that it 
 gives me many unfair advantages over her; and she 
 knows also that ours is a happier marriage than most. 
 Nevertheless she will encourage other girls to marry; 
 she will maintain that the chain which galls her own 
 wrists so often is a string of honeysuckles; and if a 
 woman identifies herself with any public movement for 
 the lightening of that chain, she wont allow that that 
 woman is fit to be admitted into decent society. There 
 is not one of these shams to which she clings that I 
 would not like to take by the throat and shake the life 
 out of ; and she knows it. Even in that she has not the 
 consistency to believe me wrong, because it is undutiful 
 and out of keeping with the honeysuckles to lack faith 
 in her husband. In order to blind herself to her incon- 
 sistencies, she has to live in a rose-colored fog ; and what 
 with me constantly, in spite of myself, blowing this fog 
 away on the one side, and the naked facts of her every- 
 day experience as constantly letting in the daylight on 
 
 306 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the other, she must spend half the time wondering 
 whether she is mad or sane. Between her desire to do 
 right and her discoveries that it generally leads her to 
 do wrong, she passes her life in a wistful melancholy 
 which I cant dispel. I can only pity her. I suppose I 
 could pet her; but I hate treating a woman like a child: 
 it means giving up all hope of her becoming rational. 
 She may turn for relief any day either to love or religion ; 
 and for her own sake I hope she will choose the first. 
 Of the two evils, it is the least permanent." And Con- 
 oily, having disburdened himself, resumed his work 
 without any pretence of waiting for the clergyman's 
 comments. 
 
 " Well," said the Rev. George, cautiously, " I do not 
 think I have quite followed your opinions, which seem 
 to me to be exactly upside down, as if they were pro- 
 jected upon the retina of your mind's eye — to use Shaks- 
 pear's happy phrase — just as they would be upon your — 
 your real eye, you know. But I can assure you that 
 your view of Marian is an entirely mistaken one. You 
 seem to think that she does not give in her entire ad- 
 herence to the doctrines of the Establishment. This is 
 a matter which I venture to say you do not understand." 
 
 "Admitted," interposed Conolly, hastily. " Here is 
 my workman's tea. Are you fond of scones?" 
 
 " I hardly know. Anything — the simplest fare, will 
 satisfy me." 
 
 " So it does me, when I can get nothing better. Help 
 yourself, pray." 
 
 Conolly did not sit down to the meal, but worked 
 whilst the clergyman ate. Presently the Rev. George, 
 warmed by the fire and cheered by the repast, returned 
 to the subject of his host's domestic affairs. 
 
 307 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Come," he said, "I am sure that a few judicious 
 words would lead to an explanation between you and 
 Marian." 
 
 " I also think that a few words might do so. But they 
 would not be judicious words." 
 
 " Why not? Can it be injudicious to restore harmony 
 in a household ? " 
 
 " No ; but that would not be the effect of an expla- 
 nation, because the truth is not likely to reconcile us. 
 If I were to explain the difficulty to a man, he would 
 argue. But Marian would just infer that I despised her, 
 and nothing else." 
 
 " Oh no ! Oh dear no ! A few kind words ; an ap- 
 peal to her good sense; a little concession on both 
 sides " 
 
 "All excellent for a pair estranged by a flash of temper, 
 or a mother-in-law, or a trifle of jealousy, or too many 
 evenings spent at the club on the man's part, or too 
 many dances with a gallant on the woman's; but no 
 good for us. We have never exchanged unkind words : 
 there are no concessions to be made: her good sense is 
 not at fault. Besides, these few kind words that are 
 supposed to be such a sovereign remedy for all sorts of 
 domestic understandings are generally a few kind fibs. 
 If I told them, Marian wouldnt believe them. Fibs 
 dont make lasting truces either. No: the situation is 
 graver than you think. Just suppose, for instance, that 
 you undertake to restore harmony, as you call it! what 
 will you say to her ? " 
 
 "Well, it would depend on circumstances." 
 
 " But you know the circumstances on which it de- 
 pends. How would you begin ? " 
 
 "There are little ways of approaching delicate sub- 
 
 308 
 
The Irrational Kno6 
 
 jects with women. For instance, I might say, casually, 
 that it was a pity that a pair so happily situated as you 
 two should not agree perfectly." / 
 
 " You would get no further; for Marian would never 
 admit that we do not agree. She does not know what 
 her complaint is, and therefore feels bound in honor 
 to maintain that she has nothing to complain of. She 
 is not the woman to cast reproach on me for a discontent 
 she cannot explain. Or, if she could explain it, how 
 much wiser should you be ? / have explained ; and you 
 confess you cannot understand me. The difference be- 
 tween us is neither her fault nor mine; and all the ex- 
 planations in the world will not remove it." 
 
 " If you would allow me to appeal to her religious 
 duty " 
 
 "Religion! She doesnt believe in it." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the clergyman, unaffectedly 
 shocked. " Surely, surely " 
 
 " Listen. To me, believing in a doctrine doesnt mean 
 holding up your hand and saying, ' Credo.' It means 
 habitually acting on the assumption that the doctrine 
 is true. Marian thinks it wrong not to go to church; 
 and she will hold up her hand and cry ' Credo ' to the 
 immortality of her soul, or to any verse in the New 
 Testament. The shareholders of our concern in the 
 city will do the same. But do they or she ever act on 
 the assumption that they are immortal, or that riches 
 are dross, or that class prejudice is damnable? Never. 
 They dont believe it. You will find that Marian has 
 been thoroughly trained to separate her practice from her 
 religious professions ; and if you allude to the inconsis- 
 tency she will instinctively feel that you are offending 
 against good taste. In short, her ' Credo ' doesnt mean 
 
 309 
 
t^he Irrational Knot 
 
 faith: it means' church-going, which is practised because 
 it is respectable, and is respectable because it is a habit 
 of the upper caste. But church-going is church-going ; 
 and business is business, as Marian will soon let you 
 know if you meddle with her business. However, we 
 need not argue about that; we know one another's views 
 and can agree to differ." 
 
 "I should be false to my duty as a Christian priest 
 if I made any such agreement." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but, at any rate, we cant spend all our 
 lives over the same argument. No, as I was saying, 
 take my advice, and let Marian alone." 
 
 " But what do you intend to do, then ? " 
 
 "What can I do but wait? Experience must wear 
 out some of her illusions. She will at least find out that 
 she is no worse off than other women, and better off than 
 some of them. Since the job cannot be undone, we must 
 try how making the best of it will work. I am pretty 
 hopeful myself. How are affairs getting on at your 
 chapel? I am told that the sermons of your locum 
 tenens send the congregation asleep." 
 
 " He is not at his best in the pulpit. A good fellow ! 
 a most loving manl but not able to grapple with a large 
 congregation. After all, I am obliged to confess that 
 very few of our cloth are. The power of preaching is 
 quite an exceptional one; and it is a gift as well as a 
 trust. I humbly believe that the power of the tongue 
 comes of a higher ordination than the bishop's." 
 
 Nothing further was said about Marian. The clergy- 
 man's object in visiting Conolly was, it presently ap- 
 peared, to borrow a portmanteau. When he was gone, 
 Conolly returned to the laboratory, and wrote the fol- 
 lowing letter: 
 
 310 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " My dear Marian 
 
 " I have just had two unexpected visits, one 
 from Mrs. Fairfax, and one from George. Mrs. L. F. 
 said you asked her to call and give me the news. When 
 I told her, without blushing, that you had written to pre- 
 pare me for her visit, she was rather put out, justly 
 thinking me to mean that I did not believe her. As 
 this is fully the thirty-sixth falsehood in which you have 
 detected good Mrs. F., I fear you will be compelled, in 
 spite of your principle of believing the best of everybody, 
 to regard her in future as a not invariably accurate 
 woman. She came with the object of making me go 
 down to Sark. You jvere so young and so much ad- 
 mired: Mr. Douglas was so attentive: you should not be 
 left entirely alone, and so forth. You will be angry with 
 her; but she thinks Douglas so irresistible that she is 
 genuinely anxious about you: I believe she really meant 
 well this time. As to our reverend brother, his port- 
 manteau burst in the train coming from Edinburgh; so 
 he came to borrow mine, having apparently resolved to 
 wear out those of all his friends before buying a new 
 one. Unfortunately, he met Mrs. F. down the road; 
 and she urged him to go down to Sark just as she had 
 urged me. Now as George is incapable of holding his 
 tongue when he ought, I feel sure that unless I tell you 
 what Mrs. F. said, he will anticipate me. Otherwise I 
 should not have mentioned it. until your return, for fear 
 of annoying you and spoiling your visit. So if his rev- 
 erence hints or lectures, you will know what he means 
 and not heed him. Mrs. F's confidences have prob- 
 ably not been confined to me; but were I in your 
 place, I should not make the slightest change in my con- 
 duct in consequence. At all events, if you feel con- 
 strained to display any sudden accession of reserve toward 
 Douglas, tell him the reason ; because if you dont, he will 
 ascribe the change to coquetry. 
 
 " I have turned the spare room on the first floor into 
 a laboratory, and am sitting in it now. I'm thinking of 
 
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The Irrational Knot 
 
 fitting it up like a studio, and having private views of 
 my inventions, as Scott has of his pictures. Parson's 
 man came with some flowers the other day, and informed 
 me that three balls, to the first of which he was invited, 
 took place in the house while I was away. One or two 
 trifling dilapidations, and the fact that somebody has 
 been tampering with the locks of the organ and piano, 
 dispose me to believe this tale. Parson's man declares 
 that he was too virtuous to come to the two last enter- 
 tainments after finding out that the first was a clandes- 
 tine one ; but I believe he made himself disagreeable, and 
 was not invited. Probably he quarrelled with some 
 military follower of Armande's; for he was particularly 
 bitter on the subject of a common soldier making free 
 in a gentleman's house. I have not said anything to 
 the two culprits; but I have contrived to make them 
 suspect that I know all; and they now do their duty 
 with trembling diligence. Some man sat on the little 
 walnut table and broke it; but no other damage worth 
 mentioning has been done. The table was absurdly re- 
 paired with a piece of twine, and pushed into the recess 
 between the organ and the front window, whence I some- 
 times amuse myself by the experiment of pulling it into 
 broad daylight. It is always pushed back again before 
 I return in the evening. 
 
 " How are you off for money ? I have plenty of loose 
 cash just now. Madame called last Monday, and asked 
 Matilda, who opened the door, when you would be back. 
 Thereupon I interviewed her. I must say she is loyal 
 to her clients; for I had great difficulty in extracting her 
 bill, which was, of course, what she called about. She 
 evidently recognizes the necessity of keeping husbands 
 in the dark in such matters. One of the items was for 
 the lace on your maccaroni-colored body, which, as I 
 chanced to remember, you supplied yourself. After a 
 brief struggle she deducted it; so I paid her the bal- 
 ance: only 35^ 13s. 9d. 
 
 "When are you coming back to me? After Sark I 
 fear you will find home a little dull. Nevertheless, I 
 
 312 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 should like to see you again. Come back before Christ- 
 mas, at any rate. 
 
 " Yours, dear Marian, in solitude, 
 
 " Ned." 
 
 The answer came two days later than return of post, 
 and ran thus : 
 
 " Melbourne House, Sark, 
 " Sunday. 
 
 " My dear Ned 
 
 " How very provoking about the servants ! I 
 do not mind Matilda so much; but I do think it hard 
 that we could not depend on Armande, considering all 
 the kindness we have shewn her. I can scarcely be- 
 lieve that she would have acted so badly unless she were 
 led away by Matilda, whom I will pack off the moment 
 I return. As to Armande, I will give her another 
 chance; but she shall have a sharp talking to. I am 
 quite sure that a great deal more mischief has been 
 done than you noticed. If the carpet was danced on 
 for three nights by men in heavy boots, it must be 
 in ribbons. It is really too bad. I do not want any 
 money. Indeed the twenty pounds you sent me last was 
 quite unnecessary, as I have nearly sixteen left. What 
 a rogue Madame is to try and make you pay for my lace ! 
 I am sorry you paid the bill. She had no business to 
 call for her money: she is never paid so soon by anybody. 
 We have had great fun down here. It has been one 
 continual garden party all through; and the weather is 
 still lovely. Mr. McQuinch is very colonial; but I think 
 his ways make the house pleasanter than if he were still 
 English. Carbury is quite stupid in comparison to this 
 place. I have danced more than I ever did in my life 
 before; and now we are so tired of frivolity that if any 
 one ventures to strum a waltz or propose a game, we all 
 protest. We tried to get up some choral music; but it 
 was a failure. On Friday, George, who is looked on as 
 a great man here, was asked to give us a Shakespeare 
 reading. He was only too glad to be asked ; for he had 
 
 313 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 heard Simonton, the actor, read at a bazaar in Scotland, 
 and was full of Richard the Third in consequence. He 
 was not very bad; but his imitation of Simonton was so 
 obvious and so queerly mixed with his own churchy style 
 that he seemed rather monotonous and affected. At least 
 I thought so. I was dreadfully uncomfortable during 
 the reading because of Marmaduke, who behaved scan- 
 dalously. There were some schoolboys present; and he 
 not only encouraged them to misbehave themselves, but 
 was worse than any of them himself. At last he pre- 
 tended to be overcome by the heat, and went out of the 
 room, to my great relief ; but when the passage about the 
 early village cock came, he crew outside the door, where 
 he had been waiting expressly to do it. Nobody could 
 help laughing; and the boys screamed so that Mr. Mc- 
 Quinch took two of them out by the collar. I believe he 
 was glad of the excuse to go out and laugh himself. 
 George was very angry, and no wonder ! He will hardly 
 speak to Marmaduke, who, of course, denies all know- 
 ledge of the interruption ; but George knows better. All 
 the Hardy McQuinches are down here. Uncle Hardy is 
 rather stooped from rheumatism. Nelly is now the chief 
 personage in the family: Lydia and Jane are nowhere 
 beside her. They are good-humored, bouncing girls; 
 but they are certainly not brilliant. I hope it is not 
 Aunt Dora's walnut table that is broken. Was it not 
 mean of Parson's man to tell on Armande? I think, 
 since you have plenty of loose cash, we might venture 
 on a set of those curtains we saw at Protheroe's, for 
 the drawing-room. I can easily use the ones that are 
 there now for portieres. 
 
 "You must not think that I have written this all at 
 once. I shall be able to finish to-day, as it is Sunday, 
 and I have made an excuse to stay away from church. 
 George is to preach; and somehow I never feel toward 
 the service as I ought when he officiates. I know you 
 will laugh at this. 
 
 " The first part of your letter must have a paragraph 
 all to itself. I hardly know what to say. I could not 
 
 3H 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 have believed that Mrs. Leith Fairfax would have be- 
 haved as she has done. I was so angry at first that for 
 fully an hour I felt ill; and I spoke quite wickedly to 
 George the day after he arrived, because he said that 
 Sholto had better not take me down to dinner, although 
 his doing so was quite accidental. I know you will be- 
 lieve me when I tell you that I was quite unconscious 
 that he had been unusually attentive to me; and I was 
 about to write you an indignant denial, only I shewed 
 Nelly your letter, and she crushed me by telling me she 
 had noticed it too. We nearly had a quarrel about it; 
 but she counted up the number of times I had danced 
 with him and sat beside him at dinner; and I suppose an 
 evil-minded woman looking on might think what Mrs. 
 Leith Fairfax thought. But there is no excuse for her. 
 She knows that Sholto and I have been intimate since 
 we were children; and there is something odious in her, 
 of all people, pretending to misunderstand us. What is 
 worse, she was particularly friendly and confidential with 
 me while she was here; and although I tried to keep 
 away from her at first, she persisted in conciliating me, 
 and persuaded me that Douglas had entirely mistaken 
 what she said that other time. Who could have expected 
 her to turn round and calumniate me the moment my 
 back was turned! How can people do such things! I 
 hope we shall not meet her again; for I will never speak 
 to her. I have not said anything to Douglas. How 
 could I? It would only make mischief. I feel that the 
 right course is to come home as soon as I can, and in the 
 meantime to avoid him as much as possible. So you 
 may expect me on Saturday next. Mr. McQuinch is 
 quite dismayed at my departure, which he says will be 
 the signal for a general breaking up; but this I cannot 
 help. I shall be glad to go home, of course. Still, I 
 am sorry to leave this place, where we have all been so 
 jolly. I will write and let you know what train I shall 
 come by; but you need not trouble to meet me, unless 
 you like: I can get home quite well by myself. After 
 all, it is just as well that I am getting away. It was 
 pleasant enough; but now I feel utterly disgusted with 
 
 315 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 everything and everybody. I find I must stop. They 
 have just come in from church; and I must go down. 
 
 "Your affectionate 
 
 " Marian." 
 
 316 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ONE Saturday afternoon in December Marian 
 and Elinor sat drinking tea in the drawing- 
 room at Holland Park. Elinor was present 
 as an afternoon caller: she no longer resided with the 
 Couollys. Marian had been lamely excusing herself for 
 not having read Elinor's last book. 
 
 " Pray dont apologize," said Elinor. " I remember the 
 time when you would have forced yourself to read it 
 from a sense of duty; and I am too delighted to find 
 that nonsense washing out of you at last to feel the 
 wound to my vanity. Oh, say no more, my dear: you 
 can read it still whenever you please. Brother George 
 read it, and was shocked because the heroine loves the 
 villain and tells him so without waiting to be asked. It 
 is odd that long ago, when I believed so devoutly in the 
 tender passion, I never could write a really flaming love 
 story." 
 
 " Dont begin to talk like that," said Marian, crossly. 
 " People do fall in love, fortunately for them. It may 
 be injudicious; and it may turn out badly; but it fills up 
 life in a way that all the barren philosophy and cynicism 
 on earth cannot. Do you think I would not rather 
 have to regret a lost love than to repine because I had 
 been too cautious to love at all? The disappointments 
 of love warm the heart more than the triumphs of in- 
 sensibility." 
 
 " Thats rather a good sentence," said Elinor. " Your 
 
 317 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 talk is more classical than my writing. But what would 
 the departed Marian Lind have said?" 
 
 " The departed Marian Lind was so desperately wise 
 that she neglected that excellent precept, ' Be not right- 
 eous over much, neither make thyself over wise: why 
 shouldest thou destroy thyself?' I took up the Bible 
 last night for the first time since my marriage; and I 
 thought what fools we two used to be when we made 
 up our minds to avoid all the mistakes and follies and 
 feelings of other people, and to be quite superior and 
 rational. ' He that observeth the wind shall not sow ; 
 and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap.' It is 
 all so true, in spite of what Ned says. We were very 
 clever at observing the wind and regarding the clouds; 
 and what are we the- better for it? How much irrep- 
 arable mischief, I wonder, did we do ourselves by let- 
 ting our little wisdoms stifle all our big instincts ! Look 
 at those very other people whom we despised: how 
 happy they are, in spite of their having always done 
 exactly what their hearts told them ! " 
 
 " I think we are pretty well off as people go. I know 
 I am. Certainly it was part of our wisdom that marriage 
 was a bad thing; and I grant that though you married 
 in obedience to your instincts you are as well off as I. 
 But I dont see that we are the worse for having thought 
 a little." 
 
 " I did not marry in obedience to my instincts, Nelly; 
 and you know it. I made a disinterested marriage with 
 a man whom I felt I could respect as my superior. I 
 was convinced then that a grand passion was a folly." 
 
 " And what do you think now ? " 
 
 " I think that I did not know what I was talking 
 about." 
 
 3i8 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I believe you were in love with Ned when you mar- 
 ried him, and long enough before that, too." 
 
 " Of course I loved him. I love him still." 
 
 " Do you, really ? To hear you, one would think that 
 you only respected him as a superior." 
 
 " You have no right to say that. You dont under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Perhaps not. Would you mind explaining?" 
 
 " I do not mean anything particular ; but there are 
 two kinds of love. There is a love which one's good 
 sense suggests — a sort of moral approval " 
 
 Elinor laughed. " Go on," she said. " What is the 
 other sort ? " 
 
 " The other sort has nothing to do with good sense. 
 It is an overpowering impulse — a craving — a faith that 
 defies logic — something to look forward to feeling in 
 your youth, and look back to with a kindling heart in 
 your age." 
 
 " Indeed ! Isnt the difference between the two sorts 
 much the same as the difference between the old love 
 and the new ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I think I will take another cup of tea. You neednt 
 stop flying out at me, though : I dont mind it." 
 
 " Excuse me. I did not mean to fly out at you." 
 
 " It's rather odd that we so seldom meet now without 
 getting on this subject and having a row. Has that 
 struck you at all ? " 
 
 Marian turned to the fire, and remained silent. 
 
 " Listen to me, Marian. You are in the blues. Why 
 dont you go to Ned, and tell him that he is a cast-iron 
 walking machine, and that you are unhappy, and want 
 
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The Irrational Knot 
 
 the society of a flesh-and-blood man? Have a furious 
 scene with him, and all will come right." 
 
 " It is very easy to talk. I could not go to him and 
 make myself ridiculous like that : the words would choke 
 me. Besides, I am not unhappy." 
 
 " What a lie I You wicked woman ! A moment ago 
 you were contemning all prudence; and now you will not 
 speak your mind because you are afraid of being ridicu- 
 lous. What is that but observing the wind and regard- 
 ing the clouds, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " I wish you would not speak harshly to me, even in 
 jest. It hurts me." 
 
 " Serve you right ! I am not a bit remorseful. No 
 matter: let us talk of something else. Where did those 
 flowers come from ? " 
 
 " Douglas sent them. I am going to the theatre to- 
 night; and I wanted a bouquet." 
 
 " Very kind of him. I wonder he did not bring it 
 himself. He rarely misses an excuse for coming." 
 
 "Why do you say that, Nelly? He comes here very 
 seldom, except on Sunday; and that is a regular thing, 
 just as your coming is." 
 
 " He was here on Tuesday ; you saw him at Mrs. 
 Saunders's on Wednesday; he was at your at-home on 
 Thursday ; and he sends a bouquet on Saturday." 
 
 " I cannot help meeting him out ; and not to invite 
 him to my at-home would be to cut him. Pray are you 
 growing spiteful, like Mrs. Leith Fairfax ? " 
 
 " Marian: you got out of bed at the wrong side this 
 morning; and you have made that mistake oftener since 
 your return from Sark than in all your life before. 
 Douglas has become a lazy good-for-nothing; and he 
 comes here a great deal too often. Instead of encour- 
 
 320 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 aging him to dangle after you as he does, and to teach 
 you all those finely turned sentiments about love which 
 you were airing a minute ago, you ought to make him 
 get called to the bar, or sent into Parliament, or put to 
 work in some fashion." 
 
 "Nelly!" 
 
 " Bother Nelly ! It is true ; and you know it as well 
 as I do." 
 
 " If he fancies himself in love with me, I cannot help 
 it." 
 
 " You can help his following you about." 
 
 " I cannot. He does not follow me about. Why does 
 not Ned object? He knows that Sholto is in love with 
 me; and he does not care." 
 
 " Oh, if it is only to make Ned jealous, then I have 
 nothing more to say : you may flirt away as hard as you 
 please. There's a knock at the door, just in time to pre- 
 vent us from quarrelling. I know whose knock it is, too." 
 
 Marian had flushed slightly at the sound ; and Elinor, 
 with her feet stretched out before her, tapped the carpet 
 restlessly with her heels, and watched her cousin sourly 
 as Douglas entered. He was in evening dress. 
 
 " Good-evening," said Elinor. " So you are going to 
 the theatre, too?" 
 
 " Why ? " said Douglas. " Is any one coming with 
 us ? Shall we have the pleasure of your company ? " 
 
 "No/' replied Elinor, drily. "I thought Mr. Con- 
 oily was perhaps going with you." 
 
 " I shall be very glad, I am sure, if he will," said 
 Douglas. 
 
 "He will not," said Marian. "I doubt if he will 
 come home before we start." 
 
 "You got my flowers safely, I see." 
 
 321 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Yes, thank you. They are beautiful." 
 
 " They need be, if you are to wear them." 
 
 " I think I will go," said Elinor, " if you can spare 
 me. Marian has been far from amiable; and if you are 
 going to pay her compliments, I shall very soon be as 
 bad as she. Good-bye." Douglas gratefully went with 
 her to the door. She looked very hard at him, and al- 
 most made a grimace as they parted ; but she said nothing. 
 
 " I am very glad she went," said Marian, when Doug- 
 las returned. " She annoys me. Everything annoys 
 me. 
 
 " You are leading an impossible life here, Marian," 
 he said, putting his hand on her chair and bending over 
 her. "Whilst it lasts, everything will annoy you; and 
 I, who would give the last drop of my blood to spare 
 you a moment's pain, shall never experience the delight 
 of seeing you happy." 
 
 "What other life can I lead?" 
 
 Douglas made an impulsive movement, as though to 
 reply ; but he hesitated, and did not speak. Marian was 
 not looking at him. She was gazing into the fire. 
 
 " Sholto," she said, after an interval of silence, " you 
 must not come here any more." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " You are too idle. You come here too often. Why 
 do you not become a barrister, or go into Parliament, 
 or at least write books? If Nelly can succeed as an 
 author, surely you can." 
 
 " I have left all that behind me. I am a failure : you 
 know why. Let us talk no more of it." 
 
 " Do not go on like that," said Marian, pettishly. " I 
 dont like it." 
 
 322 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I am afraid to say or do anything, you are so easily 
 distressed." 
 
 " Yes, I know I am very cross. Elinor remarked it 
 too. I think you might bear with me, Sholto." Here, 
 most unexpectedly, she rose and burst into tears. " When 
 my whole life is one dreary record of misery, I cannot 
 always be patient. I have been forbearing toward you 
 many times." 
 
 Douglas was at first frightened; for he had never seen 
 her cry before. Then, as she sat down again, and 
 covered her face with her handkerchief, he advanced, 
 intending to kneel and put his arm about her; but his 
 courage failed: he only drew a chair to the fire, and bent 
 over, as he sat beside her, till his face was close to hers, 
 saying, " It is all the fault of your mad marriage. You 
 were happy until then. I have been silent hitherto; but 
 now that I see your tears, I can no longer master 
 myself. Listen to me, Marian. You asked me a moment 
 since what other life was open to you. There is a better 
 
 life. Leave England with me; and — and " Marian 
 
 had raised her head; and as she looked steadily at him, 
 he stopped, and his lips became white. 
 
 " Go on," she said. " I am not angry. What else ? " 
 
 " Nothing else except happiness." His voice died 
 away: there was a pause. Then, recovering himself, 
 he went on with something of his characteristic state- 
 liness. " There is no use in prolonging your present 
 life : it is a failure, like mine. Why should you hesitate ? 
 You know how seldom the mere letter of duty leads to 
 either happiness or justice. You can rescue me from a 
 wasted existence. You can preserve your own heart 
 from a horrible slow domestic decay. He will not care: 
 he cares for nothing : he is morally murdering you. You 
 
 3 2 3 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 have no children to think of. I love you; and I offer 
 you your choice of the fairest spots in the wide world 
 to pass our future in, with my protection to ensure your 
 safety and comfort there, wherever it may be. You 
 know what a hollow thing conventional virtue is. Who 
 are the virtuous people about you ? Mrs. Leith Fairfax, 
 and her like. If you love me, you must know that you 
 are committing a crime against nature in living as you 
 are with a man who is as far removed from you in every 
 human emotion as his workshop is from heaven. You 
 have striven to do your duty by him in vain. He is 
 none the happier : we are unutterably the more miserable. 
 Let us try a new life. I have lived in society here all 
 my days, and have found its atmosphere most worthless, 
 most selfish, most impure. I want to be free — to shake 
 the dust of London off my feet, and enter on a life 
 made holy by love. You can respond to such an aspi- 
 ration: you, too, must yearn for a pure and free life. 
 It is within our reach: you have but to stretch out your 
 hand. Say something to me. Are you listening ? " 
 
 " It seems strange that I should be listening to you 
 quite calmly, as I am; although you are proposing what 
 the world thinks a disgraceful thing." 
 
 " Does it matter what the world thinks ? I would not, 
 even to save myself from a wasted career, ask you to 
 take a step that would really disgrace you. But I can- 
 not bear to think of you looking back some day over 
 a barren past, and knowing that you sacrificed your 
 happiness to Fashion — an idol. Do you remember last 
 Sunday when we discussed that bitter saying that women 
 who have sacrificed their feelings to the laws of society 
 secretly know that they have been fools for their pains? 
 He did not deny it. You could give no good reason for 
 
 324 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 disbelieving it. You know it to be true; and I am only 
 striving to save you from that vain regret. You have 
 shewn that you can obey the world with grace and dig- 
 nity when the world is right. Shew now that you can 
 defy it fearlessly when it is tyrannical. Trust your 
 heart, Marian — my darling Marian: trust your heart — 
 and mine." 
 
 "For what hour have you ordered the carriage?" 
 
 " The carriage ! Is that what you say to me at such 
 a moment? Are you still flippant as ever? " 
 
 " I am quite serious. Say no more now. If I go, I 
 will go deliberately, and not on the spur of your per- 
 suasion. I must have time to think. What hour did 
 you say ? " 
 
 " Seven." 
 
 " Then it is time for me to dress. You will not mind 
 waiting here alone ? " 
 
 " If you would only give me one hopeful word, I 
 think I could wait happily forever." 
 
 "What can I say?" 
 
 " Say that you love me." 
 
 " I am striving to discover whether I have always 
 loved you or not. Surely, if there be such a thing as 
 love, we should be lovers." 
 
 He was chilled by her solemn tone; but he made a 
 movement as if to embrace her. 
 
 " No," she said, stopping him. " I am his wife still. 
 I have not yet pronounced my own divorce." 
 
 She left the room; and he walked uneasily to and fro 
 until she returned, dressed in white. He gazed at her 
 with quickened breath as she confronted him. Neither 
 heeded the click of her husband's latchkey in the door 
 without. 
 
 325 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " When I was a little boy, Marian," he said, gazing 
 at her, " I used to think that Paul Delaroche's Christian 
 martyr was the most exquisite vision of beauty in the 
 world* I have the same feeling as I look at you now." 
 
 " Marian reminds me of that picture too," said Con- 
 oily. "I remember wondering," he continued, smiling, 
 as they started and turned toward him, " why the young 
 lady — she was such a perfect lady — was martyred in a 
 ball dress, as I took her costume to be. Marian's wreath 
 adds to the force of the reminiscence." 
 
 " If I recollect aright," said Marian, taking up his 
 bantering tone with a sharper irony, " Delaroche's martyr 
 shewed a fine sense of the necessity of having her wrists 
 gracefully tied. I am about to follow her example by 
 wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be 
 good enough to assist me, both of you." 
 
 She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after 
 looking at the catch for a moment, closed it dexterously 
 at the first snap. " By the bye," he said, whilst Douglas 
 fumbled at the other bracelet, " I have to run away to 
 Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see 
 one another again until Monday evening." 
 
 Douglas's hand began to shake so that the gold band 
 chafed Marian's arm. "There, there," she said, draw- 
 ing it away from him, " you do it for me, Ned. Sholto 
 has no mechanical genius." Her hand was quite steady 
 as Conolly shut the clasp. " Why must you go to Glas- 
 gow ? " 
 
 " They have got into a mess at the works there; and 
 the engineer has telegraphed for me to go down and 
 see what is the matter. I shall certainly be back on 
 Monday. Have something for me to eat at half past 
 seven. I am sorry to be away from our Sunday dinner, 
 
 326 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Douglas; but you know the popular prejudice. If you 
 want a thing done, see to it yourself." 
 
 " Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the 
 subject of popular prejudices," said Marian. " He says 
 that to defy the world is a proof of honesty." 
 
 " So it is," said Conolly. " I get on in the world by 
 defying its old notions, and taking nobody's advice but 
 my own. Follow Douglas's precepts by all means. Do 
 you know that it is nearly a quarter to eight? " 
 
 " Oh ! Let us go. We shall be late." 
 
 " I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Good-night," said Douglas, keeping at some dis- 
 tance; for he did not care to offer Conolly his hand be- 
 fore Marian now. " Pleasant journey." 
 
 "Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently 
 turned back.] What have you forgotten?" 
 
 " My opera-glass," said Marian. " No, thanks : you 
 would not know where to look for it : I will go myself." 
 She went upstairs ; and Conolly, after a pause, followed, 
 and found her in their bedroom, closing the drawer from 
 which she had just taken the opera-glass. 
 
 " Marian," he said : " you have been crying to-day. 
 Is anything wrong ? or is it only nervousness ? " 
 
 " Only nervousness," said Marian. " How did you 
 find out that I had been crying? it was only for an 
 instant, because Nelly annoyed me. Does my face shew 
 it ? " 
 
 " It does to me, not to anyone else. Are you more 
 cheerful now ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am all right. I will go to Glasgow with you, 
 if you like." 
 
 Conolly recoiled, disconcerted. "Why?" he said. 
 
 327 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Do you wish ? " He recovered himself, and added, 
 
 " It is too cold, my dear; and I must travel very fast. I 
 shall be busy all the time. Besides, you are forgetting 
 the theatre and Douglas, who, by the bye, is catching 
 cold on the steps." 
 
 "Well, I had better go with Douglas, since it will 
 make you happier." 
 
 " Go with Douglas, my dear one, if it will make you 
 happier," said he, kissing her. To his surprise, she threw 
 her arm round him, held him fast by the shoulder, and 
 looked at him with extraordinary earnestness. He gave 
 a little laugh, and disengaged himself gently, saying, 
 " Dont you think your nervousness is taking a turn 
 rather inconvenient for Douglas ? " She let her hands 
 fall; closed her lips; and passed quietly out. He went 
 to the window and watched her as she entered the car- 
 riage. Douglas held the door open for her; and Con- 
 oily, looking at him with a sort of pity, noted that he 
 was, in his way, a handsome man, and that his habit of 
 taking himself very seriously gave him a certain dig- 
 nity. The brougham rolled away into the fog. Con- 
 oily pulled down the blind, and began to pack his port- 
 manteau to a vigorously whistled accompaniment. 
 
 328 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 CONOLLY returned from Glasgow a little before 
 eight on Monday evening. There was no light 
 in the window when he entered the garden. 
 Miss McQuinch opened the door before he reached it. 
 
 " What ! " he said. " Going the moment I come in ! " 
 Then, seeing her face by the hall lamp, he put down his 
 bag quickly, and asked what the matter was. 
 
 " I dont know whether anything is the matter. I am 
 very glad you have returned. Come into the drawing- 
 room: I dont want the servants to hear us talking." 
 
 "There is no light here," he said, following her in. 
 " Is it possible you have been waiting in the dark ? " 
 
 He lit a candle, and was about to light a lamp when 
 she exclaimed impatiently, " Oh, I did not notice it: 
 what does it matter? Do let the lamp alone, and listen 
 to me." He obeyed, much amused at her irritation. 
 " Where has Marian gone to ? " she asked. 
 
 " Is she out ? " he said, suddenly grave. " You forget 
 that I have come straight from Glasgow." 
 
 " I have been here since three o'clock. Marian sent 
 me a note not to come on Sunday — that she should be 
 out and that you were away. But they tell me that she 
 was at home all yesterday, except for two hours when 
 she was out with Sholto. She packed her trunks in the 
 evening, and went away with them. She told the cab- 
 man to drive to Euston. I dont know what it all means; 
 and I have been half distracted waiting here for you. 
 
 329 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I thought you would never come. There is a note for 
 you on your dressing-table." 
 
 He pursed his lips a little and looked attentively at 
 her, but said nothing. 
 
 " Wont you go and open it ? " she said anxiously. " It 
 must contain some explanation." 
 
 " I am afraid the explanation is obvious." 
 
 " You have no right to say that. How do you know ? 
 If you are not going to read her letter, you had better 
 say so at once. I dont want to pry into it: I only want 
 to know what is become of Marian." 
 
 "You shall read it by all means. Will you excuse 
 me whilst I fetch it?" 
 
 She stamped with impatience. He smiled and went 
 for the letter, which, after a brief absence, he placed 
 unopened on the table before her, saying: 
 
 " I suppose this is it. I laid my hand on it in the 
 dark." 
 
 "Are you going to open it?" she said, hardly able 
 to contain herself. 
 
 " No." 
 
 He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he 
 was in a rage. His friendly look and quiet attitude first 
 reassured, then, on second thoughts, exasperated her. 
 
 " Why wont you ? " 
 
 "I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. 
 It interests you. Pray open it." 
 
 " I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will 
 lie there forever." 
 
 He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, 
 and handed her the enclosure. She kept down her 
 hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, still presenting it. 
 At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked to 
 
 33° 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 snatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned 
 pale, and looked as she had used to in her childhood, 
 when in disgrace and resolute not to cry. " I had 
 rather have had my two hands cut off," she said pas- 
 sionately, after a pause. 
 
 " It is very sad for you," said Conolly, sympathetically. 
 " He is an educated man; but I cannot think that he 
 has much in him." 
 
 " He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, 
 indeed ! And what are you going to do, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear." 
 
 " Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening." 
 
 He seemed to know that she would not leave; for he 
 made no movement to open the door for her. On her 
 way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists 
 clenched, that for a moment he was doubtful whether 
 she would not bodily assault him. 
 
 " Are you a brute, or a fool, or both ? " she said, let- 
 ting her temper loose. " How long do you intend to 
 stand there, doing nothing ? " 
 
 " What can I do, Miss McQuinch ? " he said, gently. 
 
 " You can follow her and bring her back before she 
 has made an utter idiot of herself with that miserable 
 blackguard. Are you afraid of him? If you are, I will 
 go with you, and not let him touch you." 
 
 " Thank you," he said, good-humoredly. " But you 
 sea she does not wish to live with me." 
 
 " Good God, man, what woman do you think could 
 wish to live with you! I suppose Marian wanted a 
 human being to live with, and not a calculating machine. 
 You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling 
 enough to have kicked him out of the house, and then 
 beaten her black and blue for encouraging him, you 
 
 33i 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 would have been more of a man than you are : she would 
 have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a 
 stone full of brains — such as they are! Listen to me, 
 Mr. Conolly. There is one chance left — if you will only 
 make haste. Go after them ; overtake them ; thrash him 
 within an inch of his life ; and bring her back and punish 
 her how you please so long as you shew her that you 
 care. You can do it if you will only make up your mind : 
 he is a coward ; and he is afraid of you : I have seen it 
 in his eye. You are worth fifty of him — if you would 
 only not be so cold blooded — if you will only go — dear 
 Mr. Conolly — youre not really insensible — you will, 
 wont you ? " 
 
 This, the first tender tone he had ever heard in her 
 voice, made him look at her curiously. " What does the 
 letter say ? " he asked, still quietly, but inexorably. 
 
 She snatched it up again. " Here," she said. " ' Our 
 marriage was a mistake. I am going away with Doug- 
 las to the other side of the world. It is all I can do to 
 mend matters. Pray forget me.' That is what her let- 
 ter says, since you condescend to ask." 
 
 " It is too late, then. You felt that as you read it, 
 I think?" 
 
 " Yes," she cried, sitting down in a paroxysm of grief, 
 but unable to weep. " It is too late ; and it is all your 
 fault. What business had you to go away? You knew 
 what was going to happen. You intended it to hap- 
 pen. You wanted it to happen. You are glad it has 
 happened; and it serves you right. 'Pray forget her.' 
 Oh, yes, poor girl! she need not trouble about that. I 
 declare there is nothing viler, meaner, cowardlier, sel- 
 fisher on earth than a man. Oh, if we had only done 
 what we always said we would do — kept free from you!" 
 
 332 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " It was a good plan," said Conolly, submissively. 
 
 " Was it ? How were we to know that you were not 
 made of flesh and blood, pray? There, let me go. 
 [The table was between them; but she rose and shook 
 off an imaginary detaining hand.] I dont want to 
 hear anything more about it. I suppose you are right 
 not to care. Very likely she was right to go, too; so 
 we are all right, and everything is for the best, no doubt. 
 Marian is ruined, of course; but what does that matter 
 to you? She was only in your way. You can console 
 
 yourself with your " Here Armande came in; and 
 
 Elinor turned quickly to the fireplace and stood there, 
 so that the housemaid should not see her face. 
 
 "Your dinner, sir," said Armande, with a certain 
 artificiality of manner that was, under the circumstances, 
 significant. " There is a nice fire in the laboratory." 
 
 " Thank you," said Conolly. " Presently, Armande." 
 
 " The things will spoil if you wait too long, sir. The 
 mistress was very particular with me and cook about it." 
 And Armande, with an air of declining further responsi- 
 bility, went out. 
 
 "What shall I do without Marian?" said Conolly. 
 " Not one woman in a hundred is capable of being a 
 mistress to her servants. She saved me all the friction 
 of housekeeping." 
 
 "You are beginning to feel your loss," said Elinor, 
 facing him again. "A pleasant thing for a woman of 
 her talent to be thrown away to save you the friction of 
 housekeeping. If you had paid half the attention to 
 her happiness that she did to your dinners you would 
 not be in your present predicament." 
 
 "Have you really calculated that it is twice as easy 
 to make a woman happy as to feed a man?" 
 
 333 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Calc— ! Yes, I have. I tell you that it is three 
 times as easy — six times as easy: more fool the woman! 
 You can make a woman happy for a week by a word or 
 a kiss. How long do you think it takes to order a week's 
 dinners ? I suppose you consider a kiss a weakness ? " 
 
 " I am afraid— judging by the result— that I am not 
 naturally clever at kissing." 
 
 " No, I should think not, indeed. Then you had better 
 go and do what you are clever at — eat your dinner." 
 
 " Miss McQuinch: did you ever see an unfortunate 
 little child get a severe fall, and then, instead of a little 
 kindly petting, catch a sound whacking from its nurse 
 for daring to startle her and spoil its clothes ? " 
 
 " Well, what is the point of that ? " 
 
 " You remind me a little of the nurse. I have had a 
 sort of fall this evening." 
 
 "And now you are going to pretend to be hurt, I sup- 
 pose; because you dont care to be told that it is your own 
 fault. That is a common experience with children, too. 
 I tell you plainly that I dont believe you are hurt at all; 
 though you may not be exactly pleased — just for the 
 moment. However, I did not mean to be uncivil. If 
 you are really sorry, I am at least as sorry. I have not 
 said all I think." 
 
 "What more?" 
 
 " Nothing of any use to say. I see I am wasting my 
 time here — and no doubt wasting yours too." 
 
 " Well, I think you have had your turn. If you are 
 not thoroughly satisfied, pray go on for ten minutes 
 longer: your feelings do you credit, as the phrase goes. 
 Still, do not forget that you thought just the same of me 
 a week ago; and that if you had said as much then you 
 might have prevented what has happened. Giving me a 
 
 334 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 piece of your mind now is of no use except as far as it 
 relieves you. To Marian or me or anyone else it does 
 no good. So when you have said your worst, we cannot 
 do better, I think, than set our wits to work about our 
 next move." 
 
 Elinor received this for a moment in dudgeon. Then 
 she laughed sourly, and said, " There is some sense in 
 that. I am as much to blame as anybody: I dont deny 
 it — if that is any comfort to you. But as to the next 
 move, you say yourself that it is too late to do anything ; 
 and I dont see that you can do much." 
 
 " That is so. But there are a few things to be faced. 
 First, I have to set Marian and myself free." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Divorce her." 
 
 " Divorce ! " Elinor looked at him in dismay. He 
 was unmoved. Then her gaze fell slowly, and she said : 
 " Yes: I suppose you have a right to that." 
 
 " She also." 
 
 " So that she may marry him — from a sense of duty. 
 That will be so happy for her ! " 
 
 " She will have time, before she is free to find out 
 whether she likes him or not. There will be a great fuss 
 in the family over the scandal." 
 
 "Do you care about that? / dont." 
 
 " No. However, thats a detail. Marian will perhaps 
 write to you. If so, just point out to her that her five 
 hundred a year belongs to her still, and makes her quite 
 independent of him and of me. That is all, I think. 
 You need take no pains now to conceal what has hap- 
 pened: the servants below know it as well as we: in a 
 week it will be town talk." 
 
 Elinor looked wistfully at him, her impetuosity failing 
 
 335 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 her as she felt how little effect it was producing. Yet her 
 temper rather rose than fell at him. There was a much 
 more serious hostility than before in her tone as she said : 
 " You seem to have been thoroughly prepared for what 
 has happened. I do not want any instructions from you 
 as to what I shall write to Marian about her money 
 affairs: I want to know, in case she takes it into her 
 head to come back when she has found what a fool she 
 has made of herself, whether I may tell her that you are 
 glad to be rid of her, and that there is no use in her hu- 
 miliating herself by coming to your door and being 
 turned away." 
 
 " Shall I explain the situation to you from my point 
 of view? " said he. At the sound of his voice she looked 
 up in alarm. The indulgent, half-playful manner which 
 she had almost lost the sense of because it was so in- 
 variable with him in speaking to ladies was suddenly 
 gone. She felt that the real man was coming out now 
 without ceremony. He was quick to perceive the effect 
 he had produced. To soften it, he placed a comfort- 
 able chair on the hearthrug, and said, in his ordinary 
 friendly way : " Sit nearer the fire : we can talk more com- 
 fortably. Now," he continued, standing with his back 
 to the mantelpiece, " let me tell you, Miss McQuinch, 
 that when you talk of my turning people away from my 
 door you are not talking fair and square sense to me. 
 I dont turn my acquaintances off in that way, much less 
 my friends ; and a woman who has lived with me as my 
 wife for eighteen months must always be a rather par- 
 ticular friend. I liked her before I was her husband*, 
 and I shall continue to like her when I am no longer 
 her husband. So you need have no fear on that score. 
 But I wont remain her husband. You said just now 
 
 336 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 that I knew what was going to happen ; that I intended 
 it to happen, wanted it to happen, and am glad it hap- 
 pened. There is more truth in that than you thought 
 when you said it. For some time past Marian has been 
 staying with me as a matter of custom and convenience 
 only, using me as a cover for her philandering with 
 Douglas, and paying me by keeping the house very 
 nicely for me. I had asked myself once or twice how 
 long this was to last. I was in no hurry for the answer ; 
 for although I was wifeless and had no one to live with 
 who really cared for me, I was quite prepared to wait 
 a couple of years if necessary, on the chance of our mak- 
 ing it up somehow. But sooner or later I should have 
 insisted on closing our accounts and parting; and I am 
 not sorry now that the end has come, since it was inevi- 
 table; though I am right sorry for the way it has come. 
 Instead of eloping in the conventional way, she should 
 have come to an understanding with me. I could easily 
 have taken her for a trip in the States, where we could 
 have stopped a few months in South Dakota and got 
 divorced without any scandal. I have never made any 
 claims on her since she found out that she didnt care 
 for me; and she might have known from that that I 
 was not the man to keep her against her will and play 
 dog in the manger with a fellow like Douglas. However, 
 thats past praying for now. She has had enough of me; 
 and I have had more than enough of her set and her 
 family, except that I should like to remain good friends 
 with you. You are the only one of the whole lot worth 
 your salt. It is understood, of course, that you take 
 Marian's part against me on all issues ; but will you be 
 friends as far as is consistent with that? " 
 "All right," said Nelly, shortly. 
 
 337 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Shake hands on it ; and I'll tell you something else 
 that will help you to understand me better," he said, 
 holding out his hand. She gave hers; and when the 
 bargain was struck, he turned to the fire and seated 
 himself on the edge of the table. 
 
 " You know that when I married," he resumed, " I 
 was promoted to mix in fashionable society for the first 
 time. Of course you do : that was the whole excitement 
 of the affair for the family. You know the impression 
 I made on polite society better, probably, than I do. Now 
 tell me : do you know what impression polite society made 
 oh me ? " 
 
 " Dont understand." 
 
 "Perhaps it has never occurred even to you, sharp 
 as you are, that I could have taken society otherwise 
 than at its own valuation of itself, as something much 
 higher, more cultivated and refined than anything that 
 I had been accustomed to. Well, I never believed in 
 that much at any time ; but it was not until I had made 
 a mesalliance for Marian's sake that I realized how in- 
 finitely beneath me and my class was the one I had 
 married into." 
 
 "Mesalliance! — with Marian! I take back the shake 
 hands." 
 
 " Mesalliance with her class, for her sake : I made the 
 distinction purposely. Now what am I, Miss McQuinch ? 
 A worker. I belonged and belong to the class that keeps 
 up the world by its millions of serviceable hands and 
 serviceable brains. All the pride of caste in me settles 
 on that point. I admit no loafer as my equal. The man 
 who is working at the bench is my equal, whether he 
 can do my day's work or not, provided he is doing the 
 best he can. But the man who does not work anyhow, 
 
 338 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 and the class that does not work, is a class below mine. 
 When I annoyed Marian by refusing to wear a tall hat 
 and cuffs, I did so because I wanted to have it seen 
 as I walked through Piccadilly and St. James's Street 
 that I did not belong there, just as your people walk 
 through a poor street dressed so as to shew that they 
 dont belong there. To me a man like your uncle, Ma- 
 rian's father, or like Marmaduke or Douglas, loafing 
 idly round spending money that has been made by the 
 sweat of men like myself, are little better than thieves. 
 They get on with the queerest makeshifts for self-re- 
 spect: old Mr. Lind with family pride, Douglas with per- 
 sonal vanity, and Marmaduke with a sort of interest in 
 his own appetites and his own jollity. Everything is a 
 sham with them: they have drill and etiquet instead of 
 manners, fashions instead of tastes, small talk instead 
 of intercourse. Everything that is special to them as 
 distinguished from workers is a sham: when you get 
 down to the real element in them, good or bad, you find 
 that it is something that is common to them and to all 
 civilized mankind. The reason that this isnt as clear to 
 other workmen who come among them as it is to me is 
 that most workmen share their ignorance of the things 
 they affect superiority in. Poor Jackson, whom you all 
 call the Yankee cad, and who is not a cad at all in his 
 proper place among the engineers at our works, believes in 
 the sham refinements he sees around him at the at-homes 
 he is so fond of. He has no art in him — no trained ear 
 for music or for fine diction, no trained eye for pictures 
 and colors and buildings, no cultivated sense of dignified 
 movement, gesture, and manner. But he knows what 
 fashionable London listens to and looks at, and how it 
 talks and behaves; and he makes that his standard, and 
 
 339 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 sets down what is different from it as vulgar. Now the 
 difference between me and him is that I got an artistic 
 training by accident when I was young, and had the 
 natural turn to profit by it. Before I ever saw a West 
 End Londoner I knew beautiful from ugly, rare from 
 common, in music, speech, costume, and gesture; for in 
 my father's operatic and theatrical companies there did 
 come now and then, among the crowd of thirdraters, a 
 dancer, an actor, a scenepainter, a singer, or a bandsman 
 or conductor who was a fine artist. Consequently, I was 
 not to be taken in like Jackson by made-up faces, trashy 
 pictures, drawling and lounging and strutting and tailor- 
 ing, drawing-room singing and drawing-room dancing, 
 any more than by bad ventilation and unwholesome hours 
 and food, not to mention polite dram drinking, and the 
 round of cruelties they call sport. I found that the mo- 
 ment I refused to accept the habits of the rich as stand- 
 ards of refinement and propriety, the whole illusion of 
 their superiority vanished at once. When I married Ma- 
 rian I was false to my class. I had a sort of idea that 
 my early training had accustomed me to a degree of artis- 
 tic culture that I could not easily find in a working girl, 
 and that would be quite natural to Marian. I soon found 
 that she had the keenest sense of what was ladylike, 
 and no sense of what was beautiful at all. A draw- 
 ing, a photograph, or an engraving sensibly framed with- 
 out a white mount round it to spoil it pained her as much 
 as my wrists without cuffs on them. No mill girl could 
 have been less in sympathy with me on the very points 
 for which I had preferred her to the mill girls. The 
 end of it was that I felt that love had made me do a 
 thoroughly vulgar thing — marry beneath me. These 
 aristocratic idle gentlemen will never be shamed out of 
 
 340 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 tHeir laziness and low-mindedness until the democratic 
 working gentlemen refuse to associate with them instead 
 of running after them and licking their boots. I am 
 heartily glad now to be out of their set and rid of them, 
 instead of having to receive them civilly in my house 
 for Marian's sake. The whole business was strangling 
 me : the strain of keeping my feeling to myself was more 
 than you can imagine. Do you know that there have 
 been times when I have been so carried away with the 
 idea that she must be as tired of the artificiality of our 
 life as I was, that I have begun to speak my mind frankly 
 to her; and when she recoiled, hurt and surprised and 
 frightened that I was going to turn coarse at last, I have 
 shut up and sat there apparently silent, but really saying 
 under my breath : ' Why dont you go ? Why dont you 
 leave me, vanish, fly away to your own people? You 
 must be a dream : I never married you. You dont know 
 me : you cant be my wife : your lungs were not made to 
 breathe the air I live in.' I have said a thousand things 
 like that, and then wondered whether there was any truth 
 in telepathy — whether she could possibly be having my 
 thoughts transferred to her mind and thinking it only her 
 imagination. I would ask myself whether I despised her 
 or not, calling on myself for the truth as if I did not 
 believe the excuses I made for her out of the fondness 
 I could not get over. I am fond of her still, sometimes. 
 I did not really — practically, I mean — despise her until 
 I gave up thinking about her at all. There was a cer- 
 tain kind of contempt in that indifference, beyond a 
 doubt : there is no use denying it. Besides, it is proved to 
 me now by the new respect I feel for her because she 
 has had the courage and grit to try going away with 
 Douglas. But my love for her is over: nothing short of 
 
 34i .-*< . „. 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 her being born over again — a thing that sometimes hap- 
 pens — will ever bring her into contact with me after this. 
 To put it philosophically, she made the mistake of avoid- 
 ing all realities, and yet marrying herself to the hardest 
 of realities, a working man; so it was inevitable that 
 she should go back at last to the region of shadows and 
 mate with that ghostliest of all unrealities, the non-work- 
 ing man. Perhaps, too, the union may be more fruitful 
 than ours: the cross between us was too violent. Now 
 you have the whole story from my point of view. What 
 do you " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Elinor, interrupting him. " What is 
 that noise outside ? " 
 
 The house bell began to ring violently; and they could 
 hear a confused noise of voices and footsteps without. 
 
 " Can she have come back ? " said Elinor, starting up. 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Conolly, looking disturbed for the 
 first time. They stood a moment listening, with averted 
 eyes. A second peal from the bell was followed by roars 
 of laughter, amid which a remonstrant voice was audible. 
 Then the house door was hammered with a stick. Con- 
 olly ran downstairs at once and opened it. On the step 
 he found Marmaduke reeling in the arms of the Rev. 
 George. 
 
 " How are you, ol' fler ? " said Marmaduke, plunging 
 into the hall. " The parson is tight. I found him tum- 
 bling about High Street, and brought him along." 
 
 " Pray excuse this intrusion," whispered the Rev. 
 George. " You see the state he is in. He accosted me 
 near Campden Hill; and I really could not be seen walk- 
 ing with him into town. I wonder he was not arrested." 
 
 " He is the worse for drink; but he is sober enough 
 to know how to amuse himself at your expense," said 
 
 342 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Conolly, aloud. " Come up to the laboratory. Miss 
 McQuinch is there." 
 
 " But he is not fit," urged the clergyman. " Look at 
 him trying to hang up his hat. How absurd — I should 
 rather say how deplorable ! I assure you he is perfectly 
 tipsy. He has been ringing the bells of the houses, 
 and requesting females to accompany us. Better warn 
 Elinor." 
 
 " Nonsense!" said Conolly. " I have some news that 
 will sober him. Here is Miss McQuinch. Are you 
 going?" 
 
 " Yes," said Elinor. " I should lose my patience if 
 I had to listen to George's comments ; and I am tired. I 
 would rather go." 
 
 " Not yet, Nelly. Wont um stay and talk to urn's 
 Marmadukes ? " 
 
 " Let me go," said Elinor, snatching away her hand, 
 which he had seized. " You ought to be at home in bed. 
 You are a sot." At this Marmaduke laughed boister- 
 ously. She passed him contemptuously, and left. The 
 three men then went up-stairs, Marmaduke dropping his 
 pretence of drunkenness under the influence of Conolly's 
 presence. 
 
 " Marian is not in, I presume," said the clergyman, 
 when they were seated. 
 
 " No." said Conolly. " She has eloped with Douglas." 
 
 They stared at him. Then Marmaduke gave a long 
 whistle ; and the clergyman rose, pale. " What do you 
 mean, sir ? " he said. 
 
 Conolly did not answer; and the Rev. George slowly 
 sat down again. 
 
 "Well, I'm damned sorry for it," said Marmaduke, 
 
 343 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 emphatically. " It was a mean thing for Douglas to do, 
 with all his brag about his honor." 
 
 The Rev. George covered his face with his handker- 
 chief and sobbed. 
 
 " Come, shut up, old fellow; and dont make an ass of 
 yourself," said Marmaduke. "What are you going to 
 do, Conolly?" 
 
 " I must simply divorce her." 
 
 " Go for heavy damages, Conolly. Knock a few thou- 
 sand out of him, just to punish him." 
 
 " He could easily afford it. Besides, why should I 
 punish him ? " 
 
 " My dear friend," cried the clergyman, " you must 
 not dream of a divorce. I implore you to abandon such 
 an idea. Consider the disgrace, the impiety ! The pub- 
 licity would kill my father." 
 
 Conolly shook his head. 
 
 "There is no such thing as divorce known to the 
 Church. 'What God hath joined together, let no man 
 put asunder.' " 
 
 " She had no right to bolt," said Marmaduke. " Thats 
 certain." 
 
 " I was married by a registrar," said Conolly ; " and as 
 there is no such thing as civil marriage known to the 
 Church, our union, from the ecclesiastical point of view, 
 has no existence. We were not joined by God, in fact, 
 in your sense. To deny her the opportunity of remarry- 
 ing would be to compel her to live as an adulteress in the 
 eye of the law, which, by the bye, would make me the 
 father of Douglas's children. I cannot, merely because 
 your people are afraid of scandal, take such a revenge on 
 Marian as to refuse her the freedom she has sarcificed so 
 much for. After all, since our marriage has proved 
 
 344 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 a childless one, the only reason for our submitting to be 
 handcuffed to one another, now that our hearts are no 
 longer in the arrangement, is gone." 
 
 " The game began at Sark," said Marmaduke. "Doug- 
 las stuck to her there like a leech. He's been about the 
 house here a good deal since she came back. I often won- 
 dered you didnt kick him out. But, of course, it was not 
 my business to say anything. Was she huffed into going ? 
 You hadnt any row with her just before, had you ? " 
 
 " We never had rows." 
 
 " That was your mistake, Conolly. You should have 
 heard poor Susanna and me fighting. We always ended 
 by swearing we would never speak to one another 
 again. Nothing duller than a smooth life. If you had 
 given Marian something to complain of, she would have 
 been too much taken up with it to bother about Douglas." 
 
 " But have you ascertained whither they have gone ? " 
 said the clergyman, distractedly. " Will you not follow 
 them?" 
 
 " I know nothing of their movements. Probably they 
 are crossing to New York." 
 
 " But surely you ought to follow her," said the Rev. 
 George. " You may yet be in time to save her from 
 worse than death." 
 
 " Yah ! " said Marmaduke. " Drop all that rot, George. 
 Worse than death be hanged! Serves the family right! 
 They are a jolly sight too virtuous : it will do them good 
 to get shewn up a bit." 
 
 " If you have no respect for the convictions of a priest," 
 exclaimed the Rev. George, shedding tears, " you might 
 at least be silent in the presence of a heartbroken brother 
 and husband." 
 
 " Oh, I dont want to shew any want of consideration 
 
 345 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 for you or Conolly," said Marmaduke, sulkily. "No 
 doubt it's rough on you. But as to the feelings of the 
 family, I tell you flatly that I dont care if the whole 
 crew were brought to the Old Bailey to-morrow and 
 convicted of bigamy. It would take the conceit out of 
 them." 
 
 " I know not how to break this wretched news> to my 
 father," said the Rev. George, turning disconsolately from 
 his sottish cousin to Conolly. 
 
 " It is no such uncommon occurrence. The less fuss 
 made about it the better. She is not to blame, and I 
 shall not be heard crying out misery and disgrace. Your 
 family can very well follow my example. I have nothing 
 to say against her, and I believe she has nothing to say 
 against me. Nothing can prevent such publicity as a 
 petition for divorce must entail. Your father will sur- 
 vive it, never fear." 
 
 The clergyman, remembering how vainly he had tried 
 to change Conolly's intention when Marian was to be 
 married, felt that he should succeed no better now that 
 she was to be divorced. Silent and cast down, he sat 
 dangling his handkerchief between his knees and leaning 
 forward on his elbows toward the fire. 
 
 " You must excuse me if I see my way straight through 
 to the end. I daresay you would rather realize it gradu- 
 ally, inevitable as it is," added Conolly, looking down 
 with some pity at his drooping figure. " I cannot help 
 my habit of mind. When are you going to be married ? " 
 he continued, to Marmaduke. 
 
 " I dont know. The Countess is in a hurry. I'm not. 
 But I suppose it will be some time in spring." 
 
 "You have made up your mind to it at last?" 
 
 " Oh, I never had any particular objection to it, only 
 
 346 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I dont like to be hunted into a corner. Conny is a good 
 little girl, and will make a steady wife. I dont like her 
 mother ; but as for herself, she is fond of me; and after 
 all, I did lead her a dance long ago. Besides, old boy, 
 the Earl is forking out handsomely ; and as I have some 
 notion of settling down to farm, his dust will come in 
 conveniently as capital." 
 
 The clergyman rose, and slowly pulled on his woolen 
 gloves. 
 
 " If youre going, I will see you part of the way," said 
 Marmaduke. " I'll cheer you up. You know you neednt 
 tell the governor until to-morrow." 
 
 " I had rather go alone, if you intend to behave as you 
 did before." 
 
 " Never fear. I'm as sober as a judge now. Come 
 along. Away with melancholy! Youll have Douglas 
 for a brother-in-law before this time next year." 
 
 This seemed to have been in the clergyman's mind; 
 for he shook hands with his host more distantly than 
 usual. When they were gone, Conolly went to the 
 laboratory, and rang for his neglected dinner, which he 
 ate with all a traveller's appetite. From the dinner table 
 he went straight to the organ, and played until a little 
 before midnight, when, after a brief turn in the open 
 air, he retired to bed, and was soon quietly asleep. 
 
 347 
 
BOOK IV 
 
M 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ISS McQUINCH spent Christmas morning in 
 her sitting-room reading a letter which had 
 come by the morning post. It was dated the 
 17th December at New York: and the formal beginning 
 and ending were omitted. This was an old custom be- 
 tween Marian and her cousin. In their girlish corre; 
 spondence they had expressed their affection by such 
 modes of address as " My darling Marian," and " My 
 dearest Nelly." Subsequently they became oppressed by 
 these ceremonies and dropped them. Thereafter their 
 letters contained only the matter to be communicated and 
 the signature. 
 
 " You are the only person in England," wrote Marian, 
 " to whom I dare write now. A month ago I had more 
 correspondents than I had time to answer. Do you 
 know, Nelly, I hesitated before commencing this letter, 
 lest you should no longer care to have anything to do 
 with me. That may have been an unworthy thought 
 for a friend: but it was an unavoidable one for a woman. 
 
 "And now comes the great vain question: What does 
 everybody say? Oh, if I could only disembody myself; 
 fly back to London for a few hours; and listen invisibly 
 to society talking about me. I know this is mean: but 
 one must fill up life with some mean curiosities. So 
 please tell me what kind of sensation I have caused. 
 Just the usual one, I suppose. Half the people never 
 would have thought it; and the other half knew all 
 along what it would come to. Well, I do not care 
 much about the world in general; but I cannot quiet 
 
 351 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 my conscience on the subject of my father and George. 
 It must be very hard on papa that, after being disap- 
 pointed in my marriage and having suffered long ago 
 from what my mother did, he should now be disgraced 
 by his daughter. For disgraced, alas! is the word. I 
 am afraid poor George's prospects must be spoiled 
 by the scandal, which, I know well, must be terrible. 
 I thought my first duty was to leave Ned free, and 
 to free myself, at all hazards ; and so I did not dwell on 
 the feelings and interests of others as much as I perhaps 
 ought to have done. There is one point about which I 
 am especially anxious. It never occurred to me before 
 I went that people might say that my going was Ned's 
 fault, and that he had treated me badly. You must con- 
 tradict this with all your might and main if you hear it 
 even hinted at. 
 
 " There is no use in putting off the confession any 
 longer, Nelly: I have made an utter fool of myself. / 
 wish I were back with Ned again. There! what do you 
 think of that? Now for another great confession, and 
 
 a most humiliating one. Sholto is a I dont know 
 
 what epithet is fair. I suppose I have no right to call 
 him an impostor merely because we were foolish enough 
 to overrate him. But I can hardly believe now that we 
 ever really thought that there were great qualities and 
 powers latent beneath his proud reserve. Ned, I know, 
 never believed in Sholto; and I, in my infinite wisdom, 
 set that down to his not understanding him. Ned was 
 right, as usual. If you want to see how selfish people 
 are, and how skin-deep fashionable politeness is, take 
 a voyage. Go with a picked company of the nice people 
 you have met for an hour or so at a dinner or an at-home; 
 and see how different they will appear when they have 
 been cooped up in a ship with you day and night for a 
 week. An ocean steamer is the next worst thing to the 
 Palace of Truth. Poor Sholto did not stand the ordeal. 
 He was ridiculously distant in his manner to the rest of 
 the passengers, and in little matters at table and so 
 forth he was really just as selfish as he could be. He 
 was impatient because I was ill the first two days, and 
 
 352 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 afterwards he seemed to think that I ought not to speak 
 to anyone but himself. The doctor, who was very at- 
 tentive to me, was his particular aversion; and it was 
 on his account that we had our first quarrel, the upshot 
 of which was a scene between them, which I overheard. 
 One very fine day, when all the passengers were on deck, 
 Sholto met the doctor in the saloon, and offered him a 
 guinea for his attendance on me, telling him in the most 
 offensively polite way that I would not trouble him for 
 any further services. The doctor retorted very promptly 
 and concisely ; and though what he said was not dignified, 
 I sympathized with him, and took care to be very friendly 
 with him at dinner. (Meals take place on board ship 
 at intervals of ten minutes: it is horrifying to see the 
 quantity of food the elderly people consume.) To pre- 
 vent further hostilities I took care to be always in 
 the way when the doctor encountered Sholto afterwards. 
 I cannot imagine Ned involving himself in such a paltry 
 squabble. It is odd how things come about. I used 
 to take Sholto's genius for granted, and think a great 
 deal of it. In another sense, I used to take Ned's 
 genius for granted, and think nothing of it. Now I 
 have found out in a single fortnight that we saw all of 
 Sholto that there was to be seen. His reserves of talent 
 existed only in our imagination. He has absolutely no 
 sense of humor; and he is always grumbling. Neither 
 the servants, nor the food, nor the rooms, nor the wine, 
 satisfy him. Imagine how this comes home to me, who, 
 from not having heard grumbling for two years, had 
 forgotten that men ever were guilty of it. I flirted a 
 little, a very little, with the doctor; not because I meant 
 anything serious, but because it amused me and made 
 the trip pleasant. Sholto will not understand this. One 
 day, on board, I was indiscreet enough to ask Sholto the 
 use of a piece of machinery belonging to the ship. Ned 
 would have known, or, if he had not, would very soon 
 have found out. Sholto didnt know, and was weak 
 enough to pretend that he did; so he snubbed me by 
 saying that I could not understand it. This put me on 
 my mettle; and I asked the surgeon that afternoon about 
 
 353 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 it. The surgeon didnt know, and said so; but he ap- 
 pealed to the first officer, who explained it. I intended 
 to revenge myself on Sholto by retailing the explanation 
 to him next day; but unfortunately, whether through 
 the first officer's want of perspicuity or my own stu- 
 pidity, I was not a bit the wiser for the explanation. 
 
 "I can tell you nothing as to what we are likely to 
 do next. As Sholto has given up all his prospects for 
 me, I cannot honorably desert him. I know now that 
 I have ruined myself for nothing, and I must at least 
 try to hide from him that he has done likewise. I can 
 see that he is not happy; but he tries so desperately 
 to persuade himself that he is, and clings so to the idea 
 that the world is well lost for me, that I have not the 
 heart to undeceive him. So we are still lovers; and, 
 cynical though it sounds, I make him a great deal happier 
 in my insincerity than I could if I really loved him, 
 because I humor him with a cunning quite incompatible 
 with passion. He, on the other hand, being still sincere, 
 tries my patience terribly with his jealousies and impor- 
 tunities. As he has nothing to do, he is almost always 
 with me; and a man who has no office to go- to— I 
 dont care who he is — is a trial of which you can have 
 no conception. So much for our present relations. But 
 I fear — indeed I know — that they will not last long. I 
 dare not look steadily at the future. In spite of all that 
 he has sacrificed for me, I cannot live forever with him. 
 There are times at which he inspires me with such a 
 frenzy of aversion and disgust that I have to put the 
 strongest constraint upon myself to avoid betraying my 
 feelings to him. We intended going to the West Indies 
 direct from here, in search of some idyllic retreat where 
 we could live alone together. He still entertains this 
 project; but as I have totally abandoned it I put him 
 off with some pretext for remaining here whenever he 
 mentions it. I have only one hope of gaining a sepa- 
 ration without being open to the reproach of having 
 deserted him. You remember how we disputed that 
 Saturday about the merits of a grand passion, which I 
 so foolishly longed for. Well, I have tried it, and 
 
 354 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 proved it to be a lamentable delusion, selfish, obstinate, 
 blind, intemperate, and transient. As it has evaporated 
 from me, so it will evaporate from Sholto in the course 
 of time. It would have done so already, but that his 
 love was more genuine than mine. When the time 
 comes, he will get rid of me without the least remorse; 
 and so he will have no excuse for reviving his old com- 
 plaints of my treachery. 
 
 " One new and very disagreeable feature in my exist- 
 ence, which I had partly prepared myself for, is the 
 fear of detection. We sailed before our flight had be- 
 come public; and as there was fortunately no one on 
 board who knew us, I had a nine days' respite, and could 
 fearlessly approach the other women, who, I suppose, 
 would not have spoken to me had they known the truth. 
 But here it is different. Ned's patents are so much more 
 extensively worked here than in England, and the people 
 are so go-ahead, that they take a great interest in him, 
 and are proud of him as an American. The news got 
 into the papers a few days after we arrived. To appre- 
 ciate the full significance of this, you should know what 
 American newspapers are. One of them actually printed 
 a long account of my going away, with every paragraph 
 headed in large print, ' Domestic Unhappiness,' ' The 
 Serpent in the Laboratory,' 'The Temptation,' 'The 
 Flight,' ' The Pursuit,' and so on, all invented, of course. 
 Other papers give the most outrageous anecdotes. Old 
 jokes are revived and ascribed to us. I am accused of 
 tearing his hair out, and he of coming home late at nights 
 drunk. Two portraits of ferocious old women supposed 
 to be Ned's mother-in-law have been published. The 
 latest version appeared in a Sunday paper, and is quite 
 popular in this hotel. According to it, Ned was in the 
 habit of ' devoting me to science ' by trying electrical 
 experiments on me. ' This,' the account says, ' was kind 
 of rough on the poor woman.' The day before I 
 'scooted,' a new machine appeared before the house, 
 drawn by six horses. ' What are them men foolin' 
 round with, Mr. C.?' said I. 'That's hubby's latest,' 
 replied Ned. ' I guess it's the boss electro-dynamic fixin' 
 
 355 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 in the universe. Full charge that battery with a pint of 
 washing soda, an' you'll fetch up a current fit to ravage 
 a cont'nent. You shall have a try t'morro' mornin', Sal. 
 Youre better seasoned to it than most Britishers; but 
 if it dont straighten your hair and lift the sparks outer 
 
 your eyelashes ! ' ' You bet it wont, Mr. C.,' said I. 
 
 That night (this is only what the paper says, mind) I 
 stole out of bed ; arranged the wires on each side of Ned 
 so that if he stirred an inch he would make contact; 
 charged the battery ; and gently woke him, saying, ' Mr. 
 C, love, dont stir for your life. Them things that's 
 ticklin' your whiskers is the conductors of that boss fixin' 
 o' yourn. If I was you, I'd lie still until the battery runs 
 down.' ' Darn it all,' said Ned, afraid to lift his lips for 
 a shout, and coming out in cold water all over the fore- 
 head, ' it wont run down for a week clear.' ' That'll 
 answer me nicely,' I replied. ' Good-bye, Mr. C. Young 
 Douglas from the corner grocery is waitin' for me with 
 a shay down the avenue.' I cannot help laughing at 
 these things, but they drive Sholto frantic. He is al- 
 ways described in them as a young man from some shop 
 or other. He tries hard, out of delicacy, to keep the 
 papers which contain them away from me; but I hear 
 about them at breakfast, and buy -them downstairs in 
 the hall for myself. Another grievance of Sholto's is 
 that I will not have meals privately. But my dislike to 
 being always alone with him is greater than my dread 
 that my secret will leak out, and that some morning I 
 shall see in the people's faces that the Mrs. Forster who 
 has so often been regaled with the latest account of the 
 great scandal, is no other than the famous Mrs. Conolly. 
 That evil day will come, sooner or later ; but I had rather 
 face it in one of these wonderful hotels than in a board- 
 ing-house, which I might be asked to leave. As to taking 
 a house of our own, I shrink from any such permanent 
 arrangement. We are noticed a good deal. Sholto is, 
 of course, handsome and distinguished; and people take 
 a fancy to me just as they used to long ago. I was once 
 proud of this; but now it is a burden to me. For in- 
 stance, there was a Mrs. Crawford staying here with her 
 
 356 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 husband, a general, who has just built a house here. She 
 was so determined to know me that I found it hard to keep 
 her off without offending her. At last she got ill; and 
 then I felt justified in nursing her. Sholto was very 
 sulky because I did so, and wanted to know what business 
 it was of mine. I did not trouble myself about his anger, 
 and Mrs. Crawford was well in two days. In fact, I 
 think Sholto was right in saying that she had only over- 
 eaten herself. After that I could avoid her no longer, 
 and she was exceedingly kind to me. She wanted to 
 introduce me to all her New York friends, and begged 
 me to leave the hotel and go to her new mansion. There 
 was plenty of room for us, she said. I did not know 
 what to say. I could not repay her kindness by going 
 to her house under false colors, and letting her introduce 
 me to her circle; and yet I could make no reasonable 
 excuse. At last, seeing that she attributed my refusals 
 to pride, I told her plainly that if her friends were to 
 learn my history by any accident they might not thank 
 her for the introduction. She was quite confounded; 
 but she did not abate her kindness in the least, although 
 my reservation of confidence in only giving her a hint 
 of the truth, checked her advances. You may think this 
 an insane indiscretion on my part; but if you knew how 
 often I have longed to stand up before everybody and 
 proclaim who I am, and so get rid of the incubus of a 
 perpetual falsehood, you would not be so much surprised. 
 There is one unspeakable blessing in American law. It 
 is quite easy to obtain a divorce. One can get free with- 
 out sacrificing everything except bare existence. I do 
 not care what anybody may argue to the contrary, our 
 marriage laws are shameful. 
 
 " I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you 
 desert me, Nelly, there is no such thing as friendship in 
 the world. I want particularly to know what Ned did — 
 as far as you know — when he heard the news. Is papa 
 very angry? And, above all, could you find out how 
 Mrs. Douglas is? I thought that Sholto would be un- 
 easy and remorseful about her; but he does not really 
 care Jialf so much as I do. How selfish I have been! 
 
 357 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I used to flatter myself that I was thoughtful for oth- 
 ers because I made a habit — a detestably self-conscious 
 habit — of being considerate in trifles. And in the end, 
 after being so vain-gloriously attentive to the momentary 
 comfort of all connected with me, I utterly forgot them 
 and thought only of myself when their whole happiness 
 was concerned. I never knew how high I stood in my 
 own estimation until I found how far the discovery of 
 my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me every- 
 thing. I cannot write any more now. My eyes are 
 smarting: I feel as if I had been writing for a whole 
 month instead of two days. Good-bye for three weeks. 
 
 " Marian." 
 
 " P.S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism 
 in one of the papers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed 
 here completely. I fear from the wording that her un- 
 fortunate habit was apparent to the audience." 
 
 358 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ON a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas 
 entered a hotel in New York, and ascended to 
 a room on the first floor. Marian was sitting 
 there, thinking, with a letter in her lap. She only looked 
 up for a moment when he entered; and he plucked off 
 his sealskin gloves and threw aside his overcoat in silence. 
 
 " It is an infernal day," he said presently. 
 
 Marian sighed, and roused herself. " The rooms look 
 cheerless in winter without the open fireplaces we are 
 accustomed to in England." 
 
 " Damn the rooms!" he muttered. 
 
 Marian took up her letter again. 
 
 "Do you know that he has filed a petition for di- 
 vorce ? " he said, aggressively. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you 
 have known it for days past." 
 
 " Yes. I thought it was a matter of course." 
 
 " Or rather you did not think at all. I suppose you 
 would have left me in ignorance forever, if I had not 
 heard from London myself." 
 
 " Is it of importance, then ? " 
 
 " Certainly it is — of vital importance." 
 
 " Have you any other news ? From whom have you 
 heard?" 
 
 " I have received some private letters." 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon." 
 
 359 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of 
 the window, frowning. She sat as before. 
 
 " How much longer do you intend to stay in this 
 place? " he said, turning upon her suddenly. 
 
 "In New York?" 
 
 " This is New York, I believe." 
 
 " I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else." 
 
 " Indeed ! On what grounds have you arrived at that 
 cheering conclusion ? " 
 
 Marian shrugged her shoulders. " I dont know," she 
 said. 
 
 " Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, 
 if you are, you fail to communicate your state of mind 
 to those about you." 
 
 " So it seems." 
 
 " What does that mean? " 
 
 " That you do not seem to be happy either," 
 
 " How in the devil's name can you expect me to be 
 happy in this city? Do you think it is pleasant to have 
 no alternative to the society of American men except 
 that of a sulky woman ? " 
 
 " Sholto ! " said Marian, rising quickly, and looking 
 at him in surprise. 
 
 " Spare me these airs," he said, coldly. " You will 
 have to accustom yourself to hear the truth occasionally." 
 
 She sat down again. " I am not giving myself airs," 
 she said, earnestly. " I am astonished. Have I really 
 been sulky?" 
 
 " You have been in the sulks for days past ; and you 
 are in them at this moment." 
 
 " There is some misunderstanding between us then ; 
 for you have seemed to me quite cross and out of sorts 
 
 360 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 for the last week ; and I thought you were out of temper 
 when you came in just now." 
 
 " That is rather an old-fashioned retort." 
 
 " Sholto: I do not know whether you intend it or not ; 
 but you are speaking very slightingly to me." 
 
 He muttered something, and walked across the room 
 and back. " I am quite clear on one point at least," he 
 said. " It was not for this sort of thing that I crossed the 
 Atlantic with you; and you had better make our rela- 
 tions more agreeable if you wish me to make them per- 
 manent." 
 
 " You to make them permanent ? I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I shall not shrink from explaining myself. If your 
 husband's suit is undefended, he will obtain a decree 
 which will leave you a single woman in six months. 
 Now, whatever you may think to the contrary, there is 
 not a club in London that would hold me in any way 
 bound to marry you after the manner in which you have 
 behaved. Let me remind you that your future position 
 depends on your present conduct. You have apparently 
 forgotten it." 
 
 She looked at him ; and he went back to the window. 
 
 " My husband's suit cannot be defended," she said. 
 " Doubtless you will act according to the dictates of the 
 London clubs." 
 
 " I do not say so," he said, turning angrily. " I shall 
 act according to the dictates of my own common sense. 
 And do not be too sure that the petition will be unop- 
 posed. The law recognizes the plea of connivance." 
 
 "But it would be a false plea," said Marian, raising 
 her voice. 
 
 " I shall not discuss that with you. Whether your hus- 
 
 361 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 band was blind, or merely kept his eyes shut will not be 
 decided by us. You have been warned. We will drop 
 the subject now, if you please." 
 
 "Do you suppose," said Marian, with a bright color 
 in her cheeks, " that after what you have said, anything 
 could induce me to marry you ? " 
 
 He was startled, and remained for a moment motion- 
 less. Then he said, in his usual cold tone, "As you 
 please. You may think better of it. I will leave you 
 for the present. When we meet again, you will be 
 calmer." 
 
 " Yes," she said. " Good-bye." 
 
 Without answering, he changed his coat for a silk 
 jacket, transferred his cigar-case to a pocket in it, and 
 went out. When he had passed the threshold, he hesi- 
 tated, and returned. 
 
 " Why do you say good-bye ? " he said, after clearing 
 his throat uneasily. 
 
 " I do not like to leave you without saying it." 
 
 " I hope you have not misunderstood me, Marian. I 
 did not mean that we should part." 
 
 " I know that. Nevertheless, we shall part. I will 
 never sleep beneath the same roof with you again." 
 
 " Come!" he said, shutting the door: " this is nonsense. 
 You are out of temper." 
 
 " So you have already told me," she said, becoming 
 pale. 
 
 "Well, but — Marian: perhaps I may have spoken 
 rather harshly just now ; but I did not mean you to take 
 it so. You must be reasonable." 
 
 " Pray let us have no more words about it. I need 
 no apologies, and desire no advances. Good-bye is 
 enough." 
 
 362 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " But, Marian," said he, coming nearer, " you must 
 not fancy that I have ceased to love you." 
 
 "Above all," said Marian, "let us have no more of 
 that. You say you hate this place and the life we lead 
 here. I am heartily sick of it, and have been so for a 
 long time." 
 
 " Let us go elsewhere." 
 
 " Yes, but not together. One word," she added reso- 
 lutely, seeing his expression become fierce. " I will not 
 endure any violence, even of language, from you. I 
 know of old what you are when you lose your temper; 
 and if you insult me I will summon aid, and proclaim 
 who I am." 
 
 " Do you think I am going to strike you ? " 
 
 " No, because you dare not. But I will not listen to 
 oaths or abuse." 
 
 "What have you to complain of? What is your 
 grievance?" 
 
 " I make no complaint. I exercise the liberty I bought 
 so dearly to go where I please and do what I please." 
 
 "And to desert me when I have sacrificed everything 
 for you. I have incurred enormous expenses; alienated 
 my friends; risked my position in society; and broken 
 my mother's heart for your sake." 
 
 " But for that I would have left you before. I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 " You have heard something in that letter which makes 
 you hope that your husband will take you back. Not a 
 woman in London will speak to you." 
 
 " I tell you I am not going back. Oh, Sholto, dont 
 be so mean. Can we not part with dignity? We have 
 made a mistake. Let us acknowledge it quietly, and go 
 our several ways." 
 
 363 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "I will not be got rid of so easily as you suppose," 
 he said, his face darkening menacingly. " Do you think 
 I believe in your going out alone from this hotel and 
 living by yourself in a strange city? Come! who is it? " 
 
 "Who is ? What do you mean?" 
 
 "What new connexion have you formed? You were 
 very anxious about our ship returning the other day — 
 anxious about the mails, of course. Perhaps also about 
 the surgeon." 
 
 " I understand. You think I am leaving you to go to 
 some other man. I will tell you now the true reason." 
 
 " Do," said he, sarcastically, biting his lip. 
 
 " I will. I am leaving you because, instead of loving 
 you, as I foolishly thought I could, I neither respect nor 
 even like you. You are utterly selfish and narrow-mind- 
 ed; and I deserve my disappointment for having de- 
 serted for your sake a far better man. I am sorry 
 you have sacrified so much for me ; but if you had been 
 worthy of a woman's regard, you would not have lost 
 me. 
 
 DoUglas stared at her. "I selfish and narrow-mind- 
 ed ! " he said, with the calm of stupefaction. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I may have been narrow-minded in devoting myself 
 so entirely to you," said he slowly, after a pause. " But, 
 though I do not ask for gratitude, I think I have been 
 sufficiently a loser to disregard such a monstrous asser- 
 tion as that I am selfish." 
 
 " You show your selfishness by dwelling on what you 
 have lost. You never think of what I have lost. I 
 make no profession of unselfishness. I am suffering for 
 my folly and egoism; and I deserve to suffer." 
 
 "In what way, pray, are you suffering? You came 
 
 364 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 here because you had a wretched home, and a husband 
 who was glad to be rid of you. You do what you like, 
 and have what you like. Name one solitary wish of 
 yours that has not been silently gratified." 
 
 " I do not find fault with you. You have been gener- 
 ous in supplying me with luxuries such as money can 
 obtain. But it was not the want of money that made 
 me fancy my home wretched. It is not true that I can 
 do as I like. How many minutes is it since you threat- 
 ened to cast me off if I did not make myself agreeable 
 to you? Can you boast of your generosity after taunt- 
 ing me with my dependence on you ? " 
 
 " You misunderstood me, Marian. I neither boasted, 
 nor threatened, nor taunted. I have even apologized for 
 that moment's irritation. If you cannot forgive such a 
 trifle, you yourself can have very little generosity." 
 
 " Perhaps not. I do not violently resent things ; but 
 I cannot forget them, nor feel as I did before they hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "You think so at present. Let us cease this bicker- 
 ing. Lovers' quarrels should not be carried too far." 
 
 " I am longing to cease it. It worries me ; and it does 
 not alter my determination in the least." 
 
 " Do you mean " 
 
 " I do mean. Dont look at me like that : you make 
 me angry instead of frightening me." 
 
 "And do you think I will suffer this quietly?" 
 
 " You may suffer it as you please," said Marian, step- 
 ping quietly to the wall, and pressing a button. " I will 
 never see you again if I can help it. If you follow me, 
 or persecute me in any way, I will appeal to the police 
 for protection as Mrs. Conolly. I despise you more 
 than I do any one on earth." 
 
 36S 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 He turned away, and snatched up his coat and hat. 
 She stood apparently watching him quietly, but really 
 listening with quickened heart to his loud and irregular 
 breathing. As he opened the door to go out, he was 
 confronted on the threshold by a foreign waiter. 
 
 "Vas you reeng?" said the waiter doubtfully, retreat- 
 ing a step. 
 
 " I will not be accountable for that woman's expenses 
 from this time forth," said Douglas, pointing at her, 
 "You can keep her at your own risk, or turn her into 
 the streets to pursue her profession, as you please." 
 
 The waiter, smiling vaguely, looked first at the re- 
 treating figure of Douglas, and then at Marian. 
 
 " I want another room, if you please," she said. " One 
 on any of the upper floors will do; but I must have my 
 things moved there at once." 
 
 Her instructions were carried out after some parley. 
 In the meantime, Douglas's man servant appeared, and 
 said that he had been instructed to remove his master's 
 luggage. 
 
 " Is Mr. Forster leaving the hotel ? " she asked. 
 
 " I dont know his arrangements, madam." 
 
 " I guess I do, then," said a sulky man, who was pre- 
 paring to wheel away Marian's trunk. " He's about to 
 shift his billet to the Gran' Central." 
 
 Marian, still in a towering rage, sat down in her new 
 room to consider her situation. To fix her attention, 
 which repeatedly wandered to what had passed between 
 her and Douglas, she counted her money, and found 
 that she had, besides a twenty pound note which she 
 had brought with her from London, only a few loose 
 dollars in her purse. Her practice in housekeeping at 
 Westbourne Terrace and Holland Park had taught her 
 
 366 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the value of money too well to let her suppose that she 
 could afford to remain at a first rate American hotel 
 with so small a sum in her possession. At home Con- 
 oily had made her keep a separate banking account ; and 
 there was money to her credit there ; but in her ignorance 
 of the law, she was not sure that she had not forfeited 
 all her property by eloping. She resolved to move at 
 once into some cheap lodging, and to live economically 
 until she could ascertain the true state of her affairs, or 
 until she could obtain some employment to support her. 
 She faced poverty without fear, never having experi- 
 enced it. 
 
 It was still early in the afternoon when she left the 
 hotel and drove to the Crawfords'. 
 
 " So you have come at last," cried Mrs. Crawford, 
 who was fifty years of age and stout, but leaner in the 
 face than fat Englishwomen of that age usually are. 
 
 " I just expected you'd soon git tired of being grand 
 all by yourself in the hotel yonder." 
 
 " I fear I shall have to be the reverse of grand all 
 by myself in some very shabby lodging," said Marian. 
 "Dont be surprised Mrs. Crawford. Can one live in 
 New York on ten dollars a week ? " 
 
 " You cant live on ten dollars a week in New York 
 nor on a hundred. You rode here, didnt you? " 
 
 " Yes, of course." 
 
 "Of course. If you have only ten dollars a week 
 you should have walked. I know the sort you are, Mrs. 
 Forster. You wont be long getting rid of your money, 
 no matter where you live. But whats wrong? Hows 
 your husband ? " 
 
 " I dont know. I hope he is quite well," said Marian, 
 her voice trembling a little. "Mrs. Crawford: yoU are 
 
 367 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 the only friend I have in America; and you have been 
 so very kind to me that since I must trouble some one, 
 I have ventured to come to you. The truth is that I 
 have left my husband; and I have only about one hun- 
 dred dollars in the world. I must live on that until I 
 get some employment, or perhaps some money of my 
 own from England." 
 
 " Chut, child ! Nawnsnse ! " exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, 
 with benevolent intolerance. " You go right back to your 
 husband. I spose youve had a rumpus with him; but 
 you mustnt mind that. All men are a bit selfish; and I 
 should say from what I have seen of him that he is no 
 exception to the rule. But you cant have perfection. 
 He's a fine handsome fellow; and he knows it. And, 
 as for you, I dont know what they reckon you in Eng- 
 land; but youre the best-looking woman in Noo York: 
 thats surtn. It's a pity for such a pair to fall out." 
 
 " He is not selfish," said Marian. " You never saw 
 him. I am afraid I must shock you, Mrs. Crawford. 
 Mr. Forster is not my husband." 
 
 "No! Do! Did you ever tell the General that?" 
 
 " General Crawford ! Oh, no." 
 
 "Think of that man being cuter than me, a woman! 
 He always said so. And the grit you must have, to tell 
 it out as cool as that! Well! I'm sorry to hear it 
 though, Mrs. Forster. It's a bad account — a very bad 
 one. But if I take what you said just now rightly, 
 youre married." 
 
 " I am. I have deserted a very good husband." 
 
 " It's a pity you didnt find that out a little sooner, 
 isnt it?" 
 
 " I know, Mrs. Crawford. I thought I was acting 
 for the best." 
 
 368 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Thought you were acting for the best in running 
 away from a good husband! Well, you British aristo- 
 crats are singular. You throw stones at us because our 
 women are so free and our divorces so easy. Yet youre 
 always scandlizing us ; and now yon tell me youve done 
 it on morl grounds! Who educated you, child? And 
 what do you intend to do now ? " 
 
 " For the present, only to get a lodging. Will you 
 tell me where I should look for one? I dont know the 
 east from the west end of this town; and I am so inex- 
 perienced that I might make a mistake easily as to the 
 character of the places. Will you direct me to some 
 street or quarter in which I should be likely to find 
 suitable rooms? I can live very economically." 
 
 " I dont know what to do," said Mrs. Crawford, per- 
 plexedly, turning her rings on her fingers. " You ought 
 to be ashamed of yourself. And you so pretty ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you would rather not assist me. You may 
 tell me so candidly. I shall not be offended." 
 
 " You mustnt take me up like that. I must have a 
 talk with the General about you. I dont feel like letting 
 you go into some ordinary place by yourself. But I 
 cant ask you to stay here without consulting " 
 
 " Oh, no, you must not think of any such thing : I must 
 begin to face the world alone at once. I assure you, 
 Mrs. Crawford, I could not come here. I should only 
 keep your friends away." 
 
 " But nobody knows you." 
 
 " Sooner or later I should meet someone who does. 
 There are hundreds of people who know me by sight, 
 who travel every year. Besides, my case is a very pub- 
 lic one, unfortunately. May I take you into my confi- 
 dence ? " 
 
 309 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "If you wish, my dear. I dont ask you for it; but 
 I will take it kindly." 
 
 " I know you will. You must have heard all about 
 me. Mr. Forster's real name is Douglas." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford stifled a whoop of surprise. "And 
 
 you ! Are you ? " 
 
 l am. 
 
 "Pnly think! And that was Douglas! Why, I 
 thought he was a straight-haired, sleeky, canting snake 
 of a man. And you too are not a bit like what I thought. 
 You are quite a person, Mrs. — Mrs. Conolly." 
 
 " I have no right to bear that name any longer. Pray 
 call me by my assumed name still, and keep my secret. 
 I hope you do not believe all the newspapers said ? " 
 
 "No, of course not," said Mrs. Crawford. "But 
 whose fault was it?" 
 
 " Mine. Altogether mine. I wish you would tell 
 people that Mr. Conolly is blameless in the matter." 
 
 " He will take care of his own credit, never fear. I 
 am sure you got some provocation: I know what men 
 are. The General is not my first husband." 
 
 " No, I got no provocation. Mr. Conolly is not like 
 other men. I got discontented because I had nothing 
 to desire. And now, about the lodgings, Mrs. Crawford. 
 Do not think I am changing the subject from reticence. 
 It is the question of money that makes me anxious. All 
 my resources would be swallowed up at the hotel in less 
 than a week." 
 
 " Lodgings ? You mean rooms, I guess. People here 
 mostly go to boarding-houses. And as to the cheapness, 
 you dont know what cheapness is. Cant you make some 
 arrangement with your great relations in England ? Have 
 you no property of your own ? " 
 
 37° 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " I cannot tell whether my property remains my own 
 or not. You must regard me as a poor woman. I am 
 quite determined to have the lodgings ; and I should like 
 to arrange about them at once ; for I am rather upset by 
 something that happened this morning." 
 
 " Well, if you must, you must. I know a place that 
 might suit you: I lived in it myself when I was not so 
 well off as I am at present. It is a little down-town; 
 but you will have to put up with that for the sake of 
 economy." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford, who had read in the papers of her 
 guest's relationship to the Earl of Carbury, then sent for 
 her carriage, and dressed herself handsomely. When 
 they had gone some distance, they entered a wide street, 
 crossed half way along by an avenue and an elevated 
 railway. 
 
 " What do you think of this neighborhood ? " said 
 Mrs. Crawford. 
 
 " It is a fine, wide street," replied Marian ; " but it 
 looks as if it needed to be swept and painted." 
 
 " The other end is quieter. I'm afraid you wont like 
 living here." 
 
 Marian had hitherto thought of such streets as thor- 
 oughfares, not as places in which she could dwell. " Beg- 
 gars cannot be choosers," she said, with affected cheer- 
 fulness, looking anxiously ahead for the promised quiet 
 part. 
 
 " Boarding-houses are so much the rule here, that it 
 is not easy to get rooms. You will find Mrs. Myers a 
 good soul, and though the house is not much to look at, 
 it is comfortable enough inside." 
 
 The appearance of the street improved as they went 
 on; and the house they stopped at, though the windows 
 
 37i 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 were dingy and the paint old, was better than Marian 
 had hoped for a minute before. She remained in the 
 carriage whilst her companion conferred with the land- 
 lady within. Twenty minutes passed before Mrs, Craw- 
 ford reappeared, looking much perplexed. 
 
 " Mrs. Myers has a couple of rooms that would do you 
 very well; only you would be on the same floor with a 
 woman who is always drunk. She has pawned a heap 
 of clothes, and promises to leave every day; but Mrs. 
 Myers hasnt got rid of her yet. It's very provoking. 
 She's quiet, and doesnt trouble any one; but still, of 
 course " 
 
 " She cannot interfere with me," said Marian. " If 
 that is the only objection, let it pass. I need have noth- 
 ing to say to her. If she is not violent nor noisy, her 
 habits are her own affair." 
 
 " Oh, she wont trouble you. You can keep to your- 
 self, English fashion." 
 
 " Then let us agree at once. I cannot face any more 
 searching and bargaining." 
 
 " Youre looking pale. Are you sure you are not ill ? " 
 
 " No. It is nothing. I am rather tired." 
 
 They went in together; and Marian was introduced 
 to Mrs. Myers, a nervous widow of fifty. The rooms 
 were small, and the furniture and carpets old and worn ; 
 but all was clean; and there was an open fireplace in 
 the sitting-room. 
 
 " They will do very nicely, thank you," said Marian. 
 "I will send for my luggage; and I think I will just 
 telegraph my new address and a few words to a friend 
 in London." 
 
 " If you feel played out, I can see after your luggage," 
 said Mrs. Crawford. " But I advise you to come back 
 
 v 372 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 with me; have a good lunch at Delmonico's; and send 
 your cablegram yourself." 
 
 Marian roused herself from a lassitude which was 
 coming upon her, and took Mrs. Crawford's advice. 
 When they returned to the richer quarter of the town, 
 and especially after luncheon, her spirits revived. At 
 the hotel she observed that the clerk was surprised when, 
 arranging for the removal of her luggage and the for- 
 warding of her letters, she mentioned her new address. 
 Douglas, she found, had paid all expenses before leaving. 
 She did not linger in the building; for the hotel staff 
 stared at her curiously. She finished her business by 
 telegraphing to Elinor : " Separated. Write to new 
 address. Have I forfeited my money ? " This cost her 
 nearly five dollars. 
 
 "Only that you must find out about your money, I 
 wouldnt have let you spend all that," said Mrs. Crawford. 
 
 " I did not think it would have cost so much," said 
 Marian. " I was horrified when he named the price. 
 However, it cannot be helped." 
 
 " We may as well be getting back to Mrs. Myers's 
 now. It's late." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said Marian, sighing. " I am 
 sorry I did not ask Nelly to telegraph me. I am afraid 
 my funds will not last so long as I thought." 
 
 "Well, we shall see. The General was greatly taken 
 with you for the way you looked after me when I was 
 ill yonder; so you have two friends in Noo York City, 
 at any rate." 
 
 " You have proved that to me to-day. I am afraid I 
 shall have to trouble you further if I get bad news. 
 You will have to help me to find some work." 
 
 "Yes. Never mind that until the bad news comes. 
 
 373 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I hope you wont mope at Mrs. Myers's. How does the 
 American air agree with you ? " 
 
 "Pretty well. I was sick for the first two days of 
 our passage across, and somehow my digestion seems 
 to have got out of order in consequence. Of late I have 
 been a little unwell in the mornings." 
 
 "Oh! Thats so, is it? Humph! I see I shall have 
 to come and look after you occasionally." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Never you mind, my dear. But dont go moping, nor 
 going without food to save money. Take care of your- 
 self." 
 
 " It is nothing serious," said Marian, with a smile. 
 " Only a passing indisposition. You need not be uneasy 
 about me. This is the house, is it not? I shall lose 
 myself whenever I go out for a walk here." 
 
 " This is it. Now good-bye. I'll see you soon. Mean- 
 while, you take care of yourself, as youre told." 
 
 It was dark when Marian entered her new residence. 
 Mrs. Myers was standing at the open door, remonstrat- 
 ing with a milkman. Marian hastily assured her that 
 she knew the way, and went upstairs alone. She was 
 chilled and weary; her spirits had fallen again during 
 her journey from the telegraph office. As she ap- 
 proached her room, hoping to find a good fire, she 
 heard a flapping noise, which was suddenly interrupted 
 by the rattle of a falling poker, followed by the excla- 
 mation, in a woman's voice, " Och, musha, I wouldnt 
 doubt you." Marian, entering, saw a robust young 
 woman kneeling before the grate, trying to improve a 
 dull fire that burnt there. She had taken up the poker 
 and placed it standing against the bars so that it 
 pointed up the chimney; and she was now using her 
 
 374 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 apron fanwise as a bellows. The fire glowed in the 
 draught; and Marian, by its light, noted with displeasure 
 that the young woman's calico dress was soiled, and her 
 hair untidy. 
 
 " I think " 
 
 " God bless us ! " ejaculated the servant, starting and 
 turning a comely dirty face toward Marian. 
 
 "Did I frighten you?" said Marian, herself startled 
 by the exclamation. 
 
 "You put the life acrass in me," said the servant, 
 panting, and pressing her hand on her bosom. 
 
 " I am sorry for that. I was going to say that I 
 think you need not take any further trouble with the 
 fire. It will light of itself now." 
 
 " Very well, miss." 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Liza Redmon', miss." 
 
 " I should like some light, Eliza, if you please." 
 
 "Yis, miss. Would you wish to take your tay now, 
 miss ? " 
 
 "Yes, thank you." 
 
 Eliza went away with alacrity. Marian put off her 
 bonnet and furs, and sat down before the fire to despond 
 over the prospect of living in that shabby room, waited 
 on by that slipshod Irish girl, who roused in her some- 
 thing very like racial antipathy. Presently Eliza re- 
 turned, carrying a small tray, upon which she had 
 crowded a lighted kerosene lamp, a china tea service, a 
 rolled-up table cloth, a supply of bread and butter, and 
 a copper kettle. When she had placed the lamp on the 
 mantelpiece, and the kettle by the fire, she put the tray 
 on the sofa, and proceeded to lay the cloth, which she. 
 shook from its folds and spread like a sail in the air by 
 
 375 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 seizing two of the corners in her hands, and pulling 
 them apart whilst she held the middle fold in her teeth. 
 Then she adroitly wafted it over the table, making a 
 breeze in which the lamp flared and Marian blinked. 
 Her movements were very rapid; and in a few moments 
 she had arranged the tea service, and was ready to 
 withdraw. 
 
 " My luggage will be sent here this evening or to- 
 morrow, Eliza. Will you tell me when it comes ? " 
 
 " Yis, miss." 
 
 "You know that my name is Mrs. Forster, do you 
 not?" 
 
 " Mrs. Forster. Yis, miss." 
 
 Marian made no further attempt to get miss changed 
 to maam; and Eliza left the room. As she crossed 
 the landing, she was called by someone on the same 
 floor. Marian started at the sound. It was a woman's 
 voice, disagreeably husky: a voice she felt sure she had 
 heard before, and yet one that was not familiar to her. 
 
 " Eliza. Eli-za ! " Marian shuddered. 
 
 "Yis, yis," said Eliza, impatiently, opening a door. 
 
 "Come here, alanna," said the voice, with mock 
 fondness. The door was then closed, and Marian could 
 hear the murmur of the conversation which followed. 
 It was still proceeding when Mrs. Myers came in. 
 
 " I didnt ought to have left you to find your way up 
 here alone, Mrs. Forster," she said ; " but I do have such 
 worry sometimes that I'm bound to leave either one thing 
 or another undone." 
 
 " It does not matter at all, Mrs. Myers. Your servant 
 has been very attentive to me." 
 
 " The hired girl ? She's smart, she is — does every- 
 thing right slick away. The only trouble is to keep her 
 
 376 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 out of that room. She's in there now. Unless I am 
 
 ■ always after her, she is slipping out on errands, pawning 
 
 and buying drink for that unfortunate young creature." 
 
 "For whom?" 
 
 "A person that Mrs. Crawford promised to tell you 
 about." 
 
 " So she did," said Marian. " But I did not know she 
 was young." 
 
 " She's older than you, a deal. I knew her when she 
 was a little girl, and I often forget how old she is. She 
 was the prettiest child! Even now she would talk you 
 into anything. But I cant help her. It's nothing but 
 drink, drink, drink from morning til night. There's 
 Eliza coming out of her room. Eliza." 
 
 " Yis, maam," said Eliza, looking in. 
 
 " You stay in the house, Eliza, do you hear? I wont 
 have you go out." 
 
 "Could I spake a word to you, maam?" said Eliza, 
 lowering her voice. 
 
 " No, Eliza. I'm engaged with Mrs. Forster." 
 
 " She wants to see you," whispered Eliza. 
 
 " Go down-stairs, Eliza, this minute. I wont see her." 
 
 " Mrs. Myers," cried the voice. Marian again shrank 
 from the sound. " Mrs. My-ers. Aunt Sally. Come to 
 your poor Soozy." Mrs. Myers looked perplexedly at 
 Marian. The voice resumed after a pause, with an 
 affected Yankee accent, " I guess I'll raise a shine if you 
 dont come." 
 
 " I must go," said Mrs. Myers. " I promise you, Mrs. 
 Forster, she shall not annoy you. She shall go this 
 week. It aint right that you should be disturbed by her." 
 
 Mrs. Myers went into the other room. Eliza ran 
 down-stairs, and Marian heard her open the house door 
 
 377 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 softly and go out. She also heard indistinctly the voices 
 of the landlady and her lodger. After a time these 
 ceased, and she drank her tea in peace. She was glad 
 that Mrs. Myers did not return, although she made no 
 more comfortable use of her solitude than to think of 
 her lost home in Holland Park, comparing it with her 
 dingy apartment, and pressing her handkerchief upon 
 her eyes when they became too full of tears. She had 
 passed more than an hour thus when Eliza roused her 
 by announcing the arrival of the luggage. Thereupon 
 she bestirred herself to superintend its removal to her 
 bedroom, where she unpacked a trunk which contained 
 her writing-case and some books. With these were 
 stowed her dresses, much miscellaneous finery ^ and some 
 handsomely worked underclothing. Eliza, standing by, 
 could not contain her admiration; and Marian, though 
 she did not permit her to handle the clothes, had not the 
 heart to send her away until she had seen all that the 
 trunk contained. Marian heard her voice afterward in 
 the apartment of the drunken lodger, and suspected from 
 its emphasis that the girl was describing the rare things 
 she had seen. 
 
 Marian imparted some interest to her surroundings 
 that evening by describing them in a letter to Elinor. 
 When she had finished, she was weary ; and the fire was 
 nearly out. She looked at her watch, and, finding to her 
 surprise that is was two hours after midnight, rose to 
 go to bed. Before leaving the room, she stood for a 
 minute before the old-fashioned pier-glass, with one foot 
 on the fender, and looked at her image, pitying her own 
 weariness, and enjoying the soft beauty of her face and 
 the gentleness of her expression. Her appearance did 
 not always please her; but on this occasion the mirror 
 
 378 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 added so much to the solace she had found in writing 
 to Elinor, that she felt almost happy as she took the 
 lamp to light her to her bedroom. 
 
 She had gone no farther than the landing when a 
 sound of unsteady footsteps on the stairs caused her to 
 stop. As she lifted the lamp and looked up, she saw a 
 strange woman descending toward her, holding the bal- 
 ustrade, and moving as though with pains in her limbs. 
 This woman, whose black hair fell nearly to her waist, 
 was dressed in a crimson satin dressing-gown, warmly 
 padded, and much stained and splashed. She had fine 
 dark eyes, and was young, bold-looking, and handsome; 
 but when she came nearer, the moist pallor of her skin, 
 the slackness of her lower lip and jaw, and an eager and 
 worn expression in her fine eyes, gave her a thirsty, 
 reckless leer that filled Marian with loathing. Her as- 
 pect conveyed the same painful suggestion as her voice 
 had done before, but more definitely; for it struck Ma- 
 rian, with a shock, that Conolly, in the grotesque meta- 
 morphosis of a nightmare, might appear in some such 
 likeness. The lamp did not seem to attract her attention 
 at first ; but when she came within a few steps, she saw ■ 
 some one before her, and, dazzled by the light, peered at 
 Marian, who lost her presence of mind, and stood motion- 
 less. Gradually the woman's expression changed to one 
 of astonishment. She came down to the landing; stop- 
 ped, grasping the handrail to steady herself; and said in 
 her husky voice : 
 
 "Oh, Lord! It's not a woman at all. It's D. Ts." 
 Then, not quite convinced by this explanation, she sud- 
 denly stretched out her hand and attempted to grasp 
 Marian's arm. Missing her aim, she touched her on 
 the breast, and immediately cried, " Mrs. Ned ! " 
 
 379 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Marian shrank from her touch, and recovered her 
 courage. 
 
 " Do you know me ? " she said. 
 
 " I should rather think I do. I have gone off a good 
 deal in my appearance, or you would know me. Youve 
 seen me on the stage, I suppose. I'm your sister-in-law. 
 Perhaps you didnt know you had one." 
 
 "Are you Miss Susanna Conolly ? " 
 
 "Thats who I am. At least I am what is left of 
 Miss Susanna. You dont look overjoyed to make my 
 acquaintance; but I was as good-looking as you once. 
 Take my advice, Mrs. Ned: dont drink champagne. 
 The end of champagne is brandy ; and the end of brandy 
 is " Susanna made a grimace and indicated herself. 
 
 " I am afraid we shall disturb the house if we talk 
 here. We had better say good-night." 
 
 " No, no. Dont be in such a hurry to get rid of me. 
 Come into my room with me for a while. I'll talk 
 quietly : I'm not drunk. Ive just slept it off ; and I was 
 coming down for some more. You may as well keep 
 me from it for a few minutes. I suppose Ned hasnt 
 forbidden you to speak to me." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Marian, yielding to a feeling of pity. 
 " Come into my room. There is a scrap of fire there 
 still." 
 
 " We used to lodge in this room long ago, in my 
 father's time," said Susanna, following Marian into the 
 room, and reclining with a groan on the sofa. " I'm 
 rather in a fog, you know: I cant make out how the 
 deuce you come to be here. Did Ned send you to look 
 after me? Is he in New York? Is he here?" 
 
 " No," said Marian, foreseeing with a bitter pang and 
 
 380 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 a terrible blush what must follow. " He is in England. 
 I am alone here." 
 
 "Well, why — ? what — ? I dont understand." 
 
 " Have you not read the papers ? " said Marian, in a 
 low voice, turning her head away. 
 
 " Papers ! No, not since I saw an account of my 
 brilliant debut here, of which I suppose you have heard. 
 I never read: I do nothing but drink. What has hap- 
 pened ? " 
 
 Marian hesitated. 
 
 " Is it any secret ? " said Susanna. 
 
 " No, it is no secret," said Marian, turning, and look- 
 ing at her steadily. "All the world knows it. I have 
 left your brother; and I do not know whether I am still 
 his wife, or whether I am already divorced." 
 
 " You dont mean to say youre on the loose ! " cried 
 Susanna. 
 
 Marian was silent. 
 
 " I always told Ned that no woman could stand him," 
 said Susanna, with sodden vivacity, after a pause, dur- 
 ing which Marian had to endure her astonished stare. 
 " He always thought you the very pink of propriety. 
 Of course, there was another man in it. Whats become 
 of him, if I may ask ? " 
 
 " I have left him," said Marian, sternly. " You need 
 impute no fault to your brother in the matter, Miss Con- 
 oily. He is quite blameless." 
 
 "Yes," said Susanna, not in the least impressed, "he 
 always is blameless. How is Bob ? I mean Marmaduke, 
 your cousin. I call him Bob, short for Cherry Bob." 
 
 " He is very well, thank you." 
 
 " Now, Bob was not a blameless man, but altogether 
 the reverse; and he was a capital fellow to get on with. 
 
 38i 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Ned was always right, always sure of himself ; and there 
 was an end. He has no variety. I wonder will Bob 
 ever get married?" 
 
 " He is going to be married in the spring." 
 
 "Who to?" 
 
 "To Lady Constance Car '' 
 
 " Damn that woman ! " exclaimed Susanna. " I hate 
 her. She was always throwing herself at his head. 
 Curse her! Damn her! I wish " 
 
 " Miss Conolly," said Marian: " I hope you will not 
 think me rude; but I am very tired, and it is very late. 
 I must go to bed." 
 
 " Well, will you come and see me to-morrow ? It will 
 be an act of charity. I am dying here all alone. You 
 are a nice woman, and I know what you must feel about 
 me; but you will get used to me. I wont annoy you. 
 I wont swear. I wont say anything about your cousin. 
 I'll keep sober. Do come. You are a good sort: Bob 
 always said so; and you might save me from destroying 
 myself. Say youll come." 
 
 " If you particularly wish it, I will," said Marian, not 
 disguising her reluctance. 
 
 "Youd rather not, of course," said Susanna, despon- 
 dently. 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot be of any use to you." 
 
 " For that matter, no one is likely to be of much use 
 to me. But it's hard to be imprisoned in this den with- 
 out anyone to speak to but Eliza. However, do as you 
 please. I did as I pleased; and I must take the conse- 
 quences. Just tell me one thing. Did you find me out 
 by accident?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " That was odd." Susanna groaned again as she rose 
 
 382 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 from the sofa. " Well, since you wont have anything to 
 do with me, good-bye. Youre quite right." 
 
 " I will come and see you. I do not wish to avoid 
 you if you are in trouble." 
 
 " Do," said Susanna, eagerly, touching Marian's hand 
 with her moist palm. "We'll get on better than you 
 think. I like you, and I'll make you like me. If I could 
 only keep from it for two days, I shouldnt be a bit dis- 
 gusting. Good-night." 
 
 " Good-night," said Marian, overcoming her repug- 
 nance to Susanna's hand, and clasping it. " Remember 
 that my name here is Mrs. Forster." 
 
 "All right. Good-night. Thank you. You will never 
 be sorry for having compassion on me." 
 
 " Wont you take a light? " 
 
 " I dont require one. I can find what I want in the 
 dark." 
 
 She went into her apartment. Marian went quickly 
 up to her own bedroom and locked herself in. Her first 
 loathing for Susanna had partly given way to pity; but 
 the humiliation of confessing herself to such a woman 
 as an unfaithful wife was galling. When she went to 
 sleep she dreamed that she was unmarried and at home 
 with her father, and that the household was troubled by 
 Susanna, who lodged in a room up-stairs. 
 
 383 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 SHOLTO DOUGLAS returned to England in the 
 ship which carried Marian's letter to Elinor. On 
 reaching London he stayed a night in the hotel 
 at Euston, and sent his man next day to take rooms for 
 him at the West End. Early in the afternoon the man 
 reported that he had secured apartments in Charles 
 Street, St. James's. It was a fine wintry day, and Doug- 
 las resolved to walk, not without a sense of being about 
 to run the gauntlet. 
 
 It proved the most adventurous walk he had ever 
 taken in his life. Everybody he knew seemed to be 
 lying in wait for him. In Portland Place he met Miss 
 McQuinch, who, with the letter fresh in her pocket, 
 looked at him indignantly, and cut him. At the Lang- 
 ham Hotel he passed a member of his club, who seemed 
 surprised, but nodded coolly. In Regent Street he saw 
 Lady Carbury's carriage waiting before a shop. He 
 hurried past the doorj for he had lost courage at his 
 encounter with Elinor. There were, however, two doors ; 
 and as he passed the second, the Countess, Lady Con- 
 stance, and Marmaduke came out just before him. 
 
 " Where the devil is the carriage ? " said Marmaduke, 
 loudly. 
 
 " Hush ! Everybody can hear you," said Lady Con- 
 stance. 
 
 " What do I care whether — Hal-lo ! Douglas ! How 
 are you ? " 
 
 384 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Marmaduke proffered his hand. Lady Carbury pluck- 
 ed her daughter by the sleeve and hurried to her carriage, 
 after returning Douglas's stern look with the slightest 
 possible bow. Constance imitated her mother. Doug- 
 las haughtily raised his hat. 
 
 " How obstinate Marmaduke is ! " said the Countess, 
 when she had bidden the coachman drive away at once. 
 " He is going to walk down Regent Street with that 
 man." 
 
 " But you didnt cut him, mamma." 
 
 " I never dreamed of his coming back so soon ; and, 
 of course, I cannot tell whether he will be cut or not. 
 We must wait and see what other people will do. If we 
 meet him again we had better not see him." 
 
 " Look here, old fellow," said Marmaduke, as he walk- 
 ed away with Douglas. " Youve come back too soon. 
 It wont do. Take my advice and go away again until 
 matters have blown over.' Hang it, it's too flagrant! 
 You have not been away two months." 
 
 " I believe you are going to be married," said Doug- 
 las. "Allow me to congratulate you." 
 
 " Thank you. Fine day, isnt it? " 
 
 " Very fine." 
 
 Marmaduke walked on in silence. Douglas presently 
 recommenced the conversation. 
 
 " I only arrived in London last night. I have come 
 from New York." 
 
 " Indeed. Pleasant voyage ? " 
 
 "Very pleasant." 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " Has anything special happened during my absence ? " 
 
 " Nothing special." 
 
 "Was there much fuss made about my going?" 
 
 385 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Well, there was a great deal of fuss made about it. 
 Excuse my alluding to the subject again. I shouldnt 
 have done so if you hadnt asked me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear fellow, you neednt stand on ceremony 
 with me." 
 
 "That's all very well, Douglas; but when I alluded 
 to it just now, you as good as told me to mind my own 
 business." 
 
 "I told you so!" 
 
 " Not in those words, perhaps. However, the matter 
 is easily settled. You bolted with Marian. I know that, 
 and you know it. If the topic is disagreeable, say so, 
 and it is easily avoided. If you want to talk about it, 
 better not change the subject when I mention it." 
 
 " You have taken offence needlessly. I changed the 
 subject inadvertently." 
 
 " Hm ! Well, has she come back with you ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Do you mean that youve thrown her over? " 
 
 " I have said nothing of the kind. As a matter of fact, 
 she has thrown me over." 
 
 "Thats very strange. You are not going to marry 
 her then, I suppose ? " 
 
 " How can I ? I tell you she has deserted me. Let 
 me remind you, Lind, that I should not be bound to 
 marry her in any case, and I shall certainly not do so 
 now. If I chose to justify myself, I could easily do so 
 by her own conduct." 
 
 " I expect you will not be troubled for any justification. 
 People seem to have made up their minds that you were 
 wrong in the first instance, and you ought to keep out 
 of the way until they have forgotten Oh, confound 
 
 386 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 it, here's Conolly! Now, for God's sake, dont let us 
 have any row." 
 
 Douglas whitened, and took a step back into the road- 
 way before he recovered himself; for Conolly had come 
 upon them suddenly as they turned into Charles Street. 
 A group of gentlemen stood on the steps of the club- 
 house which stands at that corner. 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Conolly, with perfect good humor. 
 " Douglas back again ! Why on earth did you run away 
 with my wife? and what have you done with her? " 
 
 The party on the steps ceased chatting and began to 
 stare. 
 
 " This is not the place to call me to account, sir," 
 said Douglas, still on his guard, and very ill at ease. 
 " If you have anything to say to me which cannot be 
 communicated through a friend, it had better be said 
 in private." 
 
 " I shall trouble you for a short conversation," said 
 Conolly. " How do you do, Lind ? Where can we go ? 
 I do not belong to any club." 
 
 " My apartments are at hand," said Douglas. 
 
 " I suppose I had better leave you," said Marmaduke. 
 
 " Your presence will not embarrass me in the least," 
 said Conolly. 
 
 " I have not sought this interview," said Douglas. " I 
 therefore prefer Mr. Lind to witness what passes." 
 
 Conolly nodded assent; and they went to a house on 
 the doorstep of which Douglas's man was waiting, and 
 ascended to the front drawing-room. 
 
 " Now, sir," said Douglas, without inviting his guests 
 to sit down. Conolly alone took off his hat. Marma- 
 duke went aside, and looked out of the window. 
 
 " I know the circumstances that have led to your re- 
 
 387 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 turn," said Conolly; " so we need not go into that. I 
 want you, however, to assist me on one point. Do you 
 know what Marian's pecuniary position is at present?" 
 
 " I decline to admit that it concerns me in any way." 
 
 " Of course not. But it concerns me, as I do not wish 
 that she should be without money in a foreign city. She 
 has telegraphed a question about her property to Miss 
 McQuinch. That by itself is nothing; but her new ad- 
 dress, which I first saw on a letter this morning, happens 
 to be known to me as that of a rather shabby lodging- 
 house." 
 
 " I know nothing of it." 
 
 "I do : it means that she is poor. I can guess at 
 the sum she carried with her to America. Now, if you 
 will be good enough to tell me whether you have ever 
 given her money ; if so, how much ; and what her ex- 
 penditure has been, you will enable me to estimate her 
 position at present." 
 
 " I do not know that you have any right to ask such 
 questions." 
 
 " I do not assert any right to ask them. On the con- 
 trary, I have explained their object. I shall not press 
 them, if you think that an answer will in any way com- 
 promise you." 
 
 " I have no fear of being compromised. None what- 
 ever." 
 
 Conolly nodded, and waited for an answer. 
 
 " I may say that my late trip has cost me a considerable 
 sum. I paid all the expenses ; and Miss — Mrs. Conolly 
 did not, to my knowledge, disburse a single fraction. 
 She did not ask me to give her money. Had she done 
 so, I should have complied at once." 
 
 388 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Thank you. Thats all right: she will be able to 
 hold out until she hears from us. Good-afternoon." 
 
 "Allow me to add, sir, before you go," said Douglas, 
 asserting himself desperately against Conolly's absolutely 
 sincere disregard of him and preoccupation with Marian, 
 " that Mrs. Conolly has been placed in her present posi- 
 tion entirely through her own conduct. I repudiate the 
 insinuation that I have deserted her in a foreign city; 
 and I challenge inquiry on the point." 
 
 " Quite so, quite so," assented Conolly, carelessly. 
 " Good-bye, Lind." And he took his hat and went out. 
 
 " By George ! " said Marmaduke, admiringly, " he did 
 that damned well — damned well. Look here, old man: 
 take my advice and clear out for another year or so. 
 You cant stay here. As a looker-on, I see most of the 
 game ; and thats my advice to you as a friend." 
 
 Douglas, whose face had reddened and reddened with 
 successive rushes of blood until it was now purple, lost 
 all self-control at Marmaduke's commiserating tone. " I 
 will see whether I cannot put him in the wrong," he burst 
 out, in the debased voice of an ignobly angry man. " Do 
 you think I will let him tell the world that I have been 
 thrown over and fooled ? " 
 
 "Thats your own story, isnt it? At least, I under- 
 stood you to say so as we came along." 
 
 " Let him say so, and I'll thrash him like a dog in the 
 street. I'll " 
 
 " Whats the use of thrashing a man who will simply 
 hand you over to the police? and quite right, too ! What 
 rot!" 
 
 " We shall see. We shall see." 
 
 "Very well. Do as you like. You may twist one 
 
 389 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 another's heads off for what I care. He has had the 
 satisfaction of putting you into a rage, at all events." 
 
 " I am not in a rage." 
 
 " Very well. Have it your own way." 
 
 "Will you take a challenge to him from me?" 
 
 " No. I am not a born fool." 
 
 " That is plain speaking." 
 
 Marmaduke put his hands into his pockets, and whis- 
 tled. " I think I will take myself off," he said, presently. 
 
 "As you please," replied Douglas, coldly. 
 
 " I will look in on you some day next week, when you ■ 
 have cooled down a bit. Good-bye." 
 
 Douglas said nothing, and Marmaduke, with a nod, 
 went out. Some minutes later the servant entered and 
 said that Mr. Lind was below. 
 
 " What ! Back again ! " said Douglas, with an oath. 
 
 " No, sir. It's old Mr Lind— Mr. Reginald." 
 
 " Did you say I was in ? " 
 
 " The man belonging to the house did, sir." 
 
 " Confound his officiousness ! I suppose he must 
 come up." 
 
 Reginald Lind entered, and bowed. Douglas placed 
 a chair for him, and waited, mute, and a little put out. 
 Mr. Lind's eyes and voice shewed that he also was not 
 at his ease ; but his manner was courtly and his expres- 
 sion grave, as Douglas had, in his boyhood, been ac- 
 customed to see them. 
 
 " I am sorry, Sholto," said Mr. Lind, " that I cannot 
 for the present meet you with the cordiality which for- 
 merly existed between us. However unbearable your 
 disappointment at Marian's marriage may have been, 
 you should not have taken a reprehensible and desperate 
 means of remedying it. I speak to you now as an old 
 
 39° 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 friend — as one who knew you when the disparity in our 
 ages was more marked than it is at present." 
 
 Douglas bowed. 
 
 " I have just heard from Mr. Conolly — whom I met 
 accidentally in Pall Mall — that you have returned from 
 America. He gave me no further account of you, ex- 
 cept that he had met you and spoken to you here. I 
 hope nothing unpleasant passed." 
 
 "The meeting was not a pleasant one. I shall take 
 steps to make Mr. Conolly understand that." 
 
 " Nothing approaching to violence, I trust." 
 
 " No. Mr. Conolly's discretion averted it. I am not 
 sure that a second interview between us will end so 
 quietly." 
 
 " The interview should not have taken place at all, 
 Sholto. I need not point out to you that prudence and 
 good taste forbid any repetition of it." 
 
 " I did not seek it, Mr. Lind. He forced it upon me. 
 I promise you that if a second meeting takes place, it 
 will be forced upon him by me, and will take place in 
 another country." 
 
 " That is a young man's idea, Sholto. The day for 
 such crimes, thank Heaven, is past and gone. Let us 
 say no more of it. I was speaking to your mother on 
 Sunday. Have you seen her yet?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Sholto, you hit us all very hard that Monday before 
 Christmas. I know what I felt about my daughter. But 
 I can only imagine what your mother must have felt 
 about her son." 
 
 " I am not insensible to that. I has been rather my 
 misfortune than my fault that I have caused you to 
 suffer. If it will gratify you to know that I have suf- 
 
 391 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 fered deeply myself, and am now, indeed, a broken man, 
 I can assure you that such is the case." 
 
 " It is fortunate for us all that matters are not ab- 
 solutely irremediable. I will so far take you into my 
 confidence as to tell you that I have never felt any satis- 
 faction in Marian's union with Mr. Conolly. Though he 
 is unquestionably a remarkable man, yet there was a 
 certain degree of incongruity in the match — you will 
 understand me — which placed Marian apart from her 
 family whilst she was with him. I have never entered 
 my daughter's house without a feeling that I was more 
 or less a stranger there. Had she married you in the 
 first instance, the case would have been different : I wish 
 she had. However, that is past regretting now. What 
 I wish to say is that I can still welcome you as Marian's 
 husband, even though she will have a serious error to 
 live down; and I shall be no less liberal to her than if 
 her previous marriage had never taken place." 
 
 Douglas cleared his throat, but did not speak. 
 
 "Well?" said Mr. Lind after a pause, reddening. 
 
 " This is a very painful matter," said Douglas at last. 
 "As a man of the world, Mr. Lind, you must be aware 
 that I am not bound to your daughter in any way." 
 
 " I am not speaking to you as a man of the world. 
 I am speaking as a father, and as a gentleman." 
 
 " Doubtless your position as a father is an unfortunate 
 one. I can sympathize with your feelings. But as a 
 gentleman " 
 
 " Think of what you are going to say, Sholto. If you 
 speak as a gentleman, you can have only one answer. 
 If you have any other, you will speak as a scoundrel." 
 The last sentence came irrepressibly to Mr. Lind's lips; 
 
 392 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 but the moment he had uttered it, he felt that he had 
 been too precipitate. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "I repeat, as a scoundrel — if you deny your duty in 
 the matter." 
 
 " I decline to continue this conversation with you, Mr. 
 Lind. You know as well as I do that no gentleman is 
 expected or even permitted by society to take as his wife 
 a woman who has lived with him as his mistress." 
 
 " No man who betrays a lady and refuses to make her 
 all the reparation in his power can claim to be a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "You are dreaming, Mr. Lind. Your daughter was 
 the guardian of her own honor. I made her no promises. 
 It is absurd to speak of a woman of her age and expe- 
 rience being betrayed, as though she were a child." 
 
 " I always understood that you prided yourself on 
 acting up to a higher standard of honorable dealing 
 than other men. If this is your boasted " 
 
 " Mr. Lind," said Douglas, interrupting him with de- 
 termination, " no more of this, if you please. Briefly, I • 
 will have nothing whatever to say to Mrs. Conolly in 
 the future. If her reputation were as unstained as your 
 own, I would still refuse to know her. I have suffered 
 from her the utmost refinements of caprice and treach- 
 ery, and the coarsest tirades of abuse. She left me of 
 her own accord, in spite of my entreaties to her to stay — 
 entreaties which I made her in response to an exhibition 
 of temper which would have justified me in parting from 
 her there and then. It is true that I have moulded my 
 life according to a higher standard of honor than ordi- 
 nary men ; and it is also true that that standard is never 
 higher, never more fastidiously acted up to, than where 
 
 393 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 a woman is concerned. I have only to add that I am per- 
 fectly satisfied as to the propriety of my behavior in 
 Marian's case, and that I absolutely refuse to hear an- 
 other accusation of unworthiness from you, much as I 
 respect you and your sorrow." 
 
 Mr. Lind, though he saw that he must change his tone, 
 found it hard to subdue his temper; for though not 
 a strong man, he was unaccustomed to be thwarted. 
 " Sholto," he said: " you are not serious. You are irri- 
 tated by some lovers' quarrel." 
 
 " I am justly estranged from your daughter, and I 
 am resolved never to give her a place in my thoughts 
 again. I have madly wasted my youth on her. Let 
 her be content with that and the other things I have 
 sacrificed for her sake." 
 
 " But this is dreadful. Think of the life she must 
 lead if you do not marry her. She will be an outcast. 
 She will not even have a name." 
 
 " She would not be advised. She made her choice 
 in defiance of an explicit warning of the inevitable re- 
 sults, and she must abide by it. I challenge the most 
 searching inquiry into my conduct, Mr. Lind. It will 
 be found, if the truth be told, that I spared her no luxury 
 before she left me; and that, far from being the ag- 
 gressor, it is I who have the right to complain of insult 
 and desertion." 
 
 " Still,, even granting that her unhappy position may 
 have rendered her a little sore and impatient at times, 
 do you not owe her some forbearance since she gave 
 up her home and her friends for you ? " 
 
 " Sacrifice for sacrifice, mine was the greater of the 
 two. Like her, I have lost my friends and my position 
 here — to some extent, at least. Worse, I have let my 
 
 394 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 youth slip by in fruitless pursuit of her. For the home 
 which she hated, I offered her one ten times more splen- 
 did. I gave her the devotion of a gentleman to replace 
 the indifference of a blacksmith. What have I not done 
 for her? I freed her from her bondage; I carried her 
 across the globe; I watched her, housed her, fed her, 
 clothed her as a princess. I loved her with a love that 
 taught her a meaning of the word she had never known 
 before. And when I had served her turn — when I had 
 rescued her from her husband and placed her beyond his 
 reach — when she became surfeited with a wealth of chiv- 
 alrous love which she could not comprehend, and when 
 a new world opened before her a fresh field for intrigue, 
 I was assailed with slanderous lies, and forsaken. Do 
 you think, Mr. Lind, that in addition to this, I will en- 
 dure the reproaches of any man — even were he my own 
 father?" 
 
 " But she suffers more, being a woman. The world 
 will be comparatively lenient toward you. If you and 
 she were married and settled, with no consciousness of 
 being in a false position, and no wearing fear of detec- 
 tion, you would get on together quite differently." 
 " It may be so. but I shall never put it to the test." 
 " Listen a moment, Sholto. Just consider the matter 
 Calmly and rationally. I am a rich man — at least, I can 
 endow Marian better than you perhaps think. I see that 
 you feel aggrieved, and that you fear being forced into 
 a marriage which you have, as you say — I fully admit 
 it, most fully — a perfect right to decline. But I am 
 urging you to make Marian your legal wife solely be- 
 cause it is the best course for both of you. That, I 
 assure you, is the feeling of society in the matter. 
 Everybody speaks to me of your becoming my son-in- 
 
 395 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 law. The Earl says no other course is possible. I will 
 give you ten thousand pounds down on her wedding- 
 day. You will lose nothing: Conolly will not claim 
 damages. He has contradicted the report that he would. 
 I will pay the costs of the divorce as well. Mind! I do 
 not mean that I will settle the money on her. I will 
 give it to her unconditionally. In other words, it will 
 become your property the moment you become her hus- 
 band." 
 
 "I understand," said Douglas contemptuously. "How- 
 ever, as it is merely a question of making your daughter 
 an honest woman in consideration of so much cash, I 
 have no doubt you will find plenty of poorer men who 
 will be glad to close with you for half the money. You 
 are much in the city now, I believe. Allow me to sug- 
 gest that you will find a dealer there more easily than in 
 St. James's." 
 
 Mr. Lind reddened again. " I do not think you see 
 the matter in the proper light," he said. " You are 
 asked to repair the disgrace you have brought on a 
 lady and upon her family. I offer you a guarantee that 
 you will not lose pecuniarily by doing so. Whatever 
 other loss you may incur, you are bound to bear it as 
 the penalty of your own act. I appeal to you, sir, as 
 one gentleman appeals to another, to remove the dis- 
 honor you have brought upon my name." 
 
 " To transfer it to my own, you mean. Thank you, 
 Mr. Lind. The public is more accustomed to associate 
 conjugal levity with the name of Lind than with that 
 of Douglas." 
 
 " If you refuse me the justice you owe to my 
 daughter, you need not couple that refusal with an 
 insult." 
 
 396 
 
The Irrational Knot . 
 
 "I have already explained that I owe your daughter 
 nothing. You come here and offer me ten thousand 
 pounds to marry her. I decline the bargain. You then 
 take your stand upon the injury to your name. I merely 
 remind you that your name was somewhat tarnished even 
 before Mrs. Conolly changed it for the less distinguished 
 one which she has really dishonored." 
 
 " Douglas," said Mr. Lind, trembling, " I will make 
 you repent this. I will have satisfaction." 
 
 "As you remarked when I declared my readiness to 
 give satisfaction in the proper quarter, the practice you 
 allude to is obsolete. Fortunately so, I think, in our 
 
 esse * ooi, r 
 
 " You are a coward, sir." Douglas rang the bell. " I 
 will expose you in every club in London." 
 
 " Shew this gentleman out," said Douglas to his 
 servant. 
 
 " You have received that order because I told your 
 master that he is a rascal," said Mr. Lind to the man. 
 " I shall say the same thing to every man I meet between 
 this house and the committee-room of his club." 
 
 The servant looked grave as Mr. Lind left the room. 
 Soon after, Douglas, whose self-respect, annihilated by 
 Conolly, had at first been thoroughly restored by Mr. 
 Lind, felt upset again by the conclusion of the interview. 
 Finding solitude and idleness intolerable, he went into the 
 streets, though he no longer felt any desire to meet his 
 acquaintances, and twice crossed the Haymarket to avoid 
 them. As he strolled about, thinking of all that had 
 been said to him that afternoon, he grew morose. Twice 
 he calculated his expenditure on the American trip, and 
 the difference that an increment of ten thousand pounds 
 would make in his property. Suddenly, in turning out 
 
 •?Q7 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 of Air Street into Piccadilly, he found himself face to 
 face with Lord Carbury. 
 
 "How do you do?" said the latter pleasantly, but 
 without the unceremonious fellowship that had formerly 
 existed between them. 
 
 , " Thank you," said Douglas, " I am quite well." 
 i A pause followed, Jasper not knowing exactly what 
 to say next. 
 
 " I am considering where I shall dine," said Douglas. 
 "Have you dined yet?" 
 
 " No. I promised to dine at home this evening. My 
 mother likes to have a family dinner occasionally." 
 
 Douglas knew that before the elopement he would 
 have been asked to join the party. " I suppose people 
 have been pleased to talk a good deal about me of late," 
 he said. 
 
 " Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over." 
 • ; " It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then? " 
 
 " Well, it has become a little stale as a topic ; but there 
 is undeniably a good deal of feeling about it still. If 
 you will excuse my saying so, I think that perhaps you 
 would do well to keep out of the way a little longer." 
 
 " Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a mat- 
 ter about which I am likely to concern myself." 
 
 " That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the 
 hint." 
 
 " The question is whether it is not better to be on the 
 spot, so as to strangle calumny at its source, than to hide 
 myself abroad whilst a host of malicious tongues are 
 busy with me." 
 
 "As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very 
 fairly treated. The chief blame, as usual, has fallen on 
 the weaker sex. Nothing could exceed the moderation 
 
 398 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 of those from whom the loudest complaints might have 
 been expected. Reginald Lind has hardly ever men- 
 tioned the subject. Even to me, he only shook his head 
 and said that it was an old attachment. As to Conolly, 
 we have actually reproached him for making excuses 
 for you." 
 
 "Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into 
 contempt. Allow me to enlighten you a little, Jasper. 
 Lind, whose daughter I have discovered to be one of 
 the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand 
 pounds to marry her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, 
 who drove her into my arms by playing the tyrant whilst 
 I played the lover, is only too glad to get rid of her. 
 At the same time, he is afraid to fight me, and ashamed 
 to say so. Therefore, he impudently pretends to pity 
 me for being his gull in the matter. But I will stop 
 that." 
 
 " Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas. Let 
 us drop the subject, if you dont mind." 
 
 " If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more 
 to say. I think I will turn in here and dine. Good- 
 evening." 
 
 They parted without any salutation; and Douglas 
 entered the restaurant and dined alone. . He came out 
 an hour later in improved spirits, and began to con- 
 sider whether he would go to the theatre or venture 
 into his club. He was close to a lamp at a corner of 
 Leicester Square when he stopped to debate the point 
 with himself; and in his preoccupation he did not notice 
 a four-wheeled cab going slowly past him, carrying a 
 lady in an old white opera cloak. This was Mrs. Leith 
 Fairfax, who, recognizing him, called to the cabman to 
 drive a little past the lamp and stop. 
 
 399 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Good heavens ! " she said in a half-whisper: " you 
 here! What madness possessed you to come back?" 
 
 " I had no further occasion to stay away." 
 
 "How coolly you say sol You have iron nerves, all 
 you Douglases. I have heard all, and I know what you 
 have suffered. How soon will you leave London?" 
 
 " I have no intention of leaving it at present." 
 
 " But you cannot stay here." 
 
 "Pray why not? Is not London large enough for 
 any man who does not live by the breath of the world? " 
 
 " Out of the question, Mr. Douglas. Absolutely out 
 of the question. .You must go away for a year at the 
 very least. You must yield something to propriety." 
 
 " I shall yield nothing. I can do without any section 
 of society that may feel called upon to do without me." 
 
 " Oh, you must subdue that imperious nature of yours 
 for your mother's sake if not for your own. Besides, 
 you have been very wicked and reckless and daring, just 
 like a Douglas. You ought to do penance with a good 
 grace. I may conclude, since you are here, that Elinor 
 McQuinch's story is true as far as the facts go." 
 
 " I have not heard her story." 
 
 " It is only that you have parted from — you know." 
 
 " That is true. Can I gratify your curiosity in any 
 other particular? " 
 
 " Strive not to let yourself be soured, Mr. Douglas. 
 I shudder when I think of what you have undergone 
 at the hands of one woman. There! I will not allude to 
 it again." 
 
 "You will do wisely, Mrs. Leith Fairfax. What I 
 have suffered, I have suffered. I desire no pity, and will 
 endure none." 
 
 " That is so like yourself. I must hurry on to Covent 
 
 400 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Garden, or I shall be late. Will you come and 
 see me quietly some day before you go? I am never at 
 home to any one on Tuesdays ; but if you come at about 
 five, Caroline will let you in. It will be dark: nobody 
 will see you. We can have a chat then." 
 
 "Thank you," said Douglas, coldly, stepping back, 
 and raising his hat, " I shall not intrude on you. Good- 
 evening." 
 
 She waved her hand at him; and the cab departed. He 
 walked quickly back to Charles Street, and called his 
 servant. 
 
 " I suppose no one has called ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. Mrs. Douglas came very shortly after you 
 went out. She wishes you to go to the Square this 
 evening, sir." 
 
 " This evening? I am afraid — Buckstone." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Is she looking well ? " 
 
 " A little tired, sir. But quite well, I have no doubt." 
 
 " How much of the luggage have you unpacked ? " 
 
 " Only your portmanteau, sir. I thought " 
 
 " So much the better. Pack it again. I am going to 
 Brussels to-night. Find out about the trains. I shall 
 want you to take a hansom and take a note to Chester 
 Square; but come back at once without waiting to be 
 spoken to." 
 
 "Very good, sir." 
 
 Douglas then sat down and wrote the note. 
 
 " My dear Mother : 
 
 " I am sorry I was out when you called. I did 
 not expect you, as I am only passing through London on 
 my way to Brussels. I am anxious to get clear of this 
 vile city, and so shall start to-night. Buckstone tells me 
 
 401 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 you are looking well; and this assurance must content 
 me for the present, as I find it impossible to go to you. 
 You were quite right in warning me against what has 
 happened; but it is all past and broken off now, and I 
 am still as ever, 
 
 "Your affectionate son, 
 
 " Sholto Douglas." 
 
 402 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ONE day Eliza, out of patience, came to Mrs. 
 Myers, and said: 
 "A' thin, maam, will you come up and spake 
 to Miss Conolly. She's rasin ructions above stairs." 
 
 " Oh dear, oh dear ! " said Mrs. Myers. " Cant you 
 keep her quiet ? " 
 
 " Arra, how can I kape her quiet, an she cryin an 
 roarin, dyin an desarted ? " 
 
 "Ask Mrs. Forster to go in and coax her to stop." 
 
 " Mrs. Forsther's at dhuddher ind o the town. Whisht ! 
 There she is, callin me. Youll have to gup to her, 
 maam. Faith I wont go next or near her." 
 
 " There's no use in my going up, Eliza. What can 
 I do?" 
 
 Eliza had nothing to suggest. " I'm sure, maam," she 
 pleaded, " if she wont mind you, she wont mind me — bad 
 manners to her ! " 
 
 Mrs. Myers hesitated. The lodger became noisier. 
 
 " I spose Ive got to go," said Mrs. Myers, plaintively. 
 She went upstairs and found Susanna lying on the 
 sofa, groaning, with a dressing-gown and a pair of thick 
 boots on. 
 
 "What is the matter with you, Miss Susan? Youre 
 goin on fit to raise the street." 
 
 " For God's sake go and get something for me. Make 
 the doctor do something. I'm famishing. I must be 
 poisoned." 
 
 403 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Lord forbid!" 
 
 " Look at me. I cant eat anything. Oh ! I cant 
 even drink. I tell you I am dying of thirst." 
 
 "Well, Miss Susan, thers plenty for you to eat and 
 drink." 
 
 "What is the good of that, when I can neither eat 
 nor drink? Nothing will stay inside me. If I could 
 only swallow brandy, I shouldnt care. I thought I could 
 die drunk. Oh! Send Eliza out for some laudanum. 
 I cant stand this : I'll kill myself." 
 
 " Be , quiet, Miss Susan : youll be better presently. 
 Whats the use of talking about the doctor? He says 
 youll not be able to drink for days, and that you will 
 get your health back in consequence. You are doing 
 yourself no good by screeching like that, and you are 
 ruining me and my house." 
 
 " Your house is all you care about. Curse you! I hope 
 you may die deserted yourself. Dont go away. Dear 
 Aunt Sally, you wont leave me here alone, will you? If 
 you do, I'll scream like a hundred devils." 
 
 " I dont know what to do with you," said Mrs. Myers, 
 crying. "Youll drive me as mad as yourself. Why 
 did I ever let you into this house ? " 
 
 "Oh, bother! Are you beginning to howl now? 
 Have you any sardines, or anything spicy? I think I 
 could eat some salted duck. No, I couldnt, though. Go 
 for the doctor. There must be something that will do 
 me good. What use is he if he cant set me right? All 
 I want is something that will make me able to drink a 
 tumbler of brandy." 
 
 "The Lord help you! Praise goodness! here's Mrs. 
 Forster coming up. Whatll she think of you if you 
 
 404 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 keep moaning like that? Mrs. Forster: will you step in 
 here and try to quiet her a bit? She's clean mad." 
 
 "Come here," cried Susanna, as Marian entered. 
 " Come and sit beside me. You may get out, you old 
 cat : I dont want you any longer." 
 
 " Hush, pray," said Marian, putting her bonnet aside 
 and sitting down by the sofa. " What is the matter ? " 
 
 " The same as last night, only a great deal worse," 
 said Susanna, shutting her eyes and turning her head 
 aside. " It's all up with me this time, Mrs. Ned. I'm 
 dying, not of drink, but of the want of it. Is that fiend, 
 of a woman gone?" 
 
 " Yes. You ought not to wound her as you did just 
 now. She has been very kind to you." 
 
 " I dont care. Oh, dear me, I wonder how long this 
 is going to last ? " 
 
 "Shall I go for the doctor?" 
 
 " No: what can he do ? Stay with me. I wish I 
 could sleep or eat." 
 
 " You will be better soon. The doctor says that Nature 
 is making an effort to rescue you from your habit by 
 making it impossible for you to drink. Try and be pa- 
 tient. Will you not take off those heavy boots ? " 
 
 " No, I cant feel my feet without them. I shall never 
 be better," said Susanna, writhing impatiently. " I'm 
 done for. How old are you? You neednt mind telling 
 me. I shall soon be beyond repeating it." 
 
 " I was twenty-five in June last." 
 
 "I am only twenty-nine. I started at eighteen, and 
 got to the top of the tree in seven years. I came down 
 quicker than I went up. I might have gone on easily for 
 fifteen years more, only for drinking champagne. I wish 
 I had my life to live over again: you wouldnt catch me 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 playing burlesque. If I had got the chance, I know I 
 could have played tragedy or real Italian opera. I had 
 to work hard at first; and they wont fill my place very 
 readily: thats one comfort. My cleverness was my ruin. 
 Ned was not half so quick. It used to take him months 
 to learn things that I picked up offhand, and yet you 
 see how much better he has done than I." 
 
 " Do not disturb yourself with vain regrets. Think of 
 something else. Shall we talk about Marmaduke?" 
 
 " No, I dont particularly care to. Somehow, at my 
 pass, one thinks most about one's self, and about things 
 that happened long ago. People that I came to know 
 later on, like Bob, seem to be slipping away from me. 
 There was a baritone in my father's company, a tremen- 
 dous man, with shining black eyes, and a voice like a 
 great bell — quite pretty at the top, though : he must have 
 been sixty at least ; and he was very fat ; but he was the 
 most dignified man I ever saw. You should have heard 
 him do the Duke in Lucrezia Borgia, or sing Pro 
 Peccatis from Rossini's Stabat Mater! I was ten 
 years old when he was with us, and my grand ambition 
 was to sing with him when I grew up. He would shake 
 his head if he saw Susanetta now. I would rather hear 
 him sing three bars than have ten visits from Bob. Oh, 
 dear! I thought this cursed pain was getting numbed, 
 but it is worse than ever." 
 
 " Try to keep from thinking of it. I have often won- 
 dered that you never speak of your child. I have heard 
 from my friend in London that it is very well and happy." 
 " Oh, you mean Lucy. She was a lively little imp." 
 "Would you not like to see her again?" 
 " No, thank you. She is well taken care of, I sup- 
 pose. I am glad she is out of my hands. She was a 
 
 406 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 nuisance to me, and I am not a very edifying example 
 for her. What on earth should I want to see her for? " 
 
 " I wish I had the good fortune to be a mother." 
 
 Susanna laughed. " Never say die, Mrs. Ned. You 
 dont know what may happen to you yet. There now! 
 I know, without opening my eyes, that you are shocked, 
 bless your delicacy! How do you think I should have 
 got through life if I'd been thin-skinned? What good 
 does it do you? You are pining away in this hole of a 
 lodging. You squirm when Mrs. Myers tries to be friend- 
 ly with you; and I sometimes laugh at your expression 
 when Eliza treats you to a little blarney about your looks. 
 Now / would just as soon gossip and swear at her as 
 go to tea with the Queen." 
 
 " I am not shocked at all. You see as badly as other 
 people when your eyes are shut." 
 
 " They will soon shut up forever. I half wish they 
 would do it at once. I wonder whether I will get any 
 ease before there is an end of me." 
 
 " Perhaps the end of you on earth will be a good be- 
 ginning for you somewhere else, Susanna." 
 
 " Thank you. Now the conversation has taken a nice, 
 cheerful turn, hasnt it ? Well, I cant be much worse off 
 than I am at present. Anyhow, I must take my chance." 
 
 "Would you like to see a clergyman? I dont want 
 to alarm you : I am sure you will get better : the doctor 
 told me so ; but I will go for one if you like." 
 
 " No : I dont want to be bothered — at least not yet. 
 Besides, I hate clergymen, all except your brother, the 
 doctor, who fell in love with me." 
 
 " Very well. I only suggested it in case you should 
 feel uneasy." 
 
 " I dont feel quite easy ; but I dont care sufficiently 
 
 407 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 about it to make a fuss. It will be time enough when I 
 am actually at death's door. All I know is that if there 
 is a place of punishment in the next world, it is very 
 unfair, considering what we suffer in this. I didnt make 
 myself or my circumstances. I think I will try to sleep. 
 I am half dead as it is with pain and weariness. Dont 
 go until I am asleep." 
 
 " I will not. Let me get you another pillow." 
 " No," said Susanna, drowsily: " dont touch me." 
 Marian sat listening to her moaning respiration for 
 nearly half an hour. Then, having some letters to write, 
 she went to her own room to fetch her desk. Whilst she 
 was looking for her pen, which was mislaid, she heard 
 Susanna stirring. The floor creaked, and there was a 
 clink as of a bottle. A moment later, Marian, listening 
 with awakened suspicion, was startled by the sound of 
 a heavy fall mingled with a crash of breaking glass. 
 She ran back into the next room just in time to see 
 Susanna, on her hands and knees near the stove, lift 
 her white face for a moment, displaying a bleeding 
 wound on her temple, and then stumble forward and fall 
 prone on the carpet. Marian saw this; saw the walls 
 of the room revolve before her; and fainted upon the 
 sofa, which she had reached without knowing how. 
 
 When she recovered the doctor was standing by her; 
 and Eliza was picking up fragments of the broken bottle. 
 The smell of the spilled brandy reminded her of what 
 had happened. 
 
 " Where is Miss Conolly ? " she said, trying to collect 
 her wits. " I am afraid I fainted at the very moment 
 when I was most wanted." 
 
 "All right," said the doctor. "Keep quiet; youll be 
 well presently. Dont be in a hurry to talk." 
 
 408 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 Marian obeyed; and the doctor, whose manner was 
 kind, though different to that of the London physicians 
 to whom she was accustomed, presently left the room 
 and went upstairs. Eliza' was howling like an animal. 
 The sound irritated Marian even at that pass: she de- 
 spised the whole Irish race on its account. She could 
 hardly keep her temper as she said : 
 
 " Is Miss Conolly seriously hurt ? " 
 
 "Oa, blessed hour! she's kilt. Her head's dhreepin 
 wid blood." 
 
 Marian shuddered and felt faint again. 
 
 " Lord Almighty save use, I doa knoa how she. done it 
 at all, at all. She must ha fell agin the stoave. It's the 
 dhrink, dhrink, dhrink, that brought her to it. It's little 
 I knew what that wairy bottle o brandy would do to her, 
 or sorra bit o me would ha got it." 
 
 " You did very wrong in getting it, Eliza." 
 
 " What could I do, miss, when she axed me? " 
 
 " There is no use in crying over it now. It would 
 have been kinder to have kept it from her." 
 
 " Sure I know. Many's the time I tould her so. But 
 she could talk the birds off the bushes, and it wint to me 
 heart to refuse her. God send her well out of her 
 throuble!" 
 
 Here the doctor returned. " How are you now ? " he 
 said. 
 
 " I think I am better. Pray dont think of me. How 
 is she?" 
 
 "It's all over. Hallo! Come, Miss Biddy! you go 
 and cry in the kitchen," he added, pushing Eliza, who 
 had set up an intolerable lamentation, out of the room. 
 
 " How awful ! " said Marian, stunned. "Are you quite 
 sure? She seemed better this morning." 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Quite sure," said the doctor, smiling grimly at the 
 question. " She was practically dead when they carried 
 her upstairs, poor girl. It's easier to kill a person than 
 you think, Mrs. Forster, although she tried so long and 
 so hard without succeeding. But she'd have done it. 
 She'd have been starved into health only to drink herself 
 back into starvation, and the end would have been a very 
 bad one. Better as it is, by far ! " 
 
 "Doctor: I must go out and telegraph the news to 
 London. I know one of her relatives there." 
 
 The doctor shook his head. " I will telegraph if you 
 like, but you must stay here. Youre not yet fit to go 
 out." 
 
 " I am afraid I have not been well lately," said Marian. 
 " I want to consult you about myself — not now, of course, 
 after what has happened, but some day when you have 
 leisure to call." 
 
 " You can put off consulting me just as long as you 
 please; but this accident is no reason why you shouldnt 
 do it at once. If there is anything wrong, the sooner 
 you have advice — you neednt have it from me if you 
 prefer some other doctor — the better." 
 
 Upon this encouragement Marian described to him her 
 state of health. He seemed a little amused, asked her 
 a few questions, and finally told her coolly that she 
 might expect to become a mother next fall. She was 
 so utterly dismayed that he began to look stern in antici- 
 pation of an appeal to him to avert this; an appeal which 
 he had often had to refuse without ever having succeeded 
 in persuading a woman that it was futile, or convincing 
 her that it was immoral. But Marian spared him this: 
 she was overwhelmed by the new certainty that a recon- 
 
 410 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 ciliation with her husband was no longer possible. Her 
 despair at the discovery shewed her for the first time 
 how homesick she really was. 
 
 When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaim- 
 ed; wept; and gossiped until two police officers arrived. 
 Marian related to them what she had seen of the accident, 
 and became indignant at the apparent incredulity with 
 which they questioned her and examined the room. After 
 their departure Eliza came to her, and invited her to go 
 up-stairs and see the body of Susanna. She refused with 
 a shudder; but when she saw that the girl was hurt as 
 well as astonished, it occurred to her that avoidance of 
 the dead might, if it came to Conolly's knowledge, be 
 taken by him to indicate a lack of kind feeling toward 
 his sister. So she overcame her repugnance, and went 
 with Eliza. The window-shades were drawn down, and 
 the dressing-table had been covered with a white cloth, 
 on which stood a plaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, 
 with two lighted candles before it. To please Eliza, who 
 had evidently made these arrangements, Marian whis- 
 pered a few words of approval, and turned curiously to 
 the bed. The sight made her uncomfortable. The body 
 was decently laid out, its wounded forehead covered with 
 a bandage, and Eliza's rosary and crucifix on its breast ; 
 but it did not, as Marian had hoped, suggest peace or 
 sleep. It was not Susanna, but a vacant thing that had 
 always underlain her, and which, apart from her, was 
 ghastly. 
 
 " She died a good Catholic anyhow : the light o 
 Heaven to her sowl ! " said Eliza, whimpering, but speak- 
 ing as though she expected and defied Marian to contra- 
 dict her. 
 
 411 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Amen," said Marian. 
 
 " It's sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a 
 Prodestan yet." 
 
 Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights 
 in future. Mrs. Myers was below, anxious to resume 
 the conversation which the visit of the police had inter- 
 rupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, she 
 left the house, and went to her only friend in New York, 
 Mrs. Crawford, whose frequent visits she had never be- 
 fore ventured to return. To her she narrated the events 
 of the day. 
 
 " This business of the poor girl killing herself is real 
 shocking," said Mrs. Crawford. " Perhaps your hus- 
 band will come over here now, and give you a chance of 
 making up with him." 
 
 " If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford." 
 
 " What are you frightened of ? If he is as good a man 
 as you say, you ought to be glad to see him. I'm sure he 
 would have you back. Depend on it, he has been long- 
 ing for you all this time ; and when he sees you again as 
 pretty as ever, he will open his arms to you. He wont 
 like you any the worse for being a little bashful with him 
 after such an escapade." 
 
 " I would not meet him for any earthly consideration. 
 After what the doctor told me to-day, I should throw 
 myself out of the window, I think, if I heard him com- 
 ing upstairs. I should like to see him, if I were placed 
 where he could not see me ; but face him I could not." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I think it's right silly of you, though 
 the little stranger — it will be a regular stranger — is a 
 difficulty: there's no two ways about that." 
 
 " Besides, I have been thinking over things alone in 
 my room; and I see that it is better for him to be free. 
 
 412 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 I know he was disappointed in me. He is not the sort 
 of man to be tied down to such an ignorant woman as I." 
 
 " What does he expect from a woman? If youre not 
 good enough for him, he must be very hard to please." 
 
 Marian shook her head. " He is capable of pitying 
 and being considerate with me," she said: " I know that. 
 But I am not sure that it is a good thing to be pitied and 
 forborne with. There is something humiliating in it. I 
 suppose I am proud, as you often tell me; but I should 
 like to be amongst women what he is amongst men, sup- 
 ported by my own strength. Even within the last three 
 weeks I have felt myself becoming more independent in 
 my isolation. I was afraid to go about the streets by 
 myself at first. Now I am getting quite brave. That 
 unfortunate woman did me good. Taking care of her, 
 and being relied on so much by her, has made me rely 
 on myself more. Thanks to you, I have not much lone- 
 liness to complain of. And yet I have been utterly cast 
 down sometimes. I cannot tell what is best. Sometimes 
 I think that independence is worth all the solitary strug- 
 gling it costs. Then again I remember how free from 
 real care I was at home, and yearn to be back there. It 
 is so hard to know what one ought to do." 
 
 " You have been more lively since you got such a 
 pleasant answer to your telegram. I wish the General 
 would offer to let me keep my own money and as much 
 more as I wanted. Not that he is close-fisted, poor man! 
 That reminds me to tell you that you must stay the eve- 
 ning. He wants to see you as bad as can be — never stops 
 asking me to bring you up some time when he's at home. 
 You mustnt excuse yourself: the General will see you safe 
 back to your place." 
 
 "But if visitors come, Mrs. Crawford?" 
 
 413 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " Nobody will come. If they do, they will be glad to 
 see you. What do they know about you ? You cant live 
 like a hermit all your life." 
 
 Marian, sooner than go back to Mrs. Myers's, stayed ; 
 and the evening passed pleasantly enough, although three 
 visitors came: a gentleman, with his wife and brother. 
 The lady, besides eating, and replying to the remarks 
 with which Mrs. Crawford occasionally endeavored to 
 entertain her, did nothing but admire Marian's dress and 
 listen to her conversation. Her husband was polite ; but 
 Marian, comparing him with the English gentlemen of 
 her acquaintance, thought him rather oppressively re- 
 spectful, and too much given to conversing in little 
 speeches. He had been in London; and he described, 
 in a correct narrative style, his impressions of St. Paul's, 
 the Tower, and Westminster Palace. His brother fell in 
 love with Mrs. Forster at first sight, and sat silent until 
 she remarked to him how strangely the hotel omnibuses 
 resembled old English stage coaches, when he became 
 recklessly talkative and soon convinced her that Ameri- 
 can society produced quite as choice a compound of off- 
 handedness and folly as London could. But all this was 
 amusing after her long seclusion ; and once or twice, when 
 the thought of dead Susanna came back to her, she was 
 ashamed to be so gay. 
 
 No one was stirring at Mrs. Myers's when she re- 
 turned. They had left her lamp in the entry; and she 
 took it upstairs with her, going softly lest she should 
 disturb the household. Susanna's usual call and petition 
 for a few minutes talk was no longer to be feared, for 
 Susanna was now only a memory. Marian tried not to 
 think of the body in the room above. Though she was 
 free from the dread which was just then making Eliza 
 
 414 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 tremble, cry, and cross herself to sleep, she disliked the 
 body all the more as she distinguished it from the no- 
 longer existent woman: a feat quite beyond the Irish 
 peasant girl. She sat down and began to think. The 
 Crawfords and their friends had been very nice to her: 
 no doubt the lady would not have been civil had she 
 known all ; but, then, the lady was a silly person. They 
 were not exactly what Marian considered the best sort 
 of people; but New York was not London. She would 
 . not stay at Mrs. Myers's : her income would enable her 
 to lodge more luxuriously. If she could afford to fur- 
 nish some rooms for herself, she would get some curtains 
 she had seen one day lately when shopping with Mrs. 
 
 Crawford. They would go well with 
 
 A noise in the room overhead: Susanna's death cham- 
 ber. Marian gave a great start, and understood what 
 Eliza meant by having " the life put across in her." She 
 listened, painfully conscious of the beats of her heart. 
 The noise came again : a footstep, or a chair pushed back, 
 or — she was not certain what. Could Mrs. Myers be 
 watching at the bedside? It was not unlikely. Could 
 Susanna be recovering — finding herself laid out for dead, 
 and making a struggle for life up there alone? That 
 would be inconvenient, undesirable: even Marian for- 
 got just then to consider that obvious view wrong and 
 unfeeling ; but, anyhow, she must go and see, and, if nec- 
 essary, help. She wished there were some one to keep 
 her company; but was ashamed to call Eliza; and she 
 felt that she would be as well by herself as with Mrs. 
 Myers. There was nothing for it but to take a candle 
 and go alone. No repetition of the noise occurred to 
 daunt her afresh; and she reached the landing above 
 almost reassured, and thinking how odd it was that the 
 
 415 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 idea of finding somebody — Susanna — there, though it had 
 come as a fear, was fading out as a disappointed hope. 
 
 Finding herself loth to open the door, she at last set 
 her teeth and did it swiftly, as if to surprise someone 
 within. She did surprise some one: her husband, sitting 
 by his sister's body. He started violently on seeing her, 
 and rose; whilst she, mechanically shutting the door with- 
 out turning, leaned back against it with her hand behind 
 her, and looked at him open-mouthed. 
 
 " Marian," he said, in a quite unexpectedly apprehen- 
 sive tone, putting up his hand deprecatingly: " remember, 
 here " — indicating the figure on the bed — " is an end of 
 hypocrisy! No unrealities now: I cannot bear them. 
 Let us have no trash of magnanimous injured husband, 
 erring but repentant wife. We are man and woman, 
 nothing less and nothing more. After our marriage you 
 declined intercourse on those terms; and I accepted your 
 conventions to please you. Now I refuse all conven- 
 tions: you have broken them yourself. If you will not 
 have the truth between us, avoid me until I have sub- 
 sided into the old groove again. There!" he added, 
 wincing, " dont blush. What have you to blush for? It 
 was the only honest thing you ever did." 
 
 " I dont understand." 
 
 " No," he said gently, but with a gesture of despair; 
 "how could you? You never did, and you never will." 
 
 " If you mean to accuse me of having deceived you," 
 said Marian, greatly relieved and encouraged by a sense 
 of being now the injured party, "you are most unjust. 
 I dont excuse myself for behaving wickedly, but I never 
 deceived you or told you a falsehood. Never. When he 
 first spoke wrongly to me, I told you at once; and you 
 did not care." 
 
 416 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "Not a straw. It was nothing to me that he loved 
 you: the point was, did you love him? If not, then all 
 was well : if so, our marriage was already at an end. But 
 you mistake my drift. Falsehood is something more 
 than fibbing. You never told fibs — except the two or 
 three dozen a week that mere politeness required and 
 which you never thought of counting; but you never 
 told me the truth, Marian, because you never told your- 
 self the truth. You told me what you told yourself, I 
 grant you; and so you were not conscious of deceit. I 
 dont reproach you. Surely you can bear to be told 
 what every honest man tells himself almost daily." 
 
 " I suppose I have deserved it," said Marian; " but 
 unkind words from you are a new experience. You are 
 very unlike yourself to-night." 
 
 He repressed, with visible effort, an explosion of im- 
 patience. " On the contrary, I am like myself — I actu- 
 ally am myself to-night, I hope." Then the explosion 
 came. " Is it utterly impossible for you to say something 
 real to me? Only learn to do that, and you may have 
 ten love romances every year with other men, if you like. 
 Be anything rather than a ladylike slave and liar. There ! 
 as usual, the truth makes you shrink from me. As I said 
 before, I refuse further intercourse on such terms. They 
 have proved unkind in the long run." 
 
 "You spoke plainly enough to her," said Marian, 
 glancing at the bed; "but in the long run it did her no 
 good." 
 
 " She would have laughed me to scorn if I had minced 
 matters, for she never deceived herself. Society, by the 
 power of the purse, set her to nautch-girl's work, and 
 forbade her the higher work that was equally within her 
 power. Being enslaved and debauched in this fashion, 
 
 417 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 how could she be happy except when she was not sober? 
 It was her own immediate interest to drink; it was her 
 tradesman's interest that she should drink; it was her 
 servants' interest that she should be pleased with them 
 for getting drink for her. She was clever, good-natured, 
 more constant to her home and her man than you, 
 a living fountain of innocent pleasure as a dancer, singer, 
 and actress ; and here she lies, after mischievously spend- 
 ing her talent in a series of entertainments too dull for 
 hell and too debased for any better place, dead of a 
 preventable disease, chiefly because most of the people 
 she came in contact with had a direct pecuniary interest 
 in depraving and poisoning her. Aye, look at her! with 
 the cross on her breast, the virgin mother in plaster 
 looking on from where she kept her mirror when she 
 was alive, and the people outside complacently saying 
 ' Serve her right ! '" 
 
 Marian feared for a moment that he would demolish 
 Eliza's altar by hurling the chair through it. "Dont, 
 Ned," she said, timidly, putting her hand on his arm. 
 
 "Dont what?" he said, taken aback. She drew her 
 hand away and retreated a step, coloring at the wifely 
 liberty she had permitted herself to take. " I beg your 
 pardon. I thought — I thought you were going to take 
 the cross away. No," she added quickly, seeing him 
 about to speak, and anticipating a burst of scepticism: "it 
 is not that; but the servant is an Irish girl — a Roman 
 Catholic. She put it there; and she meant well, and 
 will be hurt if it is thrown aside." 
 
 "And you think it better that she should remain in 
 ignorance of what educated people think about her super- 
 stition than that she should suffer the mortification of 
 
 418 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 learning that her opinions are not those of all the world ! 
 However, I had no such intention. Eliza's idol is a re- 
 spectable one as idols go." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Marian said : " It must 
 have been a great shock to you when you came and 
 found what had happened. I am very sorry. But had 
 we not better go down-stairs? It seems so unfeeling, 
 somehow, to talk without minding her. I suppose you 
 consider that foolish; but I think you are upset by it 
 yourself." 
 
 " You see a change in me, then ? " 
 
 " You are not quite yourself, I think." 
 ; . " I tell you again that I am myself at last. You do not 
 seem to like the real man any better than the unreal: I 
 am afraid you will not have me on any terms. Well, let 
 us go downstairs, since you prefer it." 
 
 " Oh, not unless you wish it too," said Marian, a little 
 bewildered. 
 
 He took her candle and led the way out without another 
 word or a look at the bed. Marian, as he stood aside to 
 let her go downstairs before him, was suddenly seized 
 with a fantastic fear that he was going to kill her. She 
 did not condescend to hurry or look back; but she only 
 felt safe when they were in her room, and he no longer 
 behind her. 
 
 " Sit down," he said, placing the candle on the mantel- 
 piece. She sat down at the table, and he stood on the 
 hearthrug. " Now," said he, " about the future. Are 
 you coming back? Will you give the life at Holland 
 Park another trial ? " 
 
 " I cannot," she said, bending her head almost on her 
 hands. " I should disgrace you. And there is another 
 reason." 
 
 419 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 " It is not in your power, nor in that of all London, to 
 disgrace me if I do not feel disgraced. It is useless to 
 say that you cannot. If you say ' I will not,' then that 
 will settle it. What is the other reason?" 
 
 " It is not yet born. But it will be." 
 
 " That is no reason to me. Do you think I shall be 
 a worse father to it than he would have been?" 
 
 "No, indeed. But it would be unfair to you." He 
 made an impatient gesture. " I dont understand you, 
 Ned. Would you not rather be free ? " 
 
 " Freedom is a fool's dream. I am free. I can divorce 
 you if I please : if I live with you again it will be by my 
 own choice. You are free too : you have burnt your boats, 
 and are rid of fashionable society, of your family, your 
 position, your principles, and all the rest of your chains 
 forever. You are declassed by your own act; and if 
 you can frankly give a sigh of relief and respect yourself 
 for breaking loose from what is called your duty, then 
 you are the very woman I want for a wife. I may not 
 be the very man you want for a husband; but at all 
 events you are free to choose, free to change after you 
 choose if you choose me, free anyhow; for I will di- 
 vorce you if you refuse ; and then you will be — indepen- 
 dent — your own mistress — absolute proprietor of your 
 own child — everything that married women and girls 
 envy. You have a foretaste of that freedom now. What 
 is it worth ? One or two conditions more or less to com- 
 ply with, that is all: nature and society still have you 
 hard and fast : the main rules of the game are inviolable." 
 
 " I think it is a good thing to be free," said Marian, 
 timidly. 
 
 " That means ' I will not.' " 
 
 " Not ' will not ' ; but I think I had better not." 
 
 420 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 "A characteristic distinction, Marian. I pnce thought, 
 like you, that freedom was the one condition to be gained 
 at all cost and hazard. My favorite psalm was that non- 
 sense of John Hay's: 
 
 ' For always in thine eyes, O Liberty, 
 Shines that high light whereby the world is saved ; 
 And though thou slay us, we will trust in thee.' 
 
 And she does slay us. Now I am for the fullest attain- 
 able life. That involves the least endurable liberty. You 
 dont see that yet. Very well: you have liberty — liberty 
 to hurt as well as help yourself ; and you are right to try 
 whether it will not make you happier than wedlock has 
 done." 
 
 " It was not your fault ; and it is very good of you 
 to offer to take me back, I know. Will my refusing 
 disappoint you at all, Ned?" 
 
 " I am prepared for it. You may refuse or accept : I 
 foresee how I shall adapt myself to either set of circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Yes, I forgot. You foresee everything," said Ma- 
 rian, with some bitterness. 
 
 " No: I only face what I see. That is why you do 
 not like living with me. Good-bye. Do not look troub- 
 led : we shall meet again to-morrow and often afterward, 
 I hope ; but to-night makes an end of the irrational knot." 
 
 " Good-night," said Marian rather forlornly, after a 
 pause, proffering her hand. 
 
 " One folly more," he said, taking her in his arms and 
 kissing her. She made no resistance. " If such a mo- 
 ment could be eternal, we should never say good-bye," 
 
 421 
 
The Irrational Knot 
 
 he added. "As it is, we are wise not to tempt Fortune by 
 asking her for such another." 
 
 " You are too wise, Ned," she said, suffering him to 
 replace her gently in the chair. 
 
 " It is impossible to be too wise, dearest," he said, and 
 unhesitatingly turned and left her. 
 
 422 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST 
 
 WILLIAM P. CHAPMAN, Jr. 
 
 Class of 1895 
 
 1947