Chapter VI: Part 6

But I was glad I went even for a short time. Even to Menton, which truly honestly is only a suburb of Monte Carlo (I had a reason), even with the railways in their present abominable condition--the French seem to be making no _effort_ to pull themselves together after the war except by means of wholesale robbery. They have clearly decided that, as we came to their rescue and paid for their war, it is now our bounden duty to pay for them in peace as well... I always believe in going _right_ away after a domestic crisis of that kind; and I was really beginning to fear a break-down if I stayed any longer in London. There is a curious convention that there is something _funny_ about a man of Arthur's age and position falling under the spell of a little chorus-girl; it is less funny when you have to fight for your life to preserve _your_ husband and the father of _your_ child. Some form of madness that overtakes men... I have not told you, I never _shall_ tell you what Arthur was like when he found that this girl had thrown him over at the last moment. Dazed... His behaviour to _me_ seemed of _no_ account; the fact that I knew everything from the girl's own lips and had helped to pack the clothes in which he was to run away with her... He was like a man in a trance...

I uttered no word of reproach. It was unnecessary. At first he behaved as if the light had gone out of his life--which was pleasant for me; then he seemed to realize that perhaps some amends were owing to me... Assented immediately to my proposal that we should go right away...

I chose Menton because Sir Appleton Deepe was there. He, I fancy, would be the first to tell you that I really _made_ him. Unheard-of before the war, except in business... I wanted his advice about Will: where he could lay out his talents to greatest advantage, as it were; and, though nothing has been decided definitely, I _have_ a promise, and he is most anxious to meet Will... So one's time was not _wasted_...

And there, in the peace and wonderful sunshine, one had an opportunity of recovering one's perspective. I had tided Arthur through his great crisis; and there was nothing, I felt, to fear in the future. But we could not let it rest at that. There had been an intolerable amount of malicious gossip--how wide-spread I could not believe until the proof was thrust before me--; men jesting in their clubs, women gloating... And you may be sure that the Brackenbury and Spenworth broods were only too delighted to think that yet another had been dragged down to their level; if one was not to be a by-word and an object of scorn... Goodness me, I wasn't thinking of my own poor dignity, but these stories had to be stopped somehow. In the school in which I was brought up one was supposed to set something of an example; for what it may be worth, one _does_ occupy a certain _niche_; it was more than time for us to shew that there had _been_ no catastrophe, as our kind friends would have liked to think.

"Arthur," I said, "you will never hear me allude to this again. We have passed through a time of trouble, but God has mercifully brought us into safety. For some months we have been spied on and whispered about; it is our duty to shew a happy and united front!"

Arthur said at once that he would do whatever I wanted...

You do not often hear me talking of "position" or "dignity" or "rights", but I did indeed feel that any poor little _niche_ we might occupy was threatened. Spenworth's own record is so infamous that people would feel it was only natural for his brother to tread the same path. I am not ashamed to confess that I _do_ feel what people say about me. _Some_ people... And it was these people, the people who _mattered_, that I wanted to convince; if there was indeed no rift between Arthur and me, why should we allow the gossips to pretend there was? ...

I decided to signalize our return to England by a little party--just a few friends to dinner, a little music, a few more friends coming in if they had nothing better to do. I have never found it necessary to inform the world--as your Mrs. Tom Noddys do--that they have left Gloucester Place for Eastbourne or Eastbourne for Gloucester Place. Goodness me, "Who wonders--and who cares?," as they say. But I was not sorry to find that our little party was being discussed; and, of course, when once the princess's name was mentioned, the papers came at me with open arms... I left no stone unturned to make a success of the little gathering. We have always been quite pitiably restricted in our entertaining, but this was not the moment to grudge a few extra pounds well laid-out... And it does not require a mathematician to prove that Arthur could have given me more money if he had given less in other directions. Of course, I did not _hint_ such a thing; my dear, _peace_, _forgiveness_, _forgetfulness_ was what I wanted... And it was not necessary; Arthur assented to everything.

First of all I made certain of the princess. What she can see in a dull old woman like me you must ask _her_; but she has been a _true_ and _loving_ friend for perhaps more years than either of us now cares to recall; and, if humble affection and gratitude matter to her, she knows that they are hers whenever she does me the honour of visiting my house... She likes coming, I know; in me, she has been gracious enough to say, she finds an attitude of mind, a point of view which is disappearing only too fast; in a sense--I am sure she would be the first to excuse my presumption--we were brought up in the same school.

There was no difficulty about securing my brother. It is a pose with Brackenbury to pretend that he hates what he calls "orders-and-decorations" parties, but my sister-in-law is not so jaded. Perhaps in the world in which she was reared... I certainly notice marked civility and almost affection if Ruth hears that I am giving a party and that the princess has graciously consented to be present. My niece Phyllida is less punctilious in her courtesy; there is rather too much of the "Oh-I-don't-care-_what_-I-do" attitude about her, and, since she found that her cabman hero was still alive and somewhere in London... A curious recklessness and restlessness... I invited her because I cannot bear to see a girl--young, well-connected, rich, good-looking--simply _moping_... They say it takes two to make a quarrel, and I have refused to quarrel with Phyllida, so that at last I think she has ceased to believe that I turned the cabman hero against her in the hope of keeping her for my boy. I--have--not--lifted--a--_finger_! She evidently enjoys being with Will; and, if he wanted to marry her, I should not stand in the way. Ever since that Morecambe nightmare began, I have felt that I shall never know a moment's peace until he is safely married...

I don't _want_ him to go abroad... When any one in his position seeks his fortune in a foreign country, there is always a tendency among some people to ask what he has _done_, to treat him as a remittance-man ... which is offensive without being particularly amusing... I have lost the thread...

Ah, yes! My little party. One thing I noticed on returning to England was the extraordinary mixture of people that one met everywhere. For this, though I am personally fond of her, I blame Connie Maitland more than any dozen other women. Not being a _persona grata_ in certain circles to which she would dearly like to have the _entrée_, she seems to cultivate numbers for their own sake. When the princess... More by a hint, you understand, than by any direct criticism... But she cannot help seeing that the old barriers _have_ been broken down... It is always on the tip of my tongue to make my Lady Maitland wholly responsible. During the war one was _flung_ against these people, as it were: the strangest generals who seemed to have been stock-brokers the moment before... All that sort of thing... "Captains of Industry" (I believe they are called) with the queerest accents and all holding high office. There was an _epidemic_ of cabinet rank; and, if one had business in Whitehall, one met the oddest people--never the same two days running. Connie Maitland _thoroughly_ enjoyed herself, I always felt; so many new people to know before any one else. (I am not ashamed to confess that it is _not_ my ambition simply to know new people.) When I returned from Menton, I did drop a little hint and suggest that, as the war was now over, she ought to revise some of her war friendships. Quite kindly and gradually, you understand; I know that with some of the really estimable women who sat on committees with me... "_Is_ it true kindness?," I asked myself. "They lead their lives, you lead yours; the war brought you together, but you've _nothing_ else in common..." After that breath of fresh air at Menton, I was honestly truly aghast to find what London had become without one's noticing it. I sought an opportunity of speaking to the princess about it: I felt some one ought to make a little stand. _I_ don't count, because I'm not in a position to entertain; but I did resolve to confine my little party _simply_ to the old friends...

I invited Spenworth... You look surprised; but, if you will think for a moment... Arthur's brother. It was notorious that I had for years disapproved of his whole way of life, but the family had to shew a united front. His _very_ recent divorce, which--between ourselves--I think was forgiven far too quickly; goodness me, I hope I am not a bigot and I would assuredly persecute no one, but "whom God hath joined together" ... I invited him chiefly on his wife's account; her position is not so secure that she can altogether dispense with a supporting hand, and I was tired of confessing to people that I had not even met her... Never can I forget, either, Spenworth's triumph when for a moment Arthur seemed to be treading his path... _My_ Nemesis for trying to hold my head erect and daring to reprove him. No, I did not hear what he said, but I am certain that he said it...

For several days--to my amazement, for I knew they were at Cheniston--there was no reply. Then I met Spenworth in the street.

"Oh, I say!," he began. (You know that _hunting-field_ voice of his?) "You aren't playing the game with poor old Arthur, you know."

"I'm afraid I must beg for enlightenment," I said.

"Oh, well, you know, this is the first time the poor old boy has ever left the rails." (I am always lost in admiration of Spenworth's _elegance_!) "Dust his jacket for him at home as much as you like, but don't make him eat humble-pie in public, don't make an exhibition of him."

"I don't know what you _mean_," I said.

"Oh, bunkum! Every one knows he tried to slip his collar, every one thought he'd got away; and, now that you've recaptured him, you want to shew him off in his muzzle. 'Tain't cricket, Ann, if you ask me; you've won, and there's no need to crow over the old boy. 'Tain't as if he'd given you any trouble before."

"I must give it up," I said in despair. "Spenworth, will you tell me--in language comprehensible to my poor wits--whether you and your wife are coming to dine on the eighteenth?"

"Thank you very much, Ann," he answered, "we are _not_. 'Matter o' fact, I'm taking the chair at a regimental dinner, but if I _wasn't_... I think it's an infernal shame and I hope it's a rotten party."

And then he turned on his heel...

I can never see his charm, myself. People excuse his rudeness, his immorality, his utterly wasted, self-indulgent life... They say he's "such a good fellow", whatever that may mean... But I find it very hard to speak _coolly_ about Spenworth...

Without wanting to be inhospitable, I was secretly _relieved_ that he could not come. The dear princess is the soul of tolerance, but I was not at all sure how she would receive his name; I was not at all sure that he would even behave himself properly. Did I ever tell you how he set himself to drive the Archbishop out of the house by sheer--but I prefer not to discuss it. "Indecency" is really the only word; under the guise of an ethical discussion... As we literally cannot sit down more than twenty-four in Mount Street, two spare places _are_ a consideration. I was fortunate enough to secure the Duke and Duchess of Yarrow; one had not seen much of them for some years, and the duchess is so deaf that I sometimes wonder whether she is really quite right in her head, but the duke is a director of the Far East Trading Company, and I thought that, if Will ever _did_ think of going abroad to seek his fortune, the duke ought to know of it before he was snapped up by any one else. The others... But I expect you saw the list; it was in all the papers--the Bishop of Hatwell, dear old Lady Ursula Bedmont, the Minister of Fine Arts, the Spanish Ambassador...

Or was it the Italian? I'm quite stupid about remembering who was there. It was so long since I'd given a party of any kind that I'm not ashamed to confess I was a little nervous. And we began badly: Lord Fenchurch, who _really_ grows more and more absent-minded every day, arrived with a black tie and one of those detestable little jackets that young men affect in theatres. Arthur was waiting in the hall to receive the princess and in a _moment_ had him fitted out properly, while a maid dashed to Hay Hill to fetch his St. George. (As Arthur said, "We can lend you anything from the South African medal to the Victorian Order, but we _don't_ fly as high as Garters.")

One or two _tiny_ hitches like that, just enough to make me nervous... When the princess arrived, all was transformed: she was more than gracious, wanting to know why she never saw anything of me nowadays... Some people are quite wonderfully able to give you that sense of _well-being_. I presented Will. She said:

"But _you're_ not old enough to have a grown-up son!"

"I am old enough to be _proud_ of it, ma'am," I said.

I don't think I am _envious_; but, when I saw the success of my little party, when I looked at Brackenbury, who _has_ the money and does nothing with it, _and_ at Ruth, who couldn't do anything with it if she wanted to ... just an over-grown school-girl... When I thought of Spenworth and the _opportunities_ at Cheniston, I felt it was a little hard... They do come to me, gladly, graciously; and I am not in a position to entertain them...

After dinner we had music...

I don't know what your experience has been, but I find it hard to remain patient with the whole world of people who delight in calling themselves "artists". (If English has any meaning, an artist is a person who _paints_, not a fiddler or a poet or an actor.) So much fuss has been made of them that their heads have really been turned. Before I had quite decided what music to have, I heard a young man playing at Connie Maitland's. Quite well he played--for an Englishman, and I asked Connie to present him.

"I have a few friends dining on the eighteenth," I said, "and I was wondering whether you would be so very kind as to come and give us an opportunity of hearing a little more of your too delightful playing."

These people _expect_ to be flattered, as no doubt you know...

"The eighteenth?," he repeated. "I'm not dining anywhere that night, so far as I know; I will come with great pleasure."

The impudence of the man!

"Dinner itself..." I said. "My dining-room is so absurdly small that I am absolutely restricted in numbers. But _afterwards_... I have asked a few friends, real music-lovers; say about half-past ten. The address--"

"Oh," he interrupted, "I'll ask you to get in touch with my agent. He'll tell you my terms and make all arrangements."

"But there are no arrangements to make," I protested. "Lady Maitland told me that you were a new-comer to London, and I thought you might like to meet a few people..."

And then I told him that the princess had graciously promised to come.

The young man thought it over--for all the world as though he were at a bazaar and I were pressing him to buy something that he didn't want! I was _beside_ myself...

"I should like to meet her," he was good enough to say. "She may be useful. All right, I'll do it this once."

And, do you know, it was on the tip of my tongue to say that never should he set foot inside my _house_! First of all _inviting_ himself to dinner, then trying to make me _pay_ him for coming... An artist I can understand; and a tradesman I can understand. But this hybrid...

And on the night he insisted on my presenting him to the princess. Insisted! There is no other word... She, of course, was too sweet ... made no objection and even complimented him. I kept thinking of the old days. When my niece Phyllida came out just before the war, Brackenbury gave a ball for her and asked me to do what I could (Ruth is worse than useless on such occasions, because she tries to cover up her ignorance by saying it doesn't matter--and being obstinate about it). I ordered the band--from those really nice people in Clifford Street--; and the princess was present on that occasion too. I _wondered_ what we should have thought if the leader had strolled up, baton in hand, and said: "Oh, won't you present me to Her Royal Highness?" ...

I _will_ say this boy played well. Magnetically... The whole room was silent and motionless. One looked up through a mist, as it were, and saw rows of rapt faces, a regiment of men by the walls, a mere black and white cloud by the door.

At first I did not notice...

I mean, one cannot be expected to identify eighty or a hundred people all at once; the princess was obviously my first concern, and, when this young fellow ceased playing and I stood up, _naturally_ I imagined that they would all come forward. So they did ... some of them. I am not good at recognizing people, so I made allowances for myself; but, even so, a _great_ many of the faces were unfamiliar. Nothing in that, you may say; a little music and some light refreshments--sandwiches and cake, you know, with perhaps claret-cup and coffee--afford a wonderful opportunity for making a little return to people whom one truly honestly doesn't want to have _dining_; I'm sure you understand! There is nothing wrong with them or I would not invite them to have the honour of meeting the princess; but, as Will would say, they just don't pull their weight in the boat... I recognized one or two ... and then, really, I did not know what to make of it. After anything I may have said to the princess about the unpleasantly go-as-you-please, enjoy-yourself-and-don't-ask-questions character of modern London, you may be sure that I had not encouraged anybody to collect the first half-dozen waifs and strays from the street and bring them in. Every one had been _told_ that the princess would be there, so that they might equip themselves accordingly; yet, when I looked round the room, I did not know a tenth of the people!

It was like a bad dream! You know my drawing-room in Mount Street: windows on the south side, and between them a sofa on which I was sitting with the princess; to the left, at the far end, the piano; to the right, the door. At one moment--a perfect picture! Dear old Lord Fenchurch with his St. George, Brackenbury with the Bath, my boy with his war medals--almost every one with a little _something_ to enhance what will always be the most _dignified_ dress in the world. Repose... Distinction. And then, at the door, an invading army! Men I had never seen before, some in uniform, some in those detestable little jackets and limp, pleated shirts; flushed, dishevelled... And all of them unknown to me as the man in the moon! The princess, perhaps you know, abominates the smell of tobacco; need I say that a positive _cloud_ of smoke was bursting in from the stair-case? ...

If it had been the men alone, I could have borne it. _Somehow_ one would have carried it off... I made my way, through this _sea_ of strange faces, to the door--and I really believe that, if I had found the Jacquerie in possession, I could hardly have been more astounded. _With_ the men there were girls, scores and scores of them, surging up to the door, lolling about on the stairs, smoking cigarettes in the hall, powdering their horrible little noses. One glance was enough... The dresses alone--skirts that hardly reached their _knees_, bodices that hardly reached their _waists_, "the shoe and shoulder-strap brigade", as my boy calls them. A reek of powder and cheap scent...

"What," I said, "what have I done to deserve this?"

You would think that my cross was sufficiently heavy, but I was evidently to be spared nothing. _Some of the men were not even sober_! As I came on to the landing, some one said--with great elegance--:

"Here, old thing, you'd better go home and sleep it off."

Don't let me claim more pity than I deserve! I _was_ spared a free fight. When the Arbiter of Taste had returned from escorting his friend downstairs, I said to him:

"I must _beg_ for enlightenment. There has evidently been a mistake. I cannot remember having invited you; and I think you must have come to the wrong house."

He looked a little surprised, but rallied at once and pulled from his pocket a _menu_ with the address written on it.

"We were told that you were giving a dance and that we might come," he said. "I am addressing Lady Ann Spenworth, am I not?"

"You are," I said, "but there's some hideous mistake. Dance? There's no dance. _Who_ told you?"

"Lord Spenworth," he answered. "At the regimental dinner. He said that you were giving a party; some of us were a bit shy of coming without an invitation, but he assured us that we should be as welcome as he was. We'd all arranged to go on to Ledlow's; so, as soon as we'd found our partners, on we came. Is it the wrong night?"

"Wrong night!," I said. "All nights are wrong nights! My brother-in-law must have made a mistake. I _am_ giving a little party and I invited him..."

And then I whispered to this boy about the princess. I must say that he behaved _well_. It can never be pleasant to find yourself in a house where you're not expected and where, only too plainly, you're not wanted. He saw my terrible position...

"I hope you realize it's not _our_ fault," he said.

"I acquit you of _everything_," I cried. "But won't you explain to your friends and--and get them away?"

He promised to do his best, though some of the men looked anything but tractable; and I went back to the princess, hoping that the music would _drown_ all the going and coming. "Play like mad!," I whispered to this boy at the piano; "_Noise_, at all costs!" And, as if I hadn't enough to bear, I thought he was going to take offence. Half-way through, the door opened a crack, and I saw--who do you think? Colonel Butler; Phyllida's cabman hero. Nothing could surprise me then--the fact that he was in evening-dress... If he'd brought his cab in with him...

I hurried to the door, no longer caring whether he met Phyllida, whether she threw herself at his head... _Any_thing...

"This is a case for heroic measures, Lady Ann," he said, when I had explained my _tragic_ position. "Some of these fellows have been doing themselves rather well and they swear they won't go without a dance. If you leave things to me, I believe I can pull you through. Certainly I'll do my best, but you must back me up in everything. Is that agreed? Then, as soon as the music stops, will you present me to the princess? I'll get hold of your husband and Will and tell them what has to be done."

I asked leave to present him... The princess knew his name, knew all about him--far more than I had ever guessed. It appears that he ought to have had the V.C.; and, if it lay in my gift, he should have had it that night! Oh, I don't wonder that he did well in the war. Such coolness, determination, foresight...

"I expect Lady Ann has told you, ma'am," he began, "that the Forest Rangers have been having their regimental dinner. Lady Ann has _most_ kindly lent us the house for a little dance later on. I want to know whether I may ask an extraordinary favour. It will give immense gratification if you will allow Lady Ann to present the officers to you before the dance begins. I know it's a very big thing to ask, because there are a great many of them; but, if you knew the pleasure you would confer, I could almost hope that you would forgive my presumption."

The princess is really and truly the sweetest woman I know. Was there a moment's hesitation? Colonel Butler brought them in, one after another, announced the names, herded them out again, brought in more. Arthur hunted them upstairs to his bedroom as they came out, so that there should be a little room on the stairs... And, when she came out--this presentation was really a very clever stroke on Colonel Butler's part to give her an excuse for leaving--, there was a word and a smile for every one--praising the girls' dresses, saying she hoped that all the young people would have a _very_ pleasant time. Graciousness like that cannot be _learned_, but perhaps a certain dignity can. To do these girls justice, they behaved quite admirably; no familiarity, no nervousness--to the outward eye. I hope for their sakes that, when they compared their own "shoes and shoulder-straps" with what was thought fitting to be worn by another generation, trained in a different school, the lesson was not altogether thrown away...

I did not suppose that Colonel Butler _seriously_ intended that I should improvize a dance at a moment's notice, but I had misjudged my man. He had given his word, he said, and, if he broke it, there might be an unpleasant scene; if, however, I would back him up, he would "see me through" again. Almost before the princess was out of the house, one section was rolling back the rug in the drawing-room and disposing of the furniture. Arthur, with his coat off and his shirt-sleeves rolled up, was dashing down to the cellar and up again, bringing wine that literally cannot be replaced; and, to judge from next day's accounts, it must have been Colonel Butler himself who won over my rather unyielding cook. He has a gift of _silver_ speech; the superior young man at the piano, who always left all arrangements of terms to his _agent_, if you please, sat with a bottle of champagne and a plate of sandwiches playing till _four o'clock_...

The relief was so great that I really quite lost my head. Colonel Butler asked me for the first dance--quite charmingly.

"Your manners are better than your judgement of age," I said. "I have not danced for thirty years."

"But it's quite simple," he explained. "Walk round the room in time with the music, turn when you feel inclined and add any frills you like when we've got into each other's step."

And I _did_...

Jean Yarrow I found later, helping him to cut sandwiches and bawling the most unsuitable answers to questions which, poor soul, she could not hear. When he said something about "potted tongue", she thought he said "clot in the lung" and gave him a history of her own complaints which I could not help feeling was _not_ suitable for the ears of a young man... The duke, meanwhile, was mixing cup by some secret process that he had learned at Cambridge; I hoped it would save the wine a little, but from this point of view it was _not_ a success. They only asked for more, like that boy in the book...

To use a favourite word of Will's, Colonel Butler was a "superman." But for him... I mean, there was plenty of high spirits but not a hint of rowdiness. And he was master of the ceremonies, cook, butler, carriage-finder. The older generation, too, has been so much thrust into the background that we find it refreshing when a young man shews a little politeness and consideration. As soon as supper was ready--he had prepared it with his own hands--, Colonel Butler asked if he might take me down. Arthur was with me and he at once intervened.

"No, no," he said. "You're a dancing man. Go off and find Phyllida. You'll spoil her evening if you don't ask her to dance."

I should have thought it was hardly necessary to _throw_ the girl at him like that, but after the way Brackenbury and Ruth had been crying over their lost sheep...

"It's no use your thinking you can keep her for Will," Arthur said, though I had never uttered a word. "Look at them--meeting... And now look at them--dancing. Come down to supper."

I don't think that any account of the dance was published in the press. I certainly supplied no particulars. But I expect you read about the dinner. I have been inundated with letters of thanks--the most touching, unquestionably, from the princess, who loved what she called my little informal gathering. It was not quite what I had intended, but the _effect_ was good; when our friends saw us together--I mean Arthur and me, of course--harmoniously, lovingly...

As regards Phyllida and Colonel Butler, you know as much as I do... There has been no announcement; and, if people do not wish to tell me things, I do not choose to ask...

From every point of view--almost, the evening was highly successful.

But I shall never forgive Spenworth, never... As long as I live...

X

LADY ANN SPENWORTH IS A PRISONER IN HER OWN HOUSE

_Lady Ann_ (_to a friend of proved discretion_): You must forgive me for making you wait like this. The servants have positive instructions to say that I am not at home to any one until I have been specifically asked. Why one should be at the mercy of anybody who chooses to burst in... When all is said and done, the Englishman's home is still his castle.

Partly I have been busy, partly I have been very much worried, partly I have been driven to it in self-defence. I only wish I had been more unyielding before. I told you of the mad clergyman from Morecambe who swept like a whirl-wind into this room, demanding to see my husband and, so far as I can make out, trying to browbeat my boy into marrying his daughter... It began from that day, and I find it hard to forgive Arthur for not enlightening me. With Will it was altogether different; no man that I should care to meet would try to get out of a difficulty at the expense of a woman. The code forbids that...

But, if Arthur--who _knew_ as soon as there was anything to know--had told me, I should have acted at _once_; we should not be in our present state of absolute uncertainty, simply waiting with folded hands for the next blow to fall... Men have a strange idea that certain things are exclusively their _province_; their wives, even the mothers of their children must remain outside the door until it is too late to repair the damage. I was not told the _facts_ until two days ago...

When my boy was offered that position at Morecambe, I went with him to see that he had a place fit to live in. The Phentons seemed our best hope, they were highly recommended, and I will say ungrudgingly that they played their cards well. An elderly clergyman, who had resigned his benefice on account of ill-health, a decent motherly woman for wife--and these two girls, young, presentable and thoroughly _nice_... If you tell me that I am too unready to think ill of people, I have no defence--except to say that I am not prepared to go through life _suspecting_... Molly Phenton was very much "the old country parson's pretty little daughter"; simple, innocent, shy; a little fluttered, you would say, when she heard who we were, and agreeably excited by the prospect of having a good-looking young man to stay in the house...

Perhaps she _overdid_ the innocence. Eyes are eyes, and saucers are saucers... But I don't wish to appear wise after the event. I was completely taken in...

And so was Will. She was clever enough to guess that this was the appeal to reach him quickest: the simple little girl with the soft hair and the big grey eyes, living out of the world with her old father, no brothers to protect her or _teach_ her anything. One would never have been surprised to find her affecting a lisp... She deliberately laid herself out to catch my boy.

You must not ask me what happened. I have never been forced to study the methods of campaign which a woman adopts for such a purpose. No doubt she tried first of all to attract him innocently. Whatever success she had, poor Will is not free to marry where his heart leads him, unless his heart leads him where there is _some_ money (I have always, as you know, dreaded an entanglement with some girl whom he would _simply_ have to support all his life); and Will is too honourable to give any encouragement to some one he has no intention of marrying. You will understand me, too, when I say that _no_ one could have called it a very suitable alliance--for him or for _her_; it is no kindness to a girl to transport her from her own world, though--poor souls!--they all fancy that, if they can achieve a great match, they will be happy, and the rest will come by the light of nature. Goodness me, have we not seen that tragically disproved with Ruth Brackenbury and Kathleen Spenworth? Will and this girl had _nothing_ in common. If she married him, it would be over my dead body...

If she did not see this, at least she saw that she was making no impression on my boy; and then I am sadly afraid that she deliberately laid herself out to tempt him. I have seen enough of life to know that, when a woman abandons herself to this kind of thing, very few even of the purest and best are proof against her _wiles_. This Molly had made up her mind to get a hold on Will; and, once she had decided on that, she would stop at nothing.

I never knew a _thing_ at the time. When my boy suddenly arrived in London, when the mad clergyman followed him and _insisted_ on seeing Arthur, I thought that she would content herself with making him compromise her. If they could be discovered _kissing_ ... as they _were_... And that was all that even her father was allowed to know at the time, though she talked about a promise of marriage. But she was clever enough to know that she couldn't make a man marry her because he had kissed her...

So far as I can see, there is no doubt at all... I did not ask Will, because I could not bear him to tell me an untruth; and the code ordains that a man must never admit such a thing, always the woman must be shielded. One did not need to be his mother in order to see that he was _worried_. Remorse... The sense that nothing could ever again be the same... _Hatred_ of himself... Hatred of _her_... And, all the while, I had to sit with my hands in my lap, seeing his health and happiness ruined. He could not eat, he could not _sleep_; Sir Appleton kept writing and telephoning to ask when Will was coming to see him, but there was no question of trying to find fresh _work_... And at any moment this wild man of the woods might _descend_ upon us again.

The first time he came--I, if you please, was not allowed in the room--, Arthur would only stamp up and down, saying that Will--_our boy_--was a scamp and deserved horse-whipping. I begged for enlightenment, but at this period the wild man only claimed that Will had compromised his Molly and that there had been a promise of marriage... _Exactly_ what one would have expected! _Precisely_ what the girl was working for! _That_ was the moment to strike and to strike hard. "A promise of marriage? _Prove_ it!" I well knew that Will was too instinctively wise to write her letters--and they were in the same house!--or to give her presents. But I was informed that this was not a woman's province. So we dragged on, waiting for the blow...

I quite dreaded the Morecambe post-mark. The girl wrote every other day, and every letter seemed to plunge poor Will into deeper gloom. The code would not let him make a confidant of his mother, but one day I saw one of these letters. It bore no name and opened with a flood of mingled passion and reproach; only when I saw "_Your heart-broken Molly_" at the end did I realize that the letter was intended for Will. She was begging him to come back and talking a great deal about his "promise"... I should have paid no attention if there had not been other things as well: talk about her "honour" and so on and so forth... Her "_soul_"... God would never forgive her--the egotism of the girl! ... Then I felt that, to get a _hold_ on Will, she had stopped at nothing...

I wonder what you would have done in my place? ... Constant dripping wears away a stone, and this dazing attack would in time have broken down my boy's resistance. Suppose he had _let_ himself be blackmailed into marrying her! No money on either side--and Will's _parents_ could do nothing to help--, not a taste in common, two people drawn from different worlds... And this terrible, _blasting_ knowledge that he--and _she_--and _I_ had of the girl's character. Ruin, misery lay before them. And _nothing_ else...

I had to save Will from any temptation to yield. If he could have fallen in love with some nice girl and forgotten the whole episode... If I could have sent him _right_ away... It was not easy, and you know better than any one that my hands have been fairly full. At one time I thought that South American woman was attracted by him, at another my niece Phyllida roused to interest. He was so much preoccupied that he seemed indifferent to women; one after another, they gave him up in despair. Then I bethought me of my second string and cast about in my mind for means to send him far away where he could forget this girl and her importunity...

You have met Sir Appleton Deepe in this house. You have met him more than once and you have always been too dear and too discreet to ask, to hint, to raise an eyebrow in mild wonder that I should be _liée_ with such a man. _Of his kind_ I believe he has no rival. As a mere boy he was sent out to one of the Chinese branches of the business; and by sheer hard work, by studying the natives and learning their requirements he had, before he was forty, built up the trade of his firm to its present gigantic dimensions. Now he is senior partner and a millionaire many times over, with patronage beyond one's wildest dreams. Curious! These "merchant princes" are all the same--never content to stick to their business, always looking for fresh worlds to conquer. I met Sir Appleton--he was plain Mr. Deepe then--in the early days of the war; and, though any _intimacy_ was out of the question, I felt that he was a man to keep one's eye on for the days when the war would be over and all our boys would be wondering what to do next. He had great ideas then of going into politics--something that Lady Maitland let fall had started the train, and he was convinced that the business man had the world at his feet. (I could not help wondering whether she hoped to exploit him on behalf of that _worthless_ youngest boy of hers, the one who evaded military service by _hiding_ in one of the government offices.)

"No, Mr. Deepe," I said. "To use one of your own phrases, you have missed your market. The business men have got in before you." And, goodness me, in those days, Whitehall was like a foreign capital! Even the ministers were unheard-of, and every one seemed to be a mining magnate or a shipping magnate or a railway magnate or the keeper of a shop... If one had a favour to ask, one quite literally did not know whom to approach. And they were always changing... "No, Mr. Deepe," I said, "some enter society through politics, others enter politics through society; but no man ever rose to the top of the political tree--_and stayed there_--without _backing_"...

And, so far as I could, I shewed him how it should be done and who were the people he must get to know. _Quite_ methodically I set him to work; and I really took a great deal of trouble about him. Connie Maitland has the sublime assurance to pretend that _she_ got him his knighthood, but on a point like that Sir Appleton himself is surely the most reliable witness... I helped him in a hundred ways; he is quite reasonably well-known now...

When the bomb-shell first descended from Morecambe, I thought at once of him. In such a business there must be scores of openings for young men of character and ability, accustomed to command; and, say what you like, the presence of those whom for want of a better word I will call "well-connected" _does_ help to lift commerce out of the ruck... Unhappily Sir Appleton was abroad at the time, and that was really why we chose Menton, which truly honestly is only a _suburb_ of Monte Carlo. The opportunity was too good to be thrown away; and it was worth enduring a little discomfort if by shewing him some slight civility I could enlist his support. It was not so _easy_ as I had hoped. He wanted to make me believe that the best positions in the business were reserved for men who had worked their way up from the bottom, as he had done; that there was an immense deal to be learned, that the most responsible part of his duties consisted in choosing the right men...

"But," I said, "I _am_ in a position to speak with knowledge here; it is my own son whom I am putting forward."

"I shall be delighted to see him," answered Sir Appleton, "and to talk things over again on my return to London."

And really he wanted to leave it like that, but I am not _quite_ so easily discouraged. I hammered away until I had extracted a definite promise that he would find _some_ position in which Will could support himself, though I am afraid he was not very gracious about it...

"If I accept him in the dark," he said in conclusion, "don't blame me for discharging him after a month if I find he's no good."

"I have no fear of that," I said.

"Discharge" was hardly the word I should have chosen, but one is foolish to expect too great nicety of language...

It was arranged that Sir Appleton should dine with us here to meet Will.

I did _try_ to impress on my boy that this would be one of the most momentous days of his life. I wanted Sir Appleton to see him at his best. When you have no experience, no technical knowledge to offer, it is so important that character, personality, breeding... I am sure you understand what I mean. And I could never forget that, when the Jew man--Sir Adolf Erckmann or whatever he _now_ calls himself--pretended to have an appointment ready and waiting, Will endangered his prospects by participating in some ridiculous game that caused our worthy host to take offence. One had not looked for such sensitiveness in _that_ quarter; but, when a man is uncertain of himself and takes refuge in his dignity, high spirits and irresponsibility have no place. _This_ time, I told Will, he must run _no_ risks. And, after that, I hoped--_and expected_--to see my boy taking our friend by _storm_...

Do you know, it was as much as I could do to prevail on him to meet Sir Appleton at all! This _menace_ was preying on his nerves; this pitiless hail of appealing letters from his "heart-broken Molly". One day he came in looking as if he had seen a ghost. This girl had dared to call for him at his club! I am thankful to say that he kept his head and refused resolutely to see her, but we never imagined that she was in London... And we both knew that we should now never be safe even in our own house. She had not dared to face _me_; perhaps she made a good guess what kind of reception I should feel it my duty to give her; she was clever enough to know that a woman would see through her in a moment... But she would make for Will the moment she thought my back was turned...

It was then that I gave those orders to the servants. There had been one or two cases in the papers, you may remember, of people who called on chance and walked off with whatever they could lay their hands on. I made this the text for my little homily. And it was not a moment too soon! The girl called that same afternoon and asked to see my boy...

She called daily, refusing to take "no" for an answer. Mr. William Spenworth not at home? When _would_ he be home? ... But for this dinner to Sir Appleton, I should have insisted on sending Will _right_ away, but I _had_ to hold my hand until the Chinese appointment had been arranged. The servants were instructed to say that they did not know... And, after that, I knew it was only a question of time before she encamped on the pavement at sunrise and _stayed_ there... Can you imagine a more intolerable situation? Always having to peep round the curtain to see whether it was safe to _venture_ into the street?

One day she forced her way into the house. It was the afternoon before Sir Appleton came to dine; and Will, who had been sleeping--on my suggestion--at his club, arrived in time to dress. Hardly had the door shut behind him when this girl (you would have thought she had more pride!) rang the bell and put her unvarying question. Mr. William Spenworth was not at home. Oh, but he _was_! She had just seen him come in! (An altercation with a servant on some one else's door-step!) Norden behaved with perfect discretion, asking her to take a seat while he made enquiries. After a moment he returned to say--once more--that Mr. William was not at home. The girl, from his account, was in two minds whether to search the house, but at last she consented to go.

I am not a nervous woman, as you are aware, but I was _thoroughly_ upset. A worse prelude to a _momentous_ meeting could hardly be imagined. Will was quite unstrung by the persecution; and, though I never encourage him to drink between meals, I said nothing when he helped himself to brandy. He needed it...

"Son of mine, we must _rally_," I said. "She _must_ see, after this--"

"I shall go off my head if this goes on any longer," he said.

Utterly unnerved...

I had thought it better to send Arthur off to his club for dinner. To my mind, it is inconceivable that a father should be jealous of his own son, but I can think of no other way to explain my husband's persistent attitude of disparagement whenever a united front is most necessary. "A policy of pin-pricks" was the phrase that my boy once coined for it. We are, I hope, a devoted family, but Arthur seems _never_ to lose an opportunity of indulging in a sneer... Yet I wish we had had him with us that night. In a crisis I am only too well aware that I am always left to find a way out, but that night I felt hardly adequate even to ordinary conversation; and, when this Sir Appleton began to shew the cloven hoof, I knew that only a man could deal with him.

We were taken utterly off our guard. He came into the room, shook hands with me, bowed to Will, waited until Norden was out of the room and then said:

"There's a lady downstairs who wants to see one of you for a moment. She was on the doorstep, when I arrived, and your servants didn't want to admit her. I gathered, however, that she'd been waiting for some time, so I made them let her in."

_Made_... In the school in which I was brought up, the bare idea of giving orders to other people's servants... I do not know whether you have been forced into contact with the world of "business men ", but I find their autocracy sometimes a little trying.

"A lady to see me?," I said. "Really, this is _not_ a reasonable time for calling."

"I fancy it was your son, Lady Ann, that she asked for," said Sir Appleton.

"Oh, I can't be bothered to see people at this hour of the night," said Will.

When Norden came in to announce dinner, I told him to explain that neither Will nor I could possibly desert our guest to talk to this girl at such a time...

"Oh, don't mind me," said Sir Appleton.

"But I do!," I said. "And I mind about dinner."

"I should be disposed to see her," said he. "Perhaps she's in trouble."

"It'll keep till to-morrow," said Will.

There was nothing so very heartless either in the words or in the tone, but for some reason Sir Appleton chose to take offence.

"That's not a very sympathetic line to take with some one who may be in great distress," he said. "For all you know, she's some girl friend of yours who's stranded in London without money. If you'll allow me to say so, Lady Ann, I think one of you should see her. It need not take more than a moment."

I fancied that I knew better...

"Norden can find out what the matter is while we're at dinner," I said. "You'll agree that it is not a very reasonable hour for calling."

"Which is what makes me think that her business is urgent," said Sir Appleton. "If you don't want to be bothered, will you allow _me_ to interview her? If it's only a five-pound note she wants because she's lost her purse..."

What could one say? Obviously he should not have _made_ such a suggestion, but, as obviously, I could not forbid him. It seemed fair to assume that she would not incriminate herself with a total stranger or try to blackmail us through him... And he had an assurance of manner which led me to hope that he would not stand any nonsense from her...

"Try--by all means," I said.

And it was on the tip of my tongue to beg him not to consider us; we could await his pleasure before thinking about dinner. But one had to be civil to the man for this one night.

He was gone for nearly half an hour. Will and I waited and waited... At last he came back and said: