Chapter I

“Thou canst not choose Freedom and go in bondage to the delight
of life.”

—RUDYARD KIPLING

It was Daphne’s last day in London. She wondered as she looked out over the sunny gardens, with their new birth of green leaves and neatly ordered flowers, why the country should take possession of her, and if the riches it gave would really compensate for the riches she must lose.

If it had been a little later in the season, and she had not been in mourning, perhaps she would not have wondered at this. It is only when we cannot do what we want, that what we can do becomes such a drudgery.

Daphne anticipated nothing but the uncongenial, so she sat fretting at fate and wondering what to do with the hours left her. Beyond the wish to avoid her stepmother, whose somewhat hasty re-marriage had caused her flight, she had no settled plan. She had just decided to ring for a maid and go out into the gardens, when she was startled by the announcement of Lord Cheston, who came in apologetic and a little shy to find out, as he expressed it, “What she was up to?”

“I have a day of last moments before me,” she explained, “without even a luggage label to write: and I _don’t_ want to leave London, Reggie, isn’t it awful?” Reggie looked as if he thought it was very awful indeed and shook his head at the hopelessness of the prospect.

“You could stay on, you know,” he finally brought out, “couldn’t you?”

“With Vera—and a new husband, a young man with a moustache!” cried Daphne impatiently. “And to hear him called my stepfather once removed! It’s an impossible situation. You might as well suggest that I should go to an orphan asylum, or become a foundling!”

“Do you object to moustaches?” asked Reggie, seizing the only subject on which he felt himself competent to speak. “I do, myself, you know. I always think they hide a fellow’s mouth.”

“That’s their one advantage,” said Daphne with some bitterness, “they hide his! If we stay here much longer Vera will come in; can’t you think of something to do?” Reggie’s face expressed the terrible struggle that the importance of such a subject suggested. He was perfectly content where he was, and so unused to projects which included Daphne, and so unwilling to include projects that didn’t, that it was she who had finally to help him out. “Have you ever seen the Tower?” she said. “I haven’t. We might go on the top of a ’bus, and walk about in the city. I have never walked about in the city; have you?”

“Rather,” said Reggie with pride, “my lawyer’s office is in the city. I’ve been there heaps of times.”

“Jews are there, too,” said Daphne with painful emphasis. Reggie looked crestfallen.

“What I say is,” he ventured feebly, “there isn’t any real harm in Jews.”

“I daresay you are competent to judge,” said Daphne a little grimly. There was a pause.

“We can’t go alone, can we?” Reggie asked doubtfully.

Daphne, who had just decided that they couldn’t, regarded him with unmixed scorn.

“I should very much like to know why not?” she said with some dignity. “I am quite able to judge of such matters for myself.”

“Oh! all right,” said Reggie delightedly. “Go and put your things on, and I’ll square Vera if she comes in.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Daphne as she left the room, “by squaring Vera!” Reggie, left alone, chuckled. Vera, it seemed, was closeted with her housekeeper, and would not need squaring. In a few moments, his companion descended with the addition of a large rose-covered hat, a well-fitting jacket, and an admirably handsome and useless feather boa. Daphne asked him if her hat was on quite straight. It was a superfluous question, as the room was well supplied with mirrors, but it gave him a valuable opportunity of surveying the whole effect from every possible point of view. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” she pleaded anxiously.

“It’s fairly decent,” said Reggie contentedly, “only it hides your face a little.”

“It’s meant to do that,” Daphne informed him.

“Well, then, I don’t approve of its intentions,” said Reggie. “They’re a bit too shady.” This obvious pun having met with the scorn it deserved, the two descended, and stood for a blissful moment surveying the bright, sweet freshness of the morning, which seemed expressly created for their benefit. Their youth laid claim to every breath of spring. They wandered through the Gardens to the Park, reaching the verge of Piccadilly at about twelve. Time, however, meaning nothing to them, they continued their journey, while Reggie explained to her from the front seat of a ’bus all the places that he didn’t know along their route, and she contradicted him in equally happy ignorance. The foolish moments gathered an extra force, until at last when they had reached their destination and passed in due form through the historical associations, which seemed so very far away, they were confronted by an obviously absurd clock which asserted that it was half-past one! When they found that both their watches were under the same delusion, Daphne became alarmed.

“What on earth _shall_ we do, Reggie?” she said; “you ought to have been more careful!” He met her reproach with a rueful sigh. “Can’t you think of anything?” she demanded indignantly.

“I can think of lunch,” he ventured. “I could think quite a lot about lunch.”

“We oughtn’t to,” said Daphne hesitating.

“Well, that settles it,” said Reggie; “besides,” he added solemnly, “I have known you since you were five years old. And you scratched me. It is one of my earliest memories.”

“Well, I don’t wonder!” said Daphne crossly; “but I don’t see that has anything to do with it—anybody would have scratched you!”

“Armed with the days of our infancy,” Reggie assured her, “why shouldn’t we share chops, particularly if they are grilled? I grant you it would be improper if they were fried. I know an awfully good place, too.” That decided her. Daphne could not refuse what sounded so eminently satisfactory; besides, it was really great fun, and Reggie was only a boy. She always considered him a boy, though, as a matter of fact, he was her senior by three years.

“I don’t know how you came to know of such a good place,” she said to him suspiciously as she finished her beautifully grilled cutlet. “I suppose you lunched here with your lawyer?” Reggie looked a little put out.

“I don’t see why you should always drag him in,” he said, “just when I was enjoying myself, too.”

“Well, you mustn’t any more,” said Daphne. “It’s time we went home, and if we meet anybody I shall never forgive you.”

“The principle is the same,” said Reggie sternly, “if we don’t.”

“How absurd you are, Reggie. We aren’t doing any harm, are we?”

“I’m not, certainly,” said Reggie; “but I can’t answer for you.”

“Well, if we aren’t doing any harm,” Daphne went on, ignoring his remark, “it can’t be wrong, but if people see us and think it’s wrong, it _will_ be, you must see that. We are told to avoid the very appearance——”

“Of evil,” Reggie finished; “you are, that’s where that hat comes in, it imputes a bad motive to the whole proceeding. You’d better not take it into the vicarage, your uncle would want to reform it.”

“Oh! do you think he’ll reform me?” cried Daphne aghast. Reggie chuckled.

“I daresay he’ll _try_,” he said reassuringly, “but I shouldn’t be anxious about the _result_ if I were you.” Daphne tried to frown, but her success was dashed by a dimple which she could not overcome. They went for one more look at the river. The sun caught the sails of the boats and floated with them into the distant mist. The dome of St. Paul’s shone like a lighted window, and far off the towers of Westminster shot up to share the glory.

“I shall remember to-day,” said Daphne with a little sigh. “Now that I drift off too, into the mist, where shall I land, I wonder, and shall I ever come back? It will be all the same, but I sha’n’t be; you know, Reggie. It will be another girl! I hope,” her eyes rested on the cathedral in sudden self-searching, “I hope a very much better girl, Reggie.”

“Oh! I wouldn’t go as far as that,” he pleaded, “if I were you!” but his voice was not as steady as he could have wished.

“You don’t know,” said Daphne in a low, earnest voice, “you don’t know what I mean.”

“And won’t you tell me?” he asked. Daphne shook her head.

“Don’t let’s be sentimental,” she said, “it doesn’t suit you nor please me. Now, which is most respectable for us: a ’bus or a hansom?” Reggie looked thoughtful.

“A hansom is nicer in some ways,” he concluded, “but a ’bus takes a longer time.”

“Then we’ll take a hansom,” said Daphne decidedly. “I agree with you, that the shorter time is a great advantage.”

“Now, who ever said that?” cried the exasperated Reggie, “you’re simply unfair!” It was nearly four o’clock, and people had begun to call, before they reached their destination. “I suppose you’ll write to a fellow?” Reggie asked as the unnecessarily speedy hansom gave its last jerk and plunge. Daphne shook her head.

“There are so many things to do in the country,” she exclaimed as she said “good-bye.” He held her hand as long as he dared.

“I say,” he said, blushing furiously, “it’s been a good day, hasn’t it?” Daphne ceased to gibe, her eyes grew tender as they met his. There was no doubt that he was an exceedingly nice boy.

“I told you I wouldn’t forget,” she said, “and I try not to remember what I haven’t enjoyed.” She turned swiftly and passed into the house. Even the hat with roses could not hide the friendliness of her eyes.

The last moments were nearly over, but not quite, when she ran up to her room and unlocked an old writing-desk full of letters. The handwriting was strong and full of character, and the letters had been read more than once. She did not re-read them now, she only glanced at the signatures Arthur—Arthur—Arthur. There was almost a monotony in the authorship, yet each had a golden difference to the girl who held them on her lap. She took them all over to the empty grate and set a match to them. Passion, and faith, and hope were burned to ashes in a few moments.

She sat watching them with hungry eyes. “Now it is all over,” she said, knowing that nothing had been changed but the visible, and that even that was not altogether a satisfaction.

She could not alter so lightly what the letters had meant.

The drawback to many destructions is that they destroy so little.