THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 The House in Demetrius Road
 
 INEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS 
 
 WHEN GHOST MEETS GHOST. By William 
 
 De Morgan. 
 
 A LADY AND HER HUSBAND. By Amber 
 
 Reeves. 
 
 THE MERCY OF THE LORD. By Flora 
 
 Annie Steel. 
 
 KERNO, A STONE. By Tarella Quin (Mrs 
 
 Daskein). 
 
 VANDOVER AND THE BRUTE. By Frank 
 
 Norris. 
 
 THE COST OF WINGS. By Richard Dehan. 
 
 THE ISLAND. By Eleanor Mordaunt. 
 
 SMALL SOULS. By Louis Couperus. 
 
 KATYA. By Franz de Jessen. 
 
 THE BUSINESS OF A GENTLEMAN. By 
 
 H. N. Dickinson. 
 
 LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 
 21 Bedford Street, W.C.
 
 The House in 
 Demetrius Road 
 
 By 
 
 J. D. Beresford 
 
 Author of "Jacob Stahl," "Goslings," etc. 
 
 London 
 William Heinemann
 
 First published April, 1914. 
 New Impressions ( 'twice ) June, 1914. 
 
 LONDON : WILLIAM HEINEMANN, 1914
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. GARROCH 1 
 
 II. THE OUTSET 17 
 
 III. THE FIRST STUMBLE 23 
 
 IV. RECOVERY 36 
 V. MARGARET 55 
 
 VI. THE INVADER 69 
 
 VII. THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 81 
 
 VIII. FERMENTATION 99 
 
 IX. A QUESTION OF MOTIVE 107 
 
 X. THE COMBINED ATTACK 120 
 
 XI. DELIRIUM 132 
 
 XII. THE ALLIES 143 
 
 XIII. CONFEDERATION 159 
 
 XIV. THE WORLD OUTSIDE 173 
 XV. WITHIN THE HOUSE 191 
 
 XVI. REDIVISION 211 
 
 XVII. THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 223 
 
 XVIII. THE DIVIDED HOUSE 237 
 
 XIX. THE " LOST " WALK 263 
 
 XX. RESOLUTION 267 
 
 XXI. DEFEAT 284 
 
 XXII. THE LAST TWO WEEKS 297 
 
 XXIII. THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 306 
 
 8GG732
 
 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD
 
 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 I. GARROCH. 
 
 EVERY house in Demetrius Road was severely separated 
 from its neighbour by a strip of park fencing, six feet 
 high. Between fence and house on one side, a narrow 
 path squeezed its way to a door invisible from the road, 
 a door whose functions were clearly indicated by the 
 advertisement " Tradesman's Entrance," labelling the 
 side gate. The larger gate, in two leaves, that opened 
 on to a path almost wide enough for a carriage drive, 
 bore the name of the house on each post. 
 
 Martin Bond, conscious that he was a little late 
 for his appointment, was irritated by the necessity for 
 keeping an eye on each side of the road; irritated also 
 by the ostentation of the names that described so ill 
 these modern suburban villas. They were all so recent, 
 not only in material but in style. They showed the 
 influence of the new movement in suburban architec- 
 ture. No house was an exact replica of its neighbour. 
 " Features " proclaimed themselves; a veranda borne 
 on little stubby wooden columns, a flat segmental bay 
 window, an excess of roof thrusting down to low walls 
 apparently upheld by diminutive triangles of rough-cast 
 buttress ; each made some bid for distinction. But the 
 names on the gate posts bespoke the individual tastes 
 of owners uninfluenced by the spirit of the style. 
 Hatfield, Oakleigh, Carn Voel, were representative 
 titles, varied occasionally by a Nest or Retreat. 
 Martin Bond had nearly reached the bottom of the 
 road before he came to Garroch.
 
 2 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 At first sight its studied dissimilarity to the houses 
 on either side proclaimed its kinship to every other 
 villa in the road; but here, at last, was a more real 
 distinction. In all this trim elaborate newness, 
 Garroch alone wore an air of neglect. Its gate stood 
 partly open; its thirty feet of front garden was un- 
 tended, the short curtains in the segmental bay 
 straggled untidily across the window. Garroch wore 
 no air of primness, no air of pride in the distinction 
 of being set in Demetrius Road. 
 
 Martin hesitated with his hand on the rusty latch 
 of the formal gates. The wind had swung the gate 
 against him as he approached, but the latch was caught 
 up and did not fall into its hasp. He fingered the twisted 
 iron ring which served as a handle, and looked up de- 
 preciatingly at the slovenly brick and rough-cast 
 front of Garroch. An eaves gutter had leaked and 
 the plaster of the upper floors was marked with long 
 brown streaks, where dribbles of stained water had 
 run in a strange pattern like the sketch of an inverted 
 tree. 
 
 It was all so unlike Martin's picture of the house in 
 which he was to find that brilliant young Scotchman, 
 whose potentialities had been so vividly painted by 
 Waterhouse. And now it seemed to Martin in retrospect 
 that he recognized for the first time certain hesitations 
 and reserves in Waterhouse's eulogy. Had there not 
 been the shadow of some enormously qualifying " but " 
 at the end of his every sentence; some hint of a vital 
 contingency that had been abruptly clipped off before 
 it found expression? 
 
 The three half-dead little firs, planted haphazard 
 in the rough grass before the house, wagged their 
 heads fiercely in the October wind. 
 
 " If I believed in omens," reflected Martin, " I should 
 certainly not go in. The gate bangs in my face and the 
 trees shake their heads at me." 
 
 He pushed the gate open abruptly and walked up
 
 GARROCH 3 
 
 to the front door. He noticed that someone had tried 
 in a desultory way to weed the path. The brass of the 
 knocker that formed part of the letter box, was the 
 colour of bronze. 
 
 No answer came to his pressure of the little electric 
 button on the side post of the door, nor could he hear 
 the tingling of any tiny bell in response to his effort. 
 He felt inclined to give up the attempt, even now; he 
 could tell Waterhouse that he had called and found 
 no one there. But, as always, when he had cleared the 
 way for retreat, he immediately decided to go on. He 
 lifted the brown knocker and tapped firmly half a 
 dozen times. 
 
 The sound of a door opening somewhere within the 
 house, came to him, followed by a pause, and presently 
 the movement of footsteps across the hall. Then came 
 silence again and Martin realized that he was being 
 observed through one of the less opaque panes of 
 coloured glass in the upper panels of the door. At last 
 the door was opened, thrown back with vigour against 
 the " stop " that protected the walls of the lobby. 
 The key fell out of the lock and tinkled on the tiles 
 of the floor. 
 
 The woman who stood in the doorway was tall, red- 
 haired and wonderfully freckled. She wore a brown 
 apron with a high bib strapped across her shoulders; 
 her bare red forearms were corrugated by the outlines 
 of wiry muscles. 
 
 " Well ?" she said, staring at Martin. 
 
 " Is Mr Greg at home ?" he asked. "I've an appoint- 
 ment with him for four o'clock." 
 
 " Mister Greg'll no be in," said the woman. 
 
 Martin misunderstood her idiom. " Not at all?" he 
 asked. " He wrote to me to make an appointment. 
 I've got his letter here/' 
 
 B2
 
 4 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " I said he'll no be in just now," replied the woman, 
 still taking stock of the visitor; " but if ye have a letter 
 that'll maybe make a difference. Ye've an honest face; ye 
 can come in and wait. I'll put ye in the drawing-room." 
 
 She stooped down, picked up the key from the tiles 
 and replaced it in the lock, and then, turning her back 
 upon Martin, led the way into the hall beyond. 
 
 " I'll not be knowing when Mr Greg'll be in," she 
 said. " Will I get ye a cup of tea ?" 
 
 " Oh, thanks very much," returned Martin; " it's 
 awfully good of you, but perhaps I'd better wait. 
 Mr Greg's sure to be in directly. He said he'd be in at 
 four o'clock." 
 
 " Ye'll know best, no doubt," returned the big 
 woman, and left him. 
 
 The room in which he sat down to wait was not in 
 character with the outside of the house. A " drawing- 
 room " as described by that oddly-mannered servant, 
 it undoubtedly was; but here was no hint of untidiness 
 or neglect. On the other hand, it was all too scrupu- 
 lously neat. The baby grand was closed and no litter 
 of music sheets gave any suggestion that the piano was 
 ever opened; all that was evidently kept tight shut in 
 the rosewood cabinet that stood on the floor. The 
 decoration displayed signs of a certain discrimination. 
 The window-seat was covered with chintz, and the 
 art-linen curtains, which alone gave any hint of careless 
 disarrangement, were of a pleasing shade of green. 
 Nor was the furniture itself out of keeping. It was mainly 
 of fumed oak and had a certain solidity of structure 
 and thoughtfulness of design that spoke of taste and 
 pains in selection. Yet the whole room gave Martin an 
 effect of desertion. It was so plainly a room in which 
 no one lived. The fireplace with its neat tile hearth and 
 oak curb, was quite empty, no fire was laid and the 
 very bars at the bottom of the grate were scrupulously 
 black-leaded. The place smelt faintly of furniture^and 
 of nothing else.
 
 GARROCH 5 
 
 Martin sat down in the window seat and stared out 
 at the untidy front garden. His attention was held by 
 the gate which swung to and fro with a mournful shriek, 
 or now and then, as if in a spasm of sullen temper, 
 banged resentfully against its retaining post. By that 
 gate, no doubt, Greg must enter, thought Martin. 
 
 He was young enough to be intensely resentful and 
 impatient. Those so recent years at Cambridge had left 
 him with a sense of his own importance in the world, 
 and the fifteen months of journalism and settlement 
 work which alone separated him from his University 
 experiences had presented differences of degree rather 
 than of kind. 
 
 " Curse this Greg fellow, I don't believe he's any 
 good," was the uppermost thought in Martin's mind. 
 
 He looked at his watch and found that it was a 
 quarter to five. He got up and walked impatiently 
 across the room, looking for the bell. He had done all 
 that was necessary; he would leave a message and go. 
 Then the gate slammed again and he went back to the 
 window ; but no one was coming up the path. It seemed as 
 if that gate, also, was moodily expectant and impatient. 
 
 He returned to the fireplace and was about to press 
 the electric bell when his eye was caught by two 
 photographs on the mantelpiece, photographs of 
 women, probably sisters, mounted in narrow frames 
 of reeded black wood. 
 
 One of the two women, plainly the younger, was 
 smiling slightly, the rather formal smile induced by the 
 instructions of the photographer; and it was the face 
 of the older woman that held Martin's attention. 
 
 She had dark eyes and heavy dark hair that rolled 
 back from her forehead in waves that held no suggestion 
 of artificial methods. There was more than a hint of 
 sadness in her face, or perhaps of a capacity for suffer- 
 ing, yet there was nothing, Martin thought, of affecta- 
 tion or pose. He looked at the photograph with the 
 eye of an artist, and it pleased him, enthralled him.
 
 6 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He thought that this was at once the most beautiful 
 and intellectual face he had ever seen. He could 
 remember no idealized portrait that had ever made so 
 strong an appeal to him. By some lucky accident the 
 mechanical process had revealed the mind of this 
 woman, he thought; and the very limitations of the 
 reproducing machinery had avoided the possible failures 
 of the living artist. Here was not a personality seen and 
 changed, however subtly, by another human mind, 
 but some glimpse of the very woman herself. An emotion 
 of worship arose in him. He wanted to kneel before this 
 presentation of beauty. He became suddenly conscious 
 how unworthy he was to stand before it. 
 
 A flush of shame overwhelmed him as he remembered 
 that experience of two years before. He found no excuse 
 for himself in the fact that he had been only twenty-one. 
 The woman had been so innately common. He had long 
 since forgotten his early ideal of her her subsequent 
 treatment of him had effectively wiped that from his 
 thought. But he had rather gloried in his early taste 
 of experience. He had told the story of it, in half 
 lights, to mere acquaintances, and, if he had attempted 
 in some way to sentimentalize the whole incident, he 
 had always known that his spirit in the relation had 
 been that of boasting. 
 
 Now he was ashamed of himself, willing to defend 
 the memory of that careless, various woman in his 
 excessive condemnation of his own weakness. He had 
 been tempted and fallen. He was weak, stained, impure, 
 altogether unworthy to stand before the presentation 
 of this wonderful soul, who seemed to him to typify 
 the very ideal of purity. 
 
 The weary protests of the slamming gate had ceased 
 to penetrate his consciousness, but he was suddenly 
 recalled to the purpose of his visit by the sharp click 
 of a latch, followed by the banging of the front door. 
 Then he heard a clumsy footstep in the hall and a loud 
 voice, shouting roughly for " Hester."
 
 GARROCH 
 
 Two minutes later Robin Greg came blundering into 
 the drawing-room. His indeterminately coloured hair 
 was ruffled and one tuft stuck up in a small plume at the 
 top of his head. His collar was crumpled and the 
 band of his flat tie had worked up at the back. 
 
 " How d'ye do, Mr Bond," he said, with a certain 
 geniality of tone. " Wotterhoose has told me all about 
 you. I'm vairy sorry I'm so late. I've had a devilish 
 lot of things to do. Come into the study. I don't know 
 what that wumman put ye in here for." 
 
 He shook hands and immediately turned and 
 stumbled out of the room, leaving Martin to follow. 
 
 The study was much larger than the four-square 
 drawing-room, and three walls of it, excluding only the 
 chimney-breast and the doorway, were lined with 
 bookcases. The fourth wall was nearly filled by a 
 square bay window with a door as its centre light up to 
 the transome, a window that looked on to a decently 
 wide strip of garden, enclosed as in front by park paling. 
 This garden also looked bleak and uncared for, but the 
 study had an air of life and human interest. With one 
 exception an American organ that obliterated half a 
 dozen book-shelves the furniture was all in keeping, 
 the big light wood pedestal writing table in the centre, 
 the swing chair in front of it, the revolving bookcase, 
 even the two large armchairs that were placed near the 
 newly-lighted fire, all maintained a tone of leisurely 
 work, of somewhat luxurious study. And the books, 
 row above row, that gave colour and setting to the 
 whole, wore a friendly and attractive face. These were 
 no stiff sets of volumes in tooled bindings, no formal 
 collection of an unread, wealthy man; but the ac- 
 cumulations of one who had bought a few books at a 
 time throughout his life. The irregularity of height 
 and binding some of the books were noticeably shabby
 
 8 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 made some special, living appeal. These were all 
 books that had been read. 
 
 Greg had already thrown himself wearily into a big, 
 deep-seated wicker armchair. "Quite a library, eh?" 
 he said, noticing Martin's interest in the books. 
 " Bought every one of them myself, except a few review 
 books I kept. Sit ye down; Hester'll be bringin' us tea 
 in a minute." 
 
 " Mr Waterhouse told me ..." began Martin. 
 
 " Oh ! I know all about what Wotterhoose told ye," 
 interrupted Greg. " I had your letter. Sit ye doon now 
 and we'll hae a crack." He smiled as if to give point to 
 his lapse into dialect. In his ordinary conversation, 
 only the value he gave to the aspirate in such words 
 as " when " and " which," and an occasional un- 
 English pronunciation, marked him as a Scotchman. 
 
 " You're looking out for a secretary, I believe ?" said 
 Martin, carefully avoiding further reference to Water- 
 house. 
 
 " I've been thinkin' of it. Ye see I've got an order 
 from a publisher to write a book on Socialism I'll 
 show ye the contract presently and to tell ye the 
 truth the manuscript ought to be delivered next week 
 and I've hardly written a word of it!" Greg paused, 
 and gave a curious little hooting laugh. " I'm so 
 devilish full of work in the city," he went on, " that I 
 can't set myself to write in the evening. I've read about 
 forty books and marked them " he pointed past 
 Martin to a row of volumes from the tops of which 
 sprouted a sheaf of paper slips " and I have the whole 
 plan of the book in my mind; what I want now is 
 someone who'll take it up and put the thing into 
 English. If ye could do the job, ye'd have to work with 
 me at night and on Sundays. In fact, it'd be better if 
 ye could live in the house. I'm a widower, ye see, but 
 my sister-in-law is comin' in a week or two to look after 
 the place and ye could very well come then, if it suited 
 your plans. I've a wee bairnie, she'll be in presently
 
 GARROCH 9 
 
 for her tea . . ."He seemed to remember that he had 
 ordered tea some few minutes before and rang the 
 electric bell impatiently, first pressing the button 
 steadily and then giving it a series of vicious jabs. 
 
 " I can do nothin' with these wummin," he explained, 
 smiling again at Martin, " bletherin' about the place!" 
 And as his urgent summons still evoked no response, 
 he went at the bell again with a renewed spirt of temper. 
 
 Martin, feeble observer as he was, was struck by the 
 change of character in Greg's face during this moment- 
 ary display of irascibility. In speaking he showed a 
 frank geniality, he seemed eager to put his affairs 
 plainly before Martin, so eager, indeed, that Martin 
 had had no opportunity as yet of asking a question or 
 making any comment save a short interpolated " Yes " 
 or " I see " to mark his comprehension. But when Greg 
 turned to the bell, the humour and friendliness died out 
 of his grey eyes, and his well-cut but rather large, 
 loose mouth grew ugly, almost bestial. The change 
 in some way intimidated Martin; he felt uneasy as if 
 he were witnessing a disgraceful thing. 
 
 The second summons, however, produced the desired 
 effect. The door opened and a young, neatly dressed 
 woman with black hair and eyes and a high complexion, 
 came in bearing a tea-tray, which she set down on the 
 writing table while she opened and placed a small 
 folding table that stood against the book-shelves. 
 
 " Whur's Miss Biddy?" asked Greg roughly. 
 
 " She's been naughty," replied the young woman. 
 " I tolt her she would not get down to her tea." 
 
 " Ach !" ejaculated Greg, giving a more than German 
 roughness to the guttural. He jumped out of his chair 
 and hurried from the room. Martin heard him going 
 upstairs three steps at a stride. 
 
 The maid she wore neither cap nor apron pro- 
 ceeded calmly to set the tea-tray. She gave no sign that 
 she was in any way perturbed. 
 
 Within a minute Greg returned, carrying a little girl
 
 io THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 of about three years old. She oddly resembled her 
 father. Her baby lips exaggerated the marked curves 
 of the man's mouth, but they were the same curves, 
 and it was not difficult to trace the sag of Greg's under- 
 lip as a development from the faint pout of the child. 
 Her grey eyes, too, stared frankly, almost rudely, at 
 Martin, but like her father, she seemed deliberately 
 in so doing to reserve any sight of her own mind. Their 
 very stare had a quality of furtiveness, as if they 
 looked through a peep-hole which hid the face. The 
 child's hair was short, hardly reaching her shoulders, 
 and its present fairness promised in time to tone down 
 to the indeterminate tint of Greg's much the colour 
 of matured hay. 
 
 Greg sat down again in the armchair with the little 
 girl on his knee, but almost immediately she began to 
 wriggle, slipped down, and after a moment's hesitation 
 came over to Martin. 
 
 " Who are youT* she asked, quite clearly. 
 
 " Come here, Biddie," put in Greg, leaning forward 
 in his chair. " That's Mr Bond who's goin' to write 
 dadda's book." 
 
 " Sha'n't come," said the child. She stuck her thumb 
 in her mouth and her expression grew sullen. She stood 
 swaying her body from the waist with a little wriggle 
 of impatience. 
 
 " Biddie!" said Greg with a note of warning in his 
 voice, and at that the child suddenly slipped to the 
 floor and crawled under Martin's chair. 
 
 " Biddie! Come oot o' that!" Greg's tone was angry 
 now. Martin got up and stood aside ; he was embarrassed 
 and very uncomfortable ; he feared that there was going 
 to be some sort of a scene which could only be un- 
 pleasant. 
 
 His fears were justified, for Greg went down on his 
 knees, and tried to pull the child from under the chair. 
 " Bid-dee \ Bid-dee \ Come out, now," he repeated; 
 but the child, who had wound her fat little arms
 
 GARROCH ii 
 
 round one of the legs of the chair, silently refused to 
 budge. 
 
 Then Greg gave up the attempt, rose to his feet and 
 lifted the armchair bodily. Instantly the child relaxed 
 her hold of the leg, and scuttling for the writing table 
 before her father could set down the chair, crawled 
 between the pedestals. 
 
 " Shall shall I stop her?" asked Martin nervously. 
 
 Greg did not answer him, but plunged down after 
 Biddie, bumping against and nearly upsetting the 
 tea-table. 
 
 This time he was more successful, for the child had 
 nothing to cling to, and was pulled out a little roughly 
 by her father. 
 
 So far she had been curiously quiet, but when she was 
 caught she began to scream loudly and to beat at her 
 father's face with little scratching hands. 
 
 Greg was smiling somewhat grimly. Holding the child 
 away from his face, he carried her quickly out of the 
 room. Martin heard her fierce screams ascending two 
 flights of stairs. 
 
 " She has fits of this kind of thing," explained Greg 
 quietly when he returned. " Here, help yourself to tea; 
 it'll be gettin' cold." He poured out a cup of tea for 
 himself, spilling both tea and milk into the saucer and 
 over the tray. He drank a mouthful greedily, dropping 
 his mouth to the cup and sucking the tea noisily, took 
 two bites out of a piece of toast and then produced a 
 large tin of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket 
 and began to smoke. The treatment of his cigarettes 
 resembled the treatment of his tea. When he had 
 smoked a cigarette half way down, he threw it im- 
 patiently into the fire with a kind of disgust. 
 
 During these interruptions Martin's mind had been
 
 12 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 consciously working on the problem of the offer which 
 had been tentatively put before him. He had a small 
 private income amounting to about 120 a year, and 
 the fact that no question of salary had yet been raised 
 did not prejudice him. As to the man with whom he was 
 to work, Martin had come to no decision. In his youthful 
 way he found large consolation in the word " eccentric," 
 and the eulogies of Waterhouse had created a sub- 
 conscious impression which was now precipitated by 
 these evidences of unconventionality. Again, the sight 
 of the books and the prospect of studying so essential a 
 problem as " Socialism " had favourably influenced 
 him. He had application and ambition, and was clever 
 enough, even at twenty-three, to realize some of his 
 own deficiencies of knowledge. These things he had been 
 weighing for the past ten minutes, considering them in 
 connexion with the probability that he would have 
 leisure and opportunity to pursue his journalism while 
 he lived in the house. One further question intrigued 
 him, although he saw no possibility of solving it that 
 day. Mention had been made of a dead wife and a 
 sister-in-law, and he had instantly connected them with 
 the two photographs in the other room. But which of 
 them had died ? With a sudden sense of fate, he decided 
 that it must be the elder, the beautiful, sad woman 
 upon whom the shadow had already fallen. He made 
 that decision as an offering to placate the gods. 
 
 He looked with a new interest at the clumsily mod- 
 elled features of the man opposite. A certain coarseness 
 in the blurred outlines of the clean shaven face, faintly 
 disgusted him. He shrank from the thought of associ- 
 ating Greg with the woman of the photograph. The 
 child Biddie was so like her father that her features 
 provided no evidence. Yet, fatalistically, Martin again 
 laid the sacrifice of his hope at the gods' feet, laid it 
 with a shudder of resignation. . . . 
 
 As soon as he had begun to smoke, Greg had thrown 
 himself back once more into the depths of his long
 
 GARROCH 13 
 
 wicker armchair. But while his body remained fairly 
 quiet, save for the restless movements of his long thin 
 hand as he rapidly puffed and threw away his cigarettes, 
 there was no repose in the aspect of the man. He sighed 
 and looked about him, he seemed eager to be at some- 
 thing that he could not reach. 
 
 Martin took these signs as a mark that the interview 
 was at an end. 
 
 " To come back to the matter in hand," he said; 
 " I shouldn't have any objection to living here. I 
 suppose it would only be for a month or two ? Really, 
 of course, I want to get a Parliamentary secretaryship 
 
 M 
 
 "Oh! I can get that for ye," interrupted Greg. 
 " But ye'd have to work with me for a month or two 
 first, ye understand. However, I'll write to ye about 
 it. Ye see, I can't have ye here till Maggie, that's my 
 sister-in-law, comes. These wummin here drive me 
 crazy. They're Hieland, the two of them; a bletherin' 
 couple of wenches." 
 
 Martin got to his feet. " Well, you have my address," 
 he said. He knew the worst now. It was impossible 
 that that woman could be called " Maggie." But the 
 name fitted to perfection the picture of her younger 
 sister. 
 
 Greg looked at him with a strange touch of eagerness. 
 
 " Ach! you needn't be goin' yet," he said. " If ye'll 
 just excuse me a moment, I have something to attend 
 to . . ."He was out of the room before he had com- 
 pleted his sentence. He shut the door carefully behind 
 him. Martin heard him cross the hall to a room opposite 
 to that in which he had waited. Then that door, also, 
 was noisily closed. 
 
 Martin interested himself in looking round at the 
 books.
 
 14 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 In less than five minutes, however, Greg was back 
 again. His manner was changed. He was now full of 
 high spirits and a rather coarse jocularity. He began to 
 talk volubly about the books, reciting the history of 
 their purchase, and more particularly, and at great 
 length, the story of his acquisition of certain early 
 numbers of the Edinburgh Review. He punctuated 
 many of his remarks with his strange hooting laugh, 
 that had, in some way, the quality of a sneer. 
 
 " I really ought to be going," Martin got in at last; 
 " I've an appointment ..." 
 
 " Hoo! Let it wait, man," returned Greg. " They'll 
 think all the better of ye for keepin' 'em waitin'. 
 Come on, sit ye down, now. We haven't talked out this 
 business of ours. Sit ye down." 
 
 " Really, I ought ..." protested Martin, but he 
 was overborne. The personality of Greg suddenly 
 overpowered him. He felt that in any clash of wills 
 he would have no chance against the steady insistence 
 of this man. Greg was dominating, resistless, he pushed 
 all Martin's polite excuses on one side as if they were of 
 no account whatever. 
 
 But when Martin had given way and had sat down 
 again in the armchair, Greg made no further reference 
 to the matter of the secretaryship. Instead, he became 
 sentimentally autobiographical. " I'm a widower, 
 man," he said thoughtfully, and looked at Martin for 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Yes! you told me! I'm awfully sorry," stammered 
 Martin. " Have you . . . Was it some time ago?" 
 
 " A year last September," replied Greg, dropping 
 his head and staring into the fire. " It's not the same 
 house since she went. We came here when we were 
 first married four years ago this October and I've been 
 alone, now, except just for Biddie, for over twelve 
 months."
 
 GARROCH 15 
 
 Martin could find no comment and looked as sym- 
 pathetic as he was able. 
 
 " I just live for Biddie now," went on Greg. " She's 
 not vairy like her mother, it'll be my side of the family 
 she favours. Puir Elsie had not a strong pairsonality, 
 but she was a wunnerfu' sweet wife to me." 
 
 An inspiration came to Martin. " Er was that her 
 photograph I saw on the mantelpiece in the other 
 room?" he asked. 
 
 " Aye! I could not bear to hae it in here," returned 
 Greg. 
 
 " The younger one?" persisted Martin. 
 
 " Aye, the other's Maggie, her sister. Whiles she'll 
 be comin' to look after the house. Maggie'll be a good 
 enough wench too, but she's no like ma puir Elsie." 
 Greg relapsed into a melancholy, staring silence. 
 
 Martin was conscious of a sense of release. He got 
 to his feet. " I must be going, sir," he said. " And if 
 you can anyway make it convenient to have me here 
 I shall be glad to come." 
 
 " I'll let ye know," replied Greg. He roused himself 
 and stood up, putting a hand on Martin's arm. " I'll 
 write and let ye know," he repeated. The room was 
 nearly dark and he moved over to the door and switched 
 on the electric light. " Ye see, I cannot have ye here till 
 my sister-in-law comes," he explained again, as he 
 followed Martin to the front door. 
 
 The air outside seemed cool and fresh after the 
 atmosphere of the study. The room had had a peculiar 
 smell which Martin could not exactly place; Greg 
 himself had exhaled a slight odour of cachous, but that 
 did not in any way account for the faintly sour smell 
 of the study. 
 
 As he walked out into the wind and freshness of the 
 early night, he heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 " So it was," he reflected. " What an influence, what 
 an inspiration she would be in the house! How she 
 would purify the whole place by her mere presence !"
 
 16 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 The gate in front of him banged mournfully as he 
 approached it. When he had reached the pavement, 
 Martin turned, and leaning over, carefully pressed 
 down the latch into the hasp.
 
 II. THE OUTSET. 
 
 MARTIN waited for ten days and then wrote to Robin 
 Greg to ask if he was yet in a position to decide the 
 question of the secretaryship. To this letter he received 
 no reply and after a week had elapsed he wrote again, 
 saying that he had had another offer made to him and 
 would be glad to hear from Mr Greg before he definitely 
 accepted it. At the end of three weeks Martin called on 
 Waterhouse at his office. 
 
 Waterhouse received him with a cordiality that 
 was almost flattering. 
 
 " I came to ask you about Mr Greg," began Martin. 
 
 "You saw him, didn't you?" said Waterhouse, 
 encouragingly. 
 
 ' Yes, I did, and I thought it was practically ar- 
 ranged," said Martin, " But that's three weeks ago and 
 I've written twice since and had no answer." 
 
 " I believe he's been away," returned Waterhouse 
 reassuringly. " He didn't attend the ' Revival Club ' 
 committee last Tuesday, and Spiers told me he thought 
 he was away." 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Martin, and then went on, " I don't 
 quite know what to do about it. I've had an offer of a 
 place in the news-room on the Daily Post. It isn't much 
 of a job, but it would be experience for me, and Mr 
 Maxwell was rather decent about keeping it open for a 
 few days. I've done a little reviewing for him, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes!" replied Waterhouse thoughtfully. He looked 
 down at a manuscript on the desk before him, and ran 
 his thin delicate fingers through the masses of his ex- 
 uberant black beard. " Yes, of course, it would be 
 
 c
 
 i8 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 experience. But I don't think that sort of post leads to 
 much." 
 
 " I should think Mr Maxwell was rather a good 
 sort?" suggested Martin. 
 
 " Yes, oh yes, certainly," replied Waterhouse without 
 warmth. " Of course you know," he added, looking up 
 and meeting Martin's glance with a sort of wistful 
 frankness, " you know that Maxwell and I had a dif- 
 ference of opinion in '99." 
 
 " Oh ? No, I didn't," stammered Martin. " About the 
 war, do you mean? I was only sixteen then, you see. 
 I didn't ..." 
 
 " No, you wouldn't be taking any interest in politics 
 then," put in Waterhouse quickly. " I don't mean to 
 say that Maxwell and I are not on perfectly good terms 
 now. We are perfectly good. I merely mean that if you 
 go on to the Daily Post, it might make it a little diffi- 
 cult for me to ..." 
 
 His white thin fingers were at his beard again; his 
 sad eyes looked inquiringly at Martin. It was generally 
 known that Waterhouse was weak in the chest the 
 fact always seemed to account for that touch of wist- 
 fulness in him but his friends hoped to get him 
 through. He was over thirty-five, now, and better than 
 he had ever been before. It was, at least, a hopeful case. 
 
 " I see," said Martin again. He felt that he had been 
 rather clumsy and was anxious to make amends. " You 
 really think, then, that there is still a chance of my 
 getting the secretaryship, and that it might lead to more 
 than the other thing?" 
 
 " I could keep in touch with you better," returned 
 Waterhouse, dropping his eyelashes he was amazingly 
 hairy. " I am hoping that you will belong to our party, 
 you know. I don't mean to say that we are in any way 
 opposed to the Government programme, quite the con- 
 trary! but we represent a section that is, perhaps, 
 rather more radical, in some respects. We hope ..." 
 he mumbled something inaudible. His voice was always
 
 THE OUTSET 19 
 
 pitched on a soft, low note that did not carry. If he had 
 not been such a hopeless public speaker he would never 
 have been editor of The Gallery. 
 
 " I suppose Mr Greg ..." began Martin. 
 
 " Without question." replied Waterhouse quickly. 
 " Without question. He would have been put up at the 
 last general election if it hadn't been for his wife's 
 death. I'm afraid that broke him down rather, for a 
 time. I suppose you noticed . . . ?" 
 
 " I thought he was a little odd," admitted Martin. 
 " A little eccentric, perhaps." 
 
 'Yes?" prompted Waterhouse, turning over the 
 leaves of a manuscript. " Odd, you thought ?" 
 
 " Rather brusque in his manner and and funny 
 somehow," explained Martin. ; 
 
 " I certainly think it would be a chance for you to go 
 to him," said Waterhouse suddenly. " I daresay I shall 
 be seeing him as soon as he comes back. If I do, I'll ask 
 him what he intends doing." 
 
 " Oh, thanks very much. It's awfully good of you," 
 said Martin jumping up. " I'm afraid I've been wasting 
 your time, rather." He was afraid, also, that he had 
 slightly offended Waterhouse by that description of 
 Greg as " funny somehow." 
 
 But Waterhouse's good-bye was cordial enough. He 
 even held out a hope that he might find work for Martin 
 on The Gallery, a little later on. 
 
 Martin wrote to Maxwell that night, and refused the 
 offer of a sub-editorship on the Daily Post. It was a very 
 polite letter, but he carried it about in his pocket for 
 three hours before he posted it. He had a strange dis- 
 inclination to commit himself to a final decision. 
 
 2 
 
 Five days after he had seen Waterhouse, Martin re- 
 ceived a letter from Robin Greg. It was typewritten on 
 
 C2
 
 20 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 a large quarto sheet with a copperplate heading which 
 bore the name of Bickersteth, Andrew and Greg, and an 
 address in Eastcheap, but no indication as to the nature 
 of the firm's activities. 
 
 The note itself consisted of three lines and ran : 
 
 " Dear Mr Bond, I have been expecting to hear from 
 you. If convenient to you, I should be glad to start the 
 book on Saturday next. Yours truly, Robin Greg." 
 The signature was written across the foot sloping up- 
 wards at an angle of thirty degrees or thereabouts. 
 
 " Well, that's rum," Martin remarked to himself. 
 " I wonder if he never got my letters, or what?" He 
 was afraid that Greg was offended : his letter was cer- 
 tainly curt. There was, however, the possible solution 
 that he had not been home for three weeks and had 
 gone straight back to his office in Eastcheap. If so he 
 would find the letters awaiting him on his return to 
 Garroch, and the apparent rudeness or indifference 
 of Martin's silence would be explained. 
 
 To make everything certain on this occasion, Martin 
 sent a telegram accepting the appointment, to each of 
 Greg's addresses. 
 
 He hoped that sometime during the three days that 
 would intervene before Saturday, he might receive 
 some acknowledgment of the receipt of his letters, or at 
 least, some further confirmation of the agreement not 
 a word had been said, as yet, as to salary. But as he had 
 heard no more by two o'clock on Saturday, he decided 
 to take everything for granted. 
 
 He drove down in a motor cab. He took only one 
 portmanteau with him, and made arrangements for the 
 rest of his luggage to be kept at his boarding-house 
 until he returned. 
 
 The driver of the taxi had never heard of Demetrius 
 Road, and when he was told the suburb in which it was 
 situated, stipulated for special fare on the ground that 
 it was outside the radius. Martin conceded the demand 
 with a haughty indifference.
 
 THE OUTSET 21 
 
 He was strung up and nervous. At the last moment he 
 was inclined to send another telegram and cancel the 
 whole affair. 
 
 Even in the cab he still hesitated. 
 
 It had been a dull morning, and at the very moment 
 of starting the rain began, at first in a thin, hazy drizzle, 
 but soon developing into a steady downpour. A mile 
 from the boarding-house, the driver of the cab stopped 
 to put on his waterproof. 
 
 Never in his life before had Martin felt so nervous and 
 uneasy. The rain depressed him, and still more the sight 
 of the dreary streets through which he was passing. 
 Everything about him seemed full of gloomy foreboding. 
 
 More than once he leaned forward to give the driver 
 fresh directions. Some instinct told him to turn back, 
 but each time he argued fiercely with himself, urging 
 himself not to be a fool. He examined the facts and 
 found no excuse for this curious disinclination to 
 go on. 
 
 Demetrius Road was found at last, after many 
 gropings and inquiries. 
 
 Martin paid off the cab at the gate, which was latched 
 now, as if no one had passed through it since Martin had 
 so deliberately closed it five weeks before. The curtains 
 still straggled across the lights of the segmental bay, 
 the bell was still out of order, and when he had attracted 
 attention to his presence by using the dingy knocker, 
 Hester precisely repeated her earlier formula before 
 opening the door. 
 
 As she, at last, flung it back, the key fell out and 
 tinkled on the tiles of the lobby. 
 
 " Och! it's you," said Hester. " Mister Greg'll no be 
 at home, but he tolt me to expect ye. Will I take your 
 bag?" 
 
 " Oh! that's all right, thanks," returned Martin. He 
 was longing to ask questions, but had not the courage. 
 
 " Will ye go upstairs while I mak' ye some tea ?" com- 
 manded Hester.
 
 22 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 At the door of Martin's bedroom, she turned and said 
 abruptly, 
 
 " Miss Hamilton'll be comin' the evening. Mr Greg'll 
 be goin' to meet her, maybe." 
 
 But even that news did not disperse Martin's gloom. 
 There was something about the air of the place that 
 was physically repugnant to him. He wished that he 
 was not going to meet Miss Hamilton in that house.
 
 III. THE FIRST STUMBLE. 
 
 MARTIN'S bedroom was over that square, desolate room 
 into which he had been shown when he first came to 
 Garroch. From his window he looked out over the 
 front garden and the road, and an arc-lamp a few yards 
 down the opposite pavement threw curious broken 
 beams on to the wall above his head. Below the window 
 the flat roof of the segmental bay gleamed wet and grey. 
 There was no stir of life in the road and the air was very 
 still. The soft hiss of the rain, the gurgle of a down-pipe 
 and the patter of water from the leaking eaves-gutter 
 were the only sounds that challenged the prim solemnity 
 of Demetrius Road. London might have lain on the 
 other side of the world. 
 
 Martin shivered and turned on the electric light. He 
 found that the tune was a quarter-past four; the day 
 had died early on that dull afternoon. 
 
 Martin still retained all his youthful precisions in the 
 matter of dress, and on this occasion he was more than 
 usually careful. He changed the tweeds and brogues he 
 had been wearing for blue serge and patent leather 
 shoes, hesitating for a moment over his choice of socks 
 before deciding on black silk. He looked for hot water 
 outside his door but found none, and made a mighty 
 splashing in cold before he was content with a feeling of 
 perfect cleanness. 
 
 He found a bright fire in the study and his tea laid out 
 on the little folding table. The curtains were drawn 
 over the long window, and the room wore an air of 
 cheerful comfort. By the tune he had finished tea and 
 lighted a cigarette, Martin had decided that it wasn't 
 going to be so bad after all. After a somewhat
 
 24 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 protracted examination of the books, he took down 
 Kirkup's Quintessence of Socialism and began to read, 
 by way of preparation for his coming work. 
 
 The house was wonderfully quiet. Once he heard a 
 distant commotion upstairs, attributable, probably, to 
 Biddie in her bath; and now and again he heard the 
 voices of Hester and the other maid, but for the most 
 part almost perfect silence prevailed. There was not 
 even a clock in the room. 
 
 The first interruption to his reading came at a 
 quarter to seven, when Hester came in to clear away the 
 tea-things. 
 
 " I'll be gettin' you a bit supper," she remarked 
 when she had put the little table back against the 
 bookcase. 
 
 " Oh !" said Martin, suddenly awakened to the real- 
 ities of life. " When do you expect Mr Greg back, then ?" 
 
 " He'll be gone to meet Miss Hamilton," said Hester, 
 regarding Martin with a quiet approval of which he was 
 quite unconscious. " They'll not be in till ten, I shouldn't 
 wonder." 
 
 " But, I say, don't you bother to cook anything 
 specially for me," replied Martin. " I shall be all right, 
 you know. I can quite well wait till Mr Greg comes in." 
 
 " She'll not be botherin'," returned Hester enig- 
 matically, and went out leaving Martin quite in the 
 dark as to her intention. 
 
 At a quarter to eight she returned to tell him that his 
 supper was ready. He had heard a thud of footsteps 
 backwards and forwards in the hall for some time past, 
 and had guessed that she was persisting in her resolution, 
 but he had waited for conclusive evidence. 
 
 " Oh ! I say, it's awfully good of you," he said. " I'll 
 just run upstairs and wash." 
 
 " Och !" ejaculated Hester, and her face crinkled into 
 a half satirical smile. As she watched him run lightly 
 upstairs she raised her hands in an odd gesture of 
 wonder and approval.
 
 THE FIRST STUMBLE 23 
 
 The room in which Martin ate the chop Hester had 
 cooked for him, faced the drawing-room across the hall; 
 a little negligible room too small for the heavy light-oak 
 sideboard that was the only noticeable article of fur- 
 niture it contained. 
 
 When he had finished Martin got up quietly and went 
 into the drawing-room. He turned on the light and stood 
 for several minutes gazing at the photograph of Miss 
 Hamilton. Her face appeared less sad than he had 
 imagined and he found a tenderness in the eyes and 
 mouth, that had been no part of the memory he had 
 carried with him during these five weeks. He suffered 
 a faint sense of disappointment at the discovery. As he 
 saw it now, this was the photograph of a living 
 woman ; in some inexplicable way he had been cherish- 
 ing the ideal of something more ethereal, more angelic. 
 That deliberate association of the photograph with his 
 thought of the dead wife, had doubtless been a sub- 
 conscious influence. 
 
 When he returned to the study, the problem of 
 Socialism no longer held his interest. Shutting his eyes, 
 he leaned back in his chair, and quite distinctly the face 
 of the photograph presented itself to him, but as he 
 tried to hold it, it slid up and away. In the effort to 
 retain the vision he opened his eyes and it vanished 
 completely. He tried several times to repeat the 
 phenomenon, without success . . . 
 
 He was yawning horribly when he heard the click of a 
 latch-key in the front door. 
 
 He stood up at once. He was nervous and uncom- 
 fortable. The whole affair had been so informal; and he 
 thought it quite possible that Greg might have forgotten 
 all about him. He could not decide whether to go out 
 into the hall or wait in the study. He heard Greg calling
 
 26 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 loudly for Hester, and the thump of luggage being set 
 down. He waited another minute, standing uneasily by 
 the writing table, and then, as no one came in, he 
 opened the door and went into the hall. 
 
 There was no one to be seen. The front door stood 
 wide open; and two rather small trunks had been set 
 down at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 He was seized with a sudden fit of impatience. He 
 frowned and muttered the conventional expletive of his 
 class. He was conscious of a strong feeling of annoyance 
 with Greg for putting him in an awkward position. 
 " Oh, damn the man," he repeated. " Why can't he 
 behave in an ordinary decent way ?" 
 
 Then the door of the dining-room opened quickly and 
 Greg came out. 
 
 " Hello !" he said brusquely at sight of Martin. 
 
 " Hallo !" replied Martin flushing, and then to clear 
 the situation he went on " I've been here since four. 
 I understood from your letter ..." 
 
 " Oh ! all right, all right, man," said Greg, " that can 
 wait. I'm starved." 
 
 He still had on his bowler hat, and his coat collar was 
 turned up to his ears. He looked wet, cold and cross. 
 
 " I suppose ye've got a fire in the study," he con- 
 tinued, " Maggie's dropped something in the cab, like 
 a feckless creature, and gone out to hunt for it." 
 
 " The feckless creature has found it, Robin," said a 
 voice from the doorway. 
 
 Martin started and blushed again. He felt as if he had 
 been caught listening to and agreeing with an altogether 
 horrible estimate of the woman who was standing there 
 in the lobby. 
 
 She was smiling nervously, her head bent a little 
 forward. She was wearing a long, straight coat of rough 
 cloth, and had a brown fur stole twisted twice round her 
 neck. On her head was a little round cap made of the 
 same fur. Both stole and cap were damp and draggled, 
 and she herself looked wet, cold and rather piteous.
 
 THE FIRST STUMBLE 27 
 
 " Och ! for Heaven's sake come in, Maggie, and shut 
 the door," said Greg. " I'm clemmed." 
 
 She obeyed him with a kind of nervous eagerness, and 
 then came forward into the hall. 
 
 " Robin," she said, " you haven't introduced me." 
 
 " Och !" exclaimed Greg. " What's all the fash about ! 
 This is Mr Bond, and ye're just Maggie, I suppose. 
 Come into the study, woman, and let's get warm." 
 
 Martin followed them, feeling utterly ashamed and 
 miserable. 
 
 Greg put his bowler hat on the writing table and 
 threw himself into his usual chair. Miss Hamilton sat 
 down opposite to him and unwound the damp fur from 
 her neck. When she had taken off the stole, she hung it 
 over the arm of her chair and unbuttoned her long coat. 
 Under it she was wearing a brown tweed skirt and a 
 little tweed jacket with side pockets. She had already 
 taken off her gloves when she came in, and she now 
 laid them down to dry on the curb. 
 
 Martin took the swing chair and leaned forward over 
 the writing table which was between him and the other 
 two. He was utterly disappointed in Miss Hamilton at 
 that moment. He could trace a certain likeness 
 between her and the woman of the photograph, but the 
 differences were inexpressible. 
 
 For quite a couple of minutes there was silence except 
 for the grunting of Greg as he stretched out his boots to 
 the fire, then he turned to Martin and said, 
 
 " I found your letters." 
 
 " I hoped you would," returned Martin dryly. He 
 was quite determined that he would give up this en- 
 gagement. In his own words " it wasn't nearly good 
 enough." 
 
 " Ye see, I've been away," said Greg, " and when I
 
 28 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 got back there was a devil of a lot to be done, and I'd no 
 time to be botherin' about private correspondence." 
 
 Martin nodded. " I see," he said coldly. 
 
 " And I haven't had a minute to write to ye again 
 since I got your wire," Greg went on. " But I 'phoned to 
 Macaulays' and got 'em to alter the date of the contract 
 for the delivery of the book. They've given us till the 
 end of March. That's nearly five months. We ought to 
 get it finished by then." 
 
 "Oh! yes, I should think so," said Martin. "Of 
 course I haven't the least idea how much there is to do." 
 He thought that to-morrow would be time enough to 
 explain his change of plans. 
 
 " Oh ! we'll go into that in the morning," said Greg. 
 " As a matter of fact the book isn't started yet, but I 
 told Macaulay over the 'phone that it was half 
 finished." He emphasized the remark by his hooting 
 laugh. Martin was plainly left to draw the inference that 
 Macaulay had been cunningly deceived. 
 
 " Here, I must go and get my coat off," Greg went on. 
 " I'll be back in a minute." 
 
 He went out of the room, closing the door after him, 
 and Martin heard him go upstairs, and then the sound 
 of his footsteps moving across the floor overhead. 
 
 Miss Hamilton was leaning forward, stretching out 
 her hands to the fire. She had taken off her wet little 
 fur cap, and balanced it with her stole on the arm of her 
 chair. As Greg left the room she turned her head to- 
 wards Martin and pushed up the damp but still waving 
 hair from her forehead. 
 
 " I hope Hester's been looking after you," she said. 
 
 "Oh! yes, rather," returned Martin. "Splendidly. 
 She gave me tea and dinner and all sorts of luxuries. 
 To tell you the truth, I was nearly asleep when you 
 arrived. I'm afraid you must have had an awful 
 journey." 
 
 " No, I didn't. I rather enjoyed the journey," said 
 Miss Hamilton. She had a curious little hesitation in her
 
 THE FIRST STUMBLE 29 
 
 speech, every now and again; a tiny pause at the 
 beginning of a sentence. She hesitated now, framing a 
 ghost of the labial with her lips before she continued. 
 " But Robin insisted on my having something to eat at 
 King's Cross before we came on. I didn't want it in the 
 least, but he would take me to a restaurant in the 
 Euston Road. That was when we got so wet." 
 
 She spoke rather rapidly and she had raised her voice, 
 but she was paying no attention either to Martin or to 
 her own words. Her face was turned partly away from 
 him and she had the look of one who was listening 
 intently. 
 
 Quite suddenly Martin realized that she was exactly 
 like the photograph in the next room, like the vision as 
 he had first seen and remembered it. He saw all the 
 sadness and the ethereal beauty without any touch of 
 that more human tenderness which he had discovered 
 when he had revisited the room that evening. 
 
 Upstairs the sound of footsteps had ceased, but in the 
 silence which had succeeded there came to them in the 
 room below the sound of a soft report, as if someone 
 had dropped a smooth stone into a pool of water. 
 
 Miss Hamilton jumped to her feet. " Oh ! and I 
 haven't been to look at Biddie yet," she said. "I must 
 just take a peep at her. Perhaps I'd better say 'good 
 night,' Mr Bond. I'm rather tired and I don't think I'll 
 be coming down again." She gathered up her stole and 
 toque and pushed back the arm-chair. 
 
 Martin got up and opened the door for her. She gave 
 him a shy smile and a little inclination of the head as 
 she passed him. 
 
 Martin shut the door and returned to his seat by the 
 table. In a moment all his idealism of Miss Hamilton 
 had returned, and with it a horror of the man in whose 
 house he was. His immediate impulse was to throw
 
 30 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 up his job and get away. Greg seemed to him coarse and 
 vulgar, his manners and his speech failed all too ob- 
 viously to attain to that code of " decency " which was 
 the foundation of Martin's standard of behaviour. The 
 man was Scotch and a graduate of Edinburgh Uni- 
 versity, and these were faults which, in Martin's 
 opinion, should have been covered by a more than 
 ordinary attention to the convenances of decent society. 
 
 " I don't believe I could stand him for a week," 
 thought Martin, and his analysis of his own emotions 
 went no deeper than that. He was hardly conscious of a 
 vague fear that had its origin in something more pro- 
 found than his dislike of Robin Greg . . . 
 
 The footsteps overhead had begun again, and were 
 followed by the banging of a door. Then came the sound 
 of Greg's voice calling roughly, " Are ye gone to your 
 bed, Maggie?" and after a short pause the same voice 
 saying, " Oh! well, good night. I'm just going down to 
 have a talk with Bond." 
 
 " I'm damned if you are," muttered Martin. 
 
 He got up quickly, turned out the light and went into 
 the hall. He met Greg blundering down the stairs. 
 
 "Whisht! ye're not going to your bed yet," said 
 Greg. " It's not much after ten." 
 
 " I think I will, if you don't mind," said Martin 
 firmly. " I'm infernally sleepy, and I expect you're 
 pretty tired." 
 
 " Ye're not going to bed yet," returned Greg. " I 
 want to talk to ye. Come along in, man." 
 
 His voice had a note of command, but it was not that 
 which influenced Martin. With his newly confirmed 
 resolution to throw up his secretaryship on the next 
 day, Martin had little respect for any attempt at en- 
 forcing the relations of employer and employed. But 
 again the personality of Greg had declared itself. He 
 seemed to have concentrated all his attention for the 
 moment on this one effort, and he made it clear by his 
 attitude that he would be restrained by none of the
 
 THE FIRST STUMBLE 31 
 
 ordinary rules of politeness in the attempt to win his 
 point. His face, seen under the light of the hall-lamp as 
 he stood on the stairs gripping the handrail and block- 
 ing Martin's passage, wore an expression of saturnine 
 determination and satisfaction; he showed clearly 
 enough not only the will to have his own way, but, also, 
 the foreknowledge that he would be successful. And he 
 gloated, with a half satirical sneer, over the sight of 
 Martin's defeat. 
 
 " Come away in, now," he repeated, rather grimly. 
 
 Martin felt as if he were confronted by an immense 
 wall ; he felt that nothing he could say or do would move 
 this man an inch from his purpose. And with that feel- 
 ing came another; a grudging respect, a realization of 
 some sort of superiority of will or influence in the man, 
 whom, socially, he so despised. 
 
 "Oh! very well," said Martin in sulky submission. 
 He turned back and re-entered the study. 
 
 Greg, following him, paused in the doorway. 
 
 " I'm clemmed with the cold," he said. " Perhaps I'd 
 do well to have a drop of hot toddy." He paused, looking 
 keenly and inquiringly at Martin. " Will ye join me?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " I don't think so, thanks," replied Martin. He 
 thought the offer had been made too grudgingly. 
 Scotchmen were notoriously mean. 
 
 " Ye don't think so, eh?" asked Greg. " Well, I'll 
 have in two glasses and ye can make up your mind 
 presently." He came over to the fireplace and rang the 
 bell. 
 
 Hester presented herself without delay. " Did ye 
 ring?" she asked. 
 
 " I've got a chill, Hester," explained her master, 
 almost apologetically. " Will ye just bring in the little 
 kettle, and tumblers and sugar and the whisky. I think 
 there'll be some in the decanter on the sideboard." 
 
 Hester retired without comment, and returned a 
 minute or two later with everything she had been asked
 
 32 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 to fetch. She put down the tray on the table and set the 
 kettle on the fire without a word, but as she was leaving 
 the room she looked at Greg and said " Miss Margaret'll 
 be gone to her bed, no doubt," and without waiting for 
 a reply went out and shut the door. 
 
 Greg lay back in his arm-chair and stretched out his 
 feet to the fire he had changed his boots for old car- 
 pet slippers. So long and low was the chair that his body 
 from feet to neck was in a straight line. Four fingers of 
 each hand were thrust into flap pockets cut in the front 
 of his trousers. His chin was dropped on to his chest ; he 
 stared solemnly, thoughtfully before him. 
 
 Martin waited for him to speak. He had been snubbed 
 so often when he had made any reference to the work he 
 had been engaged to do, that he fought shy of that 
 topic, and for the moment could think of no other. 
 
 " The general scheme of the book is all cut and 
 dried," remarked Greg at last. " Anyway I have it quite 
 clear in my mind. The first two chapters'll deal with the 
 history of Socialism. I've made some notes that I want 
 ye to look over, and ye'd better read up the subject for 
 yourself, so that ye can put those chapters into shape. 
 I daresay ye can make three chapters. It's an inter- 
 estin' subject. The second part will all be the Economic 
 theory, and I expect I'll have to do most of that myself, 
 but ye'll be able to look it over and straighten it out. 
 I know well enough what I have to say, but my literary 
 style is too oratorical. It's well enough for some sub- 
 jects, but a little too florid maybe for economic theory. 
 Ye'll have to keep an eye on that." 
 
 He was going on but the kettle suddenly boiled over 
 and he got up to attend it; making, Martin thought, an 
 unnecessary fuss about the heat of the handle. 
 
 " Shall I do it ?" Martin asked, but Greg refused any 
 assistance.
 
 THE FIRST STUMBLE 33 
 
 " Sit ye down, sit ye down, man," he said. " I'll do 
 it." 
 
 He did not ask Martin again whether he would take 
 any whisky, but poured out a generous allowance and 
 filled it up with hot water. 
 
 " Here, ye can put your own sugar in," he said, and 
 turned his back while he filled the other glass. 
 
 Martin did not see whether Greg had filled his own 
 glass or not, but he saw him drink and when Greg 
 turned round, the glass was half empty. 
 
 His own whisky was so hot that he could not touch 
 it. " Lord, what a throat he must have," he thought. 
 
 " It'll keep out the chill," remarked Greg, subsiding 
 into his chair again. " There's nothin' like hot grog for 
 a chill." 
 
 He began to talk about the book again with more 
 enthusiasm than he had shown before, telling Martin the 
 history of his contract with Macaulays, and how pres- 
 sure of work had interfered with his writing. 
 
 From this topic he slid gradually into a discussion of 
 more general politics. It seemed that he had met every 
 man of note on both sides of the House. He told per- 
 sonal anecdotes in relation to them; and then, standing 
 on the hearthrug he gave some remarkable imitations 
 of their platform manner, their pose of the hands and 
 tricks of gesticulation. 
 
 Martin forgot his resentment, and his critical attitude 
 towards certain failings in common politeness. In this 
 genial mood Greg was wonderfully entertaining. More- 
 over his very solecisms wore a new aspect. Some of 
 these anecdotes revealed him as a man who spoke his 
 mind openly without regard to the position or opinions 
 of the person addressed. His vagaries were no longer 
 presented as eccentricity, but as the characteristic of 
 one who had little respect for other men's judgments, 
 who was strong in the belief in his own power. All that 
 apparent rudeness was probably no more than a certain 
 Scotch roughness of manner. And had not his belief in 
 
 D
 
 34 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 himself been justified? He could not be more than 
 thirty-two or three years old; yet he was being eagerly 
 sought after by the party who rallied round Waterhouse 
 and The Gallery, the party which, even at Cambridge, 
 Martin had heard spoken of as representing the true 
 spirit of the new Liberal movement. 
 
 Robin Greg suddenly appeared as a new figure in the 
 political field, a man who was known and watched by 
 those who pulled the important strings. A seat would be 
 found for him, and if the Liberals could settle that 
 essential question of the Lords' veto and remain in 
 power, no doubt Greg would not be long in reaching 
 Cabinet rank. 
 
 Martin felt that he had shown his youth and ignor- 
 ance by passing premature judgment on a man who 
 was so closely in touch with the rulers of the country. 
 The Cambridge influence had been too strong; it was 
 necessary to realize that the figures in the larger world 
 were not so bound by petty conventions and social 
 usages, as those who paced serenely among the cloisters 
 of academic thought. One day Martin Bond might be 
 proud to say that he had acted as secretary to a great 
 Premier . . . 
 
 "Och! the kettle's empty," remarked Greg. "I'll 
 just go out and fill it." 
 
 " Isn't it getting rather late ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Oh ! we'll make a night of it, now," returned Greg, 
 as he left the room . . . 
 
 Martin got to bed at last, a little muddled but full of 
 great ambitions. There was a great work to be done in 
 England. He had learned that night, for the first time, 
 how many of the great figures in the political world had 
 fallen a prey to the insidious vice of drink. Few, indeed, 
 were those against whom the accusation could not be 
 brought. Liberalism was rotten with it. But with Robin 
 Greg as Prime Minister and Martin Bond as, say, Home 
 Secretary, England would witness a wonderful puri- 
 fication of the political air. This vice of drink would be
 
 THE FIRST STUMBLE 35 
 
 rooted up and with it all those evils which were now 
 falsely attributed by some critics to the abuses of the 
 party system. 
 
 With a strangely irritating uncertainty in his mind 
 as to whether he had not left his clothes lying on the 
 floor, a question he could neither put away from him 
 nor summon up sufficient purpose to investigate, 
 Martin fell asleep in the midst of a vision of a sober and 
 regenerate Parliament, ruled and led by the two great 
 exponents of the new Temperance movement. 
 
 D2
 
 IV. RECOVERY. 
 
 A DRAGGING, insistent dream that concerned the bang- 
 ing of the front gate, resolved itself into the conscious- 
 ness that someone was knocking with determination at 
 the bedroom door. 
 
 " Hallo ! Yes ? What is it ?" asked Martin, and then, 
 as his consciousness became once more involved in 
 memory, he added in a louder voice, " Oh ! All right. 
 Thanks." 
 
 He sat up in bed, and the movement made him suck 
 in his breath with a gasp of pain. His brain seemed to 
 have shrunk in the night, and no longer filled his skull. 
 He put his hands to his eyes to hide the brilliance of the 
 dull morning. For a couple of minutes, he sat quite still, 
 afraid to move lest that shrunken burning brain of his 
 should jolt against its containing walls. Then he got up 
 slowly, sat for another moment on the edge of the bed, 
 and finally opened the door and felt outside for the 
 expected hot water. He dared not bend his head to look 
 down, for then his brain lurched horribly against his 
 eyeballs. 
 
 When he had found the hot water he returned im- 
 mediately to his seat on the edge of the bed. He felt 
 rather sick, and he was afraid to move he could not 
 face the physical throes of sickness with that head. 
 Presently he lay down and wound the bedclothes about 
 him. The sickness was passing and the heat of his whole 
 body seemed to have been absorbed by his eyes and 
 brain. He waited for ten minutes before he made another 
 essay. 
 
 It was not quite the first headache of this kind he had 
 suffered, but it was undoubtedly the worst. He thought
 
 RECOVERY 37 
 
 with longing of cold water and wondered where the 
 bath-room was to be found. He drank a tumblerful of 
 water and soused his head and face in the basin before 
 he ventured to attempt the discovery. 
 
 The door of the bath-room was standing open, and 
 its position was further advertised by the intermittent 
 throaty groans of the waste-pipe as it discharged the 
 last bathful of water. 
 
 Martin wondered vaguely whether Greg had preceded 
 him. 
 
 Shaving and dressing occupied more tune than usual, 
 but he found no one in the dining-room when he got 
 down. He was quite prepared to wait. He wanted tea, 
 but he had no desire for food. The feeling of sickness 
 was gone, but his head and eyes ached consumingly. 
 
 He sat with his back to the feeble light of the Novem- 
 ber morning and hoped fervently that Miss Hamilton 
 was having her breakfast in bed. He was afraid to meet 
 her; he was utterly ashamed of himself and angry with 
 Greg. The two feelings appeared part of the same 
 emotion. 
 
 He was relieved by the entrance of Hester, who 
 brought in a single breakfast and told him that Miss 
 Hamilton had already had hers, and that the master of 
 the house had a chill and would not be down before 
 lunch. She added that she had lighted a fire in the 
 study. 
 
 Martin drank all the tea and nibbled a little toast, 
 but he could not look at the bacon and eggs. He looked 
 round desperately to find a hiding place for them, had 
 a wild inspiration to take them out and bury them in 
 the garden, and finally left them undisturbed on the 
 table. He rang the bell before he went out of the room, 
 in the hope that Hester would clear the table before 
 Miss Hamilton could see the evidences of his shame. 
 He did not mind the loss of Hester's opinion; indeed he 
 thought it probable that she already regarded him with 
 contempt. She had looked at him curiously when she
 
 38 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 had brought in the breakfast, and he had thought that 
 her look expressed scorn of his weakness. 
 
 The morning passed tediously. The smell of the study 
 disgusted him when he first entered, and he threw open 
 the door into the back garden, and stood for some time 
 looking out at the ragged lawn and the weedy flower 
 beds which enclosed it. When he returned into the study 
 to warm his hands, the faintly sour, heady smell 
 seemed to have been dissipated. Nevertheless he left 
 the garden door wide open. 
 
 No one came in to disturb him. Once he heard un- 
 accountable sounds overhead that reminded him of the 
 choking groans of the bath-waste; and about eleven 
 o'clock he heard the voices of Biddy and Miss Hamilton 
 in the hall, followed by the opening and closing of the 
 front door. 
 
 After that he settled down with a sense of relief to 
 finish Kirkup's Quintessence. 
 
 At twelve o'clock he went out and found Hester, who 
 told him that Mr Greg was not getting up and that 
 dinner was for half-past one, information which enabled 
 him to carry out his determination to take a good walk. 
 
 When he returned, hardly a trace of his headache 
 remained, and he was quite ready for the mid-day 
 dinner. 
 
 During his walk he had definitely settled upon his 
 line of action during the meal. As a man of the world 
 with three years at Cambridge and fifteen months 
 experience as a London journalist behind him, he saw 
 clearly enough that it would be absurd for him to appear 
 in any way conscious of last night's lapse from sobriety. 
 It was more than possible that Miss Hamilton had no 
 suspicion of his failure, and of Greg himself he had no 
 fear Greg was in the same boat, even if he still pro- 
 fessed to have taken the whisky medicinally. Moreover,
 
 RECOVERY 39 
 
 what was there, after all, to be ashamed about ? He had 
 never professed to be a teetotaler he had not broken 
 any vow. As a matter of fact, drink did not tempt him, 
 it affected him too unpleasantly, and last night's excess 
 was more an accident than anything. Every one took 
 rather too much whisky sometimes. 
 
 Martin walked into the dining-room with his head up, 
 strong in the consciousness of virtue. 
 
 He found Miss Hamilton and Biddie already seated. 
 He bowed neatly to Miss Hamilton and smiled patron- 
 isingly at Biddie, who stared for a moment and then 
 contemptuously turned away her face. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm rather late," said Martin, tripped 
 at the outset. 
 
 " Oh ! no/' replied Miss Hamilton. She was cutting up 
 Biddie's dinner and had not lifted her eyes since Mar- 
 tin came in. 
 
 "I hope Mr Greg's chill isn't serious," he said, trying 
 for an opening. 
 
 "Oh! no, I don't think so," said Miss Hamilton. 
 " He's rather subject to them." 
 
 " I say, can't I do that for you ?" was Martin's next 
 attempt, a reference to the carving of the beef, but 
 again he was repulsed, this time by a quiet refusal of 
 his assistance. 
 
 After that, dinner proceeded in silence. 
 
 Martin's thoughts had begun again from the point at 
 which a certain measure of self-respect had returned to 
 him. He mentally repeated his defence and could find 
 no flaw in it. He tried to persuade himself that Miss 
 Hamilton's manner was an effect of nervousness, but 
 could not fit that explanation to their first meeting. 
 She had not been like this when they had had that brief 
 conversation in the study. 
 
 He looked across at Biddie, who was peering at him 
 round an electro-plate jardiniere that stood in the middle 
 of the table, but the moment he caught her eye she 
 ducked away. He smiled, and partly to show that he
 
 40 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 was feeling quite at his ease, tried to seduce her into a 
 game of " peep-bo ! " across the table. 
 
 Biddie was not altogether unwilling, her chief reason 
 being that she had reached a point at which in ordinary 
 circumstances she must either declare war or finish her 
 potatoes and cabbage. This distraction with the un- 
 familiar young man opposite seemed to offer a glorious 
 way of escaping either of those dreadful alternatives. 
 She put down her spoon, chuckled faintly, and dodged 
 Martin's endeavour to catch sight of her. 
 
 " Biddie, dear, finish your dinner," said Miss Hamil- 
 ton, gently. 
 
 " Have," said Biddie. 
 
 " Oh! what's all this?" asked Miss Hamilton, point- 
 ing to the hated vegetables. 
 
 Biddie wrinkled her little nose. " It's nasty," she 
 said. 
 
 "Biddie! To please Aunt Maggie!" was the next 
 protest. 
 
 Plainly it was a horrible dilemma. Biddie hesitated 
 and sought to evade it by peeping again at Martin, but 
 his anxiety to propitiate Miss Hamilton far out- 
 weighed any other motive, and he kept his eyes on his 
 own plate. 
 
 It may have been this rebuff which determined her 
 plan of campaign, for Biddie suddenly decided to de- 
 clare war. She pursed her mouth, pushed her plate 
 violently away from her, and then stared blank defiance 
 at her aunt. 
 
 "Oh! very well," said Miss Hamilton quietly. 
 " There's a jam roly-poly coming, but you can't have 
 any till you've finished your meat." 
 
 Biddie stared solemnly at the jardiniere, as if she had 
 not heard this awful threat. Her face and attitude ex- 
 pressed an extraordinary determination that remind- 
 ed Martin of her father's resolution the night before. 
 " By Jove, she'll be a Tartar when she grows up," he 
 thought.
 
 RECOVERY 41 
 
 " She's frightfully obstinate, isn't she?" he said, and 
 earned a quick glance of disapproval from Miss Hamil- 
 ton, and a more marked sign of contempt from Biddie. 
 
 Martin pretended to be shocked at that grimace, 
 which suggested that she only restrained herself by a 
 stupendous effort from putting out her tongue. But the 
 chilliness of the atmosphere had become too marked for 
 any affectation of playfulness. It occurred to Martin that 
 he was making an ass of himself; he smothered a sigh 
 and returned to his beef. He had decided once more that 
 he would not go on with the secretaryship. Everything 
 was against it. 
 
 The terrible constrained silence remained unbroken 
 until Hester was summoned to clear away the beef. 
 Biddie made no sign, even when her plate was, by her 
 aunt's order left in front of her. She sat still, her eyes 
 down, her underlip projecting in a sullen pout. But 
 when the pudding was brought in, she suddenly slid 
 from her chair and went over to the window. 
 
 Martin looked at Miss Hamilton with a smile. He 
 thought the time had come when he might make one 
 more attempt to break the ice. Her reply was a slight 
 shake of the head, which he understood to signify that 
 no notice was to be taken of Biddie. 
 
 The child had appeared to be intent on drawing some 
 primitive design on the window glass with a moistened 
 forefinger, but this exchange of signs must have been 
 observed by her. Perhaps she had already forgotten 
 the first provocation; the mere discipline, the com- 
 pulsion to eat distasteful food had been swamped by 
 the enormous tragedy of being overlooked, thrust out 
 and forgotten by her intimate world. That, coupled 
 with the loss of pudding, was too much for her self- 
 control. It was unbearable. Her underlip went down and 
 down, her eyes closed, and she cried without restraint. 
 
 " Oh! Biddie!" exclaimed Miss Hamilton. She made 
 a movement to get up from her chair, but Biddie was 
 too quick for her. She made a little stumbling run at her
 
 42 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 aunt and, still sobbing with considerable noise and 
 vigour, buried her face in her lap. 
 
 For some time she refused consolation, nursing, pet- 
 ting and kisses could not at once allay the awful injury 
 that had been done to her; those signs of contrition on 
 the part of her who had been so grievously in the wrong 
 must be continued until full reparation was made. Even 
 the wonderful pudding had ceased to charm, though it 
 was accepted at last, when the hateful plate of cold 
 potato and cabbage had been removed to the sideboard. 
 
 And through the whole scene Martin was forced to 
 sit silent and apart. He was the outsider, not Biddie. 
 She could enforce her will, she was powerful, able, 
 within the small limits which alone entered her con- 
 sciousness, to control her destiny. Martin, by contrast, 
 was a miserable failure. Miss Hamilton had been weak, 
 too generous and soft-hearted, but she, too, was a very 
 rock compared with Martin. He was nothing more than 
 a naughty, foolish schoolboy, snubbed and disgraced; 
 a boy who had not the force of personality to assert 
 himself and claim indulgence as that child of three had 
 done. 
 
 At the back of all moved that dim, controlling figure 
 in the room upstairs; the man who could enforce his 
 will on every one of them. He had not been beaten by 
 his child's tears. He had commanded his sister-in-law 
 and she had obeyed him with nervous eagerness. He had 
 opposed his will to Martin's and the contest had been 
 ludicrously brief. 
 
 Something within him urged Martin to escape while 
 he had time, but he feared that it was already too late. 
 He dreaded Robin Greg's opposition, and he longed to 
 explain his weakness to Miss Hamilton, to be soothed 
 and comforted even as Biddie had been comforted. 
 
 The influence of the house in Demetrius Road, with 
 all its powers of disgust and fascination, was slowly, 
 remorselessly closing his every road of escape . . .
 
 RECOVERY 43 
 
 He was alone again in the afternoon. The garden door 
 of the study still stood wide open, and the air was clean 
 and fresh. He closed the door and opened two of the 
 transome lights in the window before he sat down to 
 devote himself once more to the study of Socialism. He 
 had now that consolation of tobacco which had been 
 denied him in the morning. 
 
 For a time he tried to concentrate his thoughts on the 
 necessity for telling Greg that he could not undertake 
 the secretaryship. With a certain recovery of self- 
 respect, Martin believed that he was prepared to face 
 that necessity without hesitation. But his mind con- 
 tinually slipped away to the contemplation of a more 
 difficult problem, the question of how he was to justify 
 himself to Miss Hamilton. 
 
 No doubt it would be possible in the course of years. 
 He might become distinguished, write a great book on 
 Socialism or by sheer brilliance assault and carry a 
 Conservative stronghold ; but his mood impelled him to 
 consider more instant measures. He had decided that 
 she must "know about last night," perhaps she had 
 learned of his distaste for breakfast, or she might have 
 heard him going to bed. (Had he been noisy ? He could 
 not remember.) And, although he thought the punish- 
 ment was out of all proportion to the crime, he saw that 
 it was possible that she had a particular prejudice in 
 favour of sobriety. (They had both drunk water at 
 dinner, and no offer of any other drink had been made 
 to him.) Granting these premisses, the clear way to re- 
 instatement must be by the means of total abstinence ; 
 it might be possible to figure a little heroically in his 
 refusal of alcohol. He might win a pitched battle with 
 the powerful Greg, for instance. Unfortunately, time 
 was necessary for the carrying out of this plan; a week, 
 at least; and he was preparing to leave the next day.
 
 44 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 After all, it would only be fair to Greg to give him a 
 week's notice. That seemed a safe compromise. 
 
 Why he was so anxious to win back Miss Hamilton's 
 esteem he did not very closely inquire. She had beau- 
 tiful hair and eyes, and sometimes she looked like an 
 angel, reasons, enough, perhaps why he should not wish 
 her to regard him as beyond the pale of decent society. 
 But deep in his consciousness was a feeling that she was 
 set apart from ordinary humanity, a remote, unap- 
 proachable creature and quite unlike any other woman 
 he had ever known. He could not think of her as belong- 
 ing to the same order of creation as that woman whose 
 temporary affection he had won, or as that pretty girl 
 in the shop at Cambridge about whom he and several 
 other men of his year had once raved. His mother had 
 died when he was three years old and he had no smallest 
 remembrance of her. 
 
 About four o'clock he heard a bump on the floor 
 overhead, followed by the thud of footsteps about the 
 room, and a very few minutes later Greg came into the 
 study. He was wearing an old dressing-gown and carpet 
 slippers, and he had not shaved, nor brushed his hair. 
 He looked unspeakably frowsy and dirty. 
 
 " Hallo!" he said. " Whur's Maggie?" 
 
 " I haven't seen her since lunch," replied Martin. He 
 had stood up when Greg entered, and now waited book 
 in hand for him to sit down. 
 
 Greg grunted, went over to the window and closed the 
 transome lights, then came back to the fire and sank into 
 his particular armchair. 
 
 " I've got a nasty chill," he remarked. 
 
 " Yes, so I heard, I'm sorry," said Martin. " Miss 
 Hamilton told me you were subject to them." 
 
 Greg stared moodily into the fire, his hands rammed 
 into the pockets of his dressing-gown. 
 
 " Whur's Biddie ?" he asked after a pause. 
 
 " I don't know. I haven't seen her since lunch either," 
 replied Martin.
 
 RECOVERY 45 
 
 " She has her tea with us on a Sunday," said Greg, 
 " and we sing hymns." He leaned forward and pushed 
 the bell. 
 
 Martin made no answer, and carelessly opened his 
 book again. He was not at all afraid of Greg at this 
 moment, he merely despised him and hoped that he 
 would not expect Miss Hamilton to have her tea in here 
 with him and Biddie. Perhaps, thought Martin, with a 
 flush of hope, he and Miss Hamilton might have tea 
 alone in the desolate drawing-room. She would have to 
 talk, then, and he might find an opportunity to 
 explain. 
 
 Greg was going at the bell again. It was Miss Ham- 
 ilton who finally answered it. 
 
 "Oh! Robin," she said as she came into the room, 
 " are you better ? Tea will be coming in a minute." 
 
 " Whur's Biddie?" asked Greg, without looking 
 up. 
 
 " She'll be down directly," said Miss Hamilton. 
 
 The arrangement of last night was repeated. Martin, 
 who had jumped to his feet when Miss Hamilton came 
 in, taking the chair on the other side of the writing table. 
 
 " Are you better, Robin?" repeated Miss Hamilton 
 as she sat down. 
 
 Martin frowned. Why didn't she stand up to the man, 
 he wondered. There was plainly nothing the matter 
 with him except that he had drunk rather too much the 
 night before, and had been too lazy to dress himself. 
 Why didn't she show him what she must think of his 
 slovenliness? It was disgusting that he should appear 
 like that before a woman. She had had no mercy upon 
 himself, why shouldn't she be equally firm with this 
 dirty Scotchman ? 
 
 " I caught a nasty chill," said Greg, " dodderin' about 
 with you in the rain last evening, and I'll have to be in 
 the City by half-past ten to-morrow. There's a board 
 meetin' at eleven and I'll have to coach Andrew; he's 
 clever enough with his figures but a perfect fool at
 
 46 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 speakin'. I'll be devilish busy this week, and I thought 
 I'd best take care o' myself to-day." 
 
 " Why don't you go to the meeting yourself instead 
 of sending Mr Andrew ?" asked Miss Hamilton. 
 
 " Och! I can't handle the accounts," returned Greg 
 with a chuckle. " If I could there' d be no need for 
 Andrew in the firm." 
 
 Martin somehow received the impression that his 
 employer's business affairs were not quite fair and 
 above-board. What was wrong with the man and his 
 house ? he asked himself. 
 
 Greg continued to talk business and Miss Hamilton 
 to take an intelligent interest until Hester brought in 
 tea and a very spruce and cheerful Biddie. 
 
 She seemed to have changed her mind with regard to 
 Martin, for she went straight up to him, ignoring her 
 father's " Come along here, Biddie." 
 
 Martin was uncomfortable and awkward with small 
 children, but he responded, now, to Biddie's overtures. 
 She gave him, at least, a chance to speak. 
 
 " What's your name?" she asked, when the slightly 
 embarrassed Martin had taken her on his knee. 
 
 " Uncoo Martin?" she asked, when he had given her 
 that information. 
 
 " If you like," he said smiling. 
 
 " Now, Biddie, aren't ye comin' to speak to daddie ?" 
 asked Greg. " Mr Bond doesn't want ye." 
 
 Biddie took not the least notice of her father. " Are 
 you going to stop here ?" she asked. 
 
 " I don't know, yet," replied Martin. 
 
 " When will you know ?" she asked. 
 
 " This evening, I expect," he told her, glad of the 
 opportunity to give both Greg and Miss Hamilton a 
 hint of his intentions.
 
 RECOVERY 47 
 
 " Mr Bond's goin' to write a book with daddie," put 
 in Greg. " Now, Biddie, come away here or I'll come and 
 fetch ye." 
 
 " Biddie, go to daddie," echoed Miss Hamilton. 
 
 Biddie stuck her thumb in her mouth and eyed them 
 both with a look of cunning. 
 
 " I love Uncoo Martin," she announced tentatively. 
 
 Greg got up swiftly from his chair, and at that Biddie 
 suddenly slipped off Martin's knee and went over to her 
 father. 
 
 " And daddie and Aunt Maggie and Nanna," she said, 
 by way of finishing the clause. 
 
 Martin thought that the way Greg pawed the child 
 about and talked to her, when she had finally decided 
 that it was wise to humour him, was perfectly sickening. 
 He continually asked her whom she loved best, and 
 would take no answer but " Daddie." 
 
 After tea came the promised hymns. Greg played 
 them on the American organ, using a loud stop which 
 partly concealed his uncertainty as to right notes. But 
 if the chords were seldom those scored by the original 
 composer, the tune came out famously at the top, and 
 Biddie, though weak on the high notes, followed a line 
 of her own through the difficult country with a certain 
 elan which covered all defects. Her memory for the 
 words was amazing in a child of that age. 
 
 Martin bore it for a time and then quietly left the 
 room. 
 
 " Lord! what a house!" he reflected as he sat and 
 brooded on the side of his bed upstairs. 
 
 But, for the moment, he was released from the spell. 
 He owed nothing to Greg and cared not a rap for his 
 opinion nor for that of Miss Hamilton. She was merely a 
 nonentity with a beautiful face, and Martin was exceed- 
 ingly annoyed with her for being a nonentity. He sat in 
 the cold and thought about her and wondered how she 
 could stand Greg.
 
 48 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Presently the plangent snorting of the organ ceased, 
 and shortly afterwards Martin heard Biddie and Miss 
 Hamilton go up to the second floor, the whole space of 
 which was devoted to nursery accommodation. Biddie 
 was talking excitedly, a sign that she had been good. 
 
 Martin waited a few minutes and then went down to 
 the study. He was determined not to be put off by any 
 of Greg's evasions; this conversation was to be decisive. 
 No decent man could possibly live in that house. 
 
 Greg was stretched out in his usual pose; he had the 
 air of one who reflected deeply on sad reminiscences. 
 He looked up when Martin entered, and said " Och ! 
 come in and have a talk. I was just thinking about the 
 book." His tone had a certain wistfulness; he seemed to 
 welcome human companionship. 
 
 Martin came in and sat down. "I've been thinking it 
 all over, Mr Greg," he said quietly, " and I've come to 
 the conclusion that I shan't be able to take on the 
 work." 
 
 " Why's that?" asked Greg. His voice was subdued 
 and a little plaintive, conveying disappointment rather 
 than his usual testiness. 
 
 "Oh! well, there are many reasons," said Martin, 
 conscious that the most cogent could not be explained. 
 " To begin with, it seems to me that it would be rather 
 a waste of time. I mean I've been here twenty-four hours 
 now, and you don't seem to have anything really definite 
 for me to do." 
 
 He waited for the other to speak. He had thrown 
 down a definite and rather daring gage, he thought ; but 
 as Greg only stared moodily into the fire and made no 
 reply, Martin went on : 
 
 " And, for another thing, I'm afraid I'm not the right 
 man for you. I've been reading a certain amount of 
 Socialism since I've been here, and I've realized what a
 
 RECOVERY 49 
 
 big subject it is. And there are other reasons, too. So, I 
 think, I'd better go to-morrow. I'm quite sure you 
 won't have the least difficulty in getting a much better 
 man than I am to take on the job." 
 
 " What are your other reasons ?" asked Greg, putting 
 his finger immediately on the weak spot m Martin's 
 argument. 
 
 Martin frowned. " Oh ! a dozen little things," he said 
 evasively. 
 
 " Be honest, man !" replied Greg sadly. "It's no use 
 at all to beat about the bush." 
 
 Martin looked uncomfortable and said nothing. 
 
 " Shall I tell ye the truth about it ?" asked Greg. 
 
 " Well, if it is the truth," replied Martin, leaving 
 himself a loophole. 
 
 " Eh! well," said Greg, still staring moodily into the 
 fire. " The fact is that ye don't like the ways of this 
 house. They're not the ways ye've been accustomed to, 
 and ye're too young to make allowances. But there's 
 another thing," he continued, putting up his long thin 
 hand to stop Martin's protests, " and that's, maybe, 
 more important still. It's just this, that ye don't like 
 me." He stopped and looked Martin full in the eyes." Tell 
 me the truth, now. What is it ye've got against me?" 
 
 Martin grew very red. " I don't make friends quickly 
 . . ."he began. 
 
 " Is that all ?" interrupted Greg. 
 
 " Oh ! well, no, it isn't, if you want to know," said 
 Martin bravely. " I don't like your manner to me or 
 to to Miss Hamilton, and I don't like the way you go 
 about the house without having shaved or brushed 
 your hair. I daresay it's all rotten prejudice on my part, 
 but that's how I feel about it." 
 
 He had burned his boats now, he thought. He did not 
 like to meet Greg's glance, but waited, expecting and 
 rather hoping for an outburst. If Greg lost his temper, 
 the way of escape would be quite easy. It was a relief 
 to have got it over.
 
 50 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 There was silence for a few seconds, and then to Mar- 
 tin's amazement, Greg said, " Ye're quite right. I know 
 it. But ye shouldn't judge me too soon. I've been sairly 
 put about the last six weeks. I can't just explain to ye 
 the trouble I'm in, in the City, but one of my partners 
 has been makin' a mess of things, and I've been worried 
 to death tryin' to get them straightened out. Maggie 
 knows. She'll tell ye all about it if ye want to hear the 
 particulars. On the top of that, Macaulays have been at 
 me about this contract. That's of small importance, 
 maybe, in one way, but I'm anxious to get the book 
 done for many good reasons. But the worst of all is that 
 my health hasn't been good recently. Now, I'm telling 
 ye this in confidence, Bond. Ye may know that I'm an 
 ambitious man. I've got powers, and I'll not pretend 
 that I don't know it. I'm not askin' for chances, I can 
 make my own, but I'm not wantin' Wotterhoose and his 
 party to know that I'm sick. They have their suspicions, 
 maybe, but that's a vairy different thing to a certainty. 
 I want to use Wotterhoose and The Gallery, and they'll 
 not help to have me put up if they think I'm likely to 
 break down in the middle of an election. It's not com- 
 mon sense. Now, just listen to me. I know that I'll be 
 well and hearty enough as soon as I have this business 
 affair settled, and I've little doubt that I'll get things 
 straight before the Board meetin' to-morrow mornin'. 
 It's just worry and overwork that's been killin' me. I 
 was at business till half-past eight on Saturday and 
 when I came home I was just worn out. I don't blame 
 ye for thinkin' me a nasty beast to-day, but I tell ye I 
 was too tired to care a damn what ye thought ..." 
 He paused and looked again at Martin. 
 
 " I say, I'm most awfully sorry," he said. 
 
 "Whisht! don't apologize, man," returned Greg. 
 " I'm glad ye spoke about it. I've no opinion of a man 
 who's afraid to speak his mind. But I want ye to recon- 
 sider this matter of writin' the book. I'll not be able to 
 pay ye a big salary, not more than a pound a week
 
 RECOVERY 51 
 
 and ye'll be livin' in the house, of course. But I'll go 
 halves in the book, and your name shall appear with 
 mine on the title page. The way I see it, it'll be only fair 
 to do it in collaboration." 
 
 " Oh ! no, that's too generous ..." said Martin. 
 
 " Och ! don't blether," put in Greg kindly. He got up, 
 went over to the writing table and took out a folded 
 paper. "There's Macaulays' agreement," he said, toss- 
 ing it to Martin. " Ye'll see that the royalty begins at 
 ten per cent and rises to twenty; and we'll get a 
 shilling a copy on colonial sales. The book's to be pub- 
 lished at six shillings net." 
 
 He dropped into his chair again and sat quietly while 
 Martin glanced through the agreement. 
 
 " But, look here, I couldn't possibly let you go 
 halves," stammered Martin. 
 
 " That'll be my affair, I'm thinkin'," said Greg. 
 " I took a fancy to ye the first time I saw ye though I 
 gather it wasn't mutual," he added slyly. 
 
 " Really it was," said Martin eagerly, " only ..." 
 
 ' Yes, ye've told me that already," returned Greg. 
 " And I've apologized. I like your pluck all the same, 
 for I've a bitter tongue when I'm crossed. Now, will ye 
 stay and go on with the book ? I'll promise ye I'll be 
 more careful o' my manners and appearance in the 
 future." 
 
 " Please don't," pleaded Martin. " I was a silly ass. 
 I didn't understand. Of course, I shall be awfully glad 
 to help you if you really think I should be any good. 
 I'm only afraid ..." 
 
 " I'll look after that," put in Greg dryly. " But I 
 never make mistakes about a man. I've the insight. It's 
 a gift I have from my mother she's Highland." 
 
 Martin was mentally making a vow never again to 
 judge a man by his appearance. How utterly wrong, 
 how childishly superficial he had been about this man, 
 Robin Greg. Hang it, the man was not far short of a 
 hero. 
 
 E2
 
 52 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 At supper Martin found his chance to put himself 
 right with Miss Hamilton. 
 
 A small decanter of claret had been put upon the 
 table, and Greg passed it across to Martin, who refused 
 it. 
 
 " That'll do ye no harm," said Greg, " or would ye 
 sooner take ale?" 
 
 " No, I won't have anything, thanks," said Martin. 
 " I never do take anything as a rule, and I'm heaps 
 better without it." Then, feeling that he was on the best 
 of terms with Greg and slightly elated by the praise he 
 had received in the study, he continued, " Besides, as 
 you told me last night, it's a pretty dangerous habit to 
 get into." 
 
 " Ye're quite right," returned Greg shortly. " Maggie, 
 I wish ye'd tell Hester not to burn the meat. This beef is 
 absolutely uneatable." He had been picking over his 
 food in a manner that was half greedy and half fas- 
 tidious, and now he pushed his plate away from him 
 with a gesture that was absurdly like that which had 
 accompanied Biddie's refusal to eat her potatoes. 
 
 " I'm sorry, Robin. I'll tell her," said Miss Hamilton. 
 
 A minute or two later Greg got up from the table and 
 went upstairs, leaving the other two alone to finish the 
 supper, which as yet they had hardly begun. 
 
 Martin felt suddenly awkward. His confidence of a 
 moment before had entirely deserted him. It was Miss 
 Hamilton who started the new relations. 
 
 " What was it Mr Greg said to you last night about 
 drinking ?" she asked. 
 
 Martin raised his eyes and found that she was looking 
 at him with an expression of strange anxiety. 
 
 " Oh ! " he said. " He was telling me that several very 
 promising young politicians were simply ruining them- 
 selves by drinking too much. Pretty awful, really, 
 isn't it?"
 
 RECOVERY 53 
 
 " Did he tell you that?" asked Miss Hamilton. Her 
 dark eyes were still scrutinizing Martin's face as if she 
 doubted his honesty and was looking for the signs of it. 
 
 Martin flushed slightly. " Yes. He mentioned several 
 people," he said, " well-known men, too." 
 
 Miss Hamilton's face fell. She looked away, and then 
 with a little touch of confusion returned to her supper. 
 
 "Do you think you'll stay here?" she asked after 
 a pause. 
 
 "Yes, Oh! yes, certainly, I think," said Martin. 
 " Mr Greg has been awfully kind. He has offered to let 
 me do the book in collaboration." 
 
 " Do you think you will get it finished by the end of 
 March ?" she asked. 
 
 " Well, I don't know exactly yet how much there is 
 to do," he explained. And then getting bolder he said, 
 " Shall you be staying on, too ?" 
 
 "Oh! yes," said Miss Hamilton. " I've come to look 
 after the house and Biddie." 
 
 " I don't expect I shall be in the way much," said 
 Martin tentatively. 
 
 " Oh ! no," returned Miss Hamilton with a touch of 
 the shyness she had shown last night. 
 
 After that they talked more easily. They discussed 
 the neighbourhood, and she told him that they were 
 quite on the edge of the country, and that there were 
 some delightful walks quite near. Any impersonal topic 
 served. But when they had finished she gave him one 
 word that completed the day for him. 
 
 They were in the hall and she had her hand on the 
 newel of the staircase. " I don't suppose Robin will be 
 down again," she said. " He wants to get a long sleep as 
 he's expecting to have a hard day to-morrow. Good 
 night. I'm glad you've decided to stay." 
 
 As he went to bed Martin was full of hope and plans 
 for the future. 
 
 In the night he woke from a dream that he could not 
 remember, and found that he had been crying in his
 
 54 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 sleep. He got up and stood for a moment by the window, 
 trying vainly to recall his dream. He was conscious of 
 a feeling of desolating sadness. 
 
 A little wind had risen and he thought that he heard 
 the faint cry of the swinging gate.
 
 V. MARGARET. 
 
 DURING the next three days Martin settled down into 
 what he supposed was the ordinary routine of the house. 
 
 There were two convenient trains by which Greg 
 could travel to the City, the first at 9.55 and the 
 second at 10.23. He took his breakfast in bed every 
 morning, but it was always understood that he must 
 catch the earlier train, and from nine o'clock onwards a 
 sense of urgency pervaded every member of the house- 
 hold. The vision of that approaching train dominated 
 every activity. Miss Hamilton's tap at Greg's door and 
 her "Are you getting up, Robin," alternated continually 
 with Hester's more vigorous knock to enforce and 
 reiterate the instant necessity for haste. Each attack 
 upon that locked door marked an increase of anxiety; 
 the horrible influence of that relentless rushing train 
 swelled until imagination heard the shriek of its last 
 fatal warning. 
 
 The stress and concern culminated as Greg came 
 hurrying downstairs to snatch his coat and hat from the 
 pegs in the hall. For all his apparent indifference to the 
 repeated calls upstairs he seemed at that ultimate 
 moment to be no less affected by the strain than any 
 other person in the house. He was irritable and flurried. 
 At the least check he shouted almost hysterically for 
 " Maggie." He found that his top-hat was not brushed, 
 that he had lost his gloves, or wanted certain papers out 
 of the study. And when reassured that his hat had been 
 properly groomed, that his gloves were in their usual 
 place on the hall table and that Martin had already 
 found the required papers and put them in the breast 
 pocket of Greg's overcoat, he would look at his watch
 
 56 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 for the last time as he ran across the hall and make an 
 ejaculation of surprise at the familiar phenomenon that 
 he had only eight minutes in which to do a ten-minute 
 walk, and finally close the front door after him with 
 a slam. 
 
 The crash of the front door, completed and empha- 
 sized as a rule by the tinkle of the falling key, marked 
 the close of a period. The house sighed a thin gasp of 
 relief and suffered some change of character in the act. 
 Stress and urgency had followed that slight figure 
 which trotted a trifle erratically down the road to the 
 station; and Garroch was relieved of an indefinable 
 tension that had held it stretched since the previous 
 evening. During the day Garroch nodded while the 
 women moved about scrubbing, cleaning and polishing, 
 revivifying it for the return of that tense watchfulness 
 which would spring into life at half -past five, with the 
 click of a latchkey. 
 
 Martin was still far from any realization of the double 
 personality of that house. He did not understand, as 
 yet, all that Garroch gained and lost between the 
 f are well- crash of the morning and the click of the even- 
 ing return. He was only conscious of a sense of relief. 
 The day was before him, and he turned into the study 
 and shut out that feminine world which necessarily 
 regarded him as rather a hindrance during those busy 
 hours that preceded lunch. 
 
 He, too, was busy, reading rapidly and with a laud- 
 able diligence; preparing himself to write a history of 
 Socialism in three chapters. He added, unconsciously, 
 his little note to the hum of the hive. The house dozed 
 confidingly in response to that soothing murmur of 
 steady occupation. If it had been left to itself it might in 
 time have fallen into the deep sleep which enfolded so 
 many other houses hi Demetrius Road.
 
 MARGARET 57 
 
 Martin made little progress in his knowledge of Miss 
 Hamilton during those three days. He saw her at meals; 
 alone at breakfast, with Biddie at lunch, and with Greg 
 at dinner; and in the evening she came into the study 
 for coffee, smoked one cigarette and talked business or 
 politics with her brother-in-law. But she seemed to be 
 on her guard with Martin. During breakfast she was 
 aloof and preoccupied. Doubtless the coming struggle 
 filled her thoughts, and she reserved all her energies for 
 the strenuous business of catching the 9.55. The con- 
 sciousness of that train was so supreme in the early 
 morning ; every moment was a preparation for the con- 
 currence of that final effort. And later in the day, even 
 during the placid hours between ten and five, she gave 
 him no confidences about herself, nor encouragement to 
 speak of his own life and ambitions. 
 
 Martin told himself that she was a Scotchwoman and 
 therefore cold and reserved (he was great on general- 
 izations) ; that she regarded him as a schoolboy with 
 whom she could have nothing in common; that for some 
 reason or other probably his disgusting exhibition on 
 Saturday night she had taken a particular dislike to 
 him; and that he did not care in the very least what 
 she thought of him. The last self-confidence was a source 
 of some comfort, and he dwelt on it frequently, magni- 
 fied it into a secret joy, and tried to live up to it by 
 assuming on occasion an icy indifference whenever he 
 spoke to her. He varied his attitude by an appearance 
 of great absorption in the work upon which he was 
 engaged. On Tuesday he pretended not to hear the 
 luncheon bell, and did not come to the table until he 
 was fetched by Hester. 
 
 " 1 beg your pardon I was rather busy and I didn't 
 hear the bell," was his formal apology on that occasion, 
 and during the meal he was so abstracted from the
 
 58 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 common affairs of life that Miss Hamilton had to ask 
 him twice whether he would have any more curry. She 
 did not, however, appear to be in any way affected by 
 his detachment; she certainly made no effort to main- 
 tain conversation; and when Martin returned, at the 
 earliest possible moment, to his work, he told himself 
 that he disliked all Scotchwomen. He also decided for 
 his own satisfaction that she was probably much older 
 than she looked, and frightfully formal. 
 
 Immersion in Socialism usually distracted his thoughts 
 from all other affairs, but on Wednesday afternoon the 
 reading of Godwin's Political Justice led him to look 
 up a reference he had noted to Mary Wollstonecraft. 
 And as he read the details of her life, the appearance and 
 personality of that remarkable woman became extra- 
 ordinarily real to him. He spent an hour looking up 
 other literature, and it was not until the scanty material 
 at command failed him, that he realized that the image 
 he had formed of Miss Wollstonecraft was really that of 
 Miss Hamilton. 
 
 The realization startled him, and he put down his 
 book and went to the window to think the matter out. 
 All his foolish little poses and criticisms had suddenly 
 fallen away. The influence of Mary Wollstonecraft's 
 heroism was strong upon him and the picture, he saw, 
 was of an idealized Margaret Hamilton, lifted from all 
 the incongruities and cares of her present surroundings. 
 
 " She isn't free," thought Martin. " She has allowed 
 herself to be bound by the little duties that she imagines 
 she owes to Biddie and Greg. She is trying to fetter her 
 soul by doing what any other woman could do as well, 
 when she ought ..." He was a little uncertain what 
 it was she ought to be doing, but it was undoubtedly 
 something glorious, something even greater than Mrs 
 Godwin had done. 
 
 It came to Martin as a great inspiration that this was 
 the true picture of Margaret Hamilton. Surely there 
 was some diabolical influence in this house which
 
 MARGARET 59 
 
 blinded him. He had utterly misjudged Greg, and then, 
 despite the subsequent revelation of his own mistake, he 
 had gone absurdly on to commit this even greater error. 
 He saw, now, the explanation of Miss Hamilton's 
 attitude towards himself. She was moving on a higher 
 plane of being, despite her attention to household 
 duties, and it was unlikely that she would condescend 
 to take any interest in a worthless youth of twenty- 
 three, absorbed in so trivial a subject as Socialism. 
 
 He blushed when he remembered his ridiculous as- 
 sumption of preoccupation at lunch the day before. 
 What a silly, cocksure, blundering ass he had been; 
 how inflated with childish egoism to suppose that she 
 cared at all whether he noticed her or not. 
 
 He had been right in the first instance, when he had 
 seen her photograph in the next room, and had not that 
 first inspiration been confirmed when she had sat in 
 this very study on the evening of her arrival ? Unques- 
 tionably all his subsequent idiocy had been due to the 
 effect of his filthy debauch . . . Never again, as long as 
 he lived, would he touch whisky. 
 
 He sat down and read once more the encyclopaedia 
 article on Mary Wollstonecraft. She had come to life for 
 him. He noticed that there was little bibliographical 
 matter, and determined to write a new life of her when 
 he had finished the Socialism book. He had always 
 meant to write a book of some sort, and had hesitated 
 over his choice of subject. But here was a subject ready 
 to his hand, and one in which he could become absorbed. 
 Moreover, there was the mark of fate in this strange 
 presentation of material, for was it not a miraculously 
 appropriate time for such a book as he proposed ? He 
 saw himself as a champion of the woman's movement. . . 
 
 In the middle of his elation he was startled by the 
 sound of the piano in the next room. He had heard the 
 keys being dusted in the placid hours of the morning, 
 but no one had played a note since he had been in the 
 house.
 
 60 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He held his breath and listened. He knew that it must 
 be Miss Hamilton. 
 
 She was playing so softly that he could hardly hear 
 her, and singing, almost under her breath, Schubert's 
 "DubistmeinRuh'." 
 
 He tip-toed to the study door and opened it with 
 infinite precaution against noise. He could hear more 
 plainly in the hall, but he crept nearer and nearer to the 
 drawing-room door. 
 
 She sang the song through in the same subdued under- 
 tone, and then he heard the lid of the piano gently shut 
 down 
 
 He felt that the time had come for expression. He 
 tapped gently at the drawing-room door. 
 
 Miss Hamilton opened it from within. " Did you 
 want me?" she asked, and he could see even in the 
 falling light of the afternoon that she was blushing 
 furiously. 
 
 " Oh ! I'm awfully sorry," said Martin, " I only 
 wanted to say that I hoped you weren't going to stop 
 singing, you know. It's rather lonely sometimes in the 
 study, and I was so frightfully glad when you began. 
 I hope you won't think it rude of me, but I had to come 
 out here and listen." 
 
 " I was afraid I should disturb you," she said. " I 
 know you're very busy." 
 
 He wondered if she were chairing him, but he could 
 see no sign of a smile on her face. They had moved into 
 the deserted drawing-room now and she was standing 
 by the piano, facing the window. 
 
 " Busy in a way, of course," said Martin. " I want to 
 get the book started and I've a lot of ground to cover, 
 but ..." Unconsciously he had subdued his voice and 
 his tone fell until he became inaudible. But after he had 
 ceased speaking, he could still hear his words sounding in
 
 MARGARET 61 
 
 the room ; there was no echo, but the sentence hung in 
 the air. He could still distinctly hear himself saying, 
 " I've a lot of ground to cover, but ..." Yet the sound 
 was not repeated; it was as if his memory of it had 
 become abnormally keen. 
 
 ' You see the room is so empty," said Miss Hamilton 
 with startling pertinence. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Martin. "Did you 
 know what I was thinking about ?" 
 
 " I thought so," she said. " Weren't you noticing 
 how one's words go on living in this room ?" 
 
 He nodded. " But how wonderful that you should 
 know that," he said. 
 
 She passed that by. " It's because this room is never 
 lived in," she explained. " For a year before my sister 
 died she hardly ever came in here, and since then it has 
 been practically shut up. I think rooms become in- 
 fluenced by the people who have lived in them, and 
 give their impressions to other people. But this room is 
 so empty now, that it only takes and there is nothing 
 coming out to beat down what we say and ride over it 
 and extinguish it. Do you think that's all very foolish ?" 
 
 " Oh! no!" said Martin. " Of course I don't. I think 
 it must be perfectly true. But it's very wonderful." 
 
 " That was why I sang ' Du bist mein Run',' " ex- 
 plained Miss Hamilton. " This room is so empty and so 
 restful. There is nothing to beat one down." 
 
 " I see," said Martin, and then, because he could 
 think of nothing else to say, he added, " It's certainly 
 not a bit like the study." 
 
 It was too dark to see her now, but he heard her draw 
 in her breath with a little gasp. Instead of answering 
 him she sat down and opened the piano. 
 
 "Oh! yes, do please sing again," said Martin, and 
 sat down on the little straight-backed settee by the 
 empty fireplace. 
 
 She hesitated a moment and then began to sing 
 " Lochaber, no more."
 
 62 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 She had a sweet true voice that sounded delicately 
 round and full in that little room. In range it was 
 probably a mezzo-soprano, but it had the quality of a 
 contralto, and her upper notes were happily free from 
 the least suggestion of shrillness. 
 
 Martin thought he had never heard anything more 
 beautiful or more sad. The Scotch was no longer a dia- 
 lect to be parodied and made ridiculous in an English 
 music-hall; it was the language of a people; a language 
 plaintive with the eternal sorrow of life, vibrant with 
 the free wild joy of the open; a language full of the 
 poetry and romance of the North. 
 
 Martin hardly realized when the song ended; it still 
 filled the room with beauty, with wonderful thoughts of 
 mountain and loch and sea. They both sat quite still in 
 the half darkness, and the arc lamp across the roadway 
 threw thin mysterious rays of pale light on the floor. 
 
 Margaret was the first to break the silence. " Have 
 you ever been to Scotland ?" she asked. 
 
 " Not till this afternoon," said Martin softly. 
 
 She made a little sound of appreciation at the com- 
 pliment, and although he couldn't see her he knew that 
 she was framing a word with her lips before she spoke 
 it, and he longed suddenly for light. 
 
 "D do you want anymore?" she asked, "or shall we 
 go into the other room ; my fingers are stiff with cold." 
 
 " I don't think I could bear any more just yet," said 
 Martin. " I don't mean, of course ..." he was going on, 
 afraid that she might misunderstand him, but she cut 
 his explanation short. 
 
 " I know what you mean," she said. " Please don't 
 explain." 
 
 She shut the piano gently and had moved to the door 
 before Martin could get to his feet. 
 
 " Shall I turn on the light ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh ! no," said Martin. " Let us leave the room to its 
 beautiful memories."
 
 MARGARET 63 
 
 The moment of expression passed as they closed the 
 door of the drawing-room behind them, and Martin, 
 framing a speech that still lingered in his mind with 
 regard to the perfect re-education of all that was re- 
 ceptive within those four walls, found that he could not 
 utter it. Any show of that particular emotion which had 
 influenced him a minute earlier, wore an appearance of 
 banality in the light and warmth of the study. 
 
 " I will tell Hester to bring you in some tea," said 
 Margaret, to break the feeling of formality which had so 
 quickly invaded them. 
 
 " Oh ! good !" said Martin feebly. " It must be nearly 
 five." He wanted to ask her to join him, but he was 
 afraid. 
 
 She hesitated at the door and framed that beginning 
 of a word with her lips, but she went out without 
 speaking. 
 
 When he was alone Martin discovered with surprise 
 that he was shivering with cold. He was still crouching 
 over the fire when Hester entered with the tea tray. 
 
 " It'll be gey cauld in the ither room, no doubt," she 
 remarked with a smile. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it was," returned Martin, and then 
 noticing that the tray was laid for two, he said, " I 
 don't suppose Mr Greg will be in for some time yet." 
 
 " Ach !" said Hester with scorn. " He'll not be want- 
 in' tea," and left Martin to wish that Hester's utter- 
 ances were less cryptic. 
 
 His uncertainty in the present instance, however, was 
 quickly resolved, for as he stood staring at the happy 
 omen of the two cups and saucers, Margaret came back. 
 
 She came in quickly and with an air of determin- 
 ation, as if she was deliberately fighting some doubt or 
 repugnance that beset her. 
 
 " I simply must come in and get warm," she said in a
 
 64 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 rather forced conversational tone. " I was simply blue 
 with cold. Even in summer that room's never warm. 
 It faces north, you know." 
 
 Martin wished to say that he thought the room was 
 beautiful, but the words that came only expressed a 
 conventional acquiescence to her criticism of the room's 
 temperature. For a time, as they drank their tea, they 
 talked as they had always talked until this afternoon, 
 the superficialities of common, formal intercourse 
 between strangers. 
 
 Indeed, Margaret had said that she must leave him to 
 get on with his work, before Martin made any serious 
 attempt to break down that rigid barrier. 
 
 He rushed it then, careless of immediate conse- 
 quences. " Will you sing again, some afternoon, Miss 
 Hamilton," he said in a burst. " I won't come in if you'd 
 sooner I didn't. I'd be quite content to listen in the hall. 
 But it does make a tremendous difference to me. I shall 
 work ever so much better for it. 
 
 " I hope you don't mind my asking," he added as an 
 afterthought. 
 
 Margaret had turned her face away from him and 
 leaned back into the corner of the arm-chair which she 
 always occupied when she sat in the study a tall, 
 high-backed chair with ears. She held one hand be- 
 tween her and the fire as if to screen her face from the 
 heat. 
 
 " I hardly ever sing now," she said, after what seemed 
 to Martin a very long pause. 
 
 " Why ?" he asked. He tried to add something to ease 
 the bluntness of the inquiry, but could think of nothing 
 and so repeated his question in a lower tone, as if he 
 himself were reflecting on such an inscrutable problem. 
 " Why ?" He leaned forward and gazed into the fire. 
 
 " Oh ! for many good reasons," returned Margaret. 
 
 " But wouldn't you ever, I mean, just now and again 
 in the afternoons?" he asked. 
 
 " I'm so terribly rusty," she said, without changing
 
 MARGARET 65 
 
 her attitude. " And I'm sure you would bless me if I 
 started to sing scales up and down for an hour or two 
 every morning." 
 
 "Rusty!" ejaculated Martin. "Oh! I couldn't ask 
 for anything better than your song this afternoon." 
 He shrank from the idea that any mechanical per- 
 formance of exercises was needed to produce that 
 exquisite result. He had thought that her singing was 
 divinely natural, the free and perfect expression of her 
 personality. 
 
 She laughed, dropped her hand into her lap and 
 looked across at him. " What a funny boy you are," 
 she said. 
 
 He asked for nothing better than such a frank speech 
 at that moment. It reached out over the barrier as no 
 earnestness or emotion could have done. Nor did he 
 desire any happier fate than to be treated as a queer boy 
 who might be allowed to sit at her feet and worship. 
 In the two hours that had passed since he had identi- 
 fied her with his newly-formed vision of Mary Woll- 
 stonecraft, he had crystallized his attitude. He had put 
 her finally above criticism. She had justified his estima- 
 tion of her photograph with a difference; a difference 
 that he believed was an inestimable gain. 
 
 " I daresay I am," he said with a smile. " You must 
 tell me when I'm very silly. I'm quite eager to learn, 
 really." 
 
 " I believe you thought that one just sang by the 
 light of nature," she said. 
 
 " It's perfectly marvellous how you guess my 
 thoughts," he admitted. " Was I very stupid to think 
 that?" 
 
 " I suppose it's a very great compliment," said Mar- 
 garet. " But if you only knew the tedious hours I've 
 been through to learn a little about singing, you'd 
 realize that. . .well, that one likes to have the training 
 recognized, too." 
 
 " It was just my ignorance, you know," explained 
 
 F
 
 66 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin. " Of course, an expert would have known at 
 once. Where did you study singing ? Is it rude of me to 
 ask that?" 
 
 "Oh! no, of course not," said Margaret. " I really 
 learnt all I know in Leipzig. I was there for nearly three 
 years; and then I kept it up at home afterwards for 
 some time. I used to sing in the Scotch musical fes- 
 tivals chorus, of course." 
 
 " But what an awful pity to drop it," said Martin. 
 " I mean it isn't one person hi a million who has a voice 
 like yours." 
 
 " Isn't that rather like flattery ?" she asked. 
 
 " I didn't mean it like that," he said with such ear- 
 nestness that she laughed again, and then suddenly 
 changed the conversation by saying : 
 
 "What's the time ? Surely it's time Robin was back !" 
 
 " By Jove, yes," said Martin, looking at his watch. 
 " It's after six." 
 
 " I expect he's been kept in the City," said Margaret. 
 " He said he would be very busy to-day." Her air of 
 preoccupation had returned, and with it something of 
 that cold formality of manner which had chilled Martin 
 during the past three days. 
 
 " I must send Hester to clear away the tea-things," 
 she said, and went out without any further notice of 
 Martin, who had not even time to get round the desk to 
 open the door for her. 
 
 Garroch had nodded a little longer than usual that 
 day, but it had been awake and restless for an hour 
 before its master's return at half -past seven. 
 
 He was in a more genial mood than he had displayed 
 since Sunday, and talked continually through dinner of 
 the failings of his partner in the City. The point of his 
 criticism turned on the Ingenuity with which he himself 
 had saved the firm from a difficult situation. His com-
 
 MARGARET 67 
 
 ments on Andrew's shortcomings were continually 
 punctuated by his hooting laugh. 
 
 Miss Hamilton looked distressed and uncomfortable. 
 She talked very little, although she appeared to take an 
 interest in Greg's story and prompted him with an 
 occasional question when he paused in his recital. 
 
 Martin did not attempt to join in the conversation; 
 he was reflecting on the happiness of the afternoon, and 
 wondering whether it was only a bright interlude or 
 whether she would take pity on him, sing to him now 
 and then, and treat him as a privileged schoolboy. 
 
 He partially awoke to the exigencies of the moment 
 when Greg turned his criticisms from Andrew's stu- 
 pidity to Hester's failure as a cook. The meat was 
 burned to a cinder, according to Greg, and he was con- 
 sequently unable to eat any dinner. He made up for the 
 deficiency by eating apples when they went into the 
 study afterwards, and his manner of rejecting all but the 
 juice was not pretty. 
 
 Martin was relieved when Miss Hamilton went up- 
 stairs. She went earlier than usual that night. 
 
 After she had gone, Greg pleaded, firstly, that he was 
 too tired to discuss the book that night, and, secondly, 
 that he was afraid he had another of his chills coming on, 
 and urged Martin to join him in a glass of hot toddy. 
 
 Martin's refusal was quite final, and Greg suddenly 
 looked at him with an odd furtive glance of suspicion, 
 but he did not renew the invitation. 
 
 After the whisky had been brought Greg took down 
 a volume of Burns' poems and began to read them aloud. 
 He gave full value to the dialect, but it did not appeal to 
 Martin as it had in the afternoon. It may have been the 
 particular selections made by Greg or something in his 
 manner of reading, but it seemed to Martin that he 
 brought out all the coarseness and boasting of the 
 Scotch character; all that Martin admired least. 
 
 He tried in vain to recall the fine visions that had 
 come to him during the singing of " Lochaber no more." 
 
 F2
 
 68 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Perhaps it is the difference between Highland and Low- 
 land, was his only attempt to explain the contrast. 
 
 He wanted to get to bed early, but Greg would not 
 let him go and kept him up till nearly twelve o'clock. 
 
 As Martin crossed the big landing on the first floor, 
 Miss Hamilton's door opened and she came out, still 
 fully dressed. 
 
 " You're very late," she said. " Hasn't Robin come up 
 yet?" 
 
 " No, he's locking up, I think," said Martin, and 
 added, " You're very late, too." 
 
 "I've been writing letters," she explained. 
 
 " In the cold ?" he asked. 
 
 " Oh ! I wasn't cold," she said. " Good night." 
 
 "Good night," replied Martin. He noticed that she 
 sighed heavily as she went back to her own room. She 
 had looked disturbed, too, and troubled. He wondered 
 why. He was unspeakably glad that his own conduct 
 had been above reproach. He had, strangely enough, no 
 conception as yet of the true state of affairs; no least 
 suspicion of the strain that kept the house in suspense.
 
 VI. THE INVADER 
 
 MARTIN tried to slip unostentatiously into his new 
 place in the scheme next morning. He awoke to a con- 
 sciousness of pleasure in life, an eagerness to begin the 
 day. He had a feeling that he was no longer alone in the 
 house, that in future there might always be some won- 
 derful hour for him in the afternoon as there had been 
 yesterday. 
 
 The early morning upheld his mood. There had been a 
 touch of frost in the night and the air of his room was 
 sharp and invigorating. From the bath-room window, 
 he caught sight of the deep red globe of the sun on the 
 horizon. He waved his hand to it in welcome, and re- 
 membered that he had not seen the sun for more than a 
 week. He was downstairs before breakfast was ready, 
 and went out into the garden to sniff the air in long 
 breaths of delight. He was conscious of the abundant 
 joy of life. 
 
 " Isn't it a perfectly ripping morning, Miss Hamil- 
 ton ? " was his first remark at breakfast. 
 
 " I saw you in the garden," she said, approaching the 
 question obliquely. " Hasn't there been a frost ?" 
 
 " Yes, rather," said Martin, " and it's all so fresh and 
 jolly out there." 
 
 " What would it be like in Scotland ?" she asked on a 
 wistfully reflective note. 
 
 " I suppose you are very keen on Scotland," said 
 Martin with a little pang of jealousy. 
 
 She was pouring out the tea and only nodded in reply, 
 so he went on, " But there are some splendid places in 
 England, too, you know. I was born in the Eastern 
 counties, and on a morning like this, you get a wind^off
 
 70 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 the sea and the air is so strong you want to get up at six 
 o'clock and run for miles." 
 
 Margaret did not appear to be listening; she made no 
 answer to this appeal for the recognition of English 
 ideals. 
 
 " I suppose it's chiefly a matter of where one has 
 lived, though," said Martin, willing to admit a qualifi- 
 cation. " Early influences, and things like that." 
 
 " I daresay it is," said Miss Hamilton without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 In the silence that followed, Martin reflected on the 
 awful gulf of unknown life that divided them. Even he, 
 in his twenty -three years, had had considerable diver- 
 sity of experience. He wondered whether she had, 
 perhaps, been the heroine of some tragic episode when 
 she was in Leipzig. He had been in Germany once for 
 six weeks, with a reading party, in the long vacation, 
 and he recalled the atmosphere of Dresden, whither he 
 had gone for the last week in company with one other 
 man, after the Rhine tour was over. Dresden seemed to 
 him, for some reason, more nearly related to Leipzig 
 than any town of Western Germany. He remembered 
 an early morning in September when the air was 
 wonderfully fresh and clear, with a little cold wind 
 coming down the Elbe. His thought of the place was so 
 vivid that he had to find a vent for it in speech. 
 
 " Something in the air made me think of Dresden, 
 this morning," he said. 
 
 " Oh! do you know Dresden?" asked Margaret with 
 a sudden awakening of interest. 
 
 Here, at last, was common ground; moreover, Martin 
 had earned for the first time in their acquaintance a 
 right to be considered as a person of experience. He felt 
 that a sudden weight of years had been added to him by 
 those six weeks in Germany. 
 
 The conversation which had begun so inauspic- 
 iously became alive with interest. It is true that he was 
 still the novitiate, little more than a tourist who had
 
 THE INVADER 71 
 
 caught a brief glimpse of German life from the outside; 
 but he had the material for questions and Margaret 
 could speak from her greater experience with the know- 
 ledge that he would, in part at least, understand. 
 
 She gave him no autobiography; they talked of 
 German places and German people, but here and there 
 he had some vision of her life in Leipzig. It was a relief 
 to him to know that she had lived with a Scotch family 
 there. He learned, also, that she was only nineteen 
 when she began to study singing in Germany, and he 
 gathered that that must have been about eight years 
 ago there was a mention of the opening of the Boer 
 War in her second year. 
 
 The striking of the dining-room clock called his atten- 
 tion to the fact that they were very late that morning. 
 
 " I say, it's nine o'clock !" he said guiltily. He felt 
 slightly culpable, in that he had distracted her from her 
 urgent duty, but the feeling was mixed with one of 
 great satisfaction in the knowledge that he had been 
 able so to divert her attention from the supreme rule of 
 the morning. 
 
 He expected her to receive his announcement with 
 some show of perturbation, but she gave no sign of 
 surprise or alarm. 
 
 " I daresay Robin will be going by the later train 
 this morning," she said. " I don't think he slept very 
 well last night. Didn't he disturb you ?" 
 
 " No," said Martin. " It takes a lot to wake me at 
 night," he explained. 
 
 " Yes, it must," remarked Margaret with an ironical 
 inflexion as she left the room. 
 
 Martin wondered what had happened. 
 
 At ten o'clock he began to grow passionately im- 
 patient for Greg's departure. No sound had come as yet 
 from the room above the study, and it would be impos-
 
 72 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 sible for him, now, to catch the 10.23. Martin hunted 
 out a penny time-table he had seen in one of the drawers 
 of the writing table, and found that the next train, a 
 very slow one, went at 11.5. If Greg was going to catch 
 that, the usual assault upon his door should be begin- 
 ning, but there was an ominous silence on the landing 
 overhead. 
 
 Martin tried to absorb himself in his reading, but his 
 attention was distracted by every sound. Each time he 
 heard footsteps in the hall he believed that, at last, 
 Miss Hamilton or Hester was going up to remind Greg 
 that it was after ten o'clock. If he did not go soon he 
 probably would not go at all. 
 
 Martin frowned, got up and stared out of the win- 
 dow. He was resentful. This was Thursday and there 
 would only be one more free afternoon until Monday, if 
 Greg stayed in all day. Surely he was neglecting his 
 business, whatever it was. He could never get there till 
 nearly eleven and he was usually home again at half- 
 past five short enough hours without taking a whole 
 holiday in the middle of the week. Perhaps he would 
 come down presently and do some work on the book ; he 
 had done nothing so far. And in the afternoon, instead of 
 heavenly music in the other room, there would probably 
 be hymns on that awful harmonium. 
 
 Martin felt that he was being unfairly used. He re- 
 turned to his book with a strong feeling of resentment. 
 He was making up his mind to go for a short walk to 
 clear his thoughts, when he heard the first sounds of 
 life from upstairs. 
 
 The origin of the sound he could not place, but the 
 noise was the same as that he had heard on the first 
 morning of his stay in the house, the noise which he had 
 then compared to the retching of the bath-waste. 
 
 " Funny," murmured Martin, and listened with all 
 his attention. The noise ceased after a few seconds and 
 was followed by a low groan, repeated three or four 
 times.
 
 THE INVADER 73 
 
 " By Jove, I believe he's ill," thought Martin. He put 
 down his book and got up. It was his duty to tell Miss 
 Hamilton at once. 
 
 But before he reached the door he heard a smothered 
 exclamation from the room overhead, followed by the 
 bump of feet on the floor. Then the door was unlocked 
 and he heard Greg's voice shouting fiercely for 
 " Maggie." 
 
 After that there was commotion. Apparently Greg was 
 getting up and wanted hot water immediately, but 
 when he came downstairs a quarter of an hour later it 
 was quite evident that he had not shaved. He was 
 worse tempered even than usual, and muttered and 
 grumbled to himself as he put on his overcoat. He took 
 not the least notice of Martin, who stood at the door of 
 the study waiting to offer him assistance. 
 
 The final slam of the door shook the house. 
 
 Martin went out into the lobby and replaced the key 
 in the lock. Miss Hamilton had not been present as 
 usual at the last desperate combination of efforts, but as 
 Martin returned to the hall, she came out of the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " Mr Greg's gone," said Martin, looking at his watch. 
 " I think he'll just catch the 11.5. I thought he was 
 looking very ill this morning." 
 
 Margaret looked at him suspiciously. " What do you 
 mean ?" she asked. " What do you think was the matter 
 with him?" 
 
 " Oh ! I have no idea," he said frankly. " I thought he 
 looked rather seedy, that's all. Perhaps it was because 
 he hadn't shaved." 
 
 "Oh! very likely," she replied, and turned away. 
 Martin received the impression that she was displeased 
 with him about something; but could think of no way in 
 which he might have offended her. 
 
 It was some time before he could settle down to his 
 work. 
 
 The house had been impatient and resentful that
 
 74 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 morning. Garroch had suffered terrible qualms, in /ear 
 that it might be deprived of its few hours of rest. 
 
 Biddie was naughty at lunch and afforded Martin 
 another object lesson in tactics, by which he failed to 
 profit. She had no specific grievance on this occasion, 
 but the temptation to push her glass of water on to the 
 floor was too strong for her. 
 
 The first attempt was thwarted and gently reproved, 
 but when the two grown-up people talked to each other 
 and took no notice of her, Biddie began to crave for 
 excitement. The second experiment was magnificently 
 successful the glass smashed in a most gratifying way. 
 Biddie blinked, pursed her mouth and stared at her 
 aunt with an expression which said, " Now what are you 
 going to do?" 
 
 For a moment the issue was in doubt. Margaret was 
 very angry. She pushed back her chair and the flash of 
 her eyes portended immediate corporal punishment. 
 Biddie did not wait for that portent to mature. She 
 slipped off her chair, ran to her aunt, climbed into her 
 lap, threw her arms round her neck and hid her face on 
 her breast. She did not cry but she clung tightly. 
 
 " Oh ! Biddie, how naughty you are ! " said Margaret, 
 all thought of smacking entirely dissipated by this at- 
 tack. She looked at Martin over Biddie's head, with a 
 whimsical expression of perplexity. 
 
 He smiled in return, signifying how impossible it was 
 to reprove Biddie. Margaret's weakness appeared to 
 him as divine compassion. 
 
 The incident was closed by Biddie's voluntary offer 
 to be good. Hester was rung for to mop up the water and 
 pick up the pieces of broken glass, and Biddie was given 
 more attention until the rosy-cheeked, black-haired 
 " Nanna " came to take her upstairs.
 
 THE INVADER 75 
 
 The other two sat on over the luncheon table for a 
 few minutes after Biddie had gone a new precedent 
 but the interest of casual conversation about Dresden 
 had nearly evaporated, and when it came to a choice 
 between a new topic or departure, Margaret got to her 
 feet. 
 
 There was still a question to be asked, and while Mar- 
 tin was hesitating to frame it, she anticipated him. 
 
 "I'm going out this afternoon to see some friends of 
 mine who live about a mile away," she said. " Don't you 
 think it would do you good for a change to take a long 
 walk ? You aren't getting any exercise." 
 
 Martin agreed. He was keenly disappointed, but he 
 found some little comfort in her thought for his welfare. 
 
 And the latter part of the day was to bring him other 
 compensations. The walk undoubtedly did him good. 
 He soon found comparatively open country, hills and 
 woods and narrow lanes, where he could lift his face to 
 the sky again, and open his lungs. His dreams were 
 chiefly of patient service ; of deeds of protection rather 
 than rescue. Not once did he put the queen he served 
 in any position that could detract from her dignity. He 
 stood between her and the coarse world, and asked for 
 no reward save that he might continue his service. He 
 was so fervently earnest that he never once smiled at 
 his own enthusiasm, nor realized that his dreams were 
 not practical. 
 
 Greg was late again. 
 
 Margaret came into the study at half-past seven to 
 ask if he had come in, but it was quite evident that she 
 already knew the answer to her question . She had changed 
 her dress, and was wearing a dark grey gown that Mar- 
 tin had not seen before. She had a strong well-developed 
 figure and the dress suited her far better than any varia- 
 tion of the blouse and skirt arrangement she had worn 
 since the night of her arrival. 
 
 She went and stood by the mantelpiece, her hands 
 clasped behind her, facing Martin across the writing
 
 76 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 table. The neck of her gown was cut in a little V at the 
 throat, and she seemed to be standing on a platform 
 waiting to sing. 
 
 " I suppose we had better wait," she said. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I suppose so," said Martin. " Do you think 
 he has been kept in the City again ? He was very late 
 going up this morning, of course." 
 
 She smiled rather bitterly. " Perhaps Mr Andrew has 
 been making more muddles," she said. 
 
 Martin was confused. He could not misread the irony 
 either of her smile or her remark, and they consti- 
 tuted the beginning of a confidence which he felt unable 
 to meet. The mystery which surrounded Greg had sud- 
 denly thickened; and this doubt of his integrity coming 
 from Margaret revived all Martin's original wonder 
 and questions. 
 
 He dropped his eyes and played with a pencil, 
 making a device of dots on the blotting pad. He did not 
 want to continue the subject of Greg; he was aware for 
 the first time that he was afraid to inquire too closely 
 into the man's secret life; aware of something he did not 
 want to explore. A vague suggestion that was curiously 
 intimidating had come to him : a suggestion that Greg 
 was not quite sane. He loomed terrifying and mysterious 
 as a power for mischief or violence. What was it that had 
 happened in the night when Martin had been so bru- 
 tishly asleep? He did not dare to ask. And through 
 every emotion of wonder and fear ran a recognizable 
 current of loyalty, of admiration, of something that 
 was almost akin to liking. 
 
 " I'm afraid Mr Greg has a very trying time in some 
 ways," said Martin, "a lot of responsibility and that 
 sort of thing. I'm sure he's frightfully worried just 
 now." He kept his eyes fixed on the pattern he so meth- 
 odically pricked on the blotting paper. He did not see 
 that Margaret was moved by his defence, emotionally 
 stirred by a quick admiration for his loyalty, however 
 uninformed of the truth. When he looked up, she had her
 
 THE INVADER 77 
 
 back to him, her forehead leaning on her arms crossed 
 on the edge of the rather high mantelpiece. 
 
 " Poor old Robin !" she murmured, and for some time 
 no other words passed between them. 
 
 It was Hester who broke the rather constrained 
 silence. " I've takken in the meat," she announced, 
 " you'll no be waitin' any longer." 
 
 At dinner Margaret displayed a new interest in the 
 Socialism book, asking questions which Martin was not 
 always competent to answer. She smiled at his admir- 
 ation for her knowledge. " You're wondering how I 
 come to know so much about it," she said. 
 
 " You must have read a lot," he admitted. " I think 
 you know much more about it than I do." 
 
 She laughed and shook her head. " I pick up things 
 very quickly," she said, " but quite superficially. And 
 when I was here last summer Robin and I used to talk 
 about the book in the evenings and I used to read up a 
 little during the day, and mark passages for him." 
 
 " Why didn't you and he write the book together?" 
 asked Martin. He did not care to think of those long 
 intimate talks night after night with Greg. 
 
 " We were going to," said Margaret, " and then I had 
 a sort of breakdown and had to go away." 
 
 " Were you here long ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Five months," she told him, and added, " I only 
 went away at the beginning of September." 
 
 " I had no idea you'd stayed here before," he said 
 weakly. He wanted eagerly to change the subject. He 
 felt again that he was on the verge of exploring that 
 obscure, indefinably repellent country upon whose bor- 
 ders he had so carelessly walked. For a moment he had a 
 return of that first compelling desire to escape while 
 there was still time; unconsciously he listened for the 
 signal of that fretful gate
 
 78 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He made a strong effort and plunged back into 
 Socialism. " I think I shall begin to get something down 
 on paper to-morrow," he said, and began to explain the 
 general plan of the first three chapters. 
 
 Margaret listened sympathetically. 
 
 After dinner they went into the study, and presently 
 Martin found himself talking of his own affairs, his boy- 
 hood, his days at Cambridge and progressively of his 
 ambitions for the future. 
 
 Now and again he interrupted his story to protest 
 that she must be bored. But her reassurance rang so 
 true that he was instantly convinced of her interest. 
 Indeed, her interest was so marked that he felt a little 
 puzzled. He did not guess that she was seeking distrac- 
 tion from her own thoughts, and that while she listened 
 and prompted him with continual questions, her atten- 
 tion was strained to catch the sound she had been 
 expecting for the past two hours. 
 
 It was not until half -past ten that the expected signal 
 was given, and it was fainter than usual to-night as if 
 the latch-key were turned furtively and with less than 
 the usual vigour. 
 
 " Here he is," said Martin, breaking off in the middle 
 of a sentence. 
 
 " Yes !" returned Margaret. Her eyebrows were 
 drawn together and she made a tentative movement of 
 her hand as if to ask for silence. Her whole attitude 
 expressed both weariness and strain. 
 
 Martin heard Greg come quietly into the hall and go 
 straight upstairs without pausing to take off his overcoat. 
 
 Margaret got up quickly. 
 
 " You had better go to bed now," she said. " I will 
 get him anything he wants when he comes down. I 
 heard Hester go up half an hour ago." 
 
 "But., ."began Martin. 
 
 " He is sure to be tired," said Margaret. " I would 
 sooner you went, please." Her tone left him in no doubt 
 of the sincerity of her wish, but still he hesitated.
 
 THE INVADER 79 
 
 " Are you going to sit up ?" he asked. 
 
 " No !" said Margaret sharply. Then she looked at him 
 and her face softened. " Oh ! you dear funny boy," she 
 said, " will you please do what I ask you ?" 
 
 " Is it all right ?" he asked. 
 
 " Why, of course it's all right," she said smiling. 
 " Why shouldn't it be?" 
 
 He obeyed her against his inclination. He wished that 
 she would lock herself into her room and let him sleep on 
 the mat outside her door. If he might have done that 
 his happiness would have been complete. But in time 
 he was certain, now, that she would accept his offer of 
 humble service. That was a wonderful, ecstatic thought 
 to sustain him through the time of waiting. One thing 
 he had quite decided, he would not go to bed until she 
 had come upstairs. 
 
 It was so cold in his room that he shut the window. 
 He had heard Greg go downstairs and his voice and 
 Miss Hamilton's in the hall, but since then there had 
 been silence. From his bedroom, Martin could hear 
 nothing of what passed in the study. He sat huddled in 
 a travelling rug, his door slightly ajar, and listened. It 
 was nearly one o'clock. 
 
 And at last he heard the study door open. He strug- 
 gled out of his rug and stood up. He distinctly heard 
 Greg's voice saying loudly, "Ye're makkin' a great 
 mistake, Maggie," and then the closing of the study 
 door. 
 
 Margaret was coming slowly upstairs. 
 
 He waited until she had reached the landing and then 
 went out. 
 
 " I say, is anything the matter? Can I be of any 
 use?" he asked. By the light that came through his 
 open door, he could see that she was crying. 
 
 She shook her head. " No, no, it's all right," she said. 
 " Good night." 
 
 She went into her own room and he heard her lock the 
 door. That, at least, brought him a sense of relief.
 
 80 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He did not sleep as heavily as usual that night, and a 
 little after three he woke from a dream of persecution to 
 a realization of strange noises on the staircase. He 
 jumped out of bed and opened the door. Something or 
 someone was making extraordinary noises between 
 grunting and singing, accompanying the performance 
 by a continual thumping on the floor. 
 
 Martin switched on the landing light and saw Greg 
 coming upstairs on his hands and knees. 
 
 He looked up when Martin turned on the light. 
 " Whisht ! man, dinna mak sic a fuss," he said. " Ye're 
 drunk, man, ye're drunk, I tell ye." He crawled up 
 another stair and began to sing. 
 
 " Here! Come out of that," said Martin. It was not 
 what he intended to say, but it served as an adjuration. 
 He went down half a dozen stairs and tried to lift Greg 
 to his feet. 
 
 " Whisht, noo, steady, mon, steady," said Greg with 
 a silly laugh. " Ye'll hae me down, if ye're no carefu'. 
 Ye've no heid for the liquor, mon, none at a'. Let me 
 get a hold o' ye or ye'll fa' and hurt yesel'." 
 
 By the exercise of considerable patience, Martin got 
 hun into his own room at last. 
 
 " Eh ! mon, dinna gang," roared Greg as Martin left 
 the room. " Ye're gey entertainin' the nicht." 
 
 Margaret had given no sign that she was awake.
 
 VII. THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG. 
 
 MARGARET did not come down to breakfast next 
 morning. 
 
 " By the way, did I leave the light on the landing last 
 night," Martin asked Hester when she had told him 
 that he was to have breakfast alone. The memory of 
 that light had been his first waking thought. He had got 
 up at seven o'clock and looked out, but the light had 
 been turned off then. 
 
 " Och ! it was you, was it ?" said Hester. " I thocht it 
 would be Mister Greg. It'll not be the first time by 
 many." 
 
 Without doubt Hester knew. She must have heard 
 the noise on the stairs. Martin felt ashamed for Greg. 
 The whole affair had been disgraceful, repugnant. If the 
 man had been quiet and decent about it and had not 
 waked every member of the household, it would not have 
 mattered so much. After he had returned to his own 
 room last night, Martin had had a recollection of Bid- 
 die's crying on the second floor. He had not noticed it at 
 the time. 
 
 He wondered if Greg's attacks were periodic or 
 whether this were an exceptional outbreak induced by 
 financial and business worries ? 
 
 Martin had never come into actual contact with 
 drunkenness. He had heard it discussed at some length 
 during the six months he had spent at the Seton- 
 Mallory Settlement in Camden Town, after he had first 
 come down from Cambridge, but the subject had not 
 touched him closely. He had been inclined to agree 
 with those of the residents who attributed the evil to 
 social conditions. They used to say that drunkenness was
 
 82 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 only a symptom with which it was useless to tamper, 
 and that the root evil of poverty and unemployment 
 was the thing upon which to concentrate one's ener- 
 gies. He had regarded the others, all those who rallied 
 round Cecil Barker and quoted him far too often as 
 fanatics, obsessed with an idea. Barker himself was a 
 splendid fellow, of course; but even he must have been 
 somewhat prejudiced by over thirty years devoted to a 
 poor parish in Camden Town. And the present case only 
 served to strengthen Martin in his opinion. Among the 
 middle classes an analogy to the discomforts of poverty 
 was found in business worry or other pressing difficul- 
 ties. A man drank to forget his trouble. 
 
 Martin was satisfied with his explanation and was 
 willing to believe that the mystery he had been afraid to 
 explore was partly dissipated by this solution. He 
 applied his theory to the facts that had so far come 
 under his notice, and on the whole the result appeared 
 satisfactory. 
 
 " Poor old chap, we must get him out of that habit," 
 thought Martin. He was quite unaware that he had 
 already taken sides against Greg; he did not realize that 
 at that very moment he was anxiously wondering 
 whether Greg would be equal to going up to the City 
 that day. 
 
 He remembered that Cecil Barker had what he be- 
 lieved to be a wonderful specific for drunkenness, a 
 patent drug; probably something you took when the 
 temptation to drink grew too strong to be resisted. 
 
 The only element in the affair which seemed to Mar- 
 tin at once serious and disgusting, was what he sup- 
 posed to be the cool deliberation of Greg's outbreak. 
 The man had a tremendous will ; there could be no doubt 
 that he was able to resist the temptation if he wished; 
 he must have calmly and with intention set out to get 
 drunk. 
 
 Martin's face expressed his fastidious contempt for 
 such beastliness; he found something typically Scotch
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 83 
 
 about it; he had a strong reaction against the glorifi- 
 cation of drunkenness on the music hall stage by a well- 
 known Scotch comedian he had seen a few weeks ago. 
 If some of those who found the man so amusing had to 
 live with it, he thought, if they had seen Greg last night 
 coming upstairs on his hands and knees, they might find 
 that in the fact, drunkenness was anything but a subject 
 for laughter. 
 
 The day passed slowly. At half-past ten or there- 
 abouts, came a repetition of those horrible sounds from 
 the room over the study, but Martin was no longer in 
 doubt as to their origin. He wrinkled his face into an 
 expression of disgust he was very conscious of his own 
 cleanliness that day. This morning, however, no ex- 
 clamation of surprise followed; the sounds ceased and a 
 tense quietness reigned again. The house was to have no 
 respite as yet. 
 
 Lunchtime came at last, but the presence of Biddie 
 stopped any allusion to the events of the night before. 
 Margaret looked pale and tired, and kept her eyes 
 averted from Martin's glance. 
 
 When the nurse came to fetch Biddie, Martin hoped 
 that the precedent of yesterday's making might be 
 strengthened and that he and Margaret might sit on and 
 talk for a few minutes not necessarily about Greg, as 
 he mentally qualified his wish. But Margaret got up at 
 once and Martin made no attempt to detain her. He 
 thought she was going out without speaking, but she 
 stopped him as he was about to open the door for her. 
 
 " He's speaking at a political meeting to-night," she 
 said quickly in a low voice. " He will be going about six, 
 if he's well enough." She hesitated and framed a letter 
 with her lips, but changed her mind and said " I must 
 go, now." 
 
 G2
 
 84 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin was sure she had been about to say " We." 
 But even without the further expression she had said 
 enough. She had taken him into her confidence; had for 
 all intents and purposes made an assignation with him. 
 She had crossed over to his side. He was no longer a 
 stranger, an outsider, cut off from all intimacy with the 
 household; he had become an essential actor, a necessary 
 participant in the drama. And little as he had wished to 
 play a part in that drama for its own sake, this co-opera- 
 tion now gave a new value to its every aspect. He found 
 here the great opportunity which a few hours ago had 
 been but a vain dream ; the opportunity to devote him- 
 self, however humbly, to this wonderful incarnation of 
 womanhood, to be of service to her, perhaps to shield 
 her from pain and anxiety. 
 
 He could not endure the confinement of the house. 
 That faintly sour, pungent smell had returned; it was in 
 the study, it crept out from under Greg's door, it per- 
 vaded the landing and drifted down the stairs. He threw 
 open the garden door and every transome light in the 
 study, and went out into the thin drizzle of the Novem- 
 ber afternoon. 
 
 All had been quiet upstairs ; he would go for a long 
 glorious walk made beautiful by the thought of an even- 
 ing alone with Margaret. 
 
 If Greg were well enough to go, she had said. 
 
 But it was hardly likely that he would break an impor- 
 tant political engagement, Martin argued, and put the 
 fear away from him. 
 
 Nevertheless when he returned invigorated to the 
 newly-cleansed air of the study, and had finished his 
 lonely tea, he became oppressed with a sickening 
 dread. The house had closed in about him; he was no 
 longer master of his emotions as he had been outside it. 
 
 He looked constantly at his watch; he could not sit 
 still ; he paced the room, or stared out into the darkness 
 of the garden. He was irritable at one moment and de- 
 pressed the next. It seemed to him the most important
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 85 
 
 thing in his whole life that Greg should attend that 
 meeting. 
 
 Already it was twenty minutes past five and Mar- 
 garet had said that he should leave the house at six. He 
 was malingering, skulking. Perhaps he had already sent 
 a telegram to say that he was unwell. 
 
 In his impatience, Martin could almost have re- 
 proached Margaret for keeping him in ignorance of 
 what was going on. She might have come in for a moment 
 and told him if the engagement had been cancelled. 
 
 He thought he heard her footstep outside and he 
 crossed the room and opened the study door. 
 
 She was just going upstairs, but she put up her hand 
 as a signal to him not to speak. He frowned at the re- 
 straint, but obeyed her, as he would have obeyed any 
 wish of hers. 
 
 He remained watching her until she was out of sight, 
 and then he heard her tap at Greg's door. 
 
 " Are you going to the meeting, Robin?" he heard 
 her say, " or shall I get Hester to send a telegram ?" 
 
 Martin reflected that he would not have displayed 
 that tempting alternative. 
 
 The question was answered by mutterings from with- 
 in the room, but Martin could not comprehend their 
 purport. 
 
 He waited, tensely anxious, for Margaret to speak 
 again. 
 
 "Oh! very well!" he heard her say, an ambiguity 
 that left him more impatient than ever. 
 
 He waited, and in a moment Margaret came into sight 
 again on the staircase. 
 
 He lifted his eyebrows and looked the question she 
 had not yet given him permission to speak. 
 
 She frowned slightly and nodded as she passed him 
 on the way to the kitchen. 
 
 He returned to the study full of elation, not only in 
 the fact that Greg was going he heard him out of bed, 
 now, moving about the room but also, and still more,
 
 86 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 in the knowledge that she and he understood one 
 another; they were friends, united by a common pur- 
 pose and understanding. 
 
 Greg came into the study at half -past six. He was in 
 evening dress, and still fumbling with his bow. 
 
 " Here, can ye manage this infernal thing ?" he asked. 
 " Maggie's no hand at it." 
 
 Martin neatly tied the bow for him. 
 
 Greg seemed in good spirits. " I haven't made a note 
 of any sort." he said in a humorously deprecating tone, 
 " and I'll have to learn my peroration in the cab; or use 
 an old one. It's the most important part of a speech, 
 the peroration." 
 
 He left the house with a laugh. 
 
 Margaret wore her grey gown again that evening. 
 She did not come into the study before dinner, and 
 throughout the meal her manner was a little con- 
 strained. She talked almost exclusively of her brother- 
 in-law, and his gifts as a public speaker, and she gave 
 instances of his readiness and wit in replying to heck- 
 lers. From that she went on to particulars of the meet- 
 ing he had now gone to address; a local affair in North 
 London, but Lord Coleman was taking the chair, and 
 the speeches would be reported in the Liberal morning 
 papers. A by-election would almost certainly be coming 
 on in the constituency within the next few months, and 
 the seat was regarded as an important one. All that she 
 said tended to the glorification of Greg and she finished 
 by saying with some show of enthusiasm, 
 
 " He may do anything. . . " 
 
 But she manifestly hesitated, framing the contingent 
 she had not spoken. 
 
 " Yes, I'm sure he may," returned Martin. He was 
 still under the influence of the scene of last night. He
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 87 
 
 could not harmonize the picture of the brilliant young 
 politician with his vision of the obscene thing that had 
 crawled up the staircase. And he was conscious of feel- 
 ing checked, thwarted. He had stood at the gates of 
 confidence, and now they were drawn against him. He 
 was an alien, alone in a foreign country, suspect, and in 
 no circumstances to be trusted with the secrets of the 
 family with whom he temporarily lived. 
 
 " I wonder Mr Greg didn't tell me anything about the 
 meeting," he said. " I might have made some notes for 
 him perhaps." 
 
 " Oh ! he'll do very well," said Margaret. " One of the 
 best speeches I ever heard him deliver was given on the 
 spur of the moment, without any preparation at all." 
 
 "What did he do about the peroration?" asked 
 Martin. " Did he use an old one ?" 
 
 She looked up at him with a touch of surprise. " What 
 made you ask that ?" she said. 
 
 " Oh ! he was saying just before he went that he 
 would have to use an old peroration to-night," returned 
 Martin. 
 
 " Yes, of course," said Margaret vaguely. " Perhaps 
 he did." 
 
 He was afraid, at last, that she was not coming into 
 the study after dinner. She said something about 
 writing letters, and her tone suggested that they would 
 not meet again that evening. They were standing up 
 then, and Martin was between her and the door. He 
 could not face that solitude in his present mood ; he pic- 
 tured himself alone with the feeling that for some quite 
 inexplicable reason he had suddenly lost all that he had 
 had good reason to believe he had gained. He tried to 
 make a big effort, but the words would not come; he was 
 afraid of presuming too far on that implicit confidence 
 she had given him ; and he saw the danger of ambiguity : 
 she might think he was attempting a familiarity for 
 which he had no warrant. 
 
 " Aren't you coming into the study at all to-night,
 
 88 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 then?" he asked desperately, and tried not to com- 
 promise the formality of his phrase by too urgent a note 
 of petition. 
 
 " I may come later," she said. " When I get my 
 letters done if it's not too late," At each phrase she 
 dropped her voice, as if aware of the futility of every 
 added excuse. 
 
 " I want to talk to you about Mr Greg," said Martin 
 boldly; her timidity and evasions gave him courage. It 
 was her cold voice and high air that intimidated and 
 quenched him. 
 
 " Oh! no," she said, suddenly putting aside all pre- 
 tences. " Can't you see how impossible it is ? How can I 
 talk to you about Robin ?" 
 
 " If you can't trust me, I ought not to stay here," he 
 said. 
 
 " What is it you want to know ?" she asked. " Haven't 
 you seen enough ? You have only to tell Mr Waterhouse 
 what you've seen already and Robin will be damned." 
 
 "Oh! good Lord!" ejaculated Martin. "Oh! surely 
 you don't think... Oh! of course, if you can think 
 things like that..." He could not finish a sentence. 
 He was less angry than shocked. What could he have 
 done to give her so mean an opinion of him ? 
 
 She drew in her breath quickly as if she had just 
 avoided stepping on some live thing in her path. " Oh ! 
 Mr Bond, I'm sorry." she said. " But you don't know 
 how difficult it has been, how terribly difficult it is. 
 And how could I know ?" 
 
 " But I want to help," he said. " I want to help you 
 and Mr Greg. Oh ! I want to help, frightfully. Don't you 
 think I could ? A little ? Even if it were ever so little ?" 
 
 " Let us go into the study," she said, soothing him. 
 
 4 
 
 And it was there, sitting over the fire, that she began 
 her explanation by telling him that she had trusted him
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 89 
 
 instinctively from the first. " Yes, even after that first 
 Saturday night," she said and looked at him, expecting 
 the wince he inevitably gave. 
 
 She checked his apologies. " I know, I know," she 
 said. " I was a fool not to trust my intuition, I am never 
 wrong. But there is something about this place that 
 possesses one, makes one always suspicious. Oh! yes, 
 I've been suspecting you. I believed you were Mr Water- 
 house's spy, and so did Robin before he saw you. But he 
 was cleverer than I have been. He's been standing up 
 for you to me. He said last night that he wouldn't trust 
 Waterhouse, but he would trust you anywhere. He 
 said ..." She hesitated and went on, " He said you were 
 clean right through." In her mind she was disagreeing 
 violently with Greg's qualification that Martin was "a 
 bit of a fool." " He likes you," she said, " and Robin's a 
 staunch friend. He never goes back on a man whatever 
 he does." 
 
 Martin's emotions were deeply stirred. He could 
 hardly trust himself to speak. Inwardly he was elabor- 
 ating beyond all reason that terse unexpected summary 
 of Greg's. Again and again, he thought, despite the 
 lessons he had received, he allowed himself to form 
 biassed, absurd judgments. 
 
 " Oh ! and I like him, too, awfully," he said. " I'd do 
 anything in the world I can to help him and you. I 
 would, really." 
 
 " I wonder if you could," said Margaret thoughtfully. 
 
 " Won't you let me try!" returned Martin almost in 
 a whisper. 
 
 For a few seconds they sat in silence, and then Mar- 
 garet said: " Do you think you understand what the 
 trouble really is?" 
 
 " I suppose he has outbreaks, sometimes, like last 
 night," hesitated Martin, " and and won't bother to 
 fight them. I thought ..." 
 
 She drew a long breath of amazement. " You thought 
 that was all ?" she asked.
 
 90 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 That dark, mysterious, terrifying country was open- 
 ing again before him, but he no longer shrank from the 
 adventure. He was pledged, and more than that, he had 
 a high mission. He was a true and perfect knight on his 
 lady's service. He was in quest of the Holy Grail. Be- 
 yond the terrors of haunted country, he thought to find 
 a great friendship, to earn the everlasting gratitude of 
 the man he went out to save, to receive ultimate 
 bliss the thanks and admiration of his wonderful 
 Queen. 
 
 Did ever man have a nobler task ? 
 
 " Can't you tell me everything?" he said. " I feel so 
 sure that I could help you." 
 
 " It began years and years ago," she told him, " be- 
 fore he came to London. He was so brilliant, so clever. 
 When he was twenty-three he was editing a weekly 
 paper in Aberdeen, and he used to go all over the country 
 speaking at public meetings. His people were so proud 
 of him, and so were we. They lived quite near us and we 
 used to see him often. I was only eighteen then it was 
 before I went to Germany. Elsie, my sister, you know, 
 was a year younger than I am. It was her he came to see, 
 of course, but we didn't know that at first; my mother 
 used sometimes to tease me about him. 
 
 " I was in Leipzig when they got engaged, and I and 
 every one were tremendously pleased about it. We none 
 of us had the least suspicion that everything wasn't 
 perfectly all right. 
 
 " I was at home for the Sommerfarien, when the 
 trouble began to show. They had had suspicions for 
 a month or two; all except Elsie. My mother and his 
 people had never said anything to her and she hadn't 
 the least idea. And there never was any open scandal. 
 It might have gone on for years, perhaps, if he had not
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 91 
 
 got ill, but then, of course, the doctor and his family 
 found out all about it." 
 
 " Do you mean that he used to drink then?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 " Terribly, I believe. More or less secretly, you know. 
 It's in his family on his mother's side. He used to drink 
 at the club and in the office, too, but not very much. 
 It was at home, in his own room, that he really did the 
 mischief. Steady drinking, you know, every day, day 
 after day, and he was so clever over it, that even his own 
 mother hadn't the least idea how bad it was, till he got ill. 
 
 " They thought he was going to die. He was in bed for 
 weeks; but when he was getting a little better, he 
 wanted Elsie to know. They had kept it from her all 
 that time. And I had to tell her. She wouldn't believe it, 
 poor darling, for ever so long. She thought I was jealous 
 and was trying to put her against him. And then 
 mother came in. But Elsie was splendid when we did 
 convince her in the end. She sent a message to him that 
 he was to make haste and get well so that they could get 
 married at once. She had absolute faith in him; she was 
 certain that he would get over it. I wasn't. We were all 
 of us doubtful about that. We thought he would never 
 be safe again, ever. 
 
 " But he convinced us. Oh ! he was fine, then, fine. 
 He came over to see Elsie as soon as he was able to get 
 about, and he told her that he wouldn't trust himself for 
 two years. She was ready and eager to marry him at 
 once, but he wouldn't, although he was desperately in 
 love with her. It must have been that that helped him 
 so well, that and his having been kept away from any 
 possible temptation for two months. And he has tre- 
 mendous determination. When he's himself he can do 
 anything with anybody, and with himself too. Just 
 imagine that he went right away for a whole year, to a 
 little island in the Shetlands where there was no chance 
 of his getting anything to drink. He wrote a book on 
 economics up there.
 
 92 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " When he came back, he was sure of himself again, 
 but he wouldn't stay in Aberdeen, and even then he 
 wouldn't marry Elsie until he had made some sort of a 
 position for her. He came up to London, he had a little 
 money of his own, and in a year he was able to come 
 back and marry her. He is wonderfully clever in busi- 
 ness, you know, as well as at other things, and after he 
 had been working with his firm for nine months they 
 were willing to take him into partnership. His father 
 lent him the money for it, I forget how much it was 
 three or four thousand pounds, I think. Robin pays 
 interest on some of it still. 
 
 " Well, he and Elsie were married and they were very, 
 very happy. They were devoted to each other, and then 
 Biddie came, and Robin was doing splendidly in the 
 City; and he had never touched a drop of alcohol for 
 four years. 
 
 " And then he took up politics and worked tremen- 
 dously hard for the party at one or two by-elections. 
 He was doing splendid work for them and every one was 
 talking of him as the coming man, and said he was safe 
 for a seat at the next election, but his health broke down. 
 It wasn't very much, nervous exhaustion of some sort, 
 you know; he isn't very strong physically; and he went 
 to a local doctor somewhere who didn't know his family 
 record, and advised him amongst other things to take 
 stout. 
 
 " Well, neither Robin nor Elsie had any qualms about 
 it. They thought he was absolutely safe, then, and he, 
 of course, always had tremendous confidence in him- 
 self. But it was all over from that time. It began very, 
 very gradually at first, I believe; so gradually that 
 Elsie herself hardly knew when it was becoming serious 
 again. She tried to fight it, she went on fighting it right 
 to the end, but it was hopeless, hopeless, hopeless. He 
 only laughed at her, and refused to take it seriously and 
 said she was making a fuss about nothing, just as he did 
 to me last night. Poor darling, she was so glad to die in
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 93 
 
 the end, so terribly, horribly glad. Even the thought of 
 Biddie could not make her wish to live. Poor little 
 Elsie, she . . ." 
 
 Margaret could not go on. Martin got up and turned 
 his back, glad enough of an excuse to hide his own face. 
 
 He stood for some time by the window, staring at his 
 own reflection in the uncurtained glass panel of the gar- 
 den door. He was stirred by great emotions and 
 resolves, willing to sink every personal ambition and 
 motive in his eagerness to save Robin Greg. All else 
 seemed little and worthless in comparison. 
 
 Margaret was the first to speak. " Mr Bond," she said 
 softly. 
 
 He turned and came back to the fire. He was suddenly 
 conscious of feeling cold, as he had been after he had 
 heard Margaret sing. 
 
 " So you see how difficult it is," she said. 
 
 " But he pulled up before," returned Martin, full of 
 hope. 
 
 She frowned and looked down at her hands. " Do you 
 know why I think he was able to before?" she asked. 
 " Just because he was kept in bed for six weeks, because 
 he was too ill to trick them or evade them. That six 
 weeks' rest gave him back control." 
 
 " But he isn't drinking regularly now," put in 
 Martin. 
 
 She looked up at him and smiled. " He hasn't been 
 really sober since I came," she said. " Oh ! I know," she 
 went on, seeing the look of doubt on Martin's face. 
 " Oh ! do you think I don't know ! The different man he 
 is when he's not drinking. You've never seen Robin, he's 
 another man altogether." 
 
 She paused a moment and then said, " It's a pity 
 you're not more intuitive."
 
 94 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He started slightly. " I suppose I'm not intuitive," 
 he remarked ; the thought had never occurred to him 
 before. 
 
 " Oh! you're not," said Margaret smiling. "Not the 
 least bit in the world. And you're making it so hard for 
 me to make you understand. But don't you think you 
 could just make up your mind to trust me ? I do know. 
 I was here two months before Elsie died, and I was here 
 alone with him and Biddie for five months last summer, 
 and I do know. Couldn't you try and believe that every 
 word I tell you is just the bare truth ?" 
 
 Martin blushed. " I do, Miss Hamilton, really I do," 
 he protested. " I I would sooner trust you than any- 
 body else in the world. I admit it's a little difficult for 
 me to grasp all the facts, but that's because I am such a 
 blundering idiot ; it isn't because I doubt you. I couldn't 
 possibly do that." 
 
 " Very well, then," she said. " please will you try and 
 ' grasp the fact ' that for the past two years Robin has 
 hardly ever been decently sober." 
 
 " Good God," whispered Martin. 
 
 " And, also, that only those who know him as well as 
 I do would ever guess when he's drunk. Last night was 
 an exception. In the ordinary way he would pass as 
 sober anywhere. They'll probably never guess at the 
 meeting to-night that he's been drinking steadily ever 
 since he woke at half-past ten this morning." 
 
 " Up in his room ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Well, of course," returned Margaret dryly. " He 
 always begins the moment he wakes. He has to." 
 
 Martin remembered his own symptoms on that first 
 Sunday morning and decided that the very thought of 
 whisky would have made him sick. To him, then, 
 whisky had seemed loathsome, physically nauseating. 
 No ! He must admit that this thing was quite outside 
 his experience. He must simply believe Margaret with- 
 out question. 
 
 " I always know by his eyes," went on Margaret
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 95 
 
 " He gets a queer, defensive, cunning look, as if he were 
 trying to dodge you. And, of course, there are heaps of 
 other things. He's up to every sort of trick when he's 
 like this. He keeps on pretending all the time, and he'll 
 never admit it. Last night oh! well, never mind; the 
 thing is, do you think you can do anything ? I know / 
 can't. I've tried everything I know; and he's always 
 been too strong and too clever for me. And he hates me 
 when he's drinking, hates me, hates me. He tried so hard 
 to get me out of the house last summer, but I held on as 
 long as I could for Biddie's sake." She shuddered. " I 
 held on until I thought I was going mad. Do you remem- 
 ber how hot it was in August ? I began to see things 
 I have the gift of second sight, you know. I was so run 
 down and exhausted." 
 
 " What sort of things?" asked Martin with a little 
 shiver. 
 
 She shook her head. " I used to call them the ' drink 
 devils,' " she said. " We won't talk about that. I used to 
 see Elsie, too, and that helped a little, but she never 
 came inhere." 
 
 " I didn't know this house was haunted," said Martin 
 foolishly. He was trying to be cheerful and to avoid an 
 insane desire to look over his shoulder. 
 
 " Oh ! all houses are," remarked Margaret. 
 
 " I see," said Martin, groping in his mind for an ex- 
 planation of that large statement. 
 
 " The thing we are supposed to be discussing," said 
 Margaret, " is what you think you can do. I may tell 
 you that I have one threat, only one, that I can hold over 
 him. I can threaten to tell his family. Even when he is at 
 his worst that frightens him a little. Only what good 
 would it do ? They would have him put into a home and 
 take Biddie away, and they would never forgive him. 
 I believe it would be the end of everything for Robin, if 
 I did tell them." 
 
 " Has he ever tried a cure ?" asked Martin, " a patent 
 cure, I mean. There was a parson who used to come to
 
 96 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 the Settlement a lot, an awfully good fellow, who has a 
 cure that he swears by. He's been running it for twenty 
 years now ; and I've seen lists and lists of cures that have 
 been treated under his supervision and hardly any of 
 them have relapsed." 
 
 " Would Robin have to go into a home, or is it one of 
 those things you can give to people without their know- 
 ing?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " No, I'm sure you don't have to go into a home," said 
 Martin, " but I'm not certain about the other thing. I 
 have a sort of memory of hearing Mr Barker say that the 
 patient must be willing. I could easily find out. I'll go 
 to-morrow morning, if you think it's worth while, and 
 see Mr Barker himself." 
 
 " I think it might be worth while to find out about 
 it," said Margaret with a slight access of hopefulness. 
 
 She foresaw another of those terrible, hitherto hope- 
 less, struggles, she knew so well ; and the thought of it 
 made her feel physically sick; but she realized a new 
 difference in the quality of it. She would have a partner 
 to work with; a young man, strong, healthy, deter- 
 mined, eager; without any physical tremors, uncursed 
 by sensitive nerves or those weakening intuitions of 
 failure. In anticipation she leaned upon his strength, 
 and put him forward to bear the brunt of Robin's 
 coarseness and brutality when driven to bay he had 
 had no respect for her sex at those moments. 
 
 " So do I, really," returned Martin eagerly. She was 
 going to trust him, to let him help her, and all the varied 
 emotions of the evening were fusing into this glorious 
 culmination. He got up from his chair and began to walk 
 up and down across the end of the study. He looked big 
 and strong and vital; and his enthusiasm seemed to fill 
 the room. 
 
 " It would be such a magnificent thing to do," he 
 said, " and I believe we can do it. Oh ! I'm sure we can. 
 He must be made to see what a future he has, and how 
 he's spoiling it."
 
 THE STORY OF ROBIN GREG 97 
 
 " And if he won't consent to try the cure, I can use 
 my threat as a last resource," put in Margaret. 
 
 " By Jove, yes," agreed Martin. He stopped in his 
 walk, and looked at her thoughtfully. " Only there's 
 one thing," he said; " it mustn't be a vain threat, if you 
 know what I mean. You must really mean it yourself." 
 
 She nodded. " I know," she said. She was thinking 
 that that had been her old mistake. Robin had always 
 known that she would not substantiate her menace. 
 This time she must be prepared to stake everything on a 
 single cast. She looked up at Martin and wondered how 
 Robin could have been so wrong in his estimate of him 
 as to think him a " fool." 
 
 " We must concentrate every energy on this one 
 attempt," said Martin. 
 
 He was thinking that if the attempt failed, either 
 Margaret or himself, most probably both, would be 
 compelled to leave Garroch. She would go to Scot- 
 land and he would return to Bloomsbury, and they 
 would never meet again. If they failed ... He was quite 
 determined that they would not fail. 
 
 They were both strung to a high pitch of hope, en- 
 thusiasm, exaltation, when they heard a violent knock- 
 ing at the front door. 
 
 " Whatever's that ?" asked Margaret. She jumped to 
 her feet, looking suddenly pale and frightened. 
 
 " By Jove, do you know what the time is?" said 
 Martin. " It's nearly one o'clock. I expect it's I ex- 
 pect he's come back." 
 
 " Will you go?" asked Margaret. " I didn't know it 
 was so late." She had sunk back into her chair again 
 and shut her eyes. 
 
 "I say, you're not feeling ill, are you?" asked 
 Martin. 
 
 " No, no. Please go and let him in," she said. 
 
 H
 
 g8 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 The attack upon the knocker had been renewed with 
 vigour. Evidently Greg had forgotten his latch-key, and 
 believed that the whole house was in bed. He certainly 
 was making no attempt to spare the susceptibilities of 
 the presumed sleepers. 
 
 Martin switched on the lights in hall and lobby before 
 he opened the door. 
 
 Greg was leaning against the door-post, his crush-hat 
 on one side, his overcoat thrown wide open. There was 
 blood on his face and on his shirt-front, and his right 
 hand was wrapped in a bandage that glowed one sodden 
 scarlet under the light of the lobby lamp. 
 
 " Och ! it's you, is it ?" he said.
 
 VIII. FERMENTATION. 
 
 HE was very excited. 
 
 " Here, let me come in," he said, " and I '11 tell ye all 
 about it. Hoo ! we've had a fine meetin', I can tell ye." 
 
 He lurched as he entered the hall and put out his 
 right hand to save himself, withdrew it again quickly 
 with an exclamation, and then propped himself against 
 the newel of the staircase. 
 
 " Whew! God damn it," he said, " this hand hurts. 
 And I've lost so much blood, I'm dizzy with it. I think 
 I'd better just get Maggie to come down and bind up 
 my hand again." 
 
 Martin had not spoken as yet. Hot with his new 
 enthusiasm, he had had some thought of beginning 
 his campaign that night; as he had crossed the hall to 
 open the door his thoughts had shouted of victory. But, 
 at Greg's last words, he had a strong revulsion of feel- 
 ing. He suddenly hated the man for his selfishness, for 
 this readiness to wake up Margaret in order to dress his 
 hand. 
 
 " I should think you'd better go to a doctor," said 
 Martin. 
 
 " Och ! no, not I. I've no opinion of English doctors," 
 returned Greg, as though that settled the matter. " I got 
 this bandage put on by a chemist before I went into the 
 meetin'." He laughed that horrible hooting laugh, and 
 went on, " I was an hour late or more, but of course this 
 explained everythin'. But when I began to speak, I 
 forgot all about it and my gesticulation opened the 
 wound again. Oof ! the blood was droppin' all over the 
 platform, and when I said that every good Liberal 
 was willin' to shed the last drop of his blood for the 
 cause, I can tell ye, I had an ovation." 
 
 H2
 
 ioo THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin was wondering why Margaret did not come 
 out of the study. He hardly heard the jumbled explan- 
 ation about the accident to the motor-cab that Greg 
 was excitedly pouring out, and he cut across it by say- 
 ing abruptly; " Where's the nearest doctor ?" 
 
 "Och! I'll not be wanting any doctor," returned 
 Greg contemptuously. " I'll just run up and tell Maggie 
 to come down." 
 
 " She's in the study," said Martin. He was standing 
 between Greg and the door; he was quite determined 
 that Margaret should not be allowed to bind up that 
 hand. 
 
 Greg's face changed at the announcement. He stif- 
 fened, and his foolishly vacuous, boasting expression 
 gave way to one of suspicion that was partly cunning 
 and partly something more judicial. 
 
 " What's she been sittin' up for? Why doesn't she 
 come out ?" he asked, and looked doubtfully at Martin. 
 
 " I don't know why she hasn't come out," said Mar- 
 tin, coldly. " The point is that you ought to have that 
 hand attended to properly. Isn't there a doctor some- 
 where near?" 
 
 " I'll not have a doctor, I tell ye," repeated Greg. 
 " Why d'ye keep on haverin' about doctors ?" 
 
 He had ceased to lean against the newel, but he still 
 held it with his left hand. He looked past Martin at the 
 study door/as if judging the distance he would have to 
 walk without support. 
 
 " Here ! Maggie 1 " he shouted suddenly. 
 
 Margaret was still sitting limp and relaxed in the arm- 
 chair by the study fire. She had heard Robin's voice 
 outside, but the meaning of no word had separated 
 itself from the general stream of sounds. She was delib- 
 erately resting, reserving herself. The shock of that
 
 FERMENTATION 101 
 
 sudden assault on the front door, following the emo- 
 tional stress of the evening's reminiscences, had brought 
 on one of those strange lowerings of vitality which had 
 sent her home defeated ten weeks earlier. She was 
 snatching a brief rest to brace herself for the new 
 struggle. 
 
 When she heard Robin shout her name, she got up 
 quietly, keeping herself in hand by a mental effort and 
 opened the study door. 
 
 "Oh! Robin, have you cut your hand?" she asked 
 without emotion. Her face was pale and expressionless; 
 she seemed to be looking down at him from an upper 
 window. 
 
 Martin turned and stood defensively between them. 
 
 " Och ! " ejaculated Greg with disgust. For a moment 
 the look of suspicion flashed out again, and then the 
 usurping personality returned with new domination, 
 returned urgent and active as if it had been too long 
 defied. 
 
 " Hoo ! Hoo ! " he laughed. " We had afine meetin', I 
 can tell ye, Maggie. I was an hour late or more, and 
 when I got on to the platform, I told 'em the whole 
 story of my accident in the taxi. That warmed 'em up. 
 And when I said I was willin' to shed my last drop o' 
 blood in the Liberal cause, they gave me an ovation, I 
 can tell ye. Ye see, the moment I began to speak I lost 
 myself, and the habit of gesticulation was too strong for 
 me. Hoo ! the blood was droppin' all over the platform." 
 
 " You must have your hand seen to, Robin," said 
 Margaret as soon as he paused. 
 
 " Och ! it's all right. I had a bandage put on at a 
 chemist's," said Greg. " I'll just get ye to put me on 
 another before I go to bed." 
 
 " No !" cut in Martin, sharply. " You must tell me 
 where I can find the nearest doctor, Miss Hamilton, and 
 I'll go and fetch him." 
 
 Greg looked at him with a foolish smile. " Ye're vairy 
 set on doctors," he remarked.
 
 102 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Well, of course," returned Martin. He was quite 
 determined that Margaret should not touch that sod- 
 den bandage. " Can't you see how dangerous it is for a 
 cut like that not to be sterilized? You must have it 
 bound up with proper antiseptics. Besides,you may have 
 cut a big vein or something that ought to be tied. If you 
 have it bandaged by an amateur you may bleed to death 
 in the night, and you'll almost certainly get blood- 
 poisoning." 
 
 " There's Dr Forman at Oakleigh, a few houses up 
 the road," suggested Margaret. 
 
 Greg stood looking down at his hand, nursing it care- 
 fully in the bend of his left arm. " Maybe I'd better see 
 a doctor," he said weakly. 
 
 Martin had used the one argument which had weight 
 with the unhappy Robin. Even in his sober years, he 
 had had a hypochondriacal tendency ; and when he was 
 drinking, the fear of death was a black horror that beset 
 him whenever he approached again too nearly the arid, 
 intimidating state of sobriety. The horror was about 
 him now, suddenly clear at his very elbow. For a mo- 
 ment it took awful shape. His unsteady brain hovering 
 on the border of normal consciousness, pictured the vivid 
 germs of disease invading every passage of his body. He 
 looked down fearfully at his wounded hand, as if he 
 could see a swarming multitude of horrid forms that 
 hung there seeking an entrance. 
 
 " Maybe, I'd better see a doctor," he repeated. " I'll 
 go up myself." He looked up at Martin. " Ye might 
 come with me," he added. 
 
 This newly substantiated terror had become more 
 powerful than his suspicion of the medical profession. 
 It was the doctor's knowledge, not his ignorance, that 
 Greg feared in his heart. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, rather; I'll come with you, of course," said 
 Martin, with a sigh of relief. He believed that he had 
 won a moral victory by sheer force of character; he had 
 not guessed the presence of the spectre.
 
 FERMENTATION 103 
 
 Margaret was leaning against the frame of the study 
 door. She was thankful to Martin for taking this trouble 
 off her hands, but beyond that she was only conscious of 
 feeling utterly weak and tired. She wanted Robin to go, 
 in order that she might get upstairs and lie down. Per- 
 haps by the time he returned, she might feel sufficiently 
 renewed to take up the fight again. She knew her own 
 symptoms so well. Once, last August, she had lain 
 incapable of movement for over two hours on the study 
 hearth-rug. The nervous energy seemed to drain out of 
 her until the fire of life dwindled down to a thin blue 
 flame, without light or heat, but that yet burned 
 steadily enough, however inefficient to animate her 
 body. She was never afraid that she would die when 
 these attacks overcame her. 
 
 Greg solved her trouble hi seeking his own private 
 purpose. 
 
 " You get away to your bed, Maggie," he said. 
 " Bond'll look after me. I'm wonderin' why ye should 
 have sat up for me," he added with a slight return of his 
 suspicion. 
 
 " I wanted to hear about the meeting," said Mar- 
 garet wearily. " I'm glad it was such a success." 
 
 She pulled herself together and walked steadily across 
 the hall, nodding " good night " to the two men as she 
 passed them. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " No, no, I'm a little tired, that's all," she said. "Good 
 night." 
 
 Martin watched her anxiously as she climbed slowly 
 upstairs. 
 
 " She's a puir, feckless creature," remarked Greg sud- 
 denly, when Margaret's door had closed. " If it had been 
 Elsie, now ..." 
 
 " Oh ! come on," said Martin, roughly. 
 
 " Whisht, man, there's no need to make a fuss," 
 returned Greg. " Put your overcoat on, it's a raw night; 
 I'll be with ye in a minute."
 
 io 4 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Despite all previous evidence, Martin could have 
 sworn that the man was perfectly sober as he walked 
 quietly across the hall to the dining-room and closed the 
 door behind him. 
 
 Martin rang the night-bell, the shining brass and 
 black lettering of which were clearly visible in the red 
 rays of the electric lamp which burned in the porch. 
 
 " Yes ? What is it ?" gasped a hoarse voice in his ear. 
 
 Martin started and looked round. 
 
 " The speaking chube," said Greg, and nudged him 
 with an elbow. 
 
 "Oh! yes, of course," said Martin, and made the 
 necessary explanations into the mouthpiece. 
 
 A few seconds later a light sprang up behind the fan- 
 light, and automatically the waiting couple looked up 
 and read the bold announcement of " Oakleigh " on the 
 obscured glass. 
 
 " He's very prompt/' said Martin in an undertone. 
 
 " Part of his business," replied Greg. " It's infernally 
 cold," he added, and Martin saw that he was shivering. 
 
 After another short pause they heard steps inside the 
 house, followed by the unlocking and unbolting of the 
 front door, and the unknown Dr Forman was revealed 
 as a tall, powerful-looking man of thirty or so, with a 
 short, thick moustache; a dressing gown that reached 
 his bare ankles was his only visible article of attire. 
 
 His first glance was given to the bandaged hand that 
 Greg was somewhat ostentatiously nursing. 
 
 " Hallo ! Come in," he said. " It's Mr Greg, isn't it ?" 
 
 Greg's loquacity revived when they entered the neat- 
 ly arranged surgery that smelt so strongly of drugs. He 
 gave the doctor an account of the accident, of the inter- 
 view with the chemist and of the consequences of his 
 speech. He repeated all those details which Martin had 
 heard twice already in the hall at Garroch, and laid
 
 FERMENTATION 105 
 
 emphasis on precisely the same points. A sudden doubt 
 arose in Martin's mind as to the truth of that now fam- 
 iliar story. It occurred to him that it had the air of a 
 thing rehearsed. He thought of the peroration that was 
 to have been studied in the cab. 
 
 The doctor had turned his back. He was testing the 
 heat of the water in a tap that gave over a fixed basin. 
 He nodded occasionally and made a conventional com- 
 ment now and again, but his manner was hardly that 
 to be expected of a young practitioner eager to 
 propitiate a new patient. 
 
 " I think this is warm enough," he broke in finally. 
 " Would you mind coming over here, Mr Greg ? I expect 
 you'd better sit," he added, and placed a chair by the 
 basin. 
 
 Greg was not a good patient. He winced and ex- 
 claimed as the clogged bandage was slowly unwound 
 from his hand, and when Forman had exposed the 
 wound and began to examine it by turning back the 
 sides of the cut, the exclamations were changed to 
 ill-restrained cries of pain. 
 
 " It's a nasty cut," said Dr Forman, " and there may 
 be some pieces of glass in it. I'll just dress it now, and 
 give you a look in in the morning." 
 
 " Och ! that'll be all right. Ye needn't trouble," said 
 Greg. 
 
 " Very well. Just as you like," returned Forman 
 carelessly. " You won't have far to send, if you change 
 your mind." 
 
 He had dressed the wound and was now winding a 
 bandage round the hand with clean, rapid movements. 
 He had turned up the sleeves of his own dressing-gown 
 and of Greg's shirt and coat, presenting a startling con- 
 trast between the development of his own muscular 
 forearm and the thin wrist of his patient. 
 
 Martin liked the look of Forman, and remembered 
 that there was a Guy's man of that name who had been 
 expected to get his International cap.
 
 io6 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " I suppose you're not the B. N. Forman who used to 
 play forward for Richmond, by any chance ?" he asked, 
 when the bandage was finished. 
 
 The young doctor's face brightened. "Yes, that's me,' ' 
 he said. " Had to chuck it when I took on this practice. 
 You keen on footer ?" 
 
 "Oh! yes, rather," said Martin. "I was in the 
 Emmanuel scrum. Not fast enough for the 'Varsity, 
 you know, and they were a very hot lot my last year." 
 
 " See you again, perhaps?" said Forman, as Martin 
 and Greg were going. 
 
 " Good," returned Martin. " I should like to." 
 
 That brief conversation seemed to give him a new 
 hold on reality. Greg slid down another place; he was 
 outside, and therefore beneath, the class of those who 
 could thus recognize each other in any condition or sur- 
 roundings. Forman had obviously not taken a fancy to 
 him, and Forman was equally plainly " a good sort." 
 
 As they walked back to Garroch, Greg was repeat- 
 ing for the fourth time the story of his speech. 
 
 At the door, Martin had to find Greg's latchkey, 
 which was in his right-hand trouser pocket, before they 
 could get in. 
 
 " Can I help you to undress ?" asked Martin, when he 
 had locked up the front door. 
 
 " No, I'll manage well enough," returned Greg. 
 
 Margaret did not come out of her room. 
 
 Towards morning Martin thought he heard strange 
 shouting cries somewhere in the house, but while he was 
 making up his mind to sit up and listen, he fell asleep 
 again.
 
 IX. A QUESTION OF MOTIVE. 
 
 MARTIN, breakfasting alone next morning, had time for 
 a cooler and relatively detached consideration of the 
 emotions, resolves and events of the previous night. 
 
 He had waked to the thought of some task that was 
 to be performed that day, a thought that had shrunk 
 from nebulous considerations of the book to an urgent 
 vivid nucleus, as he remembered his determination to 
 effect the cure of Greg. 
 
 He took up that resolve with a new eagerness as he sat 
 alone in the dining-room over his solitary meal. The 
 business of it all wore an aspect recognizably romantic, 
 even heroic. He saw himself as the instrument of victory, 
 and anticipated the approval of Margaret. She was 
 audience, and he wanted no other. He believed that 
 there was no change, could never be any change, in his 
 thought of her. He did not understand how he had 
 grown in self-confidence, when she had deferred to him 
 last night; how he had stood beside her and regarded 
 her for a moment with eyes that were no longer strained 
 upwards. 
 
 In all his thought of the cure he was determined to 
 bring about, it was Margaret who filled the picture. 
 Robin Greg, shrunken to a puppet, appeared as a simple 
 means of glory, a conveniently difficult problem to be 
 solved. 
 
 Martin was eager for the onset. 
 
 Margaret came to him in the study at ten o'clock. 
 She closed the door carefully behind her and spoke hi a 
 low voice. 
 
 " I have seen Robin," she said. " He'll be going up to 
 town by the eleven o'clock train. He says his hand is
 
 io8 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 better." She glanced up at the ceiling as she stopped 
 speaking, as if to warn Martin that there might be a 
 listener in the room above. 
 
 And it was to her glance that Martin first replied. 
 
 " Can he hear what is said down here ?" he asked. 
 
 " Not the words," said Margaret, " but the mumble 
 of it. He might be suspicious, if he heard us talking." 
 
 " I see," agreed Martin, accepting the probability of 
 Greg's suspicion without surprise. 
 
 " I only came in to say," Margaret continued, " that 
 I think this afternoon would be a good time to talk to 
 Robin about taking the cure you spoke of last night." 
 
 " Will he be home ?" asked Martin. 
 
 She nodded her head with perfect assurance. " He's 
 only going up to get whisky," she said. " He will be 
 home soon after four." 
 
 "Oh! I see," repeated Martin, determined to trust 
 her absolutely even hi this matter of prophecy; " but 
 couldn't we talk about it when he's gone up to town ?" 
 
 " Oughtn't you to go and get the cure, so as to have 
 it ready in case you can persuade him to take it ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh! yes! I suppose I ought," replied Martin. He 
 resented this necessity to leave the house during those 
 few precious hours when Greg would be in town. " It 
 won't take me very long," he went on, making mental 
 calculations, "if I went now, I should be back by 
 lunch time." 
 
 She did not respond to his assumption of the confi- 
 dence established between them by their partnership. 
 "I don't suppose Robin will be back before four o'clock," 
 she said. " You have plenty of time. I must go, now." 
 
 "Are you feeling all right again, this morning?" 
 asked Martin as he opened the door for her. " I thought 
 you looked frightfully fagged last night." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'm perfectly well this morning, thank 
 you," returned Margaret. She looked distraite. She ap- 
 peared to be quite unconscious of Martin save as a factor
 
 A QUESTION OF MOTIVE 109 
 
 in their scheme. Moreover, she no longer leaned upon 
 him. She had given him his directions for the morning. 
 Her whole will and mind seemed given to that man 
 upstairs, the possessed creature who was crapulently 
 ravening for the poison that was the cause of his present 
 agony. 
 
 Martin sighed. " I think I'd better go at once," he 
 said, as Margaret went out. 
 
 He wanted to be about his task without a moment's 
 delay. He would have liked forcibly to administer the 
 cure to Greg there and then; to browbeat him, threaten 
 and dominate him. The man was a physical coward. 
 Martin remembered the fact as a magnificent resource. 
 
 The feeling of urgency remained with him as he made 
 his way by train and tram to the house of the Hon. and 
 Rev. Cecil Barker that dull house outwardly indis- 
 tinguishable from any other in the long faded road 
 which exhibited so little claim to its title of Acacia 
 Avenue but his urgency w^s no longer attributable to 
 the desire to enforce a command upon Greg. 
 
 Martin had forgotten the number of the house he was 
 seeking, but a trial venture at quite the wrong end of the 
 avenue immediately furnished the necessary informa- 
 tion. 
 
 The child of fourteen in a sackcloth apron, who 
 answered the door to him, stared in wonder at his 
 ignorance. 
 
 "Owl Now! 'E lives at sixty- three," she said; and 
 " sixty- three " as she pronounced it seemed to possess 
 some peculiar claim to distinction; it was less a number 
 than a description. 
 
 Martin thanked her and hurried down the inter- 
 minable road. 
 
 His impatience was heightened by the information
 
 no THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 that Mr Barker was out, and the man-servant who 
 came to the door in his shirt-sleeves, seemed singularly 
 unimpressed by Martin's importunacy. 
 
 Couldn't say when 'e'd be in; couldn't say where 'e'd 
 gone, were all the answers he could evoke, and they 
 were given in an uninterested voice which spoke of long 
 familiarity with this type of foolishly urgent visitor. 
 
 " But I simply must see him," said Martin despair- 
 ingly. " It's it's really frightfully important." He had 
 almost come to believe that there was a life in danger 
 instead of the fear of losing a couple of quiet hours with 
 Margaret. " Can I come in and wait?" he asked, after 
 speculating inwardly on his chances of finding Mr Bar- 
 ker abroad in his parish. 
 
 The little grey-haired man, who looked less like a 
 servant than an orthodox resident in Sunday morning 
 deshabille, regarded Martin with a suspicious stare. 
 
 " You can if you like," he said. " I can't say when 'is 
 reverence'll be back. Sometimes Vs out all day." 
 
 "I'll wait for an hour, anyway," said Martin. He 
 was full of resentment against the Vicar. A man in his 
 position ought to leave instructions as to his where- 
 abouts, and, a fortiori, he ought to employ a decent, 
 civil servant. 
 
 For the next half-hour Martin stood at the dining- 
 room window watching the street. The debate that 
 filled his mind turned on the question of how long he 
 ought to wait. Should he give the Vicar an hour, or two, 
 or three? Ought he not to resign any hope of seeing 
 Margaret alone that day ? But at that point his defence 
 assumed an appearance of weight. He argued that it 
 was absolutely necessary to confer with Margaret before 
 he attacked Greg. He must have his final instructions ; 
 there must be some sort of understanding as to plan. 
 
 He looked at his watch and found that the time was 
 a quarter-past twelve. 
 
 " Oh! damn!" muttered Martin, and threw himself 
 into a shabby leather-covered arm-chair.
 
 A QUESTION OF MOTIVE in 
 
 The Vicar came in a little before one o'clock. Martin 
 heard him in the passage outside, heard him call " Wil- 
 lis " to the man-servant in the basement, and then after 
 a short interval heard him go upstairs. 
 
 Martin could restrain his impatience no longer; he 
 rang the bell viciously. 
 
 " I say," he said curtly, when Willis came in hurried- 
 ly to see what the fuss was about. " Did you tell Mr 
 Barker that I wanted to see him ?" 
 
 " 'E'll see you in a minute or two," said Willis, and 
 went out again before Martin could vent his indignation. 
 
 And that futile sense of urgency still harried him 
 when he was sent for at last to the study on the first 
 floor. 
 
 He made a hurried apology and began to blurt out his 
 want, the instant necessity for a " treatment " of the 
 " Antol " cure for inebriety. 
 
 " It's a very important case," he concluded, having 
 avoided almost by a miracle the introduction of Greg's 
 name. 
 
 Cecil Barker smiled and twisted up one corner of his 
 mouth, with an expression that was half-critical, half- 
 whimsical. 
 
 " Every case is important, my dear Bond," he saic^. 
 He gave to his sentence a peculiar value that lifted it 
 from the commonplace. The pronouncement as he ut- 
 tered it wore an air of parable. He looked steadily at 
 Martin, enforcing a pause, impressing upon him the 
 need for reflection before he spoke again. 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose it is," said Martin, more humbly. 
 
 " Tell me more about this dear fellow you're going to 
 help," said Barker. 
 
 " Well, I won't tell you who he is, if you don't mind," 
 said Martin. " In fact, you see, I can't even say yet 
 whether he will consent to take the cure or not."
 
 ii2 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Ah !" was all Barker's comment on this reserve, but 
 i t perfectly expressed his disapproval. 
 
 " If it were only to do with myself," urged Martin, 
 " it would be different." 
 
 " And out of your inexperience you believe that you 
 are strong enough to deal with the case alone?" asked 
 Barker. 
 
 " I mean to do my best, sir," said Martin. That con- 
 sciousness of the need for haste was fading. He was 
 coming under the influence of a personality that had 
 swayed stronger natures than his. Cecil Barker had one 
 supreme gift, the power to beget love and respect for 
 himself. 
 
 " Ah !" said Barker again, and then after an effective 
 pause he went on, " Very fine, all that, of course; very 
 heroic and splendid, turning your face to the stars and 
 calling on high heaven, but ..." He concluded his sen- 
 tence by turning to Martin and smiling a sweet, faint- 
 ly whimsical smile, that had some quality of saintly 
 experience and wisdom. 
 
 Martin flushed and dropped his eyes. The bolt had 
 been well aimed. " Do you mean ..." he began, and 
 stopped. 
 
 Barker drew his chair a little nearer to Martin's, bent 
 forward and laid a hand on his arm. 
 
 " Do you love this man, my dear Bond ?" he asked. 
 
 That question, spoken with a quiet earnestness that 
 seemed to reveal astounding depths of sincerity, was 
 suddenly presented as a vision of ultimate truth, the 
 final key to all philosophy and ethics. Martin was dazed 
 by his sight of so conclusive and simple a belief. A week 
 earlier, he might have evaded the question, might have 
 sneered later at Barker's profession of altruism; but in 
 his own way, he had learned now what love meant to 
 himself; all its possibilities of sacrifice, denial and 
 strength. He knew that it was immense and powerful, 
 and that while a man was upheld by it there was nothing 
 he might not dare. And at the question he made new
 
 A QUESTION OF MOTIVE 113 
 
 application of his almost unrecognized knowledge, he 
 saw with a new perception all that he might do for 
 Robin Greg if he loved him. And yet that woman, 
 Greg's wife, had failed. 
 
 " How can one learn to love a man?" Martin asked 
 evasively. 
 
 " By giving," replied Cecil Barker, " and by living the 
 life. Come down and have lunch with me, my dear 
 fellow." 
 
 Martin thought of Margaret. " I should like to im- 
 mensely," he said, " but I must get back. My friend 
 went up to the City this morning, and I want to talk it 
 all over with his sister-in-law she's living in the house 
 before he comes home." 
 
 " You won't confide in me ?" asked Barker. 
 
 " I can't yet," replied Martin. " He doesn't know, 
 you see; and I don't even know whether he'll consent to 
 take the cure at all. And besides, you see he's a secret 
 drinker, and absolutely denies taking too much, and 
 he's frightfully sensitive about it, of course." 
 
 " How long have you known him," asked Barker. 
 
 " Only a week, really," said Martin, after a short 
 hesitation. 
 
 " And who gave you the history of the case ?" 
 
 " His sister-in-law last night." 
 
 " H'm !" was Barker's only comment. 
 
 Martin was conscious of feeling that he had been tried 
 in the balance and found wanting. He wondered where- 
 in his fault lay. Surely he could not be blamed for keep- 
 ing back the name of Greg. 
 
 The Vicar had turned back to his writing table, and 
 when he faced Martin again, his manner had changed. 
 He was precise and practical. " As your friend is not a 
 poor man," he began, " he will have to pay the full 
 price for the cure, five guineas, and your name must be 
 entered as that of the purchaser. You understand that 
 the cure must be taken with the full consent and co- 
 operation of the patient ?" 
 
 i
 
 ii4 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " That is absolutely necessary ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Absolutely. The directions as to the manner of ad- 
 ministration you will find in the lid of the box. They are 
 perfectly simple. There are twenty-one small bottles, 
 numbered in order, one for each day; and the essential 
 drug is graduated, reaching its maximum strength on 
 the eleventh day. Of course, it is absolutely necessary for 
 the success of the cure that the patient should not touch 
 alcohol in any shape or form during that three weeks." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be dangerous to take him off whisky 
 too suddenly?" asked Martin. 
 
 Barker shook his head. "Not with this treatment," he 
 said. " The drug takes its place. There will be no return 
 of the craving after the first twenty-four hours. Have 
 you got the money with you ?" 
 
 " Five guineas ? No, I'm afraid I haven't," said Mar- 
 tin. " I've got a couple of pounds or so, I think. May I 
 leave that and send you a cheque for the rest when I get 
 home?" 
 
 The Vicar nodded, and going over to a cupboard pro- 
 duced a neat, square, unlabelled parcel, which he handed 
 to Martin. " Will you sign your name to this form," he 
 said, pointing to the writing table, " the receipt will be 
 sent on to you to-morrow." 
 
 But as Martin was about to take his leave, the 
 Vicar's manner changed once more. 
 
 " Just kneel down for a moment, my dear Bond," he 
 said " and we'll ask for success in the case of your 
 friend." 
 
 But if it was the cure of Robin Greg that Cecil Barker 
 desired, he approached the request circuitously, for it 
 was the means rather than the end that figured in his 
 prayer. He suggested, as it were, and that without any 
 of the adulatory forms common in petitions of this kind, 
 that his friend Martin Bond should realize the wonderful 
 potentialities of unselfish love for the man he wished to 
 save. And there were one or two phrases which seemed 
 to imply either that Martin lacked the courage of his
 
 A QUESTION OF MOTIVE 115 
 
 convictions, or that he was unnecessarily secretive. 
 " Give him strength to speak openly and without fear," 
 was one of these, and Martin felt that he had, perhaps, 
 been foolish and wrongheaded in not trusting the Vicar 
 more implicitly. 
 
 But he was, apparently, forgiven at the last, for in 
 the passage downstairs Cecil Barker laid an affectionate 
 hand on Martin's shoulder and said, 
 
 ' You've got a splendid work before you, Bond. Call 
 upon me whenever you want me. I'm entirely at the 
 service of your friend at any time of the day or night." 
 
 Martin left the house feeling that he had had a great 
 experience, something which marked a period in his 
 life. He was full of an overwhelming admiration for the 
 man he had just left, as for some wonderful modern 
 saint, moving unostentatiously among the swarming 
 lives of London, and leaving everywhere the mark of his 
 influence behind him. Even that little slut at the other 
 end of the road must have regarded him as a man dif- 
 ferent from other men. On the one or two occasions that 
 Martin had seen him while he was at the Settlement, the 
 personality of Cecil Barker had left no impression upon 
 him. But now he thought that he understood some of 
 the eulogies he had heard at that time. 
 
 He was full of a great purpose to love Robin Greg; 
 and in his present mood, that ambition seemed to pre- 
 sent no insuperable difficulties. 
 
 On the station he bought a morning paper and found 
 a report of last night's meeting. Considerable space was 
 given to Lord Coleman's speech, and there was a note to 
 the effect that Mr Robin Greg was also to have spoken, 
 but had unfortunately been prevented by an accident. 
 
 4 
 
 Martin reached Garroch at half -past three, and 
 found Margaret waiting for him in the study. 
 She smiled when he came in and rallied him gently on 
 
 12
 
 n6 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 the length of his absence, but she looked nervous and ill 
 at ease. 
 
 " Has he gone?" was Martin's first question, and he 
 subdued his voice to that conspiratorial note which was 
 becoming the mark of that one topic. 
 
 " Yes; he didn't go till half-past twelve," said Mar- 
 garet. " He said he would be back by five, but I don't 
 suppose . . ." 
 
 " We ought to begin this evening," said Martin. 
 
 She shuddered faintly and leaned back in her chair, 
 laying her hands along the arms. " Yes, let's have tea," 
 she said. " Do you mind ringing ?" 
 
 They hardly spoke again until the tea had been 
 brought, and then Martin launched into an account of 
 his conversation with Cecil Barker. 
 
 " He must be a very remarkable man," was Mar- 
 garet's comment. She could almost have wished that 
 Martin had not been so loyal ; that this clergyman, the 
 ideally strong man, as he appeared from that enthusias- 
 tic description, could have been brought into the con- 
 spiracy. She hardly believed, as yet, in Martin's power 
 for influence in this matter. She knew all the difficulties 
 so well; he knew nothing and had not the imagination 
 to foresee the immensity of his task. Last night she had 
 been filled with hope, but throughout the long day she 
 had gone over the coming scenes with Robin again and 
 again in her mind, and she was dispirited, full of despon- 
 dency and dread. 
 
 " Yes, he is," replied Martin thoughtfully; " and he 
 said one thing which seemed to me tremendously true. 
 He said that I ... at least he implied that one wouldn't 
 have much influence over a man . . ." He paused again. 
 He found the statement embarrassingly difficult to 
 report. 
 
 " He asked me if I was very fond of Mr Greg," he 
 said at last. 
 
 " And you're not, are you ?" asked Margaret, under- 
 standing more than had been spoken.
 
 A QUESTION OF MOTIVE 117 
 
 Martin frowned. " I go up and down so about it," he 
 explained. " Sometimes, last night for instance, I do, 
 really; quite a lot, I mean; and then ..." 
 
 "Oh! I know," broke in Margaret. " But don't you 
 understand that it is the real Robin you like ? Every one 
 does. It's only the man you see when he's drinking that's 
 so repulsive to you. And you've hardly seen the real 
 Robin at all. That's what is so awful about it, to know 
 that he's there and that you can't reach him, that he 
 can't reach himself." 
 
 " By Jove, yes," murmured Martin. " I see." 
 
 " Do you believe in this cure ?" asked Margaret after a 
 pause. " Do you think you'll be able to persuade him to 
 take it?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, rather," replied Martin quickly. " I know 
 it's a thundering good thing, and I'm absolutely certain 
 I'll persuade him to try it anyway. And that's really all 
 that's necessary. Mr Barker says the craving for drink 
 goes after the first twenty-four hours." 
 
 " After the first twenty-four hours," repeated Mar- 
 garet thoughtfully. " But you say he mustn't touch 
 anything, any spirit, after he begins to take the 
 cure?" 
 
 " Nothing; absolutely," said Martin with great reso- 
 lution. He felt strong and full of energy, and Margaret, 
 if a little critical of his uninformed confidence, saw clearly 
 enough that she would be foolish to unsettle it. More- 
 over she was gaining a measure of strength from him; 
 his calm conviction, however ignorant, influenced her to 
 believe in him, to doubt herself. Nevertheless, she had 
 one stipulation to make. 
 
 " You realize, don't you, that you can't trust him 
 when he's drinking ?" she asked. 
 
 " I suppose you can't," returned Martin, and remem- 
 bered the report of the meeting. 
 
 " He may promise to take the stuff," she said, " and 
 simply deceive you all the time. Don't forget how clever 
 he is."
 
 n8 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin frowned reflectively. " I see," he said. " How 
 are we going to get over that ?" 
 
 " You'll have to be with him all the time," Margaret 
 advised him, "for the first day or two, at least." She 
 knew how necessary was that stipulation, and won- 
 dered how far it would shake his confidence. 
 
 " I can do that all right," he said without a tremor. 
 
 " You must make it a condition," she warned him. 
 
 " Yes, I will make it a condition," he said quietly. 
 
 She admired him greatly at that moment. She saw 
 in him all the certainties and definitions she lacked 
 herself. Only one thing more must be added to make her 
 present image of him become real success in the com- 
 ing interview with Robin. 
 
 " What is the time ?" she asked, suffering a spasm of 
 nervousness on his behalf. 
 
 " Just after five," he said. " He ought to be in soon. 
 I suppose I'd better see him in here before dinner ?" 
 
 She nodded. " I'll leave you alone with him," she said ; 
 and then, " Don't you feel nervous ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, in a way," he said. " Like one does going 
 in to open the innings, you know, when there's a big 
 score up against you." 
 
 " Nothing more than that?" she said in admiration 
 and wonder. 
 
 As he was about to answer her, they heard Greg 
 fumbling with the latch of the front door. No doubt he 
 was trying to open it with his left hand. 
 
 " Shall I go ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Better not," she said, and as she spoke they heard 
 the door opened. 
 
 Greg went straight upstairs without taking off his 
 overcoat. 
 
 " He has gone up to hide the whisky he has bought 
 in the City," whispered Margaret. " He brings home the 
 bottles in the inside pockets of his overcoat. He will be 
 down again in a minute." 
 
 She packed the tea-tray and put away the little fold-
 
 A QUESTION OF MOTIVE 119 
 
 ing table and then, with the tray in her hands, paused 
 and looked at Martin. 
 
 " B-be brave," she said with a smile, and her lips 
 framed themselves into a delicious ghost of the words 
 before she uttered them. 
 
 Martin would have cut off his right hand for her 
 without a moment's hesitation.
 
 X. THE COMBINED ATTACK. 
 
 DURING the ten minutes or so that elapsed between the 
 going of Margaret and the coming of Greg, Martin was 
 in no way occupied by thoughts of the struggle that lay 
 before him. He was thinking only of the movement of 
 Margaret's lips. She had stammered as a child, and that 
 little trick of hers was a reminiscence of the method by 
 which she had been cured; but to Martin it was an en- 
 chantment. She was coming to life for him. He was 
 beginning to see her as a woman. And he believed that 
 never before had she appeared so holy, remote and 
 unapproachable as now. 
 
 The appearance of Greg was a brutal interruption. 
 
 He was in a sour, fretful mood. He found his own par- 
 ticular chair occupied, and scowled, although it was 
 surrendered immediately he entered the room. Before 
 sitting down, he went over to the window and noisily 
 closed the transome lights. 
 
 If Martin had been seeking excuses, he might most 
 plausibly have urged that this was not the moment to 
 open the attack. But, full of ambition to serve Margaret 
 and eager to prove his own ability, he hardly paused to 
 consider the value of diplomatic opportunity; in his 
 own metaphor, he was going in first for his side and he 
 had to wear down the bowling. 
 
 He looked at the figure of Greg stretched out in his 
 usual moody attitude, flushed slightly and then plunged. 
 
 " How's your hand ?" he asked. 
 
 " Inflamed," replied Greg curtly. 
 
 " You ought to have it attended to," said Martin, 
 " it's very dangerous to get a wound like that in your 
 condition."
 
 THE COMBINED ATTACK 121 
 
 Greg's eyes narrowed slightly at that description of 
 him, but he did not look up, and it was only the first 
 half of the sentence to which he replied. 
 
 " I'll maybe see Forman again to-morrow," he said; 
 " but I've no opinion of him as a doctor; he'd have done 
 better to take to football as a profession." 
 
 Martin was not to be drawn into a side issue, however 
 tempting the desire to stand up for Forman and his own 
 class. 
 
 " I want to talk to you about all that, Mr Greg, if you 
 don't mind," he said solemnly. 
 
 " All what ?" asked Greg looking up quickly. His eyes 
 were suddenly alert and vicious. 
 
 " I want to help you if I can," said Martin, and stared 
 resolutely back at his companion. 
 
 It was Greg who first flinched. " I have no idea what 
 ye're bletherin' about," he said. 
 
 " Please don't think it's cheek, Mr Greg," went on 
 Martin, " but I want you to let me help you as a friend, 
 if you will." 
 
 " Are ye hintin' that I've not paid your salary yet ?" 
 asked Greg with a sneer. He drew out a flat leather 
 purse from one of his trouser pockets, opened it with 
 some difficulty, and tossed over a sovereign. " I'd for- 
 gotten it was Saturday night," he remarked, and lay 
 back in his chair with an evil smile on his face. 
 
 For a moment the issue was in the balance. Martin 
 had jumped to his feet, his face flaming. His eyes were 
 on the door, the chief thought in his mind that he must 
 walk straight out of the room. Out of the room and out 
 of the house, out into the clean, uncontaminated air; 
 into the awful arid desert of an empty world in which he 
 should never again see Margaret. Time stood still for 
 him as he contemplated the horror of that dreary waste. 
 He did not know how long it was since Greg had in- 
 sulted him. But the attack had taken a new shape. It was 
 no longer a trivial task he had before him, something to 
 be lightly undertaken and conquered with a debonnair
 
 122 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 smile, but an enormous labour that needed dogged per- 
 sistence, that would call up his every reserve of strength 
 and self-control, something gigantic that must be over- 
 come because it stood between him and Margaret. 
 
 He was still standing when he spoke again. 
 
 " Why do you want to kill yourself ?" he asked. 
 
 " Ye're daft," replied Greg contemptuously. 
 
 " It's certain that you can't live long at this rate." 
 Martin looked down at the hearthrug, and saw the 
 sovereign lying where it had fallen. Mechanically he 
 made a movement as if to pick it up, but changed his 
 mind, and clasped his hands behind his back. 
 
 " If ye're practising your platform manner," said 
 Greg, " ye can wait till ye're alone, or try it on Maggie. 
 She'll have more patience with ye than I will." 
 
 Martin stiffened. He lifted his head slightly and 
 looked straight down into Greg's eyes. 
 
 " It must be perfectly obvious to you, Mr Greg," he 
 said, slowly and deliberately, " that I have no purpose 
 of my own to serve in this. And I'm not going to pretend 
 for a moment that I'm doing it for any ethical motive. 
 But I've just got to have a try to help you fight this 
 this craving of yours." 
 
 " Eh, ye're daft," repeated Greg. He had met Martin's 
 eyes with a defensive stare for a few seconds, but now 
 he was looking down gloomily into the fire. "Ye're daft," 
 he said again, but his tone had lost its sting. 
 
 " I want you to try a cure I've got," continued Mar- 
 tin firmly, " I know that it's ..." 
 
 " Oh, hell !" interrupted Greg. " What in God's name 
 are ye haverin' about ? A cure for what, man ?" 
 
 " For your particular trouble," was Martin's euphem- 
 ism, which gave the other that chance of evasion he was 
 seeking.
 
 THE COMBINED ATTACK 123 
 
 He gave his hooting laugh. " If it'll cure Andrew of 
 makin' muddles," he said, " it'll be worth a fortune." 
 
 " You know perfectly well what I mean," persisted 
 Martin. 
 
 " Ye overrate my perspicuity," returned Greg. " No 
 doubt ye seem clear enough to yerself, but to me ye 
 seem to be talkin' the damndest nonsense I ever heard." 
 
 Martin realized that he was losing ground. Some 
 instinct of decency had restrained him from using plain 
 language. He had shrunk from those coarse, brutal 
 words that must lay bare the great open wound of the 
 man's soul; that wound he had striven so desperately 
 to hide. But there was no alternative. Martin was no 
 match for the man in this give and take ; his only hope 
 lay in sheer determined strength. He flushed a little and 
 then said firmly, 
 
 " I know all the facts, Mr Greg. I know you're drink- 
 ing yourself to death. I know it's a vice that has got so 
 strong a hold of you that you're no longer able to fight 
 it by yourself." 
 
 Greg made a movement to interrupt him, but Martin 
 raised his voice slightly and went on. " And I mean you 
 to try this drink cure. In this particular matter I'm 
 bound to treat you as if you were not responsible ..." 
 
 " Hadn't ye better open the front door and call the 
 particulars of my ' vice ' up the road?" broke in Greg. 
 " Ye seem very eager for the whole house to hear ye." 
 
 " The whole house knows," returned Martin. 
 
 Greg blenched, but he was not beaten yet. 
 
 " I suppose ye and Maggie have been layin' yer heads 
 together," he said with a sneer. " She's daft on that sub- 
 ject. If I take a glass of toddy for a chill, she'll go 
 bletherin' to every one that I'm drinkin'. Och ! I have no 
 patience with the fool nor with you for believin' 
 her." 
 
 Martin laughed. " Don't be silly, Mr Greg," he said. 
 " I've been in the house a week and you haven't once 
 been decently sober." And disregarding the hoot which
 
 124 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 greeted this statement he went on. " Besides, it isn't 
 usually your habit, I suppose, to crawl upstairs." 
 
 " Och ! just once in a way," muttered Greg. " I've been 
 sairly put about the last month." 
 
 " And then there are all the lies you have told me. 
 About the meeting last night, for instance. I saw a re- 
 port of it in the Daily Post to-day, and found that you 
 were never there at all !" 
 
 " Have ye told Maggie that ?" asked Greg unexpect- 
 edly. 
 
 " No ! I haven't," said Martin, relieved, now, that he 
 had not referred to it. He felt suddenly that he would 
 have stood a better chance in the struggle if he had been 
 fighting single-handed. It was absurd, of course, but 
 that sense of having entered into a conspiracy made 
 him feel dishonest. 
 
 " Did ye bring the paper home ?" asked Greg. 
 
 " No, I left it in the train," said Martin, wondering if 
 this were another attempt to draw him away from the 
 main issue. 
 
 " I'm glad ye've some sense of decency," remarked 
 Greg. 
 
 Martin pondered that for an instant, but returned to 
 the main question. " Will you try this cure, Mr Greg?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " I don't need it," returned Greg. " I tell ye ye've got 
 a maggot in your head. Ye're sufferin' under a delusion. 
 Maybe I did take a little too much whisky that night, 
 but ye needn't be afraid your modesty'll be shocked 
 again. I'll swear off for a month and turn teetotal, if 
 that'll please ye. Ye're a good fellow, Bond, and I'm not 
 ungrateful to ye for botherin' your head about me; and 
 perhaps it's not altogether to be wondered at that ye 
 should have drawn a false inference from the facts. 
 However, I'll promise ye to give it up. Ye'll take my 
 word, I suppose, as one man to another ?" 
 
 Martin was almost convinced. There was an air of 
 such real sincerity about this speech. He could only re-
 
 THE COMBINED ATTACK 125 
 
 fuse the offer made to him by a direct insult. And if 
 Greg had stopped there he must have won this bout, at 
 least. But that alien personality within him, using his 
 clever brain for its own purposes, over-reached itself in 
 trying to gain further immunity from attack. 
 
 " But ye must not be too ready to believe everything 
 Maggie tells ye," went on Greg. " She's just not sane on 
 this particular subject. Her father drank, though she'll 
 deny it herself, and she can never forget it. It's just an 
 obsession with her." He looked up at Martin and saw 
 the doubt on his face. 
 
 " I wish to God ye'd sit down," he said sharply. 
 
 Martin obeyed him. 
 
 " Look here, Mr Greg," he said, " in any ordinary 
 matter, anything outside this . . ." he paused, groping 
 for a word, and snatched at the one Greg had just used, 
 " outside this obsession of yours, I would take your 
 word against anyone, I would, really. But in this par- 
 ticular thing I know that it's part of the disease that 
 you shouldn't tell the truth ..." 
 
 " Ye're callin' me a liar, are ye?" Greg interrupted. 
 He tried to put bitterness and anger into the words ; he 
 tried to pull himself together for a great effort, violently 
 to confront and overthrow this boy who was opposing 
 him. But he was feeling weak and ill ; and deep within 
 him a little voice was crying for help. 
 
 " Yes," replied Martin firmly. " In everything that 
 relates to your drinking, you are a liar." He was winning 
 now. He knew it himself. He knew how the man 
 opposite to him must have felt when he had opposed his 
 will to Martin's a few days before. He was conscious of an 
 accession of strength and power. 
 
 " You are a liar," he repeated brutally. " You deliber- 
 ately try to deceive me and every one, yourself included. 
 You aren't to be trusted . . ." 
 
 "Och! what the hell is it ye want?" broke in 
 Greg. 
 
 " I want you to put yourself in my hands," said
 
 126 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin. " I want you to consent to take this cure. It's 
 here in the house. I got it this morning . . ." 
 
 " Whur from ?" put in Greg quickly. 
 
 " From a parson I know in Camden Town. He . . ." 
 
 " Did ye tell him who it was for ?" 
 
 " No, certainly not." Martin thanked God that his 
 instinct had guided him aright in that matter, despite 
 all Cecil Barker's prayers. " I didn't give him the 
 least hint. I bought the stuff in my own name." 
 
 " How much did ye pay for it ?" 
 
 " That doesn't matter now. The question is will you 
 consent to try the stuff, or do you prefer to drink your- 
 self to death?" 
 
 Greg sat huddled up in his chair, nursing his bandaged 
 hand, and staring moodily into the fire. " Och ! I'll 
 think about it," he said. 
 
 " That won't do," returned Martin. He felt that he 
 had his adversary down now, one last effort and he 
 would have his man's shoulders on the floor. " You must 
 take it. Do you want to die ?" he said. 
 
 ' Ye're making a great fuss about nothing whatever," 
 said Greg feebly, and then as though he were conscious of 
 his weakness, he began to ask questions about the cure, 
 how it was administered, what it contained, what guar- 
 antee there was of its efficacy. He shot out these ques- 
 tions with a sneer, cross-examining Martin and trying 
 to confuse him. But the witness had the upper 
 hand. He replied to essentials, but he was not to be 
 bullied. 
 
 " Eh ! well, I'll take it," said Greg at last. " Where is 
 the stuff?" 
 
 " You understand that I shall have to give it to you, 
 and that I shall stay with you all the time you're taking 
 it," said Martin. 
 
 " Och ! ye'll do nothin' of the sort," said Greg, with a 
 vivid return of his old manner. 
 
 " I must be with you for the first forty-eight hours, at 
 least," said Martin.
 
 THE COMBINED ATTACK 127 
 
 Greg rose suddenly to his feet. " I've told ye I'd take 
 the stuff . . ."he began. 
 
 "It is part of the cure that you shouldn't touch a 
 drop of alcohol while you're taking the drug," said Mar- 
 tin, rising also. 
 
 "I'll not have ye in the room," said Greg. 
 
 ' You must." * 
 
 "I've given ye my word." 
 
 " I can't trust you in this. You can't trust yourself." 
 
 Greg murmured something that sounded like 
 " Havers " and walked over to the window. For a minute 
 or two he stood there in silence, looking out into the 
 darkness. Then he turned and made for the door. 
 
 " I shall come up after dinner," said Martin, " and 
 sit up with you to-night. We will begin the drug to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 Greg walked out without replying. 
 
 Martin heard him go upstairs. 
 
 Greg's bedroom door was hardly shut before Mar- 
 garet came quietly into the study. She stood on the 
 threshold and beckoned to Martin to follow her into the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Well ?" she said anxiously, as soon as the door was 
 closed behind them. 
 
 " I'm not sure yet," returned Martin. " He has 
 promised to take the cure, but when I insisted on being 
 with him for the first forty-eight hours, he first refused 
 and then went out without answering." 
 
 " He hasn't actually promised that, then ?" she asked. 
 
 " Not actually. And I had him beaten, too," said 
 Martin. " Oh, absolutely beaten; and he knew it and 
 ran away. I ..." 
 
 Margaret put up her hand and stopped him. " You've 
 done splendidly," she said. " The rest is for me to do."
 
 128 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He would have stopped her. He knew now all the 
 horror of a fight with Greg. He had been on the verge of 
 absolute victory and he was exalted; but he realized the 
 exhaustion that would follow defeat; realized in part 
 also, how much harder was such a struggle for Margaret 
 than for himself. And he would have interposed, have 
 followed Greg to his room, and continued his fight, but 
 Margaret forestalled him. She understood Robin better 
 than Martin could ever understand him. 
 
 " No, no," she said, " You've done all you can. He 
 will lock the door. He won't let you in, but he will have 
 to let me hi." 
 
 She went out of the room quickly and ran upstairs. 
 
 Martin, following her, heard her knock on Greg's door. 
 
 " It's me, Robin, Maggie," he heard her say. " I must 
 see you." And then in reply to some question from with- 
 in the room, " Yes, now, Robin; I must." 
 
 Martin, standing in the hall, heard the door opened 
 and then closed again. 
 
 He returned to the drawing-room and began to pace 
 up and down its little length. He was warm with en- 
 thusiasm for the victory of his side, eager to achieve the 
 desired result. But a stronger feeling than enthusiasm 
 was rising within him; a feeling of fear for Margaret. 
 And as the minutes passed and she did not come back, 
 fear with all its accompaniments of impatience, anger, 
 resentment and dread took hold of him and swamped 
 every other sense. He would have given up all that he 
 had won to get Margaret out of that room; he would 
 have given up any hope of saving Greg. 
 
 He went out into the hall and listened. 
 
 He was half-way up the stairs when Greg's door 
 was opened and Margaret reappeared. 
 
 She came down, passed Martin without a word and 
 went into the drawing-room. 
 
 He followed her and finding her already seated on the 
 little settee by the fireplace, he sat down beside her. 
 
 " It's all right," she said. She put her hand on her
 
 THE COMBINED ATTACK 129 
 
 knee and drew it back quickly. He saw that she was 
 trembling violently. She leaned back into the corner of 
 the seat and tried desperately to compose herself. 
 
 " It's all right," she repeated, and her voice was low 
 and shaken. " I threatened him, and he's promised. 
 You're to sit up with him. And he wants to see Dr For- 
 man. Will you fetch him ?" 
 
 She had laid her hand limp and trembling on the 
 padded seat of the settee ; and Martin laid his own hand 
 on hers, holding it firmly to give her strength. 
 
 " I shall be all right directly," she said, and smiled, 
 but she made no effort to release herself from him. 
 
 Martin found that he was trembling, also. 
 
 " You can leave all the rest to me," he said. He 
 wanted to talk to engage her attention in order that she 
 might forget that he was holding her hand. He wanted 
 to go on sitting there in that position, for hours, no 
 matter what happened to the man upstairs. 
 
 " I can do all the rest," he repeated. " I'll go and 
 fetch Dr Forman in a minute. It isn't far, is it ? I don't 
 want you to bother any more about it. Of course, I 
 shall sit up with him to-night and I'll start the cure in 
 the morning. Only, don't you bother any more, will you ? 
 Leave everything to me." 
 
 " He said you'd convinced him already," she said, 
 and then added in a clearer voice," Hadn't you better 
 go ? I believe dinner's on the table." 
 
 Martin released her hand with a sigh and stood up. 
 ' Yes, I'll go now," he said. 
 
 " We mustn't risk anything after all we've won so 
 far," she said. " This is only the beginning." 
 
 "Oh! it'll be all right now," said Martin with a fine 
 air of conviction . . . 
 
 As he waited in the consulting-room at " Oakleigh " he 
 looked curiously at his own, rather square, strong hand. 
 It seemed to him an ugly, unworthy thing to have been 
 so honoured. Her cold, trembling fingers had been so 
 delicate and slender.
 
 130 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin got up at once from the dinner table when 
 they heard Dr Forman coming downstairs. During the 
 hurried meal Margaret had given some account of her 
 interview with Robin, but the substance of it had been 
 expressed in her brief summary, " I threatened him and 
 he promised." It seemed that she had concentrated all 
 her energies into that one threat and that Greg had 
 believed in her sincerity. 
 
 " I meant it, I meant it absolutely," she told Martin. 
 " I had made up my mind to go away to-morrow if he 
 didn't give in." 
 
 They beckoned the young doctor into the study the 
 only room with a fire and warned him not to raise his 
 voice. 
 
 " The cut's nothing to worry about," said Forman. 
 " I couldn't find any glass and I've put a couple of 
 stitches in. But he's on the verge of delirium tremens. 
 It's no use mincing matters. I suppose you've realized 
 it." 
 
 Margaret winced and looked at Martin, who replied, 
 " By Jove, no, is he really ? I didn't know it was as bad 
 as that." 
 
 " He must have been soaking pretty steadily for a 
 long time, you know," said Forman, " and the inflamma- 
 tion from a wound like that brings things to a head. 
 You very rarely get delirium unless there's something 
 to set it off." He elaborated the technical details of his 
 statement for a minute or two and then concluded, 
 " Someone ought to sit up with him." 
 
 ' Yes, I'm going to," said Martin. " I was going to in 
 any case." 
 
 " You'll very likely have trouble with him," the 
 young doctor warned him. "He'll probably try to 
 throw himself out of the window or something." 
 
 "Oh! that's all right," said Martin. "I'm pretty 
 strong."
 
 THE COMBINED ATTACK 131 
 
 " And he's as weak as a cat," added Forman. " Well, 
 send for me if you want me." 
 
 " You're sure you don't mind sitting up with him ?" 
 asked Margaret when the doctor had gone. 
 
 " Not the least bit in the world," said Martin with a 
 laugh. " Really not." 
 
 She gave him a look of admiration, but all she said 
 was, " I must tell Hester to go up and light a fire." 
 
 " And I must find something to read," said Martin. 
 
 He turned away from her and began to peer at the 
 bookshelves. He was afraid of appearing to encroach on 
 the inestimable privilege that had been extended to 
 him an hour before. 
 
 She looked back at him as she went out, but he was 
 still intent on his search for a book. 
 
 He selected Marx's Das Kapital in the original 
 German, and Frank Podmore's Life of Robert Owen 
 four fat volumes which he deemed sufficient to occupy 
 him for the twelve hours he was to spend in probable 
 silence. But at the last moment he added H. G. Wells's 
 A Modern Utopia to the armful. 
 
 5 
 
 Greg was lying on his side with his back to the door, 
 and he did not move or make any sign when Martin 
 came in, quietly locked the door and put the key in his 
 pocket. 
 
 Martin found a decently comfortable arm-chair 
 which he moved to the hearth-rug, and for half an hour 
 all was quiet. 
 
 Then Greg, partly raising his head from the bed- 
 clothes, said, 
 
 " What were ye and the doctor haverin' about in the 
 study?" 
 
 " Oh ! football," said Martin with a laugh. " Are you 
 comfortable?" 
 
 "I'll do!" replied Greg. 
 
 K2
 
 XI. DELIRIUM. 
 
 DURING the first hour of his vigil, Martin tried to lose 
 himself in Marx's Das Kapital, but as he groped his 
 way through those preliminary formulae and dogmatic 
 equations, his attention was busy with all the detail of 
 his surroundings. At eleven o'clock he knew little 
 more of Marx's theory of value, but his impressions of 
 the room were stamped so deep in his mind that in after 
 years every sense of it could be instantly recalled by the 
 sight of those perplexing pages. He could hear the occa- 
 sional creak of the chair in which he sat, smell again 
 with sickening realism the thin, musty exhalation of 
 stale alcohol ; and once more he would become conscious 
 of that presence which, associated with the still figure 
 that lay in the big bed, yet pervaded all the room, all 
 the house. 
 
 Martin shut up Marx and putting him quietly down 
 on the floor, looked over his shoulder. Greg was very 
 still, lying on his side, his head nearly buried under the 
 bed-clothes. He gave no sign of restlessness or fever. 
 
 Martin picked up A Modern Utopia and presently 
 became absorbed in his reading. 
 
 He read on for over two hours before a sound from 
 the bed snatched his attention from the contemplation 
 of that almost perfect world he was studying. He looked 
 round and saw that Greg had changed his position. He 
 was lying on his back now, his eyes closed, one hand 
 the injured one stretched out on the counterpane. 
 
 For a few seconds Martin watched him, and then, as 
 Greg made no further movement, returned to his book. 
 But within ten minutes an incoherent mumbling 
 dragged him back again from the brightness of Utopia 
 to the unpleasant reality of his present circumstances.
 
 DELIRIUM 133 
 
 Greg was talking to himself in a low disconnected 
 monotone, a few incomprehensible words here and there 
 with short intervals of silence during which he made 
 slow dragging movements of his wounded hand, as if he 
 were feebly trying to draw it away from some imaginary 
 danger. 
 
 Martin got up and looked down at him, but Greg did 
 not open his eyes nor give any indication that he was 
 aware of another presence in the room. The muttering 
 and the weak movement of his hand seemed to follow 
 one another with a recognizable periodicity, and Martin 
 stood and watched that curious recurrence for nearly half 
 an hour before he returned to his chair and attempted 
 to plunge once more into the joys of imagination. He 
 had had so clear a picture of himself, cleansed and beau- 
 tified, walking in Utopia with Margaret. She had needed 
 no such regeneration ; his vision of her as she was, had 
 fitted most perfectly into that beautiful new setting. 
 
 But there was to be no renewal of that vision for him 
 as yet. The sounds from the bed were increasing in inten- 
 sity, the movements were growing more vigorous, and 
 the consciousness of them obtruded continually into that 
 other world of Martin's, destroying the appearance of 
 reality, thrusting itself between him and his fancy, as a 
 material interference may break and destroy some ex- 
 quisite dream. 
 
 Every other minute he was compelled to turn his 
 head impatiently to watch the restless figure in the 
 bed. 
 
 About three o'clock Greg sat up suddenly with a 
 shout and stared at Martin. 
 
 " What the hell are ye doin' there ?" he asked. 
 
 " Reading," said Martin quietly. " Do you want 
 anything?" 
 
 Greg's eyes were bright and he looked about him as if
 
 134 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 he were uncertain of his surroundings; his hair was 
 tousled and stuck out from his head in curious tufts that 
 sprang out at all angles. 
 
 " What for are ye readin' in my room ?" he asked. 
 
 " I'm sitting up with you," said Martin. " Hadn't 
 you better lie down again, and try to go to sleep ?" He 
 got up from his chair and stood with his hands on the 
 rail at the foot of the bed. He wanted to be prepared for 
 a rush. He imagined that his patient might become vio- 
 lent at any moment. 
 
 Greg, however, seemed to be reflecting deeply. The 
 wildness was dying out of his eyes, and he put up his 
 left hand to his head and made a tentative movement as 
 if to smooth his ruffled hair. 
 
 " Eh! well," he said deliberately, after a long pause, 
 " I'll not have ye in here." 
 
 "Oh! yes, you will," returned Martin with equal 
 composure. 
 
 Greg did not answer him in words, but he threw back 
 the sheet and blankets and swung himself into a sitting 
 position on the side of the bed. 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" asked Martin, getting 
 between Greg and the open spaces of the room. A large 
 wardrobe on that side diminished the passage way; 
 strategically, Martin was well placed. 
 
 " I'm goin' to turn ye out," replied Greg. He got to 
 his feet and tried to open the door. He fumbled with the 
 handle for a moment before he realized that the door 
 was locked. 
 
 " Who locked this door ?" he asked aggressively. 
 
 " I did," said Martin. 
 
 "Where's the key?" 
 
 " In my pocket." 
 
 Greg stretched out his hand authoritatively. " Give it 
 to me," he said. He appeared perfectly sober and 
 reasonable. 
 
 " Oh ! don't be a silly ass," returned Martin uneasily. 
 " Get back to bed."
 
 DELIRIUM 135 
 
 " Give me that key," insisted Greg, raising his 
 voice. 
 
 Martin shook his head and tried to look bored. " Go 
 back to bed," he countered. 
 
 He saw very clearly that this duel was immensely 
 critical. He had physical strength on his side; the key 
 could not be taken from him by force; he need only 
 refuse persistently. He had a further advantage in that 
 he was fully dressed while his adversary with his wild 
 hair and bare feet, clothed in pink cotton pyjamas, pre- 
 sented a figure that commanded no respect. Martin was 
 fully aware of these things ; he consciously weighed and 
 appreciated them. 
 
 Greg, on the other hand, was weighing no advantages 
 of strength or prestige ; he was simply intent on a single 
 object. 
 
 " Here, let me come to the fire, I'm cold," he said. 
 
 " Better get back to bed," said Martin. 
 
 " Is this your house or mine?" asked Greg with a 
 sneer, and then went on. " Do ye think ye can come in 
 here and keep me from my own fireside ? What's it to do 
 with you ? I tell ye I'll do what I like in my own house. 
 Get out of my way and let me come to the fire; we'll talk 
 this matter out. I've allowed ye certain privileges and 
 I'm ready to admit that till now ye've behaved decently 
 enough, but let's have no more of this bullying and fool- 
 ishness; ye mustn't presume too far, I'll not have it. 
 Now, Bond, let me come by." 
 
 He spoke with a quiet authority that Martin found 
 inexplicably compelling; moreover all that he had said 
 was so perfectly reasonable. The next argument was 
 finally convincing. 
 
 " I've given ye permission," Greg continued, " to give 
 me this cure and to watch me while I take it, but I've 
 not given ye permission to treat me as a criminal or a 
 lunatic ; to lock me in my own room and tell me I must 
 not go and sit by my own fire. Ye must see for yerself 
 that ye're making a fool of yerself, Bond, and if ye
 
 136 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 persist I'll have no more to do with the affair, ye can 
 empty your damned cure down the sink." 
 
 " Oh ! of course, you can go and sit by the fire if you 
 like," said Martin. " I think you'd be better in bed, 
 that's all." He saw the reasonableness of all that Greg 
 had said ; and if he refused now to take the cure there 
 would be no means of compelling him. The man must 
 be humoured within limits. 
 
 He stood aside and allowed Greg to pass. 
 
 He took the seat recently occupied by Martin, who 
 brought up a small bedroom chair and sat down 
 between Greg and the window. 
 
 " I'm glad ye've still a little discretion," remarked 
 Greg after a short silence. He leaned forward, nursing 
 his wounded hand. 
 
 " It isn't that," said Martin. He believed that if he 
 could only state his case, he would have surer ground 
 for action. He wanted to obtain licence for a greater 
 stringency. " You know what we said in the study this 
 evening and you agreed then in this particular thing 
 you can't trust yourself . . ." 
 
 Greg broke in quickly, raising his voice to drown 
 Martin's statement. " I know well enough what ye said, 
 and what I said," was all the admission he made, " and 
 ye talked a lot of nonsense which I'll not trouble ye to 
 repeat now. What I did not say, however, was that ye 
 might treat me as ye were tryin' to treat me just now. 
 I'm not the man to stand it. If ye'll be sensible, Bond, 
 I'll try and bear with ye, though I find it uncommonly 
 difficult at times. Ye're altogether too prejudiced. All yer 
 trainin's against ye. It's wrapped ye about till ye're less 
 a man than a convention. Now, just look at the matter 
 as a man and use yer common sense. Is it any way 
 probable that I'll submit to lettin' ye order me here and
 
 DELIRIUM 137 
 
 there ? I tell ye if ye go that way about this affair, I'll 
 have no hand in it. Ye and Maggie may go to hell for all 
 I care, ye can do yer worst, the two of ye, but yell not 
 make me take any silly cure that way. Now, have ye got 
 that clear in your mind ?" 
 
 " Yes, I quite understand that," said Martin; " but 
 you've got to be reasonable too. I mean that you've got 
 to let me help you for forty-eight hours ..." 
 
 " Och! yes, ye can help me," put in Greg quickly, 
 " but ye'll not help me the way ye've set about it. Ye 
 must trust me within limits. I'm not the sort of man 
 that can endure to be ordered. I just cannot endure it." 
 
 He was growing restless again. He turned and looked 
 doubtfully at the bed and then made a movement as if 
 to rise from his chair. 
 
 " Now then, Bond," he went on with a touch of irrita- 
 tion, " give me that key. I cannot thole the feelin' that 
 I'm lockit in. It's not reasonable." He got to his feet 
 and held out his hand. " I'll give ye my word I'll not be 
 drinkin' anything," he concluded. 
 
 " He's up to every trick when he's like this," Mar- 
 garet had said, and the words came back to Martin as 
 some quotation he had been subconsciously seeking. It 
 was not in some ways a matter of vital importance 
 whether Greg drank at this moment or not, but it was 
 vital that a precedent should be established. To give 
 way at the outset was to weaken hopelessly his whole 
 position. If he were beaten now, he would be beaten 
 again when a single drink would mean the complete fail- 
 ure of the cure. Martin set his teeth and deliberately put 
 all arguments from his mind. He must not consider 
 reasonableness. He must tackle this man with the same 
 singleness of purpose he would have brought to the 
 tackling of a fast three-quarter almost within reach of 
 touch. He must give no thought to the result. If he was 
 turned out of the house, if Greg misrepresented the 
 affair to Waterhouse, it was of little consequence. 
 Whatever happened he would have one all-sufficient
 
 138 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 consolation; Margaret would know that he had done 
 his utmost. 
 
 Martin stood up. " No, I won't give you the key, Mr 
 Greg," he said. 
 
 " By God, ye shall," Greg returned. His eyes had 
 grown brighter again, his face was flushed, he was losing 
 control of himself. 
 
 " I shall not," Martin repeated. 
 
 Greg made a sudden movement towards the door and 
 Martin took two quick steps and blocked the narrow 
 passage between the wardrobe and the foot of the 
 bed. 
 
 " I'll smash the door down," Greg threatened, and 
 backed away as if he were meditating a rush. 
 
 Martin stood firm, leaning forward, braced and ready 
 for any attack. He did not care now. He was quite un- 
 daunted by the physical threat. Not until Greg suddenly 
 turned and snatched a razor from the dressing table did 
 Martin realize that the whole movement had been a 
 trick. 
 
 " Noo, then, ma bairnie," said Greg triumphantly. 
 " will ye gie me that key ?" He waved the razor in his 
 bandaged right hand and took a little dancing step into 
 the room. He was grinning horribly. He looked as he 
 was for the moment a madman. 
 
 " Ye'd no care to be found wi' yer crag slit, ah'm 
 thinkin'," he jeered, and hooted with glee at his threat. 
 " That'd maybe spoil yer bonnie looks." 
 
 Martin, however slow his mental processes, was physi- 
 cally alert enough. From his boyhood he had been 
 trained to proficiency in games that demanded a steady 
 eye and quick responses, and that had moreover further 
 developed his natural endurance and courage. He was in 
 no way afraid now to face a madman armed with a 
 razor; he stood, keen and wary, with no thought of 
 dominating his antagonist by a display of fearlessness, 
 but simply intent on finding a physical advantage. 
 
 Greg took another step forward and hesitated; then
 
 DELIRIUM 139 
 
 as if suddenly nerved to make the attack he lifted his 
 razor and made a wild lunging slash. 
 
 Martin had been waiting for that. His arm shot out 
 and he caught and gripped Greg's wrist. 
 
 "Och! me hand," Greg cried out. The razor fell 
 harmlessly on the floor between them. 
 
 " Mind me hand," he repeated plaintively. 
 
 Martin was afraid of another strategy. " You weren't 
 going to be so careful of my throat," he said. " Now, 
 will you go back to bed ?" 
 
 Greg did not answer. He was swaying on his feet, his 
 eyes were half closed, the flush had died from his face. 
 
 " Here, you're not going to faint, are you?" asked 
 Martin, still suspicious of some trick. He loosed his grip 
 of that injured hand, bent slightly, and taking hold of 
 Greg, lifted him without any great effort and laid him on 
 the bed. 
 
 He lay there without movement. He looked a poor, 
 weak, pitiful thing, slight and helpless. Martin forgot the 
 attack that had been made upon him. He was suddenly 
 remorseful and tender. He examined Greg's wounded 
 hand, but if it had begun to bleed again the blood had 
 not yet soaked through the bandage; the fingers were 
 very cold. Martin lifted the limp body again, put Greg 
 back into bed, and covered him up to the chin. 
 
 He was afraid for a moment that the man might be 
 dead. He bent over him and listened to his breathing. It 
 was slow and rather irregular, as was also the pulse that 
 he examined. 
 
 He wondered uneasily if he ought to call Margaret. 
 
 But even as he put his hand into his pocket to take 
 out the key, Greg opened his eyes. 
 
 " Ye're gey strong," he said, and smiled feebly. 
 
 " I say, I hope I didn't hurt you," said Martin 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I'll do. Let me be," replied Greg, and closed his eyes 
 again. 
 
 Martin watched him for a few minutes and then, after
 
 140 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 replacing the razor on the dressing table, returned to his 
 armchair. 
 
 He found astonishingly that the time was only half- 
 past three. 
 
 All fear of surprise and attack had left him. He did 
 not even trouble to hide now the razors which he had 
 so foolishly left exposed on the dressing-table. But the 
 thought of that carelessness brought him to an examin- 
 ation of his incompetence ; he saw that he had no more 
 talent for planning a scheme than he had for carrying it 
 out. He had no intuitions, he reflected, exaggerating his 
 weaknesses; he was too slow and at the same time too 
 cock-sure. Perhaps, he was falling into the same errors 
 at that very moment. 
 
 He got up and went over to the bed. 
 
 Greg was lying on his back, breathing heavily, his 
 eyes closed. It was impossible to say whether he was 
 awake or asleep. He looked utterly exhausted and yet 
 as if his rest were bringing him, could bring him, no 
 refreshment. 
 
 After a few minutes Martin turned away. He went to 
 the dressing-table, collected the razors and put them 
 in a drawer. He looked about to see if there was any 
 other thing that could be used as a weapon, but he could 
 see none. He was perfectly aware within himself that all 
 these precautions were now futile, that he need antici- 
 pate no further trouble; but he drove himself to the task 
 deliberately, as some kind of discipline for his habit of 
 taking things for granted. 
 
 When he returned to the fireside the time was a 
 quarter-past four. 
 
 He settled himself down for another four hours' vigil. 
 He felt sleepy now, but he was determined that he 
 would not go to sleep. He sat upright and tried to fix his 
 attention on Utopia ; when his head drooped he rose and
 
 DELIRIUM 141 
 
 took two or three quiet turns up and down the room. 
 Once or twice he bathed his face in cold water. 
 
 At half-past seven he drew up the blind, but no glim- 
 mer of dawn had as yet relieved the blackness of the 
 outside world. Only his own strained face stared back at 
 him from behind the window glass. 
 
 At eight o'clock he softly unlocked the door and 
 looked out. He could see no one but he heard the little 
 noises of people moving about the house, the thud of 
 Hester's footsteps in the passage below and the sound of 
 Biddie's voice upstairs. 
 
 He came back into the bedroom and looked at Greg. 
 
 He was lying on his side, his back to the door, his 
 right hand laid out on the counterpane. 
 
 Martin caught sight of some dark object pushing out 
 from beneath the bolster. He leaned over quietly and 
 drew out a travelling flask. It smelt strongly of whisky, 
 but he found that it was now quite empty. 
 
 A few minutes later he heard someone knocking very 
 softly, and he got up and quietly opened the door. 
 
 Margaret was standing outside. She looked at him 
 with slightly raised eyebrows, silently expressing a 
 question. 
 
 " I think he's asleep," said Martin in a low voice. 
 
 " Is it all right? Have you had any trouble?" she 
 whispered. 
 
 " I don't know about its being all right," returned 
 Martin, and then after a moment's hesitation, " No ! I 
 haven't had any trouble." 
 
 Margaret came noiselessly into the room and set 
 down a medicine bottle on the table by the bed. 
 
 " It's the cure," she said. " I've mixed it according to 
 the directions." 
 
 Martin nodded wearily, " Good," he said, " But I 
 suppose we had better not wake him ?" 
 
 She shook her head. " Do you mind staying here a 
 few minutes longer?" she asked. " And then I'll come 
 and take your place." She paused and then added, still
 
 142 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 in the same furtive tone, " Has he been quite quiet all 
 the time?" 
 
 "Oh! yes," said Martin, "quite." His new tender- 
 ness for that physically defeated antagonist on the bed 
 completely over-rode his distaste for lying to Margaret. 
 
 " I'm so glad," she murmured as she left the room. 
 
 The first dull grey of the December morning was 
 struggling with the yellow glare of the electric light; 
 fading the darkness of the cast shadows, and here and 
 there giving new form and substance to some object 
 that had worn another semblance through the night. 
 
 Martin switched off the electric light, leaving the 
 room in half darkness. 
 
 A faint murmur from the bed drew his attention. 
 
 " Do you want anything?" he asked. 
 
 Again the mumble was repeated, but he could not 
 catch the words and went round to the other side of the 
 bed to listen. 
 
 " Do you want anything, old chap ?" he asked again. 
 
 Greg's eyelids fluttered. " Ye're a good fellow, Bond," 
 he muttered. " I heard what ye said to Maggie." 
 
 Martin blushed. " Oh ! that's all right," he said. 
 
 He believed that he knew now how this cure might 
 be made a success.
 
 XII. THE ALLIES. 
 
 WHEN he went to lie down at ten o'clock, Martin found 
 that he was no longer sleepy; on the contrary he felt full 
 of a tremendous energy. His mind glowed with en- 
 thusiasm. He had realized the force of Cecil Barker's 
 suggestion that love was necessary if he wished truly to 
 help his friend. Martin phrased it differently. His great- 
 est latitude in speech would have amounted to no more 
 than the statement that Greg was a " good chap," but he 
 was conscious of a great difference within himself. All 
 those objective judgments swinging continually be- 
 tween censure and approval had been merged into a 
 single sensation. He no longer weighed or criticized; he 
 was simply and unfeignedly glad. He was eager to take 
 up again his treatment and care of Greg, to bring a new 
 sympathy to his effort, to strengthen the understanding 
 that he believed had been established. He regretted the 
 eight or nine necessarily wasted hours that interposed 
 between him and the renewal of his task. 
 
 In his thought of Greg, Martin was single-minded, 
 but the thought of Margaret seemed to offer a strange, 
 incomprehensible opposition. He was no longer working 
 exclusively for her; indeed he saw that he could persist 
 in his present effort with no failure of enthusiasm if she 
 were absent. In some inexplicable way the confederacy 
 between them had been broken. He had not told her of 
 the events of the night, and had no intention of ever tell- 
 ing her. He had said nothing of that flask secreted 
 under the pillow. He had gone over to the other side, 
 and he had no sense of shame in the knowledge of his de- 
 sertion ; on the contrary he was warm with a feeling of 
 loyalty for his new ally, as if he had but now wonder- 
 fully realized which sovereign he must serve.
 
 144 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 His feeling for Margaret had suffered no change, but 
 she stood, strangely, in a new relation. She occupied 
 now the position that both himself and Greg had filled 
 in turn, the position of the single party excluded from 
 the confidence of the other two ; and while she thus stood 
 alone he could regard her with a new detachment. 
 
 The weight of the empty flask in his pocket recalled 
 him to the necessity for carrying on his trust. He found 
 a hiding place for that damning piece of evidence in his 
 portmanteau. 
 
 Despite the sense of alertness he never remembered 
 his thought running so clear and clean as it did now 
 and his confidence that he had never been more wide 
 awake, he undressed and went to bed. He might have a 
 difficult and strenuous task before him during the 
 second night of his watch. 
 
 When someone knocked at the door a few minutes 
 later as he confidently believed he was astonished to 
 find the room in darkness. 
 
 "Yes?" he asked. 
 
 The door was opened a few inches and Margaret's 
 voice said; 
 
 " Are you in bed? It's seven o'clock. Robin's asleep 
 and Dr Forman has just come. I'm going down to see 
 him before he goes up to Robin. Could you get up 
 quickly, I want to see you while the doctor's upstairs ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, rather. I'll be down in ten minutes," Mar- 
 tin replied. 
 
 He felt that a cold bath was a necessity, but he did 
 not shave. 
 
 He met Margaret and Dr Forman on the stairs. 
 
 "Will you go into the drawing-room?" Margaret 
 said. " I'll be down in two minutes. You have had a 
 sleep." 
 
 Forman gave him a friendly nod.
 
 THE ALLIES 145 
 
 Martin was intrigued by the thought of all that had 
 been happening during those eight hours of unconscious- 
 ness. Why had the doctor been sent for ? Had Greg broken 
 out again ; had he, perhaps, been violent ? Yet Margaret 
 had appeared quite cheerful. The change from morning 
 to evening had been so tremendous. He had slept 
 through the activities of a whole day. The fate of his 
 little world might have been decided while he lay stu- 
 pidly reckless of time. 
 
 Margaret did not keep him long in suspense. 
 
 She shut the door behind her when she came into the 
 drawing-room, and instinctively lowered her voice. 
 
 " I think it's all right so far," she began. " He has 
 been very quiet all day and hardly spoken a word, and 
 he has been taking the cure. It made him most fright- 
 fully sick for the first few hours, but he seems better 
 now. He didn't make the least fuss about taking it and 
 I don't think he has drunk anything." 
 
 " You're not quite sure ?" Martin interpolated. 
 
 " Yes ! I think I am quite sure," she said. " I believe 
 he's perfectly sober now, and and rather ashamed of 
 himself." 
 
 Martin looked down they were sitting side by side 
 on the little settee by the fireplace the last sentence 
 hurt him in some curious way. 
 
 " I'll go up when Forman's done," he said. " Why 
 was he sent for?" 
 
 " Robin wanted him. He said his hand was very pain- 
 ful and he thought it ought to be seen to." She spoke 
 quickly, always in that subdued voice ; she seemed to 
 have something urgent to say which she had not yet 
 indicated. 
 
 " I'll go up directly," Martin repeated. 
 
 " You must have something to eat first," said Mar- 
 garet. " It's all ready; but I wanted to tell you I've 
 told Mr Forman about the cure."
 
 146 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Oh 1 have you ? Why ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " He was bound to know. He said something about 
 sending in some medicine to allay the fever, and I knew 
 we couldn't give Robin anything else while he was tak- 
 ing the cure." 
 
 " What did Forman say ?" 
 
 " He was quite nice about it I like him and he has 
 promised not to let Robin guess that he knows anything 
 about about it all, you know. And we are just to 
 throw away the medicine and pretend to Robin that we 
 are deceiving Dr Forman." 
 
 So there was to be a new member of the conspiracy. 
 
 " I don't like it," said Martin. 
 
 " Why not ?" she asked. 
 
 " Mr Greg would be very angry if he knew." 
 ' Yes, of course he would, but he mustn't know." 
 
 " I don't like deceiving him, doing things behind his 
 back!" 
 
 " Oh ! but Dr Forman knew before we said a word." 
 
 " About the other thing, not about the cure." 
 
 " I can't see that that makes any difference." 
 
 Martin turned his face towards her and found that 
 she was searching him with a look of anxious perplexity. 
 
 " It's this," he said. " We know that Mr Greg would 
 not have liked us to tell Forman. We should be afraid to 
 let him know now. I suppose it's because we have taken 
 someone in from outside, isn't it ?" 
 
 She turned her head away and dropped her eyes. 
 " What happened last night ?" she asked. 
 
 " Nothing," Martin said firmly. 
 
 " Something must have happened," she said. " Some- 
 thing tremendous, I should think, to have had so much 
 effect upon you." 
 
 " I had twelve hours to think things over." 
 
 She stole a quick glance at him. " Did that make so 
 much difference ?" she asked. 
 
 " Why do you think there is any difference in me ?" 
 Martin wished that Forman would come down. This
 
 THE ALLIES 147 
 
 interest in himself, this wonderful appreciation of his 
 change of attitude was altogether too pleasant. He 
 knew that she could do what she would with him. If she 
 pressed him he might tell her all about last night, break 
 confidence with Greg, and destroy, so he believed, all 
 prospect of success. 
 
 " Really, there isn't any difference," he went on 
 quickly. " But I do want this case to be a success, and 
 I'm afraid of risking anything." 
 
 From upstairs came the sound of an opening door and 
 of the doctor's voice on the landing. 
 
 " Of course you are," Margaret said. Her expression 
 was more tender than Martin had ever seen it. She put 
 out her hand and lightly touched his arm. " But you 
 might trust me, I think," she added, and got up before 
 he could answer. 
 
 " I don't think there is any serious trouble," was 
 Forman's report. " The inflammation is still pretty bad, 
 but we must expect that in his condition. Someone 
 ought to sit up with him again. He's quite likely to be 
 restless." 
 
 " Yes, I'm going to," Martin said. 
 
 " You had no trouble last night, I hear," said Forman. 
 
 "Oh! no none," Martin returned coldly. He felt 
 that Margaret was watching him. 
 
 " Will you go up now," she said, " and help him into 
 a dressing gown ? Hester and I are coming up to make 
 his bed." 
 
 " Right," said Martin promptly. He was glad of an 
 excuse to get away. Up there, alone with Greg, he would 
 find again the peace of undivided desire. But presently, 
 when the cure had succeeded, when the house had found 
 a new unity, and the three of them were all of one party ; 
 then, perhaps, there might be some wonderful, almost 
 
 L2
 
 148 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 unhoped for reward awaiting him. She had asked him to 
 trust her .... 
 
 Greg was sitting up in bed. He looked tired and ill. 
 
 " Here," he said, "just shut the door, will ye, and help 
 me into my dressin'-gown. Ye'll find it in the wardrobe." 
 
 Martin was very tender of the wounded hand. " Don't 
 put it through the sleeve," he said. " I'll just button the 
 thing over your shoulders." 
 
 Greg hesitated. " I want ye to do something for me," 
 he said. 
 
 "Well, rather, what is it?" said Martin. He felt a 
 little embarrassed, a little like a young lover afraid of 
 appearing too presumptuous. 
 
 " There are two three flasks in the bed," said Greg 
 nervously. " I could not find them myself. I've looked." 
 
 " I found one this morning," said Martin, " an empty 
 one. I locked it up in my portmanteau." 
 
 "Och! did ye?" remarked Greg. "Did ye tell 
 Maggie?" 
 
 Martin shook his head. 
 
 Greg stared at him intently for a moment, and then 
 said, with a touch of grim humour, " Ah ! weel, the one 
 ye found was the one I've been searchin' high and low 
 for. The other two are under the mattress. They're full. 
 I could not get at them in the night, and I have not 
 tried since." He waited a moment as if to let this pro- 
 mise of good behaviour penetrate Martin's understand- 
 ing and then added, " Ye'll not tell Maggie? " 
 
 " Good God, no ! " returned Martin with vigour. 
 
 He found the other two flasks with some little diffi- 
 culty. They were, indeed, well buried under the heavy 
 mattress. 
 
 While he searched, Greg sat huddled up in the arm- 
 chair by the fire. 
 
 When Margaret and Hester came in to make the bed, 
 Martin went into his own room and locked up the two 
 flasks with the one he had found that morning.
 
 THE ALLIES 149 
 
 On his return to the other room he found Greg back 
 in bed, sitting up and taking a dose of the " cure." 
 
 " There are two more doses, Robin," Margaret said 
 as he gave back the glass to her. " Mr Bond will give 
 you the next at nine o'clock. He's going down to have 
 supper, now. He has had nothing to eat since breakfast." 
 
 " It really doesn't matter. I'm not the least hungry," 
 Martin muttered. 
 
 Greg lay back in bed and took no further notice of 
 either of them. 
 
 He was still in the same position when Martin came 
 up again after his hastily eaten supper. 
 
 Margaret was sitting in the arm-chair by the fire. She 
 got up when Martin entered. 
 
 " Have you got anything to read ? " she asked. 
 
 " Plenty," said Martin. " I didn't touch Podmore's 
 Owen last night." 
 
 " But you must have read a lot in all that time ? " she 
 remarked carelessly. 
 
 Martin picked up the two volumes of Das KapitaL 
 " There's some pretty solid stuff in here," he said. 
 
 She looked at the books as if they did not interest her, 
 and nodded. "Nothing else you want, then?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " No, nothing else, thanks," Martin answered. 
 
 But as she was leaving the room, Greg opened his 
 eyes and said, " Forman was sayin' something about 
 sendin' me in some medicine to rejuice the inflamma- 
 tion. What'll ye do with it ? " 
 
 Martin turned his back and looked down at the 
 fender. He was determined to have no part in this play. 
 
 " Oh ! we can easily throw it away," Margaret said. 
 
 " He'll be comin' in again to-morrow," Greg returned, 
 " and he'll be sure to look for it." 
 
 " Well, we'll pour some of it away and put the bottle
 
 150 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 back on your table," was Margaret's reply. She spoke 
 with a touch of gaiety. Her manner towards him was not 
 that she usually displayed. She was less nervous, she 
 seemed more inclined to regard him as a child that must 
 be humoured. 
 
 " Didn't Forman see the other bottle on the table ? " 
 Martin asked suddenly, from the hearthrug. 
 
 " No, I put it away," said Margaret. 
 
 Greg had closed his eyes again and did not reply when 
 Margaret wished him " good night." 
 
 And he did not speak again until Martin gave him 
 another dose of the " cure " at nine o'clock. Then as he 
 lay back in bed he said, " I'll maybe sleep now. There's 
 no reason why ye should stay with me. There's nothing 
 in the room but maybe a few empty bottles." 
 
 " Oh ! well, let me stay, old chap," said Martin, and 
 as Greg made no reply he added, " It's frightfully hot 
 in here. Do you mind if I open the window a bit ? " 
 
 " Please yourself," muttered Greg. 
 
 The night passed without any startling incident. 
 
 About twelve o'clock Greg began to toss uneasily, 
 mumbling to himself, and throwing his arms out of bed ; 
 and for three hours afterwards he was increasingly 
 restless, once or twice he sat up with a violent shout and 
 stared uncomprehendingly at Martin watching him 
 from the foot of the bed. 
 
 But soon after three o'clock he seemed to fall into a 
 more restful sleep, his breathing was easier and his 
 whole body more relaxed. 
 
 Martin had finished his Utopia and the two volumes 
 of Podmore's Owen when Margaret came in at half-past 
 seven bringing the second bottle of the cure. 
 
 This time Martin could have said without any 
 hesitation that Greg had most certainly found no hidden 
 supply of whisky in the night. 
 
 He wondered if the cure were beginning to take effect.
 
 THE ALLIES 151 
 
 He undressed and went to bed after he had had 
 breakfast, but he lay open-eyed with no inclination to 
 rest, and at half-past two he gave up all hope of going to 
 sleep. Margaret doubtless heard him go to the bath- 
 room, for when he came out of his room she quietly 
 opened Greg's door. 
 
 " Couldn't you sleep ? " she asked in a whisper. 
 
 Martin shook his head. " Not a wink," he said. " I 
 don't know why. I just didn't and couldn't feel sleepy." 
 
 " Robin wants to see you," Margaret said. She came 
 out on to the landing and closed the door behind her. 
 " He's very quiet, now. Could you come in later ? Are 
 you going out ? " 
 
 " Yes, I want a little exercise." He looked at her and 
 then at the door of Greg's room, raising his eyebrows, 
 silently asking what was for them the only important 
 question. 
 
 " Perfectly," said Margaret. " He has certainly had 
 nothing since Saturday night. Will you see him when 
 you come back, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, all right, I will," said Martin. 
 
 " Tell Hester to get you some tea," she advised him 
 as he went downstairs. 
 
 This must be some further confidence that Greg 
 wanted to make, Martin thought as he plodded through 
 the fine December rain; possibly there was another 
 cache of whisky somewhere in the bedroom. But if 
 there were, the declaration of it would be a splendid sign 
 of an earnest intention to reform. Nevertheless he 
 wished that the confession could have been made to 
 Margaret. He did not like this exclusion of her; it put so 
 much responsibility upon himself, and while he was 
 willing enough to shoulder it, he had begun to doubt 
 whether he was competent. He was ready enough now 
 to admit that he was no match for Greg in any contest
 
 152 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 of wits, and he feared any division that would rob him 
 of Margaret's experience and intuitions. Also, he dis- 
 liked the thought that he and she, who were fighting for 
 the same object, should be in some sense opposed 
 to each other. It was so essential that a perfect 
 confidence should be established between them, and yet 
 how could he fail now in loyalty to Greg ? That, surely, 
 would undo all the good that had been already done, and 
 till now everything appeared to be going so well. 
 
 Martin could see no way out of the difficulty. 
 
 When he came into Greg's room at five o'clock, 
 Margaret got up and left them. 
 
 "Well, how's the hand?" asked Martin with an 
 affectation of cheeriness. 
 
 Greg did not reply. He looked more ill than Martin 
 had yet seen him, drawn and grey, and unutterably 
 weary; he lay on his back with his hands stretched out 
 on the counterpane, and when he opened his eyes he 
 stared straight up at the ceiling. 
 
 " D'ye know how long this sickness is likely to last ? " 
 he asked, after a long pause. " I've been very sick again 
 to-day. It must be some drug they put in the medicine." 
 
 Martin did not know. " It may be only in the first 
 two bottles," he ventured, trying to assume a cheerful 
 confidence. " I could find out, of course." 
 
 " I'll give it another trial to-morrow, any way," said 
 Greg, " but I'll take no more to-night. I'm worn out." 
 He paused again, and then went on, "However, that's 
 not what I wanted to see ye about. I don't wish ye to sit 
 up with me to-night." 
 
 " Oh! but I don't mind a bit ..." began Martin. 
 
 " It's not what you mind, but what / mind," inter- 
 rupted Greg. " If ye're going to do me any good at all, 
 ye've got to trust me." 
 
 " Of course, I know. I quite understand that," said 
 Martin. " It's only for the first day or two ..." 
 
 " Ye've sat up with me two nights already." 
 
 " Well, let me stay one more."
 
 THE ALLIES 153 
 
 " Ye can search the room," said Greg, " and the 
 house. I lied to ye last night when I said there was none 
 in the room." He evidently had a strange disinclination 
 to name the thing that had been destroying him. 
 "The two bottles of hairwash on the dressin'-table are 
 nearly full and there's another bottle in the dressin' 
 case under the portmanteaux on top of the wardrobe. 
 That's all. I'm tellin' ye the truth, now." 
 
 Martin looked his perplexity. How could he know 
 that this was all ? The man was so clever. This extra- 
 ordinary confidence might be another blind. 
 
 Greg moved uneasily and turned his face for the first 
 time towards Martin. " It's small wonder that ye doubt 
 me," he said, " but I'm tellin' ye the truth. Ye must try 
 and trust me." 
 
 " Oh, so I do, at least, so I will after to-night," 
 stammered Martin. " But I can't see why you shouldn't 
 let me stay just once more." 
 
 " It goes against me to be treated that way," said 
 Greg. " I've been thinkin' of it all the time I've been 
 lying here. Ye're too young and ye don't understand, 
 but I've allowed ye to be here, ye and Maggie, for 
 forty-eight hours and that should be enough to show 
 ye that I'm in earnest. 
 
 " I could have tricked ye both, any tune, if I'd had a 
 mind to," he added. 
 
 " Has Miss Hamilton agreed to to this ? " asked 
 Martin, clinging to a last hope. 
 
 " Ye can discuss it with her," Greg answered, after a 
 thoughtful interval. He turned on his back again, and 
 stared up at the ceiling. " Ye've told her nothing about 
 last night or the night before ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing, not a word," said Martin. 
 
 " Well, I'd sooner ye didn't," said Greg, " and ye 
 might take away what I've just told ye about, and keep 
 a quiet tongue about that, too." 
 
 " Very well," Martin acquiesced. 
 
 " But when ye've done that," Greg continued, " ye
 
 154 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 can discuss with her the point I've just indicated, and 
 I'll advise ye that ye'd be better guided to trust me." 
 
 " Very well," Martin agreed, rather sadly. 
 
 He got up on a chair and dragged out the suit case, 
 finding the key, by Greg's instruction, in the pocket of 
 an old waistcoat that hung in the wardrobe. 
 
 " Lock it and put it back," mumbled Greg, when 
 Martin had taken out an unopened bottle of whisky, 
 " the key's supposed to have been lost." 
 
 After that Martin made exploration, guided by his 
 sense of smell, among a dozen or more bottles on the 
 dressing-table and wash-stand, but he found, as Greg 
 had said, that only two of them contained whisky. 
 
 He then went quietly into his own room and added 
 these finds to his own collection. It struck him that he 
 would not like Hester to discover all this secret supply of 
 alcohol, and he separated the key of his portmanteau 
 from the others on the ring and put it in his watch- 
 pocket. 
 
 " There's nothing else I can do, I suppose ? " he 
 asked, when he had returned. 
 
 Greg shook his head weakly. " Ye can tell Maggie 
 that she may search the room," he said as an after- 
 thought. 
 
 Margaret was on the landing when Martin came out. 
 She had evidently been waiting in her own bedroom. 
 She looked at him with that mute interrogation which 
 now had but one significance. 
 
 Instead of returning the usual affirmative signal, 
 Martin closed the door of Greg's room behind him. 
 
 " I want to talk to you for a few minutes, please," he 
 said. She answered him by a glance at the closed door 
 that said quite plainly, " Can we leave him alone ?" 
 
 Martin nodded confidently, but she still hesitated, 
 searching his face with a look full of doubt.
 
 THE ALLIES 155 
 
 He smiled a little uneasily. " We must have a talk," 
 he said. " He has asked me to do, at least not to do, 
 something." 
 
 They went as usual to the bleak, extraordinarily 
 empty drawing-room. 
 
 " It's this," said Martin at once; " he has asked me not 
 to sit up with him to-night. He has insisted that we 
 must trust him. He says we may search the room and 
 the house if we like. I really think it's safe." 
 
 Margaret did not answer him immediately. She put 
 both hands up to her face and leaned forward, her 
 elbows on her knees. 
 
 " He's tricking us again," she said at last, " it's only 
 another failure." 
 
 Martin had a momentary inspiration. " Does your 
 intuition tell you that ? " he asked. 
 
 She shook her head and sat up. "I seem to have lost 
 all my intuitions where Robin is concerned," she said. 
 " I don't know why, I can't explain. He holds me off so, 
 I can't get near him. But oh ! it's quite certain that he's 
 fooling us somehow. I've been through it all before. I 
 know the signs so well." She sighed with a deep quick 
 inhalation, as if she were gasping for breath, and put her 
 hands to her face again. 
 
 Her weakness gave Martin strength. " I know you 
 don't trust any intuition of mine," he said, " you don't 
 think I ever have any, and I don't know that I ever have 
 before; but somehow, I do really feel now that he is 
 playing straight with us. I seem to have got into touch 
 with him during the past two days. I feel quite dif- 
 ferently about him, now." He stopped and looked down 
 at the floor, and he blushed and stammered as he 
 continued, " I told you, didn't I, that Mr Barker said 
 I shouldn't do any good with him unless !...'! loved 
 him/ was what Mr Barker said. And I daresay it may 
 sound awfully . . . rather . . . rather silly, perhaps, to 
 you, but in these last two days, I have ... at least . . . 
 in a way, you know ... I mean I do care tremendously
 
 156 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 whether this cure's going to be a success or not. I know 
 I'm a silly ass and all that, but I do believe we ought to 
 trust him now. It's . . . it's my first intuition." 
 
 Margaret's eyes were full of tears. If her intuitions had 
 failed her where Robin was concerned, they were 
 growing daily stronger in relation to Martin; and it 
 seemed to her that this stammering confession of his, 
 so utterly devoid as it was of any sentimental emotion, 
 had given her sight of something fine and sacred, some 
 splendid aspect of love that she had never before under- 
 stood. If Robin reciprocated Martin's feeling for him, 
 she could not doubt that the cure would be a success. 
 
 " You're bigger than I am," she said, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 " Oh! no, no," said Martin earnestly. " You'll make 
 me feel absolutely beastly if you talk like that. It isn't 
 that at all. I'm not anything like . . ." He couldn't 
 finish his sentence. He got up and stood before the 
 desolate grate, his hands in his coat pockets, his whole 
 attention given apparently to the pattern of the 
 hearthrug. 
 
 " It isn't that at all," he repeated. " It's just whether 
 you can trust me . . . and him." 
 
 " I can trust you," she said, and then, watching his 
 embarrassment, she went on. " And I daresay you're 
 right. Let's try it." 
 
 " I believe it's the best thing to do," he said, without 
 looking up. 
 
 But Margaret could not leave the situation without 
 one more attempt to solve the private problem that had 
 been intriguing her. 
 
 " I suppose he has been confiding in you ? " she asked. 
 
 He looked up then and met her regard of him. 
 " You've said you trusted me," was the defence he tried 
 to interpose between them. 
 
 " But you can't trust me." It was she, now, who 
 looked down. 
 
 " I can," he said awkwardly. He would have given
 
 THE ALLIES 157 
 
 everything he had to be able to kneel by her and tell her 
 that he would trust her with his whole life, but he could 
 not be false to the man upstairs. 
 
 " Well, he can't trust me, then," she said. 
 
 " He can," muttered Martin. " And he will, very soon. 
 
 It's only just at first. Presently, when he's a bit better 
 
 
 " It must have been something very important," 
 said Margaret, interrupting his half -inaudible mut- 
 terings. 
 
 " Not particularly," he said; " really it wasn't." 
 
 She got up with a little sign of impatience. "Oh! 
 well," she said, " we've agreed to trust him and that's 
 all that matters. So you need not sit up to-night. That 
 must be rather a relief to you ? " 
 
 "It isn't; not a bit," he returned. " Are you going to 
 search the room ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, what's the good ? " she said, and shrugged 
 her shoulders. " He knows he's safe. If there's any 
 whisky there, we shan't find it." 
 
 " I say, you're not angry with me ? " asked Martin, 
 looking up at her beseechingly. 
 
 She gave him a bleak, formal smile, that reminded 
 him of her sister's photograph. " Angry ? Of course I'm 
 not," she said lightly. " Why should I be angry with 
 you? ' 
 
 " I don't know," he said miserably. 
 
 " I'd better go back to Robin," she said with a little 
 laugh, and went out. 
 
 Martin should have been elated, but he was pro- 
 foundly dejected and miserable. It seemed to him that 
 there was nothing in the world worth living for. Even 
 the cure of Greg had, in some curious way, lost a little 
 of its splendour. For a time he stared absorbedly at 
 Margaret's photograph, and then, very humbly and 
 reverently, he kissed the pictured semblance of her hair.
 
 158 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 At half-past eight he went up to help Greg into his 
 dressing-gown so that he might get up while his bed 
 was being made. 
 
 He had been asleep for two hours and although his 
 face still looked drawn and grey, he seemed to have lost 
 a little of the weariness that had been so apparent 
 earlier in the day. 
 
 He did not speak, however, while he was being helped 
 into the arm-chair by the fire plainly he was extra- 
 ordinarily pulled down and weak but he held up his 
 hand when Martin was about to call in Margaret and 
 Hester, and said, 
 
 " Just a minute." 
 
 Martin thought that some further confession was 
 coming, and a flash of alarm shot through him. 
 
 " I just want to say that I'm vairy grateful to ye, 
 Bond," said Greg. 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake don't talk rot," returned 
 Martin, flushing. 
 
 A flicker of a smile lighted Greg's face for a moment. 
 " Ye're not so polite as ye were," he said. 
 
 " I know you better," said Martin. 
 
 " And I don't think that ye like me any worse, if that 
 were possible," said Greg, slily. 
 
 " No, I don't know that I do," said Martin. " Well, 
 good night, old man." 
 
 " Good night, laddie," replied Greg, without looking 
 up.
 
 XIII. CONFEDERATION. 
 
 AFTER that brief expression of gratitude, Robin Greg 
 made no further reference to the great object that was 
 engaging all the energies of his secretary and sister-in- 
 law. The sickness did not recur after the second day, 
 and his appetite began slowly to return, but he gave no 
 confidences about his condition. For the most part he 
 lay quite still, gazing up at the ceiling. His attitude and 
 expression seemed to denote an abstraction from the 
 affairs of every day; he may have been courageously 
 reckoning his past or seeking to read the future. What- 
 ever the subject of his secret thought he gave no trouble. 
 He took the " cure " with perfect regularity and read- 
 iness. Indeed, he seemed eager for it. After the second 
 day not a single dose of the diluted drug was wasted. 
 
 Dr Forman's diagnosis was not particularly en- 
 lightening. " He's going on all right," was the only 
 essential. " The cut's healing very slowly, bound to, 
 but there are no complications." He seemed keenly 
 interested in the " Antol " cure, however, asked many 
 questions and took home a small sample for private 
 analysis. "I'm not very keen on these things as a rule," 
 he explained, " but this stuff's certainly having some 
 effect. You've had no trouble at all, have you? He's 
 never tried to get at any whisky since you started ? " 
 
 " No," said Martin, " not once since we started." 
 That was a whole truth he was always glad to state. 
 
 Margaret suggested that perhaps Robin was too ill to 
 care. She still clung a little fondly to that theory of 
 illness. 
 
 Forman pulled his moustache. " But, in a sense/you 
 know, he isn't ill at all," he said. " There's no organic
 
 160 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 trouble and no fever, now. He's very weak, of course, 
 and no doubt a good deal upset inside, but now that 
 he's taking solid food again regularly, that'll soon get 
 all right." 
 
 That appeared to be the note that must be adopted 
 with confidence, and Martin, at least, sounded it on 
 every possible occasion. 
 
 He saw comparatively little of Margaret after that 
 determining conversation in the drawing-room. During 
 the first week of the cure, although the night watch had 
 been definitely abandoned, one or other of them was in 
 Greg's room throughout the day. If any excuse had been 
 needed, it could have been urged that they were nursing 
 him, treating him as an ordinary invalid, but he seemed 
 in no way to resent their presence. 
 
 And when Martin and Margaret found themselves 
 alone together for a few moments, no further confidences 
 passed between them. She had apparently given up any 
 attempt to discover what had happened on that first 
 Saturday night and the following Sunday; she seemed 
 to rely more upon Martin's strength, to give greater 
 consideration to his opinion; but she wore as yet no air 
 of certain hope for the future, and there was a new 
 reserve in her manner that Martin could not understand. 
 
 Both Margaret's reserve and Greg's long silence were 
 broken on Sunday, the eighth day of the cure. Greg was 
 undoubtedly better that morning. He had asked for his 
 dressing-gown and he was sitting up in bed reading a 
 novel. 
 
 At half -past eleven both he and Martin, who was 
 reading Socialism by the fire, heard a knock at the front 
 door, and a few moments later the voice of Dr Forman 
 in the hall below. 
 
 Martin got out of his chair. " That's Forman," he
 
 CONFEDERATION 161 
 
 remarked, and taking up a medicine bottle from the 
 wash-stand, he poured away a few doses from it, and 
 substituted it for the bottle of the cure that stood on the 
 table by the bed. 
 
 Greg smiled grimly, and Martin, taking this unusual 
 sign as an encouragement, grinned and said, " Usual 
 game." 
 
 " Has he never asked ye any questions about me ? " 
 asked Greg. 
 
 " Never," returned Martin. 
 
 " D'ye suppose he thinks I'm taking his medicine all 
 the time ? " 
 
 " Well, of course." 
 
 " I should not have taken it in any case," said Greg. 
 " I'm a homoeopathist ; but I thought it was better not 
 to make a fuss in the circumstances. However, he'll not 
 be comin' many times more. There's no need for him, 
 now; he'll just be runnin' up a bill, that's all. Not but 
 what he's a good enough fellow in a way." 
 
 " Oh ! rather; he's all right," agreed Martin. He was a 
 little nervous on this dangerous ground. 
 
 "Are ye sure he's not suspicious?" asked Greg 
 keenly, returning to the main issue. 
 
 " He has never shown any sign of it with me," replied 
 Martin sturdily. 
 
 "D'ye always talk about football?" Greg's tone 
 implied that such foolishness was beyond his com- 
 prehension, but his smile was friendly. 
 
 " Well, you see, it's the thick of the Rugby season," 
 explained Martin, " and we're both rather keen on the 
 form of the XV's for the 'Varsity match next Saturday." 
 He paused for a moment and then added, " We both 
 think it's rather a good thing for Cambridge." 
 
 " And since when has Maggie been so interested in 
 football? " asked Greg cynically. 
 
 " I've never mentioned football to Miss Hamilton." 
 Martin, with his boy's ingenuousness, was too anxious 
 to hide his own feeling. 
 
 M
 
 162 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Greg noted the readiness of his reply and his underlip 
 shot out. " Och ! who's talkin' about you ? " he said. 
 
 " I thought ..." began Martin. 
 
 " I saw ye did," Greg interrupted him. " But what I 
 want to know is what Maggie finds to talk about to 
 Forman in the drawing-room whenever he comes ? He's 
 been here ten minutes, now, and if he's not fetched it'll 
 quite likely be a half-hour or more before he comes 
 upstairs." 
 
 He had been watching them, then, noticing every- 
 thing, drawing inferences during all the time that he 
 had lain so quietly, so apparently unconscious of the 
 world about him. The thought came to Martin with 
 something of reproof; he was afraid that he had begun 
 to grow careless again, to treat this wonderful complex 
 on the bed as a mere patient to be commanded or 
 humoured for his own good. 
 
 " What a suspicious old beggar you are," he said, 
 trying to find a way out of his dilemma. 
 
 Greg did not respond to the playful tone of that 
 remark. He looked moody and thoughtful. " Maggie's 
 keepin' something from me," he said. " I think ye've 
 been honest, but I'm not so sure about Maggie." 
 
 Martin shrugged his shoulders. " Perhaps we've kept 
 too much from her," he suggested. 
 
 Greg looked at him sharply. " But she would not 
 guess that," he said. 
 
 " She does," said Martin. 
 
 " How ? " Greg snapped at him. 
 
 " She asked me questions about that Saturday night," 
 said Martin, " and when I said you had been quiet, she 
 didn't believe me. I haven't told her anything, but I 
 know she feels that she is being kept out of it, in a way, 
 if you know what I mean. I think we ought to tell her." 
 
 Greg lay back in bed and looked up at the ceiling. 
 " Maybe ye're right," he said after a pause. " I'll tell 
 her, myself, when Forman's gone. We'll have no more of 
 this underhand business." He stopped, and then sat up
 
 CONFEDERATION 163 
 
 and said with a sudden spurt of temper, " But I wish 
 ye'd go and send that doctor fellow up, sharp, Bond. 
 What the devil those two have been haverin' about the 
 last half-hour is clean beyond me. I tell ye I don't like 
 it." 
 
 " I'll go," said Martin. 
 
 He was very conscious that he did not like it himself. 
 He had a strange feeling to which he hardly, as yet, 
 could have given the name of jealousy. As he saw it, 
 Margaret was becoming too intimate with this fourth 
 person from the outside; she was giving him the con- 
 fidence that should have been reserved for himself who 
 had borne the brunt of all that was unpleasant at the 
 beginning of this cure they were trying to effect. And he 
 thought that Greg probably had much the same feeling 
 although in his case it was no more than an unsupported 
 suspicion. After all, Forman was a mere puppet in this 
 affair . . . 
 
 Martin's perturbation was in no way smoothed by the 
 sight of Forman and Margaret. They were coming out 
 of the drawing-room as he reached the hall ; they were 
 laughing and appeared to be on the best of terms with 
 one another. 
 
 " Hallo ! " said Forman gaily. " How's the patient ? " 
 
 "A bit ratty," returned Martin, without a smile. 
 " He heard you come half an hour ago and he has been 
 wondering why you don't go up." 
 
 " Suspicious ? " asked Forman cheerfully. 
 
 " Well, naturally," said Martin. " Of course he thinks 
 you've been discussing him all the time. And if he once 
 guesses that you know anything . . ." He shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 Forman's hand went to his moustache. " Is it as bad 
 as that ? " he asked more seriously. 
 
 M2
 
 164 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Quite," said Martin, caustically. 
 
 Forman looked a trifle put out. " Oh ! well," he began ; 
 but Margaret stepped in quickly by saying, 
 
 " Perhaps you had better go up now. It's quite true 
 that he is rather difficult to deal with in some ways; and 
 it certainly would not do, just now, for him to know 
 that we had told you." 
 
 " Certainly. Oh ! yes, I understand, Miss Hamilton," 
 replied Forman, quite friendly at once. As he passed 
 Martin he said, " I'll put him off the scent all right, 
 there's no need for you to get upset." 
 
 Martin made no answer until the doctor had entered 
 Greg's room and shut the door, then he looked 
 solemnly at Margaret and said, " It will take a cleverer 
 man than Dr Forman to fool Mr Greg." 
 
 " So you've found that out, have you ? " she returned 
 coolly. 
 
 " Some time ago," said Martin. " Do you mind going 
 back into the drawing-room for a minute, I want to tell 
 you something? " 
 
 " What is it? " she asked when they were alone in 
 that bleak room with the door shut between them and 
 the rest of the house. She looked at him inquiringly. 
 She had read clearly enough his mood in the hall, and 
 it had not displeased her, but she saw that he had 
 something to tell her that had nothing to do with his 
 boyish jealousy. 
 
 " He's been talking to me," said Martin. He felt 
 horribly estranged from her. He wanted to plead for a 
 general re-establishment of confidence among the three 
 of them, but he could not rid himself of the thought of 
 that unnecessary, intruding fourth person, with his 
 blonde handsome face and square shoulders. 
 
 "What did he say?" asked Margaret as Martin 
 paused. 
 
 " He said that you had been keeping something from 
 him," he said, and then, unable to keep Forman out of 
 it, he went on, " He asked me what on earth you and the
 
 CONFEDERATION 165 
 
 doctor fellow found to talk about for half an hour 
 whenever he comes. And / couldn't tell him." 
 
 Margaret smiled. " Was that all ? " she asked. 
 
 " No," said Martin gloomily. " I told him I didn't 
 know whether you were keeping anything from him, 
 but that if you were it was only natural, because he'd 
 made me keep something back from you. And then he 
 said I was quite right, and that he'd tell you after that 
 chap upstairs had gone." 
 
 " I thought you liked Dr Forman," Margaret replied 
 most inconsequently. 
 
 " Oh ! he's all right," said Martin. " I don't see what 
 he's got to do with it. Three is enough, surely." 
 
 " Three has been one too many up till now," she said, 
 quietly. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that you've lost heart in 
 it? " asked Martin anxiously. " Not now that every- 
 thing's going so well ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no," She shook her head and sat down on the 
 little settee by the fireplace. " Oh! no," she repeated, 
 "I could never do that. You don't understand how 
 much it means to me." 
 
 Martin fidgeted. " I think I understand that," he 
 said in a low voice. " What I don't understand . . ." 
 
 " Oh ! naturally," she said with a touch of impatience. 
 " How should you? " 
 
 Martin looked distressed, but could find nothing to 
 say. 
 
 " What is it he's going to tell me ? " she asked. 
 
 "Oh! please don't ask me," pleaded Martin. " He's 
 going to tell you himself, and after that I hope it will all 
 be straight sailing, again. If you knew how / hate all 
 these reserves ..." 
 
 " Not more than I do," remarked Margaret. 
 
 " I don't know the least bit what I've done to put you 
 out," he said. " I don't see . . ." 
 
 Everything looked so different from this point of 
 view. They had begun to work together and how could
 
 166 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 he explain the reason for his failure to give her that 
 perfect confidence which could so it seemed now 
 have been the only possible ground of their endeavour. 
 
 She did not help him. " I've done all I could," she 
 said, with her face turned away from him, " but I feel 
 that you've tried to keep me out of it." 
 
 " / ? " he asked in amazement. 
 
 " Well, you and Robin between you," she said. 
 
 " But . . ." he began, and then, " Indeed and indeed 
 we haven't, at least / certainly haven't; but isn't it 
 going to be all right, now ? I've said that he's going to 
 tell you everything at once; I asked him to. Don't you 
 understand how I want to work with you and him ? " 
 
 " I suppose it was only some silly bottles he had 
 hidden? " said Margaret. 
 
 " He'll tell you," returned Martin. " Here's Forman ! 
 Will you go up now ! I'll let him out." 
 
 Margaret laughed most unexpectedly. " Oh ! poor 
 Dr Forman," she remarked as she left the room. 
 
 After he had seen Forman out they talked no football 
 that morning Martin went into the study and tried to 
 read, but his mind refused to consider any subject but 
 the interview that was taking place in the room over- 
 head. 
 
 He heard the mumble of Greg's voice disconnectedly, 
 a broken mutter of sound, without any dramatic quality, 
 that conveyed no impression of the scene that was 
 acting he might have been learning verse by heart 
 like a schoolboy, repeating the lines aloud. The 
 intervals might or might not have been filled by 
 Margaret's answers. If she spoke her voice was so low 
 that it did not reach the study. 
 
 Martin listened more attentively, 
 
 The intermittent mumbling continued perplexingly
 
 CONFEDERATION 167 
 
 until, without any prelude of raised voices, a chair 
 Margaret's chair it must have been was pushed back 
 so suddenly that it fell over; the rap of it on the 
 polished boards by the door came out flat and clear. 
 After that he heard footsteps walking up and down and 
 then for the first time the sound of Margaret's voice. 
 
 She was speaking quickly, a little excitedly, it 
 seemed. Sometimes she stopped for a moment in her 
 pacing of the room, and then the sound of her voice 
 dropped to a lower, almost inaudible pitch. Once or 
 twice Martin thought he could pick out an isolated 
 word or two here and there, something that sounded 
 like " I know," and a little later, " I'm not blind." 
 
 Martin frowned. He was utterly puzzled. 
 
 Presently the mumble began afresh, intermittently 
 as before, but this time with something more of urgency. 
 The footsteps had ceased; either she must be standing 
 still or she had sat down again. 
 
 Martin had pictured some moving scene, but he was 
 lost now; all the little conjunctive sounds of response 
 or acquiescence failed to reach him. He could not tell 
 whether she was agreeing with or dissenting from the 
 statements if they were statements of that mono- 
 tonous, dull voice. 
 
 He looked at his watch and found that it was nearly 
 one o'clock. Margaret had been up there over half an 
 hour. He jumped to his feet suddenly as he heard the 
 door above opened, but Margaret did not come down- 
 stairs, she went into her own room. 
 
 He fidgeted, wondering whether he should go up to 
 Greg. Something of the old sense of being excluded had 
 returned to him. After all those inferred confessions and 
 understandings, he thought that it might seem like 
 curiosity if he went up too quickly, as if he were anxious 
 to assert his consequence in all that went forward. 
 
 Would it never be possible for the three of them to be 
 in accord ? 
 
 The house was very quiet now. The only sound was
 
 i68 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 the thud of Hester's footsteps going backwards and 
 forwards through the hall as she laid the dinner. 
 
 Margaret must come down then, he reflected; only, 
 of course, there would be Biddie. 
 
 Biddie, however, did not come down to dinner. She 
 had been rather naughty, Margaret said, and was being 
 punished by detention in the nursery; she was to be 
 taken presently to her father's room. This was the first 
 time in eight days that Greg had asked for her. 
 
 Martin thought that Margaret looked as if she had 
 been crying. She gave him no encouragement to talk at 
 first, and he was shy of opening any topic; he was 
 anxious not to appear curious as to the details of the 
 interview she had had upstairs with Greg; indeed, he 
 was slightly over-anxious to show his perfect unconcern. 
 
 It was not until they were half-way through dinner 
 that Margaret suddenly opened the conversation by 
 saying : 
 
 " Well ? Don't you want to know what Robin told 
 me? " 
 
 " I suppose I know," said Martin. 
 
 " Oh ! that ! " she said. " That was nothing ! Not the 
 facts, I mean, his trying to cut your throat and hiding 
 the bottles." 
 
 " What else was there ? " asked Martin in perplexity. 
 Facts meant so much to him. 
 
 She made a little grimace and bent down over her 
 plate. 
 
 " L-lots of things," she said with her little trick of 
 hesitation. 
 
 Martin remembered that he had not noticed that 
 charming stammer of hers for several days. 
 
 ' Things that weren't ' facts ' ? "he asked. 
 
 " The things that count," she said, and then she sat up
 
 CONFEDERATION 169 
 
 and gripped the arms of her " carving " chair. " The 
 real great things," she went on slowly, looking straight 
 out in front of her. " I've been so small and mean to 
 to you both." 
 
 " Oh ! no I " Martin broke out eagerly. " You've done 
 everything. He would never have taken any notice of 
 me." 
 
 " He's been splendid," she said, and then she sud- 
 denly began to fumble for her handkerchief , and got up 
 and went over to the window. 
 
 Martin pushed his chair back and stared miserably at 
 his half-empty plate. He did not know what to do or 
 say; he only knew that to eat was an impossible 
 gaucherie in such a situation. She relieved him of his 
 embarrassment by coming back to the table. " I am a 
 fool," she remarked with a smile. " Do go on with your 
 dinner." 
 
 " I don't think I want any more," he said awkwardly. 
 
 " Well, you might ring," suggested Margaret. " I 
 expect Hester wants hers." 
 
 She had control of herself again by the time Hester 
 had put the pudding on the table; but Martin wished 
 that they were alone in the drawing-room. He felt more 
 at home with her there ; these banalities of serving and 
 eating food seemed so utterly out of place. And, indeed, 
 it was not until Hester had been in again and left them 
 to face the cheese neither of them wished to eat, that 
 Margaret returned to the one important topic. 
 
 " I won't be silly any more," she said, putting her 
 elbows on the table and leaning her chin on her hands, 
 " but I do want to begin again all clear from to-day 
 with no more misunderstandings." 
 
 " Yes, rather," assented Martin shyly. 
 
 " Robin was so splendid, just now," she continued, 
 " so like his old self. He does understand so well, when 
 he likes. And, perhaps you don't realize how difficult it 
 must have been for him to tell me all about Saturday 
 night. I don't suppose anything could have been harder
 
 170 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 for him than that. It's just the one subject he never 
 will talk about to anyone; and even now, when he is 
 making a big effort, it's just the one thing in the world 
 he'd rather not speak about." 
 
 " I know," agreed Martin. 
 
 " And he was so quiet about it all," she went on, 
 "although he hurt me terribly. He said" her voice 
 trembled slightly and she dug her knuckles into her 
 chin and paused a moment " he said that you had 
 trusted him and I hadn't, that I had never trusted him. 
 I got up and knocked my chair over when he said that ; 
 did you hear it? " 
 
 Martin nodded. The details of that scene were 
 becoming marvellously clear now. 
 
 " And then, when I protested Oh ! yes, I did protest 
 he just convinced me in his quiet way that he under- 
 stood all about it, and told me not to fash myself any 
 more, now that we understood one another. He said it 
 was all coming right and that we must try to have more 
 confidence in one another. He made me cry, I felt that 
 I had been so horrible." 
 
 Martin was watching her face intently, but she did 
 not appear to see him. There had been a great deal of 
 Robin Greg in all she had said, but little of Martin Bond. 
 He wondered if this were to be the final bouleversement ; 
 if he were to end as he had begun as the outsider, the 
 tool that had been picked up by chance to serve some 
 necessary purpose and was soon to become useless? 
 He felt, in some inexplicable way, as if he had now lost 
 touch with both Greg and Margaret. 
 
 She was, perhaps, too exalted just then to sympathize 
 with Martin's depression; her mood was too active to be 
 haled back by any small conflict of temperament; but 
 beyond this there was something of a definite purpose 
 in her mind. She had been praised and encouraged by 
 Robin, made to feel that it was her influence which had 
 stimulated all his endeavours, and with a natural re- 
 action she had realized that it was to Robin and not to
 
 CONFEDERATION 171 
 
 Martin that she owed all she had to give of encourage- 
 ment and assistance. Martin had a strength and inde- 
 pendence that made no call upon her at this moment. 
 
 " So now we are all to work together? " he asked 
 after a long interval of silence. 
 
 She leaned back in her chair and looked at him half- 
 absently. " Yes, we are not nearly out of the wood yet," 
 she said. " What he wants now is our sympathy more 
 than anything." 
 
 " Hasn't he always had that ? " he suggested. 
 
 " In a way," she agreed. 
 
 " Mine, he has, in any case," he said, with a slightly 
 surly qualification. 
 
 " Oh ! you've been wonderful," said Margaret 
 lightly. 
 
 Martin shrugged his shoulders and looked past her 
 out of the window. He seemed to be walking out of that 
 fascinatingly dangerous country he had once feared to 
 explore, into a dull, commonplace world devoid of any 
 possible interest. 
 
 " I'm not sure that we give the ' Antol ' stuff itself 
 all the credit it deserves," he remarked. " I doubt if we 
 should have got as far as this without it. As Forman 
 noticed, you remember, Mr Greg has been extraordin- 
 arily free from the craving one would have expected. 
 That must be due to the drug, whatever it is. He's been 
 poisoned, consistently, for two years, and in the ordinary 
 way he must have suffered, physically, ever so much 
 more than he has. We seem only to have had to fight 
 the mental side of him." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I know," Margaret admitted. " The ' cure' 
 has helped us marvellously. Only the time will come 
 when we can't depend on that any longer in another 
 fortnight, to be precise." 
 
 " By that time you'll be able to manage him alone," 
 said Martin tentatively. 
 
 She looked at him quickly. 
 
 " What about the book, then ? " she asked.
 
 172 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " I'm not the only secretary to be had," he said, and 
 added, " Nor by any means the best." He was trying 
 desperately to get some word from her that would carry 
 him through the rest of the day most of it, as he 
 guessed rightly enough, to be spent alone in the study. 
 
 " You'll have to talk to Robin about that," she said 
 with a smile, and Martin caught a glimpse of the chains 
 that were forged about him.
 
 XIV. THE WORLD OUTSIDE. 
 
 THE knowledge of those chains became a thing too 
 familiar to need remark in the course of the next few 
 days. 
 
 On Monday, the ninth day of the " cure," Greg came 
 down to the study for a couple of hours in the afternoon. 
 He wore his dressing-gown and bedroom slippers, but 
 he had washed, shaved and brushed his hair; he was a 
 perfectly respectable invalid, not the figure of disgust 
 that had invaded the same room a fortnight before. 
 
 Biddie came in to tea, bright and inclined to be 
 impertinent, but her father, although he nursed her and 
 talked to her for a time, exhibited none of that maudlin 
 fondness and sentimentality he had shown on an earlier 
 occasion. Biddie on her side evidently appreciated the 
 change of manner, and missing the thing which in all 
 probability she disliked when it was plainly in evidence, 
 she was feminine enough to try to evoke it anew. " I 
 love Aunt Marg'et, and Nanna and Uncoo Martin and 
 . . . and Dadda," was the form her challenge took, and 
 when her father failed to criticize his place in the list, 
 she brought out another piece from her repertoire by 
 adding, " But I love Dadda best," and clung round his 
 neck, covering him with obviously moist kisses. 
 
 " Och! Biddie, don't worry," was all the result she 
 achieved, and she was presently sent upstairs, rather 
 puzzled and resentful, to devise, perhaps, further plans 
 for her father's subjugation. In her little experience of 
 three and a half years she could not remember so 
 detached a father. Hitherto, he had been either too 
 rough or too fond. 
 
 When she had gone, Greg introduced at once the
 
 174 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 subject of "The book"; not as previously, with an 
 effort of concentration that soon lagged, but with a 
 certain gusto and interest, a plain intention of getting 
 the work finished as soon as possible. 
 
 " I'll not be able to get back to the office until after 
 this Christmas that ye make so much fuss about in 
 England," he said, "so I'll have a clear two weeks or 
 more to get the thing fairly started." And when he 
 heard that Martin had already made a beginning with 
 his history of Socialism in three chapters, he insisted 
 that the manuscript should be brought out and read 
 aloud. 
 
 Martin was not at all unwilling. He had read papers 
 too often at Cambridge to feel any nervousness, and he 
 was secretly satisfied with the few pages he had written. 
 
 His little audience of two listened attentively, and 
 when he had finished, Margaret cheered him by saying, 
 
 " I think that's a splendid beginning. It's all so clear, 
 and so interesting too." 
 
 " Yes," agreed Greg, " it's very good. Ye express 
 yerself well, laddie, it's concise and apt ..." 
 
 " But ... ? " queried Martin, waiting for the certain 
 qualification that was implied by the other's tone. 
 
 " Well, it's not precisely a ' but ' either," said Greg 
 good-humouredly. " All ye've written can very well 
 stand. I was only thinking that I'd like ye to begin a 
 little further back. I know well enough that what we 
 mean by ' Socialism ' now, began in a way, as ye say 
 quite truly, at the end of the eighteenth century. But 
 I'd like ye to show, if possible, how the idea's a while 
 older than that. I don't want ye to drag in Plato and 
 Aristotle or Sir Thomas More, and the whole palaver 
 about Utopia that's all been done; but I'd like ye to 
 show how the thing's been expressed in action of a kind. 
 Now, there's the Incas of Peru that had a social system 
 that was very like a form of Socialism, and I'd like ye to 
 look up the Levellers and the Digger movement in the 
 time of Cromwell; I think ye'll find some interestin'
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 175 
 
 material there that'll be more or less new in this con- 
 nexion. If ye follow me, I'd like for us just to point out 
 that the tendency is as old as the hills, the tendency 
 towards some form of communism, I mean. If we're 
 successfully to attack the present form of Evolutionary 
 Socialism that's to come through Syndicalism, we'll do 
 better to begin by provin' that we're dealin' with a root 
 principle of human nature and not with a modern 
 remedy arisin' out of present conditions." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I see," agreed Martin. " I hadn't, of course, 
 realized your general attitude." 
 
 " Ye're all right," said Greg, " and what ye've done'll 
 be very useful, but we'll get down to the general scheme 
 to-morrow I'm a wee bit tired to-night and we'll 
 have the best part of the book written in the next 
 fortnight." 
 
 He was full of enthusiasm and talked for another 
 half-hour before he went upstairs. 
 
 Martin saw very clearly that he would have to remain 
 at Garroch until the book was finished; the prospect 
 seemed in no way unpleasant, now. 
 
 He was summoned to Greg's room at half-past nine 
 the next morning and found his employer sitting up in 
 bed wrapped in a dressing-gown. 
 
 He was looking worried and anxious. He had a litter 
 of opened letters lying on the counterpane in front of 
 him; the envelopes, untidily burst open, had been 
 thrown on the floor. 
 
 " I would like ye to take down a few letters, Bond," 
 he said. " I've been leavin' all this stuff until I felt 
 better able to deal with it; and I don't know that I 
 would have tackled it this morning if I hadn't had 
 another letter from Andrews." He frowned and stared 
 past Martin at the wardrobe. " The man's a fule," he 
 remarked, with damning deliberation.
 
 176 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " I'd better get some note paper," said Martin. 
 
 Greg nodded. " There'll be a pad on the desk down- 
 stairs," he said. 
 
 " First of all," Greg began, when Martin returned, 
 " will ye write to Andrews and say that I'll not be back 
 in the City till after Christmas ? Thank him for his kind 
 inquiries in this and his previous letter of last Thursday, 
 which I only opened this morning, and ask him to send 
 my clerk down here to-morrow first thing. He lives this 
 way, but he'll have to go to the office to get my 
 post." 
 
 He dictated half a dozen other letters in the same 
 general way to various business correspondents, and 
 then, after a long hesitation, a letter to Rotterdam 
 which he phrased with great care, framing each sentence 
 with precision. 
 
 When it was done he stretched out his hand for the 
 pad. " Here, let me have a look at it," he said, and after 
 weighing the matter of the letter, he asked for Martin's 
 fountain pen, and began to make corrections, chuckling 
 once or twice as at the effect of his own cleverness. 
 
 The matter of the letter, so far as Martin could 
 understand it, had reference to the underwriting of 
 some new company. " He'll not get too much informa- 
 tion out of that," said Greg when he had finished, 
 " but I think it has the look of a simple, straight- 
 forward business letter, eh ?" And on receiving Martin's 
 expression of accordant opinion, he gave a little hooting 
 laugh. 
 
 There was, however, a curious change now in the 
 quality of that laugh of his. While it was still a " hoot," 
 and could be described in no other way, much of the 
 malice had gone from it, the bitterness of the irony had 
 given place to a kinder humour which, although defin- 
 itely satirical, did not carry the same suggestion of 
 insult. 
 
 " Ye write a nice clear hand," he remarked as he gave 
 back the pad to Martin. " If ye'll just get these done,"
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 177 
 
 he added, " I'll sign 'em and then I'll get up and we'll 
 get on with the book. Och ! I'm sick of business, but 
 I'll have to get back as soon as I can. Things are in a 
 pretty muddle. Ye can burn this litter, laddie," he 
 concluded, pointing to various letters scattered over the 
 bed. " They're nothin' but bills, and they'll have to 
 wait." He hooted again. 
 
 Martin, at his task downstairs, was conscious of a new 
 element in the atmosphere of Garroch. Hitherto it 
 had in some indefinable way shut him and all its other 
 occupants away from any other life but its own. All 
 their occupation had centred round one figure, and he, 
 to Martin at least, had seemed to pass out of existence 
 when he had slammed the front door behind him. Now 
 he was intimately presented for the first time as a 
 moving influence in a vast world outside, a world in 
 startling contrast, that knew nothing of Garroch, 
 that dimly visualized it in some cases, perhaps, as a 
 suburban villa like all other suburban villas. Far away 
 there, in distant Holland, some unknown, unimagined 
 person would soon receive this letter that Martin was 
 copying, and that letter might have an effect upon the 
 recipient's plans, upon the arrangement of his immed- 
 iate affairs; an effect that might, conceivably, spread in 
 small ways to the four corners of Europe. Yet that 
 Dutchman would in all probability remain for ever 
 ignorant of the drama that was being played in the house 
 from which that letter was sent and by which the letter 
 itself had been in some way affected; while Martin 
 would never have any knowledge of the possibly no 
 less dramatic history of the man to whom the letter was 
 addressed. 
 
 The whole speculation was futile enough, no doubt, 
 yet it passed through Martin's mind as a curious and 
 interesting criticism of life. Something that he would 
 like to discuss with Margaret. And that new element in 
 the Garroch atmosphere was unquestionably im- 
 portant. It was like the stir of movement when a clock 
 
 N
 
 178 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 is rewound; it was like the sound of traffic coming in 
 through a newly-opened window . . . 
 
 " I've made one or two small corrections in that 
 Dutch letter," said Martin when he took the corres- 
 pondence upstairs to receive Greg's signature. " I've 
 taken out one or two split infinitives." 
 
 Greg smiled. " Och! ye're altogether too precise," he 
 said, and added, " It'll make no matter in business, but 
 we'll have none in the book, however." 
 
 " Ye'd not make a bad secretary," he said when the 
 letters were done. 
 
 " Thanks ! I shall come to you for a testimonial," 
 returned Martin. 
 
 " Or ye'd do fine as a warder in a lunatic asylum," 
 added Greg, touching unexpectedly upon the secret 
 topic. 
 
 Martin frowned uneasily. " No prospects in that 
 job," he said. " I'd better post these at once, hadn't I ?" 
 
 " Any time before twelve'll do," said Greg, " and it's 
 not a quarter-past eleven yet. I've been thinkin' while 
 ye were downstairs. It's occurred to me that we might 
 ask Wotterhoose to dinner one night this week. It'll not 
 be a bad thing for him to see me just now, I'm thinkin'. 
 I wonder he has not written." 
 
 " Yes, I see," agreed Martin. " Shall I write to him ? 
 Which night do you think ? Isn't it rather short notice 
 to ask him for this week ?" 
 
 " Maybe, but he'll come," said Greg. " Ye'd be as 
 well to get Maggie to write ; he lives with his sister and 
 she'll have to come, too. Ye might just call to Maggie 
 and ask her to come up." 
 
 Martin did not take the liberty of calling for Margaret, 
 but he found her in the kitchen; and after Greg had 
 explained his plan with some further elucidation of his 
 purpose in projecting it, she consented to invite the 
 Waterhouses for the following Saturday, although she 
 confirmed Martin's opinion that it was very short 
 notice.
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 179 
 
 " Och ! make any excuse ye like," said Greg. " I have 
 no doubt whatever but that he'll come." 
 
 Martin felt that Garroch's relations with the 
 outer world were being rapidly extended. 
 
 Greg's quiet assertion that the Waterhouses would 
 accept his invitation was justified by the promptitude 
 of their acceptance, received by the first post next 
 morning. 
 
 Margaret smiled as she read it and passed it over to 
 Martin. 
 
 " I wonder why he was so certain about it," was his 
 comment. 
 
 "Oh! he knows Mr Waterhouse right through," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Do you suppose he knows me right through, too ? " 
 asked Martin, with a sudden qualm at the thought. 
 
 " No, I don't think he does," said Margaret. She was 
 reading another letter and did not look up at him as 
 she spoke. 
 
 Her answer flattered his egotism, but he missed its 
 true significance ; he did not recognize the admission of 
 her own attitude. Margaret, afraid that she had said too 
 much, remained to all appearance absorbed in her letter. 
 
 " I don't know, I expect he does," said Martin 
 modestly. 
 
 Margaret dropped her letter then, and looked at him 
 with something of challenge in her stare. 
 
 " You are so young, you see," she said. " One . . . 
 he can hardly be expected to know what you'll develop 
 into." 
 
 " You can get a sort of general idea, though, I 
 suppose," he ventured, a little puzzled, but eager to 
 continue this line of conversation. He hoped that 
 perhaps Margaret might be persuaded to express her 
 own opinion of him. 
 
 N2
 
 i8o THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " That would not be enough for Robin," she said. 
 " He likes to know more than that." 
 
 " I daresay he doesn't really know me very well yet," 
 Martin said reflectively. He wanted to add " Do you ? " 
 but dare not venture so far. 
 
 " That was what I said at first," Margaret commented 
 and returned to her letter. 
 
 But he was not satisfied to leave the conversation 
 without some issue. " Does one ever really know 
 oneself? " he hazarded. 
 
 She hesitated a moment and then said, " No," with- 
 out looking up. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm interrupting you," he apologized. 
 
 She gave a little sigh, folded up her letter and put it 
 back in the envelope. 
 
 " What is it you want me to say ? " she asked. 
 
 He flushed slightly at this startling comprehension of 
 the purpose that he himself had not fully recognized 
 until it was thus clearly expressed. " I don't want you 
 to say anything," he said. " I'm sorry if I am bothering 
 you to talk when you don't want to." 
 
 She smiled. " I will t-tell you one thing," she said 
 with her little stammer. " You are extraordinarily . . . 
 well, transparent sometimes." That last qualification 
 was evidently the pith of her summary, but Martin 
 blandly overlooked it. 
 
 " I suppose I am," he said thoughtfully. " I don't try 
 to be, you know, and I'm afraid it will be an awful 
 handicap if I go in for politics. What could one do, do 
 you think, to get over it ? " 
 
 " Oh! don't try to get over it," returned Margaret. 
 " That would be fatal." 
 
 " You think it's a good thing to be ' transparent ' in 
 some ways? " 
 
 " To be natural and honest ? " 
 
 " Is that the same thing ? " 
 
 She was half inclined to say, " In your case, yes," but 
 she substituted, " Surely, isn't it ? "
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 181 
 
 " Well, I don't know," he said, " at all events not 
 necessarily. I mean that perhaps the natural honest 
 person is always more or less what you call transparent ; 
 but the transparent might be well, merely a silly ass." 
 
 " I certainly did not mean that," said Margaret, and 
 immediately closed the discussion by asking what time 
 the clerk from the office was to be expected. " I must 
 tidy up Robin's room a little," she explained. 
 
 Martin, rehearsing the conversation in the study, was 
 as uncertain as ever what Margaret thought of him. He 
 wished that they could go back to the evening when he 
 had held her hand in the drawing-room. They seemed to 
 be friends then. Now, she was always keeping him at 
 arm's length. Probably she did think he was " merely a 
 silly ass." If she did, he was not inclined to contradict 
 her. 
 
 The Waterhouses, brother and sister, brought another 
 echo of traffic from the world outside when they came 
 to dinner on Saturday evening. Through that receiver 
 the self-centred Garroch learned that it was being 
 discussed and its potentialities canvassed, that it could 
 not remain detached much longer from the stir of life 
 and the perplexities of government, but might at any 
 time be called upon to render up its occupants to serve 
 in the adventure of politics. 
 
 For it was inevitably of politics that Waterhouse 
 chiefly spoke. 
 
 He came under the guardianship of his sister, and he 
 was so wonderfully wrapped and overshoed it was a 
 raw December night that there was quite a function in 
 the hall before he could be finally displayed in his velvet 
 dinner jacket. Martin suspected him of " Jaeger," with 
 a disparaging reflection on Oxford pamperings. 
 
 The sister was a quiet, watchful little woman of forty 
 or so, with shrewd dark eyes. She was the only one of the
 
 182 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 party who wore morning dress. Margaret, in a black gown, 
 looked, Martin thought, an ideal of womanly beauty. 
 He had not suspected, had never contemplated the 
 existence of those splendid shoulders the outlines of 
 which were so magnificently displayed under the thin 
 black net that served to transform her evening gown 
 into a demi-toilette. He regarded her with a new awe 
 and wonder, and tried not to stare at the whiteness of 
 her skin. 
 
 Greg, quite at his ease although his evening dress 
 had an air of being a little slovenly took up the topic 
 so soon introduced by Waterhouse with perfect readi- 
 ness. They talked of men rather than of measures, of 
 their capabilities, aptitudes and personal history; of 
 men whom Martin had never heard, yet who seemed 
 to be all essential for the future governing of the country. 
 
 Martin was the only one of the five who was not 
 familiar with the detail of the inner political world. 
 Miss Waterhouse evidently knew as much as her 
 brother, and even Margaret was able to put in a comment 
 now and again that was listened to with attention. 
 Martin, following the conversation with keen interest, 
 was chiefly wondering what these discussed personalities 
 had done in the first instance to draw attention to their 
 talents. Some of them, it was true, had already found 
 seats in the House of Commons, but others appeared to 
 have no particular qualification for the careers that 
 were, nevertheless, considered to be possible for them. 
 
 He found, presently, however, that even so untried 
 and hitherto undistinguished a person as himself might 
 come under discussion. 
 
 It was Greg who, with a friendly laugh, first intro- 
 duced his secretary's claim to attention. 
 
 " Eh ! and there's Bond'll soon be coming on, ye'll not 
 forget," he said slily. " He'll be a grand opponent of 
 Socialism, I can tell ye thanks to my tuition." 
 
 Waterhouse looked up at Martin with his slow, half- 
 wistful gaze. " Yes, certainly," he said. " You must
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 183 
 
 make Greg take you to some of his meetings, Bond, so 
 that you can try your voice before an audience. There 
 will be several opportunities, no doubt, at the beginning 
 of the year." 
 
 Martin leaned forward eagerly. " I should like to 
 immensely," he said. " It's so different at the Union, 
 of course." 
 
 All unwittingly he had introduced a new note into the 
 conversation, the note of youth. He approached this 
 new activity in the same spirit that he had brought to 
 the cure of Robin Greg. Martin, when he played a game, 
 played it with such earnestness that he dignified it. 
 
 Greg and Margaret felt the effect of that sudden verve 
 even more than the other two, although they, also, were 
 conscious of the difference of atmosphere ; and it was 
 Greg who answered while Waterhouse, looking down at 
 the hearthrug, was fidgeting with his beard. 
 
 " Eh, but you shall have plenty of opportunities, 
 laddie, if ye want 'em," he said; " though perhaps ye'll 
 not find the intricacies o' party politics quite so satis- 
 factory in some respects as the subtleties of college 
 football, which I'll confess are completely beyond me." 
 
 "Oh! you're always pulling my leg about football," 
 said Martin. 
 
 " Yer turn will come when ye go into politics," 
 returned Greg drily. 
 
 Waterhouse looked a little uneasy; his slim fingers 
 shone ivory white against the blackness of the beard he 
 was still harrying and it was his sister who replied to 
 her host's insinuation. 
 
 " You're very cynical about politics, Mr Greg," she 
 said, with a bright smile. " You can hardly compare the 
 government of an empire with picking a fifteen for a 
 Rugby football match, can you ? " 
 
 " Och! no, ye're right there," replied Greg, with a 
 hoot. " It's a different matter altogether. I apologize 
 for the comparison, Bond. I hope ye're not insulted." 
 
 Plainly Greg had no intention of kow-towing to the
 
 184 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 editor of The Gallery whatever his influence with the 
 powerful wire-pullers. Martin felt braced by this 
 independence of attitude; he was conscious of a certain 
 pride in the fearless atmosphere of Garroch, and he 
 thought that Margaret's eyes were brighter than usual 
 as though she, too, were pleased and satisfied. 
 
 Only once during the evening did he feel a twinge of 
 doubt and annoyance, a little falling from confidence in 
 the strength of his side. 
 
 No remark had been made on Greg's abstinence from 
 wine at the dinner table, but later in the evening when 
 Waterhouse was sipping a very weak whisky and soda, 
 he filled a pause in the conversation by lifting his rather 
 full, sleepy-looking eyes to a steady regard of his host, 
 and saying, 
 
 " Don't you drink anything now, Greg ? " 
 
 " Doctor's orders," returned Greg. " I have to be 
 careful until me hand is well again, ye know." He moved 
 the bandaged member slightly and looked down at it, 
 with a touch of shamefacedness. 
 
 " Inflammation not quite reduced yet ? " asked 
 Waterhouse. 
 
 " It's goin' on well enough," Greg replied, " but I'll 
 have to be careful awhile yet." 
 
 Martin wondered why he should have put forward so 
 pitiful an excuse, why he should not have boldly avowed 
 that he found it better for his general health to become 
 a total abstainer ? If he were going to depend on this 
 plea of a wounded hand now, what would he say when 
 the hand was healed, as it would be very soon ? Already 
 he was able to write again. 
 
 But with this one exception Greg undoubtedly shone 
 that evening. His mind was more alert than that of 
 Waterhouse; his criticisms of the younger politicians 
 more apt and incisive. 
 
 Their guests left soon after ten o'clock. Waterhouse 
 was compelled to be careful of that precious body of his. 
 And he was already redisguised in his wrappers and
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 185 
 
 overshoes before he discovered any purpose that he had 
 formed as a result of his evening's entertainment. 
 
 " I wish you'd let me have an article on Socialism for 
 the paper, Greg," he said, as he was saying good-bye. 
 " Something out of the book you are writing. I can 
 give it a good place in the February number if you can 
 let me have it by the New Year." 
 
 " Yes, I can very well do that," replied Greg. " It'll 
 be the economic side ye'll want treated, I suppose." 
 
 Waterhouse nodded. "Perhaps Bond will come and 
 discuss it on Tuesday morning," he said. " And I think 
 I have a book or two you might review for us," he added, 
 turning to Martin. 
 
 " Oh ! thanks very much if Mr Greg doesn't mind," 
 was the eager response. 
 
 " Och ! I'll be glad to get rid of ye for an hour or two," 
 laughed Greg. 
 
 When their guests had gone the three of them returned 
 to the study the drawing-room had not been used all 
 the evening to discuss the probable upshot of what 
 had seemed to be an almost official visitation. 
 
 Greg threw himself down into his arm-chair and lit a 
 cigarette, Margaret stood graceful and a little flushed 
 with one arm on the mantelpiece, Martin took his old 
 position in the chair behind the writing table. It had 
 been pushed back almost to the harmonium to give 
 more room for the circle round the fire, but he preferred 
 to sit there, in the shadow, where, behind Greg's back, 
 he could for the first time that evening steep himself for 
 a few glorious minutes in his admiration of Margaret. 
 
 " I think it was a success," she said. " I'm sure he 
 wants you, Robin." 
 
 Greg looked thoughtful. " He has not made up his 
 mind, yet," he remarked. " He'll be wanting to see me 
 again in a month's time, ye'll find."
 
 186 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " He's going to take your article anyhow." 
 
 " That'll not commit him one way or the other," 
 returned Greg. " No, he's just waitin'." 
 
 " They did try hard to get something out of you," 
 said Margaret laughing. 
 
 Greg chuckled. " I think I gave 'em as good as I got," 
 he said. 
 
 " Oh ! better. You were splendid." Margaret moved a 
 little, and peered down at Martin under the lamp. 
 " What are you hiding away in a corner for ? " she asked. 
 
 " I'm all right, thanks," said Martin. 
 
 Greg turned partly round in his chair and looked at 
 him. " What did ye make of it all ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not very much," said Martin. " I'm not a bit quick 
 at taking up inferences, I'm afraid. But I rather wish 
 that you I mean . . ." He dropped his voice and 
 stammered, suddenly afraid of the sound of what he had 
 been about to say. 
 
 " Ye wish what? " asked Greg, moving his chair so 
 that he could see Martin with less effort. " What is it ye 
 ' mean ' ? " 
 
 Martin looked up at Margaret to find sympathy, but 
 she did not meet his eyes. He saw that she knew what 
 his criticism was. 
 
 " I meant," said Martin boldly, " that I wish you 
 hadn't made that excuse about your hand, when he 
 asked you if you never drank anything now." 
 
 "Och!" was all Greg's comment. He turned his 
 chair back and stretched his feet out to the fire. 
 
 " It's an excuse that won't last, you know," Martin 
 added firmly. 
 
 And as earlier he had brought a certain freshness into 
 the atmosphere of the conversation, so now, by his 
 brief criticism he had seemed to touch the one vital 
 issue. Of what account was it, after all, that Robin Greg 
 should parry by his clever retorts the probings of that 
 political inquisitor ? The important thing, all that was 
 of real consequence in his life, the life that might still be
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 187 
 
 made splendid, was that he should finally put his one 
 vital enemy under his feet. 
 
 " Well, I think I'll go to bed," said Margaret, after a 
 long silence. 
 
 " Me, too," added Martin. 
 
 " Aren't you ready, Robin ? " 
 
 He looked round at the whisky and syphon on the 
 writing table. " Ye'd be afraid to leave me here, I 
 suppose ? " he asked roughly. 
 
 Margaret hesitated, but Martin answered. " Oh ! Lord, 
 no, of course we wouldn't. I say, I'm sorry if . . ." 
 
 " Och ! hold yer tongue," said Greg, getting out of his 
 chair. " Ye've said quite enough. I'm going to bed; ye 
 needn't be afraid. Good night to ye both." 
 
 After he had gone, Margaret and Martin looked at one 
 another a little doubtfully. 
 
 " Oughtn't I ..." he began. 
 
 "Oh! I wish I had your courage," she said impul- 
 sively. " You were absolutely right, and I simply dare 
 not say it." 
 
 She held out her hand to him, an unusual favour, but 
 he hardly touched it before she withdrew it again. 
 " Good night," she said quickly, and left him in a tumult 
 of happiness and doubt. 
 
 Waterhouse was a man with only one manner; his 
 evasive, rather wistful, detachment from life lent him the 
 air of one who worked always for some impersonal 
 ambition, but on the Tuesday morning he had 
 appointed for the interview with Martin, he succeeded 
 in infusing a certain warmth and cordiality into his 
 greeting. 
 
 " Let me find you those books, first," he said. " There 
 are a couple on Socialism that you might do for the 
 February number, taking, perhaps, the same line as the 
 article Greg is to send us, and then we'll go into the
 
 188 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 other room and just talk over one or two things I should 
 like said. We have to steer a particularly careful course 
 in our treatment of that subject at the present time 
 this influx of Labour Members, you understand ..." 
 His voice died away into the suggestion of an unspoken 
 " and so on." 
 
 The " other room " was evidently a retreat from all 
 interruption, it contained no telephones, and its 
 furnishing was more that of a Club than an office. 
 
 " We shall be quieter in here," murmured Water- 
 house, as he shut the door behind them. 
 
 It took him very few minutes to outline his policy 
 with regard to Socialism, and to define the nature of the 
 article he expected, and then without a break he went 
 on, 
 
 " I daresay we shall be making certain changes in the 
 staff next spring, Bond. I have been thinking that if you 
 will have finished the book with Greg then, we might 
 find a place for you here. Not only office work, of course. 
 If you are any good on the platform by that tune ... It 
 would, I believe, be an excellent opportunity for 
 you . . ." 
 
 Martin's face glowed. " It would, indeed," he said. 
 " Really I don't know how to thank you. I ..." 
 
 Waterhouse nodded kindly. " You think the book 
 will be finished by the end of March ? " he asked. 
 
 "Oh! yes, certainly," replied Martin, without hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Has Greg written much since you've been with 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes. Oh ! yes, particularly this last week." 
 
 " Since he's been laid up ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite. You see his time is so much taken up 
 when he has to be in the City all day." 
 
 " No doubt. And he doesn't feel inclined to work at 
 night?" 
 
 " Well, you see," said Martin, hardly realizing as yet 
 that he was being cross-examined, " for two weeks out
 
 THE WORLD OUTSIDE 189 
 
 of the three I've been with him, he hasn't been going to 
 the City, so I hardly know. But I expect he will do a lot 
 in the evenings, and on Sundays, of course, after 
 Christmas." He felt that he must insist on Greg's 
 application ; that was a clear issue for him. He was try- 
 ing to forget that first terrible week when Greg had been 
 going up to town every day. That was a nightmare 
 which could never come back. 
 
 " It must have been a very bad cut," remarked 
 Waterhouse. 
 
 " Yes, it was, right through the fleshy part of the 
 hand . . ." 
 
 " An accident in a cab, I heard," said Waterhouse, 
 interrupting Martin's clinical demonstration. 
 
 ' Yes." 
 
 " Had he been to a public dinner? " was the next 
 question. 
 
 Martin was fully conscious of his danger now. He 
 would have to lie, of course, that was nothing; the 
 trouble was that he must not let Waterhouse guess that 
 he was lying, and that would be exceedingly difficult. 
 
 " No, he had dinner at home," he said, and tried to 
 express surprise in his tone. 
 
 Waterhouse had been watching him, but now he 
 leaned back in his arm-chair and looked up at the 
 portrait of Campbell-Bannerman that hung above the 
 mantelpiece. 
 
 " I hear that Greg drinks," he said in his soft, low 
 voice. " You may not have noticed it, perhaps, but if 
 you are obliged to leave him earlier than April I can 
 always manage to find a job for you here. It would be a 
 waste of your time, obviously, to stay with him if ... 
 I am quite frank with you, Bond, because I feel respon- 
 sible for sending you there, I should not like to think 
 > 
 
 " I don't know who your informant is," broke in 
 Martin with a shade too much warmth, " but he ought 
 to be jolly well kicked. I have been in the house for over
 
 igo THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 three weeks, and I must certainly have known by this 
 time if there was any truth in a libel like that." 
 
 " Not necessarily, you know," said Waterhouse. "It 
 may be periodical only. However I'm very glad to have 
 your assurance. Greg is undoubtedly one of the most 
 brilliant men we have. You'll come in, I hope, now and 
 again, Bond. Four o'clock is really the best time. You 
 might meet men here who would be useful to you." 
 
 " D'ye think he believed you? " asked Greg, when 
 Martin had repeated the substance of his conversation 
 with Waterhouse. 
 
 " I'm not sure the little, hairy beast," replied Martin. 
 
 " Eh! well, I don't know that ye'd not have done 
 better to stick to Wotterhoose," said Greg. 
 
 " I am, jolly sure," replied Martin hotly. 
 
 " So am I," agreed Margaret. 
 
 " Ye'll get no job on The Gallery after to-day's work, 
 ye understand," said Greg. 
 
 " Oh! damn The Gallery," said Martin, and looking 
 up at Margaret to make an apology, he saw that she was 
 smiling her approval. 
 
 "Don't take it back," she said. " D-damn The 
 Gallery."
 
 XV. WITHIN THE HOUSE. 
 
 THAT brief irruption of the outside world seemed for 
 a time to have brought about the mutual understanding 
 which Martin had desired, and had been unable to 
 achieve by any effort of his own. Here, at last, was a 
 common adversary against which the three of them 
 could unite. They were shut in again, now, safe from 
 outside contacts; and even Forman, whose profes- 
 sional advice was no longer required, had fallen back into 
 place as an undistinguished unit in that second world 
 made up of all those who lived without the enclosure 
 of Garroch. 
 
 Within the house, the adversary although not so 
 explicitly labelled had become the topic of all conver- 
 sation among that newly-combined trio, a topic that in 
 part avoided the one uneasy subject which engrossed 
 their secret thoughts. Yet so necessarily intimate was 
 their relation with all they believed to lie momentarily 
 beyond them, that some reference to the cure of Greg 
 inevitably thrust itself sooner or later into every 
 discussion. 
 
 When they spoke of the book on Socialism, now 
 making such rapid and steady progress, the return of 
 Greg to the City continually threatened them. His 
 perpetual reflection upon and unfeigned distaste for 
 that necessity to take up anew his business affairs 
 provoked many futile speculations on the part of 
 Margaret and Martin. So far all had gone incredibly 
 well; while they had him safe within the house they 
 could almost trust him and more especially while the 
 " Antol " drug continued to exercise its tonic effect 
 upon him. But they dreaded for Greg the temptations
 
 192 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 of that vast macrocosm into which he must so soon 
 emerge, and in the turmoil of which he would have to 
 depend so completely upon his own will for reform. 
 
 They did not doubt that the will was his, but that 
 was the one topic upon which he would only touch 
 obliquely. He gave no confidence in that respect to 
 either of them; he was alone with whatever struggle he 
 might be enduring and they could not guess its severity, 
 could hardly guess, indeed, if such struggle indeed 
 existed. 
 
 And to all suggestions of taking a short holiday, of 
 going away, with Martin, perhaps to Scotland for three 
 weeks or a month, in order that he might regain to the 
 full his physical health, he opposed, always with an air 
 of determined resignation, the one unanswerable argu- 
 ment that his presence at the office was an absolute 
 necessity. For he left no doubt on the minds of his 
 hearers that his affairs were in a desperate condition and 
 that had it not been for the fortunate interposition of 
 Christmas he must have returned long before what- 
 ever his condition to take upon himself some enor- 
 mous effort to save the failing house of Bickersteth, 
 Andrew and Greg Bickersteth, it appeared, was little 
 more than a sleeping partner. 
 
 They came even closer to the dangerous ground when 
 their talk was of politics. The figure of Waterhouse with 
 all his doubts and suspicions overshadowed the future, 
 although Greg himself occasionally professed his ability 
 to ignore the particular means to advancement afforded 
 by the influence of the group that spoke through The 
 Gallery. 
 
 Martin, less confident and less well-informed, was not 
 quite so hopeful; but he welcomed the topic for two 
 reasons. In the first place he was eager to arouse all 
 Greg's political ambitions, seeing plainly enough how 
 much healthier would be the influence of that field than 
 the associations of business and, in this, as he knew, 
 he had the full sympathy and co-operation of Margaret.
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 193 
 
 His second reason and in that he was alone was less 
 obvious and less logical. For Martin, without realizing 
 the importance of his instinct, was striving half 
 unconsciously, no doubt to clear away that peculiar 
 reservation which forbade open reference to the subject 
 of first importance. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be better if we could persuade him to 
 speak about it ? "he asked Margaret. 
 
 "He never will," was her almost invariable reply; 
 and she confirmed her statement by adding, " He never 
 has." 
 
 " But isn't this cure of ours to create a new precedent 
 altogether; in every way ? " he persisted hopefully. 
 
 " You can try if you like, but I'm afraid you'll only 
 offend him," was her answer. 
 
 And Martin tried, as tactfully as possible, by dis- 
 cussing Waterhouse. 
 
 These triangular discussions of theirs were exclu- 
 sively confined to the two or three hours spent in the 
 study after dinner. Sometimes Margaret and Greg 
 played draughts, but even then the talk went on. 
 
 Martin was no longer separated from the other two by 
 the width of the study table, which was now pushed 
 back every evening to give him a place in the circle 
 round the fire; and he chose to believe that this inclu- 
 sion was in some way figurative of their new under- 
 standing, the new alliance that he wished so earnestly 
 to confirm. The arrangement had been made for the 
 first time on the evening following his interview with 
 Waterhouse at The Gallery offices. 
 
 It was not, however, until the Saturday before 
 Christmas Day (it fell on a Tuesday that year) that the 
 final pronouncement on the subject of political influence 
 was made by Greg, a summary that involved a state- 
 ment of his own difficulties, financial and physical. 
 
 o
 
 194 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin began it by a mention of the Socialism article 
 they were doing for The Gallery. 
 
 " It's surely a good sign that Waterhouse is accepting 
 that," he said. 
 
 " He's not accepted it yet," returned Greg grimly. 
 " If ye're countin' on that ye'd better wait until ye've 
 seen it in print." 
 
 " He could hardly get out of it now, could he? " 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " Och ! yes, in a hundred ways," said Greg. " He might 
 want to have it altered here and there, and keep me 
 fiddlin' with it till it was too late for the February 
 number. Or it might, ' most unfortunately,' of course, 
 be crowded out at the last minute. But even if he ac- 
 cepts and prints it, it means nothin' at all." 
 
 " It means advertising his relations with you," put in 
 Martin. 
 
 " Ye're coming on," remarked Greg slily. " He's 
 quicker at the uptake than he was a month ago; d'ye 
 not think so, Maggie ? " 
 
 Margaret smiled. " It seems to be quite a good point," 
 she said. 
 
 " Superficially, yes," went on Greg he loved 
 dialectic " but when ye come to examine it, ye'll find 
 there's very little to be made of it. In the first place the 
 acceptance of a general article, unconnected with the 
 immejit political programme, commits him to nothin' 
 whatever. And in the second, Wotterhoose's relations 
 with meself are too well-known by those that matter in 
 this connexion, to be affected by his advertisin' as ye 
 call it. Ye may be quite sure that what he knows or 
 suspects" he dropped his voice from its high note of 
 argument and frowned moodily " or suspects," he 
 repeated bitterly, " will be common property among the 
 dozen or so that are of any importance." 
 
 " I don't suppose he suspects anything," said 
 Martin. 
 
 " Och ! he knows all he wants to know," said Greg.
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 195 
 
 Margaret moved uneasily. " Well, he's quite wrong 
 now, anyway," she said. 
 
 " That's of no account at all," returned Greg. 
 
 " But he's bound to find out in time that he's wrong," 
 said Martin. He would have liked Greg to tell the whole 
 story to Waterhouse, but that was a suggestion he did 
 not dare, as yet. Surely, Martin thought, Waterhouse 
 would respond to such a splendid confession and be 
 stimulated to do all in his power to help the man who 
 was making such a wonderful effort. 
 
 But Greg was not to be drawn into any open mention 
 of that disgraceful topic. 
 
 " Och ! ye make altogether too much fuss about the 
 man and his influence," he said with a show of annoy- 
 ance. " If I can bring off one or two deals I have in mind 
 I'll be able to stand without troublin' the Party funds at 
 all. However, even if I'm not able to do that, which is 
 uncertain so long as I have Andrew for a partner, there 
 are other roads of approachin' headquarters. The 
 Gallery is not the only way. I'm very well known at the 
 Revival Club, as well as any member there exceptin' 
 the two Ministers, and I've one or two friends who'll not 
 be put off by any talk of Wotterhoose's. I can stand on 
 my own feet well enough, as soon as I get these infernal 
 business worries off my mind. Now, Maggie, where's the 
 dambrod? " He liked to puzzle Martin by his use of 
 dialect words, but this one, at least, was by now quite 
 familiar. 
 
 " Are you going to play draughts? " Martin asked, 
 with a little sigh. 
 
 " We can play and talk, if there's anything more to 
 say on that subject, which I doubt," replied Greg. 
 
 Margaret had not moved. She was looking down at 
 the foot that rested her skirt slightly lifted on the 
 curb of the fender. She had quite unusually beautiful feet, 
 firm, finely arched and taper, with perfectly moulded 
 ankles. But she was not thinking of the beauty of her 
 own person, and she started slightly when Greg said, 
 
 02
 
 196 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Eh ! what are ye dreamin' about, Maggie ? Do ye 
 not want to play to-night ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I'll play, Robin," she said abruptly. 
 
 Martin got up and fetched the board and placed the 
 little folding table for them. 
 
 Only one more reference was made to Waterhouse 
 that evening, a few words of defence from Greg. 
 
 " There's just one thing about Wotterhoose," he 
 said suddenly, breaking in upon a failing conversation 
 between the other two. " I do not think ye quite do him 
 justice, Bond. Ye must remember that he's a man who 
 has set his mind on one thing, and no doubt he'll do 
 much to serve the Party that ye don't quite approve. 
 But when a man is not workin' to serve his personal 
 ambition ye must not be too hard on him. Ye see 
 Wotterhoose is justified in being very careful about the 
 men he finds a backin' for; and I don't blame him, 
 meself, for tryin' to get information in one way, if he 
 can't get it in another that'd maybe seem to ye, perhaps, 
 a trifle more straightforward. Politics is often a dirty 
 game, and he plays it cleaner than most of them. 
 Personally, I've no quarrel with Wotterhoose over this 
 business, none at all. 
 
 "Eh! well, I'm for my bed," he went on, before 
 Martin could reply. " Good night." 
 
 Martin could not decide whether this defence were 
 made to clear the way for a renewal of the relations with 
 Waterhouse, or if it were only prompted by a feeling of 
 loyalty. 
 
 But, despite Greg's present reserves and the still 
 uncertain promise of a future that held the awful test of 
 his return to all the harassing intrigues and displayed 
 temptations of his business life, those few days before 
 Christmas were the happiest that Martin had spent at 
 Garroch. His relations with Margaret were still
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 197 
 
 unaltered she still kept him from any approach to a 
 more intimate friendship he had not gained any 
 further ground in his relations with Robin Greg, but the 
 three of them were, at last, in apparent agreement, 
 there was a tacit understanding between them, if speech 
 was still forbidden; they had common interests to 
 discuss, the book, their political ambitions, the outside 
 adversary; they had a common cause for fear in their 
 anxiety for the welfare of Greg's business speculations 
 the precise nature of which Martin did not fully under- 
 stand they were, in fact, united in sympathy and 
 endeavour, especially and peculiarly in this wonderful 
 effort to retrieve the master of the house from the awful 
 degradations of alcoholism. And the cure, so far, was 
 such a triumphant success that no terror of possible 
 bankruptcy could outweigh that enormous benefit. 
 Once he was his own man again Robin Greg was bound 
 to succeed; his occasional fits of gloom and loss of self- 
 confidence were no more than the after-effects of the 
 long bout that had gone before. " One could not," 
 Martin argued, " expect him to recover his normal 
 balance in three weeks." 
 
 Martin's only exercise and his only chance of fresh air 
 during this time was taken between three and five 
 o'clock in the afternoon; and those determined walks of 
 his were filled with strenuous, practical plans for a 
 future that was not all his own, rather than with the 
 dreams of youth. His experience had begun to affect and 
 harden him into resolution; and if he constantly 
 regretted that Margaret could not accompany him, he 
 preferred, heroically, the solitary grateful reflection of 
 duty well done to any walk, however glorified by 
 Margaret's presence, that entailed the anxiety of leaving 
 Robin alone in the house. For as yet they did not care to 
 leave him quite alone, nor did he seem to wish it. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, however, Martin was inclined for 
 once to stay in the house. Outside, a high cold wind and 
 a driving sleety rain, that might later change to snow,
 
 ig8 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 offered an uncomfortable alternative to the friendly 
 warmth of the study. He was not afraid of the weather ; 
 he had been out for his walk on worse afternoons, but he 
 was suddenly allured by the possibility of a quiet talk 
 with Margaret, or failing that, she might be induced to 
 sing to them. He never saw her alone now, save for that 
 cold quarter of an hour over the breakfast table, time 
 always filled with discussion of Greg's progress she had 
 been more optimistic lately. 
 
 The hour after lunch was always spent alone with 
 Greg in the study; he read his morning paper then, 
 making comments now and again or reading aloud a 
 paragraph here and there to Martin who filled the 
 intervals with a novel. Margaret was busy with her 
 housework, she helped Hester in many ways when 
 " Nanna " was fully occupied with the care of Biddie. 
 
 What happened between three and five Martin did 
 not know, but he fancied that Greg went to sleep. And 
 anticipating that lapse, he sat very still on this par- 
 ticular afternoon, planning to leave the room quietly in 
 the hope of finding Margaret. They might, perhaps, 
 talk in the cold drawing-room for a time; Greg's sleep 
 would furnish an excuse for not going back to the study. 
 
 But as the usual hour for Martin's walk passed, Greg, 
 so far from going to sleep, began to manifest signs of 
 restlessness and discomfort. He dropped his paper once 
 or twice and looked at Martin, who following his own 
 plan of action, kept his eyes on his book. 
 
 At last Greg threw down his paper and yawned, 
 evidently with intention. " Are ye not going for your 
 walk ? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know. It's such a beastly day," said Martin. 
 
 " Oh! ye're not a Scotchman," returned Greg. " I 
 notice that every Englishman's afraid of a drop o' rain. 
 We'd call this a mist in the North." 
 
 " It isn't that," said Martin. " I've been out when it 
 was wetter than this. Only I don't know that I feel 
 much inclined to go to-day." He was slightly piqued by
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 199 
 
 the aspersion of his nationality, and his tone was 
 somewhat formal. 
 
 " I thought ye told me that ye felt so ' stuffy ' was 
 that yer word? when ye didn't get a walk in the 
 afternoon," said Greg. 
 
 "Oh! I'll go if you want to get rid of me," said 
 Martin. 
 
 " Och ! there's no need to get huffy about it," 
 returned Greg. " It'll make no difference to me one way 
 or the other. Please yourself." 
 
 Martin yawned and went over to the window. He saw 
 that Greg was in one of his fretful moods, and that the 
 prospect before him was quite probably that of an 
 afternoon spent in a discussion that might become 
 acrimonious. 
 
 Greg's next words confirmed that possibility. 
 
 " I notice," he said, " that Englishmen make a won- 
 derful boastin' of their cold baths and their exercise 
 and fresh air and what not, and I sometimes wonder 
 why they feel bound to talk so much about it all. Maybe 
 ye can tell me." 
 
 " I didn't know they did," said Martin, coming back 
 into the room. " Anyway it looks a bit better now, so I 
 think I'll go after all. I don't feel much inclined for an 
 argument about the relative virtues of the English and 
 Scotch races." 
 
 " Naturally," returned Greg. "Ye have such a poor 
 case." 
 
 "Oh! have it your own way," said Martin with a 
 smile, but as he put on his overcoat, he wondered 
 whether Greg had not indeed wanted to be rid of him. 
 
 A sudden suspicion shook him, and he went to the 
 door of the kitchen and knocked gently. Margaret 
 opened the door to him; she was turning down the 
 sleeves of her blouse. 
 
 " I've been drying while Hester washed," she ex- 
 plained. " Did you want me ? " 
 
 " Well, I'm just going out," said Martin in a low voice,
 
 200 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " and somehow I had the feeling that he wanted to get 
 rid of me. I thought, perhaps, I'd better tell you, you 
 know." 
 
 Margaret came into the hall shutting the kitchen door 
 behind her, and the sound of crockery being put back 
 none too quietly by Hester, was suddenly stilled. 
 
 " I was afraid for a moment, I don't know why," said 
 Martin, whispering in the quietness of the hall. 
 
 Margaret's face showed an expression of perplexity 
 and uneasiness under the light of the staircase window. 
 " Oh! that's all right," she said. " It isn't that, but 
 Oh ! well, perhaps I'd better go in to him." She pursed 
 her mouth and looked doubtfully towards the study. 
 
 " I don't quite understand," said Martin. 
 
 " You will, quite soon," she said, with a grimness 
 Martin had never seen on her face before. " I hope 
 you'll have a good walk," she added as she left him. 
 
 " Good " was hardly the adjective that described the 
 first half of his walk that afternoon. The lull observed 
 from the study window had been the prelude to a 
 fiercer storm, and to the physical distress caused by 
 wind-driven sleet, a new mental disturbance was added. 
 He had apparently stumbled upon another mystery, 
 some secret in which he had as yet no part, but which 
 presently was to be discovered to him. " Quite soon," 
 she had said. And this secret must have been shared by 
 Margaret and Robin, during that time when it had 
 seemed that the three of them were in such perfect 
 accord. 
 
 Martin felt that he was no longer a member of that 
 little confederation within the walls of Garroch. He 
 was an " outsider " no less than any other member of 
 the feebly invading world; he could never enter fully 
 into the private councils of those two who were so far
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 201 
 
 separated from him by race and family history. They 
 liked him, they appreciated his efforts on their behalf, 
 but beyond a certain point they would give him no 
 confidence. 
 
 Martin walked with his head down, facing the storm ; 
 he carried with him all the influence of the house out of 
 which he had come. 
 
 But when he turned his face again towards home, his 
 spirits lifted. His blood ran more freely, and braced by 
 his opposition of the wind, his physical energy seemed 
 almost too great for the ease of the return journey. 
 Examined objectively, his recent depression now ap- 
 peared quite unreasonable. If there had been a secret it 
 was soon to become known to him. And at most it must 
 be some trivial affair, of even less importance than the 
 hiding of the bottles. All his late fears were suddenly 
 referable to the fact that he had wanted exercise. 
 
 " I'm jolly glad I came out," was his diagnosis of the 
 whole mood. 
 
 He entered the study with a high colour; he looked 
 fresh and wonderfully vigorous. 
 
 " I've had a ripping walk," he said, and half uncon- 
 sciously glanced at the closed windows. 
 
 " Yer tea's all ready," remarked Greg obliquely, 
 " we didn't wait for ye." 
 
 There was an air of evasion and uneasiness in the 
 room. Margaret leaned back in the corner of her arm- 
 chair and stared up at the mantelpiece; and even Greg 
 wore an unaccustomed manner that had in it something 
 shifty and propitiatory. He seemed, for once, to be ill 
 at ease. 
 
 " Ye look fine and strong after yer walk," he said, as 
 Martin attacked his tea with appetite. " Are ye not 
 glad, now, that ye took my advice ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, rather," agreed Martin. A spirit of doubt 
 was already invading him, but it had not yet driven out 
 the confidence of his physical well-being. 
 
 " Did ye go far? Ye've been a long time," persisted
 
 202 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Greg, and he continued to ask questions and to make 
 comments on Martin's description of his walk ; he might 
 have been entertaining an influential guest. 
 
 Martin's suspicions grew. He looked uneasily at 
 Margaret, but she would not meet his eye, and he 
 noticed that her hands moved restlessly in her 
 lap. 
 
 Something must have happened, he thought, some- 
 thing odd. He wondered suddenly if they meant to turn 
 him out of Garroch; to thank him for what he had 
 done and tell him that his services were no longer 
 required ? 
 
 He dropped into a moody silence, and only Greg 
 continued to talk he was telling a story of some house 
 that Martin must have passed in his walk that afternoon. 
 
 " Have you finished ? " Margaret interposed at length, 
 addressing Martin. 
 
 " Me ? Oh ! my tea. Yes, thanks," he replied. 
 
 " Then I'll take it away and leave you to talk," she 
 said, rising. And as she packed the tray, she looked once 
 at Martin; a curious look, he thought, full of question 
 and something else that might have been pity. Or was it, 
 perhaps, a look of self-excuse ? He felt as if she had made 
 some important confidence to him, and that he had 
 failed to hear her. 
 
 " Take the arm-chair, Bond," said Greg, when the two 
 were left alone. " What will ye smoke ? " 
 
 Martin moved into the arm-chair so lately occupied 
 by Margaret ; it was still redolent of her presence and he 
 leaned his head back into the corner in which hers had 
 lain. " I won't smoke, at present, thanks," he replied 
 to Greg's question. 
 
 " I've something to tell ye." The announcement was 
 definite enough, but there was hesitation in the tone of 
 Greg's voice. He had settled himself down into his old 
 position, stretched out in line from feet to neck, his eyes 
 stared into the fire, he appeared to be brooding deeply 
 on the matter of his communication.
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 203 
 
 " I am a lonely man, Bond," he said, after a long 
 interval. 
 
 Martin, utterly puzzled, could find no comment to 
 make. In his heart he was thinking that his companion's 
 loneliness had been of his own making. 
 
 " And it's likely ye'll not understand that," continued 
 Greg, after a pause, " because ye'll never have exper- 
 ienced the sort of loneliness I mean." He looked up for 
 a moment with a quick inquiring glance. 
 
 " I daresay I haven't," said Martin curtly. He most 
 certainly failed to understand. 
 
 " It's the kind of loneliness," said Greg, staring into 
 the fire again, " that drives a man to desperation. Ye've 
 been a good friend to me, Bond, since ye've been here, 
 and I'm grateful to ye for all ye've done, but I cannot go 
 on unless I have someone to understand me; someone, 
 ye see, who's known me all my life or nearly. There are 
 things I'm not able to speak about. It's maybe a great 
 weakness in me, but I'm just not able to speak of them, 
 and there's only one person left, now, who can make all 
 allowances for me. I'm speakin' very openly to ye, 
 Bond, more openly maybe than I've ever spoken to 
 anyone outside my own family, and I hope ye'll realize 
 from that the sort of feelin' I have towards ye." 
 
 Martin mumbled some sort of appreciation. He felt 
 dried up, unable to respond with any frank expression of 
 sentiment, or to make even so much as a deprecatory 
 reference to his own part in their late endeavour. He was 
 bewildered ; he had no least idea what was coming ; and 
 yet a terrible, shapeless foreboding oppressed him, some 
 dread he could not recognize. 
 
 He moved restlessly in his chair. " You've been very 
 good to me," he said in a low voice. " But I don't 
 understand ..." 
 
 Greg did not respond to that. " And I hope," he went 
 on, " that we'll make a success of this book. I see no 
 reason why we should not. There'll be no difference in 
 the house, and when I have to go back to the City next
 
 204 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Monday, I hope to find time in the evenings." He 
 stopped again and looked at Martin. " Ye're anxious to 
 finish the book ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, of course I am," said Martin. 
 
 " And this engagement'll make no difference to ye in 
 any way? " 
 
 " Engagement ? " asked Martin blankly. 
 
 " Well, I thought ye'd have guessed it," said Greg. 
 " Of course the Bill has not been passed yet, but it's 
 quite certain that it'll go through next year, and Mag- 
 gie and I can wait till then. In any case it'll not be many 
 months." 
 
 Martin sat quite still, trying to understand whether 
 Greg had implied that he was going to marry Margaret. 
 He thought that he must have made some grotesque 
 mistake. 
 
 " Do you mean ..." he began. 
 
 " Ye're not very forward with yer congratulations," 
 replied Greg. 
 
 " Well, it's rather unexpected," said Martin. " I 
 hadn't guessed; I hadn't even thought of it. But, of 
 course, I congratulate you. I suppose you meant the 
 Deceased Wife's Sister Bill, didn't you? I could not 
 imagine what you were driving at." He felt cold, but 
 curiously unhurt. He remembered the story of a man 
 who had been mortally wounded and had never felt the 
 pain of the blow. 
 
 " I think I'll just go upstairs and change," he said. 
 " These things are a bit wet." 
 
 Only one sentence of all that explanation remained 
 clearly in his mind. " Maggie and I can wait till then," 
 Greg had said. 
 
 Was she, then, so eager ? Martin wondered stupidly. 
 
 But no report of Robin's could ever have revealed the 
 truth to Martin Bond, for however honest the account
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 205 
 
 might have been it would have failed by just so much as 
 Robin himself had failed to understand Margaret. 
 
 He knew so much that he believed he knew all, and 
 when he had opened his heart to her, confessing his need 
 for larger sympathy and understanding, she had seemed 
 to respond with no more reserve than he thought 
 inevitable in her. 
 
 His first plea had been at once reasonable and human. 
 He had spoken almost openly, for once, of himself and 
 his great temptation ; he had shown so clearly his need 
 for her in that respect. 
 
 Then came the change of note, sincere enough on his 
 part, and with it that reserve of hers which he falsely 
 construed. 
 
 She was willing to give so much heroically, but hardly 
 on these grounds. The sight of his passion suddenly 
 chilled the splendour of the sacrifice, while he by a false 
 analogy read into that withdrawal of hers, an acknow- 
 ledgment of willingness that she was too proud to 
 show otherwise. 
 
 He even apologized. 
 
 " I know I've been terribly hard on ye when I've not 
 been myself," he said. " I've behaved as I'd never have 
 thought it possible I could. But ye' 11 not bring that up 
 against me now, Maggie; I know well that ye're not 
 that sort of woman. Ye've a great heart, and ye under- 
 stand that I was not responsible altogether, sometimes." 
 
 She smiled sadly. " Oh ! of course I know that, 
 Robin," she said. 
 
 He accepted her statement, but he believed that if the 
 past was condoned it could not yet be forgotten. 
 Nevertheless he put it from him, and asked a question 
 that had been in his mind from the beginning. 
 
 "And there'll be no one else? " he suggested. No 
 plainer definition of his thought was needed between 
 him and her. 
 
 She looked at him with apparently frank amuse- 
 ment.
 
 206 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Oh! Robin. Who else could there be? " she asked, 
 and her frankness rebuked and confused him. 
 
 " Och ! no," he said. " I was just not quite sure if ye'd 
 forgotten that affair of yours in Leipzig." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, uncertain whether her 
 feeling was one of relief. " It's seven years ago," she 
 said, and added, " Besides, it never came to anything, 
 never could." 
 
 " Then ye'll try to put up with me, dear? " he said, 
 coming back to the real issue. 
 
 She smiled, surer now of the grounds for sacrifice. 
 " It's to be a bargain, though, Robin," she said, and 
 stood up. " You know you just hate me when when 
 you're not yourself." 
 
 " Ye can trust me now," he returned, with a new 
 confidence that completely confirmed her. " I'll have 
 something to live for." 
 
 " Never once again, anything ! " she stipulated with a 
 look which showed him that she knew his answer. " Not 
 even by doctor's orders ! " 
 
 " Ye'll not be afraid," he said, and he came and stood 
 beside her and put his arm across her shoulders. 
 
 She hardly knew then whether the mere caress were 
 distasteful; it was so much more endurable than the 
 look in his eyes; she had seen something so like that 
 before when the desired thing had not been a woman. 
 And it was to avoid his eyes that she dropped her head. 
 
 He kissed her hair and then his grasp of her shoulder 
 tightened. " Maggie," he whispered hotly. 
 
 But she was saved for the moment by the coming of 
 Hester with the tea-tray, and before he could decently 
 return to his love-making they heard Martin come in. 
 
 " I'll have to tell him," Robin said, with a certain 
 suggestion of glee in his tone; but when he had come to 
 the telling the greatness of him had triumphed over his 
 little exaltation.
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 207 
 
 To Martin, however, all that rather tender explan- 
 ation had conveyed but one idea with which he set 
 himself to wrestle when he was in the safety of his own 
 cold bedroom. 
 
 He had come to a realization of his own secret 
 thoughts with a shock that was as paralysing as it was 
 unexpected. He had not known till then that the desire 
 to be more than a humble friend to Margaret had even 
 entered his mind. 
 
 If he had been a feeble lover he might have run away, 
 less to save his private vanity than to avoid the pain of 
 seeing Margaret possessed by another ; but the old ideal 
 of protective service still ruled him, a stronger influence 
 than the ideal of his own suffering. From the first 
 Margaret had appeared to him as a figure of dignity, 
 commanding his respect ; he had not dared to approach 
 her too nearly either in act or thought ; and if she had 
 not been suddenly presented to him as the possible wife 
 of another, he might have continued his detached 
 adoration until she put out her hand to lift him. 
 
 And even now the emotion that swayed him was one 
 of fear and concern rather than of jealousy. A terrible 
 doubt of Robin Greg had sprung into being; for, 
 remembering all that story of past weakness, Martin 
 could only, in these new conditions, question the cer- 
 tainty of a reform that had only lasted for three weeks. 
 In his eager optimism, he had hardly regarded this 
 aspect of the cure when all his own interests had lain in 
 one balance of the scale. Now, he approached more 
 nearly to a vision of the great problem as a whole ; and 
 if his vision was but a transient one its effects were to 
 endure. He had come to the border of his first intimate 
 association with the wonderful complexities of life . . . 
 
 For the moment, however, he saw no escape. He must, 
 he thought, be content to sacrifice himself and to suffer.
 
 208 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 His ambition to set Robin Greg right with himself and 
 the world remained; only the motive was changed, 
 becoming less personal, more purely altruistic. 
 
 Martin shrugged his shoulders, happily avoiding any 
 self-congratulation on his choice of issues. He did not 
 even consider the effect that any persistence in self- 
 sacrifice might have upon his own character. He saw but 
 one clearly-defined motive; his single desire to serve 
 Margaret. 
 
 How hard that service was to become, he realized on 
 that first evening of the new conditions. 
 
 Through dinner, he felt self-conscious. He found that 
 he could not look at Margaret, and was embarrassed by 
 the consciousness of his inability. In the study, he took 
 up again his old position behind the writing-table ; and 
 when Greg pressed him to come to the fire, excused him- 
 self on the plea that he was already too hot. 
 
 The conversation stuttered on brokenly for a time and 
 then as Greg took up a book, Martin followed his 
 example. From his ambush he ventured at last a brief 
 glance at Margaret, but her face was hidden from him 
 by the " ear " of her arm-chair. 
 
 He was wondering how soon he must go upstairs and 
 leave these two alone. He hated the thought, but saw 
 that he must accustom himself to it ; and with a certain 
 eagerness to torture himself, qualified, perhaps, by the 
 wish to display his indifference to Margaret, he decided 
 to go half an hour earlier than usual. 
 
 On this evening, however, neither sacrifice nor boast 
 was possible, for at nine o'clock Margaret expressed 
 her intention of going to bed. 
 
 " I've a headache to-night," she pleaded in excuse. 
 
 She said " good-night " to Greg, but he immediately 
 got out of his chair, evidently prepared to follow her 
 into the hall. 
 
 Martin kept his head bent over his book, but he 
 raised it when Margaret wished him good-night and 
 met her eyes for the first time since, long ages ago, she
 
 WITHIN THE HOUSE 209 
 
 had looked at him that afternoon over the tea-tray. 
 And now, as then, he failed to read the message of her 
 expression, although he could not doubt that some 
 message was intended. Her eyes were so earnest, so 
 searching. 
 
 Greg closed the door behind them as he went out, but 
 he returned to the study almost immediately. Their 
 embrace, if any embrace had been exchanged, must 
 have been incredibly brief. 
 
 " Here, come up to the fire for Heaven's sake," said 
 Greg, when he had sat down again. " It annoys me to see 
 ye sitting out there in the cold." 
 
 " I'm not cold," said Martin, but he went over to the 
 fire. 
 
 " Ye seem dull to-night," continued Greg. 
 
 " I'm not," Martin replied, with a pale assumption of 
 cheerfulness. He had brought his book with him and 
 began to read again; and Greg, after a long stare, did 
 not further interrupt him, until at ten o'clock he re- 
 marked casually, 
 
 " Have ye forgotten that to-morrow will be Christ- 
 mas Day? " 
 
 Martin looked up. " Almost," he said, " but I don't 
 suppose it will make any difference to us." 
 
 " Och! no," said Greg, " we take little account of it 
 in Scotland. But there'll be Biddie's presents to give her 
 and maybe we'll give her some sort of a treat in the 
 afternoon." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I see," returned Martin indifferently. 
 " Well, are you going up? I think I'll go too. We're 
 early to-night." 
 
 When he was in his own room, pleasantly conscious of 
 relief from all restraint, Martin began to ponder the 
 message of Margaret's eyes. He was glad that she should 
 have troubled to bother about him at all ; and from that 
 he fell, for the first time, into a reflection on the pos- 
 sibility of other relationships between him and her. If he 
 had been newly engaged to her, would she, he wondered,
 
 2io THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 have released herself so quickly from him when he said 
 good-night ? He thrilled at the thought that he could, 
 even in imagination, hold her in his arms. But if she had 
 deigned to give herself to one man, that man might as 
 well have been Martin Bond as Robin Greg . . . 
 
 The wind still shouted fiercely round the house, but 
 above the incoherent voices of the gale, Martin could 
 hear now and again a familiar sound that seemed to have 
 been stilled during the past two weeks the old restless 
 clamour of the unfastened gate had returned. 
 
 For some time he stood at the window peering out into 
 the night.
 
 XVI. REDIVISION. 
 
 MARGARET was standing by the fire in the little dining- 
 room when Martin came down to breakfast. 
 
 " Isn't it a beautiful, bright, cold morning? " she 
 said cheerfully. " A wet, foggy Christmas is so miser- 
 able. Don't you hate them ? " 
 
 He understood that she had given him the note, if not 
 for all their future relations, at least for this morning's 
 conversation. There were to be no explanations. She 
 would not justify herself, she would, in all probability, 
 make no reference whatever to her engagement to 
 Robin. 
 
 He wished that he could disregard, with equal com- 
 placency, this last redivision of the household into two 
 sides, that he could forget his own present redundance. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, beastly," he said in answer to her question. 
 He stood by the window and looked out. The sun was 
 hardly above the horizon yet, but there had been a 
 slight frost in the night and the air smelt sharp and 
 fresh; and even the dullness of Demetrius Road was 
 strangely enlivened. 
 
 " We hardly ever get snow at Christmas, now," he 
 went on. " Do you suppose the old-fashioned Christmas 
 is only a myth? " He had made the same remark or 
 heard it made by others a hundred times before, but 
 anything served. He was even glad that it should be so 
 banal. 
 
 Their conversation throughout the breakfast re- 
 mained at the same level. As soon as he had finished, 
 Martin escaped to the study. 
 
 For ten minutes he stood on the hearth-rug, trying to 
 
 P2
 
 212 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 reconcile himself to the thought of a day's occupation 
 that would differ in no essential from the work of any 
 other day. Recently he had come to some such contem- 
 plation as this with a certain enjoyment and zeal; the 
 prospect had appeared interesting, attractive. This 
 morning his picture of the day before him presented 
 itself as something utterly flat and unendurable. He was 
 at once too excited and too bored to face a morning with 
 Greg, followed by all the familiar and suddenly repul- 
 sive details of the inevitable afternoon and evening. 
 The mid-day dinner, the usual walk over the now well- 
 explored ground, the tea with Robin, Margaret and 
 Biddie there would be hymns on the harmonium, no 
 doubt and, worst of all, the time after supper when he 
 would sit alone, passing the dreary minutes until he 
 must get up and leave the other two together. He de- 
 cided that he simply could not face it. 
 
 He went up to his own room and put on his boots. 
 Then he knocked at Greg's door. 
 
 A sleepy voice requested him to " Come in." 
 
 " I suppose to-day is a holiday of sorts," said Martin, 
 without any preliminary greeting. The windows were 
 close shut and the room smelt warm and stuffy. 
 
 Greg raised himself on his elbow and stared at him 
 rather stupidly. " I thought it was Hester with my 
 breakfast," he said. " What's the time? " 
 
 " A quarter-past nine," said Martin, and added, 
 " Would you mind if I went out to-day ? " 
 
 " Where are ye goin' ? " asked Greg. 
 
 " I thought I'd go and see a couple of men at the 
 Settlement," returned Martin. 
 
 " They'll be away," remonstrated Greg. 
 
 " Someone's sure to be there," said Martin. 
 
 Greg looked at him suspiciously. " Och! you can do 
 as ye like," he said. " Will ye be away all day ? " 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 Greg lay down again in bed and pulled the clothes up 
 to his chin. " Eh! well," he remarked, " ye might tell
 
 REDIVISION 213 
 
 Hester to hurry up with my breakfast, and Maggie's not 
 brought me the medicine this morning, either.'* He gave 
 a glance at the table by the bed. 
 
 " There isn't any more," replied Martin. " You had 
 the last bottle yesterday." He thought Greg looked a 
 trifle uneasy, but he only nodded, and turning over on 
 his side presented a back view of his ruffled head. 
 
 " I'll tell Hester," said Martin, as he went out. He 
 wanted, also, to tell Margaret that he would be out all 
 day. This errand gave him an excuse for going to the 
 kitchen. 
 
 But Hester, who met him in the hall with the break- 
 fast tray in her hands, told him that Miss Hamilton was 
 not in the kitchen. " She'll be in the nursery, no doubt," 
 she explained. " Will I say you'll be wanting her ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, thanks, don't bother," said Martin. " I only 
 wanted to say that I should be out all day. Perhaps you 
 would tell her." 
 
 He would have preferred to give the message himself, 
 but he did not wish to give it too great an air of impor- 
 tance. He had never been up to the nursery, and felt 
 that he could not invade those unknown regions for the 
 first time on so trivial an errand. It was, however, just 
 possible that Margaret might still be in the dining-room, 
 and when Hester had gone upstairs he hesitated a 
 moment and then tried his last chance. 
 
 She was there, standing by the mantelpiece in the 
 attitude that was now so familiar to him. 
 
 " Oh ! I just wanted to tell you that I am going out, 
 Miss Hamilton," he said. 
 
 She looked up at him with a touch of surprise. 
 
 "Where? "she asked. 
 
 " I thought of going to see some of the men at my old 
 Settlement," he explained. 
 
 " Will you be away long ? " she asked. 
 
 " All day, I expect," he said. 
 
 "Why? " 
 
 " I feel like it," he said, rather ungraciously.
 
 214 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 She looked down again at the fire. " Very well," she 
 said apathetically. " Do you want a latch-key ? " 
 
 Martin shook his head. " Oh ! no, I shall be back by 
 ten o'clock," he said. " You are sure to be up then." 
 
 " Robin will," she said. 
 
 " You don't mind my going ? " he asked. 
 
 "I? No, why should I? " She looked at him with 
 something of defiance in her face. 
 
 " Well, only I mean it's quite safe to leave him 
 alone, now, of course ? " 
 
 " Absolutely," replied Margaret with conviction. 
 
 He had never heard quite that tone in her voice 
 before when she had spoken of Robin. 
 
 " He asked me why you hadn't brought him the medi- 
 cine this morning," said Martin. " I told him that he 
 had had it all." 
 
 " What did he say ? " she asked indifferently. 
 
 " He didn't say anything," returned Martin. 
 
 "Won't you miss your train?" she asked, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " I'm going to walk," he explained. 
 
 She showed no surprise. " I hope you'll have a nice 
 day," was her only comment made with the air of 
 ending the conversation. 
 
 Martin could hardly claim that the interview had 
 been an encouragement to him, and yet he could not 
 avoid a feeling of satisfaction she might have been 
 factitiously cheerful at breakfast, but she certainly had 
 showed no joy in the anticipation of a long day alone 
 with her fiance. 
 
 The ten-mile walk across London invigorated him and 
 cleared his mind. At the Settlement he found the one 
 man he had particularly hoped to see, and the old in- 
 fluences of the place and his companion took hold of 
 him. At half-past six that afternoon, he was debating
 
 REDIVISION 215 
 
 whether he would not leave Garroch. He had done a 
 certain work there and had come with some credit out 
 of a difficult situation. Margaret was now hopeful, even 
 confident, that the cure of Robin Greg would be a suc- 
 cess. He might leave the rest to her; she had taken all 
 responsibility from him by entering into an engagement 
 that made Martin's presence in the house superfluous. 
 
 Sitting there in his friend's neat, clean room, Martin 
 had a great revulsion of feeling against some influence 
 of the Garroch atmosphere that overcame him 
 when he was in the house itself. Even now he could not 
 define it, although vaguely the thing was associated 
 chiefly with Greg's bedroom. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I cut the whole affair ? " he wondered, 
 and for a moment he felt an inclination to tell the whole 
 story to his friend. Was there anything to tie him, any 
 convention, duty or desire ? Had not the last bond been 
 broken by Margaret's engagement; how could he pos- 
 sibly be responsible for her future welfare ? 
 
 For one little instant of time, he realized the possi- 
 bility of freedom, of his own independence in the scheme 
 of life. In one brief pause of conversation the whole 
 problem of his existence had been presented to him in a 
 new light. But even as he tried to hold and understand 
 the vision, the thought of Margaret drew him irresistibly. 
 He knew that whether she wished it or not, he could not 
 leave her to fight alone; that even when she was married 
 he must stay within call of her. He felt neither happi- 
 ness nor sorrow in the knowledge, he only knew that the 
 thing was inevitable, unavoidable. 
 
 And at once he became uneasy; fidgeting, longing 
 to be back in Demetrius Road. He had promised his 
 friend that he would stay to supper, and he had no 
 excuse to make for so curiously changing his mind; but 
 he did not care, all conventions of ordinary behaviour 
 seemed foolish and meaningless when weighed against 
 the urgency of his desire to return to Margaret . . . 
 
 He reached Garroch at a quarter to nine, and
 
 216 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 looked inquiringly at Hester when she let him in. He 
 had come to believe that something unusual must have 
 happened in his absence, that Margaret had, indeed, 
 called to him. 
 
 But Hester only smiled and said," Ye'renot so late," 
 and when he went into the study he found Greg alone. 
 
 He almost echoed Hester's greeting, adding, " Maggie 
 has gone to her bed. She has a headache." 
 
 No one had wanted him, Martin thought with a pang 
 of disappointment ; he had had no wonderful experience, 
 he had obeyed the command of his subconscious desire, 
 that was all. 
 
 " I'm sorry," he said conventionally, and then for 
 something to say, he asked if Biddie had enjoyed her 
 Christmas. 
 
 " I don't know what I'll do with that child," Greg 
 returned moodily. " I fear that Maggie is too easy with 
 her. She was very naughty after tea, and there's no one 
 but me can do anything at all with her. I'm thinking of 
 sending her to my sister in Scotland." 
 
 " What did she do ? " asked Martin. 
 
 Greg did not reply. He looked gloomy and depressed. 
 
 " We can finish that article for The Gallery to- 
 morrow," he said after a long pause. " I was looking 
 through it this morning and I've made a few notes of 
 things I'd like ye to alter, but it will do very well other- 
 wise." 
 
 For a time they talked disconnectedly of their work. 
 At half-past nine Greg announced his intention of going 
 to bed. 
 
 " I'm fashed about Biddie," he explained, and then 
 after a moment's hesitation he said inconsequently, 
 " I suppose there'd be a tonic in that medicine ye 
 gave me? " 
 
 " Yes, there is, I know," said Martin. 
 
 " Eh ! well, I fancy I've missed it to-day," said Greg. 
 "Good night to ye."
 
 REDIVISION 217 
 
 His talk with Greg provided Martin with subject for 
 polite conversation at the breakfast table next morning, 
 a subject recognizably preferable to any account of his 
 own day at the Settlement. Garroch seemed to 
 insist that only its own interests should be discussed 
 within those four walls, the irrelevant affairs of the 
 world at large were so foolishly unimportant in com- 
 parison. 
 
 He began at once to speak of Biddie, and so learnt the 
 story of her misbehaviour, another of those odd revolts 
 of hers against authority, persisted in on this occasion 
 beyond all reasonable limits. Her father himself had not 
 been able to subdue her for quite a long time. 
 
 Margaret showed signs of some distress at the matter 
 of her narration, but she clung to the subject and 
 amplified it. 
 
 Martin was quite willing to listen; he was trying to 
 piece together the story of Margaret's day. 
 
 "What time did you get her to bed? " he asked 
 when the story on its psychological side had almost 
 been exhausted. 
 
 " About six," Margaret said. " You see she began it 
 before tea." 
 
 Martin nodded. " And after that ? " 
 
 " She was quite good after that. She's never so sweet 
 as she is after she's been naughty." 
 
 " I suppose you stayed up in the nursery with her 
 until bedtime? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, I didn't. She wanted me to stay, of course, 
 but I had to punish her in some way." 
 
 Margaret was still absorbed in her thought of Biddie; 
 but Martin had nearly forgotten her, and so far had his 
 eagerness to discover the relations of Robin and Mar- 
 garet outrun his discretion that his next question was 
 presented with a certain irrelevance he had meant to 
 lead up to it less openly.
 
 218 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 "What were you doing about half -past six? " he 
 asked. 
 
 For a moment, Margaret appeared unable to gather 
 his intention, and then Martin saw the colour flush from 
 her neck to her forehead almost deliberately, it seemed, 
 so slow was the invasion. She looked perturbed and 
 uncomfortable, but she did not hide her face ; she stared 
 steadily before her at the jardiniere in the centre of the 
 table. 
 
 " Why ? " she asked at last. 
 
 He had no doubt of the meaning of her blush. He 
 looked for but one explanation and found it with secret 
 exultation. She had wanted him at that minute. Why, 
 he did not trouble to inquire. 
 
 " I had a sort of intuition," he said, speaking quickly 
 to cover her embarrassment. " I felt somehow when I 
 was at the Settlement that you wanted me, I didn't 
 know why. I thought, of course, that it was because of 
 Mr Greg, but he seemed quite all right when I came in. 
 But, I wanted to tell you, he asked me if there were any 
 tonic in the ' Antol ' cure stuff ; he said he had missed it ; 
 the effects of the tonic, I suppose." 
 
 She kept her eyes away from him; the blush still 
 burnt her, her little ears glowed red under the shadow 
 of her hair. 
 
 " You came as quickly as you could, I suppose ? " she 
 said in a low, even voice. 
 
 " Of course," said Martin, " but I was a long time 
 getting back, the trains weren't running properly, being 
 Christmas Day. I expect I could have walked it in the 
 time. It it was a new experience for me. I was rather 
 disappointed when I got back. I thought . . . But it 
 was quite all right, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, quite," she said. " Have you finished ? I ought 
 to be going." 
 
 She got up quickly and went out, leaving her own 
 breakfast almost untouched. During the first half of the 
 meal, she had been so occupied with her story of Bid die.
 
 REDIVISION 219 
 
 Martin settled down to work again that morning. He 
 felt that he had been reinstated. Margaret could give 
 him no confidences and he would ask for none, but she 
 desired his presence in the house. 
 
 And he tried, with all his natural honesty, to con- 
 centrate his thought upon that one aspect of the 
 situation. He tried to see himself always as her humble 
 servant, willing to endure anything for her, even 
 boldly to face in some distant future her marriage 
 with Robin Greg. But, quite unconsciously, his attitude 
 towards the ruling spirit of Garroch was undergoing 
 a subtle change. Martin admired Greg's cleverness, 
 appreciated his fine qualities no less than before, but the 
 man had become again, in some sense, the enemy; he 
 figured so inevitably as the danger against which 
 Margaret was to be protected. 
 
 The effect upon Martin was shown in a growing 
 impatience of Greg's dogmatic pronouncements whether 
 in connexion with their work upon the book, or upon 
 that more intimate controversy as to the relative vir- 
 tues of the English and the Scotch as national types. 
 
 " Och ! ye '11 know better when ye've had a little more 
 experience," was Greg's usual conclusion, and Martin 
 would shrug his shoulders and sulk. Before the end of 
 the week he was looking forward to the time when Greg 
 would be absent all day in the City .... 
 
 Margaret made no further allusion to Martin's first 
 experience in what he had decided was a clear case of 
 telepathy. He would have liked immensely to discuss it 
 with her, quite impersonally, to put forward the theory 
 he had formed that he had become newly sensitive to 
 certain influences as an outcome of living in sympath- 
 etic surroundings. But her manner made it quite clear 
 to him that she wished to avoid any recurrence to that 
 subject whenever he approached it, however distantly,
 
 220 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 at breakfast, she always diverted the conversation; she 
 seemed able to anticipate the possible introduction of 
 that topic from the most innocent, and apparently 
 inappropriate remarks. 
 
 When they were alone they talked almost exclusively 
 of Biddie. It was impossible for them, now, to speak of 
 Greg and his progress towards a certain cure. He 
 belonged to Margaret in a new and intimate way that 
 excluded him from any discussion. There must be a 
 tacit assumption that he possessed all the perfections; 
 he could no longer be regarded as a patient between 
 them, since he was the man whom Margaret had chosen 
 as her future husband. That single occasion on the 
 morning after Christmas Day, had been an exception, 
 the result of peculiar circumstances. But what precisely 
 was Margaret's feeling for Robin, Martin could not 
 determine. At the back of his mind was a curious cer- 
 tainty that it was impossible she could really love him. 
 
 In that conclusion Martin was certainly upheld by 
 his observation of their daily intercourse. Margaret was 
 less pliant than she had been during the first three 
 weeks of her stay in Garroch, less anxious to please 
 the master of the house; she was, in one sense at least, 
 apparently less afraid of him. Robin, on his side, had 
 become more polite, more deferential. He looked at her 
 with more tenderness, even at times with something in 
 his eyes that was almost a supplication. In her presence 
 he was in comparatively good spirits, he talked brilliant- 
 ly at times, he made a show of being active and ener- 
 getic. But when he was alone with Martin, he often gave 
 evidence of mental depression and irascibility; as a 
 collaborator he was becoming increasingly difficult to 
 work with. It was certain that he dreaded his return to 
 the City .... 
 
 But the thing that had most significance for Martin 
 was the fact that Robin and Margaret were hardly ever 
 alone together. If she were in the study when Martin 
 returned from his afternoon walk he had somewhat
 
 REDIVISION 221 
 
 shortened the length of his absence recently Biddie 
 was there also, and Margaret always found some excuse 
 to leave the room before Martin at night. Robin always 
 followed her into the hall, but their " Good night " was 
 never prolonged, never more than a few seconds elapsed 
 before Martin heard her run upstairs. 
 
 The first exception to that rule was provided on the 
 Sunday night that preceded Greg's return to the City. 
 
 They had openly discussed that return with Robin 
 during the evening, and Margaret had urged him to 
 take another week's rest. Martin had joined in perfunc- 
 torily, dreading that his arguments might prove too 
 convincing. 
 
 " Surely one more week wouldn't matter," he had 
 said, " especially so soon after Christmas." 
 
 "Och! ye know nothing whatever about it," re- 
 turned Greg impatiently. " Isn't Tuesday the New Year, 
 and there's a devil of a lot to be done. D'ye think I'd 
 not sooner stay here and finish the book ? I just have to 
 go back, I tell ye, and it's no good talkin' about it." 
 
 " But, Robin, if your health depends on it," urged 
 Margaret, " if you knock yourself up, the business will 
 just go to smash altogether." 
 
 " It'll likely do that in any case," said Greg, with a 
 bitter laugh and an uneasy look at Margaret; " but it's 
 no use haverin' about it, I must do what I can." And 
 then with a sudden change to a more optimistic note, he 
 began to discuss the possibilities of getting his affairs 
 round the corner. " If I can pull off that Dutch business, 
 we'll be all right for a bit," he concluded. 
 
 " You ought to go away for a fortnight," persisted 
 Margaret. " With Mr Bond," she explained, " to Scot- 
 land or somewhere for a complete change of air." 
 
 " I'll go when this Dutch business is settled," said 
 Greg. " If Bond'll come, that is ? "he added.
 
 222 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Oh! rather, I'll come," said Martin. 
 
 They talked later than usual that evening, but as 
 Martin was wondering whether on this night he ought 
 not, exceptionally, to get up and leave them alone, 
 Margaret anticipated him. 
 
 Robin, as usual, followed her into the hall. 
 
 That was a moment which always tested Martin's 
 endurance. He had tried, desperately, never to picture 
 the kiss one kiss at least must be given and returned 
 and the short embrace that must be interchanged. If no 
 intimate caress marked their parting why did they say 
 good night in the hall ? But he had become partly 
 inured by custom their time together was so absurdly 
 short and it came as a new shock and terror to him 
 to-night, when more than a minute passed and still he 
 had not heard Margaret go upstairs. 
 
 He stood up and bit his lip ; he was suddenly furiously 
 impatient, and then he heard Margaret's voice say 
 clearly, " Oh ! Robin ! no." There was something of fear 
 in her tone; something, too, of disgust. 
 
 Martin clenched his hands and took a quick step 
 towards the door. He was full of passionate rage and 
 jealousy; prepared to face Greg, to knock him down, to 
 do some mad, irrevocable thing. 
 
 But before he reached the door he heard Margaret's 
 footsteps on the stairs; he heard, also, Greg's little 
 hooting laugh, subdued in tone, but at that moment 
 horribly repulsive. 
 
 He came into the room the next moment and met 
 Martin almost on the threshold. 
 
 " Och ! are ye goin' up too ? " asked Greg. He looked 
 a trifle flushed and uneasy, and the glance he gave at 
 Martin was suspicious and at the same time self- 
 assertive. 
 
 " Yes, I am. Good night," said Martin curtly. He 
 dared not stay alone with Greg at that moment.
 
 XVII. THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY. 
 
 MARTIN had expected that Greg's return to the City 
 would induce again the former morning rush and 
 urgency ; but although some of the ritual remained, it 
 was all so leisurely and deliberate that it evoked none 
 of the old feeling. 
 
 Greg had his breakfast in bed; but he was in the study 
 fully dressed by a quarter-past nine. 
 
 Martin was still resentful, still burning to know why 
 Margaret had cried out the night before, but he had 
 himself in hand this morning. He had long days ahead 
 of him and he was progressing steadily towards an 
 intention to win Margaret's confidence. 
 
 He tried to speak in his ordinary voice, as he wished 
 his collaborator " Good morning." 
 
 Greg nodded carelessly. " How long have ye been 
 here now, Bond? " he asked unexpectedly, and Martin 
 felt a sudden tremor run through him. He had almost 
 forgotten that he might be dismissed at an hour's notice. 
 
 " A month last Saturday, wasn't it ? "he said with a 
 decent imitation of indifference. 
 
 " Is that all? " asked Greg with genuine surprise. 
 " Eh ! well, I've never paid ye yer salary, but I'll cash a 
 cheque in the City to-day and let ye have it to-night." 
 
 " Really, it doesn't matter," said Martin. " I would 
 so very much sooner you didn't pay me a salary, I mean. 
 I feel that now you have made me a collaborator in the 
 book, you see ... It was so awfully good of you." 
 Inwardly he was apostrophizing himself for the inep- 
 titude of his reply; it all sounded so cold and uncon- 
 vincing. A week ago, he could have spoken with warmth 
 and feeling.
 
 224 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Greg was bending over the newly-lighted fire, 
 warming his hands. 
 
 " I did not think ye were such a fool, Bond," he 
 remarked drily. 
 
 " Such a fool as to refuse money? " asked Martin, 
 with a flash of temper. 
 
 "Aye ! that and other things," was the quiet response. 
 
 " I don't know what other things you're specially 
 referring to," returned Martin, " although I am quite 
 aware that I am a fool in many ways; but as to the 
 money, I should have thought that you would have 
 understood that I didn't want paying for anything I've 
 done here." 
 
 Greg nodded. "Ye do well to remind me of it," he 
 said, " but I'm sorry that ye should take the tone ye 
 have with me. It's not friendly, to say the least of it." 
 
 Martin's temper cooled instantly. " I'm sorry," he 
 said. " I daresay I am a bit touchy about money mat- 
 ters. After all, I'm living here free of cost surely that 
 and my share in the book is payment enough." 
 
 Greg did not reply. He still bent over the fire, warm- 
 ing his hands. His face wore a look of intensity and 
 speculation, as if he were debating some essential 
 problem. But if he was thus absorbed, he gave no expres- 
 sion to his difficulty then. Instead, he looked at his 
 watch and got up with some remark as to the time. 
 " Ye might just put together the manuscript of that 
 last chapter of mine," he said, as he was leaving the 
 room. " I'll maybe find time to go over it in the office 
 after lunch." 
 
 As Martin found the required papers he was always 
 neat and methodical in his care of such things he 
 determined to be quite firm in his refusal of any salary ; 
 he would have liked to pay for his board and lodging, 
 but did not quite dare to make that suggestion. He 
 meant, nevertheless, to settle the smaller question at 
 once, but when he went out into the hall with the manu- 
 script he found Margaret there, assisting in the more
 
 THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 225 
 
 dignified ritual which now preceded the morning's 
 departure. 
 
 Greg took the papers and pocketed them without 
 comment, and, after a moment's hesitation, Martin 
 returned to the study. 
 
 A minute later he heard the front door shut, not as 
 before with a slam, but firmly, deliberately. And Greg 
 had a full twelve minutes for his walk to the station. 
 
 " In effect, that difference is part of my work," 
 thought Martin. " It would never have been done with- 
 out me. Surely if there is any obligation it's not on my 
 side." 
 
 He wondered if he would see Margaret before lunch, 
 and if she would sing to him in the afternoon. He 
 wondered, also, if she would give him any confidence. 
 
 This was only the first day. And for the next three 
 months they would be virtually alone in the house 
 together, five days out of seven, from half-past nine to 
 six o'clock. In that time they must come to know each 
 other better, to become friends, to arrive at an intimacy 
 that would allow him to proffer her a more helpful 
 service. He was sure that she was not happy. And why 
 had she cried out in the hall last night ? . . . 
 
 Presently he became aware of an extraordinary peace 
 and quietness about the house. It all seemed wonder- 
 fully clean and empty. 
 
 Garroch was nodding again. 
 
 But no promise of a closer friendship with Margaret 
 rewarded Martin that day. 
 
 She did not come into the study before lunch. It was 
 a bright clear morning, and he heard her go out with 
 Biddie a little before eleven and she did not return till 
 after one. Lunch time was occupied by Biddie's account 
 of the morning excursion to the shops in her mailcart, 
 a tedious history in which Margaret took an unac- 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 countable interest. And when the nurse came in to 
 carry Biddie upstairs for her afternoon sleep, Margaret 
 got up also. 
 
 " Shall I see you this afternoon? " asked Martin in 
 desperation as she was going out. 
 
 " No, I'm afraid not," she said formally. " I'm going 
 out to tea with some friends of mine in town. I don't 
 suppose I shall be back until after six. You'll have your 
 walk, of course," she added rather inconsequently as 
 she left him. 
 
 It was after seven, however, before she returned, and 
 Greg came in with her. Their conversation over the 
 dinner table made it clear that she had telephoned to 
 him and afterwards joined him at his office. Martin 
 tried to persuade himself that she had been anxious 
 about Robin on this first day of his return to the 
 anxieties and, for him, peculiar temptations of the 
 City; but he had a persistent, harrassing doubt that she 
 was, also, trying to avoid his own company. 
 
 That doubt was confirmed as the days passed. He 
 saw less of her, now, than ever before since he had been 
 in the house. She was out every afternoon, Biddie was 
 always with them at lunch, and on Wednesday and 
 Thursday mornings Margaret did not come down to 
 breakfast. 
 
 Martin found no cause for happiness in his contem- 
 plation of Margaret's new coldness towards himself. 
 His anxious thought of her was always associated, he 
 believed, with the ideal of friendship. She was still 
 raised for him above the common level of humanity, 
 and he was sometimes ashamed of those brief daring 
 imaginations of his that had held him on the night of 
 her engagement to Greg. 
 
 For two days, he made no attempt to break through 
 her reserve ; but when she did not come down to break- 
 fast again on Thursday morning, he began to cherish a 
 feeling of resentment; he wanted to retaliate for her 
 neglect of him.
 
 THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 227 
 
 The means for such retaliation presented no difficul- 
 ties. If she avoided him, she appeared no less anxious to 
 avoid being alone with her fiance. They still said their 
 good night in the hall, but since Sunday that brief 
 tete-a-tete of theirs had been even shorter than before. 
 Martin saw that an opportunity for revenge was always 
 open to him, and considered it with a certain bitter 
 pleasure that was not without a spice of cruelty. 
 
 He put his plan into action on Friday morning, by 
 asking if he might be absent himself that evening. He 
 would like to go to a theatre, he said. 
 
 " Ye're finding it a bit dull, I'm afraid," said Greg. 
 " Eh ! well, I'm not surprised. Of course ye can go, I'll 
 maybe be late myself to-night." He was warming him- 
 self at the study fire preparatory to putting on his over- 
 coat, and he rubbed his hands together with a certain 
 gusto as if he were looking forward to his overtime in 
 the City. 
 
 " Thanks," replied Martin, and added, " Things 
 going all right in Eastcheap ? " 
 
 Greg's face fell a little. " Och ! I can hardly say yet," 
 he said, and went on quickly to ask what play Martin 
 was going to see. 
 
 At lunch, Martin announced his intention to Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 He had hesitated during the morning, uncertain 
 whether he would not be consistently brutal and leave 
 her without any warning of his proposed absence. He 
 relented at the last moment the nurse might be 
 expected for Biddie at any minute because he could 
 not, he found, cherish resentment or any sort of enmity 
 towards Margaret while he was in her presence. 
 
 " I'm afraid I shall be out to-night," he said, on a note 
 of apology, opening the subject suddenly, with no least 
 
 02
 
 228 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 reference to anything that had been said during the 
 meal. 
 
 She looked at him without any show of feeling. 
 " Really," she said. " Where are you going ? " 
 
 "Oh! a theatre, I think," returned Martin. " I I 
 feel I want a little excitement." 
 
 She was about to answer him when the nurse came 
 and interrupted further conversation. 
 
 Martin wondered whether his scheme had not proved 
 a complete failure. Margaret had shown no signs of dis- 
 pleasure at his announcement, nor did she make any 
 attempt to see him again before he went out. And with 
 the sense of failure his jealousy of Greg was momen- 
 tarily revived. 
 
 As he walked down to the station Martin was full of 
 bitterness, debating again the advisability of leaving 
 Garroch at the earliest possible opportunity. There 
 seemed to be so little reason why he should stay . . . 
 
 The weather served his mood. The frost had given 
 way, and a south-west wind had brought a persistent 
 rain. Everything about him seemed weary and sodden ; 
 the half-built, ill-lighted road that led to the station was 
 utterly gloomy and forbidding. Few of the houses were 
 let, the path, still unpaved at one end, was sticky with 
 heavy clay, and the old estate on the other side of the 
 road already advertised as " a desirable building site " 
 looked like a shabby aristocrat fallen into low company. 
 
 Martin shuddered with disgust at the thought that he 
 would have to pass through this road again on his way 
 back to Garroch. 
 
 A desire for light, warmth and excitement possessed 
 him when he was in the train, and he decided that he 
 would give up the theatre and go to a music-hall. He did 
 not want to sit in darkness staring at a false presen- 
 tation of life on the stage; he wanted the warmth of 
 human companionship. 
 
 But long before the evening was over, Garroch 
 was calling to him again. All the noise and movement of
 
 THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 229 
 
 the music-hall became no less unreal to him than the 
 mechanism of a stage play would have been. He was out 
 of touch with all these people, they had no part in his 
 life; they could laugh at the sight of simulated 
 drunkenness and that fact alone utterly separated them 
 from him. For to Martin the sight was suddenly re- 
 pulsive. Every gesture of the comedian's all too ad- 
 mirable imitation recalled that first desperate week in 
 Demetrius Road; and the experience came back with a 
 new horror, as of something obscene that had once 
 moved about the house. 
 
 He could not remain in his seat, but when he went out 
 to the promenade the same cause for disgust was pre- 
 sented in another aspect. He saw a pale-faced, over- 
 dressed youth leering vacuously at a barmaid, he heard 
 the shrill, excited laugh of a woman; all around him was 
 the temptation to find a spurious exhilaration by the 
 means of alcohol. 
 
 It was not yet ten o'clock, but Martin could stand the 
 place no longer ; it was all horrible to him, all false and 
 unclean. His life and work lay in one curiously isolated 
 house in that distant suburb, and until his work there 
 was done, he could enter into no communication with 
 the world outside. Every one was cut off from him, he 
 had alienated Waterhouse, Forman, even, perhaps, his 
 friend at the Settlement. And they were all of no ac- 
 count. He was circumscribed by the interests of that 
 one tiny group of people ; and all the rest of life was no 
 more than a vision of dissociated phenomena. 
 
 It was hardly eleven o'clock when he reached Gar- 
 roch, but all the lights were out. He let himself in 
 quietly with the latch-key Greg had lent him, bolted the 
 front door, and went straight up to his own room. 
 
 He wondered how the other two had spent their 
 evening; and realized with a shock of surprise that 
 during the past five hours his thoughts had been oc- 
 cupied with the well-being of Greg not less than with the 
 protection of Margaret.
 
 230 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 And when he woke on Saturday morning, his first 
 thought was still of Robin ; a thought that greeted him 
 as with a message of escape from the long conflict of 
 uncertainty. Here was a plain way for him, he believed, 
 an issue to which he must abide. He had thought too 
 much and too selfishly of Margaret, he had inclined 
 always to put her so unquestionably first in his regard, 
 that his real duty had been overlooked. Now he would 
 devote himself and his sympathies to Robin Greg, and 
 that devotion would instantly clear the situation. 
 There could be no fear that he would ever come to 
 regard Margaret as the " enemy." By this means he 
 would achieve that unity he had so often desired. The 
 three of them would at last be in sympathy. 
 
 So strong was his conviction of the virtue in this 
 solution that already he felt easier in his mind, he was 
 at once uplifted and content. He savoured the taste of 
 renunciation and found comfort in it. And the method 
 was as obvious as the solution itself; for every speech 
 and action must express with divine inevitableness the 
 nature of his thought. He had but to devote himself 
 inwardly to Greg, and all divisions and dissensions 
 would fade away. 
 
 He pondered his heaven-sent inspiration over his 
 lonely breakfast. He was already set on the serving of 
 Greg, on finally delivering him from the horror of all 
 that had been distantly presented by the vision of the 
 music hall. 
 
 This new attitude was at once made visible in the 
 brief interval that elapsed between Greg's appearance 
 in the study and his departure for the City. 
 
 Since that brief passage of arms on Monday morning 
 a slight coolness had marked their intercourse. The 
 question of salary had been decided, and on either side 
 there had been signs of a new assumption in their
 
 THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 231 
 
 relations. Martin's new position as an almost unpaid 
 collaborator was differentiated from that of the pound- 
 a-week secretary. The discussions relating to the detail 
 of the book had been more that of equals, and Martin 
 unconsciously had shown a tendency to pay less defer- 
 ence to his collaborator's opinions. 
 
 This morning he struck a note of greater humility 
 from the outset. 
 
 " What would you like me to do this morning, sir? " 
 he asked, when Greg came in as usual to warm his hands. 
 
 Greg looked at him quizzically. " Ye can drop the 
 ' sir ' now, Bond," he said good-humouredly. " We're 
 partners. Ye'd best call me just ' Greg,' I'm thinkin'." 
 
 Martin flushed. " All right. Thanks. If I may," he 
 said. " Only I wanted to apologize . . . I'm afraid I ..." 
 
 "Och! don't blether!" Greg interrupted. "D'ye 
 think I cannot understand ? I was twenty-three myself 
 not so many years ago and I've not forgotten it." 
 
 " You've been frightfully decent to me," muttered 
 Martin. 
 
 " I only wish to the devil I had not all this infernal 
 worry over the business," said Greg. " Ye see, I'm some- 
 times half mad with it all. Eh ! well, maybe I'll bring off 
 this Dutch business, and then I'll be able to split with 
 Andrews." 
 
 He sighed, got out of his chair and moved towards the 
 door, then he hesitated a moment, returned to the 
 hearth-rug and stood with his back to the fire. 
 
 " There's just one thing, Bond," he said, smiling 
 rather self-consciously. " I know it's difficult for ye, but 
 if ye could manage to leave me and Maggie alone rather 
 more, I'd be grateful. I don't want ye to put yourself 
 about in any way, but it has seemed to me at times as 
 if ye were almost afraid to leave the room when we've 
 been here alone together." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm sorry. I wasn't conscious of it." said Martin, 
 blushing furiously. " Of course I will." 
 
 " Thank ye," said Greg, with an unusual warmth in
 
 232 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 his tone. " Eh ! well, I must be off," he went on. " I'd be 
 glad if ye'd look over what I've done in the office this 
 week. Ye'll find the papers in the drawer there." 
 
 Sitting quietly in the study after the closing of the 
 front door had brought to Garroch its daily sense of 
 stillness and rest, Martin realized that his new pro- 
 gramme might require of him a greater need for renun- 
 ciation than he had anticipated. He was to leave them 
 alone together. He had promised that in his eagerness 
 without any thought of what Margaret might wish. 
 And if he was to persist in his plan so obvious and 
 admirable a plan it still seemed to him he must make up 
 his mind to ignore absolutely and without a qualm, any 
 indication of Margaret's, even such a strange appeal as 
 that she had made by raising her voice in protest 
 against he faced it, now, deliberately against a 
 caress she shrank from. Last Sunday he had been hot 
 with rage at the thought ; this morning he was re-acting 
 to the snubbing so he saw it of the last six days. 
 She had no need for him, and however childishly uncon- 
 scious of his true feeling, he was resentful, bitter, willing 
 to be cruel. He wanted truly enough to save Greg, but 
 he wanted not less to hurt Margaret, as she had hurt 
 him. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders as he contemplated the 
 picture of her distress, the lines of his mouth were 
 straightened, his eyelids drooped, the youthfulness of 
 his face was obscured, giving place to the mask of a 
 resolute, self-centred man. One set of potentialities was 
 suddenly figured in his expression, his face was that of 
 the determined egoist . . . 
 
 If Margaret called to him, he decided, she would call 
 in vain, and he settled down to work with a grim smile. 
 He worked well that morning.
 
 THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 233 
 
 He hardly looked up, indeed, when Margaret came 
 most unexpectedly into the study soon after twelve 
 o'clock. His absorption was no part of his new plan, he 
 thought she had come to look for a book, and he had no 
 wish to risk a snubbing by offering to help her. 
 
 She came in and stood by the mantelpiece, and he 
 started perceptibly when she said, " Am I interrupting 
 you?" 
 
 He put down his pen and looked up at her. " No ! 
 I'm not particularly busy," he said. " I've been looking 
 through the stuff Mr Greg has been doing at his office." 
 
 She took that up with a touch of eagerness. " Has he 
 done much ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, quite a lot, and rather good stuff, too," said 
 Martin. " He must have wonderful powers of concentra- 
 tion to be able to write like that in an office with all the 
 interruptions and worries and the rest of it." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, he has," returned Margaret quickly. " He 
 is very wonderful hi some ways." 
 
 " Yes, in many ways," agreed Martin. He was won- 
 dering why she had come in; her coming certainly gave 
 him opportunity to express his new attitude, but it was 
 not the kind of opportunity he wanted. 
 
 " You are getting on very well with the book, aren't 
 you? " she asked. 
 
 " Splendidly," replied Martin. 
 
 " When do you think it will be finished ? " 
 
 " Possibly by the end of February." 
 
 " That's very quick, isn't it ? " 
 
 " I suppose it is. You see, Mr Greg had the whole 
 scheme so well thought out beforehand." 
 
 Margaret nodded appreciatively. " Yes, I know he 
 had," she said, and then went on inconsequently. 
 " What theatre did you go to last night? You were 
 home very early." 
 
 It seemed that she had come in to gossip with him. 
 Perhaps she felt that she had been too hard upon him 
 during the week and now, safe in the foreknowledge o
 
 234 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Robin's presence for a day and a half, was willing to 
 make some little amend for her disdain. Martin hard- 
 ened his heart at the thought ; he was not a child to be 
 alternately punished and soothed. 
 
 "Oh! nothing at all interesting," he said casually. 
 " I was home early because I came out before the show 
 was over." 
 
 " Did you ? " she said. " Was it so dull ? We went to 
 bed very early, too; at least I did, and I heard Robin 
 come up soon afterwards." 
 
 He wondered, suddenly, if she had come to give 
 him a hint that she did not want him to be out 
 again in the evening, and he hugged the thought 
 grimly. 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm horribly in your way sometimes," he 
 said, with a daring that surprised himself. " I really 
 went out last night chiefly to give you and Mr Greg an 
 evening alone together." 
 
 " That was thoughtful of you," she said carelessly. 
 " But I hope you won't go out specially for that reason. 
 Really, you needn't." 
 
 No woman in her position could have said more or 
 less, but Martin was suspicious. 
 
 " Oh ! well," he said, " I like to go out sometimes, you 
 know." 
 
 " It must be very dull for you, of course, cooped up 
 here," she suggested. 
 
 " It is, rather," he agreed. " The days seem very long. 
 You see, I haven't a soul to speak to between half -past 
 nine and seven, and then, well, if you come to think of 
 it, I am working about ten hours a day, and every day 
 in the week, too." 
 
 She winced a little. " I hadn't thought of that," she 
 began, and then added, " But I don't see how it can be 
 helped." 
 
 " No ? "he returned pointedly. 
 
 " How can it be ? " she asked. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the
 
 THE MEANS OF ASCENDANCY 235 
 
 manuscript on the table before him. " I wasn't dull the 
 first week I was here," he said. 
 
 She turned her back on him then, and looked down 
 into the fire, resting her forehead on the mantelpiece. 
 " That first week was so different in every way," she 
 said in a low voice. 
 
 He was bold now. He had already dared so much 
 without rebuff. 
 
 " May I be quite frank, Miss Hamilton? " he asked, 
 and then, as she did not answer, he said, " I can't help 
 feeling that you have avoided me for some reason for 
 the last few days. I haven't really the least idea why. I 
 did understand, of course, that we couldn't talk about 
 Mr Greg in the same way, about the cure and all that, I 
 mean, after after Christmas Eve. But I didn't see and 
 I can't see now, either, why I should have been sent to 
 Coventry. It would be quite different for me here, 
 wouldn't it, if you could take some sort of an interest 
 not necessarily in me, I know there's no earthly reason 
 why you should but in the book, perhaps. I don't see 
 why we couldn't talk about that sometimes, or some 
 other subject that isn't barred. And, well, if you could 
 sing now and then, it would make a big difference, too. 
 Do you know what I mean ? " 
 
 " Very well," said Margaret quietly, without moving. 
 " I don't see any reason, either, why not." 
 
 " How can there be any reason ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, how can there ? " she repeated. 
 
 With every admission of hers, his courage increased. 
 " And it's not only for my sake, is it ? " he asked. 
 
 She turned round and looked at him. " I don't quite 
 understand ..." she began, a little embarrassed by 
 the directness of the gaze with which he met her. 
 
 " Well, I have done something for Mr Greg, haven't 
 I ? " he said. " And though I know quite well that it 
 rests more with you than with me, now; I can still do 
 a great deal." 
 
 " Oh! yes, I know," she said. She wanted to look
 
 236 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 away, but his gaze was so frank and steady that it 
 seemed an act of submission not to meet his eyes. 
 
 " And if I went away," he continued, " it would, I 
 think, make a difference to him." 
 
 " Were you thinking of going away ? " She was trying 
 to protect herself, but she was suddenly weak and feeble. 
 Martin was no longer a big, clean boy, but a strong, 
 overbearing man. She knew that she would be able 
 again to influence and rule him at her will, but at this 
 moment he was stronger than she. It was as if he held 
 her by the power of his physical strength. 
 
 " I shall certainly go if I have another week like this 
 one," he said brutally, rejoicing in his advantage. He 
 felt that he could order here or there as he willed; his 
 spirit was exalted with the glow of victory. 
 
 " Oh! you must not leave us now," said Margaret, 
 and with that surrender she released herself, too late, 
 from the control of his steady eyes. 
 
 " I m-must see about lunch," she went on quickly, 
 and she did not look up at him as he held the door open 
 for her to go out. 
 
 When Martin sat down again to his desk he was 
 thrilling with the joy of mastery, and even the thought 
 of the promise he had made to Robin that morning did 
 not subdue him. He was inclined to make light of it 
 in that mood of exultation.
 
 XVIII. THE DIVIDED HOUSE. 
 
 MARGARET'S ascendancy was soon re-asserted. That 
 evening and all the next day Martin was split by his 
 endeavour to keep unsoiled the spirit of both the signed 
 and the unsigned treaties. He had pledged himself to 
 Greg, and opened pourparlers with Margaret, against 
 whom he was ostensibly acting ; but he blindly believed 
 that some compromise was still possible. What chiefly 
 hindered him, he thought, was that despite the impor- 
 tance of his intermediacy, he was outside the secret 
 confidence of either party. He was, indeed, quite 
 uncertain whether they might not at any time act 
 together against him. He had no idea how far they 
 trusted him or each other. 
 
 The straight issue of keeping his promise with Greg 
 was, in some ways, simple enough, but in his eagerness 
 to observe the letter of the agreement, Martin over- 
 looked the necessity for finesse and drew down the 
 reproof of his principal. 
 
 " Don't overdo it, laddie," Greg remarked caus- 
 tically, when he and Martin were alone for a few minutes 
 before supper on Sunday evening. And in answer to 
 Martin's look of surprise he said, " Ye've been jumpin' 
 out of yer chair all day like a pea in a fryin' pan when- 
 ever Maggie's come into the room." 
 
 The hoot with which he pointed this criticism hinted 
 a touch of bitterness, as if Martin's too obvious display 
 of tact had not been very successful. 
 
 " It's jolly difficult," mumbled Martin, a little piqued. 
 
 " Eh ! well, I'm not blamin' ye, laddie. Ye've done 
 yer best, no doubt, and played straight enough with 
 me," said Greg kindly. " But for reasons I can't just
 
 238 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 explain to ye now, it'll be better perhaps that ye sit 
 quiet this evening." 
 
 And that night, for the first time, Robin said good 
 night to Margaret in the study and did not afterwards 
 accompany her out into the hall. The kiss they ex- 
 changed would not have excited the feelings of the most 
 jealous lover; they might have been married for 
 twenty dreary years. 
 
 But Margaret's ascendancy over Martin, if it was 
 helped by the passage of a day's experience that 
 definitely quelled his boast of Saturday morning, 
 needed no assistance from outside in order to re-assert 
 itself. 
 
 When the week-day peace once more wrapped 
 Garroch in dreamy complacence, she took her own 
 measures to establish her position as ruling power in the 
 diminished household; and with a natural reaction 
 after her subdual in the study, she went a little too far. 
 This new intercourse after the inhibitions and depres- 
 sions of the previous week, was such a relief to her; it 
 all seemed so safe and innocent, and, above all, so 
 necessary for the welfare of Robin. 
 
 At first he was not discussed between them ; that was 
 the explicitly forbidden topic, and neither of them 
 recognized the significance of the ban. They had, it 
 seemed, an all-sufficient reason for their silence, and 
 both of them shirked the plain inference that Margaret's 
 relation to Robin was not mentioned, because it would 
 not bear examination by two people who might con- 
 ceivably be none too anxious to admit its finality. 
 
 And partly because this one topic was avoided and 
 the spirit of the house consequently defied, their con- 
 versation from the very beginning of the new agreement 
 took a lighter tone. They played a game with super-
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 239 
 
 ficialities, and Martin's most earnest endeavour to strike 
 a more serious note was invariably foiled by Margaret. 
 If she wanted revenge she made the most of her oppor- 
 tunities ; she rallied him on his lack of intuition, teased 
 him in a manner slightly patronizing to his youth, a 
 manner that gave him no encouragement to presume on 
 his newly found intimacy. She was, he found, as distant 
 as ever, although it was another fence that she had set 
 up between them. 
 
 Even when she sang to him on Tuesday afternoon in 
 the cold deserted drawing-room, she gave him no least 
 chance to penetrate her new defences. 
 
 " Won't you sing ' Lochaber' ? " he asked with great 
 seriousness, when she had given him an example of what 
 German training had done for her capacity to render 
 some less complicated form of operatic firework. 
 
 "Oh! ' Lochaber'," she said with a laugh, imitating 
 his English pronunciation of the name. " It sounds 
 more dreary than ever that way." 
 
 " I know I can't pronounce it properly," he returned, 
 " but won't you sing it ? " 
 
 " Too depressing," she said lightly; "besides, I don't 
 believe you can understand the language." And before 
 he could protest she began to play a dance by Cham- 
 inade. 
 
 " Yes, jolly," he said, when she had finished, " but I 
 would sooner you sang." 
 
 " But I don't want to sing," she said, " and if you per- 
 sist in ' glooming ' I shall shut the piano and go up to 
 play with Biddie." 
 
 " I'm sorry," he said. " Don't do that, anyway. Go on 
 playing anything." 
 
 " Hardly complimentary, that," she remarked. " It 
 sounds as if you thought my playing no better than my 
 singing." 
 
 " Oh ! but . . ." he began eagerly. 
 
 " I haven't forgotten your utter surprise when I told 
 you that I had had my voice trained," she interrupted
 
 240 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 him. She had entire control of the situation, his protest 
 was drowned at once by a further sample of dance 
 music. 
 
 Martin tried to adapt himself to this persistently 
 maintained mood of hers. He had become dimly aware 
 that she was deliberately keeping him at a distance, but 
 he took no more comfort from that attitude than he had 
 from her former disdain of him. He fumbled for an 
 explanation and could only hit upon the probability 
 that she did not trust him and was anxious to avoid any 
 approach to serious discussion. As an explanation, 
 that appeared sufficient to account for the facts, but it 
 brought no consolation. If he could not define his 
 desires, he was quite sure that this last manner of 
 Margaret's did not satisfy him. Nevertheless, he tried 
 honestly to fit his humour to hers. 
 
 She might, perhaps, have continued in it for some 
 time longer, if the spirit of the house, so strangely out- 
 raged by this flouting of essentials, had not reasserted 
 itself on Thursday night. 
 
 Martin was an accessory, and thought himself a 
 principal. 
 
 He left the study at half-past eight, ostensibly to 
 write letters in the dining-room. Neither of the other 
 two spoke any word to prevent his going, but Margaret 
 looked keenly at him when he announced his intention. 
 
 He found the dining-room fire too far gone for any 
 remedy less drastic than paper and sticks, but the room 
 was quite warm and he settled himself down to write 
 his letters, with the feeling of one aware that he waited 
 for interruption. 
 
 He had come there less to fulfil his promise than to 
 make experiment. His former implicit threat to leave 
 Garroch unless Margaret would take more notice of
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 241 
 
 him, had proved partly successful. He wanted, now, 
 both to define the cause of her fear and to renew the 
 threat without childishly repeating it. 
 
 He had not long to wait for the first evidence of some 
 result. Before he had been writing half an hour, he heard 
 a distant confusion of raised voices in the study, fol- 
 lowed by the opening and shutting of the door, and the 
 sound of Margaret's footsteps running upstairs the 
 door had been shut, he thought, with unnecessary 
 vigour. 
 
 He half closed his eyes and listened with all his 
 attention, but perfect silence had succeeded the brief 
 clamour. The tick of the marble clock on the mantel- 
 piece suddenly presented itself to him as something 
 delicately stertorous. 
 
 For some minutes he sat still, moodily trying to 
 account for Margaret's behaviour, and then failing 
 most completely to find any solution, he returned to his 
 interrupted correspondence. 
 
 Margaret did not go back to the study, and shortly 
 before ten o'clock Greg came out and locked the front 
 door. When that was done he came into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " Have ye not finished yet ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh ! just about," said Martin. " Are you going to 
 bed? " 
 
 " Are ye comin' back into the study? " asked Greg, 
 glancing up at the ceiling. Martin remembered that 
 Margaret's bedroom was over the dining-room he had 
 heard no sound from her since she had gone upstairs. 
 
 " Yes, I'll come now, if you like," he said, gathering 
 up his writing materials. 
 
 " It's just this," began Greg, as soon as they were 
 settled in the study, " I'm not quite easy in my mind 
 about Maggie." 
 
 " Oh!" ejaculated Martin, a little startled, " Why? 
 What's the matter ? " 
 
 " She's a wee bit nervous and upset altogether," said 
 
 R
 
 242 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Greg thoughtfully. " If it weren't for this damned Bill 
 that ought to have been passed fifty years since, we'd 
 get married at once and put an end to a rather difficult 
 situation. But, ye see, that's out of the question, and we 
 won't know till February whether the Bill will be down 
 for the next Session, though I've little doubt of it, 
 myself. However, the point is that I think, under the 
 circumstances, it would be better if Maggie went home 
 to her mother in Scotland for a while she's in a false 
 situation here. We've said nothing to her mother as yet, 
 ye see, for if we did the old lady'd be down here by the 
 next train. She'd not agree to Maggie's being alone in the 
 house with me, ye understand." 
 
 "Yes; of course, I see," mumbled Martin. He felt 
 cold and sick at the thought of his probable future in 
 that house, with Margaret in Scotland. 
 
 " Well, the trouble is that Maggie'll not hear of goin' 
 away. Ye can guess her reasons. She has a great heart, 
 has Maggie, and she thinks with my business troubles 
 and all that, I'll maybe get low-spirited if she's away." 
 He paused for a moment and then looked up at Martin. 
 " D'ye think ye could persuade her ? " he asked. 
 
 " Me? No, I don't think I'm sure I couldn't," said 
 Martin. " She wouldn't attach the least importance to 
 anything I could say." 
 
 " Ye underrate yer influence with her, I fancy," 
 replied Greg, returning to his earnest contemplation of 
 the dying fire. " She's a great opinion of ye, I gather." 
 
 "Oh! really, I don't think so," remonstrated 
 Martin, getting very red. " I don't think she ever gives 
 me a thought." 
 
 Greg fidgeted in his chair. " Are ye very clever, 
 Bond, or a born fool ? " he asked. 
 
 " A bit of a fool, I'm afraid," said Martin, uncom- 
 fortably. 
 
 " I'm inclined to believe ye," said Greg, and hooted 
 gently. " However," he went on quickly. " I wish ye'd 
 try and persuade her to go home for a while. I want ye
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 243 
 
 to point out that ye're fully capable of looking after me. 
 I'll have ye up in the office with me every day there's 
 a table in my room ye can work at we'll be more than 
 David and Jonathan; I'll make a Siamese twin of ye 
 for the time bein', if that'll satisfy her." 
 
 Martin was thinking that his own satisfaction was an 
 entirely negligible factor in this proposal. " Very well," 
 he said quietly, " I'll see what I can do." But at that 
 moment he was doubtful of his own sincerity. He felt 
 that whatever happened he could not let Margaret go. 
 
 Greg smiled grimly. " Ye've not been engaged, your- 
 self, have ye ? "he asked. 
 
 "No." ' 
 
 " Nor been in love, maybe ? " 
 
 " In a way, I have." Martin was thinking of that 
 first despicable affair of his. He did not count it, now; 
 he had new ideals about love, but some instinct 
 prompted him to make more of it on this occasion. 
 
 " What way ? " asked Greg caustically, and he turned 
 and looked Martin full in the eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! well, there was a woman . . ." he began. 
 
 " I inferred that much," said Greg with a hoot. 
 
 " And, well, I suppose I was in love with her for a 
 time," stammered Martin. He hated this confession, it 
 made him feel false to Margaret and unworthy of her; 
 but Greg's eyes were searching him, and instinct coun- 
 selled deception. 
 
 " How long did it last ? " was the next question. 
 
 " A month or two." 
 
 " Did she give ye up or did ye grow tired of her ? " 
 
 " She gave me up." It was certainly half the truth. 
 
 " And ye were broken-hearted for a time, I suppose ?" 
 
 Martin nodded. That affirmative seemed less com- 
 promising than a direct lie in words. 
 
 " Did ye not try to console yourself ? " 
 
 " No. No, I didn't." Martin was glad to find himself 
 stating an unqualified truth. 
 
 " How long ago was all this ? " 
 
 R2
 
 244 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " About a year," Martin said, halving the period for 
 no particular reason. 
 
 " Eh, well," remarked Greg, relapsing into his chair. 
 " I just asked ye because ye might be better able to 
 understand how I feel about this business with Maggie. 
 However, ye've helped me so far, and I'll look to ye to 
 persuade her to leave this house for a while." He paused 
 and then added, " I trust ye, laddie, ye understand 
 that ? " 
 
 " I hope so," returned Martin feebly. 
 
 Before they went to bed, they further discussed the 
 possibility of Martin's working in the office. The plan 
 seemed quite practicable. 
 
 But no suggestion could have appeared more dismal 
 to Martin than this with which he was now faced, to 
 which he was made a party. He admitted his dismay 
 while he strove to find consolation in his regard of duty. 
 He pictured with repulsive clearness his life for the 
 next two months, and realized with a certain sinking of 
 heart that the joy would be gone out of his care for 
 Greg, when Margaret had left them. Yet he would not 
 admit to himself that there was any alternative. He 
 recognized his ethical duty, and if he approached it with 
 shrinking and distaste he had not the least intention of 
 shirking it. He liked Greg, liked him immensely so he 
 phrased the feeling in his thoughts and he tried 
 honestly enough to regard him as the only factor of 
 importance. So far, he thought with a throb of self- 
 congratulation, he had no cause to blame himself; he 
 had been trusted and he had been worthy of trust. 
 
 Nevertheless, the contemplation of that promised 
 talk with Margaret wore an aspect that was almost 
 thrilling. He would be able to read her secret intention. 
 Without any thrusting forward of his own claims to
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 245 
 
 consideration, he would be able to probe her hidden 
 desires in this matter. He could be reserved, detached; 
 he held a brief for a third party, and he would figure as 
 the unemotional instrument. This was a new part for 
 him to play; a few weeks earlier he would have dis- 
 dained it as unworthy; but the intrigues of Garroch 
 had had their effect upon him, and still more had he been 
 influenced by his thwarted, inhibited love for Margaret. 
 He had been wound in a net of ethical motives, reasons 
 for self-restraint that had seemed inoppugnable, and 
 the effect had been to sour him rather than to strengthen 
 him in virtue. His exercise in right conduct judged by 
 the conventional standard had developed in him on 
 that side nothing more than an artificial and finally 
 worthless sense of duty. On the other side strange vices 
 were growing to balance his intrinsically spurious 
 altruism, a tendency towards cruelty, a tendency to- 
 wards disingenuousness. 
 
 He had more tune than he required in which to plan 
 his attack, for Margaret put in no appearance on Friday, 
 either at breakfast, or and this was hitherto unpre- 
 cedented at lunch. When he returned to the study, 
 Martin began to doubt whether he would see her at all 
 that day. He was bitterly disappointed. He had been 
 looking forward to this serious conversation with her; 
 he wanted to arrive at an understanding both of her 
 future intentions and of her dislike to being left alone 
 with her fiance. He thought that this one talk must 
 necessarily resolve all his doubts. He gave little thought, 
 at that moment, to the effect this interview might have 
 upon the future relations of the three persons so inex- 
 tricably concerned ; he believed that he wanted only 
 as he put it to understand. 
 
 So he chafed and fidgeted, and considered the 
 possibility of sending a message by Hester. After all he 
 had a definite mission, specific instructions to fulfil. 
 A command would almost have been justified. 
 
 And then, when he had nearly given up hope, she
 
 246 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 came without any message; she walked into the study 
 wearing that long coat and fur toque in which he had 
 first seen her, and commanded him. 
 
 " I am going out for a walk," she said. " Will you 
 come, too ? We can't talk in this house." She seemed to 
 know that he had instructions to deliver. She looked 
 tired and rather pale. 
 
 " I should love to come," Martin said with alacrity. 
 This was better than he had hoped. He saw that what 
 she had said was perfectly true although he had never 
 before realized it they couldn't talk in that house. 
 
 They took the shortest road out of the suburb; 
 through the village that, encrusted as it was with the 
 bright prolific fungus of villadom, still maintained 
 something of its original air; like an old, old woman 
 surrounded by a crowd of uncomprehending, precocious 
 grandchildren and so into the lane that winds up the 
 hill to the quiet spaces of the high common. 
 
 Until they came into the lane they walked in silence. 
 The day was overcast and the air mild and damp, but 
 no rain was falling as yet. 
 
 Martin was the first to speak. He fell back upon the 
 usual resort and made some remark upon the weather. 
 
 Margaret did not seem to hear him. " Did he tell you 
 that he wants me to go to Scotland? " she asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Yes, last night after you had gone to bed," said 
 Martin. 
 
 "What did he say? " 
 
 " Oh ! that he thought you were rather nervous and 
 upset, something like that, and that you didn't want to 
 go, and he thought it was probably because you didn't 
 trust him in that particular way, you know. And he 
 suggested that I should go and work with him in the
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 247 
 
 office on the book, of course; he said that we'd be like 
 Siamese twins." 
 
 "Was that all? " 
 
 " Practically." 
 
 " Why did he askjyow to tell me all this ? " 
 
 " I have absolutely no idea." Martin felt that the 
 conversation was not going as he had planned, but he 
 hoped that the essential part was still to come. 
 
 " How did you know all about it ? "he asked. 
 
 She laughed, a hard thin little laugh that held no 
 amusement. " Do you think I don't know Robin ? " she 
 said, and then went on, " But I wish you would tell me 
 more of what he said. You were in the study a long time." 
 
 " Oh ! well," Martin hesitated, trying to recall what 
 he supposed were the important points of the conver- 
 sation; " we discussed my working in the office, and he 
 said a good deal about it's being best for you to go home 
 for a bit . . ." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that doesn't matter," she broke in 
 impatiently. " Didn't he explain in any way why he 
 asked you to tell me this ? " 
 
 " No." He had no intention of repeating that sug- 
 gestion of his influence with her; largely, perhaps, 
 because he did not himself believe it. 
 
 " And you didn't infer it ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Didn't he ask you any questions about yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh! yes, by the way, I'd forgotten that." Martin 
 was struck by a memory of that strange cross-question- 
 ing. " Yes, he did. He asked me if if I'd ever ever 
 been in love. Funny thing to ask, wasn't it ? " 
 
 She did not answer his question. Her attention had 
 apparently been given to the state of the roads. " I 
 think it's rather drier on the other side," she remarked 
 with a sudden show of interest in this new subject. 
 " Shall we cross over ? " 
 
 The lane was rutted and muddy, and the crossing 
 occupied their attention for a few seconds. When they
 
 248 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 were safe on the other side, which was certainly drier, 
 she took up the conversation again by asking, 
 
 " Well, and have you ? " 
 
 Martin had lost the context. " Have I what ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Ever been in love," she prompted him carelessly. 
 " Didn't you say that Robin asked you that ? " 
 
 "Oh! yes, of course he did," said Martin. This 
 question coming from Margaret was not to be put off as 
 Greg's examination had been. " I told him I said I had." 
 
 " Recently ? " She put the question as if she had no 
 least interest in his answer. He looked at her and she 
 met his glance without hesitation. " How slow you are," 
 she said. " What did you tell him ? " 
 
 " Well, there was some sort of affair I had, a few years 
 ago," stammered Martin, looking down at the path. 
 " I was only a kid, of course, and there was never any- 
 thing in it, really; I mean that I thought I cared at 
 the time ..." 
 
 " Did you tell Robin all that ? " she asked. 
 
 " Something like that." 
 
 "Nothing else? " 
 
 " I hadn't anything else to tell him, at least, nothing 
 I could have told him." 
 
 " Goodness ! " commented Margaret, and added, 
 " It isn't the things you think you say that matter 
 when you're talking to Robin." 
 
 " Oh! Lord," said Martin in sudden despair. " How 
 on earth is one to avoid that sort of thing ? It's perfectly 
 dreadful not to be able to have a thought to oneself." 
 
 She laughed a little, with more amusement this time. 
 " Poor little boy," she said with mock pity. 
 
 " I'm not a boy," said Martin desperately. " If you 
 only knew ..." 
 
 " Then there are some thoughts that you've kept 
 hidden? " she said. 
 
 " I don't know," he grumbled. " I don't see that one 
 can be held responsible for one's thoughts."
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 249 
 
 They had come up on to the common now, but there 
 was no view from there on that heavy afternoon. 
 London, as represented by the suburb out of which they 
 had come, was shut out by the gloomy haze that en- 
 shrouded it. 
 
 "Which way shall we go? " asked Margaret, dis- 
 regarding his last protest. 
 
 " I don't care," he replied. Margaret took the road to 
 the right, and they walked on for a few minutes without 
 speaking. 
 
 " All this is very interesting to you, Miss Hamilton," 
 said Martin at last he had been pondering a frontal 
 attack in the interval " but it seems to me that we 
 haven't discussed the important point at all yet." 
 
 " Well? " she prompted him, as he waited for her 
 to answer this challenge. 
 
 " I mean the point of whether you are going away or 
 not, and whether you can trust me now to look after 
 Mr Greg by myself." 
 
 " Oh ! that's the important part, is it ? " she asked. 
 
 "Isn't it? " 
 
 " It seems to me," she said, " that the important 
 point is why I should go away." 
 
 " Because you're not well." The answer was so ob- 
 vious, he thought. 
 
 " But I am," she said. 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " But then why . . ." 
 
 " Exactly," she said. " That was my point." 
 
 "Oh! Lord, I can't understand it at all," groaned 
 Martin. " Couldn't you explain it to me, some of it, 
 anyway ? Or am I too young to be trusted ? " 
 
 " You certainly are very young," she said. 
 
 " Don't chaff me," he pleaded earnestly. " I simply 
 can't bear it this afternoon." 
 
 She made a gesture of impatience. " Why do you 
 want everything in black and white ? " she asked.
 
 250 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Haven't I told you enough already ? Can't you fill in 
 the gaps for yourself ? " 
 
 " I didn't know that you'd told me anything," he 
 said. " So far as I am concerned it's all gap at present. 
 He asked me last night if I knew what a born fool I was. 
 I suppose I am. I wish you would take that for granted. 
 Couldn't you? " 
 
 She did not answer him at once. For a minute or two 
 ,they tramped in silence along the heavy road across the 
 common. A soft thin rain was beginning to fall, shutting 
 out the nearer distances. Martin was walking with his 
 head down; he was thinking that all his scheme of 
 diplomacy had come to nothing ; he had found that he 
 could not be disingenuous out there in those open spaces 
 alone with Margaret. 
 
 She was facing the fine rain as if she liked it. Her hands 
 were tucked into the pockets of her travelling coat ; she 
 walked as if she could never be physically tired. 
 
 " I don't get out enough," she said at last. " That's 
 all that's the matter with me. No wonder I get nerves 
 cooped up in that house. In Scotland I often walk 
 twenty miles in the day." 
 
 Martin felt that his opportunity had slipped from 
 him. " Why don't you go out more ? " he asked. 
 
 " I always go out in the morning with Biddie," she 
 said, " and I feel that it isn't worth while, afterwards, to 
 go out again by myself." 
 
 " And I suppose you wouldn't care to come out with 
 me in the afternoon ? " he asked. 
 
 " One might as well do that as stay in the house," she 
 said. 
 
 " Much better," he suggested. 
 
 " Oh ! dear," she said impatiently, " do try not to be 
 so literal."
 
 THE DIVIDED HOUSE 251 
 
 Martin thought over her former remark, but could 
 find no hidden meaning in it. " Must you talk in rid- 
 dles? " he asked. 
 
 " What is it you want to know? " she said, turning 
 and looking at him. " Aren't you talking in riddles, 
 too? " 
 
 " I want to know, " he said, " whether you are going 
 back to Scotland, for one thing ? " 
 
 " I don't want to," she said, and then added, " If I 
 do, I shall take Biddie with me." 
 
 He did not see the force of her qualification. " What 
 has Biddie to do with it ? "he asked. 
 
 " Is that your second question," she said. " I've 
 answered ' one thing ' to the best of my ability." 
 
 " No ! never mind about Biddie," returned Martin. 
 " I don't think she has much to do with it. The other 
 thing I want to know is why you . . . whether you . . . 
 it's about this engagement . . . did you, I mean . . ." 
 He sighed and gave it up. He could not dare the direct 
 question. " Don't you know what I mean? " he con- 
 cluded in despair. 
 
 " He won't be safe for months and months yet," 
 Margaret said, staring straight ahead of her. " And I 
 feel, you feel it too, that that is the one really important 
 thing. I would do almost anything to get him quite well 
 again. I suppose it can't mean as much to you as it does 
 to me; it isn't possible it should. It's part of my life. 
 I've been mixed up with it all from the beginning. I 
 must go on. I daren't risk anything. I am going on. I'm 
 not going away. I'm going to try not to be so squeamish 
 and . . . and silly ... I can't trust him alone with you ; 
 certainly not just now when he's so worried about his 
 business. You don't know how weak he can be. He must 
 be made happy, but if only ..." She broke off with a 
 long sigh, and then went on. "I think your suggestion is 
 rather a good one. We'll go out for walks every after- 
 noon. It is all clean and fresh and open up here. Shall 
 we?"
 
 252 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Yes, rather," agreed Martin warmly. He thought 
 that he knew now all that he had wanted to know. " It's 
 all so different away from the house," he added. 
 
 " It isn't really," she said. " We'll have to take the 
 house with us. Hadn't we better be going back ? " 
 
 The rain was coming down in earnest now, and a 
 little wind had risen that faced them when they turned. 
 And whether because conversation was made more 
 difficult by the rain that drove in their faces, or because 
 they had nothing more to say to each other at that time, 
 hardly another word passed between them until they 
 had reached the gate of Garroch. 
 
 " We shan't be able to come out to-morrow," Martin 
 said, as he held the gate open for her. 
 
 " Nor Sunday," she added. 
 
 " No, but you'll come again on Monday? " he said, 
 as he let the gate bang behind them. 
 
 She did not reply to that. 
 
 Martin felt a shudder of disgust run through him as 
 they stood side by side at the front door, waiting for 
 Hester to let them in. He realized suddenly that he 
 hated Garroch.
 
 XIX. THE " LOST " WALK. 
 
 MARTIN did not learn directly what arguments 
 Margaret used to dissuade Robin from his project. 
 
 Greg was late that evening they kept dinner waiting 
 for him and he had no opportunity, even if he desired 
 one, to ask Martin if his ambassadorship had been suc- 
 cessful. But Margaret sat up that night after Martin had 
 gone to his room he did not attempt to undress until 
 he heard her come upstairs an hour later and Greg 
 made no further reference afterwards to his request 
 that Martin should use his, inferentially powerful, 
 influence. 
 
 Whatever she had said had an effect not only upon 
 Robin but, also, upon the general atmosphere of the 
 house over the week-end. The breach that had threat- 
 ened to open between Robin and Martin was tempor- 
 arily bridged. They were on better terms with each 
 other and with their work than they had been during 
 the past few days. And Greg himself was in better 
 spirits. He chaffed both Martin and Margaret, displayed 
 a greater optimism about his business affairs, and 
 played hymns enthusiastically for Biddie on Sunday 
 afternoon. 
 
 Martin responded as cheerfully as he was able to these 
 evidences of greater serenity within the divided house. 
 He appreciated the fact that here were all the signs of 
 that unanimity he had once so earnestly desired, and 
 tried to persuade himself that this agreement was all he 
 could ever hope for, that it represented his ultimate 
 ambition for the household. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was not content. Something within 
 him chafed at the restraint of that week-end. He exam-
 
 254 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 ined his mind and could, or would, find no cause for his 
 feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction. He assured him- 
 self that he was not looking forward to the relief of 
 Monday and the necessary absence of one member of 
 the theoretically united trio; and sought explanation 
 for his inward sense of discontent in the fact that he was 
 not taking enough exercise. In his solitary analysis of 
 the position, he was much inclined to give extraordinary 
 value to facts during that time; they represented a firm 
 and undeniable basis for argument, he thought. He was, 
 indeed, vaguely aware, both in himself and in the in- 
 fluence of Garroch, of something indefinite and yet 
 more inclusive, that was the cause of all the little 
 phenomena he classified and examined; but he could 
 not reach it by any induction, and expended some 
 energy in denying its existence. His attitude in that 
 denial, was, perhaps, sufficiently logical ; if he could not 
 understand this strange, all-powerful influence, it was 
 better to assume himself mistaken in hypothecating it. 
 
 By Monday morning he was quite certain that he, at 
 least, was in no way affected by anything but lack of 
 exercise; and he wondered how far Margaret would be 
 able to walk that afternoon. 
 
 Nothing more had been said as to that plan of going 
 out together. He had anticipated Margaret's purpose on 
 this occasion without question, and was justified in the 
 event. He did not guess how many times she had 
 changed her mind, in the interval between Friday and 
 Monday . . . 
 
 Their first afternoons were splendidly commonplace. 
 They were still under the influence of the week-end, full 
 of resolution to make their intercourse detached and 
 impersonal. On Wednesday, however, they lapsed for a 
 time into talk of Robin. The subject was an ever- 
 present temptation. It continually pressed itself upon
 
 THE " LOST " WALK 255 
 
 them, and other subjects were discussed with a purely 
 surface interest. They told each other of incidents in 
 their lives with the consciousness that such stories were 
 foolishly unimportant. And when Margaret slipped into 
 a story connected with Robin's engagement to her 
 sister, a new zest entered into them; they were like 
 bored children coming out into the playground after a 
 long morning in the schoolroom. 
 
 The next day they spoke of him more openly, and on 
 Friday Margaret said that she saw no reason why they 
 should not talk about him. 
 
 " You said that we must take the house with us," 
 agreed Martin. 
 
 " And he is the house," returned Margaret. 
 
 That afternoon Robin figured as the excuse for their 
 walk. They talked of his past only, and never ap- 
 proached any criticism of him. He was set up between 
 them as a symbol to guard their honour. 
 
 Then came the interlude of another week-end. 
 
 Greg was still cheerful. The Dutch business was 
 almost settled. " If I can hang on for another six weeks," 
 he said, " I'll be on my feet again." His health, however, 
 was giving them some cause for anxiety. He looked run 
 down, and his appetite was not good. He stayed in bed 
 until lunch-time on Sunday morning. 
 
 And it was the subject of Robin's health that led 
 them on another step when they went for their walk on 
 Monday afternoon. The force that was slowly to break 
 down all their suppressions was thrusting them still 
 inevitably forward. They could not avoid talk of Robin, 
 and when they came to speech of his present condition, 
 the end was already in sight. For the thing they were 
 craving to discuss was his influence upon them and not 
 as they always pretended, both to each other and them- 
 selves, their power to influence him.
 
 256 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 By Wednesday afternoon only one revelation re- 
 mained to be made, the final topic towards which they 
 had from the beginning been impelled. Even then they 
 pretended most valiantly that that final topic would 
 never be approached. 
 
 Martin still had a wonderful faith in his own integrity, 
 he believed he was walking on firm ground while he was 
 being whirled through the air, one fragile little seed 
 caught up by the breath of the increasing gale. 
 
 There was a moment on that Wednesday afternoon, 
 however, when he recognized that his hold of earth was 
 not too sure. 
 
 They had been talking of the cure, and Margaret had 
 led him on to self-revelation. 
 
 " I felt at that time," he said, " that his cure was the 
 only thing that mattered. I was awfully glad and proud 
 about it." 
 
 ' You were splendid," Margaret agreed. 
 
 " Oh ! and you too," he protested. 
 
 She let that pass. " But aren't you just as glad and 
 proud now ? " she asked. 
 
 ' Yes, oh ! yes, of course I am," he said. 
 
 " But it isn't quite the same ? " 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " 
 
 " I feel that there's a difference." 
 
 He felt it no less strongly and tried to explain it away. 
 
 " Well, there must be, I suppose, in some ways," he 
 said, looking very brave and determined. " After the 
 thing is done, one can't keep up quite the same pitch of 
 enthusiasm about it. He's on his own feet, now ..." 
 
 " Is he ? " she put in quietly. 
 
 " Not altogether, perhaps," he admitted, anxious to 
 continue his self -convincing argument, " but relatively. 
 We don't have to attack him, now, in the same way. At 
 first it was a big issue, and we had to concentrate on it 
 for all we were worth; whereas, now, we only have to 
 keep the thing going." 
 
 " You do," said Margaret unwisely.
 
 THE " LOST " WALK 257 
 
 " Does it mean more than that to you ? " he asked. 
 
 The necessity for confidence was strong upon her that 
 afternoon ; she had suffered almost more than she could 
 bear lately. 
 
 " I think that this is the hardest part of all," she 
 said, turning her face away from him. 
 
 Martin saw the danger ahead and moved a step 
 nearer to investigate it. " I do know, partly," he said, 
 " at least, I guess; only I felt I couldn't say anything to 
 you about that." 
 
 She wanted his strength and support, and ventured a 
 little further. " I wonder if you do guess," she said. 
 
 " Must you sit up with him ? " he blurted out. " I 
 don't believe you dislike it more than I do. I never go to 
 bed until I hear you come up." 
 
 " I know," she said. Her face was still turned away 
 from him, but he could see the colour in her cheek. 
 
 " Would you sooner I didn't ? " 
 
 She shook her head and then went on quickly. " It's 
 all p-perfectly absurd, I admit. It's only because I'm 
 still a bit shaky after last summer. And I would go away 
 for a time as he suggested, only I know it isn't safe to 
 leave him, yet." 
 
 Martin frowned. " I wish you would go away," he said. 
 
 " I can't go yet." She looked at him now with a frown 
 of perplexity. " Really you don't quite understand him. 
 He tells me things that he would never tell you." 
 
 " But he wanted you to get away a fortnight ago," 
 He saw the blush spring up in her face again, and she 
 bent her head down to hide it. 
 
 " He was silly about something, then," she said. 
 
 " Would it be better if / went ? " asked Martin 
 suddenly. 
 
 She knew that it would be better, but she could not 
 face that house alone with Robin. She was afraid and 
 Martin was her only defence. She trusted him and relied 
 upon him. She knew that he was utterly hers and utterly 
 faithful. Once he had commanded her and she knew
 
 258 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 that in some respects he was stronger than she ; but she 
 could never fear him as she sometimes, so horribly, 
 feared Robin. 
 
 " He wants to finish the book," she said. 
 
 " That will take nearly two months," replied Martin. 
 
 " Do you want to go? " 
 
 Martin kicked a loose stone out of his path. " I want 
 to do whatever is best for you," he said, keeping his eyes 
 on the ground. 
 
 " And for him," she prompted. She had taken new 
 strength and assurance from him; she believed herself 
 capable, now, to carry on the struggle. 
 
 " And for him, of course," agreed Martin. 
 
 " We must put him first," she said, coming back to 
 comparative safety, and Martin admitted the necessity. 
 
 For the remainder of the walk, they were scrupu- 
 lously careful to avoid dangerous ground ; but when they 
 came to the gate of Garroch Martin stopped and 
 looked up at the familiar untidy face of it. 
 
 " Don't you hate that house ? " he asked. 
 
 Margaret shuddered faintly. 
 
 " We are getting later every day. It must be after 
 five," was all she said; but another confidence had been 
 established. 
 
 They suffered a weak reaction next day, and they 
 might have held out for some time longer if circum- 
 stances had not combined against them. 
 
 On Wednesday night, Martin had not gone upstairs 
 at half-past ten as usual, but had betaken himself to the 
 dining-room on the excuse of writing letters. He pro- 
 posed to repeat this procedure on Thursday, and by 
 way of preparing the ground, he opened the subject 
 when he was alone in the study with Greg before dinner. 
 
 " I haven't been sleeping too well the last few nights," 
 was his preliminary statement. It came with unfortu-
 
 THE " LOST " WALK 259 
 
 nate irrelevancy, but he was afraid that dinner might be 
 announced at any moment and he knew that this would 
 be his only opportunity. He felt that he could not 
 display his plan in Margaret's presence. 
 
 Greg made a noise in his throat and looked up at him 
 with an expression that said, " Well, go on ! What are ye 
 drivin' at ? " 
 
 " So I think, if you don't mind, I'll go and work in the 
 dining-room for a bit, instead of going to bed at ten 
 o'clock. It's too early for me, really, you know," 
 Martin continued. 
 
 " Since when have ye found that out ? " asked Greg. 
 
 " The last week or two," Martin said. 
 
 Greg grunted again. He looked tired and depressed. 
 
 "What's wrong with ye? " he asked, and added, 
 " But naturally ye'll say ye're not gettin' enough exer- 
 cise. Ye're daft about exercise." 
 
 " Well, I don't get much, do I ? " said Martin. 
 
 " Aren't ye havin' your walks, now? " asked Greg, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Oh ! yes. I walked about ten miles this afternoon," 
 said Martin. " But this is the first winter I haven't 
 played footer. Walking isn't the same thing." 
 
 Greg seemed satisfied under that head, but he had 
 apparently some objection to urge against Martin's 
 plan of working in the dining-room. 
 
 " It'll be gey cold in there," he said. 
 
 " I didn't feel it cold last night," returned Martin. 
 
 " Och ! Ye're as full of fancies as an old maid," said 
 Greg peevishly. " Ye go to yer bed at half-past ten. 
 Ye'll sleep right enough. I heard ye snorin' two nights 
 ago when I came up." 
 
 " I don't think you did," said Martin. " I was wide 
 awake." He had not, indeed, begun to undress. 
 
 Greg laughed a hoot of unbelief. 
 
 " I was reading," said Martin quietly. 
 
 " Eh ! well, take a book up and read to-night," said 
 Greg. " I'll not mind if ye fall off to sleep and leave the 
 
 S2
 
 260 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 light on. Maybe, I'll give ye a look in when I come up 
 meself." 
 
 " I want to write," said Martin stubbornly. 
 
 " The book's not in such a hurry," replied Greg. 
 
 " It's not the book, it's some stuff of my own 
 journalism." 
 
 Apparently Greg was too tired to dispute the point 
 any further. " Ye're as stubborn as a mule," he re- 
 marked. " Have it yer own way, but I'll ask ye not to 
 make a practice of it." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Martin. 
 
 " That'll be my affair, I'm thinkin'," replied Greg 
 curtly. " Come away, now. The dinner's ready." 
 
 Martin had won his point for that night, and departed 
 to the dining-room soon after ten o'clock; but he was 
 uneasy and restless he made little progress with the 
 writing he had set himself to do. Why, he wondered, 
 had Greg been so anxious to send him to bed? There 
 must be some reason. Only one possible explanation 
 presented itself, however, and that he instantly put 
 away from him. 
 
 Greg did not look into the dining-room after he had 
 locked up, and Martin sat on in the cold until nearly 
 one o'clock. 
 
 He was realizing that it would be very difficult for 
 him to persist in this plan of his, but he was more 
 determined than ever that he would so persist. 
 
 That determination should have eased his mind, but 
 when he was in bed he found that he had no desire for 
 sleep. His doubt of Greg had come to keep him company 
 through the night; it faced him until he choked with 
 disgust of himself and Robin. 
 
 And on Friday afternoon came the mist that altered 
 all the conditions of that last walk before the intolerable 
 interval of another week-end.
 
 THE "LOST" WALK 261 
 
 In London it was a dense, stifling fog, but out there 
 on the common it was a beautiful white cloud that shut 
 them into a little world of their own. They moved 
 through it and yet remained always isolated in their 
 little enceinte of invisibility; their dim vision of earth 
 confined to each other, to the path at their feet and to 
 the spectral forms of hedges and trees that grew from 
 pale shadows to momentary solidity and faded into 
 mist again behind them. 
 
 Yet at the outset Martin was determined to be 
 practical. He meant to lay the ghost that had ridden 
 him in the night. 
 
 " We shan't get another walk until Monday," he 
 began, as they went up the lane, " and I want to 
 ask you something before before to-morrow and 
 Sunday." 
 
 " Well, go on," Margaret encouraged him. 
 
 " I want to know," he said, " whether you would 
 sooner I sat up in the dining-room at night ? " He 
 stopped, and as she did not answer he went on. " I'd 
 made a sort of plan to do it, but when I told him, he 
 did all he could to put me off it, and I wondered 
 whether you would sooner I didn't, too ? " 
 
 " I don't see that it can make any difference," she 
 said coldly. 
 
 " Why did he make such a fuss, then? " persisted 
 Martin. 
 
 " Did you tell him about our walks? " she asked 
 irrelevantly. 
 
 "No! Why?" 
 
 " He asked me last night what I'd been doing in the 
 afternoon." 
 
 " What did you say ? " 
 
 " I I lied," she said. "Oh! I know I ought not to 
 have lied," she continued eagerly, " but he's so sus- 
 picious, it makes me want to deceive him." 
 
 " I suppose he believed you ? " Martin asked. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, he believed me," she said.
 
 262 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " I told him that I had walked ten miles," was 
 Martin's comment. 
 
 There had been no agreement between them as to 
 hiding the fact of these walks together, and now they 
 were faced by the knowledge that each of them had 
 understood that this daily intercourse of theirs had been 
 in some sense surreptitious, something that it was 
 necessary to hide from Robin. 
 
 " Do you think we ought to stop going out together 
 in , t the "afternoon? " asked Martin, putting the thing 
 into words. 
 
 " I suppose we ought," she agreed. 
 
 " I should miss it awfully," he said on a note of 
 complete despair. 
 
 " If only he were safe," Margaret said evasively, 
 trying to avoid the inevitable climax. 
 
 " Wouldn't you? " he persisted. 
 
 " That isn't the point," she said. " We must not lose 
 sight of what is best for Robin. Think of the horror of it 
 all if he lapsed again after all we've done." 
 
 " Oh ! I know," Martin said gloomily. " But I don't 
 see that it need come to that. After all, it means air and 
 exercise for you, and you want some relief from from 
 the atmosphere of that house. You've been looking ever 
 so much better since you've been out more. You don't 
 mind my saying all this, do you ? " 
 
 She shook her head, but made no other reply, so he 
 went on, 
 
 " And if we were in the house it wouldn't be any 
 better. Am I to tell him every time I speak to 
 you? " 
 
 She laughed softly. " Perhaps it would be better if 
 you didn't speak to me," she suggested. 
 
 "But why?" he asked. "Why shouldn't I go out 
 with you; why should he mind my sitting up in the 
 dining-room; why should he want to know about 
 everything we do? " 
 
 He was so earnest in his perplexity that he amazed
 
 THE " LOST " WALK 263 
 
 her. He appeared at that moment so strangely unso- 
 phisticated. 
 
 " Perhaps he thinks you pay me too much attention," 
 she said quietly. 
 
 " Oh ! what rot ! " mumbled Martin. 
 
 " Is it ? " she asked. 
 
 " In that way it is," he said. " I mean that I'm only a 
 sort of . . ."he hesitated for a word and she supplied 
 him with one. 
 
 " A sort of watch-dog ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you like." 
 
 " He hates being watched." 
 
 " I'm not watching him." 
 
 " Aren't you ? " 
 
 " Well, I only want to to do what's best for you. If 
 you think I'd better go, I'll go." He gave it out with a 
 touch of defiance, not daring her to send him away, but 
 proclaiming his servitude. 
 
 "Oh! why can't we talk of something else? " she 
 said passionately. 
 
 " Because we've got to make some sort of decision, 
 I suppose," said Martin. " It seems that we can't go on 
 as we are." 
 
 "By the way, where are we?" asked Margaret, 
 stopping and trying to peer through the mist. 
 
 Ten yards ahead of them all sight of the world ceased. 
 The dark, wet hedge on their right hand was like any 
 other hedge; but the road before them sloped down- 
 wards, and by this they knew that they must have 
 crossed the common. The only sound in that little world 
 of theirs in which they were so wonderfully alone, was 
 the soft occasional drip of water. And they, too, 
 seemed to be becoming a part of the mist. On Margaret's 
 toque, on her dark hair, and on her rough coat, as on
 
 264 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin's also, the mist had accumulated in tiny silver 
 drops, that frosted them and gave them an air of be- 
 longing to the small perfect circle that ringed them in 
 from all sight and sound of humanity. 
 
 "Does it matter?" asked Martin, answering her 
 question. " We can always go back the way we came." 
 
 " Can we ? " she asked, and looked up at him. 
 
 " If only we could be lost and never go back," he said. 
 
 " But we can't, you know we can't," returned 
 Margaret. 
 
 Quite suddenly Martin realized that the thing had 
 been said ; that he had declared his love to her and had 
 not been repulsed. It came to him with a tremendous 
 shock of amazement that possibly she cared for him. So 
 unmarked had been the degrees by which he had ap- 
 proached her confidence that he had never even re- 
 garded her as possible love or wife of his. Service had 
 been his simple ideal, and he had so consistently kept 
 the thought before him that none other had consciously 
 overridden it. Now, the thought broke and fled, fading 
 away into the mist. 
 
 He stood trembling and wondering, looking down at 
 her. 
 
 " But if we could," he stammered, a little afraid. 
 ' You know we can't," she replied bravely. 
 
 " Yes, I know we can't," he repeated. " I know, I 
 know, but . . ." He broke off and began again. " It's 
 all so wonderful to me. I didn't understand till this 
 moment ..." 
 
 " What do you understand now ? " she asked, looking 
 past him into the white obscurity. 
 
 Their isolation gave him courage. " Perhaps I don't 
 understand at all," he ventured. " But if things had 
 been different, if there had been no Robin Greg to save, 
 if you had been quite free, is it possible that you could 
 ever have . . . cared for me a little ? " 
 
 " Oh! Martin, we mustn't be lost," she said . . . 
 
 And even after he had taken her hand and, once,
 
 THE " LOST " WALK 265 
 
 reverently kissed her the single seal that was, they 
 agreed, to be remembered always and never again 
 repeated they still believed that they would be able 
 to find their way home again. 
 
 After they had turned and were following, as they 
 thought, the path by which they had come, their future 
 of self-sacrifice was all planned and made clear. 
 
 They walked apart through their solitude and made 
 vows of desolation. 
 
 " We must go on as if this walk had never been," 
 Margaret said. " We must count it as something that 
 happened outside the world altogether." 
 
 " Only we shall know," Martin said. " The world that 
 we are going back to can never be the same again." 
 
 " It must be," she said. " We daren't give him up 
 now. If the only thing that will save him is my marrying 
 him, it must be done. You must realize that. You must 
 face it." 
 
 He shuddered. " I know. I'll try to face it," he said. 
 
 " And you must not watch me any more." 
 
 " Why not? " he asked. 
 
 " Because if you do he will guess. And he must never 
 guess, never." 
 
 " It's frightfully hard." 
 
 " But it's the only thing we can do." 
 
 He tried to believe it, thrilling yet at the memory that 
 his lips had touched hers for one infinite second of time. 
 He was so astoundingly glorified and blessed, even if 
 this were all. 
 
 The realization that they were certainly in an un- 
 known road, seemed a part of that magic walk. They had 
 come to a high brick wall, coped by a prodigious bolster 
 of ivy that sagged and dropped wet streamers over the 
 path. 
 
 " We are lost," said Margaret, looking up. " We've
 
 266 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 never passed this wall before. I don't recognize it in the 
 least." 
 
 " Nor I," agreed Martin. " Can't we go on being lost 
 fora time? " 
 
 "Oh! no; we must get back." She was suddenly 
 frightened and practical now. " We must get back 
 before six." 
 
 " It can't be four yet," he said. " It isn't nearly dark." 
 
 " But where are we? " she urged. " It may take us 
 hours to get back if we simply walk on. We may be 
 going right away from home." 
 
 " If we follow the wall, we shall probably come to a 
 gate," he suggested. " Then we can go in and ask our 
 way. You're not afraid, are you ? " he asked, seeing the 
 look of anxiety in her face. 
 
 " I shouldn't be if it were not that we must be home 
 before he gets back from the City," she said, and added, 
 " I thought you were so practical." 
 
 " I was until this afternoon," he said. 
 
 " You are breaking your promises already," she 
 scolded him. 
 
 " They don't begin to take effect until this walk is 
 over," he said. 
 
 " They begin now, this instant," she returned. 
 
 For a moment he was a little chilled and they walked 
 on under the wall in silence until they came to tall stone 
 gateposts supporting massive iron gates. 
 
 "I'm afraid I know where we are now," he said reluc- 
 tantly. " I only came this way once and I had forgotten 
 it. We are up a side lane, but if we keep on it will take us 
 out into the main road and we can go down to the trams 
 and get back that way. It's only about two miles." 
 
 He was sorry that this walk of all others should end 
 unromantically with a sight of trams and shops and 
 finally that terrible road up from the station.
 
 XX. RESOLUTION. 
 
 THE heights of exaltation to which Martin had been 
 raised that afternoon were soon succeeded by corres- 
 ponding depths of depression. The influence of Gar- 
 roch stood between him and any contemplation of 
 happiness. He returned from his supreme moment to the 
 knowledge that he was faced with renunciation, that 
 he must remain a subordinate figure in the drama that 
 had involved him. 
 
 That single kiss, of which his lips were still conscious, 
 was the seal of his vow of sacrifice, and he saw that he 
 must keep his understanding of that vow constantly 
 before him. In the comparative solitude of his own room 
 he could find a certain consolation in the regard of his 
 future; it wore an aspect recognizably heroic, ascetic; 
 but when he entered into the common life of the house- 
 hold, the nobility of his sacrifice became obscured by all 
 his physical and spiritual reactions. 
 
 He got a clear sight of the difficulties ahead of him the 
 same night. 
 
 Greg came in full of an account of the fog in the City. 
 He seemed at once to boast of his own experience and to 
 cast aspersion on London as the only city in the world in 
 which such horrors were possible. 
 
 " Och ! London's a filthy place," he said, and looked 
 at Martin as if he, as an Englishman, was included in the 
 general condemnation. 
 
 If this had been his only source of annoyance through 
 dinner, Martin could have controlled his impatience 
 without difficulty, but Margaret's attitude was less 
 bearable than Greg's implicit boast. She was too com- 
 pliant, too eager to simulate interest, Martin thought ;
 
 268 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 she was displaying, again, the deference and submission 
 he had criticized when he first saw her. 
 
 " I believe Glasgow's worse," he said at last, less to 
 defend London than to set an example of opposition. 
 
 " Not it," returned Greg with finality. " Glasgie's a 
 Paradise compared to that filthy hole." 
 
 " You're prejudiced," said Martin. 
 
 " Ye'd not say so if ye'd been in the City to-day," 
 said Greg; " but then ye're not without some little bias 
 yerself, I'mthinkin'." 
 
 "Oh! I've got no brief for London," said Martin, 
 " but I think you overdo it." 
 
 " Eh ! well, I'll take ye to Glasgie myself, some day," 
 said Greg, " and then ye'll understand the difference. 
 But it's Edinburgh ye ought to see." 
 
 " I've seen Cologne and Dresden," put in Martin. 
 
 " They're not so beautiful in some ways as Edin- 
 burgh," said Margaret. 
 
 Martin shrugged his shoulders. " Not to a Scotchman, 
 anyway," he suggested with a flash of temper. 
 
 " Maybe," said* Greg drily, " but he'll be a better 
 judge than an Englishman in any case." 
 
 " That's a matter of opinion," retorted Martin. 
 
 " Not at all," said Greg, enjoying his sport. " It's 
 plain that Englishmen have no taste or they could 
 never have built such an awful place as London." 
 
 The chuckle with which he emphasized his point still 
 further exasperated Martin, but before he could find an 
 effective reply Greg continued, 
 
 " That's one of the two things the English lack, the 
 other is a sense of humour. The Scotch have it, but the 
 English have only a sense of the ridiculous. Do ye not 
 agree with me, Maggie ? " 
 
 Margaret smiled. " Yes, I think it's true," she said. 
 
 " However, Bond'll be an exception, no doubt," went 
 on Greg. " But ye seem out of sorts to-night, laddie. 
 Did ye not get yer exercise to-day ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, I went for a walk," said Martin, and looked
 
 RESOLUTION 269 
 
 at Margaret. He wanted to embarrass her; he was angry 
 with her for deferring to Robin. 
 
 " Where did you go? " she asked with perfect com- 
 posure, and Martin felt rebuked. She was right and he 
 was wrong. They had agreed to sacrifice themselves, and 
 already he was breaking the spirit of their agreement. 
 
 " Oh ! up over the Common," he mumbled. " I don't 
 know exactly; it was very misty." 
 
 He took up his burden again and turned a smiling 
 face to Greg. 
 
 " You're always pulling my leg about being an Eng- 
 lishman," he said. " Am I so typically, uncompromis- 
 ingly English? " 
 
 " Ye have moments of it," replied Greg. " It's then 
 I can always get a rise out of ye." 
 
 " You know the moments then ? " asked Martin. 
 
 " Aye, ye stiffen yerself and look down yer nose, and 
 I can almost smell the Cambridge manner," replied 
 Greg with a hoot. 
 
 Martin laughed. "Oh! well, you're Scotch all the 
 time," he said. 
 
 " And I'm proud of it," said Greg; " but ye seem none 
 so proud of being English." 
 
 Martin allowed him to have the last word. 
 
 But it was not Greg's provocative witticisms that 
 Martin remembered when he had gone up to his own 
 room and left the other two alone together in the study. 
 The doubt that beset him when he sat on the bed and 
 struggled afresh with his problem, was a doubt of 
 Margaret, that involved, also, a doubt of himself. He 
 could not be sure how much she cared; he wondered 
 how far her wonderful condescension of that afternoon 
 had been due to her pity for him. And that doubt stayed 
 with him and grew in intensity during the next two days. 
 
 All the dull, familiar routine of the house remained 
 unaltered, only his own emotions were changed. By 
 Sunday night he had worked himself to a pitch of 
 nervous irritability.
 
 270 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 He found expression and solace on Monday afternoon. 
 
 Margaret, consenting to sit on with him in the dining- 
 room after Biddie had gone upstairs, nevertheless shook 
 her head at the suggestion that they should take their 
 usual walk. 
 
 " Better not," was the only reason she advanced. 
 
 Martin set his lips and then stated his case with a fine 
 simplicity. " I simply can't stand it," he said. 
 
 Margaret looked distressed. She put her hands on the 
 edge of the table and pushed back her chair. " But you 
 promised," she remonstrated. 
 
 " I know, but after two days of seeing you with him, 
 I must have something from you. If you won't come 
 out will you sing or come into the study for an hour or 
 two? " 
 
 " Wouldn't that be worse ? " she asked. 
 
 " Am I never to see you, now, except at meals ? " 
 
 " I think it would be better if you didn't," she said. 
 
 " I believe you would sooner I went away," Martin 
 broke out. " If you would, I wish you would tell me at 
 once and let me go." He hesitated and looked anxiously 
 at her, awaiting her denial, and as she did not answer 
 him, he added, " There's no reason on earth why I 
 should stay. I'm no good here now." 
 
 Still she did not reply. She drew her chair in again, 
 leaned her elbows on the table and hid her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Hadn't I better clear out ? " he persisted. 
 
 She shook her head weakly and he realized that she 
 was on the verge of tears. He got up and stood by the 
 fireplace. He did not know what to say or do. He longed 
 for the courage to comfort her, but he felt shy and 
 awkward. 
 
 " I knew it would come to this," Margaret said at 
 last. She was evidently controlling herself with diffi- 
 culty. " And you'll never understand, never, never."
 
 RESOLUTION 271 
 
 ' Try and tell me," he said gently. He went back to 
 his chair again, and laid his hand on the table as near 
 hers as he dared. 
 
 " You're so stupid, in some things," she flashed out at 
 him, and dropped her hands into her lap. 
 
 He flushed a little and sighed. " I know," he said, 
 humbly. 
 
 " Why can't you be content to go on ? " she asked. 
 
 " Content with nothing? " 
 
 " Is Robin nothing to you ? " 
 
 " He's safe, now." 
 
 She shook her head wearily. " He isn't safe," she said. 
 " He'll never be safe." 
 
 " You believe that and still you're going to marry 
 him ? " Martin's amazement at her statement showed 
 how little he had understood the real problem. 
 
 " Oh ! I must try and explain everything to you," she 
 said. " Come into the study. Hester's waiting to clear 
 away and wash up." 
 
 " Now, sit quietly and smoke," she said when they 
 were in the other room, safe from interruption. "Oh! 
 and listen and try to understand some of the things I 
 can't tell you." 
 
 " All right," said Martin resolutely. He lighted a 
 cigarette and composed himself to give her his full 
 attention. 
 
 " But don't stare at me all the time," she said. " and 
 don't look as if you were attending a lecture." 
 
 " I wish I could get the right attitude," he said 
 smiling. 
 
 She shook her head. " No, don't try to," she said. " I 
 prefer you as you are, even when you are . . . wooden 
 but I can't be stared at just now." 
 
 He set off that description of himself against her 
 statement that she preferred him as he was, however
 
 272 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 wooden, consoling himself with the reflection that what- 
 ever she had found to like in him expressed, at least, 
 the natural man. 
 
 Margaret had fallen into her usual pose, her head 
 back in the corner of her chair, her hands laid out on 
 its arms. The attitude represented her desire for 
 physical repose and nervous recuperation. 
 
 " I'm ten years older than I was when I came back 
 here," she began unexpectedly. 
 
 Martin shook his head and pursed his mouth, but 
 did not interrupt her. 
 
 " I am," she said. " I look older and I feel older. For 
 the last three weeks I've felt more like forty than 
 twenty-seven. And you've noticed it and Robin has 
 noticed it, and that's made me worse. I wonder my hair 
 isn't white." 
 
 " / didn't notice that you looked older," said Martin. 
 " I noticed that you had altered in some way." 
 
 " It means the same thing," she said wearily. " Don't 
 bother to contradict me ; I know what you think about 
 it, but it does make me feel as if I were your mother." 
 
 She paused for a moment and her fingers fidgeted 
 with the binding of the chair arms. " Well, I wonder if I 
 can make the whole thing clear to you," she went on, 
 " about Robin and me and you ? Can't you understand 
 to begin with that I don't . . . don't like Robin as ... 
 as a lover, that sometimes I hate him, loathe him." She 
 sat quite still, but a breath of passion crept into her 
 voice. " Only as a lover, you know," she said. " As a 
 man, a brother, a friend, I admire him, immensely. It's 
 just physical. You see, I can't explain, but perhaps you 
 remember how he used to go at his whisky before the 
 cure, how he looked at it, a horrible gloating what's 
 the word? avid, look. Well, I've seen him look like 
 that lately, only it wasn't whisky he wanted then." 
 
 Martin leaned suddenly forward in his chair and 
 clenched his hands. " You shan't go on with this," he 
 said fiercely. " It isn't possible. You shan't go on."
 
 RESOLUTION 273 
 
 " Be sensible," said Margaret quietly. " That's one 
 side. Now, please listen to the other. And, perhaps, you 
 remember how I told you Robin's story in here, a few 
 weeks ago? Well, I had to beseech you then just to 
 believe what I told you, without question. Will you 
 believe me now, in the same way ? " 
 
 Martin was still restless, nervously stroking the back 
 of his head and making little irritable movements. 
 
 " Yes, I will believe you," he said, trying to compose 
 himself. " I will, really." 
 
 " Don't fidget, then," said Margaret. " It's no use 
 losing your temper about it, yet. You've got to under- 
 stand everything. Well, in the first place, I know that 
 Robin isn't safe yet not really safe. He's run down and 
 craving for stimulants. He's taking ammoniated quinine 
 every morning as a tonic. He's bothered about his busi- 
 ness and he's just trying to keep himself up to the mark 
 the best way he can. And partly at all events he's doing 
 it for me." She paused and then said without emotion, 
 " I don't think he loves me; but I mean something to 
 him. He wants me as a friend for one thing. He must 
 have some one who will listen to him and praise him, and 
 look up to him as the centre of a universe. That's Robin ; 
 he was always like that and Elsie adored him. But he's 
 full of passion, too. I suppose that's been one cause of 
 all his trouble; and I appeal to him. So you see I mean a 
 great deal to him and I have tried, I am still trying, to be 
 all, nearly all, that he wants me to be . . ." 
 
 " But you can't," put in Martin. 
 
 " I can," said Margaret. " It's just a question of how 
 far one has a duty to him, how far one ought to carry 
 one's sacrifice. Is there really any limit ? If I gave him up 
 now, he would go back to whisky. I know it as surely as 
 I know anything in the world. Partly he would do it out 
 of sheer desperation, and, a little perhaps, to revenge 
 himself on me. And what would you and I feel then ? 
 Do you think we could ever face life again? I don't 
 think I could. We should have killed him. He wouldn't
 
 274 
 
 live long if he went back now. Remember how splendid 
 it all was when he first took the cure, and then think 
 how we should feel about it if we knew that we might 
 have saved him and just didn't ..." 
 
 " It's an awful position," murmured Martin. He 
 clenched his teeth and his hands and stared fiercely at 
 the fire. " Couldn't you go away for a time ? " he sug- 
 gested, after a short interval. 
 
 " I daren't now. It's too great a risk," she said. " It's 
 so critical." 
 
 "If he gets this Dutch business through ..." 
 
 " He wants to go abroad for a time . . . with me," 
 said Margaret. 
 
 Martin swore under his breath. 
 
 " It comes to that in the end, whatever happens," 
 she said. 
 
 The room was growing dark. All the influences of the 
 house were closing in about them, urging them to 
 sacrifice everything they desired for the sake of that one 
 dominant spirit. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better if I went? " asked Martin, 
 after a long pause. 
 
 Margaret had been strong and resolute till now. She 
 had stated the case with fine honesty, shirking not a 
 single argument that impelled them both to renuncia- 
 tion. But at his suggestion her strength suddenly failed 
 her. She leaned forward and held out her hands to him. 
 
 "Oh! Martin, don't go away," she said. "I'm so 
 afraid to be left alone with him." 
 
 He dropped on his knees by her chair and put his arm 
 round her. " What else can I do ? "he asked. 
 
 She leaned her head towards him until her hair was 
 against his cheek ; and he held her a little closer, thrilling 
 in every nerve with joy at the touch of her. 
 
 "What else can I do? " he repeated, and gently 
 kissed her hair. 
 
 " Not yet," she whispered. " You give me strength. 
 If you went now, / couldn't stay."
 
 RESOLUTION 275 
 
 She turned her head and put her cheek against his. 
 ' You are so strong, and kind," she said; and then 
 added with a faint shudder, " and so clean." 
 
 He gave a little laugh and held her more boldly. 
 " That's something," he said. 
 
 " It was the first thing I noticed about you," she said. 
 ' This house is never clean; it's dirty right through in 
 some way." 
 
 For a minute or two they were silent, and then, as if 
 she had drawn sufficient strength from him, she made a 
 movement to release herself. " You needn't go for 
 another week or two," she said. 
 
 He held her for a moment and very reverently and 
 tenderly kissed her lips before he released her. 
 
 She sighed and stood up. 
 
 ' This must not ever happen again," she said. 
 
 " No," agreed Martin. 
 
 " We said the same thing on Friday," said Margaret, 
 and added, " But this time it is final, isn't it ? " 
 
 To save them from further temptation she rang the 
 bell for tea. 
 
 They kept their resolve for four days. The afternoon 
 walks were resumed, and they hardly spoke of Robin, 
 and made no direct allusion to their own particular 
 problem. At moments they were both happy, so content 
 in each other's company that they lapsed into long, 
 serene periods of silence. But by some unspoken agree- 
 ment they had come to permit themselves one look of 
 understanding, an unspoken acknowledgment of all 
 that life meant to them in their relations with each 
 other, when they reached the gate of Garroch on 
 their return. 
 
 That look came to be the one incident of their walk ; 
 it marked at once the renewal of a vow, and a fount 
 from which they might draw fresh courage before they 
 
 12
 
 276 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 entered again the divided, torturing house they had 
 come to dread. They looked forward to that culmination 
 of their understanding and feared it. It marked the 
 height to which they rose before they plunged into the 
 despair of desperate purpose that enveloped them when 
 they had passed the door of Garroch. 
 
 Their resolve was broken on Friday night. 
 
 Robin had announced his intention of staying at 
 home the next day. There was little doing in the City, he 
 said, and he would give the whole day to the book, 
 which was still making excellent progress. 
 
 Martin looked up quickly at Margaret they were at 
 dinner but she had more self control and smiled at 
 Robin, applauding his determination. 
 
 Martin saw his mistake and added some muttered 
 word of agreement. He was bitterly disappointed. They 
 had planned to go out for an hour the next morning, to 
 renew their strength before the trial of the week-end, 
 and he resented that this little compensation should be 
 snatched from him. 
 
 And later in the evening, when Robin had somewhat 
 exceptionally left Margaret and Martin alone together 
 in the study for a minute, he expressed his resentment 
 without hesitation. 
 
 " What a beastly nuisance," he said in an undertone. 
 
 " Hush ! " Margaret said, with a warning glance at the 
 door, and then whispered, " Never mind. It will only be 
 for two days." She leaned forward, their chairs were not 
 far apart, and gave him her hand. 
 
 Martin held it tightly for a moment and then got up 
 quickly, bent down over her and kissed her. 
 
 He had hardly sat down again before Robin came 
 back. 
 
 Martin was reproved at breakfast next morning, but 
 chiefly, it seemed, for his daring. 
 
 " You must never run such a risk again," she in- 
 sisted, and in her insistence on that point, the breaking 
 of their vow was almost overlooked.
 
 RESOLUTION 277 
 
 And when the vow was renewed again on Monday, it 
 was only after a still more serious lapse. 
 
 The week-end had been an unusually trying one for 
 Margaret. In the study after lunch she confessed that 
 Robin had been " queer." " Once, last night, I had an 
 awful feeling that that he suspected," she told Martin. 
 
 He protested that that was impossible. " Tell me in 
 what way he was queer," he said. 
 
 Margaret blushed. " He he was rather impossible," 
 she said; " but in another way. He wasn't so gentle as 
 he has been, ever since the cure. He laughed at me in 
 that jeering way he has. I had a terrible feeling for the 
 moment that he had been drinking again. But he hadn't. 
 It was not that. I'm afraid. Oh ! I'm afraid his patience 
 is wearing out. What can I do ? " She leaned towards 
 Martin and for quite five minutes their vow was com- 
 pletely forgotten. 
 
 " I must not tell you these things," she protested, 
 when they had come back to a realization of their failing 
 from the high standard they had set up before them. " I 
 feel mean and disloyal. Martin, it must not happen 
 again." 
 
 He was less certain. " Isn't there any way out ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " You know there isn't," she said. " You must help 
 me to be strong." 
 
 " Suppose that you married him and he broke out 
 again? " he suggested. 
 
 " I would not let him," was her statement of faith, 
 but she qualified it by adding, " If he did, I should leave 
 him. I couldn't stand that." 
 
 But Margaret's helpless cry, the confession of failure 
 inplicit in her wavering " What can I do ? " had marked 
 the moment of greatest strain in that direction to
 
 278 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 which she was to be subjected. The week that followed 
 was made easier for her by a recognizable change in 
 Robin's attitude. 
 
 At first the relief was so grateful that she accepted 
 the change almost without question. She was saved 
 from instant decision, and nothing else seemed to be of 
 equal consequence at that time. Moreover she could not 
 believe that her ease would last, and so accepted the 
 comfort of it without too close an inquiry. 
 
 For several days she said nothing of the change to 
 Martin. When he questioned her, either directly or by 
 the expression of anxious doubt she had come to know 
 so well, she quieted him by saying, " He was quite all 
 right last night," or by such further assurance as, " We 
 only talked about his business affairs and the book, 
 after you had gone to bed." And when he had received 
 her engagement that she would certainly tell him if she 
 were faced by a crisis, they slipped into the ease of a 
 code, a lift of Martin's eyebrows and a shake of Mar- 
 garet's head, sometimes with an added murmur of 
 " Quite all right " when they met every morning in the 
 breakfast room. 
 
 But when Robin's change of attitude had endured for 
 nearly a fortnight, Margaret began to suffer a new 
 uneasiness, and one Friday afternoon in February she 
 again sought help from Martin. 
 
 It was a day of high wind and driving rain, and after 
 some little hesitation they had decided to stay in the 
 house after lunch. This was the first time that the 
 weather had kept them within doors, and both of them 
 understood that wind and rain were offered as an excuse. 
 Indeed, as soon as they were settled in the study, 
 Martin admitted the understanding by saying, " Has 
 any thing happened ? " 
 
 " No, not exactly," she prevaricated; doubtful, now, 
 whether the confidence she had intended were not 
 better suppressed. 
 
 "He hasn't . .? "
 
 RESOLUTION 
 
 " No, not that," she reassured him. "But . . ." 
 
 " Can't you tell me ? "he persisted. 
 
 She gave way by avoiding for a time what she sup- 
 posed to be the essential point of her confession. 
 
 " I'm anxious about his health," she said. 
 
 " I thought he had been rather better lately, except 
 for his headaches," returned Martin. 
 
 " Yes, but I only found out last night what was 
 giving him those headaches," she explained. " Do you 
 know that he has been taking nearly half a pint of 
 ammoniated quinine every day ? " 
 
 " Good Lord," was Martin's startled comment. " Is 
 that because ..." 
 
 " Oh ! it's some mad idea of keeping himself up to the 
 mark during office hours. He has been simply poisoning 
 himself." 
 
 " What are you going to do about it ? " 
 
 " I told him that he must give that up at once. He 
 saw it, himself. He said he would get some hypo- 
 phosphates in the City to-day and try that, instead. 
 But that won't be any better ..." She shrugged her 
 shoulders and made a little gesture with her hands. 
 
 " He ought to go away," said Martin. 
 
 " Of course he ought, but you know he won't not till 
 this Dutch business is settled; and then ..." 
 
 " Has he said anything more about that ? " 
 
 She shook her head. She saw that she was committed 
 now to the whole confidence. 
 
 " That isn't all," she went on, " although I think it's 
 the worst. He's altered ever since that Saturday he 
 didn't go to the office." 
 
 " In what way ? " Martin asked. 
 
 "He ... I've never minded being alone with him 
 since then." 
 
 " But you're glad of that, aren't you ? " 
 
 " I was. I'm uneasy now. I'm afraid. I don't under- 
 stand what is happening to him. I feel sometimes as if he 
 had in a way given me up."
 
 280 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " He hasn't said anything ? " 
 
 " No, I wish he would. He still talks as if we were 
 engaged, but ... I don't know, ... he has altered. 
 He watches me in an odd way when he thinks I don't 
 see him a sort of grim look; a little spiteful." 
 
 " If he gives you up . . ." began Martin. 
 
 " If we give him up," she interrupted, " however we 
 do it, we shall never be able to forget it. Martin, we 
 must do out best. We mustn't let things simply slide. 
 I've been worrying dreadfully about it. What are we to 
 do? " 
 
 Martin could not grasp the final issue. " As long as he 
 keeps straight," he said, " we haven't any other respon- 
 sibility. If he wants to give you up, and he can go on as 
 he is, what could we have to blame ourselves for ? " 
 
 " He won't go on as he is," said Margaret passion- 
 ately. " You can't see that and you won't believe me. 
 He must have something. He doesn't trust himself. If he 
 did he wouldn't poison himself with quinine. Can't you 
 see that the point is really, why he has given me up if 
 he has. Was it because I ... ? I have been too selfish. 
 I was so glad when he changed first. I've only realized 
 the last few days that perhaps / ought to take the 
 initiative, or at least, I ought not to be so cold to him. 
 He must see how glad I am that he's different, that he 
 has stopped making love to me." 
 
 She paused, and then as Martin frowned in silent 
 perplexity over this new difficulty, she went on. " The 
 responsibility doesn't only depend upon our sitting still 
 and doing nothing wrong, we have got to do things, 
 to to do everything we can think of to help him." 
 
 " Not that," said Martin, with determination. 
 
 " Why not? " she asked, trying to hold to her half- 
 formed resolution. 
 
 ' You owe something to yourself. You have no right 
 to ruin your own life, certainly, in order to save him, 
 perhaps. / don't count one way or the other," he added. 
 
 " But you do," she Id.
 
 RESOLUTION 281 
 
 " No, put me out of it," Martin said firmly, and at the 
 moment he intended quite honestly to put himself out 
 of it. 
 
 " How can I ? " she asked. "That's the only possible 
 
 excuse I can have. If I spoil your life as well as my own 
 
 
 He could not deny that she had it in her power to 
 spoil his life. 
 
 " I don't count," he repeated feebly; and thought of 
 all that life would mean to him if he had Margaret to 
 help him all that he could achieve. 
 
 " Would it spoil your life ? " she persisted. 
 
 " Absolutely," said Martin. 
 
 " Well, then," she submitted. 
 
 " But my life doesn't matter," he said for the third 
 time, and added, " Yours does." 
 'To you?" 
 
 " Not only to me," he said, struggling to extricate 
 himself. " What I mean is that I don't think you are 
 called upon to go as far as that. No woman could be." 
 
 She sighed. She understood it all so much more 
 clearly than he ever could, and she was longing for the 
 encouragement that she knew he would not give her. 
 She wanted him to share the responsibility, not to take 
 refuge in any ethical consideration. 
 
 The only decision at which they arrived was that they 
 would both be very careful of Robin during the next 
 two days. 
 
 He returned home unusually early that afternoon; 
 they were still sitting over the tea-table when he came 
 in. He looked cold and depressed, and stood by the fire 
 warming his feet and complaining about the train 
 service. 
 
 " Would you like some tea, Robin ? " Margaret asked. 
 
 "Is it hot? "he asked.
 
 282 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Oh ! I'll make some fresh," she said eagerly. 
 
 " Don't ye bother," he replied curtly. 
 
 " It isn't any bother," said Margaret, and she took up 
 the teapot and went out. 
 
 " There is only about one train in an hour at this time 
 of the day," grumbled Robin, when she had gone, " and 
 it stops at every station." 
 
 " Yes, I know; it's rotten," agreed Martin. He was 
 never quite at ease, now, when he was alone with Greg, 
 and this afternoon he felt more than usually distressed. 
 
 " Have ye done any work to-day? " asked Robin, 
 after a pause. 
 
 Martin laughed. " Yes, rather," he said. " I was 
 working all the morning." 
 
 " And why did ye not go out this afternoon ? " 
 
 " It was so beastly wet and windy," Martin explained. 
 
 " I thought ye said ye liked it," replied Robin with a 
 sneer. 
 
 Martin looked up quickly. The tone of that sneer was 
 not the one that Martin knew well in connexion with 
 those bouts of raillery to which he was so often sub- 
 jected. 
 
 " I felt slack this afternoon," he said. 
 
 " Eh ! well, ye can make up for it to-morrow and 
 Sunday," replied Robin, and then, as if he realized that 
 he had said too much, he added, " It'll maybe be finer 
 then." 
 
 Martin left the room when Margaret returned with 
 the tea. He went upstairs and sat for a time on the side 
 of his bed pondering the things that had just been said 
 downstairs. Had Greg any suspicion, he wondered, that 
 there was some understanding between himself and 
 Margaret ? 
 
 Presently he got up and stood by the window. It was 
 hardly dark yet, the days were drawing out, the spring 
 would soon be coming. He could see the front gate 
 swinging backwards and forwards in the wind, and hear 
 now and again the clamour of its assault upon the post.
 
 RESOLUTION 283 
 
 " I wish I could get out of it," he said to himself. He 
 had a feeling that worse was to come, that if he could 
 only go now, the position might still be saved. But he 
 knew that he could never go and leave Margaret there 
 alone. Nevertheless it seemed that the gate signalled 
 only to him.
 
 XXI DEFEAT. 
 
 THE question of what Margaret and Martin " ought 
 to do " was settled for them by Robin himself. Margaret 
 reported on Monday afternoon, that despite Martin's 
 firm definition of her responsibilities, she had made 
 tentative advances to Robin on Sunday night and that 
 she had been repulsed. 
 
 " He's playing with us," she said, " I'm sure of it." 
 
 Martin would not believe that. There were warmth 
 and light in the air that afternoon, and once out of the 
 house his spirit had risen to meet the spring. 
 
 " We have been too shut up with the whole affair," he 
 explained, admitting that he, too, had been susceptible 
 to the suggestion of Garroch. It's got on our nerves. 
 We are looking for trouble the whole time." 
 
 " I wish I could think so," Margaret said. 
 
 " Isn't there a simpler explanation? " was Martin's 
 next approach to a rational account of the trouble. 
 
 " Such as . . ." she suggested. 
 
 " Well, you admitted on Friday that he has never 
 really cared for you, not as he cared for your sister 
 utterly incomprehensible as such a thing seems to me." 
 
 " Well? " she prompted him. 
 
 " And, perhaps, now he feels that he is able to stand 
 on his own feet again, he doesn't want you in the same 
 way any more." 
 
 " Is he on his feet ? " 
 
 " I believe he is." Martin was suddenly confident; 
 filled with the glorious certainty of returning sap. " I do 
 really believe he is, and don't you see " a most ap- 
 pealing theory had just presented itself to him " that 
 he must feel, now, that he has hardly played straight
 
 DEFEAT 285 
 
 with you. Perhaps, he wants to back out of the engage- 
 ment, and is not sure how much you care for him. That 
 would explain all his oddness during the last fortnight, 
 wouldn't it ? Are you sure that he is not trying to give 
 you a hint that he wants you to release him ? " 
 
 " I wonder," said Margaret thoughtfully. This theory 
 of Martin's was singularly appealing. " Oh ! it seems too 
 good to be true," she added, with emotion. 
 
 Martin took her hand in his and for some time they 
 walked on in happy silence. 
 
 " It is true," said Martin at last. 
 
 " It may be," she returned. 
 
 " If it were true," he began, " would you . . ." 
 
 " We must not think of that yet," she said, and 
 gently pressed his hand. 
 
 " Think of the green coming back," he said, after a 
 long interval. 
 
 She drew a deep breath of sheer delight. "Is it 
 possible that it will ? " she said softly. 
 
 " Certain," he said, with a laugh, " and we shall see 
 it together." 
 
 " After all those terrible months," she concluded. 
 
 They discussed Martin's theory several times that 
 week ; it was a theory with such comforting possibilities ; 
 and the more they examined it, the more plausible it 
 appeared. Margaret was only waiting a favourable 
 opportunity in order to put it to the test. They had 
 decided that she must approach the subject to Robin, 
 test him, give him a chance to cry off, if he wished it. 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow or Sunday," she suggested, as 
 they sat over tea in the study on Friday afternoon. 
 They were both a little excited. They had caught a 
 glimpse of possible release. 
 
 KU," Yes," Martin agreed. " He may be early to-night," 
 he added, looking at his watch. " He was last Friday."
 
 286 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Do you think I had better go ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh ! no. Why should you ? " he replied. " We've 
 been out." He looked down at the evidence of his boots. 
 " There's no reason why you shouldn't have tea in here 
 with me." 
 
 " No, I know there isn't," she said. " But there's one 
 thing I want to say. If if it is as we hope, he mustn't 
 know yet, mustn't be allowed to guess, that you and 
 I ..." 
 
 " Not yet, I suppose," he admitted unwillingly. 
 
 " Oh! No," she said emphatically. " Not for a long 
 time, not untilyou've gone away from here." 
 
 He was not willing to concede so much. " I don't see 
 why . . ."he began. 
 
 " It would be impossible," she protested. " I would 
 not have him guess that for anything. Promise you 
 won't let him guess, Martin." 
 
 " Of course, if you feel like that about it," he hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " I do," she declared. 
 
 " You think he would mind ? " 
 
 " I know he would, and it would seem as if I had been 
 playing false to him, all the time. And I have, that's the 
 worst of it." 
 
 " I don't see that you need look at it like that," Martin 
 said. " It was just that we couldn't help ourselves." 
 
 " No, we couldn't help ourselves," she repeated. " I 
 know we couldn't, but he wouldn't understand." 
 
 " I suppose not," agreed Martin. 
 
 " I shall always feel that I might have done more," 
 she said presently. 
 
 " You couldn't," he protested. " You couldn't 
 possibly. Besides, nothing more was required. He is all 
 right again now." 
 
 Margaret was doubtful. 
 
 " You're down again, to-night," he said. " That's the 
 influence of this beastly house, and knowing that you'll 
 be shut up in it for the next twojiays."
 
 DEFEAT 287 
 
 She looked up at him. " You are quite satisfied 
 now? " she asked. 
 
 "About him? Oh! yes!" 
 
 " And you really think that he wants to get out of our 
 engagement? " 
 
 " I do, honestly." 
 
 She was almost reassured drawing strength from 
 his certainty when they heard the slam of the front 
 door. 
 
 " There he is," said Martin, and they both looked 
 round to welcome him. But Robin did not, as usual, 
 come at once into the study in order to take out the 
 papers and manuscripts from his pockets, before 
 removing his overcoat. 
 
 "He has gone straight upstairs!" Margaret said. 
 And there was fear in her eyes and in the sound of her 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes," said Martin, thrilled in spite of himself. " But 
 but why are you . . . ? " 
 
 " Hush! " she warned him. She stood up, and held 
 herself rigid, listening intently. 
 
 They could hear the sound of Robin's footsteps in the 
 room overhead. 
 
 " What is it ? What's the matter ? " asked Martin in a 
 low voice. 
 
 She did not answer him, and almost immediately they 
 heard Robin coming down again. He stopped in the 
 hall to take off his overcoat and then came into the 
 study. 
 
 " Hello ! " he said, cheerfully. " Have ye not finished 
 your teas yet. It'll be nearly six o'clock. Eh! well, I 
 think I've settled that Dutch business. I'll maybe have 
 to go to town to-morrow, but we'll have a good day at 
 the book on Sunday." 
 
 He had changed his boots for carpet slippers, and 
 when he sat back in his arm-chair he stretched out his 
 feet with a gesture of relief. 
 
 " Och ! that's a comfort," he said. " I've been wearin'
 
 288 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 new boots to-day, and when I got in I just could not 
 wait a moment till I had them off." 
 
 He was in a better humour than he had shown for 
 weeks past and talked freely about the Dutch business. 
 It seemed to account for his welcome change of mood. 
 
 Martin was immensely relieved, he was confirmed in 
 his opinion that all was now going right for the three of 
 them; but Margaret did not respond to Robin's genial 
 advances. She leaned back in her chair, taking no part 
 in the conversation, and presently she gathered up the 
 tea-tray and left the room. 
 
 " What's wrong with Maggie to-night ? " asked Greg, 
 when she had gone. 
 
 " I don't know," said Martin carelessly. " I thought 
 she seemed a bit depressed at tea-time." 
 
 " She's a creature of moods," replied Greg rather 
 bitterly ; and then he changed the conversation quickly 
 by saying, " Eh ! I forgot to tell you that I got on to 
 Wotterhoose to-day. He told me our article was comin' 
 out in the March number and he wants me to speak for 
 him at a big meetin' on Wednesday night." 
 
 3 
 
 Margaret came into the study before lunch the next 
 morning. She had refused to discuss the subject of 
 Robin at breakfast. " Wait until he has gone," she had 
 said. 
 
 Martin could see that she was anxious and perplexed. 
 " I think you are bothering yourself about nothing," he 
 said. 
 
 " I hope so; I hope so," replied Margaret, " but I'm 
 horribly afraid." 
 
 " I didn't see any sign of it," Martin said. " I watched 
 him pretty closely last night. He didn't go out of the 
 room after dinner, or anything." 
 
 She smiled faintly at this summary of his close obser- 
 vation.
 
 DEFEAT 289 
 
 " Why did he go straight upstairs ? " she asked. 
 
 " He explained that." 
 
 " Of course. He will explain anything." 
 
 " Had he got new boots ? " 
 
 She nodded. " He would never make up excuses that 
 I could disprove the next minute," she said. " Do re- 
 member how clever he is." 
 
 " Still that was quite a likely reason for his going up," 
 argued Martin. " What else was there ? " 
 
 " Nothing definite. But I'm afraid. I don't quite 
 know why; I haven't half a dozen reasons to give you, 
 but I'm horribly afraid." 
 
 Martin looked judicial. " It's the house," he said. 
 " Anyhow, we shall probably know before Monday ..." 
 
 But when Monday came, they had no more certain 
 facts for argument than they had had on Saturday. 
 
 Robin had been in good spirits on Sunday, had 
 worked well on the book, and exhibited no sign of an 
 urgent desire to be alone at any time. Martin was satis- 
 fied in his own mind that Margaret had been mistaken, 
 but she was nervous and dispirited. 
 
 " I'm almost sure," she said after lunch, " that he is 
 beginning again." 
 
 Martin frowned. " Let's get out," he suggested. 
 " You'll see things more clearly in the open air." 
 
 " Of course, you won't believe me," she said miser- 
 ably. " No, I'm not going out this afternoon. I couldn't. 
 You go alone. I want to think what I can do." 
 
 Martin looked unhappy. " Can't I help ? " he asked. 
 
 ' You don't believe me," she said impatiently. 
 
 " There's no evidence," he protested. 
 
 " Oh ? didn't you see the way he cuddled Biddie 
 yesterday afternoon ? " she said. " And kept asking her 
 who she loved best ? You seem to expect that he will 
 give himself away by some silly carelessness. He won't. 
 You don't know him. He'll be more cunning than ever, 
 and Heaven knows he was cunning enough before." 
 
 " Are you quite convinced, then ? " Martin asked. 
 
 u
 
 2QO THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " No ! " said Margaret, " I'm not. I'm just horribly 
 suspicious." 
 
 " Do you really think his manner towards Biddie 
 meant anything? " 
 
 " It might. He used to be like that with her, and he 
 hasn't lately. It is just those tiny things that give him 
 away. You see, if he has begun again, he's probably 
 drinking very little, comparatively. He's deceiving 
 himself, perhaps, with the idea that he can limit himself, 
 just as he did before. I don't know. Oh ! Martin, what 
 can I do? " 
 
 " You can't do anything, yet," he said. He knelt 
 down by her and took her hands in his and began to 
 comfort her. 
 
 She did not repulse him, and presently they went out 
 together for their usual walk. 
 
 Robin was late that night, but his reasons were unas- 
 sailable. He gave them the fullest details of the business 
 meeting that had detained him ; and that excuse if it 
 were an excuse also explained his desire to get to bed 
 rather earlier than usual. 
 
 He told them that the Dutch business was to be 
 definitely closed on Friday, but he had said nothing 
 more to Margaret about going abroad. 
 
 Nor was there any one indication, any moment, to 
 which they could afterwards point and say that at that 
 instant their suspicions became a certainty. The fear 
 grew from day to day, by little, unremarkable degrees. 
 All the old horror was creeping back, but so slowly that 
 they could only appreciate the change in retrospect. 
 The first time that Robin failed to catch the earlier train 
 was almost unnoticed; an excellent reason for his late- 
 ness was forthcoming he had been speaking at Water- 
 house's meeting the previous night and had overtired 
 himself. Margaret had sat up for him, but had found
 
 DEFEAT 291 
 
 nothing in his manner definitely to confirm her doubt. 
 Nevertheless, he was without question gradually drop- 
 ping back into his old ways. The old rush in the morning 
 had developed to the slamming of the front door, his 
 eyes had come little by little to take on again a look of 
 furtive defence, and almost imperceptibly the faint reek 
 of stale alcohol was stealthily pervading the house. And 
 yet they had no positive evidence against him. They 
 were unable to produce one undeniable fact in proof of 
 their suspicion. 
 
 The first week in March found them still hesitant; 
 desperately certain, now, that all their work had gone 
 for nought, but quite undecided how to act. 
 
 " We must bring it home to him and try all over 
 again," Martin said, with doubtful conviction. 
 
 " We must, we must," Margaret agreed with over 
 insistence. 
 
 They searched his room one afternoon when Hester 
 was out, but found no single piece of incriminating 
 evidence. 
 
 " I suppose it is absolutely certain ? " said Martin, 
 hopefully influenced for a moment by their failure. 
 
 Margaret smiled bitterly. " Do you notice anything 
 odd about the smell of this room ? " she asked. 
 
 Martin sighed and stroked the back of his head. 
 
 " We must catch him red-handed," he said. " He's 
 bound to give himself away sooner or later, and then 
 we must get him away." 
 
 " He won't go," replied Margaret wearily. " He has 
 still the same old excuse of business." 
 
 " But if this Dutch business . . ." Martin began, 
 but she interrupted him by saying, 
 
 " He has made a mess of it in the last three weeks, if 
 there ever was any hope of getting it through." 
 
 "But he said.. ." 
 
 " Oh ! dear," exclaimed Margaret, on a note of exas- 
 peration. " Don't you know yet that when he's like this 
 you can't believe a single thing he tells you ? " 
 
 U2
 
 292 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Oh, Lord! " groaned Martin. He was always being 
 disconcertingly confronted at this time by the spectacle 
 of his own futility. To avoid it on the present occasion 
 he suggested that they should " tackle him on sus- 
 picion " as he said, without waiting for proof positive. 
 
 " We will if you like," agreed Margaret without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 That doubtful attack was made unnecessary by Robin 
 himself, for that same evening he made a declaration of 
 his independence. 
 
 He was home earlier than usual, and when Margaret 
 came into the study before dinner, he got out of his 
 chair and faced the other two across the hearthrug. 
 
 " I've something to say to ye," he said. He was 
 unquestionably sober, and had perfect control of him- 
 self. Unconsciously Martin and Margaret drew a little 
 closer together; a sudden fear beset both of them; they 
 believed that what he had to say primarily concerned 
 themselves. 
 
 " It's about that ' cure ' ye gave me," Robin went 
 on ; and no doubt he noted their unconscious relaxation, 
 their faint show of relief at escape from a threatened 
 danger. 
 
 He smiled grimly and continued. 
 
 " Ye'll remember it, no doubt ? " 
 
 " Robin, you're not going to ..." began Margaret. 
 
 " Will ye hear me out," he said quietly. " Whatever 
 ye have to say, ye can say when I've done. And I'll not 
 be long. It's just this : I'll not be spied upon and watched 
 in my own hoose. Ye've been up in my room this after- 
 noon, turnin' the place upside down to find evidence 
 against me, and I'll not have it. What I do is no concern 
 of yours. But I'll admit," he went on in a kinder tone, 
 " that I'm owin' ye some acknowledgment for having 
 done yer best for me in the first instance. Ye have
 
 DEFEAT 293 
 
 helped to give me back my self-control which I was in 
 some danger of losin,' maybe, a while ago. I'm not 
 ungrateful to either of ye for that. But now that I'm 
 master o' myself again, I'll not submit to be dictated to. 
 And if I choose to have a glass of whisky with my 
 dinner, I'll have it openly before ye both." 
 
 " Oh ! Robin," wailed Margaret. " You know . . ." 
 " I'll know nothin' of the kind," he broke in. " The 
 two cases are not parallel. I've learned my lesson and ye 
 need have no fear whatever that I'll ever exceed my 
 allowance again none whatever. D'ye think I'm such a 
 weak fool, that I cannot stop when I want ? I tell ye that 
 that cure has just made all the difference to me, and 
 glad enough I am in some ways, that I took it. I've no 
 no cravin' for the drink now," he mumbled the phrase as 
 if he were ashamed of it, " none whatever. I just need a 
 stimulant now and again until this damned business of 
 mine is settled. After that and I've no doubt it'll be 
 finished up within a week or two I'll maybe take a long 
 
 holiday, and then I'll not need a stimulant of any kind 
 it 
 
 He paused and faced his two antagonists defiantly. 
 Margaret had dropped her head on to the writing table 
 and covered her face with her hands, but Martin seemed 
 half convinced, and it was to him that the next speech 
 was addressed. 
 
 " We'll have the book finished next week, Bond? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said Martin. " There's practically nothing 
 to be done now, except general revision. But, I say, 
 hadn't you better try and keep off whisky altogether; 
 don't you think that . . . ? " 
 
 " I'll be the best judge of what I should do and what 
 I should not," returned Greg caustically. " Ye'll forgive 
 me, Bond, if I'm not altogether guided by ye on moral 
 grounds. Ye see, although I did not go to an English 
 University, I have a certain standard of conduct of my 
 own, nevertheless."
 
 294 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 Martin flushed and hesitated, and his chance was lost 
 for that occasion. 
 
 " So ye'll understand, both of ye," Greg continued, 
 " that I'll take a glass of whisky with my dinner and 
 maybe another before I go to bed, here in yer presence. 
 And ye'll be so good as to take my word for it that I've 
 hidden nothing in my room upstairs, and cease yer 
 spyin' upon me. If ye try that again ye'll leave the house, 
 both of ye, and outside of it ye can do what ye damned 
 well please. Now, then, I believe dinner will be ready." 
 
 If the conversation had depended upon Martin, not 
 another word would have been spoken that evening. He 
 had taken umbrage at those last sentences of Greg's 
 address ; they reflected upon Margaret, and that Martin 
 was determined he would not tolerate. Whatever could 
 be said about his own conduct and he was quite willing 
 to criticize it, himself, in some respects Margaret had 
 been above reproach. No woman could have done more 
 for a man, he thought, than she had done for Robin 
 except love him, and to do that was not in her power. 
 
 And it was Margaret who rose to the present occasion. 
 
 After her few minutes of prostration in the study, she 
 recovered with apparent completeness, her self-control. 
 Through dinner, she talked cheerfully of such safe topics 
 as the imminent completion and publication of the book, 
 and even succeeded in drawing Martin into a discussion 
 on the still unsettled problem of its title. 
 
 But when dinner was over she tried to take the whole 
 situation into her own hands. 
 
 " Have you any letters to write to-night, Mr Bond ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 He hesitated, unwilling to leave her unsupported. " I 
 don't know that I have," he said. 
 
 " Well, couldn't you find some? " she returned, and 
 he recognized that he had no choice in the matter.
 
 DEFEAT 295 
 
 " Oh ! I'm sorry," he said. " If you want me to . . ." 
 
 Greg interrupted him. " No, we don't. Ye needn't go, 
 Bond," he said, and then he turned to Margaret and 
 continued, " It's no use at all your goin' on this way, 
 Maggie. I know well enough all that ye have to say 
 beforehand, and I can do no more than repeat what I 
 said to ye a while since. Let's have no more of it, woman, 
 for Heaven's sake. If ye want to stay in the hoose ye 
 can. But I'll not be nagged by ye nor by anyone, so if ye 
 wish to stay ye' 11 keep quiet." 
 
 Martin stood up. " You've no right to speak to Miss 
 Hamilton like that," he said. 
 
 " Eh ! and I'll not stand it from ye, either," returned 
 Greg, without heat. " If I have another word ye can go 
 off together. Maybe ye would not find the prospect 
 unendurable," he added grimly. 
 
 " Oh ! please, Mr Bond, be quiet," put in Margaret. 
 
 " If you want me to go, I'll go," said Martin firmly. 
 
 " Oh! ye can do whatever ye damned well please," 
 returned Greg. 
 
 " Please, Mr Bond," repeated Margaret, and Martin, 
 meeting her glance, realized that he was no longer a free 
 agent. 
 
 " Have ye settled it between ye ? " inquired Greg. 
 
 " Robin, won't you listen to me? " Margaret asked. 
 " I'd do anything in the world to save you from this 
 anything." 
 
 Martin caught his breath, and in the same instant 
 came to a decision. If that wonderful offer were ac- 
 cepted he would interpose, he would declare his love for 
 Margaret, he would carry her out of the house by force, 
 if necessary. Greg might be lost to all eternity, but 
 before God he should not be saved by the sacrifice of 
 Margaret. And so satisfying was this sudden crystal- 
 lization of his desires, so urgent his need for some 
 definite and final action, that it came to him as a 
 mortifying disappointment when Greg answered that 
 offer of utter sacrifice by saying,
 
 296 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Och ! dinna blether, Maggie. Ye're overwrought, 
 and will be havin' another of yer attacks if ye're no' 
 carefu'. Go to your bed, girl. There's nothin' at all ye 
 can do that'll make one atom of difference to me one 
 way or the other, except hold your tongue on occasion." 
 
 She made no further effort. She was as he had said 
 overwrought; overwrought by the strain that she had 
 endured as she had planned her offer of sacrifice while 
 she had talked so easily over the dinner table. 
 
 She got up slowly and, without speaking again, left 
 the room. 
 
 Martin held the door open for her, but she gave him 
 neither glance nor sign of any sort as she passed him. 
 Nor did she take the smallest notice of him when he 
 made a tentative movement to follow her. She stumbled 
 on her way upstairs and clung tightly to the bannisters, 
 raising herself with obvious effort from step to step. 
 
 Martin stood and watched her anxiously, and after he 
 could see her no longer, he still waited until he heard her 
 door close before he returned to the study. 
 
 Greg looked round as he came in. " Will ye join me in 
 a glass of toddy, Bond ? " he asked mockingly. 
 
 " No, thanks ! I'm going to bed," said Martin. 
 
 As he closed the door he heard Greg's hooting laugh, 
 pregnant again with all its old jeering, insulting 
 significance. 
 
 " Damn you," muttered Martin to himself. 
 
 The bitterness of defeat had submerged him. The 
 pregnant question put to him by Cecil Barker; the 
 memory of the man he had almost loved ; the pride and 
 joy he had felt in those first days of success all had 
 become foolish and meaningless.
 
 XXII. THE LAST TWO WEEKS. 
 
 MARGARET did not come down to breakfast next morn- 
 ing nor did she leave her room to assist in the final effort 
 to get Robin out of the house in time to catch the 10.23. 
 
 He was late that morning. Martin, sitting in the study, 
 heard the old horrible sounds repeated; and when at 
 half-past nine, he wandered disconsolately upstairs with 
 some vaguely defined purpose of assisting in the reveil!6, 
 he saw an untouched breakfast tray on the landing. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and knocked at Greg's 
 door. " Are you going to the City to-day ? " he asked 
 loudly. 
 
 He was answered by an incomprehensible mumble 
 from within, and tried the handle, only to find that the 
 door was locked. 
 
 " Do you want to catch the 10.23 ? " ne shouted. 
 
 " Aye. Tell Hester." The sound of the words were 
 just distinguishable. 
 
 Nevertheless he was in the hall by eight minutes past 
 ten. 
 
 " I'll maybe be late to-night," was all he said before 
 he went. He was surly, and anxious to hide his face from 
 the light. He slammed the front door behind him, and 
 the key fell out on to the tiled floor of the lobby. 
 
 Martin stood staring at it thoughtfully for a moment 
 and then went back to the study. 
 
 The sight of his work disgusted him ; the atmosphere of 
 the whole house, the thought of Robin Greg, the vision 
 he had of himself and his own futility all disgusted him. 
 He could not face the thought of a solitary morning; he 
 longed passionately for Margaret. In her presence only 
 could he find relief from the intolerable disgust that
 
 298 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 stifled him. He leaned upon her in thought, he wanted 
 her help and counsel. 
 
 And as if hi answer to the compelling force of his 
 desire, she presently came to him in the study. 
 
 She looked less tired this morning, but there were 
 dark shadows under her eyes, and although she never 
 lost her rather high colour, it seemed now to fade less 
 gradually into the whiter skin around it. 
 
 " He's gone ? " she asked as she came in. 
 
 "Oh! yes, half an hour ago," replied Martin. He 
 looked at her with something of deprecation in his face, 
 as if he had in some sense been responsible for the 
 humiliation she had suffered the night before. 
 
 She sat down with a long sigh that might have 
 indicated despair or relief. 
 
 Martin followed her to the fireplace, and stood on the 
 rug looking anxiously down at her. " I suppose it's all 
 up," he muttered, as she made no attempt to speak. 
 
 She paused for some seconds before she answered him. 
 " As far as you are concerned," she said, and left him 
 doubtful whether she had made an assertion or asked a 
 question. 
 
 " As far as both of us are concerned," he said. 
 
 " I shan't give him up yet," she said. 
 
 " What more can you do ? " Martin asked impatiently. 
 He had realized when she spoke that he had been hoping 
 she would express some other determination. What he 
 had hoped, he dared not examine; but he was clearly 
 conscious of his sense of disappointment. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Margaret hopelessly. " Go 
 on, I suppose." 
 
 " For how long ? " 
 
 " Until he kills himself, perhaps." 
 
 " But why ? " he asked bitterly. 
 
 " Because I can't face the alternative," she said. 
 " There's no reason why you should stay. In fact, I don't 
 see very well how you can stay after the book's 
 finished."
 
 THE LAST TWO WEEKS 299 
 
 " I shall stay as long as you do," he said. 
 
 " He may turn you out," she suggested. 
 
 " Then I shall take you with me," said Martin. 
 
 She smiled weakly. "Without my consent?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " If necessary." 
 
 " It would come to that," she said. 
 
 " I'm glad," Martin said. " You've had too much 
 responsibility all through. If he turns me out, as I dare- 
 say he will, I shall make you come too." He paused and 
 then added " You know, I'm not the least afraid of him, 
 now." 
 
 "Oh! no, I know," she said. "But he won't try 
 to keep me. Of the two of us he'd sooner I went than 
 you. He hates me again, now, just as he used to. It's 
 partly my own fault." 
 
 Martin denied that vigorously, and she was glad that 
 he should; glad, also, that he had threatened to take 
 her away by force, if necessary. Nevertheless she meant 
 to make one more attempt to save Robin. 
 
 " Will you give him the cure again ? " she asked. 
 
 " If he'll consent to take it," replied Martin, but his 
 soul sickened at the thought of it. 
 
 " Shall we try once more ? " 
 
 " Of course we will." 
 
 " With all the same enthusiasm that we had before ?" 
 
 " If we can work ourselves up to it." 
 
 " You hate him again, now," she said suddenly. 
 
 " No, I don't," said Martin. 
 
 She disregarded so insincere a denial. " You can't 
 understand him," she said. " Already you've forgotten 
 what he was when he was well. And it's our fault that 
 he is not well now. My fault, yes, and yours too. We 
 ought never to have spoken to each other ..." She 
 broke off abruptly. " I don't know what we ought to 
 have done," she concluded feebly. 
 
 " We couldn't have done anything but what we did 
 do," said Martin. " You've let this thing get on your
 
 300 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 nerves. You can't see it clearly, really you can't. Do look 
 at it sensibly, dear." 
 
 " Well, go on," she said, smiling at him. 
 
 " In the first place, you couldn't have given him the 
 cure at all if I hadn't been here," he said; and when she 
 feebly admitted that, he continued, " And that, at 
 least, was all to the good. Afterwards, he asked the 
 impossible of you; and it's no use to pretend that you 
 would have acted any differently if I had not been here. 
 Would you?" 
 
 She shook her head. " Not then," she admitted. 
 " Go on." 
 
 " He asked too much," Martin asserted. " He wants 
 too much from you and from everybody. I see all his 
 splendid qualities, but he's too greedy. He wants every- 
 body to give in to him; he has to be the centre of 
 everything." 
 
 " Yes, that's Robin," said Margaret. " And he gets 
 it, too." 
 
 " Generally," was Martin's qualification. " This time 
 he has failed, and I can't see that the responsibility of 
 failure rests upon you or me. We have done our best." 
 
 " How long do you think he has known about you 
 and me ? " she asked. 
 
 " I don't know how much he knows, now; but in any 
 case he can't have known long." 
 
 " He has. He knew before we did," said Margaret 
 slowly. " That was why he tried to make sure of me." 
 
 " Well, even so," expostulated Martin, " though 
 I can't believe it even so that makes us, surely, less 
 responsible than ever. If he knew before we did ..." 
 
 " I can't explain it," said Margaret wearily. " I just 
 know, that's all." 
 
 Martin sighed impatiently. " You're not fair to your- 
 self or to me," he said. " You've too much conscience 
 about him." 
 
 She did not answer that, and for a few minutes they 
 were both silent. It was Martin who spoke first.
 
 THE LAST TWO WEEKS 301 
 
 " However," he said, " we have decided to try once 
 more. When shall we begin ? To-night ? " 
 
 " No," said Margaret. " We must let him have this 
 bout. He has only just begun again, badly. Last night, 
 I think, was the beginning. He'd only been drinking 
 comparatively moderately before that. And if we are to 
 have any chance at all, we must let him make himself ill 
 again, and catch him just when he is near a reaction. I 
 shall know. It may be a week or a fortnight. For that 
 time we shall just have to take no notice of him. Give 
 him every chance. Let him hang himself. I believe it's 
 the only way." 
 
 " And then organize another combined attack on 
 former lines? " 
 
 ' Yes. Do you think you can bear a fortnight of it ? " 
 
 " I can bear anything for you," said Martin. 
 
 And when he kissed her she did not forbid him. They 
 were together all that day. Robin did not come in until 
 after eleven o'clock, and they did not sit up for him. 
 
 Margaret's plan was well laid in some respects. If 
 their second attack upon Robin was to have the least 
 chance of success, they must wait for the critical 
 moment when his defences were temporarily down. 
 Now, at the beginning of his new bout, he was little 
 better than a maniac with a single overmastering ob- 
 session. He was manifestly beyond the power of reason. 
 His period of abstinence, once it was terminated, had 
 left him more ravenous for alcohol; so ravenous, indeed, 
 that he hardly troubled to disguise his condition. He 
 was held in utter subjection by the old spirit that had 
 for a time been driven into some dim retreat, but had 
 now returned to the swept and garnished house more 
 powerful than ever before. 
 
 The day after the scene in the study, he did not return
 
 302 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 home till nearly midnight, and all the following day, 
 Sunday, he never stirred from his own room. 
 
 The other two lighted a fire in the deserted drawing- 
 room that day; they wanted to be together, and they 
 dared not talk in the study. 
 
 During the two weeks that followed they were seldom 
 inconvenienced by Robin's presence. On more than one 
 occasion he stayed out all night, and hardly troubled to 
 invent an excuse for his absence when he returned. 
 When he slept at Garroch he remained in bed until 
 mid-day and left the house without speaking to either 
 Margaret or Martin. 
 
 But if they saw little of him during those two weeks, 
 the spirit of evil moved ceaselessly about the house. It 
 seemed that Garroch never nodded now that the 
 master might be home at any hour of the day or night. 
 
 And when he slept there, the nights were full of 
 horror. They would hear him shouting on the landing 
 in the small hours of the morning. Once he made an 
 effort to invade Hester's room, and the next day Martin 
 besought Margaret always to keep her door locked. 
 
 She smiled. " I always do," she said, and added, " I've 
 known him nearly as bad as this before. It won't last 
 much longer." 
 
 Yet, despite the horror and terror of those two weeks, 
 Martin was not looking forward with a single heart and 
 mind to the end of this terrible outburst. He dreaded, 
 then, the inevitable corollary of defeat. If he failed, he 
 thought, he must leave the house, and he was uncertain, 
 notwithstanding his boast, whether he would be able to 
 compel Margaret to accompany him. 
 
 One thing, however, gave him cause for hope. She had 
 sent Biddie away to stay with her grandmother in 
 Scotland. There was reason enough for her going, that 
 house was no fit place for a child, but the road for 
 Margaret's own departure had been cleared by Biddie's 
 absence. 
 
 Robin, himself, was presumably still unaware that
 
 THE LAST TWO WEEKS 303 
 
 his child had been sent away. He had not asked for her; 
 it may be that he recognized his own unfitness to meet 
 her at that time, lost as he was to all other sense of 
 decency. 
 
 And with Biddie and Robin both out of the house, 
 Martin and Margaret were inevitably thrown together. 
 He had no specific work in hand now the manuscript 
 of the book on Socialism had gone to the typists and 
 although he made some pretence of writing in the 
 morning, making notes for his little monograph on the 
 Godwins, the greater part of his day was spent with 
 Margaret. 
 
 She no longer rebuked or opposed him. Her engage- 
 ment to Robin was manifestly at an end. For although 
 Robin himself had made no further allusion to it, there 
 was little doubt that the omission was due to his pre- 
 occupation with an intenser interest. To him, at that 
 time, Margaret was plainly no more than a source of 
 slight irritation, a feeble check upon his one overwhelm- 
 ing desire. 
 
 So Margaret and Martin drew very near to each other 
 between the disturbances of that harassing fortnight. 
 She leaned upon him, found consolation in his strength, 
 and not only sang to him that song of Schubert's, but 
 also, in tender moments addressed him as mein Ruh'. 
 
 She had had no further attack of nervous prostration 
 after that scene in the study. She was deliberately rest- 
 ing herself, saving all her energy for the final outpouring 
 of vitality that would become necessary when Robin 
 was come to the end of his bout. 
 
 There were moments, indeed, when Martin believed 
 that she was ready to abandon that final attack; to 
 leave Garroch and go to Scotland, where he might 
 shortly join her, and where they might be married. 
 They had over 200 a year between them even if Martin 
 earned nothing, and they were prepared to face matri- 
 mony on that income.
 
 304 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 And one afternoon, when the fortnight was nearly run, 
 he went so far as tentatively to make the proposition. 
 They were in the drawing-room March had come in 
 with soft winds and warm sunshine, and they did not 
 need a fire. He had always more courage, more single- 
 ness of purpose in that little drawing-room. 
 
 " I suppose he will have a temporary reaction after 
 all this," Martin said, suddenly introducing the one 
 essential topic that was never long absent from their 
 thoughts. " It isn't possible, is it, that he will go steadily 
 on, drinking himself to death ? " 
 
 Margaret shook her head without conviction. 
 
 The previous night had been one long horror from one 
 o'clock until nearly six in the morning. Robin had begun 
 by going to the pantry to look for wine, and although 
 Martin, hearing the crash of crockery, had followed him 
 and persuaded him first into the study and afterwards 
 to bed, he had been out on the landing again half an 
 hour later, crying and shouting, banging on the bed- 
 room doors. 
 
 " He couldn't get much worse than he was last night," 
 Martin continued. "I had a pretty fair doing, alto- 
 gether." 
 
 " Poor darling," she said. " I know. You were up 
 nearly all night, weren't you ? " 
 
 She had come out once, herself, and been reso- 
 lutely driven back to her room by Martin. 
 
 He smiled and sat down beside her on the window- 
 seat. The casement was wide open and the little wind 
 that blew into the room was fragrant with the scent of 
 warm damp earth. 
 
 It was the wind that nearly upset Martin's ethical 
 balance. 
 
 " But if he didn't get any better," he persisted, 
 " what would you do ? "
 
 THE LAST TWO WEEKS 305 
 
 " Go away, I suppose," she admitted. 
 
 " You wouldn't tackle him, when he's like this ? " 
 
 " It wouldn't be any use." 
 
 " How long shall we give him ? " 
 
 She was playing with the thought, surrendering 
 herself to the mood of the March earth. " I don't know," 
 she said carelessly. 
 
 " Another fortnight of this would knock you up 
 altogether," he said tenderly. He was holding her hand 
 and drew her gently towards him. 
 
 " I think it would," she admitted. 
 
 " And we might be sitting in the heather, under the 
 open sky; just you and I alone," he said. 
 
 " Don't," she rebuked him. 
 
 " Without a care in the world," he added, saying one 
 word too much. 
 
 " Without a care ? " she asked, and gently drew away 
 from him. " And knowing that we hadn't tried to save 
 him at the last ? " 
 
 He got up and paced the little length of the room. 
 
 " Oh ! I know you are right," he said. " We have got 
 to make one more effort." But he was uncertain whether 
 he would have insisted upon the necessity, if she had 
 been willing to go away with him. 
 
 " One final effort," he repeated, emphasizing an 
 important qualification. " If that fails we can't do any 
 more." 
 
 She agreed to that, and he dare not ask her what 
 would follow, if they succeeded. 
 
 " But we must not anticipate failure," she added, 
 half-heartedly. " We are not doing this just to ease our 
 consciences." 
 
 " Oh! no, of course not," returned Martin with an 
 equal lack of conviction.
 
 XXIII. THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG. 
 
 ROBIN came home earlier that evening. 
 
 The other two were in the study, and after he had 
 taken his coat off in the hall, he opened the study door, 
 stood on the threshold for a moment staring at them, 
 and then turned and went upstairs. 
 
 Margaret jumped up. " Can I do anything for you, 
 Robin ? " she called after him. But he went straight up 
 to his own room and slammed and locked the door after 
 him, without attempting to reply. 
 
 " What is it now ? " asked Martin. 
 
 " I believe the bout is nearly over," Margaret said. 
 
 " Well, everything is ready," remarked Martin. They 
 had sent for another treatment of the " Antol " cure by 
 post. Martin had shrunk from meeting Cecil Barker 
 with a confession of failure. 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow ..." whispered Margaret. 
 
 Martin nodded, and they hardly spoke again before 
 they said " Good night." The sense of the desperate 
 adventure before them weighed too heavily for speech. 
 
 And they were to carry that weight for nearly three 
 days ere they could find the relief of action. 
 
 The next day, a Saturday, Robin was out of the house 
 soon after ten o'clock, and when he returned at half- 
 past four in the afternoon, he went up to his own room 
 again and locked himself in. 
 
 Margaret's knocking and repeated questions as to 
 whether he would like some dinner sent up to him 
 elicited no response; but any doubts they might have 
 had as to his safety were resolved by the sound of his 
 footsteps clearly audible in the room below. 
 
 " We must wait till to-morrow," Margaret said, and
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 307 
 
 they sat far apart all the evening and talked little. 
 Martin corrected the typescript of the book. They were 
 not sure that he might not surprise them suddenly at 
 any moment. 
 
 Their sleep was undisturbed that night, and all the 
 next day, Sunday, they had no sight of him. Indeed, it 
 was not until the evening that he gave any sign of being 
 alive. But at seven o'clock he rang his bell. 
 
 Margaret answered it. 
 
 " What is it you want, Robin ? " she asked through 
 the locked door. 
 
 " Ye might send me up something to eat," he replied, 
 and added, " Ye can put it down outside." 
 
 "What's he up to?" asked Martin, when he and 
 Margaret were at supper. " D'you suppose he's ill ? " 
 
 " Yes. Nothing to worry about, I think," she said. 
 " He ate some of the beef I sent him. He put the tray out 
 again when he had finished. I believe he's fairly sober." 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow ..." suggested Martin grimly. 
 
 They were both longing to get it over. They had 
 neither of them been out for two days. 
 
 And on Monday the door upstairs still remained 
 locked. The house was in suspense. Even Hester stole 
 quietly from room to room, and looked at Margaret with 
 something of doubt in her face. 
 
 " Maybe he will be vairy sick ? " she asked once, and 
 seemed unsatisfied by Margaret's assurance that the 
 master of the house was certainly not seriously ill. 
 Hester was accustomed to the vagaries of her employer 
 when he was drinking, but these three days behind a 
 locked door had a significance outside her experience. 
 
 He had, however, eaten a little breakfast that 
 morning. 
 
 At lunch, Martin tried to persuade Margaret to come 
 out for a walk. It was not a promising afternoon, the 
 soft airs of Friday had been succeeded by a north-east 
 wind, and the thin driving rain was streaked with wet 
 snow. 
 
 X2
 
 308 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 She looked out of the window and shook her head. 
 " I'd love to," she said, " but I daren't. It wouldn't do 
 for him to come down and find us out together." 
 
 " Well, you go," suggested Martin. " I'll stay in and 
 watch." 
 
 " I'd sooner you went," she returned, and stopped 
 his protestations by adding, " Don't argue about it, 
 please, Martin. Trust me to know what's the best thing 
 to do." 
 
 She could always subdue him when she took that 
 tone. She made him feel young and insignificant, alto- 
 gether unworthy to be so wonderfully honoured by her. 
 
 " Why shouldn't I stay in too ? " he asked humbly. 
 
 " Because I would sooner you went out," she said. 
 
 " I don't like to leave you . . ." he began, but she 
 cut him short by saying sharply : 
 
 " Don't be silly." Her nerves were beginning to give 
 way. 
 
 " Of course, I'll go if you want me to," he said a little 
 sulkily. 
 
 " I do," she returned with decision. 
 
 He went an unhappy walk up to the Common, the 
 first time he had been there alone for over a month. 
 
 When he returned, Margaret met him in the hall. 
 She put up her hand at once to enjoin silence and led 
 him into the dining-room. 
 
 " He's in the study," she whispered. " He came down 
 an hour ago and asked for Biddie. I told him she had 
 gone to stay with mother, and he took it quite well, and 
 then ..." She caught her breath and leaned against 
 the sideboard. Martin saw that she was trembling 
 violently. 
 
 " I say, you're ill," he said. He came closer to her and 
 put his arm round her. 
 
 " No, no, I'm not. I can do very well, yet," she said, 
 but she clung to him, and for a moment she could not 
 speak, so "shaken was she by the tremor of her over- 
 tired nerves.
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 309 
 
 " I've spoken to him," she said at last, and made 
 a strong effort to stop the trembling of her limbs. 
 " D-don't interrupt, Martin. Listen. It was no good. 
 B-but you must try." She stammered and fought to 
 speak her words, even as she fought to command the 
 trembling of her body. " T-try, won't you ? For all 
 you're w-worth, Martin ? " 
 
 " For all I'm worth," he said resolutely. 
 
 " Then go now," she urged him. 
 
 " But what about you, darling? " He held her very 
 tightly, as if he feared that she might slip from him. 
 
 " I'll lie down. I'm all right now." she said. And 
 indeed, she gently pushed him away and stood steadily 
 without support. " I'll go upstairs," she continued. 
 
 He followed her into the hall, and watched her safely 
 into her room; then he took off his wet overcoat, and 
 after one moment of hesitation walked boldly into the 
 study. 
 
 Greg sat in his arm-chair. He was wearing a dressing- 
 gown over his pyjamas, his hair was tousled, and he had 
 not shaved for three days. He looked gray and tired; 
 his head drooped, his whole attitude expressed pros- 
 tration. 
 
 He did not look up when the door opened, and Martin 
 came in and sat down without speaking. He was op- 
 pressed by a horrible sense of the futility of the things 
 he had come there to express, and, also, by his remem- 
 brance of having been through precisely the same scene 
 before. His mission appeared hopeless, and more ener- 
 vating still, it appeared stale and foolish. His mind was 
 endlessly repeating a single sentence: "For all I'm 
 worth." But he could find nothing to say; he had said 
 everything he had to say three months ago. 
 
 It was Greg who spoke first.
 
 310 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 " Well," he said quietly, " will ye not begin ? I'll be 
 glad to get it by." 
 
 Martin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his 
 knees, his cheeks on his knuckles. It came to him that 
 if he could recall some shadow of the old affection he 
 had felt for this man, he might still cherish some faint 
 hope of success. If he could lose himself, find happiness 
 in the thought of sacrifice ... He found himself staring 
 at Greg's hand that hung limply over the arm of the 
 chair, and the hand was stained and dirty, the nails 
 long and black. 
 
 " You know what I've come to say," he said weakly, 
 staring disgustedly at that unwashed hand. 
 
 " Aye. I know it very well," replied Greg without 
 looking up. " Ye see I've just heard it all from Maggie, 
 and unless ye've agreed to play different parts, ye'll only 
 be repeatin' all she's said already." 
 
 " Surely it isn't a question of any agreement," stam- 
 mered Martin. " We both want to help you anyone 
 would." 
 
 " Oh ! ay; ye're very generous," mumbled Greg. 
 
 " It isn't a matter of generosity," expostulated Martin. 
 
 " Ay, but it is," returned Greg. " Ye're surely stand- 
 in' in yer own light, Bond. With me out of yer way, now, 
 there'll be nothing to come between ye and Maggie." 
 
 Whatever his repugnance, Martin saw that he must 
 deny any understanding of this kind between himself 
 and Margaret. If that were confessed he could have no 
 authority ; he must admit one of two things ; either that 
 he was willing to give up Margaret to Greg if the latter 
 once more essayed the taking of the " cure "; or that 
 Greg must renounce all hope of her. Neither position 
 seemed tenable to Martin, and he saw no way of escape 
 save by a denial of his relations with Margaret. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by that," he said, 
 leaning back into the shadow of his arm-chair. " I'm 
 nothing to Miss Hamilton." 
 
 " Ye surprise me," said Greg, in the same dull,
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 311 
 
 uninterested voice. " I would have thought ye were likely 
 to get married as soon as maybe." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! no." Martin's denial sounded, even to 
 himself, fatally hollow and unreal. 
 
 " Och! then I must take yer word for it," replied 
 Greg, his tired eyes still fixed hi a weary stare at the 
 fire. " But at the same time, Bond, as a connexion and 
 an old friend of Maggie's I must say that I think ye will 
 be actin' very dishonourably if ye do not marry her 
 after all." 
 
 " After all what ? " asked Martin, astonished and a 
 little frightened. 
 
 Greg gave a weak shrug and made a tentative gesture 
 with his dirty hand. " I'd not like to be too precise in 
 that matter," he said. 
 
 ' You don't mean to imply ..." began Martin, 
 warmly. 
 
 ' Ye must just fit the cap yerself," Greg interrupted 
 him calmly. " I have implied no more than ye're able 
 to understand, it seems. If yer conscience pricks ye, 
 maybe ye' 11 see proper to do the right thing by her." 
 
 For a moment the blood went to Martin's head. 
 " Look here," he said fiercely, " if you dare to insin- 
 uate a word against Miss Hamilton, by God, I'll half 
 kill you." 
 
 Greg chuckled. " Ye could do no more," he said, " for 
 I'm half dead already." 
 
 Martin could not doubt that. The man looked such a 
 poor, feeble thing, drooping there in his deep chair; 
 violence was out of the question, he looked frailer 
 than any woman. 
 
 He waited for a few seconds, and then as Martin made 
 no reply, he continued. " But physical strength will be 
 yer strong point, Bond. When it comes to wrestlin', 
 ye're bonnie. 'Twas that, no doubt, that caught Maggie. 
 Women just admire that sort of strength hi a man." 
 
 Martin bit his nails, a sudden reversion to a school 
 habit. He had bitten his nails when he was reproved by
 
 312 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 his form-master. " I don't see what all this has got to do 
 with it," he said sullenly. " Why should you drag Miss 
 Hamilton into it? What I want to know is whether 
 you'll take the cure again ?" 
 
 "Och! ye're a wonderful persuasive pleader," re- 
 marked Greg with the faintest echo of a hoot. " I'm 
 hard put to it to withstand the force of yer eloquence, 
 Bond. But I'd be glad, however, if ye'd just permit me 
 to say a word. Have I yer permission ? " 
 
 " If it's about the cure . . ." mumbled Martin. 
 
 " Ay, it is about that," said Greg, and for the first 
 time, he moved his head and threw a glance at his com- 
 panion. " I'd just like to explain to ye precisely why 
 yer Miss Hamilton has much more to do with it than ye 
 have yerself," he said. " Ye see I'm a Scotchman, and 
 some people would likely call me a sentimentalist. I'd 
 not deny it. I have no call to be ashamed of it. And 
 Maggie has stood for more to me than just any other 
 woman could. She's Scotch, too, for one thing ; but more, 
 she's a part of the life that meant happiness for me. 
 She's like Elsie in some ways, though she has not Elsie's 
 spirit nor her courage, and her voice reminds me of my 
 puir wife . . ." He had dropped his head and his words 
 were barely audible. He seemed to have forgotten 
 Martin's presence in the room, and to be indulging 
 himself in a spoken reverie. " Ay, Elsie would have 
 wished it," he murmured. " I ken that. She'd just hae 
 said ' Puir old boy.' She would have understood me; 
 aye, she'd have understood vairy well that I'd need love 
 and maybe more than my fair share of admiration. She 
 gave it to me, hersel' ..." He lapsed into silence and a 
 tear trickled slowly down his unshaven cheek, and was 
 lost in the bristles of his beard. 
 
 Martin sat quite still. Neither of them spoke again for 
 more than a minute. Then Greg heaved a long sigh and 
 looked up with a faint start. " Ye were sayin'? " he 
 asked, with a look of bewilderment. 
 
 " I didn't speak," replied Martin, " but I want you to
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 313 
 
 have another try; to begin all over again. Won't you 
 have a try, old man. We'll help you." 
 
 Greg roused himself, he lifted his arms and yawned. 
 " Och ! I'll have heard that before," he said in a bored 
 voice. " Why will ye be startin' that cant all over again ? 
 Why, for Heaven's sake, don't ye go off with Maggie and 
 leave me to mysel'. I'll not be wantin' either of ye." 
 
 " I don't want to go off," said Martin, with an assump- 
 tion of firmness. " We both want to stay here and help 
 you." 
 
 " Och ! I couldn't be a party to such a scandalous 
 arrangement," said Greg, with a hoot. " It wouldn't be 
 proper, I'm thinkin'. Nae, nae, laddie; ye must take her 
 away and marry her." 
 
 But Martin was not to be put off again. He saw, now, 
 the trap that was set for him. " Well, if you prefer it, I 
 will go away," he said, " but I must stay until you have 
 taken the cure again." 
 
 " Hoo ! hoo ! " laughed Greg. " I'd not leave ye two in 
 the house for another three weeks on any consideration. 
 I'd not have it on my conscience." 
 
 " Very well, I'll go away at once," said Martin. " The 
 point is, will you take the cure." 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 "You must." 
 
 Greg shifted in his chair uncomfortably. For a 
 moment Martin believed that in spite of all he was 
 winning. 
 
 " You must," he repeated. 
 
 " Ay, laddie, I must, must I ? " Greg turned suddenly 
 and looked Martin full in the face. " And ye'll make me, 
 will ye ? Eh ! but ye're a fine lad. Now, just sit ye quiet 
 and listen to me. I'll be frank with ye. We'll have no 
 more haverin' and hairsplittin' about this, but a fair
 
 3 i4 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 talk as man to man; though ye're hardly worth the 
 name in some ways, and I'm more than a match for ye 
 when it does not come to wrestlin'." 
 
 Martin opened his mouth, but closed it again without 
 speaking. Greg's old personality had reasserted itself, 
 all his old dominance and compelling power were sum- 
 moned for this final defence of his ; for the defence that 
 by excellent generalship he turned into a counter attack. 
 
 " Nay, ye've had yer say, such as it is," he continued, 
 " and now I'll have mine; and when I've finished ye'll 
 see vairy plainly just why I'll not take the cure, and 
 why ye'll make it convenient to leave my house to- 
 morrow mornin'." 
 
 " Well, go on," said Martin, bracing himself. It was 
 all over. He had done his best. Greg might say anything 
 he liked now. Martin, with a swift glance back over the 
 last three months, saw nothing for which he could be 
 blamed. 
 
 " Ye were a decent enough lad when ye first came," 
 said Greg, " I liked ye, I thought ye were honest and 
 straightforward; and 1 was pleased with the way ye 
 tackled yer work, and yer loyalty to me in that Wotter- 
 hoose business. I flatter myself I'm a good judge of 
 character, but it seems I was mistaken in this instance." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Martin, flushed and miserable. 
 
 " Och ! I found ye out. I saw ye were makin' love to 
 Maggie behind my back ; hidin' it to me and pretendin' 
 to my face that ye only had my welfare at heart, while 
 all the time ye were tryin' to seduce the woman I was 
 engaged to. Och ! hold yer tongue, will ye. I know ye'll 
 deny it. Ye're the sort that thinks it a fine thing to 
 pretend to uphold what ye call the honour of a woman, 
 after ye've done all ye can to steal it away from her. 
 Aye ! and I ken well, too, that ye've deceived yerself about 
 yer own virtues. Ye've never once had a wrong thought 
 of her, ye'd say, and maybe, in one way, it would be 
 true enough. But that is only because ye're so full of the 
 cant of yer class. If Maggie had not been what she is, a
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 315 
 cold Scotchwoman at bottom, despite what she believes 
 to be her ' temperament/ ye'd have fallen fast enough. 
 Twas not yer ideals, my lad, that saved ye. Maggie 
 would have been your mistress before this, if she'd been 
 warmer. Och ! I ken it well and ye know it yerself . Ye'd 
 not have denied her if she had offered herself. However, 
 that temptation is not likely to upset ye." He stopped 
 for a moment and hooted on a high note of irony. 
 
 "So ye see, Bond, the mere fact that ye have not 
 actually fallen, does not in itself recommend ye to me. 
 What I've seen, and what I'll remember, is that ye have 
 played me false almost from the beginning. I've known 
 this long time that ye'd not have stayed in the house to 
 save me from trouble. Ye have stayed to protect Maggie. 
 Aye ! wasn't it that ? I can see ye ken the answer. Ye'd 
 protect her, eh ? from the man she was engaged to, from 
 the man that ye pretended was yer friend, and that ye 
 wanted to save from the hell of drink ? D'ye not think 
 that that was a grand way of savin* him ? D'ye not know 
 in yer heart that if ye'd gone away two months syne, 
 I'd not be where I am now ? Nae doubt, ye believed ye 
 were doin' the best thing for Maggie. But who made ye 
 the judge o' that ? D'ye think ye know her as well as I 
 do, who've watched her all these years ? Whisht ! man, 
 I tell ye, I can read her like a book ; and I know that if 
 she'd not been dandlin' her silly little sentimental af- 
 fection for yer strength, and yer good looks, and what 
 she thought was yer devotion a' so beautiful and 
 flatterin' to her little vanity she'd have made me a 
 good enough wife, and been happy with Biddie and 
 maybe children of her own later. 'Twas just her phy- 
 sical aversion, as she thought, that she could not over- 
 come, but she'd have overcome it fast enough if she had 
 not fancied herself in love with a handsome laddie who 
 was always on his knees to her. 
 
 " So ye see, Mr Martin Bond, that at the end of it, I've 
 little enough to thank ye for, and small reason for 
 listenin' to ye, when ye begin to talk about beginnin' it
 
 316 THE HOUSE IN DEMETRIUS ROAD 
 
 all over again. The first time I had some respect for ye 
 both, and ye helped me. But now, I've no more regard 
 for ye than I have for a pair of silly children. So get ye 
 gone out of my house and leave me to myself. I'll do 
 well enough without the pair of ye. Aye, if ye'd gone less 
 than a month ago, I might hae managed; but ye so 
 fretted me with yer deceptions, and yer posin' and yer 
 spyin' that I fairly had to drink to forget how I disliked 
 
 ye. 
 
 " Now then, Mr Bond, d'ye understand the position ?" 
 
 It was all so specious, it wore such an aspect of un- 
 deniable truth. Martin sunk into his chair, saw all too 
 clearly how his conduct might indeed wear just that 
 construction which had been put upon it. One little 
 thought alone saved him from utter loss of self-esteem : 
 he realized that those concluding sentences wore the air 
 of a peroration. Was the whole speech prepared, he 
 wondered; was it the result of many weeks' cogitation ? 
 Had it not been delivered ? As Greg had lost himself, he 
 had fallen into the habit of gesticulation, making his 
 clear-cut points with a thrust of that grimy forefinger. 
 
 " It isn't fair," said Martin in a low voice. " It isn't 
 fair." 
 
 " Eh, well, fair or not, it's the truth as I see it," 
 replied Greg. He had relapsed again into his former 
 position and the energy seemed to have been drained out 
 of him. " And what's maybe more to the point is that 
 this is my house, and I'll thank ye and Maggie to get 
 out of it." 
 
 " But . . ." began Martin. 
 
 " Och ! for God's sake, go, boy," snapped Greg. " I'm 
 sick of ye." 
 
 And Martin rose deliberately from his chair and went 
 out. 
 
 4 
 
 He went upstairs. Margaret's door was wide open and 
 she was kneeling on the floor packing her trunk. She did
 
 THE JUDGMENT OF ROBIN GREG 317 
 
 not lift her head when Martin paused on the threshold, 
 but said, 
 
 " I know, I know. You've done your best." 
 
 He saw that she had been crying. 
 
 " Margaret," he said and his own voice broke, " We 
 haven't been as bad as he makes out." 
 
 She rose to her feet. " Oh ! my poor old boy, what has 
 he been saying to you? " she asked, and she came to 
 him and put her arms round him. He cried also, then, 
 on her breast, without shame. 
 
 Presently she told him that she was going to catch the 
 midnight train from King's Cross, and gave him her 
 address in Scotland. 
 
 " I'll come, too," he said. " I'll go back to my board- 
 ing house for a time." 
 
 " Yes, for a tune," she agreed. But neither of them 
 cared at that moment to make any arrangements for 
 the future. 
 
 They did not see Robin again. 
 
 Martin fetched a cab from the station, and a little 
 after ten o'clock they left Garroch for ever. 
 
 Hester had said that she would stay on. 
 
 When the luggage had been put in the cab Martin 
 looked back at the dun face of the house, visible in the 
 light of the tall arc lamp that stood on the opposite side 
 of Demetrius Road. 
 
 Then moved by a sudden impulse, he bent over the 
 gate and pressed the latch down into the hasp.
 
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