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ONE MAN'S VIEW




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ONE MAN'S VIEW
By LEONARD MERRICK
AUTHOR OF " VIOLET MOSES" "THE MAN
WHO WAS GOOD" "CYNTHIA, A
DAUGHTER OF THE
PHILISTINES" ETC
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS
9 HENRIETTA STREET
COVENT GARDEN WC
1897




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BUTLER &. TANNER,
THE: SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,
FROME, AND LONDON.




ONE MAN'S VIEW
~-4 ---.
CHAPTER I
THE idea was so foreign to his temperament
that Heriot was reluctant to believe that he had
entertained it even during a few seconds. He
continued his way past the big pink house and
the girl on the balcony, surprised at the interest
roused in him by this fortuitous discovery of
her address. Of what moment was it where she
was staying? He had noticed her among the
crowd about the band-stand one morning, and
admired her. In other words, he had unconsciously attributed to the possessor of a delicious
complexion and a pair of grey eyes, darkly
fringed, vague characteristics to which she was


I


B




ONE MAN'S VIEW


probably a stranger. He had seen her the next
day also, and the next-even hoped to see her;
speculated quite idly what her social position
might be, and how she came beside the impossible woman who accompanied her. All that
was nothing; his purpose in coming to Eastbourne was to be trivial. But why the sense
of gratification with which he had learnt where
she lived?
As to the idea which had crossed his brain,
that was preposterous! Of course, since the
pink house was a boarding establishment, he
might, if he would, make her acquaintance by
the simple expedient of removing there, but he
did not know how he could have meditated such
a step. It was the sort of semi-disreputable
folly which a man a decade or so younger
might commit, and describe as a "lark." No
doubt many men a decade or so younger would
commit it. He could conceive that a freshlypainted balcony, displaying a pretty girl for an
hour or two every afternoon, might serve to
extend the clientele of a boarding-house enormously, and wondered that more attention had
not been paid to such a form of advertise2




ONE MAN'S VIEW


ment.  For himself, however,-his hair was
already thinning at the temples; solicitors were
deferential to him, and his clerk was taking
a villa in Brixton-for himself, it would not
do!
Eastbourne was dreary, he reflected, as he
strolled towards the inevitable Wish Tower.
He was almost sorry that he had not gone to
Fairlawn, and quartered himself on his brother
for a week or two instead. Francis was always
pleased to meet him of recent years, and no
longer remarked early in the conversation that
he was "overdrawn at Cox's." On the whole,
Francis was not a bad fellow, and Fairlawn and
pheasants would have been livelier.
He stifled a yawn, and observed with relief
that it was near the dinner-hour. In the evening he turned over the papers in the smokingroom. He perceived, as he often did perceive
in the vacations, that he was lonely. Vacations
were a mistake: early in one's career one could
not afford them, and by the time one was able
to do so, the taste for holidays was gone. This
hotel was depressing, too. The visitors were
dull, and the cooking was indifferent. What
3




ONE MAN'S VIEW


could be more tedious than the meal from which
he had just risen?-the feeble soup, the flaccid
fish, the uninterrupted view of the stout lady
with the aquiline nose, and a red shawl across
her shoulders.  Now  he was lolling on a
morocco couch, fingering the Field; two or three
other men lay about, napping, or looking at the
Graphic. There was a great deal of tobaccosmoke, and a little whisky; he might as well
have stopped in town, and gone to the club.
He wondered what they did in Belle Vue
Mansion after dinner. Perhaps there was music,
and the girl sang? he could fancy that she sang
well. Or they might have impromptu dances?
He did not care for dancing personally, but
even to see other people enjoying themselves
would be comparatively gay. After all, why
should he not remove to Belle Vue Mansion if
he wished?   He had attached a significance
to the step that it did not possess, making it
appear absurd by the very absurdity of the
consideration he accorded it. He remembered
the time when he would not have hesitatedthose were the days when Francis was always
"overdrawn at Cox's." Well, he had worked
4




ONE MAN'S VIEW


hard since then, and anything that Francis
might have lent him had been repaid, and he
had gradually acquired soberer views of life.
Perhaps he might be said to have gone to an
extreme, indeed, and taken the pledge! He
sometimes felt old, and he was still in the
thirties. Francis was the younger of the two of
late, although he had a boy in the Brigade; but
elder sons often kept young very long-it was
easy for them, like the way of righteousness
to a bishop.... A waiter cast an inquiring glance round the room, and, crossing
to the sofa, handed him a card. Heriot read
the name with astonishment; he had not seen
the man for sixteen years, and even their
irregular correspondence had died a natural
death.
"My dear fellow! " he exclaimed in the hall.
"Come inside."
In the past, of which he had just been thinking, he and Dick Cheriton had been staunch
friends, none the less staunch because Cheriton
was some years his senior. Dick had a studio in
Howland Street then, and was going to set the
Academy on fire. In the meanwhile he wore a
5




ONE MAN'S VIEW


yellow necktie, and married madly, and smoked
a clay pipe; he could not guarantee that he
would be an R.A., but at least he was resolved
that he would be a Bohemian. He had all the
qualifications for artistic success, excepting the
talent. When he discovered the fact beyond the
possibility of mistake, he accepted a relative's
offer of a commercial berth in the United States,
and had his hair cut. The valedictory supper
in the studio, at which he had renounced ambition, and solemnly burned all his canvases, which
the dealers would not buy, had been a very
affecting spectacle.
"My dear fellow!" cried Heriot.  "Come
inside. This is a tremendous pleasure! When
did you arrive?"
" Came over in the Germanic, ten days ago.
It is you, then! I saw 'George Heriot'in the
Visitors' List, and strolled round on the chance.
I scarcely hoped-   How are you, old man?
I'm mighty glad to see you-fact! "
" You've been here ten days? "
" Not here, no; I've only been in Eastbourne
a few hours."
"You should have looked me up in town."
6




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" I tried. Your chambers were shut."
" Of course; but the porter at the club  "
"What club? You forget what an exile I
am!"
" Have a drink? Well, upon my word, this
is very jolly! Sit down; try one of these!"
" Would you have recognised me?" asked
Cheriton, stretching  his legs, and  lighting
up.
"You have changed," admitted Heriot; "it's
a long time. I've changed too."
They regarded each other with a gaze of
friendly criticism. Heriot noted with some
surprise that the other's appearance savoured
little of the American man of business, or of the
man of business outside America. His hair,
though less disordered than it had been in the
Howland Street period, was still rather longer
than is customary in the city. It was now grey,
and became him admirably. He wore a brown
velvet jacket, and showed a glimpse of a loosely
tied knot of silk. He no longer looked a
Bohemian, but he had acquired the air of a
celebrity.
"Have you come home for good, Cheriton?"
7




ONE MIAN'S VIEW


Cheriton shook his head.
" I guess the States have got me for life," he
answered; " I'm only making a trip. And you?
You're still at the Bar, eh? "
" Oh, yes," said Heriot drily; " I'm still at the
Bar." (It is not agreeable, when you have succeeded in a profession, to be asked if you belong
to it still.) " I've travelled on the lines on which
you left me-it doesn't make an exciting narrative. Chambers, court, and bed! A laundress
or two has died in the interval. The thing
pays better than it used to do, naturally; that's
all."
" You're doing well?"
" I should have called it 'doing well' once;
but we are all Olivers in our hearts. Today —"
" Mistake!" said the elder man.    "You
wanted the Bar-you've got the Bar; you ought
to be satisfied. Now I —"
"Yes?" said Heriot, as he paused. " How's
the world   used  you, Cheriton?  By the
way, you never answered my last letter, I
think."
" It wasyou wvho didn't answer me."
8




ONE MIAN'S VIEW


" I fancy not. You were going to Chicago,
and I wrote-"
" I wrote after I arrived in Chicago."
" Well, it must be five years ago; we won't
argue. What did you do in Chicago, Cheriton?"
" No good, sir. I went there with a patent
horse-collar. Capital invention-not my own, I
never invented anything!-but it didn't catch
on. They seemed to take no interest in horsecollars; no money in it, not a cent! After the
horse-collar I started in the dry-goods trade;
but I was burned out. From Chicago I went to
Duluth; I've an hotel there to-day."
"An hotel?"
"That's so. It isn't a distinguished career,
running a little hotel, but it's fairly easy. Compared with hustling with horse-collars it's
luxurious. Duluth is a hole; but what would
you have! I make my way, and that's all I
ask now.   If I had my life over again —"
He sighed. "If we could have our lives over
again, eh, Heriot?"
"Humph! " said Heriot doubtfully; he was
wondering if he could make any better use of
9




ONE MAN'S VIEW


his own-if he would be any livelier the next
time he was eight-and-thirty. "I suppose we
all blunder, of course."
" You are a young man yet; it's different for
you; and you're in the profession of your choice:
it's entirely different. We don't look at the
thing from the same standpoint, Heriot."
"You don't mean that you regret giving up
Art? "
"Sir," said Cheriton mournfully, "it was the
error I shall always regret! I wouldn't say as
much to anybody else; I keep it here "-he
tapped his velvet jacket-" but I had a gift, and
I neglected it; I had power, and-and I run an
hotel! When I reflect, man, there are hourswell, it's no use crying over spilt milk; but to
think of the position I should have made, and to
contrast it with what I am, is bitter." He swept
back his wavy hair impatiently, and in the
momentary pose looked more like a celebrity
still. Heriot could see that the cherished delusion gave him a melancholy pleasure, and was
at a loss how to reply.
" It was up-hill work," he said at last. " Who
can tell! Luck —"
I0




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" I was a lad, an impetuous lad; and I was
handicapped-I married!" (The man with a
failure to explain is always grateful to have
married.) "But I had the stuff in me, I had the
temperament. 'Had' it?   I have it now! I
may keep an hotel, but I shall never be an hotelkeeper. God gave me my soul, sir; circumstances gave me an hotel. I mayn't paint any
more, but an artist by nature I shall always be!
I don't say it in any bragging spirit, Heriot; I
should be happier if I didn't feel it.  The
commonplace man may be contented in the
commonplace calling: he fills the role he was
meant for. It's the poor devil like myself, who
knows what he might have been, who suffers! "
Heriot did not pursue the subject; he puffed
his cigar meditatively. After the effervescence
subsides, such meetings must always have a little
sadness; he looked at the wrinkles that had
gathered in his friend's face, and realized the
crow's-feet on his own.
"You lost your wife, you wrote me?" he
remarked, breaking a rather lengthy silence.
" In New York, yes-pneumonia. You never
married, eh?"
II




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" No. Do you stay over here long?"
"A month or two; I can't manage more!
But I shall leave my girl in London. I've
brought her with me, and she'll remain."
"Of course," said Heriot, "you have a childof course you have! I remember a little thing
tumbling about in Howland Street. She must
be a woman, Cheriton? "
" Mamie is twenty-one. I want to see if I can
do anything for her before I go back. She
loathes Duluth; and she has talent. She'll live
with my sister. I don't think you ever saw my
sister, did you? She is a widow, and stagnates
in Wandsworth-Mamie will be company for
her."
"Your daughter paints?"
"No, not paints; she wants to be an actress.
I wasn't very keen on it; but she's got the
material in her, and I concluded I'd no right
to say 'no'. Still, she's not very strong-takes
after her mother, I'm afraid, a little; I'd rather
she'd had a gift for something else."
"Was it necessary for her to have a gift
at all?" asked Heriot, a shade sarcastically.
"Couldn't she stop at home? "
12




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Well," said Cheriton, "she tried it, but it's a
hard thing for a girl like Mamie to content herself with the life in Duluth. There isn't much
art in that, Heriot; there isn't much anything.
There's the lake, and Superior Street, and the
storekeepers lounging in the doorways and
spitting on the wooden side-walks. And there's
a theatre of a sort-which made her worse. For
a girl panting to be famous, Duluth is a hell.
She's been breaking her heart in it ever since
she was sixteen; and after all, it's in the blood.
It would have been odd if my daughter hadn't
had the artistic temperament, I suppose! "
"I suppose it would," said Heriot.  " Well,
why doesn't she go on the stage in America?
I shouldn't think she'd find it easy here."
" She wouldn't find it easy there. There's no
stock company in Duluth; only the travelling
companies come sometimes for a few nights.
There's no bigger opportunity for her on the
other side than on this. Besides, she wants the
English stage. I wonder if you know anybody
who could give her any introductions?"
"I? " said Heriot; " not a soul! "
"I'm sorry to hear you say that," replied
I'3




ONE MAN'S VIEW


Cheriton blankly; "I was counting on you
some!"
Heriot looked at him.
" You counted on me!" he said; " for Heaven's
sake, why?"
"Well, I don't know many people over here
to-day, you see; the fellows I used to knock
against have died, gone to the Coloniesfizzled out.  You were solid; and you were
a swell, with connections and all that!  I
understand the stage has become very fashionable in London-I thought you might meet
actor-managers at dinners and fetes and blessed
things. That was the idea; I daresay it was
very stupid, but I had it. I mentioned your
name to Mamie as soon as it was settled we
should come.  However, we'll fix the matter
somehow."
" I'm sorry to prove a disappointment," said
Heriot. " Tell your daughter so for me. I'd do
what you want with pleasure, if I were able.
You know that, I'm sure? "
"Oh, I know that," said Cheriton; "it can't
be helped. Yes, I'll tell her. She will be disappointed, of course; she understands how
I4




ONE MAN'S VIEWr


difficult the thing is without influence, and
I've talked about you a lot."
"Do you think you were wise to-to  -"
"Oh, it was a mistake as it turns out."
"I don't mean that only. I mean, do you
think you were wise to encourage her hopes
in such a direction at all? Frankly, if I had
a daughter —     Forgive me for speaking
plainly."
"My dear fellow! your daughter and mine!
-their paths would be as wide apart as the
Poles. And you don't know Mamie! "
"At all events I know that the stage is
more overcrowded every year. Most girls are
stage-struck at some time or other; and there
are hundreds of actresses who can't earn breadand-cheese. A man I know has his type-writing
done by a woman who used to be on the stage.
She played the best parts in the country, I
believe, and, I daresay, nursed the expectation
of becoming a Bernhardt. She gets a pound
a week in his office, he tells me, and was
thankful to obtain the post!"
" Mamie is bound to come to the front. She's
got it-she's an artist born! I tell you, I should
I5




ONE MAN'S VIEW


be brutal to stand in the way of her career;
the girl is pining, really pining, for distinction.
When you've talked to her you'll change your
views."
"Perhaps," said Heriot, as the shortest way of
ending the discussion; " very likely I'm wrong!"
The budding genius bored him. " Mind you
explain to the young lady that my inability, and
not my will, refuses, at any rate."
" That's all right," declared Cheriton, getting
up. "I told her I was coming round to see if
it was you." He laughed. "She's picturing me
coming back with a bushel of letters of introduction from you by now, I'll bet! Well, I must
be going; it's getting late."
" You brought her down to Eastbourne
to-day?"
"Oh, I've been dangling about town a little
by myself; Mamie and my sister have been here
a week. Good-night, old chap; shall I see you
to-morrow? You might give us a look in if
you will-say in the 'afternoon.  Belle Vue
Mansion; don't forget! "
"Where?" exclaimed Heriot, startled into
interest.
I6




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Belle Vue Mansion," repeated Cheriton,
gripping his hand. "You can't miss it: a big
pink house on the Esplanade."


I7


c




CHAPTER It


HERIOT betook himself there on the following
day with a curious eagerness.  If the girl he
had noticed should prove to be Cheriton's
daughter, how odd it would be! He at once
hoped for the coincidence, and found the possibility a shade pathetic. It emphasized his
years to think that the ill-klept child of the dirty
studio might have become the girl he had
admired. His progress during the interval appeared momentarily insignificant to him; he
felt that while a brat became a woman he ought
to have done much more. He was discouraged
to reflect that he had not taken silk; for he
had always intended to take silk, and had small
misgivings that he would have cause to repent
it. His practice had indicated for some time
that he would not suffer by the step, and yet
he had delayed his application.  His motto
I8




ONE MAN'S VIEW


had been, "Slow and Sure," but it seemed to
him suddenly that he had been too slow; his
income as a Junior should not have contented
him so long.
He pulled the bell, and was preceded up the
stairs by a maid-servant, who opened a door,
and announced him to the one occupant of the
room. Heriot saw that she was the girl of the
balcony and the Parade, and that she moved
towards him smiling.  In the instant of his
anticipation being confirmed, the coincidence
looked stranger to him still.
"I am Mamie Cheriton," she said. "My
father is expecting you."
Her intonation was faintly American, but her
voice was full and sweet. He took her hand
with singular pleasure, and a touch of excitement that did not concord with his countenance,
which was formal and impassive.
" I am glad to make your acquaintance, Miss
Cheriton."
" Won't you sit down? " she said. "He will
be here in a minute."
Heriot took a seat, and decided that her eyes
were even lovelier than he had known.
19




ONE MAN'S VIEW


When I saw you last, you were a child," he
remarked inaccurately.
"Yes; it must have astonished you meeting
my father again after so many years. It was
funny your being here, wasn't it?... But
perhaps you often come to Eastbourne? "
" No," said Heriot, " no, I don't often come.
How does it strike you, Miss Cheriton? I
suppose you can hardly remember England,
can you?"
"Well, I shan't be sorry to be settled in
London. It was London I was anxious to go
to, not a seaside resort... Do you say 'seaside resort' in Europe, or is it wrong? When I
said 'seaside resort'this morning, I noticed that
a woman stared at me."
"One generally says a ' watering-place ' over
here," he admitted; "I don't know that it's
important."
" Well, a 'watering-place' then. A wateringplace was my aunt's wish. Well    Well, I'm
saying 'well' too often, I guess?-that's American, too! I've got to be quite English-that's
my first step. But at least I don't talk through
my nose, Mr. Heriot, do I?"
20




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" You talk very delightfully, I think," he said,
taken aback.
" I hope you mean it! My voice is most important, you know. It would be very cruel that
I should be handicapped in my own country
by having a foreigner's voice. I shall have difficulties enough without! "
" I'm afraid," he said, "that I'm unfortunate.
I wish I could have done something to further
the ambitions your father mentioned."
She smiled again, rather wistfully this time.
"They seem very absurd to you, I daresay?"
He murmured deprecation: "Why?"
" The stage-struck girl is always absurd."
Recognising his own phrase, he perceived that
he had been too faithfully reported, and was
embarrassed.
" I fear I spoke hastily. In the abstract the
stage-struck girl may be absurd, but so is a
premature opinion."
"Thank you!" she said. "But why ' stagestruck,' anyhow? it's a term I hate. I suppose
you wanted to be a barrister, Mr. Heriot?"
" I did," he confessed, " certainly. There are
2I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


a great many, but I thought there was room for
one more."
" But you weren't described as 'bar-struck'?"
"I don't think I ever heard the expression."
"It would be a very foolish one?"
"It would sound so to me."
"Why 'stage-struck' then? Is it any more
ridiculous to aspire to one profession than
another? You don't say a person is 'paintstruck,' or 'ink-struck,' or anything else '-struck';
why the sneer when one is drawn towards the
theatre? But perhaps no form of art appears to
you necessary?"
" I think I should prefer to call it' desirable,'
since you ask the question," he said. "And
'art' is a word used to weight a great many
trivialities too! Everybody who writes a novel
is an artist in his own estimation, and, personally, I find existence quite possible without
novels."
"Did you ever read Mademoiselle de Maupin?"
asked Miss Cheriton.
"Haveyou? " he said quickly.
"Oh, yes; books are very cheap in America.
22




ONE MAN'S VIEW


'I would rather grow roses than potatoes,' is one
of the lines in the preface. You would rather
grow potatoes than roses, eh?"
" You are an enthusiast," said Heriot; "I see!"
He pitied her for being Dick Cheriton's daughter.
She was inevitable: the pseudo-artist's discontent
with realities-the inherited tendencies, fanned
by thinly-veiled approval! He understood.
Cheriton came in after a few minutes, followed
by the aunt, to whom Heriot was introduced.
He found her primitive, and far less educated
than her brother. She was very happy to see
dear Dick again, and she was sorry that she
must lose him again so soon. Dear Mamie,
though, would be a consolation. A third-rate
suburban villa was stamped upon her; he could
imagine her making ghastly antimacassars for
horse-hair armchairs, and that a visit to an
Eastbourne boarding-house was the event of
her life. She wore jet earrings, and poured her
tea into the saucer. With the circulation of the
tea, strangers drifted into the room, and the
conversation was continued in undertones.
"Have you been talking to Mamie about
her intentions? " Cheriton inquired.
23




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"We've been chatting, yes. What steps do
you mean to take, Miss Cheriton?    What
shall you do?"
" I propose to go to the dramatic agents,"
she said, "and ask them to hear me recite."
" Dramatic agents must be kept fairly busy,
I should say. What if they don't consent?"
"I shall recite to them."
"You are firm! " he laughed.
"I am eager, Mr. Heriot. I have longed till
I am sick with longing. London has been my
aim since I was a little girl. I have dreamt
of it! - I've gone to sleep hoping that I
might. I couldn't recall one of its streets, but
in dreams I've reached it over and over again!
The way was generally across Lincoln Park,
in Chicago; and all of a sudden I was among
theatres and lights, and it was London! "
"And you were an actress! And the audience showered bouquets!"
" I always woke up before I was an actress.
But now I'm here really, I mean to try to wake
London up."
" I hope you will," he said.  Her faith in
herself was a little infectious, since she was
24




ONE MAN'S VIEW


beautiful.  If she had been plain, he would
have considered her conceited.
" Have I gushed? " she said, colouring.
He was not sure but what she had.
" She's like her father," said Cheriton gaily;
" get her on the subject of Art, and her tongue
runs away with her. We're all children, we
artists-up in the skies, or down in the dumps.
No medium with us! She must recite to you
one of these days, Heriot; I want you to hear
her."
" Will you, Miss Cheriton?"
" If you like," she said.
" Dear Mamie must recite to me," murmured
Mrs. Baines; " I'm quite looking forward to it!
What sort of pieces do you say, dear?  Nice
pieces?"
"She knows the parts of Juliet, and Rosalind,
and Pauline by heart," said Cheriton, ignoring
his sister. "I think you'll say her Balcony
Scene is almost as fine a rendering as you've
ever heard. There's a delicacy, a spiritual — "
" Has she been trained?" asked Heriot; " I
understood she was quite a novice."
"I've coached her myself," replied Cheriton
25




ONE MAN'S VIEW


complacently.  " I don't pretend to be an
elocutionist, of course; but I've been able to
give her some hints. All the arts are related,
you know, my boy-it's only a difference in the
form of expression! They are playing Romeo
and Juliet at the theatre here to-night, and
we're going; she never loses an opportunity for
study.  It's been said that you can learn as
much by watching bad acting as good! Will
you come with us?" he added, lowering his
voice. "You'll see how she warms up at the
sight of the footlights."
" I don't mind," said Heriot, " if I shan't be in
the way. Suppose we all dine together at the
hotel, and go on from there? What do you
say? He turned to the ladies, and the widow
faltered:
"Lor! I'm sure it's very kind of you to invite me, Mr. Heriot.  That would be gay,
wouldn't it! "
She smoothed her flat hair tremulously, and
left the decision to her brother and her niece.
Heriot took his leave with the understanding
that he was to expect them, and sauntered
along the Parade more cheerfully than was his
26




ONE MAN'S VIEW


wont. The girl had not failed to impress him,
though he disapproved of her tendencies; nor
did these appear quite so preposterous to him
now, albeit he thought them regrettable. He
did not know whether he believed in her or
not yet, but he was conscious that he wished to
do so. His paramount reflection was that she
would have been a wholly charming girl if
she had had ordinary advantages-a finishing
governess, and a London season, and a touch
of conventionality. He disliked to use the word
"conventionality," for it sounded priggish; but
" conventionality " was what he meant.
At dinner, however, and more especially after
it, he forgot his objections. In the theatre he
watched Miss Cheriton more attentively than
the stage.  She herself sat with her eyes
rivetted on it, and he could see that she was
the prey to strong excitement. He wondered
whether this was created by the performance,
which seemed to him indifferent,. or by the
thoughts that it awoke, and resolved that he
would ask her. When the curtain fell, and they
issued into the street, he was not sorry that
Cheriton derided his suggestion of a cab, and
27




ONE MAN'S VIEW


declared that the walk back would be agreeable.  He kept by the girl's side, and the
others followed.
She did not speak, and after a minute he
said:
"Will it jar upon you if I say, ' Let us
talk'?"
She turned to him with a slight start.
"Of course not! How can you think me so
ridiculous? "
"Yet it did!" said Heriot; "I could see.'
"I know exactly how I appear," she said
constrainedly.  "I look an affected idiot. If
you knew how I hate to appear affected!  I
give you my word I don't put it on; I can't
help it!  The theatre gives me hot and cold
shivers, and turns me inside out.  That isn't
prettily expressed, but it describes what I
mean as nearly as possible. Am I 'enthusing'
again?"
" I never said you 'enthused' before. You're
not my idea of-of 'the gushing girl' at
all."
"I'm glad to hear it. I was very ashamed
when you had gone this afternoon." She hesi28




ONE MAN'S VIEW


tated painfully. " I wish I could explain myself,
but I can't-without a pen.  I can write what
I feel much better than I can say it. I began
to write a play once, and the girl said what I
felt perfectly. It was a bad play, but a big
relief. I've sometimes thought that if I walked
about with a pen in my hand, I should be a
good conversationalist."
" Try to tell me what you feel without one,"
said Heriot.
"You encourage me to bore you! Mr. Heriot,
I yearn, I crave, to do something clever.  It
isn't only vanity: half the craving is born of
the desire to live among clever people. Ever
since I can remember, I've ached to know
artists, and actors, and people who write and do
things. I've been cooped among storekeepers
without an idea in their heads; I've never seen
a man or woman of talent in my life, excepting
my father; I've never heard anybody speak who
knew what art or ambition meant. You may
laugh, but if I had it, I would give five hundred dollars to go home with some of those
actresses to-night, 'and sit mum in a corner, and
listen to them!"
29




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Don't you think it very likely you might
be disappointed? " he asked.
"I don't! I don't expect they would talk
blank-verse at supper, but they would talk of
their work, of their hopes. An artist must be
an artist always-on the stage, or off it; in
his studio, or in his club. My father is an
instance: he could not be a Philistine if he
tried. He once said something I've always
remembered. He said: 'God gave me my
soul, child; circumstances gave me an hotel.'
I thought it happily put."
Heriot perceived that Cheriton had thought
so too, since he had repeated the " impromptu"
to himself.
"o What a different world we should have
lived in by now if he had kept in his pro.
fession!" she exclaimed. "I quiver when I
realize what I've missed! People I only know
through their books, or the newspapers, would
have been familiar friends.  I should have
seen Swinburne smoking cigars in our parlour;
and Sarah Bernhardt would have dropped in
to tea, and chatted about the rehearsal she
had just left, and showed me the patterns of
30




ONE MAN'S VIEW


the new costumes she was ordering. Isn't it
wonderful? "
In sympathy for her he said:
" It is possible your father might have remained in England, and still not have become
intimate with celebrities."
She looked doubtful. "Even if he hadn'tand one likes to believe in one's own father,
Mr. Heriot-the atmosphere would have been
right. They mightn't have been Swinburnes
and Bernhardts that were at home in our place
-they might have been people the world
hasn't heard of yet.  But they would have
talked of the time when the world was going
to hear of them. One can respect an obscure
genius as much as a famous one."
They had reached the door of Belle Vue
Mansion; and when he was begged to go in
for half an hour, Heriot did not demur. They
had the drawing-room to themselves now, and
Cheriton descanted with relish on the qualifications necessary to make a successful actress.
He had no knowledge of the subject, but
possessed great fluency, and he spoke of " broad
effects," and "communicable emotion," and
3I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"what he might call a matter of perspective"
with an authority which came near to disguising the fact that there was little or no meaning
in what he said. The girl sat pale and attentive,
and Mrs. Baines listened vaguely, as she might
have done to a discourse in Choctaw. Relatives
who came back from abroad, and invited her
to stay with them in a house where she cost
two guineas a week, must be treated with
deference; but the stage and the circus were of
equal significance to her mind, and she would
have simpered just as placidly if her niece had
been anxious to jump through a hoop.  Her
chief emotion was pride at being in a room with
a barrister who, she had learnt, was the
brother of a baronet; and she watched him
furtively, with the anticipation of describing
the event in Lavender Street, Wandsworth,
where the magnate was a gentleman who travelled in a brougham, and haberdashery.
"Would it be inconsiderate to ask you to
recite to-night, Miss Cheriton?" inquired Heriot.
"Don't, if you are too tired."
She rose at once, as if compelling herself to
subdue reluctance, and moved towards the bay
3-2




ONE MAN'S VIEW


of the window slowly.  For a second or two
after she stood there she did not speak, only her
lips trembled. Then she began Portia's speech
on Mercy.   In recitation her voice had the
slight tremolo which is natural to many beginners who feel deeply; but its quality was
delicious, and her obvious earnestness was not
without effect.  Conscious that her gestures
were stiff, she had chosen a speech that demanded little action, and it was not until she
came to "Therefore, Jew, though justice be
thy plea," that her hands, which she had
clasped lightly in front of her, fell apart. With
the change of position she seemed to acquire
a dignity and confidence that made the climax
triumphant, and though Heriot could see that
she had much to learn, his compliments were
sincere.
When he bade her good-night, she looked at
him appealingly.
"Tell me the truth!" she said under her
breath; "I've only had my father's opinion
Tell me the truth!"
"I honestly believe you're clever," he answered. "I'm sure of it!" He felt his words
33             D




ONE MAN'S VIEW


to be very cold compared with the sympathy
that was stirring in him.
The proprietress, who had entered, hovered
about with an eye on the gas, and he repeated
his adieux hurriedly. The interest he already
took in the question of Miss Cheriton's success
surprised him. The day had had a charm that
was new, and he found that he was eagerly
anticipating the morrow.


34




CHAPTER III


ON the pavements of the Strand the snow had
turned to slush; and from the river a fog was
blowing up, which got into the girl's throat,
and made her cough. She mounted a flight of
gloomy stairs, and pulled a bell. Already her
bearing had lost something that had distinguished it in the summer: something of courage.
She rang the bell deprecatingly, as if ashamed.
The anteroom into which she passed had become painfully familiar to her, like the faces of
many of the occupants. They all wore the same
expression-an air of repressed eagerness: of
diffidence striving to look assured. The walls
were covered with theatrical photographs, and
in a corner a pimply youth sat writing at a
table. What he wrote nobody knew or cared.
The crowd had but one thought-the door that
communicated with the agent's private office, to
35




ONE MAN'S VIEW


which they prayed, though they were no longer
sanguine, that they would gain admission. It
was four o'clock, and at five the office would
close. There were so many of them, it was
impossible that Mr. Passmore could interview
everybody. Which would be lucky to-day?
Mamie also looked towards the door, and
from the door back to her companions in distress. A little fair woman in a light fawn costume-terribly incongruous to the season, but
her least shabby-met her eyes and spoke.
" Have you got an appointment? " she asked
in a low voice.
cc No."
" Oh, then you won't see him," said the little
woman more cheerfully. " I thought as you'd
come in so late that you had an appointment.
I've been here since twelve."
The door opened, and Mr. Passmore appeared
on the threshold. He did not say " good-afternoon" to his clients; he cast an indifferent gaze
round the room, and signed to a cadaverous man
who sat sucking the handle of his umbrella.
"Here! You!" he said, retiring again. The
cadaverous man rose hurriedly, among envious
36




ONE MAN'S VIEW


glances, and twenty-five heads that had been
lifted in expectation drooped dejectedly afresh.
The men whose watches were not pawned
looked to see the time.
"What's your line?" said the little woman,
addressing Mamie once more.
"I beg your pardon? Oh, I'm trying for my
first engagement; I haven't acted yet at all."
The other showed surprise and some contempt.
"A novice, are you! Good Lord, it's no
good your coming to the agents, my dear; they
can't find shops for us!"
" I paid Mr. Passmore the usual fee," said
Mamie; " he promised he'd do what he could."
The little woman smiled, and turned her
shoulder to her, declining further discussion.
Another girl rang the bell, but withdrew with
a sigh as she perceived the futility of waiting.
The cadaverous man came out, with "an engragement " writ large upon his features. He
stowed a type-written " part " into the pocket
of his overcoat, and nodded a farewell to an
acquaintance, whose cast of countenance proclaimed him a low comedian.
37




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Got anything, dear boy?" inquired the latter
in a husky whisper.
" They want me for the White Slaves Company-the Father! Offered four. Of course I
refused point-blank. 'No,' I said, 'six.' 'Oh,'
he said, 'impossible!' I wouldn't budge; what
do you think! Why, I had eight with Kavanagh,
and she's as good as booked me for her next
tour. 'I don't mind,' I said; 'I'll go to the
Harcourts!' They've been trying to get me
back, and he knows it. 'Don't do that,' he
said; 'say five, my boy!' 'Six!' I said, 'and
I only take it then to fill in.' 'Well, they want
you,' he said; 'you're the only man for the part,
and I suppose you've got to have your own
terms; but they wouldn't pay it to anybody
else!"' (His salary was to be three pounds
ten, and he could have shed tears of relief to
get it.)
"Damn fine, old chap!" said the low comedian,
who didn't believe a word. " Is the comedy part
open, do you know? I might-"
"Don't think so; fancy they're complete."
His  manner was     already  condescending.
"'Olive oil!'"
38




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" Now, I can't see you people to-day," exclaimed Mr. Passmore, putting up his hands
impatiently. " No good, Miss Forbes," as a
girl made a dart towards him with a nervous
smile that was meant to be ingratiating; "got
nothing for you, it's no use!... What do
vou want, my dear? "
Another lady, who found it embarrassing to
explain her anxiety in public, fLltered that she
had just looked in to hear if Mr. Passmore
could kindly-"
" Nothing doing! perhaps later on. I'll let
you know."
"You will bear me in mind, won't you, Mr.
Passmore? " she pleaded.
" What? " he said. " Oh, yes, yes; I'll drop
you a postcard-I won't forget you. Goodday." He did not even recollect her name!
"Can I speak to you, M1r. Passmore?" said
Mamie, rising.
" You? " he said questioningly. 'i Oh, I can't
do anything for you yet! Everything's made
up-things are very quiet just now....
Here, Miss Beaumont, I wvant a word with
you."
39




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Give me a minute," persisted Mamie. "I
want an engagement; I don't care how small
the part is. I'll be a servant, I'll be anything,
I want a beginning! I recited to you, if you
remember, and —"
" Did you? " he said. "Oh, yes, yes, I remember -very nice. You wanted to play
'Juliet'!" He laughed.
"I'll be anything! " she said again. " I'll give
you double the commission if —"
" Have you got enough voice for chorus? " he
asked testily. " How are your limbs? "
" I want to be an actress," she said, flushing.
" I mean to work! "
" Come on, Miss Beaumont!" he cried. And
Miss Beaumont swept past her into the sanctum.
The girl who six months ago had looked forward to playing "Juliet" made her way down
the dingy staircase drearily. This was but one of
the many dramatic agents with whom she had
gone through the form of registering her name.
Mr. Passmore's booking-fee had been five shillings; most of the others' booking-fee had been
five shillings; one had charged a guinea. All
alike had been affable on her first visit, and for40




ONE MAN'S VIEW


gotten who she was when she paid her second;
all had been reminded who she was on her
second, and failed to recognise her again upon
her third. She called on one or another of them
every day, and contrived to gain such an interview as she had just had about once a week.
She had taken in the theatrical papers and
replied to shoals of advertisements, but as she
had to state she was a novice, nobody ever
took any notice of her applications. She had
haunted the stage-doors when she read that a
new piece was to be produced, and begged in
vain to be allowed to see the manager. She
had, in fine, done everything that was possible,
and she was as far from securing an engagement as on the day that she arrived in England.
And she had talent, and she was beautiful, and
was prepared to commence upon the lowest
rung of the ladder.
The Stage is generally supposed to be the
easiest of all callings to enter. The girl who
is unhappy at home, the boy who has been
plucked for the army, the woman whose husband has failed on the Stock Exchange, all
speak of "going on the stage" as calmly as if
4I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


it were only necessary to take a stroll to get
there. As a matter of fact, unless an extraordinary piece of fortune befall her, it is almost
as difficult for a girl without influence, or a good
deal of money, to become an actress as it is for
her to marry a duke. She may be in earnest,
but there are thousands who are in earnest; she
may be pretty, but there are hundreds of pretty
actresses struggling and unrecognised; she may
be a genius, but she has no opportunity to display her gift until the engagement is obtained.
And this is the tremendous obstacle. She can
prove nothing; she can only say, "I feel I
should succeed." If she is allowed to reciteand it is very rarely that she is-a recital is
little or no test of her qualifications for the
boards. She may recite superbly, and as an
actress be very indifferent. She has to beg to
be taken on trust, while myriad women, eager
for the vacant part, can cry, " I can refer you to
so-and-so; I have experience!"  Though other
artistic professions may be as hard to rise in,
there is probably none other in which it is
quite so difficult to make the first steps. If a
girl is able to write, she can sit alone in her
42




ONE MAN'S VIEW


bedroom, and demonstrate her capability; if
she can paint, her canvases speak for her; if
she pants to be a prima donna, she can open
her mouth, and people hear her sing. The
would-be actress, alone among artists, can do
nothing to show her fitness for the desired
vocation until her self-estimate has been blindly
accepted-and she may easily fail to do herself justice then, cast as she will be for minor
r6les entirely foreign to her bent.
To succeed on the stage requires indomitable
energy, callousness to rebuffs, tact, luck, talent,
and facilities for living six or nine months out
of the year without earning a shilling. To get
on to the stage requires valuable introductions
or considerable means. If a woman has neither,
the chances are in favour of her seeking a commencement vainly all her life. And as to a
young man so situated who seeks it, he is endeavouring to pass through a brick wall.
Mamie descended the dingy staircase, and at
the foot she saw the girl who had been addressed
as "Miss Forbes."  She was standing on the
doorstep, gathering up her skirts. It had commenced to snow again, and she contemplated
43




ONE MAN'S VIEW


the dark, damp street shrinkingly. An impulse
seized Mamie to speak as she passed. From
such trifles great things sometimes followed, she
remembered. She was at the age when the
possibility of the happy accident recurs to the
mind constantly-a will-o'-the-wisp that lightens
the gloom.  The reflection takes marvellous
forms, and at twenty-one the famous actor-of
the aspirant's imagination -vho goes about the
world crying, "A genius! you must come to
me! " may be met in any omnibus. The famous
actor of the aspirant's imagination is like the
editor as conceived by the general public: he
spends his life in quest of obscure ability.
"If we're going the same way, I can offer you
a share of my umbrella," she said.
"Oh, thanks!" said the girl in a slightly
surprised  voice;  " I'm  going  to  Charing
Cross."
"And I'm going to Victoria, so our road is
the same," said Mamie.
A feeling of passionate pleasure suffused her
as she moved away by the girl's side through
the yellow fog. The roar of the Strand had
momentarily the music of her dreams while she
44




ONE MAN'S VIEW


yearned in Duluth, and the greatness of the city
-the London of theatres, Art, and booksthrobbed in her veins. She was walking with
an actress!
"Isn't it beastly? " said the girl. "I suppose
you've got to train it?"
"Yes; I'm living in Wandsworth. Haveyou
far to go?"
"Notting Hill. I take the 'bus. Passmore
hadn't got anything for you, had he?"
Mamie shook her head.    " We were both
unlucky; but perhaps it doesn't matter so
much to you? "
" Doesn't it!...Have you been on his
books long, Miss?"
" Miss Cheriton-Mamie Cheriton."
"That's a good name; it sounds like a
character in a play-as if she'd have a lovescene under the apple-blossom! Where were
you last?"
" At Mr. Faulkner's; but he didn't know of
any vacancy either."
"I don't mean that," said Miss Forbes; "I
mean, how long have you been 'out'?"
" Oh," answered Mamie, "I left home at one
45




ONE MAN'S VIEW


o'clock; that's the worst of living such a long
way off!"
The other stared.
"Don't you understand?" she exclaimed.
"I mean, what Company were you in last, and
when did it finish? "
"Oh, I see," stammered Mamie. "I'm sorry
to say I've everything in front of me! I've
never had a part yet at all. I'm that awful
thing-a novice."
" Crumbs! " said Miss Forbes.
"I guess you actresses look down on novices
rather?"
" Well, the profession is full enough already,
goodness knows! Still, I suppose we've all got
a right to begin. I don't mind a novice who
goes to the agents in the snow; it shows she
means business anyhow. It's the amateurs who
go to the managers in hansoms that I hate. But
it's an awful struggle, my dear, take my word
for it; you'd better stop at home if you can
afford to! And Passmore will never be any
use to you. Look at me! I've been going to
him for four months; and I played 'Prince
Arthur' on tour with Sullivan when I was nine."
46




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"I am looking at you," said Mamie, smiling,
" and envying you till I'm ill. You say Passmore is no use: let me into a secret. What
can I do to get an engagement?"
"Blessed if I know, if you haven't got any
friends to pull the strings. I'd like to know the
secret myself! Well," she broke off, "perhaps
we shall meet again. I must say 'good-evening' here; there's my 'bus."
" Don't go yet!" begged Mamie. " Won't you
come and have some tea first? "
Miss Forbes hesitated eloquently.
"I shall get tea when I reach home," she
murmured, " and I'm rather late."
"Oh, let me invite an actress to tea. Do,
please! It will be the next best thing to getting a part."
"You're very kind. I don't mind, I'm sure.
There's a place close by where they give you a
pot for two for fourpence.  You're American,
aren't you?"
" I've lived in America; I'm English really."
They entered the establishment referred to,
and seated themselves at a table.   Mamie
ordered a pot of tea and muffins.
47




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" It's nice and warm in here! " she said.
" Isn't it! I noticed you in the office. My
name is Mabel Forbes; but I daresay you heard
Passmore speak to me? "
"Yes; he didn't speak very nicely, did he?"
" They never do; they're all alike.  They
know we can't do without them, and they treat
us like dirt. I tell you, it's awful; you don't
know what you're letting yourself in for, my
dear!"
" To succeed I'd bear anything, all the snubs
and drudgery imaginable. I do know; I know
it's not to be avoided. I've read the biographies
of so many great actresses. I should think of
the future-the reward. I'd set my teeth and
live for that time; and I'd work for it morning,
noon, and night."
" It would do me good to live with you if we
were on tour together," said Miss Forbes cheerfully; "you'd keep my pecker up, I think! I
loathe sharing diggings with another girl, as a
rule-one always quarrels with her, and, with
the same bedroom, one has nowhere to go and
cry. After they've been in the profession a few
years they don't talk like you. Not that there's
48




ONE MAN'S VIEW


really much in it," she added with a sigh. " To
set your teeth, and work morning, noon, and
night sounds very fine, but what does it amount
to? It means you'd get two-ten a week, and
study leading business on the quiet till you
thought you were as good as Ellen Terry. But
if nobody made you an offer, what then?"
"You mean it's possible to be really clever,
and yet not to come to the front? " asked
Mamie earnestly.
" How can you come to the front if no one
gives you the opportunity? You may be liked
where you are-in what you're doing-but you
can't play 'lead' in London, unless a London
manager offers you an engagement to play
'lead,' can you? You can't make him. Do
you suppose the only clever actresses alive are
those who are known?    Besides, if leading
business is what you are thinking of, I don't
believe you've the physique for it; you don't
look strong enough.  I should have thought
light comedy was more your line."
" It isn't. If I'm meant for anything, it's for
drama, and-and tragedy. But I'd begin in
the smallest capacity, and be grateful.  The


49


E




ONE MAN'S VIEW


ideas I had when I came to London have been
knocked out of me-and they were moderate
enough, too! I'd begin by saying that the dinner was ready. Surely it can't be so difficult
to get an opening like that, if one knows the
way to go about it? "
" Well, look here, my dear. I played 'Prince
Arthur' with Sullivan when I was nine, as I
tell you, and I've been in the profession ever
since. But I've been out of an engagement
four months now. All I could save out of my
last screw has gone in 'bus fares and stamps;
and my people haven't got any more money
than they know how to spend. If an engagement to announce the dinner had been offered
me to-day, I'd have taken it; and I'd be going
back to Notting Hill happy."
" I'm awfully sorry," said Marnie sympathetically. "Shall we have another muffin? "
"No, I don't want any more, thanks. But
you've no idea what a business it is. I've got
talent and experience, and I'm not bad-looking,
and yet you see how I've got to struggle. One
is always too late everywhere! I was at the
Queen's this morning. There are always any
50




ONE MAN'S VIEW


number of small parts in the Queen's things, you
know, and I thought there might be a chance
for The Pride of the Troop. They'd got everybody except the extra-ladies.  By the way,
you might try to get on at the Queen's as
an extra, if you like. With your appearance
you'd have a very good chance, I should say."
Mamie felt her heart stirring feverishly. " Do
you mean it?" she asked. "What are 'extras'
-you don't mean 'supers '?"
"Oh, they're better than supers-different
class, you know. Of course they've nothing to
say excepting in chorus. They come on in
the Race Course scene and the Ball-room, and
look nice.  They wear swagger frocks-the
management finds their dresses - and are
supposed to murmur, and laugh, and act in
dumb-show in the background.   You know!
They're frightful fools-a girl who could act a
bit would stand out among extra-ladies like a
Bernhardt at the Ladbroke Hall!"
"If they would take me," said Mamie, clasping her hands; " if they would only take me!
Do you really think they will? "
"It couldn't hurt to try. Ask for Mr. Casey
5I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


and tell him you want to 'walk on.' There,
I've given you a hint after all," she exclaimed,
as she got up; "one can't think of everything
right off! It might prove a start for you; who
knows? If Casey sees you're intelligent, he
may give you a line or two to speak. You go
up to one of the principals, and say, 'Lord
Tomnoddy, where's that bracelet you promised
to send me when I saw you at Kempton Park?'
Then the low-comedy merchant-it's generally
the low-comedy merchant you speak to-says
something that gets a laugh, and bustles up
the stage, and you run after him angrily. But
don't be sanguine, even of getting on as an
extra!  There's always a crowd of women
besieging the Queen's at every production-you
won't be the only pretty one. Well, I must
be going, my dear. I wish you luck!"
"And luck to you!" said Mamie, squeezing
her hand gratefully; "and many, many thanks!
I look forward to telling you the result.  I
suppose we're sure to see each other at Mr.
Passmore's?"
"Oh, we're bound to run against each other
somewhere before long!" returned Miss Forbes
~          52




ONE MAN'S VIEW


cordially. " Yes, I shall be curious to hear
what you do; I've enjoyed our chat very much.
Take care of yourself! "
She hurried towards her 'bus, waving an "au
revoir," and Mamie crossed the road. London
widened between the girls-and their paths in
it never met again.


53




CHAPTER IV


As she reached the opposite pavement Heriot
exclaimed: "Miss Cheriton! Are you going
to cut me? "
"You?" she cried with surprise. "It wasit was the fog's fault; I didn't see. What a
stranger you are! it's a fortnight since you
came out to us.  A 'fortnight,' you observe
-I'm ' quite English, you know,' now."
"You're in good spirits," he said. "What
have you been doing?"
"I've been rising in my career," she answered
gaily. " I have had tea in a cakeshop with
an actress!  I have just shaken hands with
her; she has just given me a piece of advice. I am, in imagination, already a personage!"
54




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Who is she?" asked Heriot. "Where does
she come from?... Let me see you to
Victoria, I suppose that's where you are
going?"
He stopped a hansom, and scrutinized her
sadly as they took their seats.  "Have you
been out in this weather long7? " he said. "You
poor child, how wvet you must be! Well, you
know an actress!  Am I not to be told all
about it? "
She was as voluble as he wished; he had
become in the last few months her confidant
and consoler.  Lavender Street, Wandsworth,
or those residents who commanded a view
of No. 20, had learnt to know his figure well.
Awhile ago he had marvelled at the role he
was filling; latterly he had ceased to marvel.
He realized the explanation-and as he listened
to the tale her words smote him. It hurt him
to think of the girl beside him cringing to a
theatrical agent, forming a chance acquaintance
in the streets, and contemplating so ignoble a
position as the one of NN-hich she spoke. He
looked at her yearningly.
"You are not pleased," she said.
'53




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Is there a great deal to be pleased at? Is
this sort of thing worthy of you?"
"It is the first step. Oh, be nice about it,
do! If you understood-can I be a Juliet at
once! If I am to succeed   "
"I have sympathised with you," he said;
"I've entered into your feelings; I do understand!  But you don't know    what you're
meditating. Admitting it's inevitable-admitting, if you're to be an actress, that you must
begin, since you've no influence, where you're
content to begin-can you bear it?    These
women you'll be thrown amongst   "
" Some at least," she said, " will surely be like
myself!  I am not the only girl who has to
begin at the bottom! And if... whatever
they are, it can't be helped. Remember, I'm in
earnest!  I talked at first wildly; I see how
childish I was.  What should I be if I faltered because the path isn't strewn with roses?
An actress must be satisfied to work."
"It is not decreed that you need be an
actress," answered Heriot.  "After all, there
is no necessity to fight for subsistence. If you
were compelled   "
56




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"There are other compelling forces than
poverty. Can't you recognise ambition? "
"Haven't I? " he said.  "Have I been
wood? "
"Ah!" she smiled, "forgive me!  I didn't
mean that. But be nice still! Am I to reject a
career because I'm not starving? I'm starving
with my soul! I'm like a poor mute battling
for voice. I want-I want to give expression
to what I feel within me." She beat her hands
in her lap. "I'm willing to struggle-eager to!
You've always known it! Why do you disappoint me now? I have to begin even lower
than I understood, that's all.  And what is
it?  I shall be surrounded by artists then!
By degrees I shall rise. ' You are in the right
way, but remember what I say, Study, study,
study! Study well, and God bless you! ' Do
you know who said that?-Mrs. Siddons to
Macready.  It was at Newcastle, and it was
about her performance the same night that he
wrote: 'The violence of her emotion seemed
beyond her power longer to endure, and the
words, faintly articulated, " Was he alive?" sent
an electric thrill through the audience.' Think
57




ONE MAN'S VIEW


what that means; three words! I can't do it,
I've tried-oh, how I've tried! For months
after I read that book, I used to say them
dozens of times every day, with every intonation I could think of. But there was no effect,
no thrill even to myself. ' Study, study, study!
Keep your mind on your art, do not remit your
study, and you are certain to succeed!' I will
keep my mind on it, I'll obey her advice, I
will succeed! Heaven couldn't be so cruel as
to let me fail after putting such longings into
me!"
Heriot sighed. The impulse to tell her that
he loved her, to keep her to himself, was mastering him. Never before had her hold on him
been displayed so vividly, nor had the temptation to throw prudence to the winds been
quite so strong.
"If you had a happier home," he said, " there
would be other influences.  Don't think me
impertinent, but it can't be very lively for
you in that house."
" It isn't a whirl of gaiety, and Aunt Lydia is
not ideal! But-but I was just the same in
Duluth."
58




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Duluth! " he echoed; "it was dreary in
Duluth, too."
" At all events I had my father there."
"What does he write?" asked Heriot. "Have
you had a letter since I saw you?"
" He gives no news. The news is to come
from nme."
" I think there's a little," he said; " I can tell
it by your tone."
"' It's cheerful to be with some one who can
tell things by one's tone.  Well, he thinks, if
I can't make a commencement, that I may
as well go back."
"I see," he said. "I won't ask you if you
mean to."
She laughed a shade defiantly. "Duluth has
many charms. I've been remembering them
since his letter! There is my father, and there's
strawberry-shortcake. My father will be disappointed in me if I have to go; the strawberry-shortcake-well, there's a tiny shop there
where they sell it hot. I've never seen it hot
anywhere else-and they turn on the cream
with a tap, out of a thing that looks like a
miniature cistern!"
59




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"You're not going back," he said.' "You're
going on the stage as a supernumerary instead!
In the flare of the station lamps her eyes
flashed at him; he could see the passionate
trembling of her mouth. The cab stopped, and
they got out, and threaded their way among
the crowd to the barriers. There was a train
in ten minutes, Heriot learnt.
" Shall we go to the waiting-room?"
"No," said Miss Cheriton.
"Forgive me what I said just now. I am
sorry."
" What does it matter?"
" It was brutal."
"Rather, perhaps. It was unexpected. You
have failed me when I wanted you most."
He took two first-class tickets-he wished to
be alone with her, and he knew that she travelled " second."
"I'm coming with you," he said.
"But you can't have dined? Our suppers are
not extensive."
" Let us get in! " he answered.
They had the compartment to themselves
6o




ONE MAN'S VIEW


when the door banged, and he regarded her
silently, with nerves that had escaped control.
" I have warned you," she said. "It will be
something out of a tin for certain, with vinegar
over it."
" Mamie!"
There was rebuke in the expression.
"Mamie! " he repeated, " I love you. Why I
dislike your going on the stage is because I
want you myself. I was 'brutal,' because I'm
fond of you. Will you marry me? "
She lay back against the darkness of the
cushions, pale and startled.
"Are you serious?" she said. "You-want
to marry me! Do you mean it?"
"I mean it. I don't seem able to tell you
how much I mean it! Can you like me well
enough to be my wife?"
"I do like you," she stammered; "but I
hadn't an idea....I never thought you
thought — Oh, I'm sorry! "
"Why? Why can't you say 'yes'?"
"To marry you!"
"I'll be very gentle to you," he said shakily.
6I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"I -for God's sake, don't judge my love for
you by the way I put it! I haven't had much
practice in love-making, it's a pity, perhaps!
There's a word that says it all-I 'worship' you.
My darling, what have you to look forward to?
You've seen, you've tried, you know what an
uphill life it will be. It's not as if I begged you
to waive your hopes while you had encouragement to hope-you've made the attempt, and
you know the difficulties now! Come to me instead. You shall live where you like-you can
choose your own quarter. You can have everything you care for-books, pictures, theatres,
too. Oh, my sweet! come to me, and I'll fulfil
every wish. Will you, Mamie? "
"I can't," she said tremulously, " it wouldn't
be fair." Her eyes shone at him, and she leant
forward with parted lips. "I like you, I like
you very much, but I don't-I'm not.-  I've
never been in love with any one! "
"I will be grateful for small mercies," said
Heriot, with an unhappy laugh.
" And I could not do what you ask. If I fail,
I fail; but I must persevere. I can't accept
failure voluntarily-I can't stretch out my
62




ONE MAN'S VIEW


arms to it. I should despise myself if I gave
in to-day. Even you   "
" You know better than that," he said.
" Well, yes," she owned, " perhaps I'm wrong
there! To you it would seem a sensible step;
but I believe in myself. All my life I've had
the thought, and I should be miserable, I should
hate myself. I should be like my father-I
should be always thinking of the 'might have
been.' You'd be good to me, but you'd know
you'd been a fool. I'm not a bit the sort of
woman you should marry, and you'd repent
it."
Heriot took her hand and held it tightly.
"I love you," he said. "Consider your own
happiness only. I love you! "
" I am quite selfish ---I know it wouldn't content me; I'm not pretending to any nobility.
But I'm sorry; I may say that! I didn't dream
you liked me in this way. I'm not hard, I'm
not a horror, and I can see-I can see that I'm
a lot to you."
"I'm glad of that," he said simply. "Yes,
you're 'a lot to me,' Mamie. If you know it,
and you can't care for me enough, there's no
63




ONE MAN'S VIEW


more for me to say. Don't worry yourself. It's
not unusual for a man to be fond of a woman
who doesn't want to marry him."


64




CHAPTER V


SHE betook herself to the Queen's next morning
less buoyantly than she had anticipated. Her
meeting with Heriot had depressed her. She
retained much of the nature of a child, and
laughed or cried very easily.  She had met
Heriot laughing, and he had been serious and
sad.  With some petulance she felt that she
was very unfortunate in that he had fallen in
love with her, and chosen that particular day to
tell her so.
She entered the stage-door with no presentiment of conquest, and inquired of the man in
the little recess if Mr. Casey was in the theatre.
Stage-door keepers are probably the surliest
class in existence.  They have much to try


65


F




ONE MAN'S VIEW


them, and they spend their lives in a violent
draught; but the only known creature more
uncivil to the public at large than a stage-door
keeper is a New York policeman.
He took her measure in an instant, saving
in one particular-she was prepared to give
him a shilling, and he did not suspect it!
"Mr. Casey's on the stage," he said; "he won't
be disturbed now."
"If I waited, do you think I might see him?"
"I couldn't tell you, I'm sure."
He resumed his perusal of a newspaper, and
Mamie looked at him through the aperture helplessly. There was the usual knot of loafers
about the step-a scene-hand or two in their
shirt-sleeves, a girl in her pathetic best dress,
also hoping for miracles, a member of the company, who had slipped out from rehearsal to
smoke a cigarette.
Cerberus was shown where his estimate had
been at fault. He said " Miss " now: " If you
write your business on one of these forms, I'll
send it in to Mr. Casey, Miss."
He gave her a stump of pencil, and a printed
slip specially designed to scare intruders. She
66




ONE MAN'S VIEW


wrote her name, and Mr. Casey's name, and
could find no scope for euphemisms regarding
the nature of the interview she sought. She
added, "To obtain engagement as Extra," and
returned the paper with embarrassment; she
was sufficiently unsophisticated in such matters
to assume that her object had not been divined.
"'Ere, Bill." One of the scene-hands turned.
"Take it in to Mr. Casey for this lady."
The man addressed as Bill departed through
a second door with a grunt and a bang, and she
waited expectantly. The girl in her best frock
sneered; she could not afford to dispense shillings herself, and already her feet ached. The
door swung back constantly. At intervals of a
few seconds a stream of nondescripts issued
from the unknown interior, and Mamie stood
watching for the features of her messenger. It
was nearly a quarter of an hour before he reappeared, however.
"Mr. Casey can't see you," he announced.
The hall-keeper heard the intelligence with
absolute indifference; but the girl on the step
looked gratified.
" What shall I do? " asked Mamie.
67




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"I can't do no more than send in for you,
Miss. - It ain't much good your waiting-the
'call' won't be over till three o'clock."
"Could I see him then? "
"He'll come out. If you like to take your
chance —"
"I'll come back at three o'clock," she said,
It was then eleven.
She turned into the Strand-the Strand that
has broken more hearts than Fleet Street. Here
a young actor passed her, who was likewise
pacing the inhospitable pavements until the
hour arrived in which he hoped that patience
and importunity might bear result. He wore a
fashionable overcoat, and swung his cane with a
gloved hand. Presently he would seek a public.
house, and lunch on a scone and a glass of
" mild-and-bitter." If he had " bitter," he would
be a halfpenny short in his homeward fare to
Bow. There a burlesque actress went by, who
had "married a swell." His family had been
deeply wounded, and they showed their mortification by allowing her to support him. She had
had three children; and when he was drunk,
which was frequently, he said, " God forbid that
68




ONE MAN'S VIEW


they should ever become damned mummers like
their mother!" A manager had just told her
that " she had lost her figure, and wouldn't look
the part!" and she was walking back to Islington, where the brokers were in the house. A
popular comedian, who had been compelled to
listen to three separate tales of distress between
Charing Cross and Bedford Street, and had
already lent unfortunate acquaintances thirty
shillings, paused, and hailed a hansom from
motives of economy. It was the typical crowd
of the Strand, a crowd of the footlights. The
men whose positions had been won were little
noticeable, but the gait and costume of the
majority-affected Youth and disheartened Age
-indicated their profession to the least experienced eyes. Because she grew very tired, and
not that she had any expectation of hearing
good news, Mamie went into Mr. Passmore's
office, and sat down.
And she did not hear any. After an hour she
went away, and rested next in the anteroom of
another of the agents, who repeated that "things
were very quiet," and that "he wouldn't forget
her." Seven or eight other girls were waiting
69




ONE MAN'S VIEW


their turn to be told the same thing. At a
quarter to three she went back to the Queen's.
"Is he coming out now? " she said. "Am I
too soon?"
" Eh? " said the hall-keeper.
"You told me he'd be out about three. I
was asking for Mr. Casey this morning."
" Oh, were you? " he said. " There's been a
good many asking for him since then." He
gradually recalled her. "Mr. Casey's gone," he
added; " they finished early. He won't be here
till to-night."
There was a week in which she went to the
stage-door of the Queen's Theatre every day, at
all hours, and at last she learnt casually that as
many " extras " as were required for the production had been engaged. There were months
during which she persisted in her applications at
other stage-doors, and hope still flickered within
her. But when September came, and a year
had passed since her arrival, the expiring spark
had faded into lassitude. She tried no longer.
Only sometimes, out of the sickness of her soul,
the impulse to write w's born, and she picked
up a pen.
70




ONE MAN'S VIEW


Then it was definitely decided that she should
return to America. It was characteristic of her
that she had no sooner dried her eyes after the
decision than she was restless to return at once.
Duluth was no drearier than Wandsworth; externally it was even picturesque, with the blue
water and the sunshine, and the streets of white
chalets rising in tiers like a theatre. In Duluth
the residents "looked down on one another"
literally. The life was appalling, but when all
was said, was it more limited than Aunt Lydia!
And if, in lieu of acting, she dared aspire to
dramatic authorship-the thought stirred her
occasionally-she could work as well in Minnesota as in London. Cheriton had remitted
the amount of her passage, and suggested that
she should sail in a week or two. She had not
received the draft two hours when she went up
to town, and booked a berth in the next
steamer.
When it was done, she posted a note to
Heriot, acquainting him with her intention.
His visits had not been discontinued, but he
came at much longer intervals latterly, and she
7I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


could not go without bidding him goodbye.
She sat in the Lavender Street parlour the
next evening, wondering if he would come.
Almost she hoped he would not. She had
written, and therefore done her duty. To see
him under the circumstances, she felt, would
humiliate her cruelly. She remembered how
she had talked to him twelve months beforerecalled her confidence, her pictures of a future
that she was never to know now, and her eyes
smarted afresh. She had even failed to obtain
a hearing! "What a fool, what an idiot I
look!" she thought passionately.
Tea was over, but the maid-of-all-work had
not removed the things; and when Heriot
entered, the large loaf and the numerous knives,
which are held indispensable to afternoon tea in
Lavender Street, were still on the big round
table. The aspect of the room did not strike
him any more. He was familiar with it, like
the view of the kitchen when the front door had
been opened, and the glimpse of clothes-line in
the yard beyond.
72




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"May I come in?" he said. "Did you expect me?"
"Lor, it's Mr. Heriot!" said Mrs. Baines.
"Fancy!"
She told the servant to take away the teapot,
and to bring in another knife. He wondered
vaguely what he was supposed to do with
it.
"I thought it likely you'd be here," said
Mamie; " won't you sit down?"
"I only had your letter this morning. So
you are going away?"
"I am going away. I bow, more or less
gracefully, to the inevitable."
" To bow gracefully to the inevitable is strong
evidence of the histrionic gift," he said.
"I came, I saw, I was conquered; please don't
talk about it... It was only settled yesterday. I sail on Saturday, you know."
"Yes, you wrote me," murmured Heriot. " It
is very sudden!"
"I am crazy to do something, if only to confess myself beaten."
" May I offer you a cup o' tea, Mr. Heriot?"
asked Mrs. Baines.
73




ONE MAN'S VIEW


She always "offered" cups of tea, and was
indebted  to  neighbours for their  "hospitality."
He thanked her.
" You will miss your niece," he said, declining
a place at the round table, to which she had
moved a chair.
" Yes, I'm sure," she answered. "I say it's a
pity now she didn't go with her father last
October.... Going in a vessel by herself,
oh, dear! I say I wouldn't have got accustomed
to having her with me if she'd gone with
her father; though that's neither here nor
there."
"Yes, I think you may believe you will be
missed, Miss Cheriton," he said.
" I say it's very odd she couldn't be an actress
as she wanted," continued Mrs. Baines. " Seems
so unfortunate with all the trouble that she took.
But la! my dear, we can't see what lies ahead of
us, and perhaps it's all for the best! I say
perhaps it's all for the best, Mr. Heriot, eh?
Dear Mamie may be meant to do something
different-writing, or what not; it's not for us
to say."
74




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Have you been writing again?" asked
Heriot, turning to the girl.
"A little," she said bitterly. "My vanity dies
hard-and   Aunt   Lydia   has  encouraged
me."
Heriot looked a reproach; her tone hurt him,
though he understood of what it was the outcome.
" I should be glad if you had encouragement,"
he replied; " I think you need it now! "
But it hurt him, also, to discuss her pain in
the presence of the intolerable third. He knew
that if he remained to supper there would be a
preparatory quarter of an hour in which he was
alone with her; and it was for this quarter of an
hour that he hungered, conscious that during
the opening of the lobster-tin two destinies
would be determined.
"That's right, Mr. Heriot," said Mrs. Baines
placidly. "I'm glad to hear you say so. That's
what I've been telling her. I say she mustn't
be disheartened. Why, it's surprising, I'm sure,
how much seems to be thought of people who
write stories and things now-a-days; they seem
to make quite a fuss of them, don't they? And
75




ONE MAN'S VIEW


I'm certain dear Mamie could write if she put
her mind to it. I was reading in the paper, TitBits, only last week, that there was a book
called Robert Ellis,- or some such name, that
made the author quite talked about. Now, I
read the piece out to you, dear, didn't I? A
book about religion, it was, by a lady; and I'm
sure dear Mamie knows as much about religion
as any one."
"My aunt means Robert Elsmere," said Ma.
mie, in a laboured voice.  "You may have
heard it mentioned?"
"You mustn't expect Mr. Heriot to know
much about it," said Mrs. Baines; "Mr. Heriot
is so busy a gentleman that very likely he
doesn't hear of these things. But I assure you,
Mr. Heriot, the story seems to have been read
a great deal; and what I say is, if dear Mamie
can't be an actress, why shouldn't she write
books, if she wants to do something of the sort?
I wonder my brother didn't teach her to paint,
with her notions and that-but, not having
~learnt, I say she ought to write books. That's
the thing for her-a nice pen- and ink, and her
own home!"
76




ONE MAN'S. VIEW


" I agree with you, Mrs. Baines. If she wants
to write, she can do that in her own home."
" Not to compare it with such a profession as
yours, Mr. Heriot," she said, "which, of course,
is sensible and grave. But girls can't be barristers, and —"
"Will you open the window for me?" exclaimed Mamie; "it's frightfully warm, don't
you think so?"
She stood there with her head thrown back,
and closed eyes, her foot tapping the floor restlessly.
"Are you wishing you hadn't come?" she
asked under her breath.
"Why?"
" One must suffer to be polite here."
"Aren't you a little unjust?" said Heriot
deprecatingly.
"You have it for an hour," she muttered; "I
have had it for twelve months. Have you ever
wanted to shriek? I wanted to shriek just now,
violently!"
" I know you did," he said. "Well, it's nearly
over.... Are you glad?"
"Yes, and no-I can't say. If —"
77




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Won't you go on? "
"If I dared hope to do anything else
But I'm not going to talk like that any more;
I'm ridiculous enough already! "
"To whom are you ridiculous?"
"To my own perception; you 1"
"Not to me," he said.
"'Pathetic'? yes, to you I'm ' pathetic.' You
pity me as you might pity a lunatic who im.
agined she was the Queen of England."
"I think you know," said Heriot diffidently,
"that neither Her Majesty nor a lunatic inspires
quite the feeling in me that I have for yourself"
She changed her position, and spoke at
random:
"This street is awfully stupid, isn't it?" she
said. " Look at that man going up the steps! "
"Yes, he is very stupid, I daresay. What
of it?"
"He is a clerk," she said; "and wheels his
babies out on Sunday."
"Mamie!"
"Come and talk to Aunt Lydia again. How
rude we are!"
78




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"I want to talk to you," he demurred.
"Aren't you going to ask me to stay to
supper?"
The suggestion came from the widow almost
at the same moment.
"I think we had better have the lamp," she
went on. " The days are drawing in fast, Mr.
Heriot, aren't they?  We shall soon have
winter again! Do you like the long evenings,
or the long afternoons best? Just about now I
always say that I can't bear to think of having
to begin lighting up at five or six o'clock-it
seems so unnatural; and then, next summer,
somehow I feel quite lost, not being able to let
down the blinds, and light the lamp for tea.
Mamie, dear, shut the window, and let down
the blinds before I light the lamp-somebody
might see in!" She suggested this danger in
the same tone in which she might have hinted
at a burglary.
Under a glass shade a laggard clock ticked
drearily towards the crisis, and Heriot provoked
its history by the eagerness with which he
looked to see the time. It had been a weddingpresent from "poor dear Edward's brother";
79




ONE- MAN' S VIEW


and only one clockmaker- had really understood
it.- The man had died, and since -thenHe listened, praying for the kitchen to engulf her.
When she withdrew at last, with an apology
for leaving him, he rose, and went to the girl's
side'
"Do you know why I came this afternoon? )
he said.
She did know-had known it in the moment
that he opened the window for her:
"To say ' good-bye,"' she murmured.
"I-came to beg you not- to go! Dearest,
what do you relinquish by marrying me now?
Not the Stage-your hope of the Stage is -over;
not your ambition in itself —you can be ambitious as my wife. You lose nothing, and you
give-a heaven. Mamie, won't-you stay?"
She leant upon the mantelpiece without
speaking.  In the pause, Mrs. Baines' voice
reached them distinctly, as she said, '' Put the
brawn on a smaller dish.",
"You -are- forgetting," answered the girl
slowly; "there was...a reason besides the
Stage."
8o




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"It is you who've forgotten. I told you
I would be content.... It would not be
repugnant to you? "
" To refuse while I thought I had a future;
and to say ' yes,' now   Holw can you ask
me! It would be an insult to your love."
" I do ask you," he urged; " I implore!"
"You implore me to be contemptible. You
would have a disappointed woman for your
wife.  You deserve something better than
that."
" Oh, my God," said Heriot, in a low voice,
"if I could only tell you how I ache to take you
in my arms, as softly as if you were a child! If
I could tell you what it is to me to know that
you are passing out of my life, and that in two
days' time I shall never see you again!
Mamie? "
The heavy shuffle of the domestic was heard
in the passage.
" Mamie? " he repeated desperately. " It will
be worse over there."
Her eyes were big with perplexity and doubt.
" Mamie? "
" Are you sure you-sure-"
8i             G




ON;E   MAN'S    VIEW
"I love you; I want you. Only trust me!... Mamie?"
"If you're quite sure you wish it," she
faltered, —" yes!"


82




CHAPTER VI


WHEN Heriot informed his brother of his approaching marriage, Sir Francis said, " I never
offer advice to a man on matters of this sort";
and proceeded to advise.  He considered the
union undesirable, and used the word.
Heriot replied, "On the contrary, I desire
it extremely."
"You're of course the best judge of your own
affairs. I will only say that it is hardly the
attachment I should have expected you to form.
It appears to me-if I may employ the termromantic."
" I should say," said Heriot, in his most impassive manner, " that that is what it might be
called.  Admitting the element of romance,
what of it?"
"We are not boys, George," said Sir Francis.
83




ONE MAN'S VIEW


He added, " And the lady is twenty-two! The
father is an hotel-keeper in the United States,
you tell me, and the aunt lives in Wandsworth.
Socially, Wandsworth is farther than the United
States, but geographically it is close.  This
Mrs. Payne-or Baynes-is not a connection
you will be proud of, I take it?"
"I shall be very proud of my wife," said
Heriot, with some stiffness. "There are more
pedigrees than happy marriages."
The baronet looked at his watch. "As I
have said, it's not a matter that I would venture
to advise you upon. Of course I congratulate
you. We shall see Miss Cheriton at Fairlawn,
I hope?  And-er-Catherine will be delighted
to make her acquaintance. I have to meet Phil
at the 'Piccadilly.'  He's got some absurd idea
of exchanging —wants to go out to India, and
see active service.  And I got him into the
Guards! Boys are damned ungrateful!.
When do you marry? "
"Very shortly: during the vacation; there'll
be no fuss."
Sir Francis told his wife that it was very
"lamentable," and Lady Heriot preferred to
84




ONE MAN'S VIEW


describe it as "disgusting."  But in spite of
adjectives the ceremony took place.
The honeymoon was brief, and when the
bride and bridegroom came back to town, they
stayed in an hotel in Victoria Street while they
sought a flat. Ultimately they decided upon
one in South Kensington, and it was the man's
delight to render this as exquisite as taste and
money made possible. The furniture for his
study had simply to be transferred from his
bachelor quarters, but the' other rooms gave
scope for a hundred consultations and caprices,
and he enjoyed the moments like a lad in which
Mamie and he bent their heads together over
patterns and designs.
She would have been more than human,
and less than lovable, if in those early weeks
her disappointment had not been lost sight
of; more than a girl if the atmosphere of
devotion in which she moved had not persuaded her primarily that she was content.
Only after the installation was effected and
the long days while her husband was away
were no longer occupied by the upholsterers'
plans, did the earliest returning stir of recollec85




ONE MAN'S VIEW


tion come; only as she wandered from the
drawing-room to the dining-room, and could
find no further touches to make, did she first
sigh.
A gift of Heriot's-he had chosen it without
her knowledge, and it had been delivered as a
surprise-was a writing-table; a writing-table
that was not merely meant to be a costly ornament, and one morning she sat down to it and
began another attempt to produce a play. The
occupation served to interest her, and now the
days were not so empty. In the evening, as
often as he was able, Heriot took her out to a
theatre, or a concert, or to houses from which
invitations commenced to arrive. The evenings
were enchantingly new to her; less so, perhaps,
when they dined at the solemn houses than
when a hansom deposited them at the doors of
a restaurant, and her husband's pocket contained the tickets for a couple of stalls. She
was conscious that she owed him more than she
could ever repay; and though she had casually
informed him that she had begun a drama, she
did not discuss the subject with him at any
length. To dwell upon those eternal ambitions
86




ONE MAN'S VIEW


of hers was to remind him that she had said
she would be dissatisfied, and he deserved something different from that; he deserved to forget
it, to be told that she had not an ungratified
wish! She felt ungrateful to realize that such
a statement would be an exaggeration.
In the November following the wedding it
was seen that " Her Majesty had been pleased,
on the recommendation of the Lord Chancellor,
to approve the name of George Langdale Heriot
to the rank of Queen's Counsel," and Heriot
soon found reason to congratulate himself on
his step. A man may earn a large income as a
Junior, and find himself in receipt of a very poor
one as a Leader. There is an instance cited in
the Inns of Court of a stuff-gownsman, making
eight thousand a year, whose income fell, when
he took silk, to three hundred. But Heriot's
practice did not decline. Few men at the Bar
could handle a jury better, or showed greater
address ill their dealings with the Bench. He
knew instinctively the moment when that small
concession was advisable, when the attitude of
uncompromising rigour would be fatal to his
case. He had his tricks in court: the least
87




ONE MAN'S VIEW


affected of men out of it, in court he had his
tricks.  Counsel acquire them inevitably, and
one of Heriot's had been a favourite device of
Ballantyne's: in cross-examination he looked
at the witness scarcely at all, but kept his
face turned to the jury-box. Why this should
be persuasive is a mystery that no barrister
can explain, but its effectiveness is undeniable.
Nevertheless, he was essentially "sound." As
he had been known as "a safe man" while
a Junior, so, now that he had taken silk, he
was believed in as a Leader.   The figures
on the briefs swelled enormously; his services
were more and more in demand. Then by-andby there came a criminal case that was discussed day by day throughout the length and
breadth of the kingdom-in drawing-rooms and
back parlours, in clubs and suburban trains,
and Heriot was for the Defence. The Kensington study had held him   until dawn during
weeks, for he had to break down medical evidence. And on the last day he spoke for five
hours, while the reporters' pens flew and the
prisoner swayed in the dock; and the verdict
returned was, " Not Guilty."
88




ONE MAN'S VIEW


When he unrobed and left the court, George
Heriot walked into the street the man of the
hour; and he drove home to Mamie, who kissed
him as she might have kissed her father.
He adored his wife, and his wife felt affection
for him. But the claims of his profession left
her to her own resources; and she had no child.


89




CHAPTER VII


WHEN they had been married three years she
knew many hours of boredom. She could not
disguise from herself that she found the life she
led more and more unsatisfying-that luxury
and a devoted husband, who was in court
during the day and often in his study half
the night, were not all that she had craved for;
that her environment was Philistine, depressing,
dull!
And she lectured herself, and said the fault
was her own, and that it was a very much better
environment than her abilities entitled her to.
She recited all the moral precepts that a third
person might have uttered; and the dissatisfaction remained.
To write plays ceases to be an attractive occupation when they are never produced. She
had written several plays by this time, and sub90




ONE MAN'S VIEW


mitted them, more or less judiciously, to several
West End theatres. There had even been an
instance of a manager returning a manuscript
in response to her fourth application for it. But
she was no nearer to success, or to an artistic
circle.
A career at the Bar is not all causes celebres,
and the details of Heriot's briefs were rarely
enthralling to her mind, even when he discussed
them with her; and when he came into the
drawing-room he did not want to discuss his
briefs.  He wanted to talk trifles, just as he
preferred to see a musical comedy or a farce
when they went out. Nor did he press her for
particulars of her own pursuits during his absence. She never sighed over him, and he read
her display of cheerfulness as true contentment.
That such allusions to her literary work as she
made were careless, he took to mean that she
had gradually acquired staider views. Once he
perceived that it was perhaps quieter for her
than for most women, for she had no intimate
acquaintances; but then she had never been
used to any! There were her books, and her
music, and her shopping-no, he did not think
9'




ONE MAN'S VIEW


she could be hipped. Besides, her manner at
dinner was always direct evidence to the contrary!
She was now twenty-five years old, and the
Kensington flat and abundant means had lost
their novelty. She was never moved by a clever
novel without detesting her own obscurity;
never looked in the window of the Stereoscopic
Company without a passion of envy for the successful artists; never accompanied Heriot to
the solemn houses without yearning for the
entree to Upper Bohemia instead. She was
twenty-five years old, and marriage, without
having fulfilled the demands of her temperament, had developed her sensibilities. It was
at this period that she met Lucas Field.
If her existence had been a story, nothing
could have surprised her less than such a meeting. It would have been at this juncture precisely that she looked for the arrival of an artist,
and "Lucas Field" would probably have been
a brilliant young man who wore his hair long,
and published decadent verse.  The trite in
fiction is often very astonishing in one's own
life, however, and, as a matter of fact, she
92




ONE MAN'S VIEW


found their introduction an event, and foresaw nothing at all.
Lucas Field was naturally well known to
her by reputation-so well known that when
the hostess brought " Mr. Field" across to her,
Mamie never dreamed of identifying him with
the dramatist. She had long since ceased to
expect to meet anybody congenial at these
parties, and the fish had been reached before
she discovered who it really was who had
taken her down.
Field was a trifle bored himself  He had
not been bred in the vicinity of the footlights-his father had been a physician, and
his mother the daughter of a Lincolnshire
parson -but he had drifted into dramatic
literature when he came down from Oxford,
and the atmosphere of the artistic world had
become essential to him by now. Portman
Square, though he admitted its desirability
and would have been mortified if it had been
denied to him, invariably oppressed him a shade
when he entered it.  He was at the present
time foretasting hell in the fruitless endeavour
to devise a scenario for his next play, and he
had looked at Mamie with a little interest as
93




ONE MAN'.S VIEW


he was conducted across the drawing-room. A
beautiful woman has always an air of suggestion; she is a beginning, but she does not
advance.  She is a heroine without a plot.
Regarded from the easel she is all-sufficingcontemplated from the desk, she is illusive.
After you have admired the tendrils of hair
at the nape of her neck, you realize with despondence that she takes you no farther than
if she had been plain.
Field had realized that she left him in the
lurch before his soup plate had been removed.
Presently he inquired if she was fond of the
theatre.
"Please don't say 'yes' from politeness," he
added.
"Why should I?"
She had gathered the reason in the next
moment, and her eyes lit with eagerness. He
had a momentary terror that she was going
to be commonplace.
"I couldn't dream that it was you-here!"
she said apologetically.
"Isn't a poor playwright respectable?" he
asked.
94




ONE MAN'S VIEW


There was an instant in which she felt that
on her answer depended the justification of her
soul. She said afterwards that she could have
"fallen round an epigram's neck."
"I should think the poor playwright must
be very dull!" she replied.
This was adequate, however, and better than
his own response, which was of necessity conventional.
"I have seen your new comedy," she continued.
"I hope it pleased you?"
"I admired it immensely-like every one else.
It is a great success, isn't it?"
"The theatre is very full every night," he
said deprecatingly.
"Then it is a success!"
"Does that follow?"
"You are not satisfied with it?  It falls
short of what you meant? I shouldn't have
supposed that; it seemed to me entirely clear!"
"That I had a theory? Really! Perhaps
I have not failed so badly as I thought." He
did not think he had failed at all, but this
sort of thing was his innocent weakness.
95




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" Miss Millington is almost perfect as
'Daisy,' isn't she?"
"'Almost'? Where do you find her weak?"
She blushed;
" She struck me-of course I am no authority
-as not quite fulfilling your idea in the first
Act-when she accepted the captain. I thought
perhaps she was too responsible there-too
grown up."
" There isn't a woman in London who could
play ' Daisy,"' said Field savagely. "In other
words, you think she wrecked the piece?"
" Oh, no, indeed! "
"If 'Daisy' isn't a child when she marries,
the play has no meaning, no sense. That is
why the character was so difficult to cast-in
the first Act she must be a school-girl, and in
the others an emotional woman."
"Perhaps I said too much."
"You are a critic, Mrs. Heriot."
"Oh, merely   -"
"Merely? "
Merely very interested by the Stage."
"To be interested by the Stage is very ordinary," he said; "to be a judge of it is rather
96




v' 'I,


ONE MAN'S VIEW
rare.  No, you didn't say too much: Miss
Millington doesn't fulfil my idea when she
accepts'Captain Arminger.' And to be frank,
I haven't fulfilled Miss Millington's idea of
a consistent part."
"I can understand," said Mamie, "that it is
the great drawback to writing for the stage,
that one depends so largely on one's interpreters.  A novelist succeeds or fails by himself, but a dramatist  "
"A dramatist is the most miserable of created
beings," said Field, "if he happens to be an
artist."
"I can hardly credit that! I can't credit
anybody being miserable who is an artist."
(He laughed.    It was not polite, but he
couldn't help it.) "Though I can understand
his having moods of the most frightful depression," she added.
" Oh, you can understand that?"
"Quite. Would he be an artist if he didn't
have them!"
"May I ask if you write yourself?"
"N-no," she murmured.
"Does that mean 'yes'? "
97            II




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" It means ' only for my own amusement'! "
"The writer who only writes for his own
amusement is mythical, I'm afraid," said Field.
" One often hears of him, but he doesn't bear
investigation. You don't write plays?"
"No-I try to!"
He regarded her a little cynically.
"I thought ladies always wrote novels?"
" I wish to be original, you see."
"Do you send them anywhere?"
"Oh, yes; I send them; I suppose I always
shall."
"You're really in earnest then?  You're not
discouraged? "
"I'm very earnest, and very discouraged, too..   Is it impertinent to ask if you had
such experiences as mine when you were
younger?"
" I wrote plays for ten years before I passed
through a stage-door - one must expect to
work for years before one is produced...
Of course, one may work all one's life, and
not be produced then!"
" It depends how clever one is, or whether
one is clever at all?"
98




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"It depends on a good many things.    It
depends sometimes on advice."
If she had been less lovely, he would not
have said this, and he knew it; if she had
not been Mrs. Heriot, he would not have said
it either. The average woman who "wants a
literary man's advice " is the bane of his existence, and Field had not only no sympathy
with the tyro as a rule, but was inclined to
disparage the majority of his colleagues. He
was clever, and was aware of it; he occupied
a prominent position. He had arrived at the
point when he could dare to be psychological
"It depends sometimes on advice," he said.
And the wife of George Heriot, Q.C., murmured: "Unfortunately, I have nobody to advise
me!"
Even as it was he regretted it when he took
his leave; and the manuscript that he had
offered to read lay in his study for three weeks
before he opened it.  He picked it up one
night, remembering that the writer had been
very beautiful. The perusal inspired him with
the desire to see her again. That the play
was full of faults goes without saying, but it
99
*




ONE MAN'S VIEW


was unconventional, and there was character
in it. He recollected that she had interested
him while they talked after dinner on a
couch by the piano; and, since her work
was promising, he wrote, volunteering to point
out in an interview, if she liked, those errors
in technique which it would take too long to
explain by letter. It cannot be made too clear
that if she had sent him a work of genius
and she had been plain Miss Smith in a homemade blouse, he would have done nothing of
the sort. He called upon her with no idea
that his hints would make a dramatist of her
eventually; nor did he care in the slightest
degree whether they did, or did not. She was
a singularly lovely woman, and as her drama
had not been stupid-stupidity would have repelled him-he thought a tete-A-tete with her
would be agreeable.
To Mamie he was as all the Muses in one,
however, and the afternoon on which he sat like
an ordinary mortal sipping tea in her flat was
the day of her life. She told him she had once
hoped to be an actress, and believed that the
avowal would advance her in his esteem. He
Too




ONE MAN'S VIEW


answered that he should not be astonished if she
had the histrionic gift; and was inwardly disenchanted a shade by what he felt to be banal.
Then they discussed his own work, and he
found her appreciation remarkably intelligent.
To talk about oneself to a woman, who listens
with exquisite eyes fixed upon one's face, is very
gratifying to a literary man. If one is mediocre,
she makes one feel clever; and if one have
talent, one feels greater still. Field had rarely
spent a pleasanter hour.  It is not intimated
that he was a vain puppy-he was not a puppy
at all. He had half unconsciously felt the want
of a sympathetic confidant for a long while,
though, and albeit he did not instantaneously
realize that Mrs. Heriot supplied the void,
he walked back to his chambers with exhilaration.
He realized it by degrees. He had never
married. He had avoided matrimony till he
was thirty because he could not afford it; and
during the last decade he had escaped it because he had not met a woman whom he desired
sufficiently to pay such a price.  When he had
seen Mamie several times-and under the cirI0I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


cumstances it was not difficult to invent reasons
for seeing her-he wondered whether he would
not have proposed to her if she had been single.
Heriot was very pleased to have him dine
with them; and he was not ignorant that during
the next few months Field often dropped in
about five o'clock. Mamie concealed nothingknowingly-and the subject of her writing was
revived now. She told George that Mr. Field
thought she had ability.  She repeated his
criticisms; frankly admired his talent; confessed that she was proud to have him on her
visiting list; and fell in love with him without
either analysing her feelings or perceiving her
risk.
And while Mrs. Heriot fell in love with him,
Lucas Field was not blind. He saw a great
deal more than she saw herself-he saw, not
only the influence he exercised over her, but
that she had moped before he appeared. He
did not misread her; he was conscious that she
would never take a lover from  caprice-that
she was the last woman in the world to sin
lightly and in secret. He saw that, if he yielded
to the temptation that had begun to assail him,
102




ONE MAN'S VIEW


he must be prepared to ask her to live with him
openly. But he asked himself if it was quite
impossible he could prevail on her to do that,
if he had the mind to do so-whether she was
so impregnable as she believed.
He was by this time fascinated by her. His
happiest afternoons were spent in South Kensington, advancing his theories, and reciting his
latest scenes; nor ws as it a lie when he averred
that she assisted him. To be an artist it is not
necessary to be able to produce, and if her own
attempts had been infinitely more futile than
they were, she might still have expressed
opinions that were of service to another. Many
of her views were impracticable, naturally.
Psychological as his tendencies were, he was a
dramatist; and he could not snap his fingers at
the laws imposed by the footlights, though he
might affect to deride them in his confidences.
The only dramatist alive was Ibsen, he said;
yet he did not model himself on Ibsen, albeit
he was delighted when she exclaimed, " How
Ibsenish that is! " Many of her views were
impracticable, because she was ignorant about
the Stage; but many were intensely stimulating.
J03




ONE MAN'S VIEW


The more he was with her, the less he doubted
her worthiness of sinning for his sake.  He
was so different from the ordinary dramatic
author. '- On the ordinary dramatic author with
no ideas beyond "curtains" and "fees," she
would have been thrown away. He did not
wish to be associated with a scandal-it would
certainly be unpleasant-but she dominated
him, there was no disguising the fact. And he
would be very good to her; he would marry
her. She was adorable!
His meditations had not progressed so far
without the girl's eyes being opened to her
weakness; and now she hated herself more
bitterly than she had hated the tedium of her
life. She knew that she loved him. She was
wretched when he was not with her, and ashamed
when he was there. She wandered about the
flat in her solitude, frightened as she realized
what an awful thing had come to her. But she
was drunk-intoxicated by the force of the
guilty love, and by the thought that such a man
as Lucas Field could be in love with her. She
revered him for not having told her of the feelings she inspired; her courage was sustained
I04




ONE MAN'S VIEW


by the belief that he did not divine her ownthat she would succeed in stamping them out
without his ever having dreamed of the danger
she had run. Yet she was "drunk"; and one
afternoon the climax was reached-he implored
her to go away with him!


10o




CHAPTER VIII


IF a woman sins, and the chronicler of her sin
desires to excuse the woman, her throes and
her struggles, her pangs and her prayers always
occupy at least three chapters. If one does not
seek to excuse her, the fact of her fall may as
well be stated in the fewest possible words.
Mamie did struggle-she struggled for a long
time-but in the end she was just as guilty as
if she hadn't shed a tear. Field's pertinacity
and passion wore her resistance out at last.
Theirs was to be the ideal union, and of course
he cited famous cases where the man and woman
designed for each other by Heaven had only
met after one of them had blundered. He did
not explain why Heaven had permitted the
blunders, after being at the pains to design
kindred souls for one another's ecstasy; but
there are things that even the youngest curate
Io6




ONE MIAN'S VIEW


cannot explain.  He insisted that she would
never regret her step; he declared that, with
himself for her husband, she would become
celebrated. Art, love, joy, all might be hers at
a word. And she spoke it.
When Heriot came in one evening, Mamie
was not visible, and he wondered what had become of her, for at this hour she was always at
home. But he had not a suspicion of evil-he
was as far from being prepared for the blow
that was in store as if Field had never crossed
their path. He had let himself in with his latchkey, and after a quarter of an hour it occurred
to him that she might be already in the diningroom. When he entered it he noted with surprise that the table was only laid for one.
" Where is Mrs. Heriot? " he said, when the
servant appeared in response to his ring.
" Mrs. Heriot has gone out of town, sir."
"Out of town!" he exclaimed. "What do
you mean? "
"Mrs. Heriot left a note for you, sir, to
explain. There it is, sir.",
Heriot took it from the mantlepiece quickly;
but still he had no suspicion-not an inkling
I07




ONE MIAN'S VIEW


of the truth. He tore the envelope open and
read the enclosure, while the maid waited
respectfully by the door.
"Your mistress has been called away," he
said when he had finished; " illness! She will
be gone some time."
His back was to her; he could command his
voice, but his face was beyond his control. He
felt that if he moved he would reel, perhaps fall.
He stood motionless, with the letter open in his
hand.
" Shall I serve dinner, sir?"
"Yes, serve dinner, Odell; I'm quite ready."
It was his opportunity to gain the chair when
the door closed, and he walked towards it
slowly like a blind man. The letter that he
held had left but one hope possible-the last
hope of despair-to keep the matter for awhile
from the servants' knowledge. As yet he was
not suffering acutely; indeed, in these early
moments, the effect of the shock was more
physical than mental. There was a trembling
through his body, and his head felt queerly
light-empty, not his own.
The maid came back, and he forced himself
108




ONE MAN'S VIEW


to dine. The first spoonfuls of the soup he took
were but heat-entirely tasteless-to his mouth,
and at the pit of his stomach a sensation of
sickness rose and writhed like something living.
When she retired once more, his head fell forward on his arms; it was a relief to rest it so in
the seconds in which her vigilance was removed.
He did not know how he could support the
strain of the long ordeal!
By degrees his stupor began to pass as he
stared at the vacant place where his wife should
have sat; the dazed brain rallied to comprehension. His wife was not there because she
was with her lover! Oh, God! with her "lover"
-Mamie had given herself to another man!
Marnzie!  Mamie had gone to another man!
His face was grey and distorted now, and the
glass that he was lifting snapped at the stem.
She had gone. She was no longer his wife!
She was guilty, shameless, defiled-Mamie!
He rose, an older, a less vigorous, figure.
"I shall be busy to-night," he muttered;
"don't let me be disturbed."
He went to his study, and dropped upon the
seat before his desk. Her photograph confronted
o109




ONE MAN'S VIEW


him, and he took it down, and held it shakenly.
How young she looked! was there ever a face
more pure! And Heaven knew that he had
loved her as dearly only an hour ago as
on the day that they were married! Not a
whim of hers had been refused; not a request
could he recollect that he had failed to obey.
Yet now she was with a lover! She smiled in
the likeness; the eyes that met his own were
clear and tender; truth was stamped upon her
features. He recalled incidents of the past
three years, incidents that had been rich in the
intimacy of their life. Surely in those hours she
had loved him? That had not been gratitudea sense of duty merely?-had she not loved him
then?  He remembered their wedding-day.
How pale she had been, how innocent-a child.
Yet now she was with a lover! A sob convulsed
him, and he nodded slowly at the likeness
through his tears. Presently he put it back; he
was angered at his weakness. He had deserved
something better at her hands! Pride forbade
that he should mourn for her! He had married
wildly, yes, he should have listened to advice;
Francis had warned him. Perhaps while he
IIO




ONE MAN'S VIEW


wept they were laughing at him together, she
and Field! How did he know it was Fieldhad she mentioned his name in the letter? He
knew that it was Field instinctively; he marvelled that he had not foreseen the danger, and
averted it. How stupid had the petitioners in
divorce suits often appeared to him in his time!
-he had wondered that men could be so purblind-and he himself had been as dense as
any!...    But she would not laugh! Ah,
guilty as she was, she would not laugh-she was
not so vile as that! The clock in the room
struck one. He heard it half unconsciouslythen started, and threw out his arms with a
hoarse cry. He sprang to his feet, fired with
the tortures of the damned. The sweat burst
out on him, and the veins in his forehead swelled
like cords. He was a temperate man, at once
by taste and by necessity, but now he walked to
where the brandy was kept, and drank a wineglassful in gulps. "Mamie! " he groaned again;
" Mamie! " The brandy did not blot the picture
from his brain; and he refilled the glass..
Nothing would efface the picture!
He knew that it was hopeless to attempt
III




ONE MAN'S VIEW


to sleep, yet he wvent to the bedroom. The
ivory brushes were gone from the toilet-tableshe had been able to think of brushes! In the
wardrobe the frocks were fewer, and the linen
was less; the jewellery that he had given to her
had been left behind. All was orderly. There
were no traces of a hurried departure; the room
had its usual aspect. He looked at the pillows.
Against the one that had been hers lay the bag
of silk and lace that contained her night-dress.
Had she forgotten it; or was it that she had
been incapable of transferring that? He picked
it up, and dropped it out of sight in one of the
drawers.
HIe did not go to bed; he spent the night in
an armchair, re-reading the letter, and thinking.
When the servant knocked at the door, he went
to his dressing-room, and shaved. He had a
bath, and breakfasted, and strolled to the station.
Outwardly he had recovered from the blow, and
his clerk who gave him his list of appointments
remarked nothing abnormal about him. In
court Heriot remembered that Mamie and he
were to have dined in Holland Park in the
evening, and during the luncheon adjournment
112




ONE MAN'S VIEW


he sent a telegram of excuse. If any one had
known what had happened to him, he would
have been thought devoid of feeling.
He had scarcely re-entered the flat when
Mrs. Baines called.  His first impulse was to
decline to see her; but he told the maid to show
her in.
A glance assured him that she was ignorant
of what had occurred.
"Dear Mamie is away, the servant tells me!"
she said, simpering. " I hadn't seen her for such
a long time that I thought I'd look in to-day.
Not that I should have been so late, but I missed
my train. I meant to come in and have a cup
of tea with her at five o'clock. Well, I am unfortunate! And how have you been keeping,
Mr. Heriot?"
"I'm glad to see you. I hope you are well
Mrs. Baines."
"Where has dear Mamie gone? " she asked.
"Pleasuring? "
"She is on the Continent, I believe. May I
tell them to bring you some tea now? "
"On the Continent alone?" exclaimed Mrs.
Baines. "Fancy!"
113            I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"No, she is not alone," said Heriot. "You
must prepare yourself for a shock, Mrs. Baines.
Your niece has left me."
She looked at him puzzled. His tone was so
composed that it seemed to destroy the significance of his words.
" Left you? How do you mean?"
" She has gone with her lover."
" Oh, my Gawd!" said Mrs. Baines. "Whatever are you saying, Mr. Heriot? Don't!"
" Your niece is living with another man. She
left me yesterday," he continued quietly. "I
regret to have to tell you such news."
He was sorrier as he observed the effect of
the intelligence, but he could not soften the
shock for her by any outward participation in
her grief. Since he must speak at all, he must
speak as he did.
" Oh, to hear of such a thing!" she gasped.
"Oh, to think that-well —   Oh, Mr. Heriot,
I can't-it can't be true.  Isn't it some mistake-? Dear Mamie would never be so wicked,
I'm sure she wouldn't! It's some awful mistake, you may depend."
"There's no mistake, Mrs. Baines. My auI14




ONE MIAN'S VIEW


thority is your niece herself. She left a letter
to tell me she was going, and why."
The widow moaned feebly.
"With another man? "
He bowed.
"Oh, Heaven will punish her, Mr. Heriot!
Oh, what will her father say-how could she do
it! And you-how gentle and kind to her you
were I could see! "
" I did my best to make her happy," he said;
" evidently I didn't succeed. Is it necessary for
us to talk about it much? Believe me, you
have my sympathy, but talking won't improve
matters."
" Oh, but I can't look at it so-so calmly, Mr.
Heriot! The disgrace! and so sudden! And
it isn't for me to have your sympathy, I'm sure.
I say it isn't for you to sympathise with me. My
heart bleeds for you, Mr. Heriot!"
" You're very good," he answered; "but I don't
know that a faithless wife is much to grieve for
after all."
"Ah, but you don't mean that! You were
too fond of her to mean it! She'll live to repent
it, you may be certain-the Lord will bring it
II5




ONE MAN'S VIEW


home to her! Oh, how could she do it! You
don't-you don't intend to have a divorce?"
"Naturally I intend it. What else do you
propose?"
"Oh, I don't know," she quavered, rocking
herself to and fro, and smearing the tears down
her cheeks with a forefinger in a black silk glove;
" but the disgrace! And all Lavender Street to
read about it! Ah, you won't divorce her, Mr.
Heriot? It would be so dreadful! "
" Don't you want to see the man marry her?"
" How marry her? " she asked vaguely. " Oh,
I understand! Yes, I suppose he could marry
her then, couldn't he? I'm not a lawyer like
you; I didn't look so far ahead. But I don't
want a divorce."
" Ah, well, I want it," he said; "for my own
sake."
"Then you don't love her any more, Mr.
Heriot? "
He laughed drearily.
"Your niece has ended her life with me of
her own accord. Fve nothing more to do with
her."
"Those are cruel words," said Mrs. Baines;




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" those are cruel words about a girl who was
your lawful wife-the flesh of your bone in the
sight of Gawd and man. You're harder than I
thought, Mr. Heriot; you don't take it quite
as I'd have supposed you'd take it....  So
quiet and stern like!  I think if you'd loved
her tenderly, you'd have talked more heartbroken, though it's not for me to judge."
Heriot rose.
" I can't discuss my sentiments with you, Mrs.
Baines. Think, if you like, that I didn't care
for her at all.  At least my duty to her is
over; and I have a duty to myself to-day."
"To cast her off? "   The semi-educated
classes use the phrases of novelettes habitually.
Whether this is the reason the novelettes trade
in the phrases, or whether the semi-educated
acquire the phrases from the novelettes, is not
clear.
"To -"     He paused. He could not trust
himself to speak at that moment.
"To cast her off! " repeated Mrs. Baines.
" Oh, I don't make excuses for her; I don't pity
her. Though she is my brother's child, I say
she is deserving of whatever befalls her! I reI 17




ONE MAN'S VIEW


member well that when Dick married I warned
him against it; I said, 'She isn't the wife for
you!' It's the mother's blood coming out in
her, though still my brother's child. What was
I going to say? I'm that upset that —   Oh,
yes! I make no excuses for her, but I would
have liked to see more sorrow, Mr. Heriot, on
your part. I could have pitied you more if
you'd have taken it more to heart. You may
think me bold, but it was ever my way to say
what was in my mind. I don't think I'll stop
any longer. The way you may take it is between you and your Gawd, but —"-she put
out her hand-" I don't think I'll stop."
"Good-evening," he said stonily. "I'm sorry
you cannot stay and dine."
She recollected on the stairs that she had not
inquired who the man was; but she was too
disgusted by Heriot's manner to go back.


I S




CHAPTER IX


WHEN a naturally pure woman, who is not sustained by any emancipated views, consents to
live with a man in defiance of social prejudices,
she probably obtains as clear an insight as the
world affords into the enormous difference that
exists between the ideal and the actual. Matrimony does not illumine the difference so vividly,
because matrimony, with all its disillusions,
leaves her an unembarrassed conscience. With
her lover such a woman experiences all the
prose of wedlock, and a sting to boot. A man
cannot be at concert-pitch all day long with his
mistress any more easily than he can with his
wife. She has to submit to bills and other
practical matters just as much with a smirched
reputation as she had with a spotless one. The
romance does not wear any better because the
Marriage Service is omitted. A lover is no less
IIo




ONE MAN'S VIEW


liable to be common-place than a husband when
the laundress knocks the buttons off his shirts.
Yes, Mamie was infatuated by Field; she
had not sinned with a cool head simply to
procure a guide up Parnassus. But she had
hoped to pick a few laurels there all the same.
She found herself in a little flat in the Rue
Tronchet. They had few visitors, and those
who did come were men who talked in a language that she did not understand, but who
looked things that she would have been glad
had she misunderstood.
Nor was the remorse and humiliation that she
felt leavened by any consciousness of advancing
in her art. Field rather pooh-poohed her art
as the months went by after the decree nisi was
pronounced. He still discussed his work with
her-perhaps less as if she had been a sybil
than formerly, but still with interest in her
ideas. Her own work, however, bored him now.
He had no intention of being cold, but the subject seemed puerile to his mind. If she did
write a play that was produced one day, or if
she didn't, what earthly consequence was it?
She would never write a great one; and these
120




ONE MAN'S VIEW


panting aspirations which begot such mediocre
results savoured to him of a storm in a teacupof a furnace lit to boil the kettle.
He was rather sorry that he had run away
with her, but he did not regret it particularly.
Of course he would marry her as soon as he
could-he owed her that; and, since he was
not such a blackguard as to contemplate deserting her by-and-by, he might just as well marry
her as not. The whole affair had been a folly
certainly. He was not rich, and he was extravagant; he would have done better to remain
as he was. Still many men envied him. He
trusted fervently she would not have children,
though! It didn't seem likely; but if she ever
did, the error would be doubled. He did not
want a son who had cause to be ashamed of
his mother when he grew up!
It was curious that she did not refer more
often to his legalizing their union. Her position
pained her he could see, and made her very
frequently a dull companion. That was the
worst of these things! One paid for the step
dearly enough to expect lively society in return,
and yet, if one complained of mournfulness, one
I2I1




ONE MAN'S VIEW


would be a brute. He would write a drama
some time or other to show that it was really
the man who was deserving of sympathy in
such an alliance. It would be very original, as
he would treat it. The lover should explain
his situation to another woman whom he had
learnt to love since, and-well, he didn't see
how it should end:-with the dilemma repeated?
And it didn't matter after all, for nobody would
have the courage to produce it.
He made these reflections in his study. In
the salon-furnished in accordance with the
tastes of the lady who had sub-let the flat to
them for six months-Mamie stood staring
down at the street. It was four o'clock, and,
saving for half an hour at lunch, she had not
seen him since ten.  For distraction she could
make her choice among some Tauchnitz novels,
her music, and a walk. Excepting that the
room was tawdry and ill-ventilated, and that
she had lost her reputation, it was not unlike
her life in South Kensington.
In her pocket was a letter from her fatherthe most difficult letter that it had ever fallen
to Dick Cheriton's lot to compose. Theoreti122




ONE MAN'S VIEW


cally he thought social prejudices absurd-as
became an artist to whom God had given his
soul-and had often insisted on their ineptitude.
As regarded his own daughter, however, he
would have preferred to see them treated with
respect. There was a likeness to Lucas Field
here. Field also dwelt on the hill-top, but he
wanted his son, if he ever had one, to boast
a stainless mother. Cheriton had not indited
curses, like the fathers in melodrama, and the
people who have "found religion";- only the
parents of melodrama, and the "Christians"
who go to church twice every Sunday, are infamous enough to curse their children;-he had
told her, if she found herself forsaken, to cable
him for her passage-money back to Duluth.
But that he was ashamed and broken by what
she had done, he had not attempted to conceal;
and as she stood there, gazing down on the
Rue Tronchet, Mamie was recalling the confession she had sent, to which this was an answer.
Phrases she had used came back to her: " I
have done my best, but my love was too strong
for me"; " Wiicked as it may be to say it, I
know that, even in my guilt, I shall always be
123




ONE MAN'S VIEW


happy"; "I met the right man too late, but I
am so young-I could not suffer all my life
without him "; "Forgive me if you can." Had
she-it was a horrible thought-had she been
mistaken? Had she blundered more terribly
than when she married? For, unless her prophecies of joy to the brim were fulfilled-unless
her measure of thanksgiving overflowed-the
blunder was more terrible, infinitely more terrible: she had been a gambler who staked her
soul in her conviction of success.
The question was one that she had asked
herself many times before, without daring to
hear the answer; but that the answer was in
her heart, though she shrank from acknowledging it, might be seen in her expression, in her
every pose; it might be seen now, as she
drooped by the window. She sighed, and sat
down, and shivered. Yes, she knew it-she had
thrown away the substance for the shadow;
she could deceive herself no longer. Lucas
Field was not so poetical a personality as she
had imagined; guilt had no glamour; her devotion had been a flash in the pan-a madness
that had burned itself out. She had no right
I24




ONE MAN'S VIEW


to blame her lover for that; only the prospect
of marriage with him filled her with no elation;
it inspired misgiving rather. If she had made
a blunder, would it improve matters to perpetuate it? He was considerate to her, he
spared her all the ignominy that was possible;
but instinctively she was aware that, if they
parted, he would never miss her as her husband
had done. In his life she would never make a
hole! She guessed the depth of Heriot's love
better now that she had obtained a smaller one
as plummet. Between the manner of the man
who was not particularly sorry to have run
away with her, and his whose pride she had
been, the difference was tremendous to a woman
whose position was calculated to develop her
natural sensitiveness to the point of a disease.
Should she marry Lucas or not? Hitherto
she had merely avoided the query; now she
trembled before it. Expedience said, "Yes";
something within her said, " No." The decree
would be made absolute in two months' time.
What was to become of her if they separated?
To Duluth she could never go, to be pointed
at and despised! She sighed again.
125




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" Bored, dear?" asked Field, in the doorway.
" I was thinking."
"That was obvious.   Not of your-erwork?"
" No, not of my-' er-work."'
He pulled his moustache with some embarrassment.
"I didn't mean anything derogatory to it."
"Oh, I know," she said wearily; "don't-it
doesn't matter!  You can't think much less
of it than I am beginning to do myself. You
can't take much less interest in it! "
" You are unjust," said Field.
"I am moped.    Take me out.   Take me
out of myself if you can, but take me out of
doors at any rate. I am yearning to be in a
crowd."
"We might go to a theatre to-night," he
said; " would you like to?"
"It doesn't amuse me very much; I don't
understand what they say. Still it would be
something. But I want to go out now for a
walk. I don't like walking here alone; can't
you come with me?"
"I'm afraid I can't. You forget I promised
126




ONE MAN'S VIEW


an 'interview' to that paper this afternoon. I
expect the fellow here any moment."
" You promised it?" she exclaimed, with surprise.  "Why, I thought you said that the
paper was a 'rag,' and you wouldn't dream of
consenting?"
"After all, one must be courteous. I changed
my mind.   There's some talk of translating
A Clever Man's Son into French. - An 'interview' just now would be good policy."
"You are going to be 'adapted'? A Clever
Malan's Son?"
" Translated," he said. " I may adapt. I amz
-translated!"
She smiled, but perceived almost at the same
instant that she had not been intended to do
so, and that he had said it seriously.
"I make a very good 'interview,"' he continued, lighting a cigarette; "I daresay you've
noticed it. I never count an epigram or two
wasted, though they do go into another chap's
copy.' That's where many men make a mistake; or very likely they can't invent the epigrams.  Anyhow, they don't!   The average
'interview' is as dull as the average play.
127




ONE MAN'S VIEW


People think it's the journalists' fault, but it
isn't. It's the fault of the deadly dull dogs
who've got nothing to tell them. I ought to
have gone a good deal farther than I have:
I've the two essential qualities for successI'm an artist and a showman."
"Don't!" she murmured; "don't!"
He laughed gaily.
" I'm perfectly frank; I admit the necessities
of life-I've told you so before! My mind
never works so rapidly as it does in prospect
of a good advertisement. There the fellow is,
I expect! " he added, as the bell rang. "The
study is quite in disorder for him, and there are
a bunch of Parma violets and a flask of maraschino on the desk.  I'm going to remark that
maraschino and the scent of violets are indispensable to me when I work. He won't believe
it, unless he is very young, but he'll be immeasurably obliged; that sort of thing looks
well in an ' interview '! Violets and maraschino
are a graceful combination, I think."
She did not reply; she sat pale and chagrined. He was renowned enough, and more
than talented enough to dispense with these
I28




ONE MAN'S VIEW


stage-tricks in the library. She knew it, and
he knew it, but he could not help them. Awhile
ago they had caused her the cruellest pain; now
she was more contemptuous than anything else,
albeit she was still galled that he should display
his foibles so candidly. "I am quite frank,"
he had said. She found such "frankness" a
milestone on the road she had travelled.
"My dear child," said Field, "among the
illusions of a man's youth is the belief that, if
he goes through life doing his humble best in
an unobtrusive way, the press will say what a
jolly fine fellow he is, and hold him up as a
pattern to all the braggarts and poseurs who
are blowing their own trumpets, and scraping
on their own fiddles. Among the things he
learns as he grows older is the fact that, if he
does his best in an unobtrusive way, the press
will say nothing about him at all! The fiddle
and the trumpet are essential, but it is possible
to play them with a certain amount of refinement.  It is even possible-though a clever
man cannot dispense with the fiddle and the
trumpet-for the fiddle and the trumpet to be
played so dexterously that he may dispense
129            K




ONE MAN'S VIEW


with cleverness! I do not go to such lengths
myself-"
"You have no need to do so," she said
coldly.
" I have no need to do so-thank you! But
I can quite conceive that, say, violets and maraschino, worked for all they were worth, might
make a man famous alone. A mouse liberated
a lion, and things smaller than a mouse have
created one before now.  The violet in the
hedgerow 'bloomed unseen,'-or' died unknown,'
was it?  It did something modest and unsuccessful, I know! The violet assiduously
paragraphed and paraded might lead to fortune."
" I would rather be obscure, and do honest,
conscientious work," answered Mamie, "than
write rubbish, and finesse myself into popularity."
" It is much easier!" he said tranquilly. "To
be obscure is the one thing that is easy still.
You don't mind my saying that I hate the
adjectives you used, though, do you?  The
words, 'honest' and 'conscientious,' applied
to literature, dearest, make me shudder.  I
130




ONE MAN'S VIEW


am always afraid that 'wholesome' is coming
in the next sentence."
"Are you going to say so to your interviewer? "
" The remark doesn't scintillate with brilliance. It was sincere, and to be sincere and
brilliant at the same time is a little difficult....I've been both, though, in the Act I've
just done; you must read it, or rather I'll read
it to you. You'll be pleased with it. As soon
as the piece is finished I must write to Erskine.
It will suit the Pall Mall down to the ground,
and I should like it done there, only-"
"Only what?"
Field hesitated.
" I meant it for Erskine from the commencement. He saw the scenario, and the part fits
him like a glove."
"But what were you going to say?"
"Well, I fancy he has some idea that a piece
of mine just now-you understand, with the case
so fresh in people's minds... Erskine's a
fool! What on earth does the public care? Of
course he'll do it when he reads the part he's
got! Only I know he is doubting whether
'3I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


my name would be a judicious. card to play
yet awhile."
There was a pause, in which her heart
contracted painfully.
" I see," she rejoined, in a low voice.
He fidgetted before the mirror, and glanced
at his watch.
"That fellow must be getting impatient!."
"You had better go in to him," she said.
"Well, we'll go to the Vaudeville, or somewhere to-night, Mamie-that's arranged? "
"Yes, to the Vaudeville, or somewhere," she
assented, with another sigh.
She went back to the window, and stared at
the Rue Tronchet with wet eyes.


I32




CHAPTER X


SOME weeks afterwards Field went to England.
He did not take Mamie with him, for he only
intended to remain a few days, nor had she
been at all desirous of accompanying him. She
had begun, indeed, to see that she did not know
what she did desire. Her life in Paris oppressed
her; the notion of Duluth was horrible; and
the thought of living with Lucas in London,
where she might meet an acquaintance of
Heriot's at any turn, was repugnant in an
almost equal degree.
Field was unexpectedly detained in London.
The business which had been responsible for
his journey constantly evaded completion, and
after he had been gone about a month a letter
came, in which he mentioned incidentally that
he had contracted a touch of influenza. After
I33




ONE MAN'S VIEW


this letter a fortnight went by without her hearing from him, and, rendered anxious at last, she
wrote to inquire if his silence was attributable
to his indisposition - if the latter was of a
serious nature.
Her mind did not instantaneously grasp the
significance of the telegram that she tore open
a few hours later. It ran:
" My nephew dangerously ill. If you desire
to see him, better come.-PORTEOUS."
She stood gazing at it. Who had telegraphed?  Who        Then she understood
that it was Lucas who was meant. Lucas was
"dangerously ill"! She must go to him. She
must go at once! She was so staggered by
the suddenness of the intelligence that she was
momentarily incapable of recollecting when the
trains left, or how she should act in order to
ascertain. All she realized was that this was
Paris, and Lucas lay " dangerously ill" in London, and that she had to reach him. Her head
swam, and the little French she knew seemed
to desert her; the undertaking looked enormous
-beset with difficulties that were almost insuperable.
134




ONE MAN'S VIEW


The stupidity of the bonne, for whom she
pealed the bell, served to sharpen her faculties
a trifle, but she made her preparations as if in
a dream. When she found herself in the train,
it appeared to her unreal that she could be there.
The interval had left no salient impressions on
her brain, nothing but a confused sense of delay.
It was only now that she felt able to reflect.
The telegram was crumpled in her pocket,
and she took it out and re-read it agitatedly.
How did this relative come to be at the hotel?
Lucas had scarcely spoken of his relations. " If
you desire to see him "! The import of those
words was frightful-he could not be expected
to recover! Her stupefaction rolled away, and
was succeeded by a fever of suspense. The
restriction of the compartment was maddening,
and she looked at her watch a dozen times, only
to find that not ten minutes had passed since
she consulted it last.
It seemed to her that she had been travelling
for at least two days, when she stood outside
a bedroom door in a little hotel off Bond Street,
and tapped at the panels with her heart in her
throat.
I35




ONE MAN'S VIEW


The door was opened by a woman whose
dress proclaimed her to be an institution nurse.
Field slept, and Mamie sank into a chair, and
waited for his wakening.
" How is he? " she asked in a low tone.
The nurse shook her head.
"He's not doing as well as we could wish,
ma'am."
" Is Mr. Porteous here?"
" Mrss. Porteous! She'll be coming presently.
She lives close by."
So it was a woman who had telegraphed!
Somehow she had assumed unquestioningly that
it was a man. " If you desire to see him —"
Ah, yes, she might have known it! An aunt,
who would be frigid and contemptuous, of course.
Well, she deserved that, she would have no
right to complain; nor was it to be expected
that Lucas's family should show her much consideration, though she could not perceive that
she had done them any injury.
It was two hours before her interview with
the lady took place. Mamie was in the room
she had engaged in the meanwhile, and had
bathed her face, and was making ready to re136




ONE MAN'S VIEW


turn to the sick-chamber when she was told
that Mrs. Porteous was inquiring for her.
" Won't you come in?" she asked. "Our
voices will not disturb him here."
Mrs. Porteous entered gingerly. She was a
massive woman, of middle age, fashionably
dressed. Her expression suggested no grief,
only a vague fear of contamination. She had
telegraphed to Paris because she felt that it
was her duty to do so; but she had not cabled
until it was almost certain that the patient
would not rally sufficiently to make a will.
"You are-er-Mrs. Heriot?" she said, regarding her curiously.  "The doctor advised
that Mr. Field's condition should be made
known to you; so I wired."
"Thank you; it was very kind."
"The doctor advised it," said Mrs. Porteous
again, significantly.
" Is he-is there no hope?"
"We fear not; my nephew is sinking fastit's as well you should understand it. If you
think it necessary to remain     I see you
have taken a room?   As-as ' Mrs. Field,' I
presume? "
I37




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"I should have been 'Mrs. Field,' if Lucas
His aunt shivered.
"There are things we need not discuss. Of
course I am aware that you are living under
my nephew's name. I was about to say that
if you think it necessary to remain until the
end, I have no opposition to offer; but the
end is very near now. My telegram must have
prepared you? I should not have wired unless-"
"I understood," answered Mamie; "yes, I
am glad that your nephew had a relative near
him, though your name was quite unfamiliar to
me. He never mentioned it."
"Really! Lucas called to see us at once.
Our house is in the neighbourhood."
" He wrote me," said Mamie, " that he had a
touch of influenza. It seems extraordinary that
influenza should prove so serious?  He was
strong, he was in good health-  "
The other's air implied that she did not find
it necessary to discuss this either.
" People die of influenza or the results every
year," she said. "The doctor will give you any
138




ONE MAN'S VIEW


information you may desire, no doubt. You
must excuse me-I may be wanted."
While Field lingered she never left his side
after Mamie's arrival.  Men committed preposterous actions on their death-beds, and
though it was not anticipated that he would
recover consciousness, there was always the possibility of such a thing happening. If an opportunity occurred, his mistress would doubtless
produce a solicitor and a provision for herself
with the rapidity of a conjuring trick; and, as
it was, Mrs. Porteous had small misgivings but
what he would die intestate. There might not
be much, but what there was should at least
not swell the coffers of guilty wives!
Events proved that her summons had not
been precipitate, however. Field spoke at the
last a few coherent words, and took Mamie's
hand. But that was all. Then he never spoke
any more.. Even as she stood gazing at the
inanimate form under the sheet, the swiftness
of the catastrophe made it difficult for the girl
to realize that all was over. The calamity had
fallen on her like a thunderbolt-it seemed
strange, inexplicable, untrue.  The last time
I39




ONE MAN'S VIEW


but one on which he had talked to her he
had been full of vigour, packing a portmanteau,
humming a tune, alluding to fees, some details
of the theatre, the prospect of a smooth crossing. And now he was dead! There had been
little or no transition; he was well-he was
dead! The curtain had tumbled in the middle
of the play-and it would never go up any
more.
It was not until after the funeral that she was
capable of meditating upon the change in her
life that was wrought by Lucas Field's death.
She did not ask herself whether he had left her
anything or not. The idea that he might have
done so never occurred to her, nor would she
have felt that she could accept his bequest, if
he had made one. She perceived that she had
nobody to turn to but her father, and to him
she cabled.
Cheriton replied by two questions: What was
Field's will? and would she like to return to
Duluth?  To the latter she gave a definite
answer.  "Impossible; pray don't ask me."
And then there was an interval of correspondence.
I40




ONE 'MAN'S VIEW


While Mrs. Porteous was delighted to find
her confidence justified, and that her nephew
had died intestate, Mamie was face to face with
the alternative of swallowing her repugnance to
going back to America, or of living with Mrs.
Baines. Cheriton had written to them both, and
on one course or the other being adopted he
was insistent. Mamie need not live in Lavender
Street unless she chose; Mrs. Baines might
make her home in another neighbourhood where
they would be strangers.  But that the girl
should remain in England alone was out of
the question. Which line of conduct did she
prefer?
She could not immediately decide.  Both
proposals distressed her. On the whole, perhaps, the lesser evil was to resign herself to her
Aunt Lydia if, as her father declared, her aunt
was willing to receive her. Mrs. Baines, at any
rate, was but one, while in Duluth half the population, and more than that, would be acquainted
with her story.
But was her Aunt Lydia willing? Was she
expected to write to her, and inquire? She
was not entitled to possess dignity, of course;
I4'




ONE MAN'S VIEW


but it was not easy to eat dust because the right
to self-respect was forfeited.
She had removed to a lodging in Bernard
Street, Bloomsbury, and in the fusty sittingroom she sat all day, lonely and miserable,
reviewing the blunder of her life. She neither
wrote nor read-her writing was an idea she
hated now; she merely thought; wishing she
could recall the past, wondering how she could
bear the future. One afternoon when she sat
there, pale and heavy-eyed, the maid-of-all-work
announced a visitor, and Mrs. Baines came in.
Mamie rose nervously, and the other advanced. She had rehearsed an interview which
should be a compromise between the instructions laid upon her by her brother, and the
attitude of righteous rebuke that she had felt
to be a permissible luxury, but the forlornness
of the figure before her drove her opening sentence from her head. All she could say was
the girl's name; and then there was a pause in
which they looked at each other.
" It is kind of you to come," Mamie murmured.
"I hope you are well? " said Mrs. Baines.
142




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" Not very. I     Won't you sit down?"
"I never thought I should see you like
this, Mamie," said the widow half involuntarily,
shaking her head.
The girl made no answer in words.   She
caught her breath, and stood passive. If the
lash fell she would suffer silently.
"Sin always brings its own punishment,
though"-she believed it always did; she had
such startling optimisms-"it's not for me to
reproach you."
"Thank you! I am not too happy, Aunt
Lydia."
"I daresay, my dear.  I haven't come to
make it worse for you."
She scrutinized her again. She would have
been horrified to hear the suggestion, but her
niece's presence was not without a guilty fascination, a pleasurable excitement, to her as she
remembered that here was one who had broken
the Seventh Commandment. She was sitting
opposite a girl who had lived in Paris with a
lover; and she was sitting opposite her under
circumstances which redounded to her own
credit!
I43




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" I have heard from your father," she went
on; " I suppose you know? "
Yes," said Mamie; " he has written me."
"And do you wish to make your home with
me again? I am quite ready to take you if
you like."
"I could never live in Lavender Street any
more, Aunt Lydia. You must understand that
-that it would be awful to me!"
" Your father hinted at my moving. It will
be a great trouble, but I shan't shirk my
duty, dear Mamie. If it will make your burden
any easier to bear, we will live together somewhere else. I say, if I can make your burden
any easier for you, I will live somewhere else."
"I am not ungrateful. I-yes, if you will
have me, I should like to come to you."
Mrs. Baines sighed, and smoothed her skirt
tremulously.
"To Balham? " she inquired.
"You are moving to Balham?"
"I was thinking about it. I was over there
the other day to get some stuff for a bodice.
It's nice and healthy, with the Commons and
what not, and the shopping is cheap."
I44




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"It is all the same to me where we go," said
Mamie, " so long as the people don't know me."
"I hear you were living with-with him in
Paris? Operas, and drives, and all manner of
things to soothe your conscience he gave you,
I've no doubt?" said Mrs. Baines, in an awestruck invitation to communicativeness. " After
that terrible life in Paris, Balham will seem
quiet to you, I daresay; but perhaps you won't
mind that? "
" No place can be too quiet for me.  The
quieter it is, the better I shall like it."
" That's as it should be! Though, I suppose,
with 'him,' you were out among gaieties every
night?" She waited for a few particulars again.
As none were forthcoming: "Then I'll try to
let the house, and we'll go over together and
look at some in Balham as soon as you like,
my dear," she continued.  "Your father will
see that I'm not put to any expense. In the
meantime you'll stay where you are, eh? You
know-you know I saw Mr. Heriot after you'd
gone, don't you? "
"No," stammered the girl, lifting eager eyes.
" You went to him?"


I45


L




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" The very next day, my dear, so it seemed!
-I thought I'd drop in and have a cup of tea
with you, not having seen you for so long; and
through missing a train, and having such a time
to wait at the station, I was an hour and more
late when I got to Kensington. He was at
home. Of course I had no suspicion there was
anything wrong; I shall never forget it-never!
You might have knocked me down with a
feather, as the saying is, when I heard you'd
gone!"
"What," muttered Mamie, "what did he
say?"
"It was like this.  I said to him, ' Dear
Mamie's away, the servant tells me?'  For
naturally I thought you were visiting friends.
'As likely as not, she's with his family,' I said to
myself. 'Oh, yes,' he said, 'you must prepare
yourself for a shock, Mrs. Baines-my wife has
left me.' ' Left you?' I said. 'Yes,' said he,
so cool that it turned me a mask of blood to
hear him, 'she's gone away with a lover.' ' Mr.
Heriot!' I exclaimed-I was almost pinching
myself to see if I was awake —' Mister Heriot!'
'She left a note,' he said, ' so it's all right! Do
146




ONE MAN'S VIEW


you think we need talk about it much? I don't
know that a worthless woman is any loss,' he
said."
" He said that?"
"Those were his very words, my dear. But
how cool I can't give you an idea! I stared
at him. I'd no mind to make excuses for you,
Gawd knows; but, for all that, one's own flesh
and blood wasn't going to be talked about like
niggers, or what not, in my hearing. When I
got my wits together, I said, 'It seems to me
I'd be sorrier for you, Mr. Heriot, if you took
it different.' 'Oh,' said he in a superior way,
'would you? We needn't discuss my feelings,
madam. Perhaps you'll stay and dine?' I was
so angry that I couldn't be civil to him. ' I
thank you,' I said, ' I will not stay and dine.
And I take the opportunity, Mr. Heriot, of
telling you you're a brute!' With that I came
away; but there was much more in between
that I've forgotten-about the divorce it was!
He said he had 'a duty to himself,' and that the
man could marry you when you were divorced;
which I suppose he would have done if he had
lived? though whether your sin would have been
I47




ONE MAN'S VIEW


any less, my 'dear, if an archbishop had performed the ceremonyis a question that I couldn't
undertake to decide.  You must begin your
life afresh, now that it's all 'absolute,' —which I
learn is the proper term,-and you'll never be
in a newspaper any more! Pray to Heaven for
aid, and take heart of grace! And if it will
relieve you to speak sometimes of those sinful
months with-with the other one in Paris, why,
you shall talk about them to me, my dear, and
I won't reproach you."
Mamie was no longer listening. An emotion
that she did not seek to define was roused in
her as she wondered if Heriot could indeed have
taken the blow so stoically as her aunt declared.
She scarcely knew whether she wished to put
faith in his demeanour or not, but the subject
was one that filled her thoughts long after Mrs.
Baines' departure.  It was one to which she
constantly recurred, too.
With less delay than might have been anticipated, the widow found a house in Balham
which fulfilled her requirements, and the removal was effected several months before No.
20, Lavender Street, was sub-let.
148




ONE MAN'S VIEW


The houses of this class differ from one
another but slightly. Excepting that the one in
Balham was numbered " 44," and that the street
was called "Rosalie Road," Mamie could have
found it easy to believe that she was re-installed
in Wandsworth. Such villas are, for the most
part, the crown of lives too limited to realize
their limitations-too unsuccessful to be aware
that they have failed. The residents' strongest
characteristic is a scorn of the gentlepeople who
live in lodgings.  "Lodgings" are mentioned
here with the same horror which, in a still lower
grade, is inspired by the name of the workhouse.
In Rosalie Road they have " a house to themselves"! Banners of victory, the "washing"
swirls till nightfall on their own clothes-props;
each morning the odour of bacon floats into
their own back-yard! In such regions breakfast
means bacon every day of the week-bacon
all the year round.  Children are born, and
develop into clerks, and beget more clerks,
and are buried, never having known any other.
" Breakfast" is a synonym for "bacon" here.
Beyond bacon and tea, a lump of meat, and the
boiled potato, the culinary imagination does not
149




ONE MAN'S VIEW


soar; nor could the slatternly "servant-girls,"
to whom such mistresses are slaves, rise to any
farther height if required. The latter have attained, however-Mecca of the middle-classes!
-"a house to themselves"; and the burden of
the dreadful little domiciles bowing their weary
backs, they view the comparative refinement of
furnished apartments with contempt; forced to
submit to the vagaries of a dilatory drab, if they
would not be left without a servant at all, they
boast of their own " independence"!
To Rosalie Road, Balham, with her Aunt
Lydia for companion, the divorcee at the age
of twenty-six retired to remember that she had
once hoped to be an artist, and had had the
opportunity of being a happy woman.
To-day she hoped for nothing. There was
no scope for hope. If she could have awakened
to find herself famous, her existence would have
been coloured a little,-though she knew that
fame could never satisfy her now as it would
once have done,-but the ability to labour for
distinction was quite gone. She was apathetic,
she had no interest in anything. When six
months had passed, she regarded death as the
I50




ONE MAN'S VIEW


only event to which she could still look forward;
when she had been here a year, a glimmer of
relief entered into her depression-the doctor
who had attended her, and sounded her lungs,
told her that she " must take care of herself."
Sometimes a neighbour looked in, and spoke
of the dilapidations of a kitchen range, and the
indifference of the landlord, the reductions at a
High Road linen draper's, and the whoopingcough. Sometimes a curate called to sell tickets
for a concert more elementary than his sermons.
In the afternoon she walked to Tooting Bec,
and stared at the bushes; in the evening she
betook herself to the " circulating library," where
the most recent additions were Lady Audley's
Secret and The Wide, WVide World, and the
proprietor said he hadn't heard of Meredith;
"perhaps she had made a mistake in the name?"
God help her! She was guilty, and she had
left a husband desolate; but the music she had
dreamed of was the opera on " Wagner nights,"
when the box would have been full of men and
women who also wore their bays; the books she
had expected had been "presentation copies,"
containing signatures which were the envy of
I'I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


the autograph-collector; the circle that had been
her aim was the world of Literature and Art.
She lived in Balham; she saw the curate, and
she heard about the range in the neighbour's
kitchen. One year merged into another; and if
she lived for forty more, the neighbour and the
curate would be her All.


152




CHAPTER XI


WHEN five had passed after the divorce, the
Liberal Party came into power again, and
George  Heriot, Q.C., M.P., was appointed
Solicitor-General. His work and ambitions had
not sufficed to mend the gap which his wife had
left in his life; but it had been in work and
ambition that he endeavoured to find assuagement of the wound.   Perhaps eagerness had
never been so keen in him after she went as
while he was contesting the borough that he
represented; perhaps he had never realized the
inadequacy of success so fully as he did to-day
when one of the richest prizes of his profession
was obtained. Conscious that the anticipated
flavour was lacking, the steps to which he might
look forward still lost much of their allurement.
I53




ONE MAN'S VIEW


Were he promoted to the post of AttorneyGeneral, and raised to the Bench, he could
foresee that the gratification would be no more
keen than he experienced now, when as Sir
George Heriot, and a very wealthy man, he
recalled the period in which, a struggling Junior,
he had sat up half the night to earn a guinea.
The five years had left their mark upon him;
the hours of misery which no one suspected had
left their mark upon him. The lines about the
eyes and mouth had deepened; his hair was
greyer, his figure less erect. Men who, in their
turn, sat up half the night to earn a guinea,
envied him, cited his career as an example of
brilliant luck-the success of others is always
" luck "-and, though they assumed that a fellow
was " generally cut up a bit when his wife went
wrong," found it difficult to conceive that Sir
George had permitted domestic trouble to alloy
his triumphs in any marked degree. Nobody
imagined that there were still nights in which he
suffered scarcely less acutely than on the one
when he returned to discover that Mamie had
gone-that there were evenings when his loneliness was almost unbearable to the dry, selfI54




ONE MAN'S VIEW


contained man-that moments came when he
took from a drawer the likeness that had stood
on his desk once, and yearned over it with
despair.  That was his secret; pride forbade
that he should share it with another. He contemned himself that he did suffer still.  A
worthless woman should not be mourned. Out
of his life should be out of his memory; such
weakness shamed him.
In August, a week or so after the vacation
commenced, he went to stay at Fairlawn. His
object in going to Fairlawn was not wholly to
see his brother, and still less was it to see his
sister-in-law. He was solitary, he was wretched,
and he was only forty-seven years of age. He
had been questioning for some time whether the
wisest thing he could do would not be to marry
again; he sought no resumption of rapture, but
he wanted a home. An estimable wife, perhaps
a son, would supply new interests; and the
vague question that had entered his mind had
latterly been emphasized by his introduction to
Miss Pierways, who, he was aware, was now the
guest of Lady Heriot.
Miss Pierways was the daughter of a lady
155




ONE MAN'S VIEW


who had been the Hon. Mrs. Pierways, and who
had been left in such straitened circumstances,
that she was even debarred from accepting the
suite in Hampton Court that had been offered
to her at the period of her husband's death.
The mother and the girl had retired to obscure
lodgings; the only break in the monotony of
the latter's existence being an occasional visit to
some connections or friends, at whose places it
was hoped she might form a desirable alliance.
The most stringent economies had to be practised in order to procure passable frocks for
these visits, but the opportunities led to no
result, though she had beauty. And then an
extraordinary event occurred.  When the girl
was twenty-eight, the widow who for once had
reluctantly accepted an invitation to accompany
her, received an offer of marriage herself, and
became the wife of an American who was known
to be several times over a millionaire!
For one door that had been ajar to the
daughter of the Hon. Mrs. Pierways, with
nothing but her birth and her appearance to
recommend her, a hundred flew open to the
step-daughter of Henry Van Buren; and it was
i56




ONE MAN'S VIEW


shortly after the startling metamorphosis in the
fortunes of the pair that Heriot had first met
them.
The possible dowry which Agnes Pierways
would bring to her husband weighed with him
very little, for he was in a position to disregard
such considerations; but Miss Pierways' personality appeared to him suggestive of all the
qualifications that he sought in the lady he
should marry. Without her manner being impulsive or girlish, she was sufficiently young to
be attractive.  She was handsome, and in a
slightly statuesque fashion that bore the promise of the serenity which he told himself was
now his aim. Certainly if he did re-marry
-and he was contemplating the step very
seriously-it would be difficult to secure a
partner who fulfilled his requirements more
admirably than Miss Pierways.  Whether he
fulfilled hers, he could ascertain when he had
fully made up his mind.   It was with the
intention of making up his mind in proximity
to the lady that he had come to Fairlawn; and
one evening, when he was alone in the smokingroom with his brother, the latter blundered
157




ONE MAN'S VIEW


curiously enough on to the bull's-eye of his
meditations.
"I wonder," said Sir Francis, "that you've
never thought of re-marrying, George?"
"My experience of matrimony was not fortunate," answered Heriot, smoking slowly, but
with inward perturbation.
"Your experience of matrimony was a colossal folly.  All things considered, the consequences might easily have been a good deal
worse."
"I don't follow you."
"Between ourselves, the end never seemed to
me so regrettable as you think it."
" My wife left me."
" And you divorced her! And you have no
children."
"If I had had children," said Heriot musingly, " it is a fact that the consequences would
have been worse."
" But in any case," said the baronet, " it was
a huge mistake.  Really one may be frank
under the circumstances. You married madly.
The probability is that if your wife had beenif you were living together still, you would be a
158




ONE MAN'S VIEW


miserable man to-day. It was a very lamentable affair, of course, when it happened, but
regarding it coolly-in looking back on itdon't you fancy that perhaps things are just as
well as they are?
" I was very fond of my wife," replied Heriot,
engrossed by his cigar.
"To an extent," said Sir Francis indulgently,
" no doubt you had an affection for her. But,
my dear fellow, what companionship had you?
Was she a companion?"
" I don't know."
"Was she interested in your career? Could
she understand your ways of thought? Was
she used to your world? One doesn't ask a
great deal of women, but had you any single
thing in common?"
" I don't know," said Heriot again.
Sir Francis shrugged his shoulders.
" Take my word for it that, with such a girl
as you married, your divorce was not an unmixed evil. It wasn't the release one would
have chosen, but at least it was better for you
than being tied to her for life.  Damn it,
George! what's the use of blinking the matter
I'9




ONE MAN'S VIEW


now? She was absolutely unsuited to you in
every way; you must admit it!"
" I suppose she was. At the same time I
was happy with her."
"How long would the infatuation have
lasted?"
"It lasted more than three years."
"Would it have lasted another five?"
"Speakinc honestly, I believe it would."
"Though you had nothing in common!"
"I don't explain," said Heriot. " I tell you,
I was happy with her, that's all! Viewing it
dispassionately, I suppose she was unsuited to
me. I don't know that we did have anything
in common; I don't see any justification for the
fool's paradise I lived in. But for all that, if
I married again, I should never care for the
woman as-as I cared for her. In fact, I should
merely marry to    "- he was about to say
"to try to forget her "-" to make a home for
myself," he said, instead.
" Have you considered such a step? " asked
Sir Francis.
"Sometimes, yes."
"The best thing you could do-a very proper
i6o




ONE MAN'S VIEW


thing for you to do...      Anybody in
particular? "
" It's rather premature-"
" You're not in chambers, old fellow!"
"What do you think of Miss Pierways?"
inquired Heriot after a scarcely perceptible
pause.
" A very excellent choice! I should congratulate you heartily. I had not noticed —  And
Catherine is very acute in these matters —"
"There has been nothing to notice; probably she would refuse me point-blank. But in
the event of my determining to marry again,
I've wondered whether Miss Pierways wouldn't
be the lady I proposed to."
" I don't think you could do better."
"Really? You don't think I'm too old for
her? "
"On my honour!      'Too old for her?'
Not a bit, a very sensible marriage. I'm not
surprised that you should be attracted by her."
"' Attracted by her,'" said Heriot, "suggests
rather more than the actual facts. I appreciate
her qualities, but I can't say I'm sensible of any
attachment. I'm sorry that I'm not.  I api6i           M
*




ONE MAN'S VIEW


preciate her so fully that I am anxious to be
drawn towards her a little more. I'm somewhat past the age for ardent devotion, but I
couldn't take a wife as I might buy a horse.
Of course, I've not been very much in her
society; er - down here, I daresay, when I
come to know    her better —    Have you
met Van Buren? "
"In town, before he sailed. He is in New
York, you know. I like them all. We were
very pleased to have the mother and the girl
to stay with us.... Well, make your hay
while the sun shines."
"It isn't shining," said Heriot; "I'm just
looking east, waiting for it to rise. But I'm
glad to have talked to you; as soon as the first
gleam comes I think I'll take your advice. I
ought to marry, Francis; I know you're right."
162


A.-.t




CHAPTER XII


THE more he reflected the more he was convinced of it. In marriage lay his chance of
contentment, and during the ensuing fortnight
his approval of Miss Pierways deepened. The
house would not fill until the following month,
and the smallness of the party there at present
was favourable to the development of acquaintance.
Excepting that she was a trifle cold, there
was really no scope for adverse criticism upon
Miss Pierways. She was unusually well read,
took an intelligent interest in matters on which
women of her age were rarely informed, and
was accomplished to the extent that she played
the piano after dinner with brilliant execution
and admirable hands and wrists. Her coldness,
theoretically, was no drawback to him, and
i63




ONE MAN'S VIEW


Heriot was a little puzzled by his own attitude.
Her air was neither so formal as to intimate
that his advances would be unwelcome, nor so
self-conscious as to repel him by the warmth of
its encouragement; yet, in spite of his admiration, the idea of proposing to her dismayed
him when he forced himself to approach the
brink.
His vacillation was especially irritating since
he had learned that the ladies were on the point
of joining Mr. Van Buren in New York. The
opportunity of which he was failing to take
advantage would speedily be past, and he
dreaded that if he suffered it to escape him, he
would recall the circumstances with a certain
regret. He perceived as well, however, that if
he were precipitate, he might regret that too,
and he was sorry that the pair were not remaining in Europe longer.
One evening shortly before their departure,
which was being discussed, the mother expressed
surprise that he should never have been curious
to visit a continent, to which she had never given
a thought herself until she married an American,
and in answer Heriot declared that he had
164




ONE MAN'S VIEW


frequently meditated taking a run across during
the long vacation.
" If you ever do," she said, " I hope you will
choose a year when we are there."
"To tell you the truth, I was thinking of it
during the present one."
" We may see you in New York, Sir George?"
said Miss Pierways. " Really?  How strange
that will seem!  I've been anxious to go to
New York all my life; but now that I'm going,
I feel a contradictory desire to stay at home.
The idea of a large city across a lot of water,
where I haven't any friends-"
" But you will have many friends, Agnes."
" By-and-by," answered Miss Pierways. " Yes,
I suppose so. But it's very fatiguing making
friends, don't you think so? And I tremble
when I contemplate the voyage."
" How delightful it would be," remarked Mrs.
Van Buren, "if we were going by the same
steamer, Sir George!"
Heriot laughed.
" It would be very delightful to me to make
the voyage in your company. But I might
bore you frightfully.  A week at sea must
165




ONE MAN'S VIEW


be a severe test. I should be afraid of being
found out."
" We are promised other passengers," observed
Miss Pierways, looking down with a faint smile.
Her archness was a shade stiff, but her neck
was one of her chief attractions.
"Why don't you go, George?" said Lady
Heriot cheerfully. "You'd much better go by
Mrs. Van Buren's boat than any other; and
you've been talking of making a trip to America
'next year' ever since I've known you!)"
This amiable fiction was succeeded by fresh
protestations on Mrs. Van Buren's part that no
arrangement could be more charming, and
Heriot, half against his will, half with pleasure,
found himself agreeing to telegraph in the
morning to inquire if he could obtain a berth.
He hardly knew whether he was sorry or glad
when he had done so. That the step would
result in an engagement might be predicted
with a tolerable degree of certainty, and he
would have preferred to arrive at an understanding with himself under conditions which
savoured less of coercion.
Since a state-room proved to be vacant, howi66




r


ONE MAN'S VIEW
ever, he could do no less than engage it now;
and everybody appeared so pleased, and Miss
Pierways was so gracious, that the anomalous
misgivings which disturbed him looked momentarily more unreasonable than ever.
The night before he sailed, in their customary
colloquy over whisky and cigars, Sir Francis
said to him:
"' Ask, and it shall be given unto you'! "
" I'm inclined to think you're right," said his
brother. " I suppose it will end in it!...
She's a trifle like a well-bred machine-doesn't
it strike you so?-warranted never to get out
of order!"  The other's look was significant,
and Heriot added, "Very desirable in a wife,
of course! Only somehow -   "
"' Only somehow' you're eccentric, Georgeyou always were! "
" It's not my reputation," said Heriot drily;
"I believe that I'm esteemed particularly practical."
" Reputations," retorted the baronet, attempting an epigram, as he sometimes did in the
course of the second whisky-and-potash, and
failing signally in the endeavour, "are like
I67




ONE MAN'S VIEW


tombstones-generally false! " He realized the
reality of tombstones, and became immediately
controversial, to mask the defeat. "I've known
you from a boy, and I say you were always
eccentric. It was nothing but your eccentricity
that you had to thank before! Here's a nice
girl, a girl who will certainly have a good settlement, a girl who's undeniably handsome, ready
to say 'yes' at the asking, and you grumbleI'm hanged if you don't grumble!-because you
see she is to be depended on. What the devil
do you want? "
"I want to be fond of her," answered Heriot.
"I admit all you've said of her; I want to like
her more."
"So you ought to; but what does it matter
if you don't? All women are alike to the men
who've married them after a year or two. She'll
make an admirable mother, and that's the main
thing, I suppose!"
Was it?
Heriot recalled the criticism during his first
day on board. Neither of the ladies was visible
until Queenstown was reached, and he paced
the deck pursuing his reflections by the aid of
i68




ONE MAN'S VIEW


tobacco.  She would " make an admirable
mother, and that was the main thingo"!  Of
the second half of the opinion he was not so
sure. To marry a woman simply because one
believed she would shine in a maternal capacity
was somewhat too altruistic, he thought. However, he was fully aware that Miss Pierways had
other recommendations.
She appeared with her mother at the head of
the companion-way while he was wishing that
he had not come, and he found their chairs for
them, and arranged their rugs, and subsequently
gave their letters to the steward to be posted.
After leaving Queenstown, Mrs. Van Buren's
sufferings increased, and the girl, who, saving
for a brief interval, was well and cheerful, was
practically in his charge.  It was Heriot who
accompanied her from the saloon after breakfast, and strolled up and down with her till she
was tired. When the chair and the rug-the
salient features of a voyage are the chair, the
rug, and the woman -were satisfactorily arranged, it was he who sat beside her talking.
Flying visits she made below, while her mother
kept her cabin; but she was on deck for the
i69




ONE MAN'S VIEW


most part-or in the saloon, or in the readingroom-and for the most part Heriot was the
person to whom she looked for conversation.
If he had been a decade or two younger, he
would probably have proposed to her long before they sighted Sandy Hook, and it surprised
him that he did not succumb to the situation
as it was. A woman is nowhere so dangerous,
and nowhere is a man so susceptible, as at sea.
The interminable days demand flirtation, if one
is not to perish of boredom; and the environment is conducive to the development of flirtation into the semblance of love.  Moonlight
and water are notoriously potent, even when
only viewed for half an hour; and at sea, the
man and the girl look at the moonlight on the
water together regularly every evening.  And
it is very becoming to the girl. Miss Pierways'
face was always a disappointment to Heriot at
breakfast.  The remembrance of its factitious
softness the previous night made its hardness in
the sunshine look harder.  He wondered if it
was the remembrarce of its hardness at breakfast that kept him from proposing to her when
they loitered in the moonlight. He was cerI70




ONE MAN'S VIEW


tainly doing his best to fall in love with her,
and everything conspired to assist him; but the
days went on, and the momentous question
remained unuttered.
" We shall soon be there," she said one evening as they strolled about the deck after dinner.
"I'm beginning to be eager. Have you noticed
how everybody who passes is saying, 'New
York' now?    At first no one alluded to our
arrival-we mightn't have been due for a year,
by the way the subject was ignored-and since
yesterday nobody is talking of anything else!"
"Nearly every one I've spoken to seems to
have made the trip half a dozen times," said
Heriot.  "I feel dreadfully untravelled in the
smoking-room. When are you going to Niagara,
Miss Pierways?  That's a solemn duty to a
foreigner, you know."
"But it isn't to a native! I was talking to
some girls who have lived in New York all
their lives-when they weren't in Europe-and
haven't been there yet! They told me they
had been to the panorama in Westminster!"
"'The average thinking man can't stand
Europe for more than six months,"' Heriot reI7'




ONE MAN'S VIEW


marked. " I heard that this morning! I fancy
Americans are the most patriotic people in the
world; they are even angry with themselves
for liking any country but their own! "
"(Well, there is a great deal of it to like!"
"Yes, I wish I had time to see more.    I
should like to go west; I should like to see
California."
" I wouldn't see California for any consideration upon earth! " Miss Pierways declared.
" California, to me, is Bret Harte-I should be
so afraid of being disillusioned. When we went
to Ireland once, do you know, Sir George, it
was a most painful shock to me! My ideas of
Ireland were based on Dion Boucicault's plays;
I expected to see all the peasants in fascinating
costumes, with their hair down their backs, just
as one sees them on the stage.   The reality
was terrible. I shudder when I recall the disappointment I suffered."
" I can appreciate it."
" Of course you're laughing at me?"
" Disinterested sympathy is always doubted!"
" I shall have my revenge, if you don't like
New York," she said. "But, I don't know! I
I72




ONE MAN'S VIEW


shall feel guilty. You musn't blame us if you
don't like New York, Sir George. Fortunately
you won't have time to be very bored, though;
will you? "
"' Fortunately'?"
" Fortunately if it doesn't amuse you, I mean.
When does the-how do you say it? When
does your holiday end? "
" I must be back in London on the twentyfourth of next month. I am almost American
myself, am I not? I shall have such a fleeting
glimpse of the country, that I must really think
of writing a book about it."
"You have something better to do than writing vapid books! To me your profession seems
the most interesting one there is. If I were a
man, I would rather be called to the Bar than
anything. You would be astonished if you
knew how manybiographies of eminent lawyers
I have read-they enthralled me as a child. I
don't know any career that conveys such a
sense of power to me as the Bar. Don't smile;
but sometimes when we are talking I look at
you, remembering the vital issues that have
been in your hands, and tremble."
'73




ONE MAN'S VIEW


She lifted her eyes to him, deprecating the
enthusiasm which was too palpably a pose, and
again Heriot was conscious that the opportunity
was with him, if he could but grasp it. They
had paused by the taifrail, and he stood looking
at her, trying to speak the words which would
translate their relations to a definite footing.
He no longer had any doubt as to her answer;
he could foresee her reply-at least the manner
of her reply-with disturbing clearness.  He
knew that she would hesitate an instant, and
droop her head, and ultimately murmur correct
phrases which would exhilarate him not at all.
In imagination he already heard her tones, as
she promised to be his wife. He supposed, as
they were screened from observation, that he
might take her hand. How passionless, how
mechanical and flat it would all be! He replied with a common-place, and after a few
moments they continued their promenade.
When he turned in, however, he reproached
himself more forcibly than he had done yet,
and his vacillation was by no means at an end.
He was not at war with his judgment, but
with his instinct, and it was the perception of
'74




ONE MAN'S VIEW


this fact which always increased his perturbation.
They landed the following day, and, after
being introduced to Mr. Van Buren in the
custom-house, Heriot drove to an hotel. The
hotel was excellent, but the city did not appear
to him the brilliant capital that he had understood it to be. He had vaguely pictured New
York as a Paris, where everybody talked English; and the arid, ill-paved streets, the ceaseless jangle of the surface-cars, and the ubiquitous
rush and scream of the Elevated Railway, at
once irritated and oppressed him.  He did
not wish to take the Van Burens' invitations
too literally, and to a man or woman who has
few acquaintances there, New York is a duller
capital than* most.  While rendering homage
to the cuisine of the country, which, as a whole,
is infinitely better than the cooking of France,
and as superior to that of England as the
worst American train is to our best, the place,
as a place, disappointed him woefully. Broadway, narrow and abominable, till it widened
into the momentary brightness of Union Square,
proved a shock in its painful dissimilarity to
'75




ONE MAN'S VIEW


the Boulevard des Italiens, with which the few
American novels into which he had dipped had
led him to associate it; and Fifth Avenue,
when he called on the Van Burens, had so
little external resemblance to the description
of a "street of palaces," that in the middle of
the thoroughfare, he begged a pedestrian to tell
him where it was.
American hospitality, however, is the most
charming in the world, and he spent several
very agreeable hours inside the big brownstone house. Nothing could have exceeded the
geniality of Mr. Van Buren's manner, nor was
this due solely to the position of his visitor,
and a hope of their becoming connected. The
average American business man will show more
kindness to a complete stranger, who intrudes
into his office, than most Englishmen display
to one who comes to them with the warmest
letter of introduction from a bosom-friend, and
Van Buren's welcome was as sincere as it was
attractive.
Heriot stayed in New York a week, and then
fulfilled his desire of visiting Niagara.  On
his return he called at Fifth Avenue again.
176




ONE MAN'S VIEW


He was already beginning to refer to his homeward voyage, and he was still undetermined
whether he would propose to Miss Pierways or
not. 'The days slipped by without his arriving
at a conclusion; and then one morning he told
himself he had gone too far to retreat now,
and that the step, which was doubtless the
most judicious he could take, should be made
without delay.
He called at the house the same afternoonfor on the next day but one the Etruria sailed
-and he found the ladies at home.  He sat
down, wondering if he would be left alone with
Miss Pierways, and take his departure engaged
to her; but for half an hour there seemed no
likelihood of a tete-a-tete. Presently some cards
were brought in, and the visitors were shown
into another room. Mrs. Van Buren begged
him to excuse her. He rose to leave, but was
pressed to remain.
" I want to talk to you when they've gone,"
she said; "I haven't half exhausted my list of
messages for you to take to London."
Heriot resumed his seat, and Miss Pierways
smiled.


I77


N




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" Poor mamma wishes she were going herself,
if the truth is told! Now that we're here, it
is I who like New York the better."
"We soon become creatures of custom," he
said; "your mother has lived in London too
long to accustom herself to America very easily.
Of course you'll be returning next season? "
" Oh, yes. Shall you ever come to America
again, Sir George?"
"I-I hardly know," he answered. "I certainly hope to."
"Oh, then, you will! You are your own
master."
"Is anybody ever his own master?"
"To the extent of travelling to America,
many people, I should think! "
He remembered with sudden gratification that
he had never said a word to her that he might
not have spoken before a crowd of listeners.
What was there to prevent him withholding the
proposal if he liked!
" I've no doubt I shall come," he said abstractedly.
She looked slightly downcast. This was not
the reply that she hoped to hear.
I78




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" I shall always owe a debt of gratitude to you
and to Mr. and Mrs. Van Buren for making my
visit so pleasant to me," he found himself saying
next. " My trip has been a delightful experience."
She murmured a conventional response, but
chagrin began to creep about her heart.
Heriot diverged into allusions which advanced
the position not at all. They spoke of New
York, of England, of the voyage-she perfunctorily, and he with ever-increasing relief.
And now he felt that he had been on the verge
of the precipice for the last time. He had escaped-and by the intensity of his gratitude he
realized how ill-judged had been his action in
playing around it.
When Mrs. Van Buren re-appeared, followed
by her husband, her daughter's face told her
that the crisis had not been reached; and bold
in thanksgiving, Heriot excused himself when
he was asked to dine with them that evening.
Had the invitation been transferred to the next,
he could not without rudeness have found a
pretext for refusing; but on the next night, as
luck would have it, the Van Burens were dining
out themselves.
I79




ONE MAN'S VIEW


When the footman opened the big door he
descended the steps with a sensation that was
foreign to him, and not wholly agreeable. He
knew he did not want to marry Miss Pierways,
and that he had behaved like a fool in trying
to acquire the desire, but he was a little ashamed
of himself. His conduct had not been irreproachable; and he was conscious that when the steamer
sailed, and the chapter was closed for good and
all, he would be glad to have done with it. He
had blundered badly. Nevertheless he would
have blundered worse, and been a still greater
fool, if the affair had terminated in an engagement. Of course his brother would say distasteful things when they met, and Lady Heriot
would convey her extreme disapproval of him
without saying anything. That he must put
up with. Of two evils, he had at any rate
chosen the lesser!
He repeated the assurance with still more
conviction on Saturday morning during the
quarter of an hour in which the cab rattled him
over the villainous roads to the boat. The experience had been a lesson to him, and henceforward he was resolved that he would dismiss
I80




ONE MAN'S VIEW


the idea of marriage from his mind. He saw his
portmanteau deposited in his cabin, and returned
to the deck as the steamer commenced to move.
The decks were in the confusion that always
reigns during the first hour on board.  Passengers still hung at the taffrail, taking a farewell gaze at friends upon the landing-stage.
The chairs were huddled in a heap, and stewards
bustled about among the piles of luggage, importuned at every second step with instructions
and inquiries.
The deep pulsations appeared to grow more
regular; the long line of sheds that had been
left, receded; and the figures of the friends
were as little dark toys, waving specks of white.
Even the most constant among the departing
began to turn away now.    The hastening
stewards were importuned more frequently than
before. Everybody was in a hurry, and all the
women in the crowd that flocked below seemed
uttering the words, "baggage" and " state-room,"
at the same time.
A few men were temporarily in possession of
the deck, striding to and fro behind pipes or
cigars. The regulation as to "No smoking abaft




ONE MAN'S VIEW


this " was not yet in force, or, at least, was at
present disobeyed. Heriot sauntered along the
length of promenade until it began to fill again.
The mountain of chairs received attentionthey were set out in a row under the awning.
The deck took a dryness and a whiteness, and a
few people sat down, and questioned inwardly
if they would find one another companionable.
He bent his steps to the smoking-room, but it
was empty and uninviting thus early, and he
forsook it after a few minutes. As the door
slammed behind him, he came face to face with
the woman who had been his wife!


182




CHAPTER XIII


SHE approached - their gaze met- he had
bowed, and passed her. Perhaps it had lasted
a second, the mental convulsion in which he
looked in her eyes; he did not know. He found
a seat and sank into it, staring at the sky and
sea, acutely conscious of nothing but her nearness. He could not tell whether it was despair
or rejoicing that beat in him; he knew nothing
but that the world had swayed, that life was in
an instant palpitating and vivid-that he had
seen her!
Then he-knew that in the intensity of emotion
that shook him body and brain, there was a
thrill of joy, inexplicable but insistent.  But
when he rose at last, he dreaded that he might
see her again.
He did not see her till evening, when he drew
183




ONE MAN'S VIEW


back at the door of the saloon as she came out.
His features were imperturbable now, and betrayed nothing, though her own, before her head
drooped, were piteous in appeal.
Heriot noted that she looked pale and ill, and
that she wore a black dress with crape on it.
He wondered whether she had lost her father or
her aunt. Next morning he understood that it
must be her father, for he saw her sitting inertly
beside Mrs. Baines against the bulwark.  So
Dick Cheriton was dead! He had once been
fond of Dick Cheriton. The stranger in the
black frock had once slept in his arms, and borne
his name!... The sadness of a lifetime
weighed on his soul.
He perceived that she shunned him by every
means in her power. But they were bound to
meet; and then the same look would flash across
her face that he had seen at the foot of the
companionway; its supplication and abasement
wrung him. They were bound to meet! Horrible
as the continual encounters grew, in the readingroom, on deck, or below, their lines crossed a
dozen times between breakfast and eleven o'clock
at night. The unavoidableness of these meetings
I84




ONE MAN'S VIEW


became as torturous to Heriot as to her. He
felt as if he had struck her as he saw her whiten
and shrink when he passed her by. He hated
himself soon for being here to cause her this intolerable pain.
It was on the evening of the third day that
her endurance broke down, and she made her
petition. He recognised the voice of her messenger with a pang before he turned.
"Mrs. Baines! "
"You're surprised I should address you, Mr.
Heriot," she said. "I shouldn't have, but she
wants me to beg you to-to speak to her, if it's
only for five minutes. She implores you humbly
to let her speak to you! She made me ask
you; I couldn't say ' no.'"
His pulses throbbed madly, and momentarily
he could not reply.
"What purpose would it serve?" he said in
tones he struggled to make firm.
" She can't bear it, Mr. Heriot-Sir Heriot, I
should say; I was forgetting, I'm sure I beg
your pardon! She 'implores you humbly to
let her speak to you'; I was to use those words.
Won't you consent? She is ill, she's dying."
185




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Dying?" whispered Heriot by a physical
effort.
She nodded slowly. "The doctor has told
her! She won't be here long, poor girl! But
whether she's to be pitied for it or not, it's
hard to say; I don't think she'll be sorry to go....My brother is gone, Sir Heriot."
His answer was inarticulate.
"We got there just at the end. If we had
been too late, she-   She has been ailing a
long while, but we didn't know it was so
serious. When she saw you, it was awful for
her. I-      Oh, what am I to tell her?-she's
waiting now!"
"Where?" said Heriot hoarsely.
"Will you come with me? "
"Show me," he said; "show me where she
is."
He still heard the knell of it-" Dying! " It
tolled in his being. He heard it as the lonely
figure in the darkness rose:" Thank you, I am grateful."
The familiar voice knocked at his heart.
" Mrs. Baines has told me you are ill. I am
grieved to learn how ill you are! "
i86




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" It doesn't matter. It was good of you to
come; I thought you would. I-I have prayed
to speak to you again! "
" It was not much to ask," he said; " I-am
human."
He could see she trembled painfully. He
indicated the chair she had left, and drew one
closer for himself. Then for some minutes there
was silence.
" Do you hate me? " she said.
He shook his head. "Should I have come to
tell you so?"
" But you can never forgive?"
"Why distress yourself?  If for a moment
I hesitated to come, it was because I knew it
would be distressing for you. Perhaps a refusal
would have been kinder after all."
" No, no; I was sure you wouldn't refuse.
She doubted; but I was sure! I said you
would come when you heard about me."
"Is it so serious? What is it? Tell me; I
know nothing."
"It's my lungs; they were never very strong,
you remember. The doctor told me in Duluth:
'Perhaps a year,' if I am 'very careful.' I am
I87




ONE MAN'S VIEW


not very careful-it will soon be all over. Don't
look like that. Why should you care? I don't
care-I don't want to live a bit. Only —   Do
you think, if-if there's anything afterwards,
that a woman who's gone wrong like me will
be punished?"
"For God's sake," he said, "don't talk
so!"
"But do you? It makes one think of these
things when one knows one has only a very
little time to live. You can't forgive me-you
said so."
"I do," he said; " I forgive you freely. If I
could give my life to undo your wretchedness,
I'd give it you. You don't know how I loved
you; what it meant to me to find you gone!
Ah, Mamie, how could you do it? "
The tears stood in her eyes, as she lifted her
white face to him in the obscurity.
"I am   ashamed, ashamed!" she moaned.
"What can I say?"
"Why?" said Heriot, at the end of a tense
pause; "why?    Did you care for him   so
much?   If he had lived, and married you,
would you be happy now?"
i88




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Happy!" she echoed, with something between a laugh and a sob.
"Tell me! I hoped you would be happy.
That's true! I never wanted you to suffer for
what you'd done. I suffered enough for both."
" I don't think I should have married him. I
don't know. I don't think so. I knew I'd made
a mistake before-oh, in the first month. Ifyou
haven't hated me, I have hated myself."
" And since? You have been with her?"
" Ever since. My poor father wanted me to
go home. I wish I had! You know I've lost
him-she told you that? He wanted me to
go home, but I couldn't-where everybody
knew!  You understand?    And then she
moved to Balham, and we never left it until
two months ago, when the cable came. We
were in time to see him die. My poor father! "
He touched her hand, and her fingers closed
round his own convulsively.
"You oughtn't to be up here at night," he
said huskily, looking at her with blinded eyes.
"Didn't the man tell you that the night air was
bad? And that flimsy wrap-it's no use so!
Draw it across your mouth."
I89




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"What's the difference?-there, then! Shall
you-will you speak to me again after this evening, or is this the last talk we shall have? I
had so much to say to you, but I don't seem
able to find it now you're here. If you believe
that I ask your pardon on my knees, I suppose,
after all, that that is everything! If ever a man
deserved a good wife, it was you; I realize it
more clearly than I did while we were together
-though I think I knew it then... You
never married again? "
"No," he answered; " no, I haven't married."
"But you will, perhaps? Why haven't you?"
"I'm too old, and-I cared too much for
you."
The tears were running down her face now;
she loosed his hand to wipe them away.
"Don't say I've ruined your life!" she pleaded;
"don't say that! My own-yes; my ownit served me right! but I've tried so hard to
believe that you had got over it. When I read
of your election, and then that you were made
Solicitor-General, I was glad, ever so glad!
I thought,' He is successful; he has his career
-his career.' I've always wanted to believe
I90




ONE MAN'S VIEW


that your work was enough-that you had
forgotten! It wasn't so? "
"No," he replied, "it wasn't so. I did my
best to forget you, but I couldn't."
" Aunt Lydia said you weren't cut up at all
when she saw you. You deceived her very well.
'A worthless woman,' you called me; I 'was
not any loss'! It was quite true; but I knew
you couldn't feel like that-not so soon. 'Worthless'! I've heard it every day since she told
me!... I meant to do my duty when I
married you, George; if I could have foreseen
" She broke off, coughing. "If I could
have foreseen what the end would be, I'd have
killed myself rather than become your wife. I
was always grateful to you; you were always
good to me-and I only brought you shame! "
"Not 'only,'" he said; "you gave me happiness first, Mamie-the greatest happiness I've
known! I loved you, and you came to me.
You never understood how much I did love
you-I think that was the trouble."
"' There's a word that says it all: I worship
you!' Do you remember saying that? You
said it in the train when you first proposed to
19I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


me. I refused you then-why did I ever give
way!... How different everything would
be now! You 'worshipped' me, and I — "
Her voice trailed off, and once more only the
pounding of the engine broke the stillness on the
deck. The ocean swelled darkly under a starless sky, and Heriot sat beside her staring into
space. In the steerage some one commenced
to play "Robin Adair" on a fiddle. A drizzle
began to fall, to blow in upon them. Heriot
became conscious of it with a start.
"You must go below," he said; "it is raining."
She rose obediently, shivering a little, and
drawing the white shawl more closely about her
neck.
"Good-night! " she said, standing there with
wide eyes.
He put out his hand, and her clasp ran
through his blood again.
" Good-night! " he repeated gently. "Sleep
well."
Was it real? Was he awake? He looked
after her as she turned away-looked long after
she had disappeared. The fiddle in the steerage
I92




ONE MAN'S VIEW


was still scraping " Robin Adair"; the black
stretch of deck was desolate. A violent impulse
seized him to overtake her, to snatch her back,
to hold her in his arms for once, with words
and caresses of consolation.  " Dying.!" He
wondered if Davos, Algiers, the Cape, anything
and everything procurable by money, could prolong her life. Then he recollected that she had
said she did not wish to live. But that was
horrible! She should consult an eminent man
in town, and follow his advice; he would make
her promise it. With the gradual defervescence
of his mood, he wondered if she was properly
provided for, and resolved to question Mrs.
Baines on the point. He would elicit the information he sought the following day, and
something could be arranged if necessary-if
not with Mamie's knowledge, then without it,
The morning was bright, and Mamie was in
her chair when he came up from the saloon after
breakfast. As he approached, she watched him
expectantly, and it was impossible to pass without a greeting. It was impossible, when the
greeting had been exchanged, not to remain
with her for a few minutes.
I93            0




ONE MAN'S VIEW


" How are you feeling?" he asked; "any
better?"
" I never feel very bad; I am just the same
to-day as yesterday, thank you." The "thank
you " was something more than a formula, and
he felt it. It hurt him to hear the gratitude in
her tone, natural as it might be.
" I want you to go to a good physician when
you arrive," he said; "say to Drummond; and
to do just as he tells you. You must do that;
it is a duty you owe yourself."
She shrugged her shoulders.  "What for?
That I may last two years, perhaps, instead of
one? It is kind of you to care, but I'm quite
satisfied as things are. Don't bother about
me."
"You will have to go!" he insisted. "Before
we land I shall speak to your aunt about
it."
He had paused by her seat with the intention
of resuming his promenade as soon as civility
permitted, but her presence was subversive of
the intention. He sat down beside her as he
had done the previous evening; but it was inevitable that they should now speak of other
I94




ONE MAN'S VIEW


subjects than infidelity and death. The sky
was blue, and the white deck glistened in the
sunshine. The sea before them tumbled cheerfully, and to right and left were groups of
passengers laughing, flirting, doing fancy-work,
or reading novels.
" You haven't told me how it was you came to
the States? " she said presently; "were you in
New York all the time?"
Heriot did not answer, and she waited with
surprise.
" I will tell you, if you wish," he said hastily.
"I came out half meaning to marry."
" Oh!" she said, as if he had struck her.
"I thought I might be happier married," he
went on. " The lady and her mother were going
to New York, and I travelled with them. I-I
was mistaken in myself."
They were not looking at each other any
longer, and her voice trembled a little as she
replied:
" You were not fond enough of her?"
"No," he said. "I shall never marry again;
I told you so last night."
After a long pause, she said:
I95


f




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Was she pretty?... Prettier than I
used to be?"
"She was handsome, I think. Not like you
at all. Why talk about it?... I am glad
I came, though, or I shouldn't have seen you.
I shall always be glad to have seen you
again! Remember that, after we part. For me,
at least, it will never be so bitter since we've
met and I've heard you say you're sorry."
"God bless you!" she murmured almost
inaudibly.
He left her after half an hour, but drifted
towards her again in the afternoon. Insensibly
they lost by degrees much of their constraint in
talking together. She told him of her father's
illness, of her own life in Balham; Heriot gave
her some details of his appointment, explaining
that it was the duty of an Attorney and
Solicitor-General to reply to questions of law in
the House, to advise the Government, and conduct its cases, and the rest of it. By Wednesday
night it was difficult to him to realize that their
first interview had occurred only forty-eight
hours ago. It had become his habit to turn his
steps towards her on deck, to sip tea by her side
I96




ONE AIAN'S VIEW


in the saloon, to saunter with her after dinner in
the starlight. Even at last he felt no embarrassment as he moved towards her; even at last she
came to smile up at him as he drew near.
Moments there could not fail to be when such
a state of things seemed marvellous and unnatural-when conversation ceased, and they
paused oppressed and tongue-tied by a consciousness of the anomaly of their relations.
Nevertheless such moments were but hitches in
an intercourse which grew daily more indispensable to them both.
How indispensable it had become to herself
the woman perceived as the end of the voyage
approached; and now she would have asked no
better than for them to sail on until she died.
When she undressed at night, she sighed,
" Another day over"; when she woke in the
morning, eagerness quickened her pulses. On
Saturday they would arrive; and when Friday
dawned, the abnormality of the reunion had
less of strangeness than the reflection that she
and Heriot would separate again directly. To
think that, as a matter of course, they would
say good-bye to each other, and resume their
I97




ONE MAN'S VIEW


opposite sides of an impassable gulf, looked
more unnatural to her than the renewed
familiarity.
Their pauses were longer than usual on Friday
evening. Both were remembering that it was
the last. Heriot had ascertained that Cheriton
had been able to leave her but little; and the
notion of providing her with the means to
winter in some favourable climate was hot in
his mind.
"It is understood," he said abruptly, "that
you go to Drummond, and do exactly as he
orders? You will not be so mad as to refuse
at the last moment?"
"All right! " she answered apathetically, " I
will go. Shall I-will you care to hear what
he says? "
" Your aunt has promised to write to me. By
the way, there's something I want to say tonight. If what he advises is expensive, you must
let me make it possible for you. I claim that
as my right. I intended arranging it with Mrs.
Baines, but she tells me you-you would be
bound to know where the money came from.
He will probably tell you to live abroad."
I98




ONE MAN'S VIEW


"Thank you!" she said after a slight start; "I
could not take your money. It is very good
of you, but I would rather you didn't speak of
it. If you talked for ever, I wouldn't consent!"
" Mamie —"
"The very offer turns me cold.    Please
don't!"
" You are cruel," he said. " You are refusing
to let me prolong your life. Have I deserved
that from you? "
"Oh!" she cried, in a tortured voice, "for
God's sake, don't press me! Leave me something-I won't say'self-respect,' but a vestige,
a grain of proper pride! Think what my feelings would be living on money from youit would not prolong my life, George; it would
kill me sooner! You have been generous and
merciful to me; be merciful to me still, and
talk of something else."
"You are asking me to stand by and
see you die.  I have feelings, too! Mamie, I
can't do it! "
( I am dying," she said; " if it happens a little
sooner or a little later, does it matter very
greatly? If you want to be very kind to me, to
199




ONE MAN'S VIEW


-to brighten the time that remains as much as
you can, tell me that if I send to you whenwhen it's a question of days, you will come to
the place and see me again. I would bless you
for that! I've been afraid to ask you till now;
but it would mean more to me than anything
else you could do. Would you, if I sent? "
" Why," said Heriot labouredly, after another
pause, " why would it mean so much? "
They were leaning over the taffrail and suddenly her head was bent, and she broke into
convulsive sobs that tore his breast.
" Mamie!" he exclaimed. " Mamie, tell me!"
He glanced around, and laid a trembling touch
upon her hands. " Tell me, dear!" he repeated
hoarsely. " Do you love me, then?"
Her figure was shaken by the shuddering
breaths.  His touch upon her tightened to a
clasp; he drew the hands down from the distorted face, drew the shaken figure closer, till
his own met it-till her bosom was heaving
against his heart.
" Do you love me, Mamie?"
"Yes! " she gasped. And then for an instant
only their eyes spoke, and in the intensity of
200




ONE MAN'S VIEW


their eyes each gave to the other body and
soul.
" I love you! " she panted; "it's my punishment, I suppose, to love you too late! I shall
never see you after to-morrow, till I am dying
-if then-but I love you. Remember it! It's
no good to you, you won't care, but remember
it, because it's my punishment. You can say,
'When it was too late, she knew! She died detesting herself, shrinking at her own body, her
own loathsome body that she gave to another
man!' Oh "-she beat her hands hysterically
against his chest-" I hate him, I hate him!
God forgive me, he's in his grave, but I hate
him when I think what's been! And it wasn't
his fault; it was mine, mine-my own degraded,
beastly self! Curse me, throw me from you!
I'm not fit to be standing here; I'm lower than
the lowest woman in the streets!"
The violence of her emotion maddened him.
He knew that he, too, loved her; the truth was
stripped of the disguise in which he had sought
for years to wrap it-he knew that he had never
ceased to love her; and a temptation to make
her his wife again, to cherish and possess her so
201




ONE MAN'S VIEW


long as life should linger in her veins, flooded his
reason.  Their gaze grew wider, deeper still;
he could feel her quivering from head to foot.
Another moment, and he would have offered his
honour to her keeping afresh. Some men left
the smoking-room; there was the sharp interruption of laughter-the slam of the door. They
both regained some semblance of self-possession
as they moved apart.
"I must go down," she said. And he did
not beg her to remain.
It was their real farewell, for on the morrow
they could merely exchange a few words amid
the bustle of arrival. Liverpool was reached
early in the morning, and when Heriot saw
her, she wore a hat and veil, and was already
prepared to go ashore. In the glare of the
sunshine the veil could not conceal that her
eyes were red with weeping, however, and he
divined that she had passed a sleepless night.
To Mrs. Baines he privately repeated his injunctions with regard to the physician, for he
was determined to have his way; and the
widow assured him that she would write to
Morson Drummond for an appointment with202




ONE MAN'S VIEW


out loss of time. The delays and shouts came
to an end, and the gangway was lowered while
he was speaking to her, and Mamie moved
forward to her side. He saw the pair again
in the custom-house, but for a minute only,
and from  a distance.  They evidently got
through without trouble, for when he looked
across again, they were gone.
A sensation of blankness fell upon Heriot's
mood as he perceived it, where he stood waiting amid the scattered luggage. His life felt
newly empty, and the dav all at once seemed
cold and dark.


203




CHAPTER XIV


THE truth was stripped of the disguise in which
he had sought to wrap it; he knew that he had
never ceased to love her. As he had known
it while she sobbed beside him on the boat, so
he knew it when the Bar claimed him again,
and he wrestled with temptation amid his work.
He might re-marry her! He could not drive
this irruptive idea from his mind. It lurked
there, impelled attention, dozed, woke, and
throbbed in his consciousness persistently.
Were he but weak enough to make the choice,
the woman he loved might belong to him once
more.
Were he but weak enough!    There were
minutes in which he was very near to it, minutes
in which the dishonour, if dishonour it were,
looked as nothing to him compared with the
204




ONE MAN'S VIEW


joy of having her for his wife again. Yet were
he but " weak" enough? Would it indeed be
weakness-would it not rather be strength, the
courage of his convictions? The noetic longing illumined his vision, and he asked himself
on what his doubt and hesitation was based.
She had sinned; but he had pardoned her sin,
not merely in words, but in his heart. And
she was very dear to him; and she had repented. Then why should it be impossible?
What after all had they done to her, what
change in the beloved   identity had they
wrought, those months that were past?  He
was aware that it was the physical side that
repelled him- there had been another man.
Yet if she had been a widow when he met
her first, there would have been another man,
and it would have mattered nothing! Did
this especial sin make of a woman somebody
else? Did it give to her another face, another
form, another brain? Did unfaithfulness transform her personality? The only difference was
the knowledge of what had happened - the
woman herself was the same! But he would
not vindicate his right to love her-he loved
203




ONE MAN'S VIEW


her, that was enough.  In its simplicity the
question was whether he would do better to
condone her guilt, and know happiness, or to
preserve his dignity, and suffer. He could not
blink the question; it confronted him nakedly
when a week had worn by. Without her he
was lonely and wretched; with her, while she
lived, he was confident that his joy would be
supreme. The step that he considered was, it
any one pleased, revolting; but if it led to his
contentment, perhaps to be "revolting" might
be height of wisdom. He must sacrifice his
pride or his peace; and at last, quite deliberately, without misgiving or a backward glance,
Heriot determined to gain peace.
A few days after the arrival, Mrs. Baines had
written to inform him that the physician was
out of town, but now a line came to say that
an appointment had been made for " Monday,"
and that she would communicate Dr. Drummond's pronouncement immediately they reached
home after the interview. It was on Monday
morning that Heriot received the note, and he
resolved to go to Mamie the same evening.
The thought of the amazement that his
206




ONE MAN'S VIEW


appearance would produce in her excited him
wildly as he drove to Victoria. He could foresee the wonder in her eyes as he entered, the
incredulity on her features as she heard what
he was there to say; and the profoundest
satisfaction pervaded him that he had resolved
to say it. The comments that his world would
make had no longer any place in his meditations; a fico for the world that would debar
him from delight, and censure what it could
not understand! He had suffered long enough;
his only regret was for tfhe years which had been
lost before he grasped the vivid truth that, innocent or guilty, the woman who conferred happiness was the woman to be desired.
A criticism of his brother's recurred to him:
"You hadn't a single taste in common!" He
had not disputed it at the time; he was not
certain that he could deny it now. But there
was no need to consider whether their views
were kindred or opposed, whether she was defiled or stainless, when she was the woman
whose magic could transfigure his existence.
He was conscious that this marriage to be approved by his judgment, and condemned by
207




ONE MAN'S VIEW


Society, would be a sweeter and holier union
than their first, to which she had brought purity
and indifference. As the cab sped down Victoria Street, his excitement increased, and in
imagination he already clasped her, and felt
the warmth of her cheek against his face. He
felt the softness of her hair between his fingers,
and stinging his lips, as he smoothed and kissed
it as he had done five years ago.
The hansom slackened, jerked to a standstill,
and he leapt out, and hurried to the bookingoffice. A train was on the point of starting.
The sentiment of the byegone was quick in
him as he found that he must pass through a
yellow barrier'on to the same platform to which
he had been wont to hasten in the period when
he used to go to see her in Lavender Street,
Wandsworth. He had never trodden it since.
A thousand associations, sad but delicious, were
revived as he took his seat, and the guard,
whose countenance struck him as familiar, sauntered with a green flag and a lantern past the
window. Victoria slipped back. It had been
in one of these compartments-perhaps in this
one!-that he had first asked her to be his wife.
208




ONE MA N'S VIEW


How damp she had been! he remembered that
her cape was quite wet when he touched it.
A porter sang out, "Grosvenor Road," and at
the sound of it Heriot marvelled he should
have forgotten that they were about to stop
there.  Yes, " Grosvenor Road," and then -
what next?  He could not recollect; but
memory knocked with a louder pang as each
of the impossible places on the line was reached.
When the name of Wandsworth Common was
cried, he glanced out at the dimly-lighted
station, while in fancy he traced the course to
the shabby villa that had been her home. He
thought he could find it blindfold.
After Wandsworth the line was quite strange
to him; and now the impatience of his mood
had no admixture, and he merely trembled with
eagerness to gain his destination.
"Balham!" was bawled two minutes later,
and among a stream of clerks and nondescripts,
he descended a flight of steps and emerged
into a narrow street. No cabs were in attendance, and, having obtained directions, he pursued his way to Rosalie Road on foot.
A glimpse he had of cheap commerce, of the
209            P




ONE MAN'S VIEW


flare of gas-jets on oranges, and eggs, and fifthrate millinery; and then the shops and the
masses were left behind, and he was in obscurity. The ring of footsteps occurred but
seldom here, and he wandered vainly in a maze
of little houses for half an hour before a welcome postman earned a shilling.
Rosalie Road began in darkness, and ended
in a brickfield. Heriot identified Number 44 by
the aid of a vesta. A hollow jangle succeeded
his pull at the bell, and presently, through the
panes in the door, he could discern a figure
advancing along the passage.
His throat appeared to contract, and his voice
sounded strange in his ears, as he inquired if
Mamie was within.
"Yessir; she's in the drorin'-room," replied
the drudge. " Oo shall I say? "
" Sir George Heriot.   Is Mrs. Baines at
home? "
His title rendered her incapable of immediate
response.
"Missis is out of a herrandt, sir," she stammered, recovering herself; " she won't be long."
"When she comes in, tell her that I'm talk210




ONE MAN'S VIEW


ing privately to her niece. Privately; don't
forget! "
She turned the handle, and Heriot followed
her into the room. He heard her announce
him, but vaguely. He saw the room as in a
mist.  Momentarily all that was clear was
Mamie's face, white and wonder-stricken in the
lamplight.  She stood where she had been
standing at his entrance, looking at him; he
had the impression of many minutes passing
while she only looked. A long time seemed to
go by before her colour fluttered back, and she
said, " You? "
" Yes, it's I," he said. "Won't you say you're
glad to see me? "
"Aunt Lydia has written to you," she murmured, still gazing at him as if she doubted his
reality. "Her letter has gone."
"I have come to hear what Dr. Drummond
says."
She motioned him to a chair, and drooped
weakly on to the shiny couch herself.
" I am not going to die," she said, moistening
her lips. "Your sympathy has been thrown
away. I am a fraud! "
21I




ONE MAN'S VIEW


In the tenseness of the pause in which he
waited, the tumultuous throbbing of his heart
seemed to shake it in his breast.
" He has given you hope?" he asked, articulating at last.
"He said, 'Bosh!'   I told him what the
doctor declared in Duluth. He said, 'Bosh!'
One lung isn't sound, that's all. I may live to
be eighty."
" 0 dear God!" said Heriot slowly, " how I
thank You! "
She gave a short laugh, harsh and bitter.
"I always posed. My last pose was as a
dying woman!"
"Mamie," he said firmly-he went across to
her and sat down by her side-" Mamie, I love
you! I want you to come back to me, my
dearest! My life's no good without you, and
I want you for my wife again. Will you
come? "
He heard her catch her breath, but she could
not speak. He took her hands, and drew her
to him. She fell upon his neck, and their
mouths clung together, and presently he felt
hot tears on his cheek.
212




ONE MAN'S VIEW


Then she released herself with a gesture of
negation.
"You are mad!" she said. "And I should
be madder to accept the sacrifice!"
For this he was prepared.
" I am very sane," he answered. "When you
understand, you will see that it is the only
reparation you can make me. Listen!"
THE END
Butler &- Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
213




NOVELS BY LEONARD MERRICK.
VIOLET MOSES.
SATURDAY REVIEW.-How it has fared with the Jew in modern
fiction is a theme that should one day be treated by some philosophic
writer. When the hour arrives, that writer cannot possibly afford to
neglect Mr. Leonard Merrick's Violet Moses. There is not the least
suggestion of racial sentiment or of imperfect sympathies in Mr. Merrick's clever sketches of Jewish society in the cool, sequestered Maida
Vale of life. The Jew that George Eliot drew is more gratifying to the
romantic eye than Mr. Leopold Moses, but the latter is unquestionably
the more persuasive portraiture. Mr. Moses possesses everythingeven to flesh and blood-that Mr. Deronda lacked,
ATHENAEUM.-Whether Maida Vale will be gratified or not by
extremely vivid portraiture may be open to doubt; but certainly the
circles to which Leopold Moses, financier, introduces a very sensitive
and intelligent young wife will have the charm of novelty to most of
those who share the introduction.
THE TIMES.-The author is fairly entitled to the honours of a
discoverer. He has struck down into a new social sthatum, and he
seems to be at home in it.
JEWISH CHRONICLE.-The right way to deal with a book of
this kind is not to shriek at it as a libel-which it is not-but to profit
by the salutary lesson that it teaches.
THE MAN WHO WAS GOOD.
SPECTATOR.-There was enough cleverness in Violet Moses-that
brilliant and cynical study of middle-class Jewish life-to excite interest
in its author's future.... Here we are allowed a glimpse, and
something more than a glimpse, of heights of aspiration and attainment.
With the entrance into the story of Dr. Kincaid, we begin to
breathe a clearer, sweeter atmosphere than that of the drawing-rooms
of Maida Vale.
SATURDAY REVIEW.-Mr. Leonard Merrick is distinguished in
the school of fiction to which he belongs. His talent is rare, and what
the French mean by fine.
ATHEN.eFfUM.-The Man who was Good is one of a cluster of simultaneous novels, all turning on the self-abandonment of a woman, more
or less complete, for a man who proves to be unworthy of the sacrifice.
The main justification of such a central incident consists in the treatment of the woman's attitude after she has discovered that her idol
is but iron and clay. Most of the novels now referred to are written
by women, as might seem to be natural, since the question is one of
the interpretation of sexual predispositions. But the author of Violet
Moses, who has already shown himself an exceptionally acute observer,
probably comes as near to the truth in his example of the eternal
paradox as any woman has done.
THIS STAGE OF FOOLS.
SPEAKER.-Mr. Leonard Merrick possesses that thrice-blessed
gift-the power of interesting his readers. In This Stage of Fools he
proves from cover to cover his grasp of that essential quality of the




novelist's mental equipment. The volume is mainly a irehazfe'of short
stories and sketches which have already appeared in various magazines,
though the first and most important contribution, The Laurels and the
Lady, is printed for the first time in these pages. But all alike justify
their appearance in volume form by virtue of their excellent technique,
bold treatment, and originality of idea. Unconventional as Mr. Merrick is in his methods of dealing with our social scheme, his is by no
means that kind of unconventionality which, in recent novels, has so
often shown itself allied with a hectic and almost hysterical morbidness. He has, happily for his readers, no desire to thrust upon them
fantastic theories of existence. Artistic enough to paint life as he sees
it, he is also imaginative enough to see in it those dumb tragedies of
emotion which are not visible to the casual onlooker. The polished
style in which it is written is not the smallest merit in this remarkably
clever and suggestive volume.
THE TABLET.-The keenness of observation and power of drawing
womanly strength in Violet AMoses, the intensity, the emotional charm
and pathos, of The Man who was Good; the fidelity of his pictures, the
absence of exaggeration, the simplicity, the insight into human nature
of both books, are all in This Stage of Fools, but in miniature. Still,
Mr. Merrick has done himself an injustice by his title.  Violet Afoses
was a cynical study, but these sketches are written, not like Rabelais,
with his finger by his nose; nor like Balzac, with his tongue in his
cheek; not like Carlyle, with his back upon humanity; nor like
Heine, with lips tightened and drawn. In this book, at least, Mr.
Merrick has too warm a pulse to be a satirist; it is too full of the rich
blood of life for him to feel-whatever he thinks-that men are
"mostly fools."  Of course they are; but his sense of a situation, his
gift of dramatic effect, his power of touching very sensitive chords with
a fine hand, carry us past the veil of folly to the tragedies that breathe
beyond.  The wine of life may be, as it is, sour, but he sweetens it in
presenting the cup.
CYNTHIA, A DAUGHTER OF THE PHILISTINES.
DAILY CHRONICLE.-A book that starts upon a good literary
level, and maintains it to the end; that never for a moment degenerates into the slipshod or the sloshy; is a thing of comfort and joy to
the reviewer-so much so, in fact, that he has to be on his guard
against the temptation to praise it unduly. Such a book is Cynthia.
Mr. Merrick is an author with a conscience. He writes with the
feeling full upon him that he has a duty to perform to the reader; that
a few smart dialogues, a little bit of clever characterisation here and
there, a few wise remarks in proprid persond, are insufficient to what
should be a serious work of art.  But good conscience is not Mr.
Merrick's only qualification for his art; he has all sorts of others:
observation, knowledge of life, humour, a turn for neat phrasing, an
eye for the essential, and a clear recognition of development as a factor
in human character.
THE WORLD.-The story of a novelist by a novelist is likely to
prove interesting, because there must inevitably be something real and
characteristic in it, and here we have that interest developed by
genuine ability, humour, a good style, and a clever plot.




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