Chapter III

Alicia Terrill did not view the _Brockley Aristocrat_ with unmixed joy. Even the lines "To A.T. with the homage of R.N." did little to reconstruct her sentiments in the matter. They ran--

Thou peerless daughter of the age,
So beautiful and fearless;
There soon shall come another stage,
When thou wilt not be Peerless.

She thought them rather impertinent, and it may be said that she did not like Mr. Nape over much.

Her objection to the _Aristocrat_ was its irritating appearance of permanency. She was a girl with decided views.

What elusive quality is it that makes for success in a newspaper? Is it purely a literary one, or a typographical one? Is it the choice of matter, or the arrangement of type? Perhaps a little of each. What it was that made the _Brockley Aristocrat_ successful from its very commencement may have been the individuality that lived in its pages. The deft touch of genius, the gloss and the brilliance of superlative merit. In its first number it claimed, modestly enough, to be of its kind unique.

"The _Brockley Aristocrat_," said the restrained notice, "will contain all the news worth reading and all the views worth writing: it will be a newspaper devoted to the best interests of the best people."

Mr. Nape, its nominal editor, rose nobly to his responsibilities. Most assiduously did he apply himself to the study of all that was most noteworthy in current journalism. He studied the back-files of the _Saturday Review_ and acquired the style caustic, he diligently acquainted himself with the Imperialism of the _Spectator_ and the _National Review_, and instantly secured the soundest of views on the Navy. He read from cover to cover the words of Miss Corelli and learnt all about editors: how bad editors are grossly fat and have pronounced Hebraic features, and how good editors are pretty scarce. He took lessons in journalism from a gentleman who guaranteed to turn a dustman into a reviewer in twelve lessons, and he read the life of Delane.

Little wonder that the _Aristocrat_ came to fame in a short space of time with such determined strivings after perfection behind it. Little wonder that people began to read it, and to look forward to Friday (when it was published) and to take sides in the controversy that raged between its proprietor and the owner of the _Lewisham and Lee Mail_.

"It isn't that I want them to take sides," said the Duke, "but I want to get them interested in me. It was the only method I could think of. You see I'm naturally of a shy and shrinking disposition, and I find it difficult to convey to comparative strangers a sense of my all-round excellences."

He was paying one of his rare visits to Alicia in her own home.

The outward and visible result of his hurricane courtship glittered on the third finger of her left hand.

"But surely," she urged a little impatiently--she was a real girl and this is a true story--"you have some plans for the future, you do not intend to end your days in Brockley?"

He nodded his head.

"I can imagine nothing more satisfying," he said, "than to pass to the dark beyond, to the bourne from which--in the midst of mine own people."

"The calm way in which you have appropriated us all," she said, with a smile which was half amusement and half vexation, "is too appalling. But, dear, there is me."

"There is you," he repeated, with a twinkle in his eyes, "I have thought of that--you shall stay and share my glories."

"In the suburbs?"

She lifted her eyebrows.

"In the suburbs," said the Duke, "we will take some nice house and call it the Chateau de Montvillier with a nice garden----"

"And a nice coachhouse and hot and cold water," she went on icily, "with a month at Margate every summer and a round of local pantomimes every winter--thank you."

"As for myself," said the Duke dreamily, "I shall stand for the Board of Guardians----"

"What!"

"Board of Guardians," said the Duke firmly, "it has been one of my life's dreams: in far-away San Pio in my cow punching days, when I used to lie out on the prairie, all alone, with the great stars glittering and the unbroken solitude of the wilderness about me, that was the thought that comforted me; the whispered hope that buoyed me up. To be a guardian! The trees in their rustling murmured the word, the far-off howl of the prairie dog was, to my fevered imagination, the voice of the chairman calling the Board to order."

"But seriously?" she pleaded, "please, please be serious."

"I _am_ serious," said the indignant Duke, "Brockley is nature, and all that pertains to Brockley is nature. Why even Tuppy sees that! When I told him that the Mayor didn't wear robes and didn't have a mace bearer, the poor chap nearly wept for joy, he's staying----"

"I am not interested in what Tuppy thinks," she said coldly, "or what Tuppy has planned. What interests me is the fact that I have no intention whatever of spending my life in the suburbs, so there."

I wonder if "so there" an expression that a lady, who had at one time lived in Portland Place, would use?

I wonder----

Alicia Terrill was angry, and not without cause.

Women have no sense of men's humour, and I do not think the Duke was tactful.

He was a young man who took things for granted.

Had Alicia been an heiress, she might have entered into the spirit of the Duke's humour. She could have afforded the whim. But she was not rich. Money is a horrid thing, and especially horrid to the poor girl who marries the rich man, however sincere and whole hearted her love is for him, and his for her.

For there comes, and there must come, an unpleasant feeling of dependence, a sensation such as must have been experienced by the unfortunate negroes who lived in Uncle Tom's Cabin (and nowhere else), when the whip of the overseer cracked, that is particularly irksome to a girl of independent character.

The Duke, as I say, took much for granted. Money was as nothing to him, he did not count it as a serious factor in life.

People with money seldom do.

You may say, having in mind the incidence of the Duke's tempestuous wooing, that there was little solid foundation for a true and abiding companionship such as marriage implies; that the ground was already prepared for misunderstandings. Perhaps your judgment is correct: in offering my own opinion, in all modesty, I venture to differ, because I know the Duke intimately.

"If you really loved me," she went on, "you would realize that I was your first interest--you would be ready to sacrifice these wretched whims of yours. It isn't the money and it isn't that I am ashamed of the suburbs--I would live in the Brixton Road--but I want to be the first thing in your life----" She faltered and made an heroic attempt to appear calm.

The Duke was genuinely astonished at the outburst, at the defiance that trembled in her tone, at the proximity of tears.

Nay, he was scared and showed it.

"My dear girl," he began.

"I'm _not_ your dear girl," she flamed, "I will not accept your horrid patronage. I will not allow you to treat quite serious matters--matters that affect my life--as subjects for your amusement."

"My dearest----" he began but she stopped him.

She removed the half circle of diamonds from her finger with deliberation. She said nothing because she was choking.

She did not throw it at him, because she was a lady and had lived in Portland Place.

She laid it on the table and fled.

The Duke stood speechless and open mouthed; he did not behave like a hero.

Did Alicia behave like a heroine?

A study of contemporary fiction compels me to confess reluctantly that she did not.

But this is a true story, and this remarkable scene I have described actually occurred.