THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION
 
 'CHARMIAN, WHAT'S ALL THIS ABOUT AN EXTRAORDINARY CORNISH 
 GENIUS? D'YOU LIKE HIM SO MUCH ? "Page 76
 
 THE 
 
 WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT HICHENS 
 
 Author of " The Garden of Allah," " The Fruitful Vine," 
 
 " The Woman with the Fan," " Tongues of 
 
 Conscience," "Felix," etc. 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR 
 AND FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN BLACK-AND-WHITE BY 
 
 J. H. GARDNER SOPER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1913, by 
 ROBERT HICHENS 
 
 Copyright, 1912, 1913, by 
 THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING Co. 
 
 August, 1913
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 'Charmian, what's all this about an extraordinary 
 Cornish genius? D'you like him so much?' " . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 " 'This is the last thing I've done' " 40 
 
 " 'Of course we wives of composers are apt to be 
 
 prejudiced' " 242 
 
 " At her feet the crouching Arabs never stirred" . . 258 
 
 " 'Claudie, I want you to win, I want you to win! ' " . 378 
 
 2041660
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "T \ TE want a new note in English music," said Charm- 
 y y ian, in her clear and slightly authoritative voice. 
 "The Hallelujah Chorus era has gone at last to join 
 all the Victorian relics. And the nation is drifting musically. 
 Of course we have a few composers who are being silly in the 
 attempt to be original, and a few others who still believe that 
 all the people can stand in the way of home-grown products 
 is a ballad or a Te Deum. But what we want is an English 
 composer with a soul. I'm getting quite sick of heads. They 
 are bearable in literature. But when it comes to music, one's 
 whole being clamors for more." 
 
 "I have heard a new note in English music," observed a 
 middle-aged, bald and lively-looking man, who was sitting on 
 the opposite side of the drawing-room in Berkeley Square. 
 
 "Oh, but, Max, you always " 
 
 "An absolutely new note," interrupted Max Elliot with 
 enthusiastic emphasis, turning to the man with the sarcastic 
 mouth who had just spoken. "Your French blood makes 
 you so inclined to incredulity, Paul, that you are incapable of 
 believing anything but that I am carried away." 
 
 "As usual!" 
 
 "As sometimes happens, I admit. But you will allow that 
 in matters musical my opinion is worth something, my serious 
 and deliberately formed opinion." 
 
 "How long has this opinion been forming?" 
 
 "Some months." 
 
 "Some months!" exclaimed Charmian. "You've kept 
 your new note to yourself all that time! Is it a woman? But 
 of course it can't be. I don't believe there will ever be a great 
 woman composer." 
 
 1
 
 2 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "It is not a woman." 
 
 "Was it born in the gutter?" asked Paul Lane. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Don't say it's aristocratic!" said Charmian, slightly 
 screwing up her rather Japanese-looking eyes. "I cannot 
 believe that anything really original in soul, really intense, 
 could emanate from the British peerage. I know it too well." 
 
 "It is neither aristocratic nor from the gutter. It is of 
 the middle classes. Its father is a banker in the West of 
 England." 
 
 "A banker!" said Charmian in a deplorable voice. 
 
 "It is Cornish." 
 
 "Cornish! That's better. Strange things sometimes come 
 out of Cornwall." 
 
 " It has a little money of its own." 
 
 "And its name " 
 
 "Is Claude Heath." 
 
 "Claude Heath," slowly repeated Charmian. "The name 
 means nothing to me. Do you know it, Mr. Lane?" 
 
 Paul Lane shook his smooth black head. 
 
 "Heath has not published anything," said Max Elliot, 
 quite unmoved by the scepticism with which the atmosphere of 
 Mrs. Mansfield's drawing-room was obviously charged. 
 
 "Not even a Te Deum?" asked Charmian. 
 
 "No, though I confess he has composed one." 
 
 "If he has composed a Te Deum I give him up. He is 
 vieuxjeu. He should go and live in the Crystal Palace." 
 
 "And it's superb!" added Max Elliot. "Till I heard it I 
 never realized what the noble words of the Te Deum meant." 
 
 Suddenly he got up and moved toward the window mur- 
 muring, "All the Earth doth worship Thee, the Father Ever- 
 lasting." 
 
 There was a silence in the room. Charmian's eyes suddenly 
 filled with tears, she scarcely knew why. She felt as if a 
 world was opening out before her, as if there were wide horizons 
 to call to the gaze of those fitted to look upon them, and as if, 
 perhaps, she were one of these elect. 
 
 "Father Everlasting!" The words, and the way in which 
 Max Elliot had spoken them, struck into her heart, and so
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 3 
 
 made her feel keenly that she was a girl who had a heart that 
 was not hard, that was eager, desirous, perhaps deep. As to 
 Paul Lane, he stared at his remarkably perfect boots, and drew 
 down the corners of his lips, and his white face seemed to 
 darken as if a cloud floated through his mind and cast a shadow 
 outward. 
 
 In the pause the drawing-room door opened, and a woman 
 with blazing dark eyes and snow-white hair, wearing a white 
 teagown and a necklace of very fine Egyptian scarabs, came 
 in, with an intense, self-possessed and inquiring look. This 
 was Mrs. Mansfield, "my only mother," as Charmian some- 
 times absurdly called her. 
 
 "You are talking, or you were talking, of something or 
 somebody interesting," she said at once, looking round her at 
 the three occupants of the room. 
 
 Max Elliott turned eagerly toward her. He rejoiced in 
 Mrs. Mansfield, and often came to her to "warm his hands at 
 her delightful blaze." 
 
 "Of somebody very interesting." 
 
 "Whom we don't know?" 
 
 "Whom very few people in London know." 
 
 "A composer, my only mother, who never publishes, and 
 who is the son of a banker in the West of England." 
 
 Charmian seemed suddenly to have recovered her former 
 mood, but she blinked away two tears as she spoke. 
 
 "Why shouldn't he be?" said Mrs. Mansfield, sitting down 
 on a large sofa which stood at right angles to the wood fire. 
 
 "I know, but it doesn't seem right." 
 
 "Don't be ridiculously conventional, my only child." 
 
 Charmian laughed, showing lovely, and very small teeth. 
 She was not unlike her mother in feature, but she was taller, 
 more dreamy, less vivid, less straightforward in expression. 
 At times there was a hint of the minx in her. She emerged 
 from her dreams to be impertinent. A certain shrewdness 
 mingled with her audacity. At such moments, as men some- 
 times said, "you never knew where to have her." She was 
 more self-conscious and more worldly than her mother. Secret 
 ambition worried at her mind, and made her restless in body. 
 When she looked at a crowd she sometimes felt an almost
 
 4 
 
 sick sensation as of one near to drowning. "Oh, to rise, to 
 be detached from all these myriads!" she thought. "To 
 be apart and recognized as apart! Only that can make 
 life worth the living." She had been heard to say, "I would 
 rather sink for ever in the sea than in the sea of humanity. I 
 would rather die than be one of the unknown living." Charm- 
 ian sometimes exaggerated. But she was genuinely tormented 
 by the modern craze for notoriety. Only she called it fame. 
 
 Once she had said something to her mother of her intense 
 desire to emerge from the crowd. Mrs. Mansfield's reply was: 
 "Do you believe you have cre'ative force in you then?" 
 "How can I know?" Charmian had answered. "I'm so 
 young." "Try to create something and probably you'll soon 
 find out," returned her mother. Since that day Charmian 
 had tried to create something, and had found out. But she 
 had not told Mrs. Mansfield. She was now twenty-one, and 
 had been just eighteen when her mother's advice had driven 
 her into the energy which had proved futile. 
 
 Max Elliot crossed the room and sat down on the sofa by 
 Mrs. Mansfield. He adored her quite openly, as many men did. 
 The fact that she was a widow and would never marry again 
 made adoration of her agreeably uncomplex. Everybody 
 knew that Mrs. Mansfield would never marry again, but 
 nobody perhaps could have given a perfectly clear explanation 
 of how, or why, that knowledge had penetrated him. The 
 truth was that she was a woman with a great heart, and had 
 given that heart to the husband who was dead, and for whom 
 she had never worn "weeds." 
 
 "What are we to do for Charmian, my dear Max?" con- 
 tinued Mrs. Mansfield, throwing a piteous look into her mobile 
 face, a piteous sound into her voice. "What can anyone do 
 for a young woman of twenty-one who, when she is thinking 
 naturally, thinks it impossible for a West of England banker 
 to cause the birth of a son talented in an art?" 
 
 "I always said there was intellectual cruelty in mother," 
 said Charmian, drawing her armchair nearer to the fire. 
 
 "It's bracing, tones up the mind," said Paul Lane. "But 
 what about this new note? All we know is a Cornish extrac- 
 tion, a banker papa and a Te Deum."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 5 
 
 "Oh a Te Deum!" observed Mrs. Mansfield, looking 
 suddenly sceptical. 
 
 "I know! I know!" said Max Elliot. "I didn't want to 
 hear it till I had heard it. And then I wanted to hear nothing 
 else. The touch of genius startles everything into life." 
 
 "Another genius!" said Paul Lane. 
 
 And thereupon, as if acting on a sudden impulse, he got up, 
 said good-bye, and went away with his curiosity, if he had any, 
 ungratified. 
 
 "He's spoilt by the French blood his mother gave him," 
 said Mrs. Mansfield as the door closed. "If he had been all 
 French, one might have delighted in him, taken him on the 
 intellectual side, known where one was, skipped the coldness 
 and the irony, clung to the wit, vivacity and easy charm. But 
 he's a modern Frenchman, boxing with an Englishman and 
 using his feet half the time. And that's dreadful. In an 
 English drawing-room I don't like the Savate. Now tell us, 
 tell us! I am so thankful he is not a celebrity." 
 
 "Nor ever likely to be unless he marries the wrong woman." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" asked Charmian with 
 curiosity. 
 
 "A woman who is ambitious for him and pushes him." 
 
 "But if this Claude Heath has so much talent, surely it 
 would be a fine thing to make him give it to the world." 
 
 "That depends on his temperament, I daresay," said Mrs. 
 Mansfield. "I believe there are people who ought to hide 
 their talents in a napkin." 
 
 " Oh, mother! Explain!" 
 
 "Some plants can only grow in darkness." 
 
 "Very nasty ones, I should think! Deadly nightshade! 
 That sort of thing!" 
 
 "Poor dear! I gave her light in a vulgar age. She can't 
 help it," said Mrs. Mansfield to Max Elliot. "We are her 
 refined seniors. But sheer weight of years has little influence. 
 Never mind. Go on. You and I at least can understand." 
 
 As she spoke she laid her hand, on which shone several 
 curious rings, over Charmian's, and she kept it there while Max 
 Elliot gave some account of Claude Heath. 
 
 "He's not particularly handsome in features. He's quite
 
 6 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 conventional in dress. His instinct would probably be to use 
 the shell as a close hiding-place for anything strange, unusual 
 that it contains. He crops his hair, and, I should think, wets 
 it two or three tunes a day for fear people should see that it has 
 a natural wave in it. His neckties are the most humdrum that 
 can be discovered in the shops." 
 
 "Does he dislike his appearance?" asked Charmian. 
 
 "I daresay. The worst of it is that he has eyes that give 
 the whole thing away to a Mrs. Mansfield." 
 
 "What, and not to me?" said Charmian, in an injured note. 
 
 "She's fairly sharp, poor dear!" observed Mrs. Mansfield, 
 in a rescuing voice. "You mustn't be too hard on her." 
 
 Max Elliot smiled. 
 
 " And a Charmian Mansfield." 
 
 "What color are his eyes?" inquired Charmian. 
 
 "I really can't tell you for certain, but I should think dark 
 gray." 
 
 "And where does he live?" 
 
 "In a little house not far from St. Petersburg Place on the 
 north side of the Park, Mullion House he calls it. He's got a 
 studio there which opens into a pocket-handkerchief of a 
 garden. He keeps two women servants." 
 
 "Any dogs?" said Charmian. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Cats?" 
 
 "Not that I know of." 
 
 "I don't feel as if I should like him. Does he compose at 
 the piano?" 
 
 "No, away from it." 
 
 "He's unsympathetic. Cropped hair watered down, hum- 
 drum neckties, composing away from the piano, no animals 
 it's all against me except the little house." 
 
 "Because you take the wholly conventional view of the 
 musician," said her mother. " If I dared to say such a thing 
 to my own child I might add, without telling a dangerous lie, 
 because you are so old-fashioned in your views. You can't 
 forget having read the Vie de BohBme, and having heard, and 
 unfortunately seen, Paderewski when you were a schoolgirl at 
 Brighton."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 7 
 
 "It is my beloved mother's fault that I ever was a school- 
 girl at Brighton." 
 
 "Ah, don't press down that burden of crime upon my soul! 
 Lift it, by freeing yourself from the Brighton tradition, which I 
 ought to have kept for ever from you. And now, Max, tell us, 
 whom does Mr. Heath know?" 
 
 " I know very little about his acquaintance. I met him first 
 at Wonderland." 
 
 "What's that?" asked Charmian. "It sounds more 
 promising." 
 
 "It's gone now, but it was a place in Whitechapel, where 
 they had boxing competitions, Conky Joe against the Nut- 
 cracker that kind of thing." 
 
 " I give him up, Te Deum, Conky Joe and all!" she exclaimed 
 in despair. 
 
 " Do you mean me to meet him, Max?" asked Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "Yes. I can't keep him to myself any longer. I must 
 share him with someone who understands. Come to-morrow 
 evening, won't you, after dinner? Heath is dining with me." 
 
 "Yes. Is Charmian invited?" 
 
 Max Elliot looked at Charmian, and she steadily returned 
 Ms gaze. 
 
 "You know," he said after a pause, "that you've got a 
 certain hankering after lions?" 
 
 "Hankering! Don't, don't!" 
 
 "But you really have!" 
 
 "I will not be put with the vulgar crowd like that. I do 
 not care for lions. Tigers are my taste." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "Do come then. But remember, there are plants which 
 can only grow in darkness. And I believe this is one of them." 
 
 When Max Elliot had gone, Charmian sat for two or three 
 minutes looking into the fire, where pale, steely-blue lights 
 played against the prevailing gold and red. All the absurdity, 
 the nonsense, had dropped away from her. 
 
 "Max Elliot seems quite afraid of me," she said at last. 
 "Am I so very vulgar?" 
 
 "Not more so than most intelligent young women who are 
 rather 'in it' in London," returned her mother.
 
 8 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Surely I'm not a climber, without knowing it!" 
 
 "No, I don't think so. But your peculiar terror of mixing 
 
 with the crowd naturally makes you struggle a little, and puff 
 
 and blow in the effort to keep your head above water." 
 
 "How very awful! I don't know why it is, but your head 
 
 always is well above water without your making any effort." 
 "I don't bother as to whether it is or not, you see." 
 "No. But what has it all to do with this Mr. Heath?" 
 "Perhaps we shall find out to-morrow night. Max may 
 
 think you'll be inclined to rave about him." 
 
 "Rave about a cropped head that composes away from the 
 
 piano!" 
 
 "Ah, that Brighton tradition!" said Mrs. Mansfield, taking 
 
 up Steiner's Teosofia.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN the comedy of London Mrs. Mansfield and her daughter 
 did not play leading parts, but they were, in che phrase of 
 the day, "very much in it." Mrs. Mansfield's father had 
 been a highly intelligent, cultivated, charming and well-off 
 man, who had had a place in the Isle of Wight, and been an 
 intimate friend of Tennyson, and of most of the big men of his 
 day. Her mother had possessed the peculiar and rather 
 fragile kind of beauty which seems to attract great English, 
 painters, and had been much admired and beloved in Melbury 
 Road, Holland Park, and elsewhere. She, too, had been intel- 
 ligent, intellectual and very musical. From Frederick 
 Leighton's little parties, where Joachim or Norman Neruda 
 played to a chosen few, the beautiful Mrs. Mortimer and her 
 delightful husband were seldom missing. They were prominent 
 members of that sort of family party which made the " Monday 
 Pops" for years a social as well as an artistic function. And 
 their small, but exquisite house in Berkeley Square, now 
 inherited by their daughter, was famous for its " winter even- 
 ings," at which might be met the creme de la creme of the intel- 
 lectual and artistic worlds, and at which no vulgarian, however 
 rich and prominent, was ever to be seen. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield, quite instinctively and naturally, had 
 carried on the family tradition; at first with her husband, 
 Arthur Mansfield, one of the most cultivated and graceful 
 members of their "set," and after his death alone. She was 
 well off, had a love of beauty and comfort, but a horror of 
 display, and knew everyone she cared to know, without having 
 the vaguest idea who was, or was not, included in "the smart 
 set." Having been brought up among lions, she had never 
 hunted a lion in her life, though she had occasionally pulled 
 the ears of one, or stroked its nose. She had been, and was, 
 the intimate friend of many men and women who were "doing 
 things" in the world. But she had never felt within herself 
 
 9
 
 10 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 the power to create anything original, and was far too intelli- 
 gent, far too aristocratic in mind, to struggle impotently to be 
 what she was not meant to be, or to fight against her own 
 clearly seen limitations. 
 
 Unlike Mrs. Mansfield in this respect Charmian struggled, 
 and her mother knew it. 
 
 On the following evening, when Charmian and her mother 
 were dining together before going to Max Elliot's, she said 
 rather abruptly: 
 
 " Why didn't Mr. Elliot invite us to dinner to-night, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "Why should he have invited us?" 
 
 "Well, perhaps it wasn't necessary. But surely it would 
 have been quite natural." 
 
 "Probably he wanted to prepare the new note for you." 
 
 " Why should I require preparation?" 
 
 "The new note!" 
 
 "Why should the new note require preparation against me?" 
 
 "I said for you. Possibly we may find out this evening. 
 Besides Delia is in a rest cure as usual. So there is no hostess." 
 
 Delia was Max Elliot's wife, a graceful nonentity who, 
 having never done a stroke of work in her life, was perpetually 
 breaking down, and being obliged to rest expensively under 
 the supervision of fashionable doctors. She was now in Hamp- 
 stead, enclosed in a pale green chamber, living on milk and a 
 preparation called "Marella," and enjoying injections of salt 
 water. She was also being massaged perpetually by a stout 
 young woman from Sweden, and was deprived of her letters. 
 "No letters!" was a prescription which had made her physician 
 celebrated. 
 
 "Oh, the peace of it!" Mrs. Elliot was faintly murmuring 
 to the athletic masseuse, at the very moment when Charmian 
 said: 
 
 "There very seldom is a hostess. Poor Max Elliot!" 
 
 "He's accustomed to it. And Delia must be doing some- 
 thing. This time she may be cured. Life originally issued 
 from the sea, they say." 
 
 "Near Margate, I suppose. What a mystery existence is!" 
 
 "Are you going to be tiresome to-night?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 11 
 
 "No, I won't, I won't. But if he plays his Te Deum I 
 linow I shall sleep like a tired child." 
 
 "I don't suppose he will." 
 
 "I feel he's going to." 
 
 "Then why were you so anxious to go?" 
 
 "I don't like to be left out of things. No one does." 
 
 "Except the elect. How thoughtful of you to dress in 
 black!" 
 
 "Well, dearest, you are always in white. And I love to 
 throw up my beautiful mother." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield put an arm gently round her as they left the 
 dining-room. 
 
 "You could make any mother be a sister to you." 
 
 Just before ten their motor glided up to the Elliots' green 
 door in Cadogan Place. 
 
 Max Elliot was the very successful senior partner of an old- 
 established stockbroking firm in the City. This was a fact, 
 so people had to accept it. But acceptance was made difficult 
 by his almost strangely unfinancial appearance and manner. 
 Out of the City he never spoke of the City. He was devoted 
 to the arts, and especially to music, of which he had a really 
 considerable knowledge. All prominent musicians knew him. 
 He was the friend of prime donne, a pillar of the opera, an ardent 
 frequenter of all the important concerts. Where Threadneedle 
 Street came into his life nobody seemed to know. Neverthe- 
 less, his numerous clients trusted him completely as a business 
 man. And more than one singer, whose artistic temperament 
 had brought her or him, as the case might be to the door 
 of the poorhouse, had reason to bless Max Elliot's shrewd 
 business head and generous industry in friendship. He had a 
 good heart as well as a fine taste, and his power of criticism 
 had not succeeded in killing his capacity for enthusiasm. 
 
 "He's not begun yet!" murmured Charmian to her mother, 
 as the butler led them sedately down a rather long hall, past 
 two or three doors, to the music-room which Elliot had built 
 out at the back of his house. 
 
 "I never heard that he was going to begin at all. We 
 haven't come here for a performance, but to make an acquaint- 
 ance."
 
 12 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Charmian twisted her lips, and the butler opened the door 
 and announced them. 
 
 At the end of the room, which-was panelled with wood and 
 was high, by a large open fireplace, Max Elliot was sitting with 
 Paul Lane and two other people, a woman and a young man. 
 The woman was large and broad, with brown hair, reckless 
 hazel eyes, and a nose and mouth which suggested a Roman 
 emperor. She looked about thirty-five. In her large ears, 
 which were set very flat against her head, there were long, 
 diamond earrings, and diamonds glittered round her neck. 
 She was laughing when the Mansfields came in, and went on 
 laughing while Max Elliot went to receive them. 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney has just come," he said. "Paul has been 
 dining." 
 
 "And the other?" murmured Charmian, with a hushed 
 air of awed expectation which was not free from a hint of 
 mockery. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield sent her a glance of half-humorous re- 
 buke. 
 
 "Claude Heath," answered Elliot. 
 
 "How wonderful he is." 
 
 "Charmian, don't be tiresome!" observed her mother, as 
 they went toward the fire. 
 
 The two men got up, and Charmian had an impression of 
 height, of a bony slimness that was almost cadaverous, of 
 irregular features, rather high cheek-bones, brown, very short 
 hair, and large, enthusiastic and observant eyes that glanced 
 almost piercingly at her, and quickly looked away. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney remained in her armchair, moved her shoul- 
 ders, and said in a rather deep, but not disagreeable voice: 
 
 "Mr. Heath and I are hearing all about 'Marella.' It 
 builds you up if you are a skeleton and pulls you down if you 
 are enormous, as I am. It makes you sleep if you suffer from 
 insomnia, and if you have the sleeping sickness it wakes you up. 
 Dr. Curling has patented it, and feeds his patients on nothing 
 else. Delia is living entirely on it, and is to emerge looking 
 seventeen and a female Sandow. Mr. Heath is longing to 
 try it." 
 
 She had held out a powerful hand to the new arrivals, and
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 13 
 
 now turned toward the composer, who stood waiting to be 
 introduced. 
 
 "Oh, but no, please!" said Heath, speaking quickly and 
 almost anxiously, witi a certain naivete that was attractive, 
 but that did not suggest simplicity, but rather great sensitive- 
 ness of mind. "I never take quack medicines or foods. I 
 have no need to. And I think they're all invented to hum- 
 bug us." 
 
 Max Elliot took him by the arm. 
 
 "I want to introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Mrs. 
 Mansfield." 
 
 He paused and added: 
 
 "Mr. Claude Heath Miss Mansfield." 
 
 Paul Lane began talking to Charmian when the two hand- 
 shakes Heath had shaken hands quickly were over. She 
 looked across the room, and saw her mother in conversation 
 with the composer. And she knew immediately that he had 
 conceived a strong liking for her mother. It seemed to her 
 in that moment as if his liking for her mother might prevent 
 him from liking her, and, she did not know why, she was aware 
 of a faint sensation of hostility toward him. Yet usually the 
 fact that a man admired, or was fond of, Mrs. Mansfield pre- 
 disposed Charmian in his favor. 
 
 Perhaps to-night she was in a tiresome mood, as her mother 
 had hinted. 
 
 As she talked to Paul Lane, whom she had known pretty 
 well for years, and liked as much as she could ever like him, 
 she was secretly intent on the new note. Her quick mind 
 of an intelligent girl, who had seen many people and been 
 much in contact with the London world, was pacing about him, 
 measuring, weighing, summing up with the audacity of youth. 
 Whether he pleased her eyes she was not sure. But through 
 her eyes he interested her. 
 
 Heath was tall, and looked taller than he was because he 
 was almost emaciated, and he was a plain man whom some- 
 thing made beautiful, not handsome. This was a strange, and 
 almost mysterious imaginativeness which was expressed by 
 his face, and even, perhaps, by something in his whole bearing 
 and manner. It looked out certainly at many moments from
 
 14 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 his eyes. But not only his eyes shadowed it forth. The brow, 
 the rather thin lips, the hands, and occasionally their move- 
 ments, suggested it. His face was not what is often called " an 
 open face." Although quite free from slyness, or anything 
 unpleasantly furtive, it had a shut, reserved look when his 
 eyes were cast down. There was something austere, combined 
 with something eager and passionate, in his expression and 
 manner. Charmian guessed him to be twenty-six or twenty- 
 seven. 
 
 He was now turned sideways to Charmian, and was moving 
 rather restlessly on the sofa beside Mrs. Mansfield, but was 
 listening with obvious intentness to what she was saying. 
 Charmian found herself wondering how she knew that he had 
 taken a swift liking to her mother. 
 
 "Did you have an interesting time at dinner?" she asked 
 Paul Lane. 
 
 "Not specially so. Music was never mentioned." 
 
 "Was boxing?" 
 
 "Boxing!" 
 
 " Well, Mr. Elliot said he and Mr. Heath met first at a place 
 in Whitechapel where Conky somebody was fighting the 
 Nutcracker." 
 
 Lane smiled with his mouth. 
 
 "I suspect the new note to be a poseur, not quite of the 
 usual species, but a poseur. Most musicians are ludicrously 
 of their profession. This one is too much apparently de- 
 tached from it to be quite natural. But the truth is, nobody 
 is really natural. And no doubt it's a great mercy that it 
 is so." 
 
 Charmian looked at him for a few seconds in silence. Then 
 she observed: 
 
 "You know there's something in you that I can't abide, as 
 old dames say." 
 
 This time Lane really smiled. 
 
 "I hope so," he said. "Or else I should certainly lack 
 variety. Well, Max, what is it?" 
 
 " Mrs. Shiffney wants you." 
 
 "I always want him. I swim in his irony and can't sink, 
 like a tourist in the Dead Sea."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 15 
 
 "What a left-handed compliment!" 
 
 " A right-handed one would bore you to death, and my aim 
 in life is" 
 
 " To avoid being bored. How often do you succeed in your 
 aim?" 
 
 " Whenever I am with you in this delightful house." 
 
 "It is delightful," said Charmian to her host. "But why? 
 Of course it is beautiful. But that's not all. It's personal. 
 Perhaps that's it." 
 
 She got up, and walked slowly away from the fire, very 
 naturally, with a gesture, just touching her soft cheek and 
 fluttering her fingers toward the glow, as if she were too hot. 
 Max Elliot accompanied her. 
 
 "And all the lovely music that has sounded here," she 
 continued, "perhaps lingers silently in the air, and, without 
 being aware of it, we feel the vibrations." 
 
 She sat down on a sofa near the Stein way grand piano, 
 which stood on a low dais, looked up at Max Elliot, and added, 
 in quite a different voice: 
 
 "Shall we hear any of his music to-night?"j 
 
 "I believe now we may." 
 
 "Why now?" 
 
 Elliot looked toward Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "Because of mother, you mean?" 
 
 "He likes her." 
 
 "Anyone can see that." 
 
 After a moment she added, with a touch of irritation: 
 
 "He's evidently very difficile for an unknown man." 
 
 "No, it isn't that at all. If you ever know him well, you 
 will understand." 
 
 "What?" she asked with petulance. 
 
 "That his reserve is a right instinct, nothing more. Be- 
 tween ourselves," he bent toward her, "I made a little mistake 
 in asking Mrs. Shiffney, delightful though she is." 
 
 "I wondered why you had asked her, when you didn't 
 want even to ask me." 
 
 "Middle-aged as I am, I get carried away by people. I 
 met Mrs. Shiffney to-day at a concert. She was so absolutely 
 right in her enthusiasm, so clever and artistic though she's
 
 16 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 ignorant of music over the whole thing, that well, here 
 she is." 
 
 "And here I am!" 
 
 "Yes, here you are!" he said genially. 
 
 He had been standing. Now he sat down beside her, 
 crossed one leg over the other, held his knee with his clasped 
 hands, and continued: 
 
 "The worst of it is Mrs. Shiffney has made him bolt several 
 doors. When she looked at him I could see at once that she 
 made him feel transparent." 
 
 "Poor thing! Tell me, do you enjoy very much protecting 
 all the sensitive artistic temperaments that come into this 
 room? Do you enjoy arranging the cotton- wool wadding so 
 that there may be no chance of a nasty jar, to say nothing of 
 a breakage?" 
 
 He pursed his rather thick lips, that smiled so easily. 
 
 "When the treasure is a treasure, genuinely valuable, I 
 don't mind it. I feel then that I am doing worthy service." 
 
 "You really are a dear, you know!" she said, with a sudden 
 change, a melting. " It was good of you to ask me, when you 
 didn't want to." 
 
 She leaned a little toward him, with one light hand palm 
 downward on the cushion of the sofa, and her small, rather 
 square chin thrust forward in a way that made her look sud- 
 denly intense. 
 
 " I'll try not to be like Mrs. Shiffney. I'll try not to make 
 him feel transparent." 
 
 "I'm not sure that you could," he said, smiling at her. 
 
 "How horrid of you to doubt my powers! Why, why will 
 nobody believe I have anything in me?" 
 
 She brought the words out with a force that was almost 
 vicious. As she said them it happened that Claude Heath 
 turned a little. His eyes travelled down the room and met 
 hers. Perhaps her mother had just been speaking to him of 
 her, had been making some assertion about her. For he 
 seemed to look at her with inquiry. 
 
 When Charmian turned away her eyes from his she added 
 to Max Elliot: 
 
 "But what does it matter? Because people, some people,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 17 
 
 can't see a thing, that doesn't prove that it has no existence. 
 And I don't really care what people think of me." 
 
 "This to your old friend!" 
 
 "Yes. And besides, I expect one must possess to discover." 
 
 Her voice was almost complacent. 
 
 "You deal in enigmas to-night." 
 
 "One ought to carry a light when one goes into a cave to 
 seek for gold." 
 
 But Elliot would not let her see that he had from the first 
 fully understood her impertinence. 
 
 "Let us go back to the fire," he said. "Unless you are 
 really afraid of the heat. Let us hear what your mother and 
 Heath are talking about." 
 
 "I'm not afraid of anything except a Te Deum." 
 
 "There's Mrs. Shiffney speaking to him. I don't think 
 we shall have it to-night." 
 
 "Then I'll venture to draw near," said Charmian, again 
 assuming a semblance of awe. 
 
 The minx was evidently uppermost in her as they approached 
 the others. She walked with a dainty slowness, a composed 
 consciousness, that were almost the least bit affected, and as 
 she stood still for a minute close to her mother, with her long 
 eyes half shut, she looked typically of the world worldly, 
 languid, almost prettily disdainful. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney was speaking of the concert of that afternoon 
 with discrimination and with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Of course he's a little monkey," she concluded, evidently 
 alluding to some artist. "But what a little monkey! I was 
 in the front row, and he called my attention to everything he 
 was going to do, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in dreadful 
 French, or in English that was really a criminal offense, and 
 very often with his right elbow. He has a way of nudging 
 the air in one's direction so that one feels it in one's side. 
 Animal magnetism, I suppose. And he begs for sympathy 
 as if it were a biscuit. Do you know him, Mr. Heath?" 
 
 "No, not at all. I know very few big artists." 
 
 "But all the young coming ones, I suppose? Did you 
 study abroad?" 
 
 "I went to the Royal College at Kensington Gore." 
 2
 
 18 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney, who was very cosmopolitan, had a flat in 
 Paris, and was more often out of England than in it, slightly 
 raised her eyebrows. 
 
 "You haven't studied in France or Germany?" 
 
 Heath began to look rather uncomfortable, and slightly 
 self-conscious. 
 
 " No," he said quickly. 
 
 He paused, then as if with a decided effort he added: 
 
 "I think the training a student gets at the Royal College 
 is splendid." 
 
 "Of course it is," said Max Elliot, heartily. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney shook her shoulders. 
 
 "I'm sure it's quite perfect," she said, in her rather deep 
 voice, gazing at the young composer with eyes in which a light 
 satire twinkled. "Don't think I'm criticizing it. Only I'm 
 so dreadfully un-English, and I think English musicians get 
 rather into a groove. The Hallelujah bow-wow, you know!" 
 
 At this point in the conversation Charmian tranquilly 
 interposed. 
 
 "Mr. Heath," she said, slightly protruding her chin, "when 
 you've done with my only mother" Mrs. Shiffney's lips 
 tightened ever so little "I want you to be very nice to 
 me." 
 
 "Please tell me," said Heath, with the almost anxious 
 eagerness that seemed to be characteristic of him. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield fixed her blazing eyes on her daughter, 
 slightly drawing down her gray eyebrows. 
 
 "Well, it's rather a secret." 
 
 Charmian glanced round at the others, then she added: 
 
 " It's about the Nutcracker." 
 
 "The Nutcracker!" 
 
 Heath puckered up his forehead. 
 
 "Yes." She moved a little, and looked at the chair not 
 far from the fire on which she had sat wheru first she came into 
 the room. "I care rather for boxing. Now" she went 
 slowly toward the chair, followed by Heath, "what I want to 
 know, and what you can tell me, is this" she sat down, and 
 leaned her chin on her upturned palm "on present form do 
 you believe the Nutcracker is up to Conky Ja-ky Joe?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 19 
 
 As Claude Heath sat down to reply to this question, Mrs. 
 Shiffney said: 
 
 "Conkyjarky Joe! I thought I was dans le mouvement 
 up to my dog-collar, but I know nothing about the phenomenon. 
 Where does it belong to?" 
 
 "Wonderland," said Elliot, in a gravely romantic voice. 
 
 "That's the land I've never seen, although I've had the 
 yacht for so many years." 
 
 "Nor I!" said Paul. Lane. "I don't believe it exists, or 
 we must have been there. We have both been everywhere." 
 
 "Tell the poor things about it," said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 "Then Adelaide can get up steam on The Wanderer and 
 realize her dreams." 
 
 "But Mr. Elliot told me he met you there, and I remember 
 distinctly his saying the fight was on between those two pets 
 of the ring," said Charmian plaintively, after a certain amount 
 of negation from Claude Heath. 
 
 "Yes, but I'm sure he didn't tell you I was an authority on 
 boxing form." 
 
 "You aren't?" 
 
 "No, indeed!" 
 
 "But you want to be?" 
 
 "I shouldn't mind. But it isn't my chief ami in life." 
 
 Charmian was silent. She leaned back, taking her chin 
 from her hand, and at last said gravely: 
 
 " It isn't that, then?" 
 
 "That what?" exclaimed Heath, looking at her and away 
 from her. 
 
 "That you want. It's something else. Because you 
 know you want a very, very great deal of something." 
 
 "Oh, a good many of us do, I suppose." 
 
 "I don't think I do. I'm quite satisfied with my life. 
 I have a good mother, a comfortable home. What should a 
 properly-brought-up English girl, who has been educated at 
 Brighton, want more?" 
 
 "I'm very glad indeed to know that a Brighton education 
 stands its receiver in such good stead in the after years, very 
 glad indeed!" 
 
 "You are laughing at me. And that's unchristian."
 
 20 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Oh, but but you were laughing at me!" 
 
 Despite Heath's eagerness, and marked social readiness of 
 manner, Charmian was disagreeably conscious of a mental 
 remoteness in him. Only the tip of his mind, perhaps scarcely 
 that, was in touch with hers. Now she almost regretted that 
 she had chosen to begin their acquaintance with absurdity, 
 that she had approached Heath with a pose. She scarcely 
 knew why she had done so. But she half thought, only half 
 because of her self-respect, that she had been a little afraid of 
 him, and so had instinctively caught up some armor, put a 
 shield in front of her. Was she really impressed by a well- 
 spoken-of Te Deum? She glanced at Heath inscrutably, as 
 only woman can, and knew that she was not. It was the man 
 himself who had caused her to fall into what she already 
 thought of as a mistake. There was in Heath something that 
 almost confused her. And she was not accustomed to be 
 confused. 
 
 "I've made a bad beginning," she almost blurted out, not 
 able to escape from artifice, yet speaking truth. "And I'm 
 generally rather good at beginnings. It's so easy to take the 
 first step, I think, despite that silly saying which, of course, 
 I'm not going to quote. It's when one is getting to know a 
 person really well that difficulties generally begin." 
 
 "Do they?" 
 
 "Yes, because it's then that very reserved people begin 
 hurriedly building barricades, isn't it? I ask you, because 
 I'm not at all reserved." 
 
 "But how should I know any better than you?" 
 
 "You mean, when you're so unreserved, too? No, that's 
 true." 
 
 Heath's eyes troubled Charmian. She was feeling with 
 every moment less at ease in his companionship and more 
 determined to seem at ease. Being generally self-possessed, 
 she had a horror of slipping into shyness and so retrograding 
 from her usual vantage ground. She expected him to speak. 
 It was his turn. But he said nothing. She felt sure that he 
 had seen through her last lie, and that he was secretly resenting 
 it as a heavy-footed approach to sacred ground. What a 
 blunderer she was to-night 1 Desperation seized her.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 21 
 
 "We must leave the question to the reserved," she said. 
 "Poor things! I always pity them. They can never taste 
 life as you and I and our kind are able to. We are put here to 
 try to know and to be known. I feel sure of that. So the 
 reserved are for ever endeavoring to escape their destiny. 
 No wonder they are punished!" 
 
 " I am not sure that I entirely agree with your view as to 
 the reason why we are put here," observed Heath, without 
 a trace of obvious sarcasm. Nevertheless, the mere words 
 stung Charmian's almost childish self-conceit. 
 
 "But I wasn't claiming to have pierced the Creator's most 
 secret designs!" she exclaimed. "I was simply endeavoring 
 to state that it can scarcely be natural for men and women to 
 try to hide all they are from each other. I think there's 
 something ugly in hiding things; and ugliness can't be 
 meant." 
 
 "Ugliness is certainly not meant," said Heath, and for the 
 first time she felt as if she were somewhere not very far from 
 him. " Except very often by man. Isn't it astonishing that 
 men created Venice and that men have now put steam launches 
 in the canals of Venice!" 
 
 Venice! Charmian seized upon the word, mentally leaped 
 upon and clung to the city in the sea. From that moment 
 their conversation became easier, and gradually Charmian 
 began to recover from her strange social prostration. So 
 she thought of it. She forced the note, no doubt. After- 
 ward she was unpleasantly conscious of that. But at any rate 
 the talk flowed. There was some give and take. The joints 
 of their intercourse did not creak as if despairingly appealing 
 to be oiled. Of course it was very banal to talk about Italy. 
 But, still, these moments must come sometimes to all those who 
 go much into the world. And what is Italy, beautiful, siren- 
 like Italy, for if not to be talked about? Charmian said that 
 to herself afterward, and was amazed at her own vulgarity of 
 mind. Ah, yes! That was what she had disliked in Claude 
 Heath his faculty of making her feel almost vulgar-minded, 
 vulgar-intellected! She coined horrible bastard words in 
 her efforts to condemn him. But all that was later on, 
 when she had even said good-night to her only mother.
 
 22 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Their te'te-a-te'te was broken by Mrs. Shiffney's departure 
 to a reception at the Ritz. She must surely have been dis- 
 appointed in the musician; buVif so, she was too clever to 
 show it. And she was by way of being a good-natured woman 
 and seldom seemed to think ill of anybody. "I have so many 
 sins on my own conscience," she sometimes said, " that I decline 
 to see other people's. I want them to be blind to mine. Sin 
 and let sin is an excellent rule in social life." She seldom con- 
 demned anyone except a bore. 
 
 " If you ever pay a call, which I doubt," she said to Claude 
 Heath as she was going, "I'm in Grosvenor Square. The 
 Red Book will tell you." 
 
 She looked at him with her almost insolently self-possessed 
 and careless eyes, and added: 
 
 "Perhaps some day you'll come on the. yacht and show me 
 the course to set for Wonderland. Mr. Elliot says you know it. 
 And of course we all want to. I've been everywhere except 
 there." 
 
 "I doubt if a yacht could take us there," said Heath, 
 smiling as if to cover something grave or sad. 
 
 A piercing look again came into Mrs. Shiffney's eyes. 
 
 "I really hope I shall see you in Grosvenor Square," she 
 said. 
 
 Without giving him time to say anything more she went 
 away, accompanied from the room by Max Elliot, walking 
 carelessly and looking very powerful and almost outrageously 
 self-possessed. 
 
 Within the music-room there was a moment's silence. 
 Then Paul Lane said: 
 
 "Delightful creature!'* 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Mansfield. "Adelaide is delightful. 
 And why? She always thinks of herself, lives for herself. 
 She wouldn't put herself out for anyone. I've known her 
 for years and would never go to her in a difficulty or trust her 
 with a confidence. And yet I delight in her. I think it's 
 because she's so entirely herself." 
 
 "She's a darling!" said Lane. "She's so preposterously 
 human, in her way, and yet she's always distinguished. 
 And she's so clever as well as so ignorant. I love that com-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 23 
 
 bination. Even on a yacht she never seems to have a bad 
 day." 
 
 Charmian looked at Claude Heath, who was silent. She 
 was wondering whether he meant to call in Grosvenor Square, 
 whether he would ever set sail with Mrs. Shiffney on The 
 Wanderer.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "\ \ T^HEN Max Elliot came back they gathered round the 
 y y fire, no longer split up into duets, and the conversa- 
 tion was general. Heath joined in frequently, and 
 with the apparent eagerness which was evidently characteristic 
 of him. He had facility in speaking, great quickness of utter- 
 ance, and energy of voice. When he listened he suggested to 
 Charmian a mind so alive as to be what she called "on the 
 pounce." He had an odd air of being swayed, carried away, 
 by what those around him were saying, even by what they were 
 thinking, as if something in his nature demanded to acquiesce. 
 Yet she fancied that he was secretly following his own line of 
 thought with a persistence that was almost cold. 
 
 Lane led the talk at first, and displayed less of his irony 
 than usual. He was probably not a happy man, though he 
 never spoke of being unhappy. His habitual expression was 
 of discontent, and he was too critical of life, endeavor, char- 
 acter, to be easily satisfied. But to-night he seemed in a softer 
 mood than usual. Perhaps he had an object in seeming so. 
 He was a man very curious in the arts. Elliot, who knew him 
 well, was conscious that something in Heath's personality had 
 made a strong impression upon him, and thought he was trying 
 to create a favorable atmosphere in the hope that music 
 might come of it. If this was so, he labored in vain. And 
 soon doubtless he knew it. For he, too, pleaded another 
 engagement, and, like Mrs. Shiffney, got up to go. 
 
 Directly the door shut behind him Charmian was conscious 
 of relief and excitement. She even, almost despite herself, 
 began to hope for a Te Deum; and, hoping, she found means 
 to be wise. She effaced herself, so she believed, by with- 
 drawing a little into a corner near the fire, holding up her 
 Conder fan open to shield her face from the glow, and taking 
 no part in the conversation, while listening to it with a pretty 
 appearance of dreaminess. She was conscious of her charming 
 
 24
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 25 
 
 attitude, of the line made by her slender upraised arm, and 
 not unaware of the soft and almost transparent beauty the 
 light of a glowing fire gives to delicate flesh. Nevertheless, 
 she really tried, in a perhaps half-hearted way, to withdraw 
 her personality into the mist. And this she did because she 
 knew well that her mother, not she, was en rapport with Claude 
 Heath. 
 
 "I'm out of it," she said to herself, "and mother's in it." 
 
 Mrs. Shiff ney had been a restraint, Lane had been a restraint. 
 It would be dreadful if she were the third restraining element. 
 She would have liked to be triumphantly active in bringing 
 things about. Since that was evidently quite out of the 
 question she was resolved to go to the other extreme. 
 
 "My only chance is to be a mouse!" she thought. 
 
 At least she would be a graceful mouse. 
 
 She gazed at the delicate figures on her Conder fan. They, 
 those three a little way from her, were talking now, really 
 talking. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield was speaking of the endeavor of certain 
 Londoners to raise the theater out of the rut into which it had 
 fallen, and to make of it something worthy to claim the atten- 
 tion of those who did not use it merely for digestive purposes. 
 She related a story of a disastrous theater-party which she had 
 once joined, and which had been arranged by an aspiring 
 woman with little sense of fitness. 
 
 "We dined with her first. She had, somehow, persuaded 
 Burling, the Oxford historian, Mrs. Hartford, the dear poetess 
 who never smiles, and her husband, and Cummerbridge, the 
 statistician, to be of the party. After dinner where do you 
 think she took us?" 
 
 "To the Oxford?" said Elliot, flinging his hands round his 
 knee and beginning to smile. 
 
 "To front row stalls at the Criterion, where they were 
 giving a knockabout farce called My Little Darling in which 
 a clergyman was put into a boiler, a guardsman hidden in a 
 linen cupboard, and a penny novelette duchess was forced 
 to retreat into a shower-bath in full activity. I confess that 
 I laughed more than I had ever done in my life. I sat between 
 Burling, who looked like a terrified hen, and Mr. Hartford,
 
 26 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 who was seriously attentive from beginning to end, and kept 
 murmuring, 'Really! Really!' And I had the poetess's 
 sibylline profile in full view. I was almost hysterical when it 
 was over. As we were coming out Mr. Hartford said to his 
 wife, 'Henrietta, I'm glad we came.' She rolled an eye on him 
 and answered, with tears in the voice, ' Why?' ' It's a valuable 
 lesson. We now know what the British public needs.' Her 
 reply was worthy of her." 
 
 "What was it?" said Elliot, eagerly. 
 
 " 'There are many human needs, Gabriel, which it is 
 criminal to gratify.' Burling went home in a four-wheeler. 
 Cummerbridge had left after the first act a severe attack of 
 neuralgia in the right eye." 
 
 Elliot's full-throated laugh rang through the room. Heath 
 was smiling, but almost sadly, Charmian thought. 
 
 "Perhaps it was My Little Darling which brought about 
 the attempt at better things you were speaking of," he said 
 to Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "Ah, but their prophet is not mine!" she answered. 
 
 An almost feverish look of vitality had come into her face, 
 which was faintly pencilled by the fingers of sorrow. 
 
 "Sometimes I think I hate the disintegrating drama more 
 than I despise the vulgar idiocies which, after all, never really 
 touch human life," she continued. "No doubt it is sheer 
 weakness on my part to be affected by it. But I am. Only 
 last week Charmian and I saw the play that they the superior 
 ones are all flocking to. The Premier has seen it five times 
 already. I loathed its cleverness. I loathed the element of 
 surprise in it. I laughed, and loathed my own laughter. The 
 man who wrote it would put cap and bells on St. Francis of 
 Assisi and make a mock of CEdipus." 
 
 She paused, then, leaning forward, in a low and thrilling 
 voice she quoted, '"For we are in Thy hand; and man's 
 noblest task is to help others by his best means and powers.'" 
 
 Claude Heath gazed at her while she was speaking, and in 
 his eyes Charmian, glancing over her fan, saw what she thought 
 of as two torches gleaming. 
 
 "I came out of the theater," continued Mrs. Mansfield, 
 "and I confess it with shame, feeling as if I should never find
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 27 
 
 again the incentive to a noble action, as if the world were 
 turned to chaff. And yet I had laughed how I had laughed!" 
 
 Suddenly she began to laugh at the mere recollection of 
 something in the play. 
 
 "The wretch is terribly clever!" she exclaimed. "But he 
 seems to me destructive." 
 
 "Well, but ' began Elliot. "Some such accusation has 
 been brought against many really great men. The Empress 
 Frederick told a friend of mine that no one who had not lived 
 in Germany, and observed German life closely, could under- 
 stand the evil spread through the country by Wagner's 
 Tristan" 
 
 "Then the fault, the sin if you like, was in the hearers," 
 said Heath, almost with excitement. 
 
 He got up and stood by the fire. 
 
 "Wagner was a builder. I believe Germany is the better 
 for a Tristan, and I believe we should be the better for an 
 English Tristan. But I doubt if we gain essentially by the 
 drama in cap and bells." 
 
 Elliot, who was fond of defending his friends, came vigor- 
 ously to the defense of the playwright, to whom he was devoted 
 and whose first nights he seldom missed. In the discussion 
 which followed Charmian saw more clearly how peculiarly in 
 tune her mother's mind was with Heath's. 
 
 "This is the beginning of a great intimacy," she said to 
 herself. "One of mother's great intimacies." 
 
 And, for the first time she consciously envied her mother, 
 consciously wished that she had her mother's brain's, tempera- 
 ment, and unintentional fascination. The talk went on, and 
 presently she drifted into it, took her small part in it. But 
 she felt herself too brainless, too ignorant to be able to con- 
 tribute to it anything of value. Her usually happy and 
 innocent self-conceit has deserted her, with all her audacities. 
 She was oddly subdued, was almost sad. 
 
 "How old is he really?" she thought more than once as 
 she looked at Claude Heath. 
 
 There was no mention of music, and at last Mrs. Mansfield 
 got up to go. 
 
 As they said good- night she looked at Heath and remarked:
 
 28 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "We shall meet again?" 
 
 He clasped her hand, and answered, slightly reddening: 
 
 "Oh, I hope so! I do hope so!" 
 
 That was all. There was no mention of the Red Book, of 
 being at home on Thursdays, no "If you're ever near Berkeley 
 Square," etc. All that was unnecessary. Charmian touched 
 a long-fingered hand and uttered a cold little " Good-night." 
 A minute more and her mother and she were in the motor 
 gliding through damp streets in the murky darkness. 
 
 After a short silence Mrs. Mansfield said: 
 
 "Well, Charmian, you escaped! Are you very thankful?" 
 
 "Escaped!" said a rather plaintive voice from the left- 
 hand corner of the car. 
 
 "The dreaded Te Deum." 
 
 "Is he a musician at all? I believe Max Elliot has been 
 humbugging us." 
 
 "He warned you not to expect too much in the way of 
 hair." 
 
 "It isn't that. How old do you think he is?" 
 
 " Certainly not thirty." 
 
 "What did you tell him about me?" 
 
 "About you? I don't remember telling him anything." 
 
 "Oh, but you did, mother!" 
 
 "What makes you think so?" 
 
 "I know you did, when I was sitting near the piano with 
 Max Elliot." 
 
 "Perhaps I did then. But I can't remember what it was. 
 It must have been something very trifling." 
 
 "Oh, of course I know that!" said Charmian almost petu- 
 lantly. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield realized that the girl had not enjoyed her 
 evening, but she was too wise to ask her why. Indeed she 
 was not much given to the putting of intimate questions to 
 Charmian. So she changed the subject quietly, and they 
 were soon at home. 
 
 Twelve o'clock was striking as they entered the house. 
 The evening, Mrs. Mansfield thought, had passed quickly. 
 She was a bad sleeper, and seldom went to bed before one, but 
 she never kept a maid sitting up for her.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 29 
 
 "I'm going to read a book," she said to Charmian, with her 
 hand on the door of the small library on the first floor, where 
 she usually sat when she was alone. 
 
 Charmian, taller than she was, bent a little and kissed her. 
 
 "Wonderful mother!" 
 
 "What nonsense you talk; but only to me, I know!" 
 
 "Other people know it without my telling them. You 
 jump into minds and hearts, and poor little I remain outside, 
 squatting like a hungry child." 
 
 "And that is greater nonsense still. Come and sit up with 
 me for a little." 
 
 "No, not to-night, you darling!" 
 
 Almost with violence Charmian kissed her again, released 
 her, and went away up the stairs between white walls to bed.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CHARMIAN had been right when she had said to her- 
 self, "This is the beginning of one of mother's great 
 intimacies." 
 
 Claude Heath called almost at once in Berkeley Square; 
 and in a short time he established a claim to be one of Mrs. 
 Mansfield's close friends. She had several, but Heath stood 
 out from among them. There was a special bond between the 
 white-haired woman of forty-five and the young man of twenty- 
 eight. Perhaps their freemasonry arose from the fact that each 
 held tenaciously a secret: Mrs. Mansfield her persistent devo- 
 tion to the memory of her dead husband, Heath his devotion 
 to his art. Perhaps the two secrecies in some mysterious way 
 recognized each other, perhaps the two reserves clung to- 
 gether. 
 
 These two in silence certainly understood each one some- 
 thing in the other that was hidden from the gaze of the 
 world. 
 
 A fact in connection with their intimacy, which set it apart 
 from the other friendships of Mrs. Mansfield, was this 
 Charmian was not included in it. 
 
 This exclusion was not owing to any desire of the mother. 
 She was incapable of shutting any door, beyond which she did 
 not stand alone, against her child. The generosity of her 
 nature was large, warm, chivalrous, the link between her 
 and Charmian very strong. The girl was wont to accept her 
 mother's friends with a pretty eagerness. They spoiled her, 
 because of her charm, and because she was the child of the 
 house in which they spent some of their happiest hours. 
 Never yet had there lain on Charmian's life a shadow coming 
 from her mother. But now she entered a faintly shadowed 
 way, as it seemed deliberately and of her own will. She 
 tacitly refused to accept the friendship between her mother 
 and Claude Heath as she had accepted the other friendships. 
 
 30
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 31 
 
 Gently, subtly, almost mysteriously, she excluded herself 
 from it. 
 
 Or was she gently, subtly, almost mysteriously excluded 
 from it by Claude Heath? 
 
 She chose to think so. And there were moments in which 
 he chose to think that she obstinately declined to accept him 
 as her mother accepted him, because she disliked him, was 
 perhaps jealous of his intimacy with Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 All this was below the surface. Charmian seemed friendly 
 with Heath, and he, generally, at ease with her. But when he 
 was alone with Mrs. Mansfield he was a different man. At 
 first she thought little of this. She attributed it to the fact 
 that Heath had a reserved nature and that she happened to 
 hold a key which could unlock it, or unlock a room or two of it, 
 leaving, perhaps, many rooms closed. But, being not only a 
 very intelligent but a delicately sensitive woman, she presently 
 began to think that there was some secret antagonism between 
 her child and Heath. 
 
 This pained her. She even considered whether she ought 
 not to put an end to her intimacy with Heath. She had grown 
 to value it. She was incapable of entering into a sentimental 
 relation with any man. She had loved deeply, had had her 
 beautiful summer. It had died. The autumn was upon her. 
 She regretted. Often her heart was by a grave, often it was 
 beyond, seeking, like a bird with spread wings above dark 
 seas seeking the golden clime it needs and instinctively knows 
 of. But she did not repine. And she was able to fill her life, 
 to be strongly interested in people and in events. She mel- 
 lowed with her great sorrow instead of becoming blunted by it 
 or withering under it. And so she drew people to her, and 
 was drawn, in her turn, to them. 
 
 Claude Heath had brought into her lif e something her other 
 friends had not given her. She realized this clearly when she 
 first considered Charmian in connection with herself and him. 
 If he ceased from her life, sank away into the crowd of unseen 
 men, he would leave a gap which another could not fill. She 
 had a feeling that she was valuable to him. She did not know 
 exactly how or why. And he was valuable to her. 
 
 But of course Charmian was the first interest in her life,
 
 32 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 had the first claim upon her consideration. She sat wondering 
 what it was in Heath which the girl disliked, what it was in 
 Charmian which, perhaps, troubled or irritated Heath. 
 
 Charmian was out that day at an afternoon concert, and 
 Mrs. Mansfield had made an engagement to go to tea with 
 Heath in his little old house near St. Petersburg Place. She 
 had never yet visited him, although she had known him for 
 nearly three months. And she had never heard a note of his 
 music. The latter fact .did not strike her as strange. She 
 had never mentioned her dead husband to him. 
 
 Max Elliot had at first been perturbed by this reticence of 
 the musician. He had specially wished Mrs. Mansfield to hear 
 what he had heard. After that evening in Cadogan Square 
 he had several times asked: "Well, have you heard the Te 
 Deum?" or "Has Heath played any of his compositions to 
 you yet?" To Mrs. Mansfield's invariable unembarrassed 
 "No!" he gave a shrug of the shoulders, a "He's an extra- 
 ordinary fellow!" or a "Well, I've made a failure of it this 
 time!" Once he added: "Don't you want to hear his music?" 
 " Not unless he wants me to hear it," Mrs. Mansfield replied. 
 Elliot looked at her for a minute with his large, prominent and 
 kind eyes, and said: "No wonder you're adored by your 
 friends!" Several times since the evening in Cadogan Square 
 he had heard Heath play his compositions, and he now began 
 to feel as if he owed this pleasure to his busy and almost vulgar 
 curiosity about musical development and the progress of 
 artists, as if Heath's reserve were his greatest proof of regard 
 and friendship. He had not succeeded in persuading Heath 
 to come to one of his Sunday musical evenings, at which crowds 
 of people in society and many artists assembled. Mrs. 
 Mansfield taught him not to attempt any more persuasion. 
 He realized that his first instinct had been right. The plant 
 must grow in darkness. But he was always being carried away 
 by artistic enthusiasms, and had an altruistic desire to share 
 good things. And he dearly loved "a musical find." He had 
 a certain name as a discoverer of talent, and there's so much in 
 a name. The lives that have been changed, moulded, governed 
 by a hastily conferred name! 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield was inclined to believe that Heath had in-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 33 
 
 vited her to tea with the intention of at last submitting his 
 talent to her opinion. They had sometimes talked together 
 of music, but much of tener of books, character, people, national 
 movements, topics of the day. As she went to her bedroom 
 to dress for her expedition, she felt a certain hesitation, almost 
 a disinclination to go. To go was to draw a step or two nearer 
 to Heath, and so, perhaps, to retreat a step or two from her 
 child. To-day the fact that Charmian and Heath did not 
 quite "hit it off together" vexed her spirit, and the slight 
 mystery of their relation troubled her. As she went down to 
 get into the motor she was half inclined to speak to Heath on 
 the subject. She was quite certain that she would not speak 
 to Charmian. 
 
 The month was February, and by the time Mrs. Mansfield 
 reached Mullion House evening was falling. A large motor 
 was drawn up in front of the house, and as Mrs. Mansfield's 
 chauffeur sounded a melodious chord the figure of a smartly 
 dressed woman walked across the pavement and stepped 
 into it. After an instant of delay, caused by this woman's 
 footman, who spoke to her at the window, the car moved off 
 and disappeared rapidly in the gathering darkness. 
 
 "Was that Adelaide?" Mrs. Mansfield asked herself as she 
 got out. 
 
 She was not certain, but she thought the passing figure had 
 looked like Mrs. Shiffney's. 
 
 The door of Mullion House stood open, held by a thin 
 woman with very large gray eyes, who smiled at Mrs. Mansfield 
 and made a slight motion, almost as if she mentally dropped a 
 curtsey, but physically refrained out of respect for London 
 ways. 
 
 "Oh, yes, ma'am, he is in! He's expecting you." 
 
 The emphasis on the last word was marked. Mrs. Mans- 
 field looked at this woman, toward whom at once she felt 
 friendly. 
 
 "There's some here and there that would bother him to 
 death, I'm sure, if they was let!" continued the woman, 
 closing the little front door gently. " But it will be a pleasure 
 to him to see you. We all knows that!" 
 
 "I'm very glad to hear it!" responded Mrs. Mansfield, 
 
 3
 
 34 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 liking this unconventional but very human servant. "Mr. 
 Heath has spoken of my coming, then?" 
 
 "I should think so, ma'am. JThis way, if you please!" 
 
 Mrs. Searle, Heath's cook-housekeeper, crossed the little 
 dimly lit hall and walked quickly down a rather long and 
 narrow passage. 
 
 "He's in the studio, ma'am," she remarked over her narrow 
 shoulder, sharply turning her head. "Fan is with him." 
 
 "Who's Fan? A dog?" 
 
 "My little girl, ma'am." 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon 1" 
 
 "Not knowing you were there, when the other lady went 
 I sends her in to him for company as he wasn't working. 
 'Run, Fan!' says I. 'Go and cheer Mr. Heath up, there's 
 a good girl!' I says. I knows very well there's nothing like 
 a child to put you right after you've been worried. They're 
 so simple, aren't they, ma'am? And we're all simple, I b'lieve, 
 at 'eart, though we're ashamed to show it. I'm sure I don't 
 know why!" 
 
 As she concluded she opened a door and ushered Mrs. Mans- 
 field into the composer's workroom. 
 
 At the far end of it, in a flicker of firelight, Mrs. Mansfield 
 saw him stooping down over a very fair and Saxon-looking 
 child of perhaps three years old, whose head was thickly 
 covered with short yellow hair inclined to be curly, and who 
 was dressed in a white frock with an almost artful blue bow in 
 the front. As Mrs. Mansfield came in the child was holding up 
 to Heath a small naked doll of a rather blurred appearance, 
 and was uttering some explanatory remarks in the uneven but 
 arresting voice that seems peculiar to childhood. 
 
 "Mrs. Mansfield, if you please, sir!" said Mrs. Searle. 
 Then, with a change of voice: "Come along, Fan! And bring 
 Masterman with you, there's a good girl! We must get on his 
 clothes or he'll catch cold." (To Mrs. Mansfield.) "You'll 
 excuse her, ma'am, but she's that nat'ral, clothes or no clothes 
 it's all one to her." 
 
 Fan turned round, holding Masterman by one leg and 
 staring with bright blue eyes at Mrs. Mansfield. Her counte- 
 nance expressed a dignified inquiry combined, perhaps, with a
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 35 
 
 certain amount of very natural surprise at so unseemly an 
 interruption of her strictly private interview with Claude 
 Heath and Masterman. Her left thumb mechanically sought 
 the shelter of her mouth, and it was obvious that she was 
 "sizing up" Mrs. Mansfield with all the caution, if not sus- 
 picion, of the female nature in embryo. 
 
 Heath took her gently by the shoulder as he came forward, 
 smiling, and propelled her slowly toward the middle of the 
 large dim room. 
 
 "Welcome!" he said, holding out his hand. "Yes, Fantail, 
 I quite understand. He's been sick and now he's getting 
 better. Go with mother!" 
 
 Fan was exchanged for Mrs. Mansfield and vanished, 
 speaking slowly and continuously about Masterman's internal 
 condition and "the new lydy," while Mrs. Mansfield took off 
 her fur coat and looked around her and at Heath. 
 
 "I didn't kiss her," she said, "because I think it's a liberty 
 to kiss one of God's creatures at first sight without a special 
 invitation." 
 
 "I know I know!" 
 
 Heath seemed restless. His face was slightly flushed, and 
 his eyes, always full of a peculiar vitality, looked more living 
 even than usual. He glanced at Mrs. Mansfield, then glanced 
 away, almost guiltily, she thought. 
 
 "Do come and sit down by the fire. Would you like a 
 cushion?" 
 
 "No, thank you! What a nice old settle!" 
 
 "Yes, isn't it? I live in this room. Ailing, the painter, 
 built it for his studio. The other rooms are tiny." 
 
 "What a delightful servant you have!" 
 
 "Mrs. Searle yes. She's a treasure! Humanity breaks 
 out of her whatever the occasion. And my goodness, how 
 she understands men!" 
 
 He laughed, but the laugh sounded slightly unnatural. 
 
 "FantaiTs delightful, too!" he added. 
 
 "What is her real name?" 
 
 "Fanny. I call her Fantail." He paused. " Well, because 
 I like her, I suppose." 
 
 "I know."
 
 36 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 There was a moment of silence, in which Mrs. Mansfield 
 glanced about the room. Despite its size it was cozy. It 
 looked as if it were lived in, perpetually and intimately used. 
 There was nothing in it that-was very handsome or very 
 valuable, except a fine Stein way grand pianoforte; but there 
 was nothing ugly or vulgar. And there were quantities of 
 books, not covered with repellent glass. They were ranged in 
 dark cases, which furnished the walls, and lay everywhere on 
 tables, among magazines and papers, scores and volumes of 
 songs and loose manuscript music. The piano was open, and 
 there was more music on it. The armchairs were well worn but 
 comfortable, and looked "sat in." Over the windows there 
 were dun orange-colored curtains that looked old but not 
 shabby. On the floor there were some rather good and very 
 effective Oriental rugs. The only flowers in the room were 
 bright yellow tulips, grouped together in a mass on an oak 
 table a long way from the fire. Opposite to the piano there was 
 a large ebony crucifix mounted on a stand, and so placed that 
 anyone seated at the piano faced it. The room was lit not 
 strongly by oil lamps with shades. A few mysterious oil 
 paintings, very dark in color, hung on the walls between the 
 bookcases. Mrs. Mansfield could not discern their subjects. 
 On the high wooden mantelpiece there were a few photographs, 
 of professors and students at the Royal College of Music and 
 of a serious and innocent-looking priest in black coat and round 
 white collar. 
 
 To Mrs. Mansfield the room suggested a recluse who liked 
 to be cosy, who, perhaps, was drawn toward mystery, even 
 mysticism, and who loved the life of the brain. 
 
 "And you've a garden?" she asked, breaking the little 
 pause. 
 
 "The size of a large pocket-handkerchief. I'm not at all 
 rich, you know. But I can just afford my little house and to 
 live without earning a penny." 
 
 A woman servant, not Mrs. Searle, came in with tea and 
 retreated, walking very softly and slowly. She looked almost 
 rustic. 
 
 "That's my only other servant, Harriet," said Heath, 
 pouring out tea.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 37 
 
 "There's something very un-Londony in it all," said Mrs. 
 Mansfield, again looking round, almost with a puzzled air. 
 
 "That's what I try for. I'm fond of London in a way, but 
 I can't bear anything typical of London in my home." 
 
 "It is quite a home," she said; "and the home of a worker. 
 One gets weary of being received in reception-rooms. This is 
 a retreat." 
 
 Heath looked at her with his bright almost too searching 
 and observant eyes. 
 
 "I wonder," he said almost reluctantly, "whether may I 
 talk about myself to-day?" he interrupted himself. 
 
 " Do, if you like to." 
 
 "I think I should." 
 
 "Do, then." 
 
 "I wonder whether a man is a coward to raise up barriers 
 between himself and life, whether it is a mistake to have a 
 retreat, as you rightly call this room, this house, and to spend 
 the greater part of one's time alone in it? But" he moved 
 restlessly "the real question is whether one ought to let 
 oneself be guided by a powerful instinct." 
 
 " I expect one ought to." 
 
 "Do you? Oh, you're not eating anything!" 
 
 "I will help myself." 
 
 " Mrs. Shiffney wouldn't agree with you." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Didn't didn't you see her? She went just before you 
 came." 
 
 " I saw someone. I thought it might be Adelaide. I wasn't 
 sure." 
 
 " It was she. I hadn't asked her to come and wasn't expect- 
 ing her." 
 
 He stopped, then added abruptly: 
 
 "It was wonderfully kind of her to come, though. She is 
 kind and clever, too. She has fascination, I think. . . . " 
 
 "I'm sure she has." 
 
 "And yet, d'you know, there's something in her, and in 
 lots of people I might get to know, I suppose, through her and 
 Max Elliot, that I well, I almost hate it." 
 
 "What is it?"
 
 38 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Well, whenever I come across one of them by chance I 
 seem to hear a voice repeating, ' To-morrow we die to-morrow 
 we die to-morrow we die/ And I seem to see something 
 inside of them with teeth and claws fastening on pleasure. 
 It's it's like a sort of minotaur, and it gives me horrors. And 
 yet I might go to it." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield said nothing for a moment. She had 
 finished her cup of tea, and now, with a little gesture, refused 
 to have another. 
 
 " It's quite true. There is the creature with teeth and claws, 
 and it is, perhaps, horrible. But it's so sad that I scarcely 
 see anything but its sadness." 
 
 "You are kinder than I." 
 
 He leaned forward. 
 
 "D'you know, I think you're the kindest human being I 
 ever met, except one, that priest up there on the mantelpiece." 
 
 "Forgive me," she said, making allowance for herself 
 to-day because of Heath's evident desire to talk intimately, a 
 desire which she believed she ought to help, "but are you a 
 Roman Catholic?" 
 
 "Oh, no! I wish I was!" 
 
 "But I suppose you can't be?" 
 
 "Oh, no! I suppose I'm one of those unsatisfactory 
 people whose soul and whose brain are not in accord. That 
 doesn't make for inward calm or satisfaction. But I can only 
 hope for better days." 
 
 There was something uneasy in his speech. She felt the 
 strong reserve in him always fighting against the almost fierce 
 wish to be unreserved with her. 
 
 "They will come, surely!" she said. "If you are quite 
 sincere, sincere with yourself always and sincere with others 
 as often as is possible." 
 
 "You're right about its not being possible to be always 
 sincere with others." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "They simply wouldn't let you!" 
 
 "No," he said. "I feel as if I could be rather sincere with 
 you sometimes." 
 
 "Specially to-day, perhaps."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 39 
 
 "Yes, I think so. We do get on, don't we?" 
 
 "Yes, we do." 
 
 "I often wonder why. But we do. I'll move the table 
 if you've really finished." 
 
 He put the table away and sat down on the settle beside 
 her, at the far end. And he turned, leaning his back against 
 the upright end, and stretching one arm along the wooden top, 
 on which his long fingers restlessly closed. 
 
 "I was sorry I went to Max Elliot's till you came into the 
 room," he said. "And ever since then I've been partly very 
 glad." 
 
 "But only partly?" 
 
 "Yes, because I've always had an instinctive dread of 
 getting drawn in." 
 
 "To the current of our modern art life. I'm sure you mean 
 that." 
 
 "I do. And of course Elliot is in the thick of it. Mrs. 
 Shiffney's in it, and all her lot, which I don't know. And that 
 fellow Lane is in it too." 
 
 "And I suppose I am in it with Charmian." 
 
 Heath looked at the floor. Ignoring Mrs. Mansfield's 
 remark, he continued: 
 
 "I have some talent. It isn't the sort of talent to win 
 popularity. Fortunately, I don't desire in fact, I'm very 
 much afraid of popularity. But as I believe my talent is is 
 rather peculiar, individual, it might easily become well, I 
 suppose I may say the rage in a certain set. They might 
 drop me very soon. Probably they would I don't know. 
 But I have a strong feeling that they'd take me up violently 
 if I gave them a chance. That's what Max Elliot can't help 
 wanting. He's such a good fellow, but he's a born exploiter. 
 Not in any nasty way, of course!" Heath concluded hastily. 
 
 "I quite understand." 
 
 "And, I don't want to seem conceited, but I see there's 
 something about me that set would probably like. Mrs. 
 Shiffney's showed me that. I have never called upon her. 
 She has sent me several invitations. And to-day she called. 
 She wants me to go with her on The Wanderer for a cruise." 
 
 "To Wonderland?"
 
 40 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Heath shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "In the Mediterranean, I believe." 
 
 "Doesn't that tempt you?" 
 
 "Yes, terribly. But I flatly refused to go. But she knew 
 I was tempted. It's only curiosity on her part," he added, 
 with a sort of hot, angry boyishness. "She can't make me 
 out, and I didn't call. That's why she asked me." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield mentally added a "partly" to the last 
 sentence. 
 
 "You're very much afraid of exposing yourself or is it 
 your talent? to the influence of what we may as well call 
 the world," she said. 
 
 "I suppose one's talent is oneself, one's best self." 
 
 " Perhaps so. I have none. You know best about that. 
 I expect you are right in being afraid." 
 
 "You don't think I'm merely a rather absurd coward and 
 egoist?" 
 
 "Oh, no! But some people many, I think would say 
 a talent is meant to be used, to be given to the light." 
 
 "I know. But I don't think the modern world wants mine. 
 I"- he reddened "I always set words from the Bible nearly 
 or from the Prayer-Book." 
 
 Smiling a little, as if saving something by humor, he 
 added: 
 
 "Not the Song of Solomon." 
 
 "But don't the English" 
 
 He stopped her. 
 
 "Good heavens! I know you are thinking of the Handel 
 Festival and Elijah in the provinces!" he exclaimed. "I 
 know you are!" 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "I should like to play you one or two of my things," he said 
 impulsively. "Then you'll see at once." 
 
 He went toward the piano. She sat still. She was with 
 the striking unreserve of the reserved man when he has cast 
 his protector or his demon away. With his back to her Heath 
 turned over some music, moved a pile of sheets, set them down 
 on the floor under the piano, searched. 
 
 "Oh, here it is!"
 
 ; TH1S IS THE LAST THING I'VE DONE ' " Page 41
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 41 
 
 He grasped some manuscript, put it on the music-stand, 
 and sat down. 
 
 "This is the last thing I've done. The words are taken 
 from the sixteenth chapter of Revelation 'And I heard a 
 great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, " Go 
 your ways, and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the 
 earth." ' And so on." 
 
 With a sort of anger his hands descended and struck the 
 keys. Speaking through his music he gave Mrs. Mansfield 
 indications of what it was expressing. 
 
 "This is the sea. 'The second angel poured out his vial 
 upon the sea, and it became as the blood of a dead man. . . . 
 The fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun, and power 
 was given unto him to scorch men with fire. . . . The sixth 
 angel poured out his vial upon the great River Euphrates, and 
 the water thereof was dried up, that the way of the Kings of 
 the East might be prepared.' ' 
 
 The last words which Heath had set were those in the 
 fifteenth verse of the chapter "Behold, I come as a thief. 
 Blessed is he that watcheth and keepeth his garments lest he 
 walk naked and they see his shame." 
 
 When he had finished he got up from the piano with a 
 flushed face and, again speaking in a boyish and almost naive 
 manner, said quickly: 
 
 "There, that gives you an idea of the sort of thing I do and 
 care about doing. For, of course, I never will attempt any 
 subject that doesn't thoroughly interest me." 
 
 He stood for a moment, not looking toward Mrs. Mansfield; 
 then, as if struggling against an inward reluctance, he again 
 sat down on the settle. 
 
 "Have you orchestrated it?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. I've just finished the orchestration." 
 
 "Surely you want to hear it given with voices and the 
 orchestra? Frankly, I won't believe you if you say you don't." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 The reluctance seemed to fade out of him. 
 
 "The fact is I'm torn between the desire to hear my things 
 and a mighty distaste for publicity.'/ 
 
 He sprang up.
 
 42 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "If you'll allow me I'll just give you an idea of my Te 
 Deum. And then I'll have done." 
 
 He went once more to the piano. 
 
 When he was sitting beside her again Mrs. Mansfield felt 
 shy of him. After a moment she said: 
 
 "You are sincere in your music?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He did not seem specially anxious to get at her exact opinion 
 of his work, and this fact, she scarcely knew why, pleased 
 Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "I had two or three things done at the College concerts," 
 Heath continued. "I don't think they were much liked. 
 They were considered very clever technically. But what's 
 that? Of course, one must conquer one's means or one can't 
 express oneself at all." 
 
 "And now you work quite alone?" 
 
 "Yes. I've got just a thousand a year of my own," he 
 said abruptly. 
 
 "You are independent, then." 
 
 "Yes. It isn't a great deal. Of course, I quite realize 
 that the sort of thing I do could never bring in a penny of 
 money. So I've no money temptation to resist in keeping 
 quiet. There isn't a penny in my compositions. I know 
 that." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield thought, "If he were to get a mystical 
 libretto and write an opera!" But she did not say it. She 
 felt that she would not care to suggest anything to Heath which 
 might indicate a desire on her part to see him " a success." In 
 her ears were perpetually sounding the words, "and the water 
 thereof was dried up, that the way of the Kings of the East 
 might be prepared." They took her away from London. 
 They set her in the midst of a great strangeness. They even 
 awoke in her an almost riotous feeling of desire. What she 
 desired she could not have said exactly. Some form of happi- 
 ness, that was all she knew. But how the thought of happiness 
 stung her soul at that moment! She looked at Heath and said: 
 
 "I quite understand about Mrs. Shiffney now." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "You have the dangerous gift of a very peculiar and very
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 43 
 
 powerful imagination. I think your music might make you 
 enemies." 
 
 Heath looked pleased. 
 
 "I'm glad you think that. I know exactly what you 
 mean." 
 
 They sat together on the settle and talked for more than an 
 hour. Mrs. Mansfield's feeling of shyness speedily vanished, 
 was replaced by something maternal with which she was much 
 more at ease. 
 
 Mrs. Searle let her out. She had said good-bye to Heath in 
 the studio and asked him not to come to the front door. 
 
 "Good-night, Mrs. Searle!" she said, with a smile. "I 
 hope I haven't stayed too long?" 
 
 "No, indeed, ma'am. I'm sure you'd ado him good. He 
 do like them that's nat'ral. But he don't like to be bothered. 
 And there's people that do keep on, ma'am, isn't there?" 
 
 "I daresay there are." 
 
 " Specially with a young gentleman, ma'am. I always do 
 say it's the women runs after the men. More shame to us, 
 ma'am." 
 
 "Has Fan begun yet?" 
 
 Mrs. Searle blushed. 
 
 "Well, ma'am, really I don't know. But she's awfully 
 put out if anyone interrupts her when she's with Mr. Heath." 
 
 "I must take care what I'm about." 
 
 "Oh, ma'am, I'm sure " 
 
 The motor moved away from the little old house. As 
 Mrs. Mansfield looked out she saw a faint gleam in the studio. 
 Involuntarily she listened, almost strained her ears. And 
 she murmured, "And the water thereof was dried up, that the 
 way of the Kings of the East might be prepared." 
 
 The gleam was lost in the night. She leaned back and 
 found herself wondering what Charmian would have thought 
 of the music she had just heard.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MRS. SHIFFNEY had more money than she knew how to 
 spend, although she was recklessly extravagant. Her 
 mother, who was dead, had been an Austrian Jewess, 
 and from her had come the greater part of Mrs. Shiffney's 
 large personal fortune. Her father, Sir Willy Manning, was 
 still alive, and was a highly cultivated and intelligent English- 
 man of the cosmopolitan type; Mrs. Shiffney derived her 
 peculiar and attractive look of high breeding and her com- 
 pletely natural manner from him. From her mother she had 
 received the nomadic instinct which kept her perpetually 
 restless, and which often drove her about the world in search 
 of the change and diversion which never satisfied her. Lady 
 Manning had been a feverish traveller and had written several 
 careless and clever books of description. She had died of a 
 fever in Hong-Kong while her husband was in Scotland. 
 Although apparently of an unreserved nature, he had never 
 bemoaned her loss. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had a husband, a lenient man who loved 
 comfort and who was fond of his wife in an altruistic way. 
 She and he got on excellently when they were together and 
 quite admirably when they were parted, as they very often 
 were, for yachting made Mr. Shiffney feel "remarkably cheap." 
 As he much preferred to feel expensive he had nothing to do 
 with The Wanderer unless she lay snug in harbor. His 
 hobby was racing. He was a good horseman, disliked golf, 
 and seldom went out of the British Isles, though he 
 never said that his own country was good enough for him. 
 When he did cross the Channel he visited Paris, Monte 
 Carlo, Homburg, Biarritz, or some place where he was certain 
 to be in the midst of his "pals." The strain of wildness, 
 which made his wife uncommon and interesting, did not 
 exist in him, but he was rather proud of it in her, and had 
 been heard to say more than once, " Addie's a regular gipsy," 
 
 44
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 45 
 
 as if the statement were a high compliment. He was a 
 'tall, well-built, handsome man of fifty-two, with gray hair 
 and moustache, an agreeable tenor voice, which was never 
 used in singing, and the best-cut clothes in London. Although 
 easily kind he was thoroughly selfish. Everybody had a 
 good word for him, and nobody, who really knew him, ever 
 asked him to perform an unselfish action. "That isn't 
 Jimmy's line" was their restraining thought if they had for a 
 moment contemplated suggesting to Mr. Shiffney that he might 
 perhaps put himself out for a friend. And Jimmy was quite 
 of their opinion, and always stuck to his "line," like a sensible 
 fellow. 
 
 Two or three days after Mrs. Shiffney's visit to Claude 
 Heath her husband, late one afternoon, found her in tears. 
 
 "What's up, Addie?" he asked, with the sympathy he 
 never withheld from her. "Another gown gone wrong?" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney shook her powerful head, on which was a 
 marvellous black hat crowned with a sort of factory chimney 
 of stiff black plumes. 
 
 Mr. Shiffney lit a cigar. 
 
 "Poor old Addie!" he said. He leaned down and stroked 
 her shoulder. "I wish you could get hold of somebody or 
 something that'd make you happy," he remarked. "I'm 
 sure you deserve it." 
 
 His wife dried her tears and sniffed two or three times 
 almost with the frankness of a grief-stricken child. 
 
 "I never shall!" 
 
 "Why not, Addie?" 
 
 "There's something in me I don't know! I should get 
 tired of anyone who didn't get tired of me!" 
 
 She almost began to cry again, and added despairingly: 
 
 " So what hope is there? And I do so want to enjoy myself! 
 I wonder if there ever has been a woman who wanted to enjoy 
 herself as much as I do?" 
 
 Mr. Shiffney blew forth a cloud of smoke, extending the 
 little finger of the hand which held his cigar. 
 
 "We all want to have a good time," he observed. "A 
 first-rate time. What else are we here for?" 
 
 He spoke seriously.
 
 46 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "We are here to keep things going, I s'pose to keep it 
 up, don't you know? We mustn't let it run down. But if 
 we don't enjoy ourselves down it goes. And that doesn't do, 
 does it?" 
 
 He flicked the ash from his cigar. 
 
 "What's the special row this time?" he continued, without 
 any heated curiosity, but with distinct sympathy. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney looked slightly more cheerful. She enjoyed 
 telling things if the things were closely connected with herself. 
 
 "Well, I want to start for a cruise," she began. "I can't 
 remain for ever glued to Grosvenor Square. I must move 
 about and see something." 
 
 She had just been for a month in Paris. 
 
 " Of course. What are we here for?" observed her husband. 
 
 "You always understand! Sit down, you old thing!" 
 
 Mr. Shiffney sat down, gently pulling up his trousers. 
 
 "And the row is," she continued, shaking her shoulders, 
 "that I want Claude Heath to come and he won't. And, 
 since he won't, he's really the only living man I want to have 
 on the cruise." 
 
 "Who is he?" observed Mr. Shiffney. "I've never heard 
 of him. Is he one of your special pals?" 
 
 "Not yet. I met him at Max's. He's a composer, and I 
 want to know what he's like." 
 
 "I expect he's like all the rest." 
 
 "No, he isn't!" she observed decisively. 
 
 "Why won't he come? Perhaps he's a bad sailor." 
 
 "He didn't even trouble himself to say that. He was in 
 such a hurry to refuse that he didn't bother about an excuse. 
 And this afternoon he called, when I was in, and never asked 
 for me, only left cards and bolted, although I had been to his 
 house to ask him to come on The Wanderer." 
 
 "Afraid of you, is he?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure. He's never been among us" 
 
 "Poor chap! But surely that's a reason for him to want 
 to get in?" 
 
 "Wouldn't you think so? Wouldn't anyone think so? 
 The way I'm bombarded! But he seems only anxious to 
 keep out of everything."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 47 
 
 "A pose very likely." 
 
 "I don't believe it is." 
 
 "I leave it to you. No one sharper in London. Is he a 
 gentleman all that sort of thing?" 
 
 "Oh, of course!" 
 
 Mr. Shiffney pulled up his trousers a little more, exposing 
 a pair of striped silk socks which emerged from shining boots 
 protected by white spats. 
 
 "To be sure. If he hadn't been he'd have jumped at you 
 and The Wanderer." 
 
 "Naturally. I shan't go at all now! What an unlucky 
 woman I always am!" 
 
 "You never let anyone know it." 
 
 "Well, Jimmy, I'm not quite a fool. Be down on your 
 luck and not a soul will stay near you." 
 
 "I should think not. Why should they? One wants a 
 bit of life, not to hear people howling and groaning all about 
 one. It's awful to be with anyone who's under the weather." 
 
 "Ghastly! I can't stand it! But, all the same, it's a fear- 
 ful coroee to keep it up when you're persecuted as I am." 
 
 "Poor old Addie!" 
 
 Mr. Shiffney threw his cigar into the grate reflectively and 
 lightly touched his moustaches, which were turned upward, 
 but not in a military manner. 
 
 "Things never seem quite right for you," he continued. 
 
 "And other women have such a splendid time!" she ex- 
 claimed. "The disgusting thing is that he goes all the while 
 to Violet Mansfield." 
 
 " She's dull enough and quite old too." 
 
 "No, she isn't dull. You're wrong there." 
 
 "I daresay. She doesn't amuse me." 
 
 "She's not your sort." 
 
 "Too feverish, too keen, brainy in the wrong way. I like 
 brains, mind you, and I know where they are. But I don't 
 see the fun of having them jumped at one." 
 
 "He does, apparently, unless it's really Charmian." 
 
 "The girl? She's not bad. Wants to be much cleverer 
 than she is, of course, like pretty nearly all the girls, except 
 the sporting lot; but not bad."
 
 48 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Jimmy" Mrs. Shiffney's eyes began once more to look 
 audacious "shall I ask Charmian Mansfield to come on the 
 yacht?" 
 
 "You think that might bring~him? Why not ask both 
 of them?" 
 
 "No; I won't have the mother!" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I won't!" 
 
 "The best of reasons, too." 
 
 "You understand us better than any man in London." 
 
 She sat reflecting. She was beginning to look quite cheerful. 
 
 "It would be rather fun," she resumed, after a minute. 
 " Charmian Mansfield, Max if he can get away Paul Lane. 
 It isn't the party I'd thought of, but still" 
 
 "Which of them were you going to take?" 
 
 "Never mind." 
 
 "I don't. And where did you mean to go?" 
 
 "I told him to the Mediterranean." 
 
 "But it wasn't!" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know! Where can one go? That's another 
 thing. It's always the same old places, unless one has months 
 to spare, and then one gets bored with the people one's asked. 
 Things are so difficult." 
 
 "One place is very much like another." 
 
 "To you. But I always hope for an adventure round the 
 corner." 
 
 "I've been round a lot of corners in my tune, but I might 
 almost as well have stuck to the club." 
 
 "Of course you might!" 
 
 She got up. 
 
 "I must think about Charmian," she said, as she went 
 casually out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney turned the new idea over and over in her 
 restless mind, which was always at work in a desultory but 
 often clever way. She could not help being clever. She had 
 never studied, never applied herself, never consciously tried to 
 master anything, but she was quick-witted, had always lived 
 among brilliant and highly cultivated people, had seen every- 
 thing, been everywhere, known everyone, looked into all the
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 49 
 
 books that had been talked about, cast at least a glance at all 
 the pictures which had made any stir. And she gathered 
 impressions swiftly, and, moreover, had a natural flair for all 
 that was first-rate, original, or strange. As she was quite 
 independent in mind, and always took her own line, she had 
 become an arbiter, a leader of taste. What she liked soon 
 became liked in London and Paris throughout a large circle. 
 Unfortunately, she was changeable and apt to be governed by 
 personal feeling in matters connected with art. When she 
 cast away an artist she generally cast away his art with him. 
 If it was first-rate she did not condemn it as bad. She con- 
 tented herself with saying that she was " sick of it." And very 
 soon a great many of her friends, and their friends, were sick 
 of it, too. She was a quicksand because she was a singularly 
 complete egoist. But very few people who met her failed to 
 come under the spell of her careless charm, and many, because 
 she had much impulse, swore that she had a large heart. 
 Only to her husband, and occasionally, in a fit of passion, 
 to someone who she thought had treated her badly, did she 
 show a lachrymose side of her nature. She was noted for her 
 gaiety and joie de vivre and for the energy with which she pur- 
 sued enjoyment. Her cynicism did not cut deep, her irony 
 was seldom poisoned. She spoke well of people, and was 
 generous with her money. With her time she was less gener- 
 ous. She was not of those who are charitable with their golden 
 hours. "I can't be bothered!" was the motto of her life. 
 And wise people did not bother her. 
 
 She had seen that, for a moment, Claude Heath had been 
 tempted by the invitation to the cruise. A sudden light had 
 gleamed in his eyes, and her swift apprehension had gathered 
 something of what was passing in his imagination. But almost 
 immediately the light had vanished and the quick refusal had 
 come. And she knew that it was a refusal which she could not 
 persuade him to cancel unless she called someone to her assist- 
 ance. His austerity, which attracted her whimsical and 
 unscrupulous nature, fought something else in him and con- 
 quered. But the something else, if it could be revived, given 
 new strength, would make a cruise with him, even to all the 
 old places, quite interesting, Mrs. Shiffney thought. And
 
 50 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 any refusal always made her greedy and obstinate. "I will 
 have it!" was the natural reply of her nature to any "You 
 can't have it!" 
 
 She often acted impulsively, hurried by caprices and desires, 
 and that same evening she sent the following note to Charmian: 
 
 GROSVENOR SQUARE, 
 
 Thursday. 
 
 DEAR CHARMIAN, You've never been on the yacht, though 
 I've always been dying to have you come. I've been glued 
 to London for quite a time, and am getting sick of it. Aren't 
 you? Always the same things and people. I feel I must 
 run away if I can get up a pleasant party to elope with me. 
 Will you be one? I thought of starting some time next month 
 on The Wanderer for a cruise, to the Mediterranean or some- 
 where. I don't know yet who'll tuck in, but I shall take 
 Susan Fleet to play chaperon to us and the crew and manage 
 things. Max Elliot may come, and I thought of trying to get 
 your friend, Mr. Heath, though I hardly know him. I think 
 he works too hard, and a breeze might do him good. However, 
 it's all in the air. Tell me what you think about it. Love 
 to the beautiful mother. In tearing haste, Yours, 
 
 ADELAIDE SHIFFNEY. 
 
 "Why has she asked me?" said Charmian to herself, laying 
 this note down after reading it twice. 
 
 She had always known Mrs. Shiffney, but she had never 
 before been asked to go on a cruise in the yacht. Mrs. Shiffney 
 had always called her Charmian, as she called Mrs. Mansfield 
 Violet. But there had never been even a hint of genuine 
 intimacy between the girl and the married woman, and they 
 seldom met except in society, and then only spoke a few casual 
 and unmeaning words. They had little in common, Charmian 
 supposed, except their mutual knowledge of quantities of 
 people and of a certain social life. 
 
 Claude Heath on The Wanderer/ 
 
 Charmian took the note to her mother. 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney has suddenly taken a fancy to me, Mad- 
 retta," she said. "Look at this!" 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield read the note and gave it back.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 51 
 
 "Do you want to go?" she asked, looking at the girl, not 
 without a still curiosity. 
 
 Charmian twisted her lips. 
 
 "I don't know. You see, it's all very vague. I should 
 like to be sure who's going. I think it's very reckless to take 
 any chances on a yacht." 
 
 "Claude Heath isn't going." 
 
 Charmian raised her eyebrows. 
 
 "But has she asked him?" 
 
 "Yes. And he's refused. He told me so on Monday." 
 
 "You're quite sure he won't go?" 
 
 "He said he wasn't going." 
 
 Charmian looked lightly doubtful. 
 
 " Shall I go?" she said. " Would you mind if I did?" 
 
 "Do you really want to?" 
 
 "I don't think I care much either way. Why has she 
 asked me?" 
 
 "Adelaide? I daresay she likes you. And you wouldn't 
 be unpleasant on a yacht, would you?" 
 
 "That depends, I expect. You'd allow me to go?" 
 
 " If I knew who the rest of the party were to be definitely." 
 
 "I won't answer till to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield did not feel sure what was Chairman's desire 
 in the matter. She did not quite understand her child. She 
 wondered, too, why Mrs. Shiffney had asked Charmian to go on 
 the yacht, why she implied that Claude Heath might make one 
 of the party when he had refused to go. It occurred to Mrs. 
 Mansfield that Adelaide might mean to use Charmian as a lure 
 to draw Heath into the expedition. But, if so, surely she quite 
 misunderstood the acquaintanceship between them. Heath 
 was her Mrs. Mansfield's friend. How often she had wished 
 that Charmian and he were more at ease together, liked each 
 other better. It was odd that Adelaide should fall into such a 
 mistake. And yet what other meaning could her note have? 
 She wrote as if the question of Heath's going or not were 
 undecided. 
 
 Was it undecided? Did Adelaide, with her piercing and 
 clever eyes, see more clearly into Heath's nature than Mrs. 
 Mansfield could?
 
 52 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had an extraordinary capacity for getting 
 what she wanted. The hidden tragedy of her existence was 
 that she was never satisfied with what she got. She wanted to 
 draw Claude Heath out of his "retirement into the big current 
 of life by which she and her friends were buoyantly carried 
 along through changing and brilliant scenes. His refusal had 
 no doubt hardened a mere caprice into a strong desire. Mrs. 
 Mansfield realized that Adelaide would not leave Heath alone 
 now. The note to Charmian showed an intention not aban- 
 doned. But why should Adelaide suppose that Heath's ac- 
 ceptance might be dependent on anything done by Charmian ? 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield knew well, and respected, Mrs. Shiffney's 
 haphazard cleverness, which, in matters connected with the 
 worldly life, sometimes almost amounted to genius. That 
 note to Charmian gave a new direction to her thoughts, set 
 certain subtleties of the past which had vaguely troubled her 
 in a new and stronger light. She awaited, with an interest 
 that was not wholly pleasant, Charmian's decision of the 
 morrow. 
 
 Charmian had been very casual in manner when she came 
 to her mother with the surprising invitation. She was almost 
 as casual on the following morning when she entered the 
 dining-room where Mrs. Mansfield was breakfasting by elec- 
 tric light. For a gloom as of night hung over the Square, 
 although it was ten o'clock. 
 
 "Have you been thinking it over, Charmian?" said her 
 mother, as the girl sat languidly down. 
 
 ' ' Yes, mother lazily. ' ' 
 
 She sipped her tea, looking straight before her with a cold 
 and dreamy expression. 
 
 "Have you been active enough to arrive at any conclusion?" 
 
 "I got up quite undecided, but now I think I'll say 'Yes,' 
 if you don't mind. When I looked out of the window this 
 morning I felt as if the Mediterranean would be nicer than 
 this. There's only one thing why don't you come, too?" 
 
 " I haven't been asked." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 "Adelaide's too modern to ask mothers and daughters 
 together," said Mrs. Mansfield, smiling.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 53 
 
 "Would you go if she asked you?" 
 
 "No. Well, now the thing is to find out what the party 
 is to be. Write the truth, and say you'll go if I know who's 
 to be there and allow you to go. Adelaide knows quite well 
 she has lots of friends I shouldn't care for you to yacht with. 
 And it's much better to be quite frank about it. If Susan 
 Fleet and Max go, you can go." 
 
 "I believe you are really the frankest person in London. 
 And yet people love you miracle-working mother!" 
 
 Charmian turned the conversation to other subjects and 
 seemed to forget all about The Wanderer. But when breakfast 
 was over, and she was alone before her little Chippendale 
 writing-table, she let herself go to her excitement. Although 
 she loved, even adored her mother, she sometimes acted to 
 her. To do so was natural to Charmian. It did not imply 
 any diminution of love or any distrust. It was but an instinc- 
 tive assertion of a not at all uncommon type of temperament. 
 The coldness and the dreaminess were gone now, but her 
 excitement was mingled with a great uncertainty. 
 
 On receiving Mrs. Shiffney's note Charmian had almost 
 instantly understood why she had been asked on the cruise. 
 Her instinct had told her, for she had at that time known 
 nothing of Heath's refusal. She had supposed that he had 
 not yet been invited. Mrs. Shiffney had invited her not for 
 herself, but as a means of getting hold of Heath. Charmian 
 was positive of that. Months ago, in Max Elliot's music-room, 
 the girl had divined the impression made by Heath on Mrs. 
 Shiffney, had seen the restless curiosity awake in the older 
 woman. She had even noticed the tightening of Mrs. Shiff- 
 ney's lips when she, Charmian, had taken Heath away from 
 the little group by the fire, with that "when you've quite done 
 with my only mother," which had been a tiny slap given to 
 Mrs. Shiffney. And she had been sure that Mrs. Shiffney 
 meant to know Heath. She had a great opinion of Mrs. 
 Shiffney's social cleverness and audacity. Most girls who 
 were much in London society had. She did not really like 
 Mrs. Shiffney, or want to be intimate with her, but she thor- 
 oughly believed in her flair, and that was why the note had 
 stirred in Charmian excitement and uncertainty. If Mrs.
 
 54 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Shiffney thought she saw something, surely it was there. 
 She would not take shadow for substance. 
 
 But might she not fire a shot in the dark on the chance of 
 hitting something? 
 
 "Why did she ask me instead of mother?" Charmian said 
 to herself again and again. "If she had got mother to go 
 Claude Heath would surely have gone. Why should he go 
 because I go?" 
 
 And then came the thought, "She thinks he may, perhaps 
 thinks he will. Will he? Will he?" 
 
 The note had abruptly changed an opinion long held by 
 Charmian. Till it came she had believed that Claude Heath 
 secretly disliked, perhaps even despised her. Mrs. Shiffney 
 on half a sheet of note-paper had almost reassured her. But 
 now would come the test. She would accept; Mrs. Shiffney 
 would ask Claude Heath again, telling him she was to be of the 
 party. And then what would Heath do? 
 
 As she wrote her answer Charmian said to herself, "If he 
 accepts Mrs. Shiffney was right. If he refuses again I was 
 right." 
 
 She sent the note to Grosvenor Square by a boy messenger, 
 and resigned herself to a period of patience.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BY return there came a note hastily scribbled: 
 "Delighted. I will let you know all the particulars 
 in a day or two. A. S." 
 
 But two days, three days, a week passed by, and Charmian 
 heard nothing more. She grew restless, but concealed her 
 restlessness from her mother, who asked no questions. Claude 
 Heath did not come to the house. As they never met him in 
 society they did not see him at all, except now and then by 
 chance at a concert or theater, unless he came to see them. 
 Excited by Mrs. Mansfield's visit to him, he was much shut in, 
 composing. There were days when he never went out of his 
 little house, and only refreshed himself now and then by a game 
 with Fan or a conversation with Mrs. Searle. When he was 
 working really hard he disliked seeing friends, and felt a strange 
 and unkind longing to push everybody out of his life. He was, 
 therefore, strongly -irritated one afternoon, eight days after 
 Charmian had written her note of conditional acceptance to 
 Mrs. Shiffney, when his parlor-maid, Harriet, after two or 
 three knocks, which made a well planned and carried out 
 crescendo, came into the studio with the announcement that 
 a lady wished to see him. 
 
 "Harriet, you know I can't see anyone!" he exclaimed. 
 
 He was at the piano, and had been in the midst of exciting 
 himself by playing before sitting down to work. 
 
 "Sir," almost whispered Harriet in her very refined voice, 
 "she heard you playing, and knew you were in." 
 
 "Oh, is it Mrs. Mansfield?" 
 
 "No, sir, the lady who called the other day just before that 
 lady came." 
 
 Claude Heath frowned and lifted his hands as if he were 
 going to hit out at the piano. 
 
 "Where is she?" he said in a low voice. 
 
 " In the drawing-room, sir." 
 
 "All right, Harriet. It isn't your fault." 
 
 55
 
 56 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 He got up in a fury and went to the tiny drawing-room, 
 which he scarcely ever used unless some visitor came. Mrs. 
 Shiffney was standing up in it, looking, he thought, very smart 
 and large and audacious, bringing upon him, so he felt as he 
 went in, murmurs and lights from a distant world with which 
 he had nothing to do. 
 
 "How angry you are with me!" she said, lifting her veil 
 and smiling with a careless assurance. "Your eyes are quite 
 blazing with fury." 
 
 Claude, in spite of himself, grew red and all his body felt 
 suddenly stiff. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said. "But I was working, 
 and" 
 
 He touched her powerful hand. 
 
 "You had sprouted your oak, and I have forced it. I know 
 it's much too bad of me." 
 
 He saw that she could not believe she was wholly unwanted 
 by such a man as he was, in such a little house as he had. 
 People always wanted her. Her frankness in running after 
 him showed him her sense of her position, her popularity, her 
 attraction. How could she think she was undignified? No 
 doubt she thought him an oddity who must be treated uncon- 
 ventionally. He felt savage, but he felt flattered. 
 
 "I'll show her what I am!" was his thought. 
 
 Yet already, as he begged her to sit down on one of his 
 chintz-covered chairs, he felt a sort of reluctant pleasure in 
 being with her. 
 
 "May I give you some tea?" 
 
 Her hazel eyes still seemed to him full of laughter. Evi- 
 dently she regarded him as a boy. 
 
 "No, thank you! I won't be so cruel as to accept." 
 
 "But really, I am" 
 
 "No, no, you aren't. Never mind! We'll be good friends 
 some day. And I know how artists with tempers hate to be 
 interrupted." 
 
 "I hope my temper is not especially bad," said Claude, 
 stiffening with sudden reserve. 
 
 "I think it's pretty bad, but I don't mind. What a dear, 
 funny little room! But you never sit in it."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 57 
 
 "Not often." 
 
 "I long to see your very own room. But I'm not going 
 to ask you." 
 
 There was a slight pause. Again the ironical light came 
 into her eyes. 
 
 "You're wondering quite terribly why I've come here 
 again," she said. "It's about the yacht." 
 
 "I'm really so very sorry that 
 
 "I know, just as I am when I'm refusing all sorts of invi- 
 tations that I'd rather die than accept. Slipshod, but you 
 know what I mean. You hate the idea. I'm only just going 
 to tell you my party, so that you may think it over and see 
 if you don't feel tempted." 
 
 "I am tempted." 
 
 "But you'd rather die than come. I perfectly understand. 
 I often feel just like that. We shall be very few. Susan 
 Fleet she's a sort of chaperon to me; being a married woman, 
 I need a chaperon, of course Max Elliot, Mr. Lane, perhaps 
 if he can't come some charming man whom you'd delight in 
 and Charmian Mansfield." 
 
 Again there was a pause. Then Heath said: 
 
 "It's very, very kind of you to care to have me come." 
 
 "I know it is. I am a kind-hearted woman. And now 
 for where we'll go." 
 
 "I really am most awfully sorry, but I'm obliged to stick 
 to work." 
 
 "We might go down along the Riviera as far as Genoa, 
 and then run over to Sicily and Tunis." 
 
 She saw his eyes beginning to shine. 
 
 "Or we might go to the Greek Islands and Smyrna 
 and Constantinople. It's rather early for Constantinople, 
 though, but perfect for Egypt. We could leave the yacht 
 at Alexandria " 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Mrs. Shiffney, and I hope you'll have a 
 splendid cruise. But I really can't come much as I want to. 
 I have to work." 
 
 "When you say that you look all chin! How terribly 
 determined you are not to enjoy life!" 
 
 "It isn't that at all."
 
 58 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "How terribly determined you are not to know life. And 
 I always thought artists, unless they wished to be provincial 
 in their work, claimed the whole world as their portion, all 
 experience as their right. But 1 suppose English artists are 
 different. I often wonder whether they are wise in clinging 
 like limpets to the Puritan tradition. On the Continent, you 
 know, in Paris, Berlin, Rome, Milan, and, above all, in Mos- 
 cow and Petersburg, they are regarded with pity and amaze- 
 ment. Do forgive me! But artists abroad, and I speak 
 universally, though I know it's generally dangerous to do 
 that, think art is strangled by the Puritan tradition clinging 
 round poor old England's throat." 
 
 She laughed and moved her shoulders. 
 
 "They say how can men be great artists unless they steep 
 themselves in the stream of life." 
 
 "There are sacred rivers like the Ganges, and there are 
 others that are foul and weedy and iridescent with poison," 
 said Heath hotly. 
 
 She saw anger in his eyes. 
 
 "Perhaps you are getting something some sacred cantata 
 ready for one of the provincial festivals?" she said. "If 
 that is so, of course, you mustn't break the continuity with a 
 trip to the Greek Islands or Tunis. Besides, you'd get all the 
 wrong sort of inspiration in such places. I shall never forget 
 the beautiful impression I received at was it Worcester? 
 once when I saw an English audience staggering slowly to its 
 feet in tribute to the Hallelujah Chorus. I am sure you are 
 writing something that will bring Worcester to its feet, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 He forced a very mirthless laugh. 
 
 "I'm really not writing anything of that kind. But please 
 don't let us talk about my work. I am sure it's very un- 
 interesting except to me. I feel very grateful to you for your 
 kind and delightful offer, but I can't accept it, unfortunately 
 for me." 
 
 "Mal-au-caur?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. I don't think I'm a good sailor." 
 
 " M ' al-au-cceur!" she repeated, smiling satirically at him. 
 
 "I'm in the midst of something."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 59 
 
 "The Puritan tradition?" 
 
 "Perhaps it is that. Whatever it is, I suppose it suits me; 
 it's in my line, so I had better stick to it." 
 
 "You are bathing in the Ganges?" 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon him. 
 
 "Poor Charmian Mansfield! Whom can I get for her?" 
 
 Claude looked down. 
 
 "I must leave that to you. I am sure you will have a 
 very delightful party." 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney got up. She was looking the soul of careless 
 good-nature, and quite irresistible, though very Roman. 
 
 "I don't believe in hurried negatives," she said. "That 
 sounds like a solemn photographer laying down the law, 
 doesn't it? But I don't. I'll give you till Sunday to think 
 it quietly over. Write and let me know on Sunday. Till 
 then I'll keep one of the best cabins open for you. No berths, 
 all beds! Myself, Charmian Mansfield, Susan Fleet, Max 
 Elliot, Paul Lane, and you I still hope. Good-bye! Thank 
 you for being kind to me. I love to be well received. I'm a 
 horribly sensitive woman, really, though I don't look it. I 
 curl up at a touch, or because I don't get one!" 
 
 Claude tried to reiterate that he could not possibly get 
 away, but something in the expression of her eyes made him 
 feel that to do so just then would be to play the child, or, 
 worse, the fool to this woman of the world. As she got into 
 her motor she said: 
 
 "A note on Sunday. Don't forget!" 
 
 The machine purred. He saw a hand in a white glove 
 carelessly waved. She was gone. The light of that other 
 world faded; its murmurs died down. He went back to his 
 studio. He sat down at the piano. He played; he tried to 
 excite himself. The effort was vain. A sort of horror of the 
 shut-in life had suddenly come upon him, of the life of the 
 brain, or of the spirit, or of both, which he had been living, if 
 not with content at least with ardor a stronger thing than 
 content. He felt unmanly, absurd. All sense of personal 
 dignity and masculine self-satisfaction had fled from him. 
 He was furious with himself for being so sensitive. Why 
 should he care, even for half an hour, what Mrs. Shiffney
 
 60 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 thought of him? But there was within him and he knew 
 it a surely weak inclination to give people what they wanted, 
 or expected of him, when he was^ or had just been, with them. 
 Strangely enough it lay in his nature side by side with an 
 obstinate determination to do what he chose, to be what he 
 intended to be. These badly-assorted companions fought and 
 kept him restless. They prevented him from working now. 
 And at last he left the piano, put on hat and coat, and started 
 for a walk in the evening darkness. 
 
 He felt less irritated, even happier, when he was out in the air. 
 
 How persistent Mrs. Shiffney had been! He still felt 
 flattered by her persistence, not because he was a snob and 
 was aware of her influential position and great social popularity, 
 but because he was a young unknown man, and she had troops 
 of friends, battalions of acquaintances. She could get anyone 
 she liked to go on the yacht, and she wanted him. It was 
 flattering to his masculine vanity. He felt that there was 
 something in him which stretched out and caught at people, 
 without intention on his part, which grasped and held them. 
 It was not his talent, he told himself, for he kept that in the 
 dark. It was himself. Although he was less conceited than 
 the average Englishman of talent, for a few minutes he braced 
 his legs and had the cordial conquering sensation. 
 
 He had till Sunday to decide. 
 
 How absurd to say that to himself when he had decided, 
 told Mrs. Shiffney, and even told Mrs. Mansfield, his great 
 friend! There was really no reason why he should send any 
 note on Sunday. He had refused again and again. That 
 ought to be enough for Mrs. Shiffney, for any woman. But, of 
 course, he would write, lest he should seem heedless or impolite. 
 
 What a bore that strong instinct within him was, that 
 instinct which kept him, as it were, moored in a sheltered cove 
 when he might ride the great seas, and possibly with buoyant 
 success! Perhaps he was merely a coward, a rejector of life's 
 offerings. 
 
 Well, he had till Sunday. 
 
 Claude was a gentleman, but not of aristocratic birth. His 
 people were Cornish, of an old and respected Cornish family, 
 but quite unknown in the great world. They were very clan-
 
 61 
 
 nish, were quite satisfied with their position in their own 
 county, were too simple and too well-bred to share any of the 
 vulgar instincts and aspirations of the climber. Comfortably 
 off, they had no aching desire to be richer than they were, to 
 make any splash. The love of ostentation is not a Cornish 
 vice. The Heaths were homely people, hospitable, warm- 
 hearted, and contented without being complacent. Claude 
 had often felt himself a little apart from them, yet he derived 
 from them and inherited, doubtless, much from them of char- 
 acter, of sentiment, of habit. He was of them and not of 
 them. But he liked their qualities well in his soul, although 
 he felt that he could not live quite as they did, or be satisfied 
 with what satisfied them. 
 
 Although he had lived for some years in London he had 
 never tried, or even thought of trying, to push his way into 
 what are called "the inner circles." He had assiduously 
 cultivated his musical talent, but never with a view to using 
 it as a means of opening shut doors. He knew comparatively 
 few people, and scarcely any who were "in the swim," who 
 were written of in social columns, whose names were on the lips 
 of the journalists and of the world. He never thought about 
 his social position as compared with that of others. Accus- 
 tomed to being a gentleman, he did not want to be more or 
 other than he was. Had he been poor the obligation to strug- 
 gle might have roused within him the instinct to climb. A 
 forced activity might have bred in him the commoner sort of 
 ambition. But he had enough money and could gratify his 
 inclination toward secrecy and retirement. For several 
 years, since he had left the Royal College of Music and settled 
 down in his little house, he had been happy enough in his 
 sheltered and perhaps rather selfish existence. Dwelling in 
 the center of a great struggle for life, he had enjoyed it because 
 he had had nothing to do with it. His own calm had been 
 agreeably accentuated by the turmoil which surrounded and 
 enclosed it. How many times had he blessed his thousand a 
 year, that armor of gold with which fate had provided him! 
 How often had he imagined himself stripped of it, realized 
 mentally the sudden and fierce alteration in his life and eventu- 
 ally, no doubt, in himself that must follow if poverty came!
 
 62 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 He had a horror of the jealousies, the quarrels, the hatreds, 
 the lies, the stabbings in the dark that make too often hideous, 
 despicable, and terrible a world that should be very beautiful. 
 During his musical education he had seen enough to realize 
 that side by side with great talent, with a warm impulse to- 
 ward beauty, with an ardor that counts labor as nothing, 
 or as delight, may exist coldness, meanness, the tendency to 
 slander, egoism almost inhuman in its concentration, the will 
 to climb over the bodies of the fallen, the tyrant's mind, and 
 the stony heart of the cruel. Art, so it seemed to Claude, often 
 hardened instead of softening the nature of man. That, 
 no doubt, was because artists were generally competitors. 
 Actors, writers, singers, conductors, composers were pitted 
 against each other. The world that should be calm, serene, 
 harmonious, and perfectly balanced became a cock-pit, raucous 
 with angry voices, dabbled with blood, and strewn with the 
 torn feathers of the fallen. 
 
 The many books which he had read dealing with the lives 
 of great artists, sometimes their own autobiographies, had only 
 confirmed him in his wish to keep out of the struggle. Such 
 books, deeply interesting though they were, often made him 
 feel almost sick at heart. As he read them he saw genius 
 slipping, or even wallowing in pits full of slime. Men showered 
 their gold out of blackness. They rose on strong pinions only 
 to sink down below the level surely of even the average man. 
 And angry passions attended them along the pilgrimage of 
 their lives, seemed born and bred of their very being. Few 
 books made Claude feel so sad as the books which chronicled 
 the genius of men submitted to the conditions which prevail 
 in the ardent struggle for life. 
 
 He closed them, and was happy with his own quiet fate, his 
 apparently humdrum existence, which provided no material 
 for any biographer, the fate of the unknown man who does not 
 wish to be known. 
 
 But, of course, there was in him, as there is in almost every 
 man of strong imagination and original talent, a restlessness 
 like that of the physically strong man who has never tried 
 and proved his strength in any combat. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had appealed to his restlessness, which had
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 63 
 
 driven Claude forth into the darkness of evening and now com- 
 panioned him along the London ways. He knew no woman of 
 her type well, and something in him instinctively shrank from 
 her type. As he had said to Mrs. Mansfield, he dreaded, yet 
 he was aware that he might be fascinated by, the monster with 
 teeth and claws always watchful and hungry for pleasure. 
 And the voice that murmured, "To-morrow we die! To- 
 morrow we die!" was like a groan in his ears. But now, as he 
 walked, he was almost inclined to scold his imagination as a 
 companion which led him into excesses, to rebel against his own 
 instinct. Why should he refuse any pleasant temptation that 
 came in his way? Why should he decline to go on the yacht? 
 Was he not a prude, a timorous man to be so afraid for his own 
 safety, not of body, but of mind and soul? Mrs. Shiffney's 
 remarks about Continental artists stuck in his mind. Ought 
 he not to fling off his armor, to descend boldly into the mid- 
 stream of life, to let it take him on its current whither it 
 would? 
 
 He was conscious that if once he abandoned his cautious 
 existence he might respond to many calls which, as yet, had 
 not appealed to him. He fancied that he was one of those 
 natures which cannot be half-hearted, which cannot easily 
 mingle, arrange, portion out, take just so much of this and so 
 much of that. The recklessness that looked out of Mrs. 
 Shiffney's eyes spoke to something in him that might be 
 friendly to it, though something else in him disliked, despised, 
 almost dreaded it. 
 
 He had answered. Yet on Sunday he must answer again. 
 How he wished Mrs. Shiffney had not called upon him a second 
 time! In her persistence he read her worldly cleverness. She 
 divined the instability which he now felt within him. It must 
 be so. It was so. The first time he had met her he had had a 
 feeling as if to her almost impertinent eyes he were trans- 
 parent. And she had evidently seen something he had 
 supposed to be hidden, something he wished were not in 
 existence. 
 
 Her remarks about English musicians, her banter about 
 the provincial festivals had stung him. The word "pro- 
 vincial" rankled. If it applied to him, to his talent! If he
 
 64 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 were merely provincial and destined to remain so because of 
 his way of life ! 
 
 Abruptly he became solicitous, of opinion. He thought of 
 Mrs. Mansfield, and wondered what had been her opinion of 
 his music. Almost mechanically he crossed the broad road 
 by the Marble Arch, turned into the windings of Mayfair, and 
 made his way to Berkeley Square. 
 
 "I'll ask her. I'll find out!" was his thought. 
 
 He rang Mrs. Mansfield's bell. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Mansfield at home?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Is she alone?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Heath stepped in quickly. He still felt excited, uncertain 
 of himself, even self-conscious under the eyes of the butler. 
 There was no one in the drawing-room. As he waited he 
 wondered whether Charmian was in the house, whether he 
 would see her. And now, for the first time, he began to wonder 
 also why Mrs. Shiffney had made so much of the fact that 
 Charmian was to be on the yacht. He recalled her words, 
 " Poor Charmian Mansfield! Whom can I get for her?" Had 
 he been asked on Charmian's account? That seemed to him 
 very absurd. She certainly disliked him. They were not en 
 rapport. In the yacht they would be thrown together inces- 
 santly. He thought of the expression in Mrs. Shiffney's eyes 
 and felt positive that she had pressed him to come for herself. 
 But possibly she fancied he liked Charmian because he came 
 so often to Berkeley Square. The cleverest woman, it seemed, 
 made mistakes. But he could not quite understand Mrs. 
 Shiffney's proceedings. If he did, after all, go on the yacht it 
 would be rather amusing to study her. And Charmian? 
 Heath said to himself that he did not want to study her. She 
 was too uncertain, not without a certain fascination perhaps, 
 but too ironic, too something. He scarcely knew what it was 
 that he disliked, almost dreaded, in her. She was mischievous 
 at wrong moments. The minx peeped up in her and repelled 
 him. She watched him in surely a hostile way and did not 
 understand him. So he was on the defensive with her, never 
 quite at his ease.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 65 
 
 The door opened and Mrs. Mansfield came in. Heath went 
 toward her and took her hands eagerly. This evening he felt 
 less independent than he usually did, and in need of a real friend. 
 
 "What is it?" she said, after a look at him. 
 
 " Why should it be anything special?" 
 
 "But it is!" 
 
 He laughed almost uneasily. 
 
 "I wish I hadn't a face that gives me away always!" he 
 exclaimed. " Though to you I don't mind very much. Well, 
 I wanted to ask you two or three things, if I may." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield sat down on her favorite sofa, with her feet 
 on a stool. 
 
 "Anything," she said. 
 
 "Do you mind telling me exactly what you thought of my 
 music the other evening? Did you did you think it feeble 
 stuff? Did you, perhaps, think it" he paused "pro- 
 vincial?" he concluded, with an effort. 
 
 "Provincial!" 
 
 Heath was answered, but he persisted. 
 
 "What did you think?" 
 
 "I thought it alarming." 
 
 "Alarming?" 
 
 "Disturbing. It has disturbed me." 
 
 "Disturbed your mind?" 
 
 "Or my heart, perhaps." 
 
 "But why? How?" 
 
 "I'm not sure that I could tell you that." 
 
 Heath sat down. When he was not composing or playing 
 he sometimes felt very uncertain of himself, lacking in self- 
 confidence. He often had moments when he felt not merely 
 doubtful as to his talent, but as if he were less in almost every 
 way than the average man. He endeavored to conceal this 
 disagreeable weakness, which he suffered under and despised, 
 but could not rid himself of; and in consequence his manner was 
 sometimes uneasy. It was rather uneasy now. He longed to 
 be reassured. Mrs. Mansfield found him strangely different 
 from the man who had played to her, who had scarcely seemed 
 to care what she thought, what anyone thought of his music. 
 
 "I do wish you would try to tell me!" he said anxiously.
 
 66 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Why should you care what I think?" she said, almost as 
 if in rebuke. 
 
 " Perhaps my music is terrible rubbish!" 
 
 "It certainly is not, or it could not have made a strong 
 impression upon me." 
 
 "It did really make a strong impression?" 
 
 "Very strong." 
 
 "Then you think I have something in me worth developing, 
 worth taking care of?" 
 
 "I am sure you have." 
 
 "I wonder how I ought to live?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Is that what you came to ask me?" 
 
 Her fiery eyes seemed to search him. She sat very still, 
 looking intensely alive. 
 
 "To-night I feel as if I didn't know, didn't know at all! 
 You see, I avoid so many things, so many experiences that I 
 might have." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Yes. I think I've done that for years. I know I'm 
 doing it now." 
 
 He moved restlessly. 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney has asked me again to go yachting with her." 
 
 "But I thought you had refused." 
 
 "I did. But she has been again to-day. She says your 
 daughter is going." 
 
 "Charmian has been asked." 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney said she had accepted the invitation." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And now I'm to give my answer on Sunday." 
 
 "You seem quite upset about it," she said, without sarcasm. 
 
 "Of course it seems a small matter. People would laugh 
 at me, I know, for worrying. But what I feel is that if I go 
 with Mrs. Shiffney, or go to Max Elliot's parties, I shall very 
 soon be drawn into a life quite different from the one I have 
 always led. And I do think it matters very much to to some 
 people just how they live, whom they know well, and so on. 
 Men say, of course, that a man ought to face the rough and 
 tumble of life. And some women say a man ought to welcome 
 every experience. I wonder what the truth is?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 67 
 
 Still with her eyes on him, Mrs. Mansfield said: 
 
 "Follow your instinct." 
 
 "Can't one have conflicting instincts?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "Then one's instinct may not be strong enough to make 
 itself known." 
 
 "I doubt that." 
 
 "But I am a man, you a woman. Women are said to have 
 stronger instincts than men." 
 
 "Aren't you playing with your own convictions?" 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 He stared at her, but for a moment his eyes looked uncon- 
 scious of her. 
 
 " Mrs. Shiffney said something to me that struck me," he said 
 presently. " She implied that experiences of all kinds are the 
 necessary food for anyone who wishes to be at all a big artist. 
 She evidently thinks that England has failed to produce great 
 musicians because the English are hampered by tradition." 
 
 "She thinks uncleanliness necessary to the producing of 
 beauty perhaps!" 
 
 "Ah, I believe you have put into words what I have been 
 thinking!" 
 
 "Is it wisdom to grope for stars in the mud?" 
 
 "No, no! It can't be!" 
 
 He was silent. Then he said: 
 
 " St Augustine, and many others, went through mud to the 
 stars though." 
 
 "St. Francis didn't if we are to talk of the saints." 
 
 "I believe you could guide me." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield looked deeply touched. For an instant tears 
 glistened in her eyes. Nevertheless, her next remark was 
 almost sternly uncompromising. 
 
 "Even if I could, don't let me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I want the composer of the music I heard at the little 
 house to be very strong in every way. No, no; I am not 
 going to try to guide you, my friend!" 
 
 There was a sound in her voice as if she were speaking to 
 herself.
 
 68 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I never met anyone so capable of comradeship no 
 woman, I mean as you." 
 
 "That's a compliment I like!" 
 
 At this moment the door opened and Charmian came in, 
 -wrapped in furs, her face covered by a veil. When she 
 saw Heath with her mother she pushed the veil up rather 
 languidly. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Heath! We haven't seen you for ages. What 
 have you been about?" 
 
 "Nothing in particular." 
 
 "Haven't you?" 
 
 "Take off that thick coat, Charmian, and come and talk 
 to us." 
 
 "Shall I?" 
 
 She unbuttoned the fur slowly. Claude helped her to take 
 it off. As she emerged he thought, "How slim she is!" He 
 had often before looked at girls and wondered at their slimness, 
 and thought that it seemed part of their mystery. It both 
 .attracted and repelled him. 
 
 "Are you talking of very interesting things?" she asked, 
 coming toward the fire. 
 
 "I hear you are going for a cruise with Mrs. Shiffney," said 
 Claude, uneasily. 
 
 "I believe I am. It would be rather nice to get out of this 
 weather. But you don't mind it." 
 
 "How can you know that?" 
 
 "It's very simple, almost as simple as some of Sherlock 
 Holmes's deductions. You have refused the cruise which I 
 have accepted. I expect you were right. No doubt one 
 might get terribly bored on a yacht, unable to get away from 
 people. I almost wonder that I dared to say 'Yes!' : 
 
 "Where are you going to sit, Charmian?" said Mrs. Mans- 
 field. 
 
 "Dearest mother, I'm afraid I must go upstairs. I've got 
 to try on coats and skirts." 
 
 She turned toward Heath. 
 
 "The voyage, you know. I wish you could have come!" 
 
 She held out her thin hand, smiling. She was looking very 
 serene, very sure of herself.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 69 
 
 "I'm to answer Mrs. Shiffney on Sunday," said Heath 
 abruptly. 
 
 Something in Chairman's voice and manner had made him 
 feel defiant. 
 
 "Oh, I thought you had answered! Is Sunday your day 
 for making up your mind?" 
 
 Before he could reply she went out of the room slowly, 
 smiling.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 ON the following Sunday night at ten o'clock Max Elliot 
 gave one of his musical parties. 
 
 Delia had long since emerged from her rest cure, but 
 was still suffering severely from its after-effects. It had com- 
 pletely broken her down, poor thing. The large quantities of 
 "Marella" which she had imbibed had poisoned the system. 
 The Swedish massage had made her bulky. And the prohibi- 
 tion as to letters had so severely shaken her nerve ganglions 
 that she had been forced to seek the strengthening air of an 
 expensive Swiss altitude, from which she had only just returned 
 by way of Paris, where she had been nearly finished off by the 
 dressmakers. However, being a woman of courage, she was 
 down in peach color, with a pale turquoise-blue waist-belt, 
 to receive her guests and to help to make things cheery. And 
 she devoured condolences with an excellent appetite. 
 
 "Whatever you do, never touch 'Marella'!" she was saying 
 in her quick, light voice as Mrs. Mansfield and Charmian came 
 into the music-room. "It's poison. It turns everything to I 
 forget what, but something that develops the microbes instead 
 of destroying them. I nearly died of it. Ah, Violet! Don't 
 let Charmian be massaged by a Swede. It will ruin her figure. 
 I've had to starve in Switzerland, or I couldn't have got into 
 any of my new gowns. There's nothing so fatal as a rest cure. 
 It sets every nerve on edge. The terrible monotony, and not 
 knowing whether those one loves are alive or dead, whether the 
 Government's gone out, or if there's a new King, or anything. 
 Quite unnatural! It unfits one to face life and cope with one's 
 friends. But Max would make me. Dear old Max! He's 
 such a faddist. Men are the real faddists. I'll tell you about 
 a marvellous new Arab remedy presently. I heard about it 
 in Paris. We are going to have a lot of music in a minute. 
 Yes, yes!" 
 
 She spoke rapidly, looking about the room and seldom 
 
 70
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 71 
 
 hearing what was said to her. Perpetual society had destroyed 
 in her all continuity of mind. Ever since she could remember 
 she had forgotten how to listen. She wanted to see, hear, 
 know everybody, everything. Her mind hovered on the 
 horizon, her restless and pale-blue eyes sought the farthest 
 corners of the chamber to see what was happening in them, 
 while she spoke to those within a foot or two of her. She 
 laughed at jokes she did not catch or want to catch. She 
 replied to questions she had divined by the expression on a face 
 while she was glancing over the head it belonged to. She 
 asked for information and travelled away ere it was given. 
 Yet many people liked her. She was one of those very fair 
 and small women who always look years younger than almost 
 anyone really is, was full of vague charm, was kind, not stupid, 
 and a good little thing, had two children and was only concen- 
 trated when at the dressmaker's or trying on hats. 
 
 Max was devoted to her and rejoiced in spoiling her. He 
 was one of those men who like to have a butterfly in the room 
 with them. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield never tried to talk to Delia in a crowd, and 
 she and Charmian went on into the big room. It was already 
 full of people, many of whom were sitting on chairs grouped 
 about the dais on which was the piano, while others stood 
 about, and still others looked down upon the throng from 
 recessed balconies, gained from a hidden corridor with which 
 the main staircase of the house communicated. 
 
 Charmian saw Mrs. Shiffney not far off, talking and laughing 
 with a great portrait painter, who looked like a burly farmer, 
 and with a renowned operatic baritone, whose voice had left 
 him in the prime of his life and who now gave singing lessons, 
 and tried to fight down the genius which was in him and to 
 which he could no longer give expression. He had a pale, large, 
 and cruel face, and gray eyes that had become sinister since 
 the disaster which had overtaken him. Near this group were 
 three men, a musical critic, Paul Lane, and a famous English 
 composer, prop and stay of provincial festivals. The comr 
 poser was handsome, with merry eyes and a hearty laugh 
 which seemed to proclaim "Sanity! Sanity! Sanity! Don't 
 be afraid of the composer! " The critic was tall, gay, and ener-
 
 72 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 getic, and also looked indeed, seemed to mean to look a 
 thorough good fellow who had a hatred of shams. Lane, 
 pale and discontented, had an air of being out of place in their 
 company. Pretty women were everywhere, and there were 
 many young and very smart men. On a sofa close to Char- 
 mian a degagee-looking Duchess was telling a "darkie" story 
 to a lively and debonair writer, who was finding his story to 
 cap it while he listened and smiled. Just beyond them were 
 two impertinent and picturesquely dressed girls, sisters, whom 
 Charmian knew intimately and met at almost every party she 
 went to. One of them, who wore gold laurel leaves in her dark 
 hair, made a little face at Charmian, which seemed to express 
 a satirical welcome and the promise of sarcasm when they 
 should be near enough to talk. The other was being prettily 
 absurd with an excellent match. Close to the piano stood a 
 very beautiful woman dressed in black, without jewels or 
 gloves, who had an exquisite profile, hollow cheeks and haggard 
 but lovely brown eyes. She was talking to several people who 
 were gathered about her, and never smiled. It was impossible 
 to imagine that she could ever smile. Her name was Lady 
 Mildred Burnington, and she was an admirable amateur vio- 
 linist, married to Admiral Sir Hilary Burnington, one of the 
 Sea Lords. Max Elliot was in the distance, talking eagerly 
 in the midst of a group of musicians. A tall singer, a woman 
 from the Paris Opera Comique, stood by him with her right 
 hand on his arm, as if she wanted to interrupt him. She was 
 deathly pale, with hair like the night, ebon, and a face almost 
 as exaggeratedly expressive as a tragic pierrot's. People 
 pointed her out as Millie Deans, a Southern American never 
 yet heard in London. She spoke to Max Elliot, then looked 
 round the room, with sultry, defiant and yet anxious eyes. 
 As if in answer to Millie Deans's words, Max Elliot moved 
 away with her, and took her through the throng to Mrs. Shiff- 
 ney, who turned round with her movement of the shoulders as 
 they came up. Charmian, watching, saw Mrs. Shiffney's gay 
 and careless smile, the piercing light in her eyes as she looked 
 swiftly at the singer, who faced her with a tragic and deter- 
 mined expression. The portrait painter stood by, with his 
 rather protruding eyes fixed on Miss Deans.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 73 
 
 As Charmian glanced round at the crowd and spoke to one 
 person and another she was seized again by her horror of being 
 one of the unknown lives. She saw many celebrities. She 
 yearned to be numbered among them. If she could even be as 
 Mrs. Shiffney, an arbiter of taste, a setter of fashions in admira- 
 tion; if she could see people look at her, as Millie Deans looked 
 at Mrs. Shiffney, with the hard determination to win her over 
 to their side in the battle of art, she thought she could be happy. 
 But to be nobody, " that pretty little Charmian," "that grace- 
 ful Charmian Mansfield, but she's not half as clever as her 
 mother"! To-night she felt as if she could not bear it. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had turned away from the singer, and now 
 her eyes rested on Charmian. She nodded and smiled and 
 made a beckoning motion with her left hand. But at this 
 moment a singer and composer, half Spanish, half nobody 
 knew what, who called himself Ferdinand Rades, sat down 
 before the piano with a lighted cigarette in his mouth and 
 struck a few soft chords, looking about him with a sort of sad 
 and languid insolence and frowning till his thick eyebrows 
 came down to make a penthouse roof above his jet black eyes. 
 
 "Hush hush, please!" said Max Elliot, loudly. " 'Sh 
 'sh 'sh! Monsieur Rades is going to sing." 
 
 He bent to Rades. 
 
 "What is it? Monsieur Rades will sing Le Moulin, and 
 Le Retour de Madame Blague." 
 
 There was a ripple of applause, and Mrs. Shiffney hastily 
 made her way to a chair just in front of the piano, sat down 
 on it, and gazed at Rades, who turned and stared at her. 
 Then, taking the cigarette from his mouth, he sang Le Moulin 
 at her, leaning back, swaying and moving his thick eyebrows. 
 It was a sad song, full of autumnal atmosphere, a delicate 
 and sensual caress of sorrow. The handsome composer and 
 the lusty musical critic listened to it, watched the singer with 
 a sort of bland contempt. But when he threw away his 
 cigarette and sang Le Retour de Madame Blague, an outrageous 
 trifle, full of biting esprit and insolent wit, with a refrain 
 like the hum of Paris by night, and a long bouchefermee effect 
 at the end, even they joined in the laughter and the applause, 
 though with a certain reluctance, as if, in doing so, they half
 
 74 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 feared to descend into a gutter where slippery and slimy 
 things made their abode. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney got up and begged Ferdinand to sing again, 
 mentioning several songs by name. He shook his head, 
 letting his apparently boneless and square-nailed hands stray 
 about over the piano all the tune she was speaking to him. 
 
 "Non, nonl Ce soir nonl Impossible!" 
 
 ''Then sing Petite Fille de Tombouctou!" she exclaimed at 
 last. 
 
 And before he could answer she turned round, smiling, and 
 said: " Petite Fille de Tombouctou." 
 
 There was a murmur of delight, and the impertinent girl 
 with laurel leaves in her dark hair suddenly looked exotic and 
 full of languors. And Charmian thought of the yacht. Had 
 Mrs. Shiffney received Claude Heath's answer yet? He was 
 to make up his mind on Sunday. Rades was singing. His 
 accompaniment was almost terribly rhythmical, with a sug- 
 gestion of the little drums that the black men love. She saw 
 fierce red flowers while he sang, strange alleys with houses like 
 huts, trees standing stiffly in a blaze of heat, sand, limbs the 
 color of slate. The sound of the curious voice had become 
 Eastern, the look in the insolent black eyes Eastern. There 
 seemed to be an odd intoxication in the face, pale, impassive, 
 and unrighteous, as if the effects of a drug were beginning 
 to steal upon the senses. And the white, square-nailed 
 hands beat gently upon the piano till many people, uncon- 
 sciously, began to sway ever so little to and fro. An angry 
 look came into Millie Deans's eyes, and when the last drum 
 throb died away and the little girl of Tombouctou slept 
 for ever in the sand, slain by her Prince of Darkness, for a 
 reason that seemed absurdly inadequate to the British com- 
 poser who was a prop of the provincial festivals, but quite 
 adequate to almost every woman in the room, her mouth set 
 in a hardness that was almost menacing. 
 
 After ten minutes' conversation an English soprano sang 
 Bach's Heart Ever Faithful. Variety was always welcomed 
 at the parties in Cadogan Square. 
 
 "Glorious, old chap!" said the British composer. "We've 
 come up into God's air now."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 75 
 
 The critic swung his right arm like a man who enjoyed 
 bowling practice at the nets. 
 
 "Lung exercise! Lung exercise!" he breathed. "And that 
 drop at the end! What a stroke of genius!" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had disappeared with Rades. She loved 
 Bach in the supper-room. In the general movement which 
 took place when the soprano had left the dais, escorted by 
 Max Elliot, to have a glass of something, Charmian found 
 herself beside Margot Drake, the girl with the laurel leaves. 
 
 Margot and her sister Kit were extremely well known in 
 London. Their father was a very rich iron-master, a self- 
 made man, who had been created a Baronet and had married 
 an ultra-aristocratic woman, the beautiful Miss Enid Blensover, 
 related to half the Peerage. The blend had resulted in the two 
 girls, who were certainly anything rather than ordinary. 
 They were half Blensovers and half Drakes: delicate, languid, 
 hot-house plants; shrewd, almost coarse, and pushing growths, 
 hardy and bold, and inclined to be impudent. In appearance 
 they resembled their mother, and they had often much of her 
 enervated and almost decaying manner. Her beauty was of 
 the dropping-to-pieces type, bound together by wonderful 
 clothes of a fashion peculiar to herself and very effective. 
 But they had the energy, the ruthlessness, and the indifference 
 to opinion of their father, and loved to startle the world he 
 had won for himself. They were shameless, ultra-smart, with 
 a sort of half-condescending passion for upper Bohemia. And 
 as neither their mother nor they cared about anybody's private 
 life or morals, provided the sinner was celebrated, lovely, or 
 amusing, they knew intimately, even to calling by Christian 
 names, all sorts of singers, actresses, dancers, sculptors, writers, 
 and painters, who were never received in any sort of good 
 society on the Continent or in America. London's notorious 
 carelessness in such matters was led gaily by their mother and 
 by them. Their house in Park Lane was popularly known as 
 "the ragbag," and they were perpetually under the spell of 
 some rage of the moment. Now they were twin Bacchantes, 
 influenced by a Siberian dancer at the Palace; now curiously 
 Eastern, captured by a Nautch girl whom they had come to 
 know in Paris. For a time they were Japanese, when the
 
 76 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Criterion opened its doors to a passionate doll from Yokohama, 
 who became their bosom friend. Italy touched them with the 
 lovely hands of La Divina Carlotta, our lady of tears from a 
 slum of Naples. The Sicilians turned them to fire and the 
 Swedish singers to snow. At this moment Margot was inclined 
 to be classic, caught by a plastic poseuse from Athens, who, 
 attired solely in gold-leaf, was giving exhibitions at the Hippo- 
 drome to the despair of Mrs. Grundy. And Kit was waiting 
 for a new lead and marking time in the newest creations from 
 Paris. 
 
 "Charmian, come and sit down for just a moment! Run 
 away and play, Lord Mark!" 
 
 "With whom?" said a handsome boy plaintively. 
 
 "With Jenny Smythe, with Lady Dolly, anyone who can 
 play pretty. Come back in ten minutes and I'll be bothered 
 with you again perhaps. Let's sit here, Charmian. Wasn't 
 the Fille too perfect? But the Bach was like the hewing 
 of wood and the drawing of water. Max shouldn't have 
 allowed it. What do you think of my gold gown?" 
 
 "It's lovely!" 
 
 "The Greeks knew everything and we know nothing. 
 This dress hangs in such a calm way that one can't be any- 
 thing but classic in it. Since I've known the Persephone I've 
 learnt how to live. You must go to the Hippodrome. But 
 what's all this about your going yachting with the Adel- 
 aide and an extraordinary Cornish genius? What's the 
 matter?" 
 
 The last words came out in a suddenly business-like and 
 almost self-made voice, and Margot's deep eyes, full hitherto 
 of a conscious calm, supposed to be Greek, abruptly darted 
 questioning fires which might have sprung from a modern 
 hussy. 
 
 "D'you like him so much?" continued Margot, before 
 Charmian had time to answer. 
 
 "You're making a great mistake," said Charmian, with 
 airy dignity. "I was only surprised to hear that Claude 
 Heath was coming. I didn't know it. I understood he 
 had refused to come. He always refuses everything. How 
 did you hear of him ?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 77 
 
 "The Adelaide has been talking about him. She says 
 he's a genius who hates the evil world, and will only know 
 her and your mother, and that he's going with her and you 
 and Max Elliot to the Greek Isles on one condition that 
 nobody else is to be asked and that he is to be introduced to no 
 one. If it's really the Greek Isles, I think I ought to be taken. 
 I told the Adelaide so, but she said Claude Heath would rather 
 die than have a girl like me with him on the yacht." 
 
 "So he really has accepted?" 
 
 "Evidently. Now you don't look pleased." 
 
 "Mr. Heath's Madretta's friend, not mine," said Charmian. 
 
 "Really? Then your mother should go to Greece. Why 
 did the Adelaide ask you?" 
 
 "I can't imagine." 
 
 "Now, Charmian!" 
 
 "I assure you, Margot, I was amazed at being asked." 
 
 "But you accepted." 
 
 "I wanted to get out of this weather." 
 
 "With a Cornish genius?" 
 
 "Mr. Heath only looks at middle-aged married women," 
 said Charmian. "I think he has a horror of girls. He and 
 I don't get on at all." 
 
 "What is he like?" 
 
 "Plain and gaunt." 
 
 "Is his music really so wonderful?" 
 
 "I've never heard a note of it." 
 
 "Hasn't your mother?" 
 
 With difficulty Charmian kept a displeased look out of 
 her face as she answered sweetly: 
 
 "Once, I think. But she has said very little about it." 
 
 At this moment the tragic mask of Miss Deans was seen 
 in a doorway, and Margot got up quickly. 
 
 "There's that darling Millie from Paris!" 
 
 "Who? Where?" 
 
 "Millie Deans, the only real actress on the operatic stage. 
 Until you've seen her in Crepe de Chine you've never seen 
 opera as it ought to be. Millie! Millie!" 
 
 She went rather aggressively toward Miss Deans, for- 
 getting her calm gown for the moment.
 
 78 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 So Claude Heath had accepted. Charmian concluded 
 this from Margot Drake's remarks. No doubt Mrs. Shiffney 
 had received his answer that day-. She loved giving people 
 the impression that she was adventurous and knew strange 
 and wonderful beings who wouldn't know anyone else. So 
 she had not been able to keep silence about Claude Heath and 
 the Greek Isles. Charmian's heart bounded. The peculiar 
 singing of Ferdinand Rades, which had upon hearers much of 
 the effect made upon readers by the books of Pierre Loti, had 
 excited and quickened her imagination. Secretly Charmian 
 was romantic, though she seldom seemed so. She longed after 
 wonders, and was dissatisfied with the usual. Yet she was 
 capable of expecting wonders to conform to a standard to 
 which she was accustomed. There was much conventionality 
 in her, though she did not know it. "The Brighton tradition " 
 was not a mere phrase in her mother's mouth. Laughingly 
 said it contained, nevertheless, particles of truth. But at this 
 moment it seemed far away from Charmian, quite foreign to 
 her. The Greek Isles and 
 
 Millie Deans had stepped upon the dais, accompanied by 
 a very thin, hectic French boy, who sat down at the piano. 
 But she did not seem inclined to sing. She looked round, 
 glanced at the hectic boy, folded her hands in front of her, and 
 waited. Max Elliot approached with his genial air and spoke 
 to her. She answered, putting her dead-white face close to his. 
 He also looked round the room, then hurried out. There was 
 a pause. 
 
 "What is it?" people murmured, turning their heads. 
 
 Paul Lane bent down and said to the degagee Duchess: 
 
 "She won't sing till Mr. Brett, of the opera, comes." 
 
 His lips curled in a sarcastic smile. 
 
 "What a fuss they all make about themselves!" returned 
 the Duchess. "It's a hard face." 
 
 "Millie's? She's in a violent temper. You'll see; until 
 Mr. Brett comes she won't open her mouth." 
 
 Miss Deans stood rigid, with her hands always crossed in 
 front of her and her eyes watching the door. The boy at the 
 piano moved his hands over the keys without producing any 
 sound. There was the ripple of a laugh, and Mrs. Shiffney
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 79 
 
 came carelessly in with Rades, followed by a small, stout man, 
 Mr. Brett, and Max Elliot. When he saw Miss Deans the 
 stout man looked humorously sarcastic. Max Elliot wanted 
 Mrs. Shiffney to come near to the dais, but she refused, and 
 sat down by the door. Rades whispered to her and she laughed 
 again. Max Elliot went close to Millie Deans. She frowned 
 at her accompanist, who began to play, looking sensitive. Mr. 
 Brett leaned against the wall looking critical. 
 
 Charmian was in one of the balconies now with a young 
 man. She saw her mother opposite to her with Sir Hilary 
 Burnington, looking down on the singer and the crowd, and 
 she thought her mother must have heard something very sad. 
 Millie Deans sang an aria of Mozart in a fine, steady, and warm 
 soprano voice. Then she sang two morceaux from the filmy 
 opera, Crdpe de Chine, by a young Frenchman, which she had 
 helped to make the rage of Paris. Her eyes were often on Mr. 
 Brett, commanding him to be favorable, yet pleading with 
 him too. 
 
 As Mrs. Mansfield looked down she was feeling sad. The 
 crowded room beneath her was a small epitome of the world 
 to which talent and genius are flung, to be kissed or torn to 
 pieces, perhaps to be kissed then torn to pieces. And too 
 often the listeners felt that they were superior to those they 
 listened to, because to them an appeal was made, because they 
 were in the position of judges. "Do we like her? Shall we 
 take her?" Many faces expressed such questions as this 
 strange-looking woman sang. "What does Mr. Brett think 
 of her?" and eyes turned toward the stout man leaning 
 against the wall. 
 
 Did not Claude Heath do well to keep out of it all? 
 
 The question passed through Mrs. Mansfield's mind as she 
 felt the humiliation of the yoke which the world fastens on the 
 artist's neck. She had come to care for Heath almost a little 
 jealously, but quite unselfishly. She was able to care un- 
 selfishly, because she had given all of herself that was passion- 
 ate long ago to the man who was dead. Never again could she 
 be in love. Never again could she desire the closest relation 
 woman can be in*;. with man. But she felt protective toward 
 Heath. She had the strong instinct, to shelter his young aus-
 
 80 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 terity, his curious talent, his reserve, and his sensitiveness. 
 And she was thinking now, "If he goes yachting with Ade- 
 laide! If he allows Max to exploit him ! If he becomes known, 
 perhaps the fashion, even the rage1~ And if they get sick of 
 him?" Yet what is talent for? Why is it given to any man? 
 Surely to be used, displayed, bestowed. 
 
 There was a hard and cruel expression on many of the 
 listening faces below. Singers were there, appraising; pro- 
 fessional critics coldly judging, jaded, sated, because they had 
 heard too much of the wonderful sounds of the world; men 
 like Paul Lane, by temperament inclined to sneer and con- 
 demn; women who loved to be in camps and whose idea of 
 setting an artist on high was to tear all other artists down. 
 Battlefields! Battlefields! Mrs. Mansfield was painfully 
 conscious that the last thing to be found in any circle of Me is 
 peace. Too often there was poison in the cup which the 
 artist had to drink. Too often to attract the gaze of the 
 world was to attract and concentrate many of the floating 
 hatreds of the world. The little old house near Petersburg 
 Place was a quiet refuge. Mrs. Searle, a kindly dragon, kept 
 the door. Yellow-haired Fan was the fairy within. The 
 faded curtains of orange color shut out very much that was 
 black and horrid. And there the Kings of the East passed by. 
 But there, also, the sea was as the blood of a dead man. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of her?" Sir Hilary was 
 speaking. 
 
 He had a face like a fairly good-natured bulldog, and, like 
 the bulldog, looked as if, once fastened on an enemy, he would 
 not easily be detached. 
 
 "I think it's a very beautiful voice and remarkably 
 trained." 
 
 "Do you? Well, now I don't think she's a patch on 
 Dantini." 
 
 The Admiral was wholly unmusical, but, having married an 
 accomplished violinist, he was inclined to lay down the law 
 about music. 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "No, I don't. No lightness, no agility; too heavy." 
 
 "There are holes in her voice," observed a stout musical
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 81 
 
 critic standing beside him. "The middle register is all 
 wrong." 
 
 "That's it," said the Admiral, snapping his jaws. "Holes 
 in the voice and the the what you may call it all wrong." 
 
 "I wonder what Adelaide Shiffney thinks?" said a small, 
 dark, and shrewish-looking woman just behind them. "I 
 must go and find out." 
 
 "My wife won't have her. I'm dead certain of that," 
 said the Admiral. 
 
 "She ought to start again with De Reszke," said the mu- 
 sical critic, puffing out his fat cheeks and looking suddenly like 
 a fish. 
 
 "Well, I must go down. It's getting late," said Mrs. 
 Mansfield. 
 
 "It isn't a real soprano," said someone in a husky voice. 
 "It's a forced-up mezzo." 
 
 Beneath them Millie Deans was standing by Mrs. Shiffney, 
 who was saying: 
 
 "Charming! No, I haven't heard Cr6pe de Chine. I don't 
 care much for Fournier's music. He imitates the Russians. 
 Such a pity! Are you really going back to-morrow? Good- 
 bye, then! Now, Rades, be amiable! Give us Enigme." 
 Mr. Brett had disappeared. 
 
 "No, Mr. Elliot, it's no use talking to me, not a bit of use!" 
 Millie Deans exclaimed vehemently in the hall as Rades began 
 Enigme in his most velvety voice. "London has no taste, 
 it has only fashions. In Paris that man is not a singer at all. 
 He is merely a diseur. No one would dream of putting him 
 in a programme with me." 
 
 "But, my dear Miss Deans, you knew he was singing to- 
 night. And my programmes are always eclectic. There is no 
 intention 
 
 "I don't know anything about eplectic," said Millie Deans,, 
 whose education was one-sided, but who had temperament 
 and talent, and also a very strong temper. "But I do know 
 that Mr. Brett, who seems to rule you all here, is as ignorant 
 of music as as a carp, isn't it? Isn't it, I say!" 
 
 "I daresay it is. But, my dear Miss Deans, people were 
 delighted. You will come back, you " 
 
 6
 
 82 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Never! He means to keep me out. I can see it. He 
 has that Dantini in his pocket. A woman with a voice like a 
 dwarf in a gramophone!" 
 
 At this moment, perhaps fortunately, Miss Deans's hired 
 electric brougham came up, and Max Elliot got rid of her. 
 
 Although she had lost her temper Miss Deans had not lost 
 her shrewdness. Mr. Brett shrugged his shoulders and con- 
 fessed that the talent of Miss Deans did not appeal to him. 
 
 "Her singing bored me," was the verdict of Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 And many of Max Elliot's guests found that they had been 
 subject to a similar ennui when the American was singing. 
 
 "Poor woman!" thought Mrs. Mansfield, who was un- 
 prejudiced, and who, with Max Elliot and other genuine 
 musicians, recognized the gifts of Miss Deans. 
 
 And again her mind went to Claude Heath. 
 
 "Better to keep out of it! Better to keep out of it!" a 
 voice said within her. 
 
 And apparently Heath was of one mind with her on this 
 matter. 
 
 As Mrs. Mansfield and Charmian were going away they met 
 Mrs. Shiffney in the hall with Ferdinand, who was holding her 
 cloak. 
 
 "Oh, Charmian!" she said, turning quickly, with the cloak 
 over one of her broad shoulders. " I heard from Claude Heath 
 to-day." 
 
 "Did you?" said Charmian languidly, looking about her 
 at the crowd. 
 
 "Yes. He can't come. His mother's got a cold and he 
 doesn't like to leave her, or something. And he's working 
 very hard on a composition that nobody is ever to hear. And 
 I forget what else. But there were four sides of excuses." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Poor boy! He hasn't much savoir-faire. Good-night! 
 I'll let you know when we start." 
 
 Her eyes pierced Charmian. 
 
 "Come, Ferdinand! No, you get in first. I hate being 
 passed and trodden on when once I'm in, and I take up so 
 much room." 
 
 That night, when Charmian was safely in her bedroom and
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 83 
 
 had locked the door against imaginary intruders, she cried, 
 bitterly, impetuously: 
 
 "If only Rades had not sung Petite Fille de Tombouctou!" 
 
 That song seemed to have put the finishing touch to desires 
 which would never be gratified. Charmian could not have 
 explained why. But such music was cruel when Me went 
 wrong. 
 
 "Why won't he come? Why won't he come?" she mur- 
 mured angrily. 
 
 Then she looked at herself in the glass, and thought she 
 realized that from the first she had hated Claude Heath.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later The Wanderer lay at anchor in the 
 
 Z\ harbor of Algiers. But only the captain and some of 
 
 the crew were on board. Mrs. Shiffney, Max Elliot, 
 
 and Paul Lane had gone off in a motor to Bou-Saada. Alfred 
 
 Waring, the extra man who had come instead of Claude Heath, 
 
 had run over to Biskra to see some old friends, and Charmian 
 
 and Susan Fleet were at the Hotel St. George at Mustapha 
 
 Superieur. 
 
 Charmian was not very well. The passage from Marseilles 
 had been rough, and she had suffered. As she had never 
 before seen Algiers she had got out of the expedition to Bou 
 Saada. And Susan Fleet had, apparently, volunteered to 
 stay with her, but had really stayed, as she did a great many 
 things when she was with Mrs. Shiffney, because there was no 
 one else to do it and Mrs. Shiffney had told her so. 
 
 Nevertheless, though she wanted to see Bou-Saada, she 
 was reconciled to her lot. She liked Charmian very well, 
 though she knew her very little. And she had the great 
 advantage in life so, at least, she considered it of being a 
 theosophist. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had not known how to put Charmian off. 
 After hearing again Petite Fille de Tonibouctou she had 
 felt she must get out of Europe, if only for five minutes. So 
 she had made the best of things. And Charmian would rather 
 have died than have given up going after Claude Heath's 
 refusal to go. A run over to Algiers was nothing. They could 
 be back in England in two or three weeks. So The Wanderer 
 had gone round to Marseilles, and the party of six had come 
 out by train to meet her there. 
 
 Susan Fleet was one of those capable and intelligent women 
 who are apt to develop sturdiness if they do not marry and 
 have children. Susan had not married, and at the age of 
 
 84
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 85 
 
 forty-nine and nine months she was sturdy. She wore coats 
 and skirts whenever they could be worn, and some people 
 professed to believe that she slept in them. Her one ex- 
 travagance was the wearing of white gloves which fitted her 
 hands perfectly. Her collars were immaculate, and she always 
 looked almost startlingly neat. All her dresses were "off the 
 ground." In appearance she was plain, but she was not ugly. 
 She had a fairly good nose and mouth, but they were never 
 admired, thick brown hair which no one ever noticed, and a 
 passable complexion. Her eyes were her worst feature. They 
 looked as if they were loose in her head and might easily drop 
 out, and they were rather glazed than luminous, and were 
 indefinite in color. But they were eyes which reassured 
 doubtful people, eyes which could be, and were, trusted "on 
 sight," eyes which had seen a good deal but which could never 
 take nastiness into the soul to its harming. Her father was 
 dead, and she had a mother who, at the age of sixty-seven 
 she had really been married at sixteen was living as com- 
 panion at Folkestone with an old lady of eighty-two. 
 
 Susan Fleet was one of those absolutely unsycophantic and 
 naturally well-bred persons who are often liked by those "at 
 the top of the tree, " and who sometimes, without beauty, great 
 talent, money, or other wordly advantages, and without any 
 thought of striving, achieve "positions" which everybody 
 recognizes. Susan had a "position." She knew and was liked 
 by all sorts and conditions of important people, had been about, 
 had^stayed in houses with Royalties, and had always remained 
 just herself, perfectly natural, quite unpretending, and wholly 
 free from every grain of nonsense. "There's no nonsense 
 about Susan Fleet!" many said approvingly, especially these 
 who themselves were full of it. She possessed one shining 
 advantage, a constitutional inability to be a snob, and she was 
 completely ignorant of possessing it. Mrs. Shiffney and vari- 
 ous other very rich women could not do without Susan. Un- 
 like her mother, she had no permanent post. But she was 
 always being "wanted," and was well paid, not always in 
 money only, for the excellent services she was able to render. 
 She never made any secret of her poverty, though she never 
 put it forward, and it was understood by everyone that she had
 
 86 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 to earn her own living. Many years ago she had qualified to 
 do this by mastering various homely accomplishments. She 
 was a competent accountant, an excellent typewriter, a lucid 
 writer of letters, knew how to manage servants, and was a 
 mistress or the art of travelling. When looking out trains she 
 never made a mistake. She was never sea or train sick, never 
 lost her temper or her own or other people's luggage, had a 
 perfect sense of time without being aggressively punctual, and 
 seemed totally unaffected by changes of climate. And she 
 knew nothing about the meaning of the word shyness. 
 
 When the big motor had gone off with its trio to desert 
 places Charmian suddenly realized the unexpectedness of her 
 situation alone above Algiers with a woman who was almost 
 a stranger. This scarcely seemed like yachting. They had 
 come up to the hotel because Mrs. Shifmey always stayed at 
 an hotel, if there was a good one, when the yacht was in harbor, 
 "to make a change." It was full of English and Americans, 
 but they knew nobody, and, having two sitting-rooms, had no 
 reason to seek public rooms where acquaintances are made. 
 Charmian wondered how long Mrs. Shiffney would stay at 
 Bou Saada. 
 
 "Back to-morrow!" she had said airily as she waved her 
 hand. The assertion meant next week if only she were suffi- 
 ciently amused. 
 
 Charmian had been really stricken on the stormy voyage, 
 and still had a sensation of oppression in the head, of vague- 
 ness, of smallness, and of general degradation. She felt also 
 terribly depressed, like one under sentence not of death, but 
 of something very disagreeable. And when Susan Fleet said 
 to her in a chest voice, "Do you want to do anything this 
 afternoon?" she answered: 
 
 "I'll keep quiet to-day. I'll sit in the garden. But, 
 please, don't bother about me." 
 
 "I'll come and sit in the garden, too," said Miss Fleet in a 
 calm and business-like manner. 
 
 Charmian thought she was going to add, "And bring my 
 work with me." But she did not. 
 
 On the first terrace there were several people in long chairs 
 looking lazy; women with picture papers, men smoking, old
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 87 
 
 buffers talking about politics and Arabs. Charmian glanced at 
 them and instinctively went on, descending toward a quieter 
 part of the prettily and cleverly arranged garden. The 
 weather was beautiful, warm, but not sultry. Already she 
 was conscious of a feeling of greater ease. 
 
 "Shall we sit here?" she said, pointing to two chairs under 
 some palm trees by a little table. 
 
 " Yes. Why not? " returned Susan Fleet. 
 
 They sat down. 
 
 "Do you feel better?" asked Susan. 
 
 "I shall." 
 
 "It must be dreadful being ill at sea. I never am." 
 
 "And you have travelled a great deal, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I have. I often go with Adelaide. Once we went 
 to India." 
 
 "Was it there you became a Theosophist?" 
 
 "That had something to do with it, I suppose. When 
 we were at Benares Adelaide thought she would like to live 
 there. The day after she thought so she found we must go 
 away." 
 
 Miss Fleet carefully peeled off her white gloves and leaned 
 back. Her odd eyes seemed to drop in their sockets, as if 
 they were trying to tumble out. 
 
 "Isn't it " Charmian began, and stopped abruptly. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "I don't know what I was going to say." 
 
 "Perhaps a great bore not to be one's own mistress?" 
 suggested Miss Fleet, composedly. 
 
 "Something of that sort perhaps." 
 
 "Oh, no! I'm accustomed to it. Freedom is a phrase. 
 I'm quite as free as Adelaide. It's usually a great mistake 
 to pity servants." 
 
 "And oneself? I suppose you would say it was a great 
 mistake to pity oneself?" 
 
 "I never do it," replied Miss Fleet. 
 
 She had charming hands. One of them lay on the little 
 table with a beam of the sun on it. 
 
 "Perhaps you haven't great desires? Perhaps you don't 
 want many things?"
 
 88 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I suppose I've been like most women in that respect. 
 But I shall be fifty almost directly." 
 
 "How frightful!" was Charmian's mental comment. 
 
 "No, it isn't." 
 
 "Isn't what?" said Charmian, startled. 
 
 "It isn't at all awful to be fifty, or any other age, if you 
 accept it quietly as inevitable. But everything one kicks 
 against hurts one, of course. I expect to pass a very pleasant 
 day on my fiftieth birthday." 
 
 Charmian put her chin in her hand. 
 
 "How did you know what I thought?" 
 
 " A girl of your age would be almost certain to think some- 
 thing of that kind." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 Charmian sighed, and then suddenly felt rather angry, and 
 lifted her chin. 
 
 "But surely I need not be exactly like every other girl of 
 twenty-one!" she exclaimed, with much more vivacity. 
 
 "You aren't. No girl is. But you all think it must be 
 dreadful to be a moneyless spinster of fifty. I believe, for my 
 part, that there's many a vieille fille who is not particularly 
 sorry for herself or for the man who didn't want to marry 
 her." 
 
 Miss Fleet was smiling. 
 
 "But I'm not a pessimist as regards marriage," she added. 
 "And I think men are quite as good as women, and quite 
 as bad." 
 
 "How calm you are!" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I could never be like that." 
 
 "Perhaps when you are fifty." 
 
 "Not if I'm unmarried!" said Charmian, with a bluntness, 
 a lack of caution very rare in her. 
 
 "I don't think you will be, unless you go on before you are 
 fifty." 
 
 Charmian gazed at Miss Fleet, and was conscious that she 
 herself was entirely concentrated on the present life; she was 
 a good girl, she had principles, even sometimes desires not free 
 from nobility. She believed in a religion the Protestant
 
 jTHE WAY OF AMBITION 89 
 
 religion it happened to be. And yet yes, certainly she 
 was absolutely concentrated on the present life. She even 
 felt as if it were somehow physically impossible for her to be 
 anything else. To "go on" before she was fifty! What a 
 horror in that idea! To "go on" at all, ever how strange, 
 how dreadful! She was silent for some minutes, with her 
 pretty head against the back of a chair. 
 
 An Arab dragoman went by among the trees. The stran- 
 gled yelp of a motor-car rose out of a cloud of white dust at 
 the bottom of the garden. The faint cry of a siren came up 
 from the distant sea where The Wanderer lay at rest. And 
 suddenly Charmian thought, "When am I going to be here 
 again?" 
 
 "Do you ever feel you have lived before in some place when 
 you visit it for the first time?" she said, moving her head from 
 the back of her chair. 
 
 "I did once." 
 
 "Do you ever feel you will live in a place that's new to 
 you, that you have no connection with, and that you have 
 only come to for a day or two?" 
 
 "I can't say I do." 
 
 "I suppose we all have lots of absurd fancies." 
 
 "I don't think I do," responded Miss Fleet, quite without 
 arrogance. 
 
 "I I wish you'd tell me where you got that coat and 
 skirt," said Charmian. 
 
 "I will. I got it at Folkestone. I'll give you the address 
 when we go on board again. My mother lives at Folkestone. 
 She is a companion to a dear old Mrs. Simpkins, so I go down 
 there whenever I have time." 
 
 One's mother companion to a dear old Mrs. Simpkins! 
 How extraordinary! And why did it make Charmian feel 
 as if she were almost fond of Susan Fleet? 
 
 "And I get really well-cut things for a very small price 
 there, so I'm lucky." 
 
 "I think you are lucky in another way," hazarded Charmian. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "To be as you are." 
 
 After that day in the garden Charmian knew that she was
 
 90 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 going to be fond of Susan Fleet. Mrs. Shiffney, of course, 
 did not return on the following afternoon. 
 
 "I daresay she'll be away for a week," Susan said. "If 
 you feel better we might go and see the town and visit some of 
 the villas. There are several that are beautiful." 
 
 Quite eagerly Charmian acquiesced. But she soon had 
 reason to be sorry that she had done so. For much that she 
 saw increased her misery. Boldly now she applied that word 
 to her condition, moved perhaps to be at last frank with her- 
 self by the frankness of her quite unintrusive companion. 
 Algiers affected her somewhat as the Petite Fille de Tombouctou 
 had affected her, but much more powerfully. This was ex- 
 actly how she put it to herself: it made her feel that she was 
 violently in love with Claude Heath. What a lie that had been 
 before the mirror after Max Elliot's party. How dreadful it 
 was to walk in these exquisite and tropical gardens, to stand 
 upon these terraces, to wander over these marble pavements 
 and beneath these tiled colonnades, to hear these fountains 
 singing under orange trees, to see these far stretches of tur- 
 quoise and deep blue water, to watch Arabs on white roads 
 passing noiselessly by night under a Heaven thick with stars, 
 and to know "He is not here and I am nothing to him!" 
 
 Charmian's romantic tendency, her sense of, and desire 
 for, wonder were violently stirred by the new surroundings. 
 She was painfully affected. She began to feel almost desper- 
 ate. That terrible sensation, known perhaps in its frightening 
 nightmare fulness only to youth, "My life is done, all real life 
 is at an end for me, because I cannot be linked with my other 
 half, because I have found it, but it has not found me!" be- 
 sieged, assailed her. It shook her, as neurasthenia shakes its 
 victim, squeezing as if with fierce and powerful hands till the 
 blood seems to be driven out of the arteries. It changed the 
 world for her, making of beauty a phenomenon to terrify. She 
 looked at loveliness, and it sent a lacerating ache all through 
 her, because only the half looked at it and not the whole, some 
 hideous astral shape, not the joyous, powerful body meant 
 for the life of this splendid world, at home in the atmosphere 
 specially created for it. She began to be frightened and to 
 think, "But what can I do? How will it end?" She longed
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 91 
 
 to do something active, to make an exertion, and struggle out 
 of all this assailing strangeness. Like one attacked in a 
 tunnel by claustrophobia, she had an impulse to dash open 
 doors and windows, to burst arching, solid walls, and to be 
 elsewhere. 
 
 At first she carefully concealed her condition from Susan 
 Fleet, but when three days had gone by, and no word came 
 from Mrs. Shiffney, she began to feel that fate had left her alone 
 with the one human being of whom she could make a confi- 
 dante. Again and again she looked furtively at Miss Fleet's 
 serene and practical face, and wondered what effect her revela- 
 tion would have upon the very sensible personality it indicated. 
 "She'll think it is all nonsense, that it doesn't matter at all!" 
 thought Charmian. And more than ever she wanted to tell 
 Miss Fleet. In self-restraint she became violently excited. 
 Often she felt on the verge of tears. And at last, very suddenly 
 and without premeditation, she spoke. 
 
 They were visiting "Djenan el Ali," the lovely villa of an 
 acquaintance of Mrs. Shiffney's who was away in Europe. 
 Miss Fleet had been there before and knew the servants, who 
 gladly gave her permission to show Charmian everything. 
 After wandering through the house, which was a pure gem of 
 Arab architecture, five hundred years old, and in excellent 
 preservation, they descended into the garden, which was on 
 the slope of the hill over which the houses of Mustapha Supe- 
 rieur are scattered. Here no sounds of voices reached them, no 
 tram bells, no shrieks from motors buzzing along the white 
 road high above them. The garden was large and laid out with 
 subtle ingenuity. The house was hidden away from the world 
 that was so near. 
 
 Miss Fleet strolled on, descending by winding paths, closely 
 followed by Charmian, till she came to a sheet of artificial 
 water, whose uneven banks were covered with masses of 
 azaleas, rhododendrons, bamboos, and flowering shrubs. In 
 the midst of this lake there was a tiny island, just big enough 
 to give room for the growth of one gigantic date palm, and for 
 a mass of arum lilies from which it rose towering toward the 
 delicate blue of the cloudless sky. The lilies and the palm 
 they were the island, round which slept greenish-yellow
 
 92 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 water guarded by the azaleas, the rhododendrons, the bamboos, 
 and the shrubs. And on the path where Charmian and Miss 
 Fleet stood there was a long pergola of roses, making a half- 
 moon. 
 
 Charmian stood still and looked. The ground formed a 
 sort of basin sheltering the little lake. Even the white Arab 
 house was hidden from it by a screen of trees. The island, a 
 wonderfully clever thing, attained by artificiality a sort of 
 strange exoticism which almost intoxicated Charmian. Per- 
 haps nothing wholly natural could have affected her in quite 
 the same way. There was something of the art of a Ferdinand 
 Rades in the art which had created that island, had set it just 
 where it was. It had been planned to communicate a thrill 
 to highly civilized people, to suggest to them what? the 
 Fortunate Isles, perhaps, the strange isles, which they dream 
 of when they have a moment to dream, but which they will 
 certainly never see. It was a suggestive little isle. One 
 longed to sail away, to land on it and then? 
 
 Charmian stood as if hypnotized by it. Her eyes went 
 from the lilies up the great wrinkled trunk of the palm to its 
 far away tufted head, then travelled down to the big white 
 flowers. She sighed and gazed. And just at that moment she 
 felt that she was going to tell Susan Fleet immediately. 
 
 On the shore of the lake there was a seat. 
 
 "I must tell you something," Charmian said, sinking down 
 on it. " I'm very unhappy." 
 
 She looked again at the island and the tears came to her 
 eyes. 
 
 "He never has even let me hear a note of his music!" she 
 thought, connecting Claude Heath's talent with the lilies and 
 the palm in some strange way that seemed inevitable. 
 
 Susan Fleet sat down and folded her white-gloved hands 
 in her neat tailor-made lap. 
 
 ''I'm sorry for that," she said. 
 
 "And seeing that island, seeing all these lovely places and 
 things makes it so much worse. I didn't know till I came 
 here. At least, I didn't really know I knew. Oh, Miss Fleet, 
 how happy I could be here if I wasn't so dreadfully wretched." 
 
 A sort of wave of desperation it seemed a hot wave
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 93 
 
 surged through Charmian. All the strangeness of Claude 
 Heath flowed upon her and receded from her, leaving her in a 
 sort of dreadful acrid dryness. 
 
 "Surely," she said, "when you are in places like this you 
 must feel that nothing is of any real use if one has it alone." 
 
 "But I'm with you now," returned Miss Fleet, evidently 
 wishing to give Charmian a chance to regain her reserve. 
 
 "With me! What's the use of that? You must know 
 what I mean." 
 
 "I suppose you mean a man." 
 
 Charmian blushed. 
 
 "That sounds oh, well, how can we help it? It is not 
 our fault. We have to be so, even if we hate it. And I do 
 hate it. I don't want to care about him. I never have. He's 
 not in my set. He doesn't know anyone I know, or do any- 
 thing I do, or care for almost anything I care for perhaps. 
 But I feel I could do such things for him, that he will never 
 do for himself. And I want to do them. I must do them, but 
 he will never let me." 
 
 "I hope he's a gentleman. I don't believe in mixing 
 classes, simply because it seems to me that one class never 
 really understands another, not at all because one class isn't 
 just as good as another." 
 
 "Of course he's a gentleman. Mrs. Shiffney asked him to 
 come on the yacht." 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Heath!" observed Miss Fleet. 
 
 Charmian thought she detected a slight change in the deep 
 chest tone of her companion's voice. 
 
 "D'you know him?" she asked, almost sharply. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have you seen him?" 
 
 "No, never. I only heard that he might be coming from 
 Adelaide, and then that he wasn't coming." 
 
 "He knew I was coming and he refused to come. Isn't 
 it degrading?" 
 
 "Is he a great friend of yours?" 
 
 "No, but he is of my mother's. What must you think 
 of me? What do you think of me?" 
 
 Charmian put her hand impulsively on Miss Fleet's arm.
 
 94 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I didn't know till I came here. I thought I disliked him, 
 I almost thought I hated him." 
 
 "That's always a bad sign, I believe," said Miss Fleet. 
 
 "Yes, I know. But he doesn't^hate me. He doesn't think 
 about me. He's mother's friend and not even my enemy. 
 Do tell me, Miss Fleet or may I call you Susan to-day?" 
 
 "Of course, and to-morrow, too." 
 
 "Thank you. You've seen lots of people. Do you think 
 I have personality? Do you think I am I just like everyone 
 else? That's such a hideous idea! Have I anything that 
 stamps me? Am I a little different from all the other girls 
 you know, in our sort of set? Do tell me!" 
 
 There was something humble in her quivering eagerness 
 that quite touched Susan Fleet. 
 
 "No, I don't think you're just like everyone else." 
 
 "You aren't. And he isn't. He's not in the least like 
 any other man I ever saw. That's the dreadful part of it. 
 I can't imagine why I care for him, and that's why I know I 
 shall never care for anyone else." 
 
 "Perhaps he likes you." 
 
 "No, no! No, I'm sure he doesn't. He thinks, like every- 
 one else, that I have nothing particular in me. But it isn't 
 true. Susan, sometimes we know a thing by instinct don't 
 we?" 
 
 "Certainly. Instinct is often the experience of the past 
 working within us." 
 
 "Well, I know that I am the woman who could make 
 Claude Heath famous, who could do for him what he could 
 never do for himself. He has genius, I believe. Max Elliot 
 says so. And I feel it when I'm with him. But he has no 
 capacity for using it, as it ought to be used, to dominate the 
 world. He's never been in the world. He knows, and wishes 
 to know, nothing of it. That's absurd, isn't it? We ought 
 to give, if we have anything extraordinary to give. Oh, if 
 you knew how I've longed and pined to be extraordinary!" 
 
 "Extraordinary? In what way?" 
 
 "In gifts, in talent! I've suffered dreadfully because I 
 simply can't endure just to be one of the silly, dull crowd. 
 But lately quite lately I've begun to realize what I could
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 95 
 
 be, do. I could be the perfect wife to a great man. Don't 
 laugh at me!" 
 
 "I'm not laughing." 
 
 "Aren't you? You are a dear! I knew you would under- 
 stand. You see I've always been among people who matter. 
 I've always known clever men who've made their names. I've 
 always breathed in the atmosphere of culture. I'm at home 
 in the world. I know how to take people. I have social 
 capacities. Now he's quite different. The fact is, I have all 
 he hasn't. And he has what I haven't, his talent. He's re- 
 markable. Anyone would feel it in an instant. I believe he's 
 a great man manque because of a sort of kink in his tempera- 
 ment. And I know that I could get rid of that kink if " 
 
 She stopped. The tears rushed into her eyes. "Oh, isn't 
 it awful to be madly in love with a man who doesn't care for 
 you?" she exclaimed, almost fiercely. 
 
 "I'm not," returned Susan Fleet, quietly. "But I dare- 
 say it is." 
 
 "When I look at that island" 
 
 Charmian stopped and took out her handkerchief. After 
 using it she said, in a way that made Susan think of a fierce 
 little cat spitting: 
 
 "But I will bring out what is in me! I will not let all my 
 capacities go to rust." 
 
 Quite abruptly, she could not tell why, Charmian felt that 
 there was a dawning of hope in her sky. Her depression 
 seemed to lift a little. She was conscious of her youth, of her 
 grace and charm, her prettiness, her intelligence. She was 
 able to put a little trust in them. 
 
 "Susan," she said, clasping her companion's left hand, 
 "the other day, when we were in the garden of the hotel, such 
 a strange feeling came to me. I couldn't trust it then. I 
 thought it must be nonsense. But it has come to me again. 
 It seems somehow to be connected with all sorts of things 
 here." 
 
 "Tell me what it is." 
 
 "Yes, I must. The other day it came when I saw the 
 dragoman, Mustapha Ali, walking toward the hotel when 
 he was just under that arch of pink roses. The horn of a motor
 
 96 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 sounded in the road, and the white dust flew up in a cloud. 
 Then I heard, far away, the siren of a ship. It was all an 
 impression of Algiers. It was Algiers. And I felt I shall 
 be here again with him." 
 
 She gazed at Susan. Romance was alight in her long eyes. 
 
 "And now, when I look at that island, the feeling comes 
 again. It seems to come to me out of the palm trunk and the 
 lilies, almost as if they knew, and told me." 
 
 Susan Fleet looked at Charmian with a new interest. 
 
 "It may be so," she said. "Perhaps part of your destiny 
 is to learn through that man, and to teach him." 
 
 "Oh, Susan! If it should be!" 
 
 Life suddenly seemed glittering with wonder to Charmian, 
 quivering with possibility. 
 
 "But you must learn to love, if you are to do any real 
 good." 
 
 "Learn! Why, I've just told you" 
 
 "No, no. You don't quite understand me. Our personal 
 loves must be expanded. They must become universal. We 
 must overflow with love." 
 
 Charmian stared. This very quiet, very neat, and very 
 practical woman had astonished her. 
 
 "Do you?" she almost blurted out. 
 
 "It's very, very difficult. But I wish to and try to. Do 
 you know, I think perhaps that is why you have told me all 
 this." 
 
 "Perhaps it is," said Charmian. "I could never have told 
 it to anyone else.'^
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 JUST before Charmian left England Mrs. Mansfield had 
 begun to suspect her secret. Already from time to time she 
 had wondered whether Charmian refused to accept Claude 
 Heath, as she had accepted all the other habitues of the house, 
 because she really liked him much better than she liked them. 
 She had wondered and she had said, "No, it is not so." Had 
 she not been less than frank with herself, and for an under 
 reason which made her reluctant to see truth? She scarcely 
 knew. But when Charmian was gone and her mother was 
 quite alone, she felt almost sure that she had to face a fact 
 very unpleasant to her. There had been something in the 
 girl's eyes as she said good-bye, a slight hardness, a lurking 
 defiance, something about her lips, something even in the 
 sound of her voice which had troubled Mrs. Mansfield, which 
 continued to trouble her while Charmian was away. 
 
 Charmian in love with Claude Heath! 
 
 It seemed to the mother in those first moments of contem- 
 plation that, if she were right in her surmise, Charmian could 
 scarcely have set her affections on a man less suited to enter 
 into her life, less likely to make her happy. 
 
 Charmian belonged to a certain world not merely because 
 she was born in it, and had always lived in it, but by tempera- 
 ment, by character. Essentially she was of it. She could 
 surely never be happy in the life led by Claude Heath. Could 
 Claude Heath be happy in the sort of life led by her? 
 
 Abruptly Mrs. Mansfield felt as if she did not really know 
 Heath very well. A great many things about him she knew. 
 But how much of him was beyond her ken. She was not even 
 sure how he regarded Charmian. Now she wished very much 
 to be more clear about that. 
 
 Among her many friends Heath stood apart, and for this 
 reason : all the other men of talent whom she knew intimately 
 were in the same set, or belonged to sets which overlapped and 
 7 97
 
 98 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 intermingled. They were men who were making, or had made, 
 their names; men who knew, and were known by, her friends 
 and acquaintances, who needed no explanation, who were 
 thoroughly "in it." Only Heath was outside, was unknown, 
 was not taking an active part in the battle of art or of life. 
 And this fact gave him a certain strangeness, not free from 
 romance, gave him a peculiar value in Mrs. Mansfield's eyes. 
 She secretly cherished the thought of his individuality. She 
 could not wish it changed. But she knew very well that 
 though such an individuality might attract her child, indeed, 
 she feared, had attracted Charmian, yet Charmian, if she had 
 any influence over it, would not be satisfied to let it alone, to 
 leave it quietly to its own natural development. Charmian 
 would never let any plant that belonged to her grow in dark- 
 ness. She understood well enough the many clever men who 
 frequented the house, men with ambitions which they were 
 gratifying, men who were known, or who wished and intended 
 to be known, men, as a rule, who were fighting, or who had 
 fought, hard battles. To several of these men Charmian could 
 have made an excellent wife. 
 
 But if she had set her affections on Heath she had made a 
 sad mistake. His peculiarity of temperament was in accord 
 surely with nothing in Charmian. That very fact, perhaps, 
 had grasped her attention, had excited her curiosity, even 
 stirred sentiment within her. Having perceived a gulf she 
 had longed to bridge it, to set her feet on the farther side. 
 Mrs. Mansfield was glad that Charmian was away. Hitherto 
 she had cultivated the friendship with Heath without arriere 
 pensee. Now she was more conscious in it. Her great love 
 of her only child made her wish to study Heath. 
 
 The more she studied him the more she hoped that her guess 
 about Charmian had been wrong, and yet the more she studied 
 him the better she liked him. There was an intensity in him 
 that captivated her intense mind, an unworldliness that her 
 soul approved. His lack of social ambition, of all desire to be 
 rich and prosperous, refreshed her. She compared him secretly 
 with other men of great talent. Some of them were not greedy 
 for money, but even they were greedy for fame, were almost 
 fearfully solicitous about their "position," if not their social
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 99 
 
 position then their position in the artistic world. Jealousies 
 accompanied them, and within them were jealousies. They 
 had not only the desire to build, but also the desire to pull 
 down, to obliterate, to make ruins and dust. 
 
 Among all the men whom she knew, Claude Heath was the 
 only one who was alone with his art, and who wished to remain 
 alone with the thing he loved. There was a purity in the 
 situation which delighted Mrs. Mansfield. Yet she realized 
 that Heath was a man who might be won away from that 
 which was best in him, from that which he almost sternly 
 clung to and cherished. And one day he made her aware that 
 he knew this. 
 
 They went to a concert together at Queen's Hall, and sat 
 in the gallery, in seats which Heath habitually frequented 
 when the music given was orchestral, when he wished to see as 
 little as possible and to hear perfectly. He enjoyed hearing 
 a fine orchestra without watching the conductor, whose neces- 
 sary gestures, sometimes not free from an element of the gro- 
 tesque, hindered the sweet toil of his imagination, held him 
 back from worlds he desired to enter. 
 
 Between the two parts of the not long concert there was a 
 pause. During it Mrs. Mansfield and Claude left their seats 
 and strolled about in the corridor, talking. They were both 
 of them heated by music and ready for mental intimacy. But 
 they did not discuss the works they had just heard. Com- 
 binations of melody and harmony turned them toward life and 
 humanity. The voices of the great orchestral family called 
 them toward the dim avenues where in the shadows destiny 
 wanders. Some music enlarges the borders, sets us free in 
 regions whose confines we cannot perceive. They spoke of 
 aims, of ideals, of goals which are very far off. 
 
 "Fine music gives me the conception of great distances," 
 Mrs. Mansfield said presently. "It makes me feel that the 
 soul is born for travel." 
 
 Heath stood still. 
 
 "The winding white road over the hills that loses itself in 
 the vagueness which, in a picture, only some shade of blue can 
 suggest. The road! The road!" 
 
 He stood leaning against the wall. As she stood by him
 
 100 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield felt strangely, almost cruelly, young. It was 
 as if student days had come for them both. She could hardly 
 believe that her hair was snow-white, and that Charmian had 
 been going to parties for nearly four years. 
 
 "The worst of it is," Claude continued, "that it is so hard 
 sometimes not to wander from it." 
 
 " It seems to me you never wander." 
 
 "Because I know that, if I did, I should probably never 
 come back to the road. What you perhaps consider my 
 strength takes its rise, I believe, in my knowledge of my 
 weakness. Things that are right for others aren't right for 
 me." 
 
 No one was near them. The music seemed to have abol- 
 ished for the moment the difference in age between them. 
 Claude spoke to her as he had seldom spoken to her before, 
 with an almost complete unreserve of manner. 
 
 "Do you know why some men enter the cloister?" he 
 continued. "It's because they feel that if they are not monks 
 they will be libertines. Mullion House is my cloister. I 
 haven't got the power of apportioning my life with sweet 
 reason, so much work, so much play, so much retirement, so 
 much society, so much restraint, so much license. I could 
 never pursue my art through wildness, as so many men have 
 done, women too. I don't believe I could even stick to it in 
 the midst of the ordinary life of pleasures and distractions. 
 It's like a bone that I have to seize and take away into a cave 
 where no one can see me gnaw it. Isn't that a beastly simile? " 
 
 "Is that why you won't go to Max Elliot's, that you re- 
 fused Mrs. Shiffney? Do you think that the sort of thing 
 which inspires many men the audience, let us say, watching 
 the combat would unnerve you?" 
 
 " I don't say that. But I think it might lead me into wild 
 extravagance, or into complete idleness. And I think, I 
 know, that I might be tempted irresistibly to give an audience 
 what it wanted. There's something in me which is ready to 
 rush out to satisfy expectation. I hate it, but it's there." 
 
 "And yet you're so uncompromising." 
 
 "That's my armor. I daren't wear ordinary clothes, lest 
 ryery arrow should pierce me, "
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 101 
 
 A bell sounded. They returned to the concert room. 
 When the second part was over Heath looked at Mrs. Mansfield 
 and said: 
 
 " Where are we going?" 
 
 They were in the midst of the crowd passing out. Women 
 were winding soft things about their necks, men were button- 
 ing up their coats. For a March wind was about in the great 
 city. She returned his look and smiled. 
 
 "Ah! You guessed! It's the gallery, I suppose. I'm not 
 accustomed to all this fun. Isn't it amazing what a groove 
 one lives in? Berkeley Square shadows the whole of my life 
 I begin to believe." 
 
 "Don't say the motor is waiting!" 
 
 "No, it isn't." 
 
 "Shall we go to some preposterous place to the Monico?" 
 
 " Where you like. It's just tea time, or coffee time." 
 
 They walked to the Monico in the March wind, and went in 
 with a group of Italians, passing the woman who sells foreign 
 papers, and seeing names that transported them to Paris, to 
 Milan, to Rome, to Berlin. A vastness of marble contained a 
 myriad of swarthy strangers, releasing souls astoundingly 
 foreign in vivid gesture and talk. They had coffee with cream 
 like a burgeoning cloud floating airily on the top. 
 
 "The only word to describe the effect of all this upon me 
 is spree," said Mrs. Mansfield. "I am out on the spree." 
 
 "Capital! And if I stepped right in to your sort of life," 
 said Heath, "would it have the same kind of effect upon 
 me?" 
 
 "I don't think it could. It's too conscious, too critical, too 
 fastidious. There's nothing fastidious in a spree. I like the 
 March wind outside, too the thought of it." 
 
 Suddenly her mind went to Charmian and Algiers. 
 
 "Charmian's in the sun," she said. 
 
 Directly she said this Heath looked slightly self-con- 
 scious. 
 
 "Have you heard from her?" 
 
 "This morning. She has made great friends with Susan 
 Fleet." 
 
 "Yes?"
 
 102 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Oh, a woman we all like, who often helps Adelaide Shiffney 
 with things." 
 
 "We all like," he repeated. 
 
 "A cliche! And indeed I scarcely know Susan Fleet. 
 You see what an absurd close borough I live in, have always 
 lived in. And I never thoroughly realized that till I met 
 you." 
 
 "And I live in loneliness, outside of it all, of everything 
 almost." 
 
 Lightly she answered: 
 
 "With Mrs. Shiffney and others holding open the door, 
 holding up the lamp, and imploring you to come in, to come 
 right in as they say on the other side of the Atlantic." 
 
 "You don't do that." 
 
 "Do you wish me to?" 
 
 "I don't know what I wish. But I am dissatisfied." 
 
 He frowned, moving his chair, lit a cigarette, pushed away 
 his coffee cup. 
 
 "What is it like at Algiers?" 
 
 "Very beautiful, Charmian says. Adelaide and the others 
 have gone off to a desert place called Bou-Saada " 
 
 "Bou-Saada!" he said slowly. 
 
 "And Charmian and Susan Fleet are up on the hill at 
 Mustapha Superieur. They've left the yacht for a few days. 
 They are visiting Arab villas and exploring tropical gardens." 
 
 She watched him and sipped her coffee. All the student 
 feeling had gone from her. And now she was deeply aware of 
 the difference between her age and Heath's. 
 
 "I suppose they won't be back for a good while," he said. 
 
 "Oh, I expect them in a week or two." 
 
 "So soon?" 
 
 "Adelaide is always in a hurry, and this was only to be 
 quite a short trip." 
 
 "Once out there how can they come away so soon? I 
 should want to stay for months. If I once began really to 
 travel there would never be an end to it, unless I were not my 
 own master." 
 
 "It's quite extraordinary how you master yourself," Mrs. 
 Mansfield said. "You are a dragon to yourself, and what a
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 103 
 
 fierce unyielding dragon! It's a fine thing to have such a 
 strong will. 
 
 "Ah! But if I let it go!" 
 
 "Do you think you ever will?" 
 
 "Yes," he said with a sort of deep sadness. "On one 
 side's the will. But on the other side there's an absurd im- 
 pulsiveness. But don't let's talk any more of me. Do tell me 
 some more about Algiers and your daughter." 
 
 When Heath left her that day Mrs. Mansfield said to herself, 
 "If Charmian really does care for him he doesn't know it." 
 
 What were Heath's feelings toward Charmian she could 
 not divine. She was unconscious of any desire to baffle her 
 on Heath's part, and was inclined to think that he was so 
 wrapped up in the rather solitary life he had planned out for 
 himself, and in his art, was so detached from the normal pre- 
 occupations of strong and healthy young men, that Charmian 
 meant very little, perhaps nothing at all, to him. She had 
 noted, of course, the slightly self-conscious look which had 
 come into Heath's face when she had mentioned Charmian, 
 but she explained that to herself easily enough. Her mention 
 of Charmian in the sun had recalled to him the persistence of 
 Mrs. Shiffney, which he knew she was aware of. In such 
 matters he was like a sensitive boy. He had the peculiar 
 delicacies of the nervously constituted artist, which seem very 
 ridiculous to the average man, but not to the discerning woman. 
 Mrs. Mansfield felt almost sure that his self-consciousness 
 arose not from memories of Charmian, but of Adelaide Shiff- 
 ney. And she supposed that he was probably quite indifferent 
 to Charmian. It was better so. Although she believed that 
 it was wise for most men to marry, and not very late in lif e, she 
 excepted Heath from her theory. She could not "see" him 
 married. She could not pick out any girl or woman whom she 
 knew, and say: "That would be the wife for him." Evidently 
 he was one of the exceptional men for whom the normal condi- 
 tions are not intended. She thought again of his music, and 
 found a reason there. But then she remembered yellow-haired 
 Fan. He was at home with a child, why not with a wife and 
 child of his own? She put aside the problem, but did not 
 resign the thought, "In any case Charmian would be the
 
 104 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 wrong woman for him to marry." And when she said that to 
 herself she was thinking solely of the welfare of Heath. Be- 
 cause he was a man, and had been unreserved with her, Mrs. 
 Mansfield instinctively desired to "protect his life. She had 
 the feeling, "I understand him better than others." In a 
 chivalrous nature understanding breeds a strong sense of 
 obligation. Mrs. Mansfield felt as if she had duties toward 
 Heath. During the two weeks which elapsed before Char- 
 mian's return from Algiers she thought more about his future 
 than about her child's. But she was a very feminine woman 
 and, to her, a man's future always seemed to matter more than 
 a woman's. 
 
 Heath, too, had his great talent. That might need pro- 
 tection in the future. Mrs. Mansfield did not believe in an 
 untroubled lif e for such a man as Heath. There was something 
 disturbing both in his personality and in his music which 
 seemed to her to preclude the possibility of his dwelling always 
 in peace. But she hoped he would be true to his instinct, to 
 the strange instinct which kept him now in a sort of cloistered 
 seclusion. She knew he had friends, acquaintances, made 
 during his time at the College of Music, through the introduc- 
 tions he had brought to London from Cornwall, through 
 family connections. Human intercourse must be part of 
 every life. But she was glad, very glad, that neither Mrs. 
 Shiffney nor Max Elliot had persuaded him into the world 
 where artists are handed on and on till they "know every- 
 body." His words: "Do you know why some men enter the 
 cloister? It's because they feel that if they are not monks 
 they will be libertines," remained with her. Doubtless Heath 
 knew himself. She thought of those who have pursued their 
 art through wildness Heath's expression with an inflexi- 
 bility quite marvellous, an order in the midst of disorder, 
 which to the onlooker seems no less than a miracle. But they 
 were surely Bohemians born, and full of characteristics that 
 were racial. Such characteristics did not exist in Heath, she 
 thought. She pondered. He was surely not a Bohemian. 
 And yet he did not belong to the other race so noticeable in 
 England, the race of the cultured talented, who live well- 
 ordered lives in the calm light of a mild and unobjectionable
 
 publicity, who produce in the midst of comfort, giving birth to 
 nothing on straw, who are sane even to the extent of thinking 
 very much as the man in Sloane Street thinks, who occasionally 
 go to a levee, and have set foot on summer days in the gardens 
 of Buckingham Palace. Heath, perhaps, could not be dubbed 
 with a name. Was he a Bohemian who, for his health's sake, 
 could not live in Bohemia? She remembered the crucifix 
 standing in front of the piano where he passed so many hours, 
 the strange and terrible words he had chosen to set to music, 
 the setting he had given them. It was an uncompromising 
 nature, an uncompromising talent. And yet there was the 
 other side. There was something ready to rush out to satisfy 
 expectation. 
 
 She was deeply interested in Heath. 
 
 About ten days after the "spree" at the Monico she received 
 a telegram from Marseilles "Starting to-night, home the day 
 after to-morrow; love. CHARMIAN." 
 
 Heath dropped in that day, and Mrs. Mansfield mentioned 
 the telegram. 
 
 " Charmian will be back on Thursday. I told you Adelaide 
 Shiffney would be in a hurry." 
 
 "Then they are not going on to the Greek Isles," he said. 
 
 "Not this time." 
 
 She glanced at him and thought he was looking rather sad. 
 
 "Will you come and dine on Thursday night just with me 
 and Charmian?" she said. "If she is tired with the journey 
 from Paris you may be alone with me. If not, she can tell us 
 about her little African experiences." 
 
 "Thank you. Yes, I should like to come very much!" 
 
 The strangely imaginative expression, which made his 
 rather plain face almost beautiful, shone in his eyes and seemed 
 to shed a flicker of light about his brow and lips, as he added: 
 
 "I have travelled so little that to me there is something 
 almost wonderful in the arrival of someone from Africa. Even 
 the name comes to me always like fire and black mystery. 
 Last night, just before I went to bed, I was reading Chateau- 
 briand, and I came across a passage that kept me awake for 
 hours." 
 
 "What was it?"
 
 106 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 She leaned a little forward, ready to be fascinated as evi- 
 dently he had been. 
 
 "He is writing of Napoleon, and says of him something 
 like this." 
 
 Heath paused, looked down, seemed to make an effort, and 
 continued, with his eyes turned away from Mrs. Mansfield: 
 
 " 'His enemies, fascinated, seek him and do not see him. 
 He hides himself in his glory, as the lion of the Sahara hides 
 himself in the rays of the sun to escape from the searching 
 eyes of the dazzled hunters.' Isn't that simply gorgeous? It 
 set my imagination galloping. ' As the lion of the Sahara hides 
 himself in the rays of the sun' by Jove!" He got up. "I 
 was out of England last night. And to think that Miss 
 Charmian is actually arriving from Africa!" 
 
 When he was gone Mrs. Mansfield said to herself: "He's a 
 child, too!" And she felt restless and troubled. Naivete 
 leads men of genius into such unsuitable regions sometimes. 
 It was rather wonderful that he could feel as he did about 
 Africa and refuse to go to Africa. For Adelaide would have 
 taken him anywhere. Would Charmian bring back with her 
 something of the wonder of the East ? Mrs. Mansfield felt for a 
 moment as if she were going to welcome a stranger in her child. 
 The feeling returned to her on the Thursday afternoon, when 
 she was waiting for Charmian's arrival in her writing-room. 
 
 Charmian was due at Charing Cross at three-twenty-five. 
 She ought to be in Berkeley Square about four, unless the train 
 was very crowded, and there was a long delay at the Customs. 
 Four o'clock chimed from the Dresden china clock on the 
 mantelpiece, and she had not arrived. Mrs. Mansfield was 
 conscious of a restlessness almost amounting to nervousness. 
 She got up from her chair, laid down the book she had been 
 reading, and moved slowly about the room. 
 
 How would Charmian receive the news that Claude Heath 
 was to dine with them that night? Would she be too tired 
 by the journey to dine? She was a bad sailor. Perhaps the 
 sea in the Channel had been rough. If so, she would arrive 
 not looking her best. Mrs. Mansfield had invited Heath 
 because she wished to be sure at the first possible moment 
 whether Charmian was in love with him or not. And she was
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 107 
 
 positive that now, consciously alert and suspicious, if she saw 
 the two together even for a short time she would know. 
 
 And if she knew that it was so, that Charmian had set her 
 affections on Heath what then? 
 
 She resolved not to look beyond the day. But as the 
 moments passed, and she waited, her mind, like a thing beyond 
 control, began to occupy itself with that question. The dis- 
 tant hoot of a motor startled her. Although their motor had a 
 horn exactly the same as a thousand others she knew at once 
 that Charmian was entering the Square. Half a minute later, 
 standing in the doorway of her sitting-room, she heard the door 
 bell and the footsteps of Lassell, the butler. Impulsively she 
 went to the staircase. 
 
 " Charmian!" she called. " Charmian!" 
 
 "My only mother!" came up a voice from below. 
 
 She saw Charmian pushing up her veil over her three- 
 cornered travelling-hat with a bright red feather. 
 
 " Where are you? Oh, there!" 
 
 She came up the stairs. 
 
 "Such a crossing! I'm an unlucky girl! Remedies are 
 no use. Dearest!" 
 
 She put two light hands on her mother's shoulders and 
 kissed her twice with lips which were rather cold. Her face 
 was pale, and her eyes looked unusually haggard and restless. 
 An atmosphere of excitement seemed to surround her like an 
 aura, Mrs. Mansfield thought. She put her arm through her 
 mother's. 
 
 "Tea with you, and then I think I must go to bed. How 
 nice to be in my own dear bed again! I thought of my pillows 
 on board with a yearning that came from the soul, I'm sure. 
 Of course, we left the yacht at Marseilles. The yachting there 
 was such a talk about resolved itself into the two crossings. I 
 wasn't sorry, for we never saw a calm sea except from the 
 shore." 
 
 "No? What a shame! Sit here." 
 
 Charmian threw herself down with a movement that was 
 very young and began taking off her long gloves. As her thin, 
 pretty hands came out of them, Mrs. Mansfield bent down and 
 kissed her.
 
 108 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Dear child! How nice to have you safe home!" 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "What a silly question to ask your only mother!" 
 
 "This chair makes me feel exactly how tired I am. It 
 tells me." 
 
 "Takeoff your hat." 
 
 "Shall I?" She put up her hands, but she left the hat 
 where it was, and her mother did not ask why. 
 
 "Is Adelaide back?" 
 
 "No, I left her glued to Paris. I crossed with Susan Fleet. 
 Oh!" 
 
 She rested her head on the back of the big chair, and shut 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Only tea. I can't eat!" 
 
 "Here it is." 
 
 " I feel as if I'd been away for centuries, as if London must 
 have changed." 
 
 "It hasn't." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "Oh, of course, I've shed my nature, as you see!" 
 
 "I believe you think I've shed mine." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 Her eyes wandered about the room. 
 
 "Everything just the same." 
 
 "Then Africa really has made a great difference?" 
 
 The alert look that Mrs. Mansfield knew so well came into 
 Charmian's face despite her fatigue. 
 
 "Who thought it would?" 
 
 "Well, you've never been out of Europe before." 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 "Wouldn't it be natural if I had fancied it might?" 
 
 " Perhaps. But it was only the very edge of Africa. I 
 never went beyond Mustapha Superieur. I didn't even want 
 to go. I wonder if Susan Fleet did." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "I'm afraid I didn't think very much about it. But I 
 begin to wonder now. I think she's so unselfish that perhaps 
 she makes other people selfish."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 109 
 
 "You made great friends, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes. I think she's rather wonderful. She's very unlike 
 other women. She seemed actually glad to give me the 
 address of the place where she gets her coats and skirts. If 
 Theosophy made more women like that I should wish it to 
 spread like cholera in the alleys of Naples. Madre, don't 
 mind me! I was really ill coming across. My head feels all 
 light and empty." 
 
 She put up her hands to her temples. 
 
 "It's as if everything in my poor little brain-box had been 
 shaken about." 
 
 "Poor child! And I've been very inconsiderate." 
 
 ' ' Inconsiderate ? How ? ' ' 
 
 "About to-night." 
 
 "You haven't accepted a party for me?" 
 
 "It isn't so bad as that. But I've invited someone to 
 dinner." 
 
 "Mother!" Charmian looked genuinely surprised. "Not 
 Aunt Kitty!" 
 
 Aunt Kitty was a sister of Mrs. Mansfield's whom Charmian 
 disliked. 
 
 "Oh, no Claude Heath." 
 
 After a slight but perceptible pause, Charmian said: 
 
 "Mr. Heath. Oh, you asked him for to-night before you 
 knew I should be here. I see." 
 
 "No, I didn't. I thought he would like to hear about 
 your African experiences. I asked him after your telegram 
 came." 
 
 Charmian got up slowly, and stood where she could see 
 herself in a mirror without seeming intent on looking in the 
 glass. Her glance to it was very swift and surreptitious, and 
 she spoke, to cover it perhaps. 
 
 " I'm afraid I've got very little to tell about Algiers that 
 could interest Mr. Heath. Would you mind very much if I 
 gave it up and dined in bed?" 
 
 " Do just as you like. It was stupid of me to ask him. I 
 suppose I acted on impulse without thinking first." 
 
 "What time is dinner?" 
 
 "Eight as usual."
 
 110 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I'll lie down and rest and then see how I feel. I'll go 
 now. Nice to be with you again, dearest Madre!" 
 
 She bent down and kissed her mother's cheek. The touch 
 of her lips just then was not quite pleasant to Mrs. Mansfield. 
 When she was in her bedroom alone, Charmian took off her 
 hat, and, without touching her hair, looked long and earnestly 
 into the glass that stood on her dressing-table. Then she 
 bent down and put her face close to the glass. 
 
 "I look dreadful!" was her comment. 
 
 Her maid knocked at the door and was sent away. Char- 
 mian undressed herself, got into bed, and lay very still. She 
 felt very interesting, and as if she were going to be involved 
 in interesting and strange events, as if destiny were at work, 
 and were selecting instruments to help on the coming of that 
 which had to be. She thought of her mother as one of these 
 instruments. 
 
 It was strange that her mother should have been moved 
 to ask Claude Heath, the man she meant to marry, to come 
 to the house alone on the evening of her return. This action 
 was not a very natural one on her mother's part. It had always 
 been tacitly understood that Heath was Mrs. Mansfield's 
 friend. Yet Mrs. Mansfield had invited him for her daughter. 
 Had thought, for which space does not exist, reached across 
 the sea from child to mother mysteriously, saying to the 
 mother, "Do this!" 
 
 But unless the glass told a new tale at seven o'clock Char- 
 mian did not mean to go down to dinner. 
 
 She closed her eyes and said to herself, again and again, 
 "Look better! Look better! Look better!"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 WHEN seven o'clock struck she got out of bed, and again 
 looked in the glass. She felt rested in body, and no 
 longer had the tangled sensation in her head. B ut the 
 face which confronted her reminded her disagreeably of Millie 
 Deans, the American singer. It had what Charmian called the 
 "Pierrot look," a too expressive and unnatural whiteness 
 which surely told secrets. It seemed to her, too, a hard face, 
 too determined in expression, repellent almost. And surely 
 nothing is likely to be more repellent to a man than a girl's 
 face that is hard. 
 
 Since her conversation with Susan Fleet by the little lake 
 in the Algerian garden, Charmian had felt that destiny had 
 decreed her marriage with Claude Heath. So she put the 
 matter to herself. Really that conversation had caused her 
 secretly to decide that she would marry Claude Heath. 
 
 "It may be so," Susan Fleet had said. "Perhaps part 
 of your destiny is to learn through that man, and to teach 
 him." 
 
 The words had gone to join the curious conviction that had 
 come to Charmian out of the white dust floating up from the 
 road that runs through Mustapha, out of the lilies, out of the 
 wrinkled trunk of the great palm that was separated by the 
 yellow-green water from all its fellows, "I shall be here again 
 with him." 
 
 Surely the strong assertion of the will is the first step that 
 takes a human being out of the crowd. Charmian had suffered 
 because she was in the crowd, undistinguished, lost like a 
 violet in a prairie abloom with thousands of violets. Some- 
 thing in Algeria, something perhaps in Susan Fleet, had put 
 into her a resolve, unacknowledged even to herself. She had 
 returned to England, meaning to marry Claude Heath, mean- 
 ing to use her will as the ardent and capable servant of her 
 heart. 
 
 in
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 But what she said to herself was this, "I believe destiny 
 means to bring us together." She wrapped a naked little 
 fact up in a soft tissue of romance and wonder. 
 
 But the face in the glass which now looked at her was too 
 determined, too hard. It startled her. And she changed the 
 expression on it. But then it looked insincere, meretricious, 
 affected, and always haggard. 
 
 For a minute Charmian hesitated, almost resolved to go 
 back to bed. But, oh, the dulness of the long evening shut in 
 there! Three hours ago, at Charing Cross Station, she had 
 looked forward to it. But now! 
 
 Only once in her life had Charmian made up her face. She 
 knew many girls who disfigured their youth by concealing it 
 with artifice. She thought them rather absurd and rather 
 horrid. Nevertheless she had rouge and powder. One day 
 she had bought them, shut herself in, made up her face, and 
 been thoroughly disgusted with the effect. Yes, but she had 
 done it in a hurry, without care. She had known she was not 
 going to be seen. 
 
 Softly she pulled out a drawer. 
 
 At half-past seven there was a knock at the door. She 
 opened it and saw her maid. 
 
 "If you please, miss, Mrs. Mansfield wishes to know whether 
 you feel rested enough to dine downstairs." 
 
 "Yes, I do. Just tell mother, and then come back, please, 
 Halton." 
 
 When Halton came Charmian watched her almost as a cat 
 does a mouse, and presently surprised an inquiring look that 
 degenerated into a look of suspicion. 
 
 "What's the matter, Halton?" 
 
 "Nothing, miss. Which dress will you wear?" 
 
 So Halton had guessed, or had suspected there was not 
 much difference between the two mental processes. 
 
 "The green one I took on the yacht." 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 "Or the wait a minute." 
 
 "Yes, miss?" 
 
 "Yes the green one." 
 
 When the maid had taken the dress out Charmian said:
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 113 
 
 "Why did you look at me as you did just now, Halton? I 
 wish to know." 
 
 "I don't know, miss." 
 
 "Well, I have put something on." 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 "I looked so sea-sick yellow. No one wants to look 
 yellow." 
 
 "No, I'm sure, miss." 
 
 "But I don't want come and help me, Halton. I believe 
 you know things I don't." 
 
 Halton had been with the lovely Mrs. Charlton Hoey before 
 she came to Charmian, and she did know things unknown 
 to her young mistress. Trusted, she was ready to reveal 
 them, and Charmian went downstairs at three minutes past 
 eight more ingenious than she had been at ten minutes before 
 that hour. 
 
 Although she was quite, quite certain that neither her 
 mother nor Claude Heath would discover what had been done 
 with Halton's assistance, she was nevertheless sufficiently un- 
 certain to feel a tremor as she put her hand on the drawing-room 
 door, and it was a tremor in which a sense of shame had a part. 
 
 Claude Heath was in the room with Mrs. Mansfield. As 
 Charmian looked at him getting quickly up from the sofa 
 where he had been sitting he seemed to her a stranger. Was 
 this really the man who had made her suffer, weep, confide in 
 Susan Fleet, in Algeria? Had pink roses and dust, far-off 
 and near sounds, movements and stillnesses, and that strange 
 little island spoken to her of him, prophesied to her about him? 
 She had a sense of banality, of disillusion, as if all that had been 
 in her own brain only, almost crazily conceived without any 
 action of events to prompt it. 
 
 But when she met his eyes the disagreeable sensation 
 dropped away. For his eyes searched her in a way that made 
 her feel suddenly important. He was looking for Africa, but 
 she did not know it. 
 
 Although he did not see what Charmian had done to her 
 face, he noticed change in her. She seemed to him more 
 of a personage than she had seemed before she went away. 
 He was not sure that he liked the change. But it made an
 
 114 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 impression upon him. And what he considered as the weak- 
 ness within him felt a desire to please and conciliate it. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield had seen at a glance that Charmian' had 
 touched up her face, but she showed nothing of what she felt, 
 if she felt anything, about this new departure. And when 
 Heath said to Charmian, "How well you are looking!" Mrs. 
 Mansfield added: 
 
 "Your rest has done you good." 
 
 "Yes, I feel rather less idiotic!" said Charmian; "but only 
 rather. You mustn't expect me to be quite my usual brilliant 
 self, Mr. Heath. You must wait a day or two for that. 
 What have you been doing all this time?" 
 
 It seemed to Heath that there was a hint of light patronage 
 in her tone and manner. He was unpleasantly conscious of the 
 woman of the world. But he did not realize how much 
 Charmian had to conceal at this moment. 
 
 When almost immediately they went in to dinner, Mrs. 
 Mansfield deliberately turned the conversation to Charmian's 
 recent journey. This was to be Charmian's dinner. Char- 
 mian was the interesting person, the traveller from Algeria. Had 
 not Claude Heath been invited to hear all about the trip? 
 Mrs. Mansfield remembered the imaginative look which had 
 transformed his face just before he had quoted Chateaubriand. 
 And she remembered something else, something Charmian had 
 once said to her: "You jump into minds and hearts and 
 poor little I remain outside, squatting, like a hungry child!" 
 She had a sincere horror of the elderly mother who clings to 
 that power which should rightly be in the hands of youth. 
 And to-night something in her heart said: "Give place! give 
 place!" The fact which she had noticed in connection with 
 Charmian's face had suddenly made something within her 
 weep over the child, take herself to task. There was still 
 much impulse in Mrs. Mansfield. To-night a subtlety in 
 Charmian, which no man could have detected, set that impulse 
 in a generous and warm blaze; filled her with a wish to abdicate 
 in the child's favor, to make her the center of the evening's 
 attention, the source of the evening's conversation; to show 
 Heath that Charmian could be as interesting as herself and 
 more attractive than she was.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 115 
 
 The difficulty was to obtain the right response from Char- 
 mian. She had learnt, and had decided upon so much in 
 Algiers that she was inclined to pretend that Algiers was very 
 uninteresting. She did not fully realize that Claude Heath 
 was naive as well as clever, was very boyish as well as very 
 observant, very concentrated and very determined. And 
 she feared to play the schoolgirl if she made much of her 
 experience. Algiers meant so much to her just then that she 
 belittled Algiers in self-defense. 
 
 Heath was chilled by her curt remarks. 
 
 "Of course, it's dreadfully French!" she said. "I sup- 
 pose the conquerors wish to efface all the traces of the con- 
 quered as much as possible. I quite understand their feelings. 
 But it's not very encouraging to the desirous tourist." 
 
 "Then you were disappointed?" said Heath. 
 
 "You should have gone to Bou-Saada," said Mrs. Mans- 
 field. "You would have seen the real thing there. Why 
 didn't you?" 
 
 "Adelaide Shiffney started in such a hurry, before I had 
 had time to see anything, or recover from the horrors of yacht- 
 ing. You know how she rushes on as if driven by furies." 
 
 There was a small silence. Charmian knew now that she 
 was making the wrong impression, that she was obstinately 
 doing, being, all that was unattractive to Heath. But she 
 was governed by the demon that often takes possession of 
 girls who love and feel themselves unloved. The demon 
 forced her to show a moral unattractiveness that did not really 
 express her character. And realizing that she must be seem- 
 ing rather horrid in condemning her hostess and representing 
 the trip as a failure, she felt defiant and almost hard. 
 
 "Did you envy me?" she said to Heath, almost a little 
 aggressively. 
 
 "Well, I thought you must be having a very interesting 
 time. I thought a first visit to Africa must be a wonderful 
 experience." 
 
 "But, /then why refuse to come?" 
 
 She gazed full into his face, and made her long eyes look 
 impertinent, challenging. Mrs. Mansfield felt very uncom- 
 fortable.
 
 116 THE WAY OF AJMBITION 
 
 "I!" said Heath. "Oh, I didn't know I was in question! 
 Surely we were talking about the impression Algiers made 
 upon you." 
 
 "Well, but if you condemn me for not being more enthusi- 
 astic, surely it is natural for me to wonder why you wouldn't 
 for anything set foot in the African Paradise." 
 
 She laughed. Her nerves felt on edge after the journey. 
 And something in the mental atmosphere affected her un- 
 favorably. 
 
 "But, Miss Charmian, I don't condemn you. It would 
 be monstrous to condemn anyone for not being able to feel 
 in a certain way. I hope I have enough brains to see that." 
 
 He spoke almost hotly. 
 
 "Your mother and I had been imagining that you were 
 having a wonderful tune," he added. "Perhaps it was stupid 
 of us." 
 
 "No. Algiers is wonderful." 
 
 Heath had changed her, had suddenly enabled her to be 
 more natural. 
 
 "I include Mustapha, of course. Some of the gardens are 
 marvellous, and the old Arab houses. And I think perhaps 
 you would have thought them more marvellous even than I 
 did." 
 
 "But, why?" 
 
 "Because I think you could see more in beautiful things 
 than I can, although I love them." 
 
 Her sudden softness was touching. Heath had never been 
 paid a compliment that had pleased him so much as hers. He 
 had not expected it, and so it gained in value. 
 
 "I don't know that," he said hesitatingly. 
 
 "Madretta, don't you agree with me?" 
 
 "No doubt you two would appreciate things differently." 
 
 "But what I mean is that Mr. Heath in the things we should 
 both appreciate could see more than I." 
 
 "Pierce deeper into the heart of the charm? Perhaps he 
 could. Oh, eat a little of this chicken!" 
 
 "No, dearest mother, I can't. I'm in a Nebuchadnezzar 
 mood. Spinach for me." 
 
 She took some.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 117 
 
 "Everything seems a little vague and Channelly to-night, 
 even spinach." 
 
 She looked up at Heath, and now he saw a sort of evasive 
 charm in her eyes. 
 
 " You must forgive me if I'm tiresome to-night, and remember 
 that while you and Madre have been sitting comfortably in 
 Mullion House and Berkeley Square, I've been roaring across 
 France and rolling on the sea. I hate to be a slave to my 
 body. Nothing makes one feel so contemptible. But I 
 haven't attained to the Susan Fleet stage yet. I'll tell you all 
 about her some day, Mr. Heath, but not now. You would like 
 her. I know that. But perhaps you'll refuse to meet her. 
 Do you know my secret name for you? I call you the Great 
 Refuser." 
 
 Heath flushed and glanced at Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "I have my work, you see." 
 
 "We heard such strange music in Algiers," she answered. 
 "I suppose it was ugly. But it suggested all sorts of things 
 to me. Adelaide wished Monsieur Rades was with us. He's 
 clever, but he could never do a big thing. Could he, 
 mother?" 
 
 "No, but he does little things beautifully." 
 
 "What it must be to be able to do a big thing!" said Char- 
 mian. "To draw in color and light and perfume and sound, 
 and to know you will be able to weave them together, and 
 transform them, and give them out again with you in them, 
 making them more strange, more wonderful. We saw an 
 island, Susan Fleet and I, that well, if I had had genius I 
 could have done something exquisite the day I saw it. It 
 seemed to say to me: 'Tell them! Tell them! Make them 
 feel me! Make them know me! All those who are far away, 
 who will never see me, but who would love me as you do, if 
 they knew me.' And it was very absurd, I know! but I 
 felt as if it were disappointed with me because I had no power 
 to obey it. Madre, don't you think that must be the greatest 
 joy and privilege of genius, that capacity for getting into close 
 relations with strange and beautiful things? I couldn't obey 
 the little island, and I felt almost as if I had done it a 
 wrong."
 
 118 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Where was it? In the sea?" 
 
 "No oh, no! But I can't tell you! It has to be 
 seen ' 
 
 Suddenly there came upon her again, almost like a cloud 
 enveloping her, the strong impression that destiny would 
 lead her some day to that Garden of the Island with Heath. 
 She did not look at him. She feared if she did he would 
 know what was in her mind and heart. Making an effort, 
 she recovered her self-command, and said: 
 
 "I expect you think I'm a rather silly and rhapsodizing 
 girl, Mr. Heath. Do you mind if I tell you what / think?" 
 
 "No, tell me please!" he said quickly. 
 
 "Well, I think that, if you've got a great talent, perhaps 
 genius, you ought to give it food. And I think you don't 
 want to give it food." 
 
 "Swinburne's food was Putney!" said Mrs. Mansfield, 
 "and I could mention many great men who scarcely moved 
 from their o\vn firesides and yet whose imagination was nearly 
 always in a blaze." 
 
 Heath joined in eagerly, and the discussion lasted till the 
 end of dinner. Never before had Charmian felt herself to be 
 on equal terms with her mother and Heath. She was secretly 
 excited and she was able to give herself to her excitement. It 
 helped her, pushed on her intelligence. She saw that Heath 
 found her more interesting than usual. She began to realize 
 that her journey had made her interesting to him. He had 
 refused to go, and now was envying her because she had not 
 refused. Her depreciation of Algiers had been a mistake. 
 She corrected it now. And she saw that she had a certain 
 influence upon Heath. She attributed it to her secret assertion 
 of her will. She was not going to sit down any longer and be 
 nobody, a pretty graceful girl who didn't matter. Will is 
 everthing in the world. Now she loved she had a fierce 
 reason for using her will. Even her mother, who knew her 
 in every mood, was surprised by Charmian that evening. 
 
 Heath stayed till rather late. When he got up to go away, 
 Charmian said: 
 
 "Don't you wish you had come on the yacht? Don't you 
 wish you had seen the island?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 119 
 
 He hesitated, looking down on her and Mrs. Mansfield, and 
 holding his hands behind him. After a strangely long pause 
 he answered: 
 
 "I don't want to wish that, I don't mean to wish it." 
 
 "Do you really think we can control our desires?" she 
 asked, and now she spoke very gravely, almost earnestly. 
 
 "I suppose so. Why not?" 
 
 "Oh!" she said petulantly. "You remind me of Oliver 
 Cromwell somebody of that kind you ought to have lived 
 in Puritan days. It's England England England in you 
 shrivelling you up. I'm sure in all Algiers there isn't one 
 person (not English) who thinks as you do. But if you were 
 to travel, if you were to give yourself a chance, how different 
 you'd be!" 
 
 "Charmian, you impertinent child!" said Mrs. Mansfield, 
 smiling, but in a voice that was rather sad. 
 
 "It's the Channel! It's the Channel! I'm not myself 
 to-night!" 
 
 Heath laughed and said something light and gay. But as 
 he went out of the room his face looked troubled. 
 
 As soon as he had gone, Charmian got up and turned to her 
 mother. 
 
 "Are you very angry with me, Madre?" 
 
 "No. There always was a touch of the minx in you, and I 
 suppose it is ineradicable. What have you been doing to your 
 face?" 
 
 Charmian flushed. The blood even went up to her fore- 
 head, and for once she looked confused, almost ashamed. 
 
 "My face? You you have noticed something?" 
 
 "Of course, directly you came down. Has Adelaide taught 
 you that?" 
 
 "No! Are you angry, mother?" 
 
 "No. But I like young things to look really young as 
 long as they can. And to me the first touch of make-up 
 suggests the useless struggle against old age. Now I'm not 
 very old yet, not fifty. But I've let my hair become white." 
 
 "And how it suits you, my beautiful mother!" 
 
 "That's my little compensation. A few visits to Bond 
 Street might make me look ten years younger than I do, but
 
 120 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 if I paid them, do you know I think I should lose one or two 
 friendships I value very much." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield paused. 
 
 "Lose friendships?" Charmian almost faltered. 
 
 "Yes. Some of the best men value sincerity of appear- 
 ance in a woman more than perhaps you would believe to be 
 possible." 
 
 "In friendship!" Charmian almost whispered. 
 
 Again there was a pause. Mrs. Mansfield knew very well 
 that a sentence from her at this moment would provoke in 
 Charmian an outburst of sincerity. But she hesitated to 
 speak that sentence. For a voice within her whispered, 
 "Am I on Charmian's side?" 
 
 After a moment she got up. 
 
 "Bedtime," she said. 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 Charmian kissed her mother lightly first on one eyelid then 
 on the other. 
 
 "Dearest, it is good to be back with you." 
 
 "But you loved Algiers, I think." 
 
 "Did I? I suppose I did." 
 
 "I must get a book," said Mrs. Mansfield, going toward 
 a bookcase. 
 
 When she turned round with a volume of Browning in her 
 hand Charmian had vanished. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield did not regret the silence that had saved her 
 from Charmian's sincerity. In reply to it what could she 
 have said to help her child toward happiness? 
 
 For did not the fact that Charmian had made up her face 
 because she loved Claude Heath show a gulf between her and 
 him that could surely never be bridged?
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 HEATH was troubled and was angry with himself for being 
 troubled. Looking back it seemed to him that he had 
 taken a false step when he consented to that dinner with 
 Max Elliot. Surely since that evening he had never been 
 wholly at peace. And yet on that evening he had entered into 
 his great friendship with Mrs. Mansfield. He could not wish 
 that annulled. It added value to his life. But Mrs. Shiffney 
 and Charmian in combination had come into his life with her. 
 And they began to vex his spirit. He felt as if they repre- 
 sented a great body of opinion which was set against a deep 
 conviction of his own. Their motto was, "The world for the 
 artist." And what was his, or what had been his until now? 
 "His world within the artist." He had fed upon himself, 
 striving rather to avoid than to seek outside influences. After 
 Charmian's return from Africa a persistent doubt assailed him. 
 His strong instinct might be a blind guide. The opinion of the 
 world, represented by the shrewd married woman and the 
 intelligent girl, might have reason on its side. 
 
 Certainly Charmian's resolute assertion of herself on the 
 evening of her return had been surprisingly effective. In an 
 hour she had made an impression upon Heath such as she had 
 failed to make in many weeks of their previous acquaint- 
 anceship. Her attack had gone home. " If you were to give 
 yourself a chance how different you'd be!" And then her 
 outburst about the island! There had been truth in it. 
 Color and light and perfume and sound are material given 
 out to the artist. He takes them, uses them, combines them, 
 makes them his. He helps them! Ah! That was the word! 
 He, as it were, gives them wings so that they may fly into the 
 secret places, into the very hearts of men. 
 
 Heath looked round upon his hermitage, the little house 
 near St. Petersburg Place, and he was companioned by fears. 
 His energies weakened. The lack of self-confidence, which 
 
 121
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 often affected him when he was divorced from his work, began 
 to distress him when he was working. He disliked what he 
 was doing. Music, always the most evasive of the arts, 
 became like a mist in his sight. There were moments when he 
 hated being a composer, when he longed to be a poet, a painter, 
 a sculptor. Then he would surely at least know whether what 
 he was doing was good or bad. Now, though he was inclined 
 to condemn, he did not feel certain even of ineptitude. 
 
 Mrs. Searle noted the change in her master, and admin- 
 istered her favorite medicine, Fan, with increasing frequency. 
 As the neurasthenic believes in strange drugs, expensive cures, 
 impressive doctors, she believed in the healing powers of the 
 exceedingly young. Nor was Fan doubtful of her own magical 
 properties. She supposed that her intense interest in herself 
 and the affairs of her life was fully shared by Heath. Her con- 
 fidences to him in respect of Masterman and other important 
 matters were unbridled. She seldom strove to charm by 
 listening, and never by talking to Heath about himself. Her 
 method of using herself as a draught of healing was to draw 
 him into the current of her remarkable life, to set him floating 
 on the tides of her fate. 
 
 Heath had a habit of composing after tea, from five or five- 
 thirty onward. And Fan frequently appeared at the studio 
 door about half-past four, turned slightly sideways with an 
 expectant glance into the large room with the book-lined 
 walls, the dim paintings, and the orange-colored curtains. 
 A faint air of innocent coquetry hung about her. After a 
 pause and a smile from Heath, she would move forward with 
 hasty confidence, sometimes reaching the hearthrug with a 
 run. She was made welcome, petted, apparently attended 
 to with a whole mind. But while she delivered her soul of its 
 burden, at great length and with many indrawn breaths and 
 gusts of feeling, Heath was often saying to himself, "Am I 
 provincial?" 
 
 The word rankled now that Charmian had spoken out with 
 such almost impertinent abruptness. Had he then lost faith 
 in Mrs. Mansfield? She had never said that she wished him 
 different from what he was. And indirectly she had praised 
 his music. He knew it had made a powerful impression upon
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 123 
 
 her. Nevertheless, he could not forget Channian's words. 
 Nor could he help linking her with Mrs. Shiffney in his mind. 
 
 Fan pulled at his sleeve, raising her voice. He was re- 
 minded of a little dog clawing to attract attention. 
 
 "Yes, Fan tail! I mean no, of course not! If Masterman 
 refuses to take a bath, of course you are obliged to punish him. 
 Yes, yes, I know. Wear something? What? What's that? 
 Like you? But he's a man. Very well, we'll get him a pair of 
 trousers. No, I won't forget. Yes, like mine, long ones like 
 mine. It'll be all right. Take care with that cup. I think 
 mother must be wanting you. Press the bell hard. Well, 
 use your thumb then. That's it harder. There, you see, 
 mother does want you. Harriet says so." 
 
 Harriet, discreet almost to dumbness though she was, was 
 capable of receiving a hint conveyed by her master's expres- 
 sive eyebrows. And Fan passed on, leaving Heath alone with 
 his piano. He played what he had played to Mrs. Mansfield to 
 reassure himself. But he was not wholly reassured. And he 
 knew that desire for a big verdict which often tortures the un- 
 known creator. This was a new and, he thought, ugly phase 
 in his life. Was he going to be like the others? Was he going 
 to crave for notoriety? Why had the words of a mere girl, 
 of no unusual cleverness or perception, had such an effect upon 
 him? How thin she had looked that day when she emerged 
 from her furs. That was before she started for Africa. The 
 journey had surely made a great difference in her. She had 
 come back more of a personage, more resolute. He felt the 
 will in her as he had not felt it before. Till she came back he 
 had only felt the strong soul in her mother. That was like an 
 unwavering flame. How Mrs. Mansfield's husband must 
 have loved her. 
 
 And Heath's hands slipped from the piano, and he dreamed 
 over women. 
 
 He was conscious of solitude. 
 
 Susan Fleet was now in town. After the trip to Algiers 
 she had been to Folkestone to visit her mother and dear old 
 Mrs. Simpkins. She had also combined business with pleasure 
 and been fitted for a new coat and skirt. A long telegram 
 from Adelaide Shiffney called her back to London to under-
 
 124 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 take secretarial and other duties. As the season approached 
 Mrs. Shiffney's life became increasingly agitated. Miss Fleet 
 was an excellent hand at subduing, or, if that were impossible, 
 at getting neatness into agitation. She knew well how to 
 help fashionable women to be absurd with method. She made 
 their silliness almost business-like, and assisted them to arrange 
 their various fads in apple-pie order. Amid their often 
 hysterical lives she moved with a coolness that was refreshing 
 even to them. She never criticized their actions except 
 sometimes by tacitly declining to join in them. And they 
 seldom really wanted her to do that. Her value to them would 
 have been diminished, if not destroyed, had she been quite as 
 they were. 
 
 For the moment she was in Grosvenor Square. 
 
 Charmian envied Adelaide Shiffney. But she was resolved 
 to see more of Miss Fleet at whatever cost. Recently she had 
 been conscious of a tiny something, not much more than a 
 thread, dividing her from her mother. Since her mother knew 
 that she had made up her face on Claude Heath's account, she 
 had often felt self-conscious at home. Knowing that, her 
 mother, of course, knew more. If Charmian had told the 
 truth she would not have minded the fact that it was known. 
 But she did mind very much its being known when she had not 
 told it. Sometimes she said to herself that she was being 
 absurd, that Mrs. Mansfield knew, even suspected, nothing. 
 But unfortunately she -was a woman and, therefore, obliged to 
 be horribly intelligent in certain directions. Her painted 
 cheeks and delicately-darkened eyelashes had spoken what her 
 lips had never said. It was vain to pretend the contrary. 
 And she sedulously pretended it. 
 
 Her sense of separation from her mother made Charmian 
 the more desirous of further intercourse with Susan Fleet. 
 She felt as if only Miss Fleet could help her, though how she 
 did not know. After repeated attempts on her part a meeting 
 was at last arranged, and one afternoon the Theosophist made 
 her appearance in Berkeley Square and was shown upstairs 
 to Charmian's little sitting-room. 
 
 Charmian was playing a Polonaise of Chopin's on a cottage 
 piano. She played fairly well, but not remarkably. She had
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 125 
 
 been trained by a competent master and had a good deal 
 of execution. But her playing lacked that grip and definite 
 intention which are the blood and bone of a performance. 
 Several people thought nevertheless that it was full of charm. 
 
 "Oh, Susan!" she stopped abruptly on a diminished 
 seventh. "Come and sit here! May I?" 
 
 She kissed the serene face, clasping the white-gloved hands 
 with both of hers. 
 
 "Another from Folkestone?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What a fit! I simply must go there. D'you like my 
 little room?" 
 
 Susan looked quietly round, examining the sage-green walls, 
 the water-colors, the books in Florentine bindings, the chairs 
 and sofas covered with chintz, which showed a bold design of pur- 
 ple grapes with green leaves, the cream-colored rough curtains, 
 and Charmian's dachshund, Caroline, who lay awake before 
 the small fire which burned in a grate lined with Morris tiles. 
 
 "Yes, I like it very much. It looks like your home and 
 as if you were fond of it." 
 
 "I am, so far as one can be fond of a room." 
 
 She paused, hesitating, thinking of the little island and 
 her sudden outburst, longing to return at once to the subject 
 which secretly obsessed her, yet fearing to seem childish, too 
 egoistic, perhaps naively indiscreet. Susan looked at her with 
 a friendly gaze. 
 
 "How are things going with you? Are you happier than 
 you were at Mustapha?" 
 
 "You mean about that?" 
 
 "I'm afraid you have been worrying." 
 
 "Do I look uglier?" cried Charmian, almost with sharpness. 
 
 Susan Fleet could not help smiling, but in her smile there 
 was no sarcasm, only a gentle, tolerant humor. 
 
 "I hardly know. People say my ideas about looks are all 
 crazy. I can't admire many so-called beauties, you see. 
 There's more expression in your face, I think. But I don't 
 know that I should call it happy expression." 
 
 "I wish I were like you. I wish I could feel indifferent to 
 happiness!"
 
 126 THE WAY O.F AMBITION 
 
 "I don't suppose I am indifferent. Only I don't feel that 
 every small thing of to-day has power over me, any more than 
 I feel that a grain of dust which I can flick from my dress 
 makes me unclean. It's a long journey we are making. And 
 I always think it's a great mistake to fuss on a journey." 
 
 "I don't know anyone who can give me what you do," 
 said Charmian. 
 
 "It's a long journey up the Ray," said Susan. 
 
 "The Ray?" said Charmian, seized with a sense of mystery. 
 
 "The bridge that leads from the personal which perishes 
 to the immortal which endures." 
 
 "I can't help loving the personal. I'm not like you. 
 I do love the feeling of definite personality, separated from 
 everything, mine, me. It's no use pretending." 
 
 "Pretence is always disgusting." 
 
 "Yes, of course. But still never mind, I was only going 
 to say something you wouldn't agree with." 
 
 Susan did not ask what it was, but quietly turned the con- 
 versation, and soon succeeded in ridding Charmian of her faint 
 self-consciousness. 
 
 "I want you to meet him." 
 
 At last Charmian had said it, with a slight flush. 
 
 "I have met him," returned Miss Fleet, in her powerful 
 voice. 
 
 "What!" cried Charmian, on an almost indignant note. 
 
 "I met him last night." 
 
 "How could you? Where? He never goes to anything!" 
 
 "I went with Adelaide to the Elgar Concert at Queen's 
 Hall. He was there with a musical critic, and happened to 
 be next to us." 
 
 Charmian looked very vexed and almost injured. 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney and you talked to him?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Adelaide introduced us." 
 , There was a silence. Then Charmian said: 
 
 " I don't suppose he was his real self with Adelaide Shiffney. 
 But did you like him?" 
 
 "I did. I thought him genuine. And one sees the spirit 
 clearly in his face." 
 
 "I'm sure he liked you."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 127 
 
 "I really don't know." 
 
 "I do. Did he did you either of you say anything 
 about me?" 
 
 " Certainly we did." 
 
 "Did he did he seem did you notice whether he was 
 at all ? Caroline, be quiet!" 
 
 The dachshund, who had shown signs of an intention to 
 finish her reverie on Charmian's knees, blinked, looked guilty, 
 lay down again, turned over on her left side with her back to 
 her mistress, and heaved a sigh that nearly degenerated into a 
 whimper. 
 
 "I suppose he talked most of the time with Mrs. Shiffney?" 
 
 "Well, we had quite five minutes together. I spoke about 
 our time at Mustapha." 
 
 "Did he seem interested?" 
 
 "Very much, I thought." 
 
 "Very much! Oh, Susan! But he has a manner of seem- 
 ing interested. It may not mean anything. But still I 
 do think since I have come back he sees that I am not quite a 
 nonentity. He has been here several times, for mother of 
 course. Even now I have never heard his music. But there 
 is a difference. I believe in such a place as London unless one 
 has resolution to assert oneself people think one is a sort of 
 shadow. I have so often thought of what you said about my 
 perhaps having to learn through Claude Heath and to teach 
 him, too. Sometimes when I look at him I feel it must be so. 
 But what have I to teach? D'you know since since well, 
 it makes me feel humble often. And yet I know that the 
 greatest man needs help. Men are a sort of children. I've 
 often been surprised by the childishness of really big men. 
 Please tell me all he said to you." 
 
 Very calmly Susan told. She had just finished, and Char- 
 mian was about to speak again, when Mrs. Mansfield opened 
 the door. Charmian sprang up so abruptly that Caroline was 
 startled into a husky bark. 
 
 "Oh, Madre! Susan Fleet is here!" 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield knew at once that she had broken in upon a 
 confidential interview, not by Miss Fleet's demeanor, but by 
 Charmian's. But she did not show her knowledge. She sat
 
 128 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 down and joined pleasantly in the talk. She had often seen 
 Miss Fleet in London, but she did not know her well. At once 
 she realized that Charmian had found an excellent friend. And 
 she was not jealous because of the confidence given but not 
 given to her. Youth, she knew, is wilful and must have its 
 way. The nearest, for some inscrutable reason, are generally 
 told the least. 
 
 When Miss Fleet went away, Mrs. Mansfield said: 
 
 "That is one of the most thoroughbred human beings I 
 have ever seen. No wonder the greatest snobs like her. 
 There is nothing a snob hates so much as snobbery in another. 
 Viva to your new friend, Charmian!" 
 
 She wondered a little whether Miss Fleet's perception of 
 character was as keen as her breeding was definite, when she 
 heard that Claude Heath had met her. 
 
 Heath told Mrs. Mansfield this. Miss Fleet had made a 
 strong impression upon him. At the moment when he had 
 met her he had felt specially downcast. The musical critic, 
 with whom he had gone to the concert, had been a fellow 
 student with him at the Royal College. Being young the 
 critic was very critical, very sure of himself, very decisive in 
 his worship of the new idols and in his scathing contempt for 
 the old. He spoke of Mendelssohn as if the composer of 
 Elijah had earned undying shame, of Gounod as if he ought to 
 have been hanged for creating his Faust. His glorification 
 of certain modern impressionists in music depressed Heath, 
 almost as much as his abuse of the dead who had been popular, 
 and who were still appreciated by some thousands, perhaps 
 millions, of nobodies. He made Heath, in his discontented 
 condition, feel as if all art were futile. 
 
 "Why give up everything," he thought, "merely to earn 
 in the end the active contempt of men who have given up 
 nothing? What is it that drives me on? A sort of madness, 
 perhaps, something to be rooted out." 
 
 He almost shivered as the conviction came to him that he 
 must have been composing for posterity, since he did not de- 
 sire present publicity. No doubt he had tried to trick him- 
 self into the belief that he had toiled for himself alone, paid the 
 tribute of ardent work to his own soul. Now he asked him-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 129 
 
 self, with bitter scepticism: "Does any man really ever do 
 that?" And his world seemed to fall about him like shadows 
 dropping down into a void. 
 
 Then came his five minutes of talk with Susan Fleet. 
 
 When Heath spoke of it to Mrs. Mansfield he said: 
 
 "I was a cripple when we began. When we stopped I felt 
 as if I could climb to a peak. And she said nothing memorable. 
 But I had been in her atmosphere." 
 
 "And you are very susceptible to atmosphere." 
 
 "Too susceptible. That's why I keep so much to myself." 
 
 "I know the cloister." 
 
 She looked at him earnestly, even searchingly. He slightly 
 reddened, looked down, said slowly: 
 
 "It's not a natural life, the life of the cloister." 
 
 " Perhaps you mean to come out." 
 
 " I don't know what I mean. I am all at a loose end lately." 
 
 "Since when?" 
 
 Her eyes were still on him. 
 
 "I hardly know. Perhaps hearing about Africa, of that 
 voyage I might have made, unsettled me. I'm a weakling, 
 I'm afraid." 
 
 "Very strong in one way." 
 
 "Very weak in another, perhaps. It would have been 
 better to go and have done with it, than to brood over not 
 having gone." 
 
 "You are envying Charmian?" 
 
 "Some days I envy everyone who isn't Claude Heath," 
 he answered evasively, with a little covering laugh. "Of 
 one thing I am quite sure, that I wish I were a male Miss Fleet. 
 She knows what few people know." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " What is small and what is great." 
 
 "And you found that out in five minutes at a concert?" 
 
 "Elgar's is music that helps the perceptions." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield's perceptions were very keen. Yet she was 
 puzzled by Heath. She realized that he was disturbed and 
 attributed that disturbance to Charmian. Had he suspected, 
 or found out, that Charmian imagined herself to be in love with 
 him? He came as usual to the house. His friendship with 
 
 9
 
 130 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield did not seem to her to have changed. But 
 his relation to Charmian was not what it had been. Indeed, 
 it was scarcely possible that it should be so. For Charmian 
 had continued to be definite ever since her drastic remarks at 
 dinner on the evening of her return. She bantered Heath, 
 laughed at him, patronized him in the pretty way of a pretty 
 London girl who takes the world for her own with the hands of 
 youth. When she found him with her mother she did not 
 glide away, or remain as a mere listener while they talked. 
 She stayed to hold her own, sometimes even so her mother 
 thought, not without pathos a little aggressively. 
 
 Heath's curious and deep reserve, which underlay his ap- 
 parent quick and sensitive readiness to be sympathetic with 
 those about him, to give them what they wanted of him, was 
 not abated by Charmian's banter, her delicate impertinences, 
 her laughing attacks. Mrs. Mansfield noticed that. He 
 turned to her still when he wished to speak for a moment out 
 of his heart. 
 
 But he was becoming much more at home in Charmian's 
 company. She stirred him at moments into unexpected bursts 
 of almost boyish gaiety. She knew how to involve him in 
 eager arguments. 
 
 One day, as he was about to leave the house in Berkeley 
 Square he said to Mrs. Mansfield: 
 
 "Miss Charmian ought to have some big object in life on 
 which she could concentrate. She has powers, you know." 
 
 When he was gone Mrs. Mansfield smiled and sighed. 
 
 "And when will he find out that he is Charmian's big 
 object in life?" she thought. 
 
 She knew men well. Nevertheless, their stupidities some- 
 times surprised her. It was as if something in them obstinately 
 refused to see. 
 
 "It's their blindness that spoils us," she said to herself. 
 "If they could see, we should have ten commandments to 
 obey perhaps twenty."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 TOWARD the end of the London season the management 
 of the Covent Garden Opera House startled its subscribers 
 by announcing for production a new opera, composed by 
 a Frenchmen called Jacques Sennier, whose name was unknown 
 to most people. Mysteriously, as the day drew near for the 
 first performance of this work, which was called Le Paradis 
 Terrestre, the inner circles of the musical world were infected 
 with an unusual excitement. Whispers went round that the 
 new opera was quite extraordinary, epoch-making, that it was 
 causing a prodigious impression at rehearsal, that it was abso- 
 lutely original, that there was no doubt of its composer's genius. 
 Then reports as to the composer's personality and habits began 
 to get about. Mrs. Shiffney, of course, knew him. But she 
 had introduced him to nobody. He was her personal prey at 
 present. She, however, allowed it to be known that he was 
 quite charming, but the strangest creature imaginable. It 
 seemed that he had absolutely no moral sense, did not know 
 what it meant. If he saw an insect trodden upon, or a fly 
 killed on a window-pane, he could not work for days. But 
 when his first wife he had been married at sixteen shot 
 herself in front of him, on account of his persistent cruelty and 
 infidelity, he showed no sign of distress, had the body carried 
 out of his studio, and went on composing. Decidedly an 
 original! Everybody was longing to know him. The libraries 
 and the box-office of the Opera House were bombarded with 
 demands for seats for the first performance, at which the 
 beautiful Annie Meredith, singer, actress, dancer, speculator, 
 and breeder of prize bulldogs, was to appear in the heroine's 
 part. 
 
 Three nights before the premiere, a friend, suddenly plunged 
 into mourning by the death of a relation, sent Mrs. Mansfield 
 her box. Charmian was overjoyed. Max Elliot, Lady 
 Mildred Burnington, Margot and Kit Drake, Paul Lane, 
 
 131
 
 132 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 all her acquaintances, in fact, were already "raving" about 
 Jacques Sennier, without knowing him, and about his opera, 
 without having heard it. Sensation, success, they were in the 
 air. Not to go to this premiere .would be a disaster. Char- 
 mian's instinctive love of being "in" everything had caused 
 her to feel acute vexation when her mother had told her that 
 their application for stalls had been refused. Now, at the last 
 moment, they had one of the best boxes in the house. 
 
 "Whom shall we take?" said Mrs. Mansfield. "There's 
 room for four." 
 
 "Why not invite Mr. Heath?" said Charmian, with a rather 
 elaborate carelessness. "As he's a musician it might inter- 
 est him." 
 
 "I will if you like. But he's sure to refuse." 
 
 Of late Heath had retired into his shell. Mrs. Shiffney had 
 not seen him for months. Max Elliot had given him up in 
 despair. Even in Berkeley Square he was but seldom visible. 
 His excuse for not calling was that he knew nobody had any 
 time to spare in the season. 
 
 "Don't write to him, Madre, or he will. Get him to come 
 here and ask him. He really ought to follow the progress of 
 his own art, silly fellow. I have no patience with his absurd 
 fogey dom." 
 
 She spoke with the lightest scorn, but in her long eyes there 
 was an intentness which contradicted her manner. 
 
 Heath came to the house, was invited to come to the box, 
 and had just refused when Charmian entered the room. 
 
 "You're afraid, Mr. Heath," she said, smiling at him. 
 
 "Afraid! What of?" he asked quickly, and a little 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Afraid of hearing what the foreign composers of your 
 own age are doing, of comparing their talents with your own. 
 That's so English! Never mind what the rest of the world is 
 about! We'll go on in our own way! It seems so valiant, 
 doesn't it? And really it's nothing but cowardice, fear of 
 being forced to see that others are advancing while we are 
 standing still. I'm sick of English stolidity 1" 
 
 Heath's eyes shown with something that looked like anger. 
 
 "I really don't think I'm afraid!" he said stiffly.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 133 
 
 Perhaps to prove that he was not, he rescinded his refusal 
 and came to the premiere with the Mansfields. It was a 
 triumph for Charmian, but she did not show that she knew it. 
 
 Heath was in his most reserved mood. He had the manner 
 of the defiant male lured from behind his defenses into the 
 open against his will. Some intelligence within him knew 
 that his cold stiffness was rather ridiculous, and made him un- 
 happy. Mrs. Mansfield was really sorry for him. 
 
 Nothing is more humorously tragic than pleasure in- 
 dulged in under protest. And Heath's protest was painfully 
 apparent. 
 
 Charmian, who was looking her best, her most self-possessed, 
 a radiant minx, with fleeting hints of depths and softnesses, 
 half veiled by the firm habit of the world, seemed to tower 
 morally above the composer. He marvelled afresh at the 
 triumphant composure of modern girlhood. Sitting between 
 the two women in the box no one else had been asked to 
 join them he looked out, almost shyly, at the crowded and 
 brilliant house. Mrs. Shiffney, large, powerful and glittering 
 with jewels, came into a box immediately opposite to theirs, 
 accompanied by Ferdinand Rades, Paul Lane, and a very 
 smart, very French, and very ugly woman, who was covered 
 thickly with white paint, and who looked like all the feminine 
 intelligence of Paris beneath her perfectly-dressed red hair. 
 In the box next the stage on the same side were the Max Elliots 
 with Sir Hilary Burnington and Lady Mildred. 
 
 Charmian looked eagerly about the house, putting up her 
 opera-glasses, finding everywhere friends and acquaintances. 
 She frankly loved the world with the energy of her youth. 
 
 At this moment the sight of the huge and crowded theater, 
 full of watchful eyes and whispering lips, full of brains and 
 souls waiting to be fed, the sound of its hum and stir, sent a 
 warm thrill through her, thrill of expectation, of desire. She 
 thought of that man, Jacques Sennier, hidden somewhere, 
 the cause of all that was happening in the house, of all that 
 would happen almost immediately upon the stage. She 
 envied him with intensity. Then she looked at Claude Heath's 
 rather grim and constrained expression. Was it possible that 
 Heath did not share her feeling of envy?
 
 There was a tap at the door. Heath sprang up and opened 
 it. Paul Lane's pale and discontented face appeared. 
 
 "Halloa! Haven't seen you since that dinner! May I 
 come in for a minute?" 
 
 He spoke to the Mansfields. 
 
 "Perfectly marvellous! Everyone behind the scenes is 
 mad about it! Annie Meredith says she will make the success 
 of her life in it. Who's that Frenchwoman with Adelaide 
 Shiffney? Madame Sennier, the composer's wife his second, 
 the first killed herself. Very clever woman. She's not going 
 to kill herself. Sennier says he could do nothing without her, 
 never would have done this opera but for her. She found him 
 the libretto, kept him at it, got the Covent Garden manage- 
 ment interested in it, persuaded Annie Meredith to come over 
 from South America to sing the part. An extraordinary 
 woman, ugly, but a will of iron, and an ambition that can't 
 be kept back. Her hour of triumph to-night. There goes the 
 curtain." 
 
 As Lane slipped out of the box, he whispered to Heath: 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney hopes you'll come and speak to her between 
 the acts. Her name's on the door." 
 
 Heath sat down a little behind Mrs. Mansfield. Although 
 the curtain was now up he noticed that Charmian, with raised 
 opera-glasses, was earnestly looking at Mrs. Shiffney's box. 
 He noticed, too, that her left hand shook slightly, almost 
 imperceptibly. 
 
 "Her hour of triumph!" Yes, the hour proved to be that. 
 Madame Sennier's energies had not been expended in rain. 
 From the first bars of music, from the first actions upon the 
 stage, the audience was captured by the new work. There 
 was no hesitating. There were no dangerous moments. 
 The evening was like a crescendo, admirably devised and 
 carried out. And through it all Charmian watched the ugly 
 white face of the red-haired woman opposite to her, lived 
 imaginatively in that woman's heart and brain, admired her, 
 almost hated her, longed to be what she was. 
 
 Between the acts she saw men pouring into Mrs. Shiffney's 
 box. And every one was presented to the ugly woman, whose 
 vivacity and animation were evidently intense, who seemed
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 135 
 
 to demand homage as a matter of course. Several foreigners 
 kissed her hand. Max Elliot's whole attitude, as he bent over 
 her, showed adoration and enthusiasm. Even Paul Lane was 
 smiling, as he drew her attention to a glove split by his energy 
 in applause. 
 
 Heath had spoken of Mrs. Shiffney's message. He was 
 evidently reluctant to obey it, but Charmian insisted on his 
 going. 
 
 "I want to know what Madame Sennier is like. You 
 must ask her if she is happy, find out how happy she is." 
 
 "Charmian, Mr. Heath isn't a mental detective!" 
 
 "I speak such atrocious French!" said Heath, looking 
 nervous and miserable. 
 
 "I suppose you can say, 'Chere Madame, fes per e que vous 
 etes Hen contente ce soir?' ' 
 
 When Heath had left the box Mrs. Mansfield said gravely 
 to her daughter: 
 
 "Charmian!" 
 
 "Yes, Madretta." 
 
 "I don't think you are behaving very kindly this evening. 
 You scarcely seem to remember that Mr. Heath is our guest." 
 
 "Against his will," she said, in a voice that was almost 
 hard. There was a hardness, too, in her whole look and 
 manner. 
 
 "I think that only makes the hostess's obligation the 
 stronger," said Mrs. Mansfield. " I don't at all like the Margot 
 manner with men." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Madre; but I had no idea I was imitating 
 Margot Drake." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield said no more. Charmian, with flushed 
 cheeks and shining eyes, turned to look once more at Adelaide 
 Shiffney's box. 
 
 In about three minutes she saw Mrs. Shiffney glance behind 
 her. Max Elliot, who was still with her, got up and opened the 
 door, and Heath stood in the background. Charmian frowned 
 and pressed her little teeth on her lower lip. Her body felt 
 stiff with attention, with scrutiny. She saw Heath come 
 forward, Max Elliot holding him by the arm, and talking 
 eagerly and smiling. Mrs. Shiffney smiled, too, laughed, gave
 
 136 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 him her powerful hand. Now he was being introduced to 
 Madame Sennier, who surely appraised him with one swift, 
 almost cruelly intelligent glance. 
 
 His French! His French! Charmian trembled for it, 
 for him because of it. If Mrs. Mansfield could have known 
 how solicitous, how tender, how motherly, the girl felt at that 
 moment under her mask of shining, radiant hardness! But 
 Mrs. Mansfield was glancing about the house with grave and 
 even troubled eyes. 
 
 Heath was talking to Madame Sennier. He was even 
 sitting down beside her. She spoke, evidently with volubility, 
 making rapid gestures with her hands. Then she paused. 
 She was listening attentively to Heath. Mrs. Shiffney and 
 Elliot listened, too, as if absorbed. Heath's French must 
 really be excellent. Why had he ? If only she could hear 
 what he was saying! She tingled with curiosity. How he 
 held them, those three people! From here he looked dis- 
 tinguished, interesting. He stood out even in this crowd as 
 an interesting man. Madame Sennier made an upward move- 
 ment of her head, full of will. She put out her hand, and laid it 
 on Heath's arm. Now they all seemed to be talking together. 
 Madame Sennier looked radiant, triumphant, even autocratic. 
 She pointed toward the stage emphatically, made elaborate 
 descriptive movements with her hands. A bell sounded some- 
 where. Heath got up. In a moment he and Max Elliot had 
 left the box together. The two women were alone. They 
 leaned toward each other apparently in earnest conversation. 
 
 "I know they are talking about him! I know they are!" 
 
 Charmian actually formed the words with her lips. The 
 curtain rose as Heath quietly entered the box. Charmian 
 did not turn to him or look at him then. Only when the act 
 was over did she move and say: 
 
 "Well, Mr. Heath, your French evidently comes at call." 
 
 "What oh, we were talking in English!" 
 
 "Madame Sennier speaks English?" said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "Excellently!" 
 
 Charmian felt disappointed. 
 
 "Is she happy?" she asked, moving her hand on the edge 
 of the box.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 137 
 
 "She seems so." 
 
 "Did you tell her what you thought?" 
 
 "Yes," said Heath. 
 
 His voice had become suddenly deeper, more expressive. 
 
 "I told her that I thought it wonderful. And so it is. 
 She said in French this: 'Ah, my friend, wait till the last 
 act. Then it is no longer the earthly Paradise!'" 
 
 There was a moment of silence. Then Charmian said, in 
 a voice that sounded rather dry: 
 
 "You liked her?" 
 
 "I don't know. Yes, I think I did. We were all rather 
 carried away, I suppose." 
 
 "Carried away! By what?" 
 
 " Well, it is evidently a great moment in Madame Sennier's 
 life. One must sympathize." 
 
 Charmian looked and saw two spots of color burning high 
 up on his cheeks. His voice had suddenly quivered. 
 
 "I should think so," said Mrs. Mansfield. "This evening 
 probably means more to Madame Sennier even than to her 
 husband." 
 
 Charmian said nothing more till the end of the evening. 
 Beneath the radiant coolness of her demeanor, the air of 
 triumphant self-possession, she was secretly quivering with 
 excitement. She feared to betray herself. Soon she was 
 spellbound by the music of the last act and by the wonderful 
 performance of Annie Meredith. As she listened, leaning 
 forward in the box, and always feeling intensely the nearness 
 to her of Heath, and of Heath's strong musical talent, she 
 remembered something she had once said in the drawing-room 
 in Berkeley Square, "We want a new note." Here was the 
 new note in French music, the new talent given to the wonder- 
 ing and delighted world to-night. To-morrow doubtless 
 Europe and America would know that the husband of the red- 
 haired woman opposite had taken his place among the famous 
 men to whom the world must pay attention. From to-morrow 
 thousands of art lovers would be looking toward Jacques 
 Sennier with expectation, the curious expectation of those 
 who crave for fresh food on which they may feed their intellects, 
 and their souls. The great tonic of a new development in art
 
 138 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 was offered to all those who cared to take it by the man who 
 would probably be staring from behind the footlights at the 
 crowd in a few moments. 
 
 If only the new note had been English I 
 
 "It shall be! It shall be!" Charmian repeated to herself. 
 
 She looked again and again at Madame Sennier, striving 
 to grasp the secret of her will for another, even while she gave 
 herself to the enchantment of the music. But for that woman 
 in all probability the music would never have been given life. 
 Somewhere, far down in the mystery of an individual, it would 
 have lain, corpse-like. A woman had willed that it should 
 live. She deserved the homage she had received, and would 
 receive to-night. For she had made her man do a great thing, 
 because she had helped him to understand his own greatness. 
 
 Suddenly, out of the almost chaotic excitement caused in 
 Charmian by the music, and by her secret infatuation, concrete 
 knowledge seemed to detach itself and to arise. As, when she 
 had looked at the island in the Algerian Garden, she had felt 
 "I shall be here some day with him!" so now she seemed to be 
 aware that the future would show a brilliant crowd assembled 
 in some great theater, not for Jacques Sennier, but for one 
 near her. Really she was violently willing that it should be so. 
 But she thought she was receiving from whom, or from what, 
 she could not tell a mysterious message. 
 
 And the red-haired woman's place was filled by another. 
 
 At last the curtain fell on the final scene, and the storm 
 which meant a triumph was unchained. Heath sprang up 
 from his seat, carried away by a generous enthusiasm. He 
 did not know how to be jealous of anyone who could do a really 
 fine thing. Charmian, in the midst of the uproar, heard him 
 shouting "Bravo!" behind her, in a voice quick with excite- 
 ment. His talent was surely calling to a brother. The noise 
 all over the house strengthened gradually, then abruptly rose 
 like a great wave. A small, thin, and pale man, with a big 
 nose, a mighty forehead, scanty black hair and beard, and 
 blinking eyes, had stepped out before the curtain. He leaned 
 forward, made a movement as if to retreat, was stopped by 
 a louder roar, stepped quickly to the middle of the small strip 
 of stage that was visible, and stood still with his big head
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 139 
 
 slighty thrust out toward the multitude which acclaimed him. 
 
 Chairman turned round to Claude Heath, who towered 
 above her. He did not notice her movement. He was gazing 
 at the stage while he violently clapped his hands. She gazed 
 up at him. He felt her eyes, leaned down. For a moment 
 they looked at each other, while the noise in the house increased. 
 Claude saw that Charmian wanted to speak to him and some- 
 thing else. After a moment, during which the blood rose in 
 his cheeks and forehead, and he felt as if he were out in wind 
 and rain, in falling snow and stern sunshine, he said: 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "All this ought to be for you. Some day it will be for 
 you!"
 
 CHAPTER Xin 
 
 IN the studio of Mullion House that night, Harriet, moving 
 softly, placed a plate of sandwiches and a long bottle of 
 Rhine wine before she went up to bed. Moonlight shone on 
 the scrap of garden, gleamed on the leaded panes of the studio 
 windows, from which the orange-colored curtains were drawn 
 back. The aspect of the big room had changed because it was 
 summer. It looked bigger, less cosy without a fire. One 
 lamp was lighted and cast a gentle glow over the books that 
 lay near it, and over the writing-table on which there were 
 sheets of manuscript music. The piano stood open. A spray 
 of white roses in a tall vase looked spectral against the shadows. 
 After Harriet's departure the clock ticked for a long time in 
 an empty room. 
 
 It was nearly two o'clock, and the moon was waning, when 
 the studio door was opened to let in Heath. He was alone. 
 Holding the door with one hand, he stood and stared at the 
 room, examined it with a sort of excited and close attention. 
 Then he took off his hat, shut the door, laid hat and coat on 
 the sofa, went to the table where Harriet had put the tray, 
 and poured out a glass of wine. He sighed, looked at the gold 
 of the wine, made beautiful by the lamplight, drank it, and sat 
 down in the worn armchair which faced the line of window. 
 Then he lit a cigar, leaned back, and smoked, keeping his eyes 
 on the glass. 
 
 Upon the leaded panes the faint silver shifted, faded, and 
 presently died. Heath watched, and thought, "The moon 
 gone!" He did not feel as if he could ever wish to sleep again. 
 The excitement within him was like a ravaging disease. He 
 was capable of excitement that never comes to the ordinary 
 man, although he took sedulous care to hide that fact. His 
 imagination bristled like a spear held by one alert for attack. 
 What was life going to do to him? What was he going to let 
 it do? 
 
 140
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 141 
 
 Charmian Mansfield loved him, and believed in his genius, 
 as he did not believe, or had not till now believed in it. He 
 was loved, he was believed in, by the thin mystery of a modern 
 girl, who had known many men with talents, with names, with 
 big reputations. Under that triumphant composure, that 
 almost cruel banter, that whimsical airy contempt, that cool 
 frivolity of the minx, there was emotion, there was love for 
 him and for his talent. Always that night he thought of his 
 talent in connection with Charmian's love, he scarcely knew 
 why. For how long had she loved him? And why did she 
 love him? He thought of his body, and it surprised him that 
 she loved that. He thought of his mind, his imagination, his 
 temper, his tricks, his faults, his habits. He thought of his 
 deep reserve, and of the intense emotion he sometimes felt 
 when he was quite alone and composing. Sometimes he felt 
 like a great fire then. Sometimes he felt brutal, almost savage, 
 decisive in a sense that was surely cruel. Did she suspect all 
 that? Did she love all that without consciously suspecting 
 it? Sometimes, when he had been working very hard, over- 
 working perhaps, he felt inclined to do evil. If she knew that! 
 
 But she did not, she could not know him. Why, then, did 
 she love him? Heath was not a conceited man, but he did 
 not at this moment doubt Charmian's love for him. Though 
 he was sometimes child-like, and could be, like most men, very 
 blind, he had a keen intellect which could reason about 
 psychology. He knew how women love success. He knew 
 how, in a moment of excitement such as that at the end of the 
 opera, when Jacques Sennier came before the curtain, they 
 instinctively concentrate on the man who has made the success. 
 He knew, or divined, what woman's concentration is. And 
 he realized the bigness of the tribute paid to him by Charmian's 
 abrupt detachment from the hour and the man, by the sweep 
 of her brain and her heart to him. Any conqueror of women 
 might have been proud of such a tribute, have considered it 
 rare. Her eyes, her voice, in the tempest they had thrilled 
 him. He had been only thinking of Sennier's music and of 
 Sennier, of art and the human being behind it. Nothing 
 within him had consciously called to Charmian. Nor had 
 there he felt sure now been the unconscious call sent out
 
 142 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 by the man of talent who feels himself left out in the cold, who 
 cannot stifle the greedy voice of the jealousy which he despises. 
 No, the initiative had been wholly hers. And something 
 irresistible must have moved her, -driven her, to do what she 
 had done. She must have been mastered by an impulse bred 
 out of strong excitement. She had been mastered by an 
 impulse. 
 
 "All this ought to be for you. Some day it will be for 
 you." 
 
 She had only whispered the words, but they had seemed to 
 stab him, with so much mental force had she sent them out. 
 Mrs. Mansfield had not heard them. And how extraordinary 
 Charmian's eyes had been during that moment when she and 
 he had gazed at one another. He had not known eyes could 
 look like that, as if the whole spirit of a human being were 
 crouching in them, intent. How far away from the eyes the 
 human spirit must often be! 
 
 As Heath thought of Charmian's eyes he felt as if he knew 
 very little of real life yet. 
 
 She had turned away. Again and again Jacques Sennier 
 had been called. He had returned with Annie Meredith, to 
 whom he had made the gift of a splendid r61e. They shook 
 hands before the audience, not perfunctorily, but as if they 
 loved one another, were bound together, comrades in the 
 beautiful. He Heath had stood upright again, had gone 
 on applauding with the rest. But his thoughts had then all 
 been on himself. "If all this were for me! If I should ever 
 have such an hour in my life, such a tribute as this! If within 
 me is the capacity to conquer all these diverse natures and 
 temperaments, to weld them together in a common desire, 
 the desire to show thankfulness for what a man has been able 
 to give them!" And he had thrilled for the first time with a 
 fierce new longing, the longing for the best that is meant by 
 fame. 
 
 This longing persisted now. 
 
 Heath had left Mrs. Mansfield and Charmian under the 
 arcade of the Opera House, after putting them into their 
 car. The crush coming out had been great. They had had 
 to wait for nearly half an hour in the vestibule. During
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 143 
 
 that time the Mansfields had talked to many friends. Char- 
 mian had completely regained her composure. She had intro- 
 duced Heath to several people, among others to Kit and Margot 
 Drake, who spoke of nothing but the opera and its composer 
 and Annie Meredith. The vestibule was full of the voices of 
 praise. Everybody seemed unusually excited. Paul Lane 
 had actually come up to them with beads of perspiration 
 standing on his forehead, and his eyes shining with excitement. 
 
 "This is a red-letter night in my life," he had said. "I 
 have felt a strong and genuine emotion. There's a future 
 for music, after all, and a big one. If only there were one or 
 two more Jacques Senniers!" 
 
 Even then Charmian had not looked again at Heath. She 
 had answered lightly. 
 
 " Perhaps there are. Who knows? Even Monsieur Sennier 
 was practically unknown four hours ago." 
 
 "There are not many parts of the civilized world in which 
 his name will be unknown in four days from now," said Paul 
 Lane, "or even in twenty-four hours. I'm going to meet 
 him and his wife at supper at Adelaide Shiffney's, so I must 
 say good-night oh, and good-night, Mr. Heath." 
 
 Oh and good-night, Mr. Heath. 
 
 Claude had walked all the way home alone slowly. He 
 had passed through Piccadilly Circus, through Regent Street, 
 through Oxford Street, along the north side of the closed and 
 deserted Park on which the faint moonlight lay. When he 
 reached his door he had not gone in. He had turned, had 
 paced up and down. The sight of a very large policeman 
 looking attentive, then grimly inquiring, then crudely suspi- 
 cious, had finally decided him to enter his house. 
 
 What was life going to do to him if he did not hold back, 
 did not persist any longer in his mania for refusal? There 
 was a new world spread out before him. He stood upon its 
 border. He wanted to step into it. But something within 
 him, something that seemed obscure, hesitated, was perhaps 
 afraid. In his restless mood, in his strong excitement, he 
 wanted to crush that thing down, to stifle its voice. Caution 
 seemed to him almost effeminate just then. He remembered 
 how one day Charmian had said to him, after an argument
 
 144 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 about psychology: "Really, Mr. Heath, whatever you may 
 say, your strongest instinct is a selfish one, the instinct of 
 self-preservation. ' ' 
 
 What was Jacques Sennier's strongest instinct? 
 
 Madame Sennier had made a powerful impression on Heath, 
 and he had been greatly flattered by the deep attention with 
 which she had listened to what he had to say about her hus- 
 band's opera. 
 
 "Here's a man who knows what he is talking about," she 
 exclaimed, when he finished speaking. When he got up to 
 leave the box she had looked full into his eyes and said: 
 "You are going to do something, too." 
 
 Could Jacques Sennier have won his triumph alone? 
 
 Impulse was boiling up in Heath. After all that had 
 happened that night he felt as if he could not go to bed with- 
 out accomplishing some decisive action. Powers were on 
 tiptoe within him surely ready for the giant leap. 
 
 He got up, went to the piano, went to his writing-table, 
 fingered the manuscript paper covered with tiny notes which 
 lay scattered upon it. But, no, it would be absurd, mad, to 
 begin to work at such an hour. And, beside, he could not 
 work. He could not be patient. He wanted to do something 
 with a rush, to change his life in a moment, to take a leap 
 forward, as Sennier had done that night, a leap from shadow 
 into light. He wanted to grasp something, to have a new 
 experience. All the long refusal of his life, which had not 
 seemed to cost him very much till this moment, abruptly, 
 revengefully attacked him in the very soul, crying: "You 
 must pay for me! Pay! Pay!" He hated the thought of 
 his remote and solitary life. He hated the memory of the 
 lonely evenings passed in the study of scores, or in composition, 
 by the lamp that shed a restricted light. 
 
 The dazzle of the Covent Garden lamps was still in his eyes. 
 He longed, he lusted for fame. 
 
 Afterwards he said to himself: "That night I was 'out' of 
 myself." 
 
 Charmian had spurred his nature. It tingled still. There 
 had been something that was almost like venom in that 
 whisper of hers, which yet surely showed her love. Perhaps
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 145 
 
 instinctively she knew that he needed venom, and that she 
 alone could supply it. 
 
 The strangest thing of all was that she had never heard 
 his music, knew nothing at first hand of his talent, yet believed 
 in it with such vital force, such completeness. There was 
 something almost great in that. She was a woman who 
 absolutely trusted her instinct. And her instinct must have 
 told her that in him, Claude Heath, there was some particle 
 of greatness. 
 
 He loved her just then for that. 
 
 "Oh and good-night, Mr. Heath." 
 
 Claude's cheeks burned as if Paul Lane had laid a whip 
 across them. 
 
 Again, as when he first entered it that night, he looked at 
 the big room. How had he ever been able to think it cosy, 
 home-like ? It was dreary, forbidding, the sad hermitage of one 
 who was resolved to turn his back on life, on the true life of 
 close human relations, of inspiring intimacies, of that inter- 
 course which should be as bread of Heaven to the soul. It 
 was a hateful room. Nothing great, nothing to reach the 
 hearts of men could be conceived, brought to birth in its 
 atmosphere. Jacques Sennier, shut in alone, could never 
 have written his opera here. In vain to try. 
 
 With an impulse of defiant anger Claude went to the 
 writing-table, snatched up the music sheets which lay scattered 
 upon it, tore them across and across. There should be an 
 end to it, an end to austere futilities which led, which could 
 lead, to nothing. In that moment of unnatural excitement 
 he saw all his past as a pale eccentricity. He was bitterly 
 ashamed of it. He regretted it with his whole soul, and he 
 resolved to have done with it. 
 
 Brushing the fragments of manuscript off on to the floor 
 he sat quickly down at the table. Something within him 
 was trying to think, to reason, but he would not let it. He 
 saw Charmian's eyes, he heard her quick whisper through the 
 applause. She knew for him, as Madame Sennier had known 
 for her husband. Often others know us better than we know 
 ourselves. The true wisdom is to banish the conceit of self, 
 to trust to the instinct of love. 
 10
 
 146 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 He took a pen, leaned over the table, wrote a letter swiftly, 
 violently even. His pen seemed to form the words by itself. 
 He was unconscious of guiding it. The letter was not long, 
 only two sides of a sheet. He blotted it, thrust it into an 
 envelope, addressed, closed, and stamped it, got up, took his 
 hat, and went out of the studio. 
 
 In a moment he was in the deserted road. The large 
 policeman, who had eyed him with such grave suspicion, was 
 gone. No one was in sight. The silver of the moonlight 
 had given place to a faint grayness, a weariness of the night 
 falling toward the arms of dawn. 
 
 Claude walked swiftly on, turned the corner, and came 
 into the thoroughfare which skirts Kensington Gardens and 
 the Park. Some fifty yards away there was a letter box. 
 He hurried toward it, driven on by defiance of that within 
 him which would fain have held him back, by the blind in- 
 stinct to trample which sometimes takes hold of a strong and 
 emotional nature in a moment of unusual excitement. 
 
 "The great refuser! No, I'll not be that any longer." 
 
 As he drew near to the letter box he felt that till now he 
 had been a composer. Henceforth he would be a man. He 
 had lived for an art. Henceforth he would live for life, and 
 would make life feel his art. 
 
 He dropped his letter into the box. 
 v In falling out of his sight it made a faint, uneasy noise. 
 
 Claude stood there like one listening. 
 
 The grayness seemed to grow slightly more livid over the 
 tree-tops and behind the branches. The letter did not speak 
 again. So he thought of that tiny noise, as the speech of the 
 dropping letter. It must have slid down against the side of 
 the box. Now it was lying still. There was nothing more 
 for him to do but to go home. Yet he waited before the letter 
 box, with his eyes fixed upon the small white plaque on which 
 was printed the time of the next delivery eight-forty A.M. 
 
 Was it the sound, or was it the movement preceding the 
 sound, which had worked a cold change in his heart? He 
 felt almost stunned by what he had done, like a man who strikes 
 and sees the result of his blow, who has not measured its force , 
 and sees his victim measure it. Eight-forty A.M.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 147 
 
 A step sounded. He looked, and saw in the distance the 
 large policeman slowly advancing. 
 
 When he was again in his house he closed the front door 
 softly, and went once more to the studio. He looked round it, 
 examining the familiar objects: the piano, his work table, the 
 books, the deep, well-worn, homely chairs, the rugs which 
 Mrs. Mansfield had liked. On the floor, by his table, lay the 
 fragments of manuscript music. How had he come to tear it, 
 his last composition? 
 
 He went over to the window, opened a square of the glass, 
 sat down on the window-seat, and looked out to the tiny 
 garden. A faint smell, as of dewy earth, rose from it, fresh, 
 delicate, and somehow pathetic. As Claude leaned on the 
 window-sill this frail scent, which seemed part of the dying 
 night, connected itself in his mind with his past life. He drew 
 it in through his nostrils, he thought of it, and vaguely it 
 floated about the long days and nights of his work-filled 
 loneliness, making them sad, yet sweet. He had had an ideal 
 and he had striven to guard it carefully. He had lived for 
 it. To-night he had cast it out in a moment of strange excite- 
 ment. Had he done wrong? Had he been false to himself? 
 
 The mere fact that he was sitting and forming such ques- 
 tions in his mind at such a moment proved to him that he had 
 acted madly when he had written and posted his letter. And 
 he was overcome by a sense of dread. He feared himself, that 
 man who could act on a passionate impulse, brushing aside all 
 the restraints that his reason would oppose. And he feared 
 now almost unspeakably the result of what he had done. He 
 had given himself to the life which till now he had always 
 avoided. He had broken with the old life. 
 
 At eight-forty that morning his letter would be taken out 
 of the box and would start on its journey. Before night it 
 would have been read and probably answered. Sweat broke 
 out on his face a feeling of desperation seized him. He 
 loved his complete command of his own life, complete, that is, 
 in the human sense. He had never known how much he loved 
 it, clung to it, till now. And he must part from it. He had 
 invited another to join with him in the directing of his life. 
 He had written burning words. The thought of Madame
 
 148 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Sennier and all she had done for her husband had winged his 
 pen. 
 
 The delicate smell from the little garden recalled him to 
 the center. He had been, he felt, crazily travelling along 
 some broken edge. The earth poured forth sobriety, truth 
 dew-laden. He had to accept the influence. No longer, in 
 this grayness that grew, that would soon melt in rose and in 
 gold, did the dazzle of the Covent Garden lamps blind his eyes. 
 In this coolness of the approaching morning lust for anything 
 was impossible to him. Fame was but a shadow when the 
 breast of the great mother heaved under the least of her chil- 
 dren. A bird chirped. Its little voice meant more to Claude 
 than the tempest of applause which had carried him away in 
 the theater. 
 
 Nature took him in the dawn and carried him back to him- 
 self. And that was terrible. For when he was himself he 
 knew that he wished he had never written that letter of love 
 to Charmian. 
 
 The dawn broke. The light, creeping in through the lattice, 
 touched the fragments of music paper which lay scattered 
 over the floor. Claude looked at them, and thought: 
 
 "If only my letter lay there instead!"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IT was the end of January in the following year, and Char- 
 mian and Claude Heath had been married for three months. 
 The honeymoon was over. The new strangeness of being 
 husband and wife had worn away a little from both of them. 
 Life had been disorganized. Now it had to be rearranged, if 
 possible, be made compact, successful, beautiful. 
 
 For three months Claude had done no work. Charmian 
 and he had been to Italy for their honeymoon, and had visited, 
 among other places, Milan, Florence, Siena, Perugia, Rome, 
 and Naples. They had not stayed their feet at the Italian 
 lakes. Charmian had said: 
 
 "Every banal couple who want to pump up a feeling of 
 romance go there. Don't let us join the round-eyed, open- 
 mouthed crowd, and be smirked at by German waiters. I 
 couldn't bear it!" 
 
 Her horror of being included in the crowd pursued her even 
 to the church door of St. Paul's, Knightsbridge. 
 
 Now she was secretly obsessed by one idea, one great 
 desire. She and Claude must emerge from the crowd with all 
 possible rapidity. The old life of obscurity must be left 
 behind, the new life of celebrity, of fame, be entered upon. 
 Both of them must settle down now to work, Claude to his 
 composition, she to her campaign on his behalf. Of this 
 latter she did not breathe a word to anyone. Her instinct 
 told her to keep her ambition as secret as possible for the 
 present. Later on she would emerge into the open as an 
 English Madame Sennier. But the time for laurel crowns 
 was not yet ripe. All the spade work had yet to be done, with 
 discretion, abnegation, a thousand delicate precautions. She 
 must not be a young wife in a hurry. She must be, or try to 
 be, patient. 
 
 The little old house near St. Petersburg Place had been got 
 rid of, and Charmian and Claude had just settled in Kensington 
 Square. 
 
 149
 
 150 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Charmian thought of this house in Kensington Square as a 
 compromise. Claude had wished to give up Mullion House 
 on his marriage. Seeing the obligation to enter upon a new 
 way of life before him he had resolved, almost with fierceness, 
 to break away from his austere past, to destroy, so far as was 
 possible, all associations that linked him with it. With an 
 intensity that was honorable, he set out to make a success of 
 his life with Charmian. To do that, he felt that he must create 
 a great change in himself. He had become wedded to habits. 
 Those habits must all be divorced from him. An atmosphere 
 had enfolded him, had become as it were part of him, drowning 
 his life in its peculiar influence. He must emerge from it. 
 But he would never be able to emerge from it in the little 
 old house which he loved. So he got rid of his lease, with 
 Charmian's acquiescence. 
 
 She did not really want to live on the north side of the Park. 
 And the neighborhood was "Bayswatery." But she guessed 
 that Claude was not quite happy in deserting his character- 
 istic roof-tree, and she eagerly sought for another. It was 
 found in Kensington Square. Several interesting and even 
 famous persons lived there. The houses were old, not large, 
 compact. They had a "flavor" of culture, which set them 
 apart from the new and mushroom dwellings of London, and 
 from all flats whatsoever. They were suitable to "artistic" 
 people. A great actress, much sought after in the social world, 
 had lived for years in this square. A famous musician was 
 opposite to her. A baronet, who knew how to furnish, and 
 whose wife gave delightful small parties, was next door but 
 three. A noted novelist had just moved there from a flat in 
 Queen Anne's Mansions. In fact, there was a cachet on 
 Kensington Square. 
 
 And though it was rather far out, you can go almost any- 
 where in ten minutes if you can afford to take a taxi-cab. 
 Charmian and Claude had fifteen hundred a year between them. 
 She had no doubt of their being able to take taxi-cabs on such 
 an income. And, later on, of course Claude would make a lot 
 of money. Jacques Sennier's opera was bringing him in thou- 
 sands of pounds, and he had received great offers for future 
 works from America, where Le Paradis Terrestre had just
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 151 
 
 made a furore at the Metropolitan Opera House. He and 
 Madame Sennier were in New York now, having a more than 
 lovely time. The generous American nation had taken them 
 both to its heart. Charmian had read several accounts of 
 their triumphs, artistic and social, in English newspapers. 
 She had said to herself "Ours presently!" And with renewed 
 and vital energy, she had devoted herself afresh to the task of 
 "getting into" the new house. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield had helped her, with sober love and devo- 
 tion. 
 
 Now at last the house was ready, four servants were en- 
 gaged, and the ceremony of hanging the cremaillhe was being 
 duly accomplished. 
 
 The Heaths' house-warming had brought together Char- 
 mian's friends. Heath, true to his secret determination 
 to break away from his old life, had wished that it should be 
 so. His few intimates in London were not in the Mansfields' 
 set, and would not "mix in" very well with Kit and Margot 
 Drake, the Elliots, the Burningtons, Paul Lane, and the 
 many other people with whom Charmian was intimate; who 
 went where she had always been accustomed to go, and who 
 spoke her language. So it was Charmian's party and Heath 
 played the part of host to about fifty people, most of whom 
 were almost, or quite, strangers to him. 
 
 And he played it well, though perhaps with a certain 
 anxiety which he could not quite conceal. For he was in a 
 new country with people to all of whom it was old. 
 
 Late in the evening he at last had a few minutes alone with 
 his mother-in-law. The relief to him was great. As he sat 
 with her on a sofa in the second of the two small drawing- 
 rooms under a replica of the Winged Victory, and a tiny full- 
 length portrait of Charmian as a child in a white frock, standing 
 against a pale blue background, by Burne- Jones, he felt like a 
 man who had been far away from himself, and who was sud- 
 denly again with himself. Mrs. Mansfield's quiet tender- 
 ness flowed over him, but unostentatiously. She had much 
 to conceal from Claude now; her understanding of the struggle, 
 the fear, the almost desperate determination within him, her 
 deep sympathy with him in his honorable conduct, her anxiety
 
 152 THE k WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 about his future with her child, her painful comprehension of 
 Charmian, which did not abate her love for the girl, but per- 
 haps strengthened it, giving it wings of pity. She was one of 
 those middle-aged people of great intelligence, who have 
 learned through deep experience, to divine. Her power had not 
 failed her during the period of her daughter's engagement to 
 Heath. If she had not acted strongly it was because she was 
 supremely delicate in mind, and had a great respect for personal 
 liberty. She disliked intensely those elderly people who are 
 constantly trying to interfere with the happiness of youth. 
 Perhaps she was overscrupulous in her reserve. Perhaps she 
 should have acted on the prompting of her quick understanding. 
 She did not. It seemed to her that she could not. 
 
 She could not tell her child that Claude Heath was not 
 really in love. Nor could she tell Charmian that an affection 
 threaded through and through with a personal, and rather 
 vulgar, ambition is not the kind of affection likely to form a 
 firm basis for the building of happiness. 
 
 So she had to hide her understanding, her regret, her 
 anxiety. She alone knew whether pride helped her, perhaps 
 had helped to prompt her, to reticence, to concealment. 
 She had been Claude Heath's great friend. The jealousies 
 of women are strong. She knew herself free from jealousy. 
 But another woman, even her own daughter, might misunder- 
 stand. It was bitter to think so, but she did think so. And 
 her lips were sealed. Beneath the more human fears in her 
 crouched a fear that seemed apart, almost curiously isolated 
 and very definite, the fear for Claude Heath's strange talent. 
 
 On the night of the house-warming, as they sat together 
 hearing the laughter, the buzz of talk, from those near them; 
 as, a moment later, they heard those sounds diminish upon the 
 narrow staircase, when everybody but themselves trooped 
 down gaily to "play with a little food unceremoniously," as 
 Charmian expressed it, Mrs. Mansfield found herself thinking 
 of her first visit to the big studio in Mullion House, and of 
 those Kings of the East whom the man beside her had made 
 to live in her warm imagination. 
 
 "What is it?" Claude said, when the human sounds in 
 the house came up from under their feet.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 153 
 
 "From to-morrow!" she answered, looking at him with 
 her strong, intense eyes. 
 
 "From to-morrow yes, Madre?" 
 
 She put her thin and firm hand on his. 
 
 "Life begins again, the life of work put off for a time. 
 To-morrow you take it up once more." 
 
 "Yes yes!" 
 
 He glanced about the pretty room, listened to the noise 
 of the gaieties below them. Distinctly he heard Max Elliot's 
 genial laugh. 
 
 "Of course," he said. "I must start again on something. 
 The question is, what on?" 
 
 "Surely you have something in hand?" 
 
 "I had. But well, I've left it for so long that I don t 
 know whether I could get back into the mood which enabled 
 me to start it. I don't believe I could somehow. I think it 
 would be best to begin on something quite fresh." 
 
 "You know that. Do you think you will like the new 
 workroom?" 
 
 "Charmian has made it very pretty and cozy," he answered. 
 
 His imaginative eyes looked suddenly distressed, almost 
 persecuted, and he raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "She is very clever at creating prettiness around her," he 
 continued, after an instant of silence, during which Mrs. 
 Mansfield looked down. "It is quite wonderful. And how 
 energetic she is!" 
 
 "Yes, Charmian can be very energetic when she likes. 
 Adelaide Shiffney never turned up to-night." 
 
 "She telegraphed this morning that she had to go over 
 unexpectedly to Paris. Something to do with the Senniers 
 probably. You know how devoted she is to him. And now 
 he is the rage in America, Charmian says. Every day I 
 expect to hear that Mrs. Shiffney had sailed for New York." 
 
 He laughed, but not quite naturally. 
 
 " What a change in his life that evening at Covent Garden 
 made!" he added. 
 
 "And what a change in yours!" was Mrs. Mansfield's 
 thought. 
 
 "He found himself, as people call it, on that night, I sup-
 
 154 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 pose," she said. "He is one of those men with a talent made 
 for the great public. And he knew it, perhaps, for the first 
 time that night. He is launched now on his destined career." 
 
 "You believe in destiny?" 
 
 She detected the sadness she had surprised in his eyes in his 
 voice now. 
 
 "Perhaps in our making of it." 
 
 "Rather than in some great Power's imposing of it upon 
 us?" 
 
 "Ah, it's so difficult to know! When I was a child we had 
 a game we loved. We went into a large room which was pitch 
 dark. A person was hidden in it who had a shilling. Which- 
 ever child found that person had the shilling. There were 
 terror and triumph in that game. It was scarcely like a game, 
 it roused our feelings so strongly." 
 
 "It is not everyone's destiny to find the holder of the 
 shilling," said Claude. 
 
 For a moment their eyes met. Claude suddenly reddened. 
 
 "Have I? Does she suspect? Does she know?" went 
 through his mind. And even Mrs. Mansfield felt embarrassed. 
 For in that moment it was as if they had spoken to each other 
 with a terrible frankness despite the silence of their lips. 
 
 "Shan't we go down?" said Claude. "Surely you want 
 something to eat, Madre?" 
 
 "No, really. And I like a quiet talk with my new son." 
 
 He said nothing, but she saw the strong affection in his 
 face, lighting it, and she knew Claude loved her almost as a 
 son may love a perfect mother. She wished that she dared 
 to trust that love completely. But the instinctive reserve of 
 the highly civilized held her back. And she only said: 
 
 "You must not let marriage interfere too much with your 
 work, Claude. I care very much for that. For years your 
 work was everything to you. It can't be that, it oughtn't to 
 be that now. But I want your marriage with Charmian to 
 help, not to hinder you. Be true to your own instinct in your 
 art and surely all must go well." 
 
 "Yes, yes. To-morrow I must make a fresh start. I 
 could never be an idler. I must I must try to use life as food 
 for my art!"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 155 
 
 He was speaking out his thought of the night when he 
 wrote his letter to Charmian. But how cold, how doubtful 
 it seemed when clothed in words. 
 
 "Some can do that," said Mrs. Mansfield. "But, as I 
 remember saying on the night of Charmian's return from 
 Algiers, Swinburne's food was Putney. There is no rule. 
 Follow your instinct." 
 
 She spoke with a sort of strong pressure. And again their 
 eyes met. 
 
 "How well she understands me!" he thought. "Does she 
 understand me too well?" 
 
 He became hot, then cold, at the thought that perhaps she 
 had divined his lack of love for her daughter. 
 
 For marriage with Charmian, and three months of intimate 
 intercourse with her, had not made Claude love her. He 
 admired her appearance. He felt, sometimes strongly, her 
 physical attraction. Her slim charm did not leave him un- 
 moved. Often he felt obliged to respect her energy, her 
 vitality. But anything that is not love is far away from love. 
 In marrying Charmian, Claude had made a secret sacrifice on 
 the altar of honor. He had done "the decent thing." 
 Impulse had driven him into a mistake and he had "paid for 
 it" like a man without a word of complaint to anyone. He 
 had hoped earnestly, almost angrily, that love would be sud- 
 denly born out of marriage, that thus his mistake would be 
 cancelled, his right dealing rewarded beautifully. 
 
 It had not been so. So he walked in the vast solitude of 
 secrecy. He had become a fine humbug, he who by nature 
 was rather drastically sincere. And he knew not how to face 
 the future with hope, seeing no outlet from the cage into which 
 he had walked. To-night, as Mrs. Mansfield spoke, with that 
 peculiar firm pressure, he thought: "Perhaps I shall find 
 salvation in work." If she had divined the secret he could 
 never tell her perhaps she had seen the only way out. The 
 true worker, the worker who is great, uses the troubles, the 
 sorrows, even the great tragedies of life as material, combines 
 them in a whole that is precious, lays them as balm, or as 
 bitter tonic on the wounds of the world. And so all things in 
 his life work together for good.
 
 156 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "May it be so with me!" was Claude's silent prayer that 
 night. 
 
 When their guests were gone, Charmian sat down on a very 
 low chair before the wood fire sheinsisted on wood instead of 
 coal in the first drawing-room. 
 
 "Don't let us go to bed for a few minutes yet, Claude," 
 she said. "You aren't sleepy, are you?" 
 
 "Not a bit." 
 
 He sat down on the chintz-covered sofa near her. 
 
 "It went off well, didn't it?" 
 
 She was looking into the fire. Her narrow, long-fingered 
 hands were clasped round her knees. She wore a pale yellow 
 dress, and there was a yellow band in her dark hair, which 
 was arranged in such a way that it looked, Claude thought, 
 like a careless cloud, and which gave to her face a sort of 
 picturesquely tragic appearance. 
 
 "Yes, I think it did." 
 
 "They all liked you." 
 
 "I'm glad!" 
 
 "You make an excellent host, Claudie; you are so ready, 
 so sympathetic! You listen so well, and look as if you really 
 cared, whether you do or not. It's such a help to a man in his 
 career to have a manner like yours. But I remember noticing 
 it the first time I ever met you in Max Elliot's music-room. 
 What a shame of Adelaide Shiffney not to come!" 
 
 Her voice had suddenly changed. 
 
 "Did you want Mrs. Shiffney to come so particularly?" 
 Claude asked, not without surprise. 
 
 "Yes, I did. Not for myself, of course. I don't pretend 
 to be fond of her, though I don't dislike her! But she ought 
 to have come after accepting. People thought she was coming 
 to-night. I wonder why she rushed off to Paris like that?" 
 
 "I should think it was probably something to do with 
 the Senniers. Max Elliot told me just now that she lives and 
 breathes Sennier." 
 
 Claude spoke with a quiet humor, and quite without anger. 
 
 "Max does exactly the same," said Charmian. "It really 
 becomes rather silly in a man." 
 
 "But Sennier is worth it. Nothing spurious about him."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 157 
 
 "I never said there was. But still Margot is rather 
 tiresome, too, with her rages first for this person and then for 
 the other." 
 
 "Who is it now?" 
 
 "Oh, she's Sennier-mad like the others." 
 
 "Still?" 
 
 "Yes, after all these months. She's actually going over 
 to America, I believe, just to hear the Paradis once at the 
 Metropolitan. Five days out, five back, and one night there. 
 Isn't it absurd? She's had it put in the Daily Mail. And 
 then she says she can't think how things about her get into the 
 papers! Margot really is rather a humbug!" 
 
 " Still, she admires the right thing when she admires Sennier's 
 talent," said Claude, with a sort of still decision. 
 
 Charmian turned her eyes away from the fire and looked at 
 him. 
 
 "How odd you are!" she said, after a little pause. 
 
 " Why? In what way am I odd?" 
 
 "In almost every way, I think. But it's all right. You 
 ought to be odd." 
 
 "What do you mean, Charmian?" 
 
 "Jacques Sennier's odd, extraordinary. People like that 
 always are. You are." 
 
 She was examining him contemplatively, as a woman 
 examines a possession, something that the other women have 
 not. Her look made him feel very restive and intensely 
 reserved. 
 
 "I doubt if I am the least like Jacques Sennier," he said. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are. I know." 
 
 His rather thin and very mobile lips tightened, as if to keep 
 back a rush of words. 
 
 "You don't know yourself," Charmian continued, still 
 looking at him with those contemplative and possessive eyes. 
 " Men don't notice what is part of themselves." 
 
 "Do women?" 
 
 "What does it matter? I am thinking about you, about 
 my man." 
 
 There was a long pause, which Claude filled by getting up 
 and lighting a cigarette. A hideous, undressed sensation
 
 158 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 possessed him, the undressed sensation of the reserved nature 
 that is being stared at. He said to himself: "It is natural 
 that she should look at me like this, speak to me like this. It 
 is perfectly natural." But he haled it. He even felt as if 
 he could not endure it much longer, and would be obliged to do 
 something to stop it. 
 
 "Don't sit down again," said Charmian, as he turned with 
 the cigarette in his mouth. 
 
 She got up with lithe ease, like one uncurling. 
 
 "Let's go and look at your room, where you're going to 
 begin work to-morrow." 
 
 She put her hand on his arm. And her hand was possessive 
 as her eyes had been. 
 
 Claude's workroom was at the back of the house on the 
 floor above the drawing-room. An upright piano replaced 
 the grand piano of Mullion House, now dedicated to the draw- 
 ing-room. There was a large flat writing-table in front of the 
 window, where curtains of Irish frieze, dark green in color, 
 hung shutting out the night and the ugliness at the back of 
 Kensington Square. The walls were nearly covered with 
 books. At the bottom of the bookcases were large drawers 
 for music. A Canterbury held more music, and was placed 
 beside the writing-table. The carpet was dark green without 
 any pattern. In the fireplace were some curious Morris tiles, 
 representing ^Eneas carrying Anchises, with Troy burning in 
 the background. There were two armchairs, and a deep 
 sofa covered in dark green. A photograph of Charmian 
 stood on the writing-table. It showed her in evening dress, 
 holding her Conder fan, and looking out with half-shut eyes. 
 There was in it a hint of the assumed dreaminess which very 
 sharp-witted modern maidens think decorative in photographs, 
 the "I follow an ideal" expression, which makes men say, 
 "What a charming girl! Looks as if she'd got something in 
 her, too!" 
 
 "It's a dear little room, isn't it, Claude?" said Charmian. 
 
 "Yes, very." 
 
 "You really like it, don't you? You like its atmos- 
 phere?" 
 
 "I think you've done it delightfully. I was saying to
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 159 
 
 Madre only this evening how extraordinarily clever you are 
 in creating prettiness around you." 
 
 "Were you? How nice of you." 
 
 She laid her cheek against his shoulder. 
 
 "You'll be able to work here?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Let's shut the door, and just feel the room for a minute." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 He shut the door. 
 
 "Don't let us speak for a moment," she whispered. 
 
 She was sitting now on the deep sofa just beyond the writing- 
 table. Claude stood quite still. And in the silence which 
 followed her words he strove to realize whether he would be 
 able to work in the little room. Would anything come to him 
 here? His eyes rested on Anchises, crouched on the back of 
 his son, on the burning city of Troy. He felt confused, strange, 
 and then depayse. That word alone meant what he felt just 
 then. Ah, the little house with the one big room looking out 
 on to the scrap of garden, yellow-haired Fan, Harriet discreet 
 unto dumbness, Mrs. Searle with her scraps of wisdom he 
 with his freedom! 
 
 The room was a cage, wire bars everywhere. Never could 
 he work in it! 
 
 "It is good for work, isn't it, Claudie? Even poor little 
 I can feel that. What wonderful things you are going to do 
 here. As wonderful as " She checked herself abruptly. 
 
 "As what?" he asked, striving to force an interest, to 
 banish his secret desperation. 
 
 "I won't tell you now. Some day in a year, two years 
 I'll tell you." 
 
 Her eyes shone. He thought they looked almost greedy. 
 
 "When my man's done something wonderful!"
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN Charmian's conception of the perfect helpmate for a great 
 man self-sacrifice shone out as the first of the virtues. She 
 must sacrifice herself to Claude, must regulate her life so 
 that his might glide smoothly, without any friction, to the ap- 
 pointed goal. She must be patient, understanding, and unself- 
 ish. But she must also be firm at the right moment, be 
 strong in judgment, be judicious, the perfect critic as well as 
 the ardent admirer. During her life among clever and well- 
 known men she had noticed how the mere fact of marriage 
 often seems to make a man think highly of the intellect of his 
 chosen woman. Again and again she had heard some distin- 
 guished writer or politician, wedded to somebody either quite 
 ordinary, or even actually stupid, say: "I'd take my wife's 
 judgment before anyone's," or "My wife sees more clearly for 
 a man than anyone I know." She had known painters and 
 sculptors submit their works to the criticism of women totally 
 ignorant in the arts, simply because those women had had 
 the faultless taste to marry them. If such women exercised 
 so strong an influence over their men, what should hers be 
 over Claude? For she had been well educated, was trained 
 in music, had always moved in intellectual and artistic sets, 
 and was certainly not stupid. Indeed, now that the main 
 stream of her life was divided from her mother's, she often 
 felt as if she were decidedly clever. Susan Fleet, long ago, 
 had roused up her will. Since that day she had never let it 
 sleep. And her success in marrying Claude had made her 
 rely on her will, rely on herself. She was a girl who could 
 "carry things through," a girl who could make of life a suc- 
 cess. As a young married woman she showed more of assur- 
 ance than she had showed as an unmarried girl. There was 
 more of decision in her expression and her way of being. 
 She was resolved to impress the world, of course for her 
 husband's sake. 
 
 Life in the house in Kensington had to be arranged for 
 
 160
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 161 
 
 Claude with every elaborate precaution. That must be the 
 first move in the campaign secretly planned out by Charmian, 
 and now about to be carried through. 
 
 On the morning after the house-warming, when a late break- 
 fast was finished, but while they were still at the breakfast- 
 table in the long and narrow dining-room, which looked out on 
 the quiet square, Charmian said to her husband: 
 
 "I've been speaking to the servants, Claude. I've told 
 them about being very quiet to-day." 
 
 He pushed his tea-cup a little away from him. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. "I mean why specially to-day?" 
 
 "Because of your composing. Alice is a good girl, but 
 she is a little inclined to be noisy sometimes. I've spoken to 
 her seriously about it." 
 
 Alice was the parlor-maid. Charmian would have pre- 
 ferred to have a man to answer the door, but she had sacrificed 
 to economy, or thought she had done so, by engaging a 
 woman. As Claude said nothing, Charmian continued: 
 
 "And another thing! I've told them all that you're never 
 to be disturbed when you're in your own room, that they're 
 never to come to you with notes, or the post, never to call you 
 to the telephone. I want you to feel that once you are inside 
 your own room you are absolutely safe, that it is sacred 
 ground." 
 
 "Thank you, Charmian." 
 
 He pushed his cup farther away, with a movement that was 
 rather brusque, and got up. 
 
 "What about lunch to-day? Do you eat lunch when you 
 are composing? Do you want something sent up to you?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know. I don't think I shall want any lunch 
 to-day. You see we've breakfasted late. Don't bother about 
 me."" 
 
 "It isn't a bother. You know that, Claudie. But would 
 you like a cup of coffee, tea, anything at one o'clock?" 
 
 "Oh, I scarcely know. I'll ring if I do." 
 
 He made a movement. Charmian got up. 
 
 "I do long to know what you are going to work on," she 
 said, in a changed, almost mysterious, voice, which was not 
 consciously assumed.
 
 162 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 She came up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. 
 
 "Ever since I first heard your music you remember, two 
 days after we were engaged I've longed to be able to do a little 
 something to help you on. You know what I mean. In the 
 woman's way, by acting as a sort of buffer between you and all 
 the small irritations of life. We who can't create can some- 
 times be of use to those who can. We can keep others from 
 disturbing the mystery. Let me do that. And, in return, 
 let me be in the secret, won't you?" 
 
 Claude stood rather stiffly under her hands. 
 
 "You are kind, good. But but don't make any bother 
 about me in the house. I'd rather you didn't. Let every- 
 thing just go on naturally. I don't want to be a nuisance." 
 
 "You couldn't be. And you will let me?" 
 
 "Perhaps when I know it myself." 
 
 He made a little rather constrained laugh. 
 
 "One's got to think, try. One doesn't always know directly 
 what one wishes to do, can do." 
 
 "No, of course not." 
 
 She took away her hands gently. 
 
 " Now I don't exist till you want me to again." 
 
 Claude went up to the little room at the back of the house. 
 At this moment he would gladly, thankfully, have gone any- 
 where else. But he felt that he was expected to go there. 
 Five women, his wife and the four maids, expected him to 
 go there. So he went. He shut himself in, and remained 
 there, caged. 
 
 It was a still and foggy day of frost. In the air, even 
 within the house, there was a feeling of snow, light, thin, and 
 penetrating. London seemed peculiarly silent. And the 
 silence seemed to have something to do with the fog, the frost, 
 and the coming snow. When the door of his room was shut 
 Claude stood by his table, then before the fire, feeling curi- 
 ously empty headed, almost light headed. He stared at the 
 fire, listened to its faint crackling, and felt as if his life were a 
 hollow shell. 
 
 Probably he had stood thus for a considerable time he 
 did not kr ow whether for five minutes or an hour when he 
 was made self-conscious by an event in the house. He heard
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 163 
 
 two women's voices in conversation, apparently on the stair- 
 case. 
 
 One of them said: 
 
 "The duster, I tell you!" 
 
 The other replied: 
 
 " Well, I didn't leave it. Ask Fanny, can't you!" 
 
 " Fanny doesn't know." 
 
 "She ought to know, then!" 
 
 "Ought yourself! Fanny's no business with the duster no 
 more than " 
 
 At this point a third voice intervened in the dialogue. It 
 was Charmian's, reduced to a sort of intense whisper. It said: 
 
 "Alice! Alice! I specially told you not to make a sound 
 in the house. Your master is at work. The least noise dis- 
 turbs him. Pray be quiet. If you must speak, go down- 
 stairs." 
 
 There was silence, then the sound of rustling, of a door 
 shutting, then again silence. 
 
 Claude came away from the fire. 
 
 "Your master is at work." 
 
 He dashed down his hands on the big writing-table, with 
 a gesture almost of despair. Self-consciousness now was like 
 an iron band about him, the devilish thing that constricts a 
 talent. The hideous knowledge that he was surrounded by 
 women, intent on him and what he was supposed to be doing, 
 benumbed his intellect. He imagined the cook in the kitchen 
 discussing his talent with a rolling-pin in her hand, Charmian's 
 maid musing over his oddities, with a mouth full of pins, and 
 patterns on her lap. And he ground his teeth. 
 
 "I can't I can't I never shall be able to!" 
 
 He leaned his elbows on the writing-table and put his 
 head in his hands. When he looked up, after some minutes, 
 he met Charmian's half-closed, photographed eyes. 
 
 Between twelve and one o'clock the noise of a piano organ 
 playing vigorously, almost angrily, "You are Queen of my 
 heart to-night," came up to him from the square, softened, 
 yet scarcely ameliorated, by distance and intervening walls. 
 With bold impertinence it began, continued for perhaps three 
 minutes, then abruptly ceased in the middle of a phrase.
 
 164 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Claude knew why. One of the four maids, incited thereto 
 by Charmian, had rushed out to control the swarthy Italian 
 who was earning his living in the land without light. 
 
 The master was working. 
 
 But the master was not working. 
 
 Day followed day, and Claude kept his secret, the secret 
 that he was doing, could do, nothing in the room arranged by 
 Charmian, in the atmosphere created by Charmian. 
 
 One thing specially troubled him. 
 
 So long as he had lived alone he had never felt as if his art, 
 or perhaps rather his method of giving himself to it, had any 
 trait of effeminacy. It had seemed quite natural to him to 
 be shut up in his own "diggings," isolated, with only a couple 
 of devoted servants, and golden-haired Fan in the distance, 
 being as natural as he was. It had never occurred to him that 
 his life was specially odd. 
 
 But now he often did feel as if there were something effemin- 
 ate in the young composer at home, perpetually in the house, 
 with his wife and a lot of women. The smallness of the 
 house, of his workroon, emphasized this feeling. Although 
 an almost dreadful silence was preserved whenever he was 
 supposed to be working his very soul seemed to hear the per- 
 petual rustle of skirts. The fact that five women were keep- 
 ing quiet on his account made him feel as if he were an effem- 
 inate fool, feel that if his art was a thing unworthy of a man's 
 devotion, that in following it, in sacrificing to it, he was doing 
 himself harm, was undermining his own masculinity. 
 
 This sensation grew in him. He envied the men whose 
 work took them from home. He longed, after breakfast, to 
 put on hat and coat and sally out. He thought of the text, 
 "Man goeth forth to his work and to his labor until the 
 evening." If only he could go forth! If only he could for- 
 get the existence of his intent wife, of those four hushed and 
 wondering maids every day for six or eight hours. He fell 
 into deep despondencies, sometimes into silent rages which 
 seemed to eat into his heart. 
 
 During this time Charmian was beginning to "put out 
 feelers." Her work for Claude, that is, her work outside the 
 little house in Kensington Square, was to be social. Women
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 165 
 
 can do very much in the social way. And she knew herself 
 well equipped for the task in hand. Her heart was in it, too. 
 She felt sure of that. Even to herself she never used the 
 words " worldly ambition." The task was a noble one, to 
 make the career of the man she believed in and loved glorious, 
 to bring him to renown. While he was shut up, working in 
 the little room she had made so cozy, so "atmospheric," she 
 would be at work for him in the world they were destined to 
 conquer. 
 
 All the "set" had come to call in Kensington Square. 
 Most of them were surprised at the match. They recognized 
 the wordly instinct in Charmian, which many of them shared, 
 and could not quite understand why she had chosen Claude 
 Heath as her husband. They had not heard much of him. 
 He never went anywhere, was personally unknown to them. 
 It seemed rather odd. They had scarcely thought Charmian 
 Mansfield would make that kind of marriage. Of course he 
 was a thorough gentleman, and a man with pleasant, even 
 swiftly attractive manners. But still ! The general verdict 
 was that Charmian must have fallen violently in love with the 
 man. 
 
 She felt the feelings of the "set." And she felt that she 
 must justify her choice as soon as possible. To the set Claude 
 Heath was simply a nobody. Charmian meant to turn him 
 into a somebody. 
 
 This turning of Claude into a somebody was to be the first 
 really important step in her campaign on his behalf. It 
 must be done subtly, delicately, but it must be done swiftly. 
 She was secretly impatient to justify her choice. 
 
 She had at first relied on Max Elliot to help her. He was 
 an enthusiastic man and had influence. Unluckily she soon 
 found that for the moment he was so busy adoring Jacques 
 Sennier that he had no time to beat the big drum for another. 
 Sennier had carried him off his feet, and Madame Sennier had 
 "got hold of him." The last phrase was Charmian's. It 
 was speedily evident to her that, womanlike, the French- 
 woman was not satisfied with the fact of her husband's im- 
 mense success. She was determined that no rival should 
 spring up to divide adorers into camps. No doubt she argued
 
 166 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 that there is in the musical world only a limited number of dis- 
 criminating enthusiasts, capable of forming and fostering 
 public opinion, of "giving a lead" to the critics, and through 
 them to the world. She wanted them all for her husband. 
 And their allegiance must be undivided. Although she was 
 in New York, she had Max Elliot "in her pocket" in London. 
 It was a feat which won Charmian's respect, but which irri- 
 tated her extremely. Max Elliot was charming, of course, 
 when she spoke of her husband's talent. But she saw at once 
 that he was concentrated on Sennier. She felt at once that 
 he did not at the moment want to "go mad" over any other 
 composer. If Claude had been a singer, a pianist, or a fiddler, 
 things would have been different. Max Elliot had taken 
 charge of the Frenchman's financial affairs, solely out of 
 friendship, and was investing the American and other gains 
 in various admirable enterprises. Madame Sennier, who 
 really was, as Paul Lane had said, an extraordinary woman, 
 had a keen eye to the main chance. She acted as a sort of 
 agent to her husband, and was reported on all hands to be 
 capable of driving a very hard bargain. She and Max Elliot 
 were perpetually cabling to each other across the Atlantic, 
 and Max was seriously thinking of imitating Margot Drake 
 and "running over" to New York on the Lusitania. Only 
 his business in London detained him. He spoke of Sennier 
 invariably as "Jacques," of Madame Sennier as "Henriette." 
 Living English composers scarcely existed any more in his 
 sight. France was the country of music. Only from France 
 could one expect anything of real value to the truly cul- 
 tured. 
 
 Charmian began to hate this absurd entente cordiale. 
 
 Another person on whom she had secretly set high hopes 
 was Adelaide Shiffney. It was for this reason that she had 
 been irritated at Mrs. Shiffney's defection on the night of the 
 house-warming. Now that she was married to a composer 
 Charmian understood the full value of Mrs. Shiffney's influence 
 in the fashionable world. She must get Adelaide on their 
 side. But here again Sennier stood in her path. Mrs. Shiffney 
 was, musically speaking of course, in love with Jacques Sennier. 
 Since Wagner there had been nobody to play upon feminine
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 167 
 
 nerves as the little Frenchman played, to take women "out 
 of themselves." As a well-known society woman said, with 
 almost pathetic frankness, "When one hears Sennier's music 
 one wants to hold hands with somebody." Apparently Mrs. 
 Shiffney wanted to hold hands with the composer himself. 
 She had "no use" at the moment for anyone else, and had 
 already arranged to take the Senniers on a yachting cruise 
 after the London season, beginning with Cowes. 
 
 The "feelers" which Charmian put out found the atmo- 
 sphere rather chilly. 
 
 But she remembered what battles with the world most 
 of its great men have had to fight, how many wives of great 
 men have had to keep the flame alive in gross darkness. She 
 was not daunted. But she presently began to feel that, 
 without being frank with Claude, she must try to get a certain 
 amount of active help from him. She had intended by 
 judicious talk to create the impression that Claude was an 
 extraordinary man, on the way to accomplish great things. 
 She believed this thoroughly herself. But she now realized 
 that, owing to the absurd Sennier "boom," unless she could 
 get Claude to show publicly something of his talent nobody 
 would pay any attention to what she said. 
 
 "What is he doing?" people asked, when she spoke about 
 his long hours of work, about the precautions she had to take 
 lest he should be disturbed. She answered evasively. The 
 truth was that she did not know what Claude was doing. 
 What he had done, or some of it, she did know. She had 
 heard his Te Deum, and some of his strange settings of words 
 from the scriptures. But her clever worldly instinct told 
 her that this was not the time when her set would be likely 
 to appreciate things of that kind. The whole trend of the 
 taste she cared about was setting in the direction of opera. 
 And whenever she tried to find out from Claude what he was 
 composing in Kensington Square she was met with evasive 
 answers. 
 
 One afternoon she came home from a party at the Drakes' 
 house in Park Lane determined to enlist Claude's aid at once 
 in her enterprise, without telling him what was in her heart. 
 And first she must find out definitely what sort of composition
 
 168 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 he was working on at the present moment. In Park Lane 
 nothing had been heard of but Sennier and Madame Sennier. 
 Margot had returned from America more enthusiastic, more 
 engouee than ever. 
 
 She had been as straw to the flame of American enthu- 
 siasm. All her individuality seemed to have been burnt out 
 of her. She was at present only a sort of receptacle for 
 Sennier-mania. In dress, hair, manner, and even gesture, 
 she strove to reproduce Madame Sennier. For one of the 
 most curious features of Sennier's vogue was the worship 
 accorded by women as well as by men to his dominating wife. 
 They talked and thought almost as much about her as they 
 did about him. And though his was the might of genius, 
 hers seemed to be the might of personality. The perpetual 
 chanting of the Frenchwoman's praises had "got upon" 
 Charmian's nerves. She felt this afternoon as if she could 
 not bear it much longer, unless some outlet was provided for 
 her secret desires. And she arrived at Kensington Square 
 in a condition of suppressed nervous excitement. 
 
 She paid the driver of the taxi-cab and rang the bell. She 
 had forgotten to take her key. Alice answered the door. 
 
 "Is Mr. Heath in?" asked Charmian. 
 
 "He's been playing golf, ma'am. But he's just come in," 
 answered Alice, a plump, soft-looking girl, with rather sulky 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "Oh, of course! It's Saturday." 
 
 On Saturday Claude generally took a half-holiday, and 
 went down to Richmond to play golf with a friend of his who 
 lived there, an old Cornish chum called Tregorwan. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Heath?" continued Charmian, standing 
 in the little hall. 
 
 "Having his tea in the drawing-room, ma'am." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 She took off her fur coat and went quickly upstairs. She 
 did not care about golf, and to-day the mere sound of the 
 name irritated her. Englishmen were always playing golf, 
 she said to herself. Jacques Sennier did not waste his time 
 on such things, she was sure. Then she remembered for how 
 many hours every day Claude was shut up in his little room,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 169 
 
 how he always went there immediately after breakfast. And 
 she realized the injustice of her dawning anger, and also her 
 nervous state, and resolved to be very gentle and calm with 
 Claude. 
 
 It was a cold day at the end of March. She found him 
 sitting near the wood fire in knickerbockers and a Norfolk 
 jacket, with thick, heavily nailed boots, covered with dried 
 mud, on his feet, and thick brown and red stockings on his 
 legs. It was almost impossible to believe he was a musician. 
 His hair had been freshly cut, but he had not "watered" it. 
 Since his marriage Charmian had never allowed him to do that. 
 He jumped up when he saw his wife. Intimacy never made 
 Claude relax in courtesy. 
 
 "I'm having tea very late," he said. "But I've only 
 just got in." 
 
 "I know. Sit down and go on, dear old boy. I'll come 
 and sit with you. Don't you want more light?" 
 
 "I like the firelight." 
 
 He sat down again and lifted the teapot. 
 
 "I shall spoil my dinner. But never mind." 
 
 "You remember we're dining with Madre!" 
 
 "Oh to be sure!" 
 
 " But not till half-past eight." 
 
 She sat down with her back to the drawn window curtains 
 at right angles to Claude. Alice had "shut up" early to 
 make the drawing-room look cozy for Claude. The firelight 
 played about the room, illuminating now one thing, now 
 another, making Claude's face and head, sometimes his 
 musical hands look Rembrandtesque, powerful, imaginative, 
 even mysterious. Now that Charmian had sat down she 
 lost her impression of the eternal golfer, received another 
 impression which spurred her imagination. 
 
 "I've been at the Drakes," she began. "Only a very 
 few to welcome Margot back from New York." 
 
 "Did she enjoy her visit?" 
 
 "Immensely. She's as she calls it tickled to death 
 with the Americans in their own country. She meant to stay 
 only one night, but she was there three weeks. It seems 
 all New York has gone mad over Jacques Sennier."
 
 170 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I'm glad they see how really fine his opera is," Claude 
 said, seriously, even earnestly. 
 
 "Margot says when the Americans like anything they are 
 the most enthusiastic nation in the world." 
 
 "If it is so it's a fine trait in the national character, I 
 think." 
 
 How impersonal he sounded. She longed for the creeping 
 music of jealousy in his voice. If only Claude would be 
 jealous of Sennier! 
 
 She spoke lightly of other things, and presently said: 
 
 "How is the work getting on?" 
 
 There was a slight pause. Then Claude said: 
 
 "The work?" 
 
 "Yes, yours." 
 
 She hesitated. There was something in her husband's 
 personality that sometimes lay upon her like an embargo. 
 She was conscious of this embargo now. But her nervous 
 irritation made her determined to defy it. 
 
 "Claudie," she went on, "you don't know, you can't know, 
 how much I care for your work. It's part of you. It is you. 
 You promised me once you would let me be in the secret. 
 Don't you remember?" 
 
 "Did I? When?" 
 
 "The day after our party when you were going to begin 
 work again. And now it's nearly two months." 
 
 She stopped. He was silent. A flame burst out of a log 
 in the grate and lit up strongly one half of his face. She 
 thought it looked stern, almost fierce, and very foreign. 
 Many Cornish people have Spanish blood in them, she re- 
 membered. That foreign look made her feel for a moment 
 almost as if she were sitting with a stranger. 
 
 "Nearly two months," she repeated in a more tentative 
 voice. 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "Yes. Don't you think I've been very patient?" 
 
 "But, surely surely why should you want to know?" 
 
 "I do want. Your work is your life. I want it to be 
 mine, too." 
 
 "Oh, it could never be that the work of another."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 171 
 
 "I want to identify myself with you." 
 
 There was another silence. And this time it was a long 
 one. At last Claude moved, turned round to face Charmian 
 fully, and said, with the voice of one making a strong, almost 
 a desperate effort: 
 
 "You wish to know what I've been working on during 
 these weeks when I've been in my room?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I haven't been working on anything." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I haven't been working at all." 
 
 "Not working!" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But you must but we were all so quiet! I told 
 Alice" 
 
 " I never asked you to." 
 
 "No, but of course but what have you been doing up 
 there?" 
 
 "Reading Carlyle's French Revolution most of the time." 
 
 "Carlyle! You've been reading Carlyle!" 
 
 In her voice there was a sound of outrage. Claude got 
 up and stood by the fire. 
 
 "It isn't my fault," he said. "The truth is I can't work 
 in that room. I can't work in this house." 
 
 "But it's our home." 
 
 "I know, but I can't work in it. Perhaps it's because of 
 the maids, knowing they're creeping about, wondering I 
 don't know what it is. I've tried, but I can't do anything." 
 
 "But how dreadful! Nearly two months wasted!" 
 
 He felt that she was condemning him, and a secret anger 
 surged through him. His reserve, too, was suffering torment. 
 
 "I'm sorry, Charmian. But I couldn't help it." 
 
 "But then, why did you go up and shut yourself in day 
 after day?" 
 
 " I hoped to be able to do something." 
 
 "But 
 
 "And I saw you expected me to go." 
 
 The truth was out. Claude felt, as he spoke it, as if he 
 were tearing off clothes. How he loathed that weakness of
 
 172 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 his, which manifested itself in the sometimes almost uncon- 
 trollable instinct to give, or to try to give, others what they 
 expected of him. 
 
 "Expected you! But naturally^ 1 - " 
 
 "Yes, I know. Well, that's how it is! I can't work in 
 this house." 
 
 He spoke almost roughly now. 
 
 "I don't want to assume any absurd artistic pose," he 
 continued. "I hate the affectations sometimes supposed 
 to belong to my profession. But it's no use pretending about 
 a thing of this kind. There are some places, some atmos- 
 pheres, if you like to use the word generally used, that help 
 anyone who tries to create, and some that hinder. It's not 
 only a matter of place, I suppose, but of people. This house 
 is too small, or something. There are too many people in it. 
 I feel that they are all bothering and wondering about me, 
 treading softly for me." He threw out his hands. " I don't 
 know what it is exactly, but I'm paralyzed here. I suppose 
 you think I'm half mad." 
 
 To his great surprise, she answered, in quite a different 
 voice from the voice which had suggested outrage: 
 
 "No, no; great artists are always like that. They are 
 always extraordinary." 
 
 There was a mysterious pleasure, almost gratification, in 
 her voice. 
 
 "You would be like that. I should have known." 
 
 "Oh, as to that" 
 
 "I understand, Claudie. You needn't say any more." 
 
 Claude turned rather brusquely round to face the fire. As 
 he said nothing, Charmian continued: 
 
 "What is to be done now? We have taken this house " 
 
 He wheeled round. 
 
 "Of course we shall stay in this house. It suits us admir- 
 ably. Besides, to move simply because " 
 
 "Your work comes before all." 
 
 He compressed his lips. He began to hate his own talent. 
 
 "I think the best thing to do," he said, "would be for me 
 to look for a studio somewhere. I could easily find one, put 
 a piano and a few chairs in, and go there every day to work.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 173 
 
 Lots of men do that sort of thing. It's like going to an 
 office." 
 
 "Capital!" she said. "Then you'll be quite isolated, 
 and you'll get on ever so fast. Won't you?" 
 
 "I think probably I could work." 
 
 "And you will. Before we married you worked so hard. 
 I want" she got up, came to him, and put her hand in his 
 "I want to feel that marriage has helped you, not hindered 
 you, in your career. I want to feel that I urge you on, don't 
 hold you back." 
 
 Claude longed to tell her to leave him alone. But he 
 thought of coming isolation in the studio, and refrained. 
 Bending down, he kissed her. 
 
 "It will be all right," he said, "when I've got a place 
 where I can be quite alone for some hours each day."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 WITH an energy that was almost feverish, Charmian 
 threw herself into the search for a studio. The little 
 room had been a failure, through no fault of hers. 
 She must make a success of the studio. She and Claude set 
 forth together, and soon bent their steps toward Chelsea. 
 There were studios to be had in Kensington, of course. But 
 Claude happened to mention Chelsea, and at once Charmian 
 took up the idea. The right atmosphere that was the object 
 of this new quest, the end and aim of their wanderings. If it 
 were to be found in Chelsea, then in Chelsea Claude must make 
 his daily habitation. Charmian seconded the Chelsea prop- 
 osition with an enthusiasm that was almost a little anxious. 
 Chelsea was so picturesque, so near the river, that somber 
 and wonderful heart of London. Such interesting and famous 
 people lived in Chelsea now, and had lived there in the past. 
 She wondered they had not decided to live in Chelsea instead 
 of in Kensington. But Claude was right, unerring in his 
 judgment. Of course the studio must be in Chelsea. 
 
 One was found not far from Glebe Place, in a large red 
 building with an arched entrance, handsome steps, and several 
 artistic-looking windows, with leaded panes and soda-water 
 bottle grass. It was on the ground floor, but it was quiet, 
 large but not enormous, and well-planned. It contained 
 however, one unnecessary, though not unattractive, feature. 
 At one end, on the left of the door, there was a platform 
 reached by a flight of steps, and screened off with wood from 
 the rest of the room. The caretaker, who had the key and 
 showed them round, explained that this had been planned 
 and put up by an Austrian painter, who used the chamber 
 formed by the platform and the upper part of the screen as a 
 bedroom, and the space below, roofed by the platform as a 
 kitchen. 
 
 The rent was one hundred pounds a year. 
 
 174
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 175 
 
 This seemed too much to Claude. He felt ashamed to 
 spend such a large sum on what must seem an unnecessary 
 caprice to the average person, even probably to people who 
 were above the average. If he were known as a composer, 
 if he were popular or famous, the matter, he felt, would be 
 quite different. Everyone understands the artistic needs of 
 the famous man, or pretends to understand them. But 
 Claude and his work were entirely unknown to fame. And 
 now, as he hesitated about the payment of this hundred 
 pounds, he regretted this, as he had never before regretted it. 
 
 But Charmian was strong in her insistence upon his having 
 this particular studio. She saw he had taken a fancy to it. 
 
 "I know you feel there's the right atmosphere here," she 
 said. " I can see you do. It would be fatal not to take this 
 studio if you have that feeling. Never mind the expense. 
 We shall get it all back in the future." 
 
 "Back in the future!" he said, as if startled. "How?" 
 
 She saw she had been imprudent, had made a sort of 
 slip. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Some day when your father 
 But don't let's talk of that. A hundred a year is not very 
 much. It will only mean not quite so many new hats and 
 dresses for me." 
 
 Claude flushed, suddenly and violently. 
 
 * ' C harmian ! You can ' t suppose ' ' 
 
 "Surely a wife has the right to do something to help her 
 husband?" 
 
 " But I don't need I mean, I could never consent " 
 
 She made a face at him, drawing down her brows, and 
 turning her eyes to the left where the caretaker stood, with a 
 bunch of keys in his large, gouty, red hands. Claude said 
 no more. As they went out Charmian smiled at the care- 
 taker. 
 ; " We are going to take it. My husband likes it." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. It's a mighty fine studio. The Baron was 
 sorry to leave it, but he had to go back to Vi-henner." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 " Now the next thing is to furnish it," said Charmian, as 
 they walked away.
 
 176 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I shall only want my piano, a chair, and a table," said 
 Claude. 
 
 It was only by making a very great effort that he was 
 able to speak naturally, with any simplicity. 
 
 "Besides," he added quickly, "it's really too expensive. 
 A hundred a year is absurd." 
 
 "If it were two hundred a year it wouldn't be a penny too 
 much if you really like it, if you will feel happy and at home 
 in it. I'm going to furnish it for you, quite simply, of course. 
 Just rugs and a divan or two, and a screen to shut out the 
 door, two or three pretty comfortable chairs, some draperies 
 only thin ones, nothing heavy to spoil the acoustics a few 
 cushions, a table or two. Oh, and you must have a spirit- 
 lamp, a little batterie de cuisine, and perhaps a tea-basket." 
 
 "But, my dear Charmian " 
 
 "Hush, old boy! You have genius, but you don't under- 
 stand these things. These are the woman's things. I shall 
 love getting together everything. Surely you don't want to 
 spoil my little fun. I've made a failure of your workroom 
 in Kensington. Do let me try to make a success of the 
 studio." 
 
 What could Claude do but thank her, but let her have her 
 way? 
 
 The studio was taken for three years and furnished. For 
 days Charmian talked and thought of little else. She was 
 prompted, carried on, by two desires one, that Claude should 
 be able to work hard as soon as possible; the other, that 
 people should realize what an energetic, capable, and en- 
 thusiastic woman she was. The Madame Sennier spirit 
 attended her in her goings out and her comings in, armed her 
 with energy, with gaiety, with patience. 
 
 When at length all was ready, she said: 
 
 "Claude, to-morrow I want you to do something for 
 me." 
 
 "What is it? Of course I will do it. You've been so 
 good, giving up everything for the studio." 
 
 Charmian had really given up several parties, and explained 
 why she could not go to them to inquiring hostesses of the 
 "set."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 177 
 
 "I want you to let us pendre la cremaillere to-morrow 
 evening all alone, just you and I together." 
 
 "In the studio?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Well, but" he smiled, then laughed rather awkwardly 
 "but what could we do there all alone? What is there to 
 do? And, besides, there's that party at Mrs. Shiffney's to- 
 morrow night. We were both going to that." 
 
 " We could go there afterward if we felt inclined. But I 
 don't know that I want to go to Adelaide Shiffney just now." 
 
 "But why not?" 
 
 "Perhaps only perhaps, remember I'll tell you to- 
 morrow night in the studio." 
 
 She assumed in the last words that the matter was settled, 
 and Claude raised no further objection. He saw she was set 
 upon the carrying out of her plan. There was will in her long 
 eyes. He could not help fancying that either she had some 
 surprise in store for him, or that she meant to do, or say, some- 
 thing extremely definite, which she had already decided upon 
 in her mind, to-morrow in the studio. 
 
 He felt slightly uneasy. 
 
 On the following morning Charmian looked distinctly 
 mysterious, and rather as if she wished Claude to notice her 
 mystery. He ignored it, however, though he realized that 
 some plan must be maturing in her head. His suspicion of the 
 day before was certainly well founded. 
 
 "What about this evening, Charmian?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, we are going to pendre la cremaillere. You remember 
 we decided yesterday." 
 
 "Before or after dinner? And what about Mrs. Shiffney?" 
 
 "Well, I thought we might go to the studio about half- 
 past seven or eight. Could you meet me there say at half- 
 past seven?" 
 
 "Meet you?" 
 
 "Yes; I've got to go out in that direction and could take 
 it on the way home." 
 
 "All right. But dinner? That's just at dinner-time 
 not that I care." 
 
 "We could have something when we get home. I can tell 
 12
 
 178 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Alice to put something in the dining-room for us. There's 
 that pie, and we can have a bottle of champagne to drink 
 success to the studio, if we want it." 
 
 "And Mrs. Shiffney's given up?^' 
 
 "We can see how we feel. She only asked us for eleven. 
 We can easily dress and go, it we want to." 
 
 So it was settled. 
 
 As Claude had not yet begun to work he took a long and 
 solitary walk in the afternoon. He made his way to Batter- 
 sea Park, and spent nearly two hours there. That day he felt 
 as if a crisis, perhaps small but very definite, had arisen in his 
 life. For some five months now he had been inactive. He had 
 lost the long habit of work. He had allowed his life to be dis- 
 organized. No longer had he a grip on himself and on life. 
 From to-morrow he must get that grip again. In the isolation 
 of the studio he would surely be able to get it. Yet he felt very 
 doubtful. He did not know what he wanted to do. He 
 seemed to have drifted very far away from the days when his 
 talent, or his genius, spoke with no uncertain voice, dictated 
 to him what he must do. In those days he was seldom in 
 doubt. He did not have to search. There was no vagueness in 
 his life. The Bible, that inexhaustible mine of great literature, 
 prompted him to music. But, then, he was living in compara- 
 tive solitude. Quiet days stretched before him, empty evenings. 
 He could give himself up to what was within him. Even now 
 he could have quiet days. He had recently passed not a few 
 with the French Revolution. But the evenings of course were 
 not, could not be, empty. He often went out with Charmian. 
 He was beginning to know something of the society in which 
 she had always lived. There were many pleasant, some charm- 
 ing, people in it. He found a certain enjoyment in the little 
 dinners, the theater parties, even in the few receptions he had 
 been to. But he was obliged to acknowledge to himself that, 
 when in this society, he disliked the fact that he was an un- 
 known man. This society did not give him the incentive to 
 do anything great. On the other hand it made him dislike 
 being or was it only seeming? small. Charmian's attitude, 
 too, had often rendered him secretly uneasy when they were 
 among people together. He had been conscious of a lurking
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 179 
 
 dissatisfaction in her, a scarcely repressed impatience. He did 
 not know exactly what was the matter. But he felt the alert 
 tension of the woman who is not satisfied with her position in 
 a society. It had reacted upon him. He had felt as if he were 
 closely connected with it, though he had not quite understood 
 how. 
 
 All this now rose up, seemed to spread out before his mind 
 as he walked in Battersea Park. And he said to himself, "It 
 can't go on. I simply must get to work on something. I 
 must get a grip on myself and my life again." He remembered 
 the heat of his soul after he had heard Jacques Sennier's opera, 
 the passion almost to do something great that had glowed in 
 him, the longing for fame. Then he had said to himself: 
 "My life shall feed my art. I'll live, and by living I'll achieve." 
 Out of that heat no rare flower had arisen. He had come out 
 into the world. He had married Charmian, had travelled in 
 Italy. And that was all. 
 
 i That day he was angry with himself, was sick of his idle 
 life. But he did not feel within him the strong certainty that 
 he would be able to take his life in hand and transform it, 
 which drives doubt and sorrow out of a man. He kept on 
 saying, "I must!" But he did not say, "I shall!" 
 
 The fact was that the mainspring was missing from the 
 watch. Claude was living as if he loved, but he was not loving. 
 
 At half-past seven he passed up the handsome steps and 
 under the arch which led to his studio. 
 
 The caretaker with gouty hands met him. This man had 
 been a soldier, and still had a soldier's eyes, and a way of pre- 
 senting himself, rather sternly and watchfully, to those arriving 
 in "my building," as he called the house full of studios, which 
 was military. But gout, and it is to be feared drink, had long 
 ago made him physically flaccid, and mentally rather sulky and 
 vague. He looked a wreck, and as if he guessed that he was a 
 wreck. An artist on the first floor had labelled him, "The 
 derelict looking for tips to the offing." 
 
 "The lady's here, sir," he observed, on seeing Claude. 
 
 "Is she?" 
 
 "Been 'ere" he sometimes dropped an aitch and some- 
 times did not "this half hour."
 
 180 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 The fact apparently surprised him, almost indeed upset him. 
 
 "This 'alf hour," he repeated, this time dropping the aitch 
 to make a change. 
 
 "Oh," said Claude, disdaining the explanation which seemed 
 to be expected. 
 
 He walked on, leaving the guardian to his gout. 
 
 The studio was lit up, and directly Claude opened the door 
 he smelt coffee and something else sausages, he fancied. At 
 once he guessed why Charmian had arranged to meet him at 
 the studio, instead of going there with him. He shut the door 
 slowly. Yes, certainly, sausages. 
 
 "Charmian!" he called. 
 
 She came out from behind the screen, dressed in a very plain, 
 workmanlike black gown, over which she was wearing a large 
 butcher blue apron. Her sleeves were turned up and her face 
 was flushed. Claude thought she looked younger than she 
 usually did. 
 
 "What are you doing?" 
 
 "Cooking the dinner," she replied, in a practical voice. 
 "It will be ready in a minute. Take off your coat and sit 
 down." 
 
 She turned round and disappeared. Something behind the 
 screen was hissing like a snake. 
 
 Claude now saw a table laid in the middle of the studio. On 
 a rough white cloth were plates, knives, and forks, large coffee 
 cups with flowers coarsely painted on a gray ground with a 
 faint tinge of blue in it, rolls of bread, butter, a cake richly 
 brown in color. A vase of coarse, but effective pottery, full of 
 scented wild geranium, stood in the midst. Claude took 
 off hat and coat, hung them up on a hook, and glanced around. 
 
 Certainly Charmian had arranged the furniture well, 
 chosen it well, too. The place looked cosy, and everything 
 was in excellent taste. There was comfort without luxury. 
 Claude felt that he ought to be very grateful. 
 
 "Coming!" 
 
 Her voice cried out from behind the screen, and she appeared 
 bearing a large dish full of smoking sausages, which she set 
 down on the table. 
 
 "Now for the eggs and the coffee!" she said.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 181 
 
 Another moment and they were on the table, too, with a 
 plateful of buttered toast. 
 
 "Studio fare!" she said, taking off the blue apron, pulling 
 down her sleeves, and looking at Claude. "Are you sur- 
 prised?" 
 
 " I was for the first moment." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Well, I had felt sure you were up to something, that you 
 had some scheme in your head, some plan for to-day. But I 
 didn't connect it with sausages." 
 
 Her expression changed slightly. 
 
 "Perhaps it isn't only sausages. But it begins with them. 
 Are you hungry?" 
 
 "Yes, very. I've been walking in Battersea Park." 
 
 "Claudie, how awful!" 
 
 They sat down and fell to Chairman's expression. She 
 was playing at the Vie de Boheme, but she thought she was 
 being rather serious, that she was helping to launch Claude 
 in a new and suitable life. And behind the light absurdity of 
 this quite unnecessary meal there was intention, grave and 
 intense. The wasted two months must be made up for, the 
 hours given to the French Revolution be redeemed. This 
 meal was only the prelude to something else. 
 
 "Is it good?" she asked, as Claude ate and drank. 
 
 "Excellent! Where have you been to-day?" 
 
 "I've seen Madre and Susan Fleet." 
 
 "Miss Fleet at last." 
 
 "Yes. It is so tiresome her moving about so much. I 
 care for her more than for any woman in London. All this 
 time she's been in Paris doing things for Adelaide Shiffney." 
 
 "Did Madre know about to-night?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell her? Why not have asked her to 
 come? We belong to her and she to us. It would have been 
 natural." 
 
 " I love Madre. But I didn't want even her to-night." 
 
 Claude realized that he was assisting at a prelude. But he 
 only said: 
 
 "I suppose she is going to Mrs. Shiffney's to-night?"
 
 182 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 When they had finished Charmian said: 
 
 "Now I'll clear away." 
 
 "I'll help you." 
 
 "No, you mustn't. I want you to sit down in that cosy 
 chair there, and light your cigar oh, or your pipe! Yes, 
 to-night you must smoke a pipe." 
 
 " I haven't brought it." 
 
 "Well, then, a cigar. I won't be long." 
 
 She began clearing the table. Claude obediently drew out 
 his cigar-case. He still felt uneasy. What was coming? He 
 could not tell. But he felt almost sure that something was 
 coming which would distress his secret sensitiveness, his strong 
 reserve. 
 
 He lit a cigar, and sat down in the armchair Charmian had 
 indicated. She flitted in and out, removing things from the 
 table, shook out and folded the rough white cloth, laid it away 
 somewhere behind the screen, and at last came to sit down. 
 
 The studio was lit up with electric light. 
 
 "There's too much light," she said. "Don't move. I'll 
 do it." 
 
 She went over to the door, and turned out two burners, 
 leaving only one alight. 
 
 "Isn't that ever so much better?" she said, coming to sit 
 down near Claude. 
 
 "Well, perhaps it is." 
 
 "Cosier, more intime." 
 
 She sat down with a little sigh. 
 
 "I'm going to have a cigarette." 
 
 She drew out a thin silver case, opened it. 
 
 "A teeny Russian one." 
 
 Claude struck a match. She put the cigarette between her 
 lips, and leaned forward to the tiny flame. 
 
 "That's it." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 After a moment of silence she said: 
 
 "I'm glad you couldn't work in the little room. If you 
 had been able to we should never have had this." 
 
 "We!" thought Claude.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 183 
 
 "And," she continued, "I feel this is the beginning of 
 great things for you. I feel as if, without meaning to, I'd 
 taken you away from your path, as if now I understood better. 
 But I don't think it was quite my fault if I didn't understand. 
 Claudie, do you know you're terribly reserved?" 
 
 "Am I? "he said. 
 
 He shifted in his chair, took the cigar out of his mouth, 
 and put it back again. 
 
 " Well, aren't you? Two whole months, and you never told 
 me you couldn't work." 
 
 "I hated to, after you'd taken so much trouble with that 
 room." 
 
 "I know. But, still, directly you did tell me, I perfectly 
 understood. I" she spoke with distinct pressure "I am 
 a wife who can understand. Don't you remember that night 
 at Jacques Sennier's opera?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Didn't I understand then? At the end when they were 
 all applauding? I've got your letter, the letter you wrote that 
 night. I shall always keep it. Such a burning letter, saying 
 I had inspired you, that my love and belief had made you feel 
 as if you could do something great if you changed your life, 
 if you lived with me. You remember?" 
 
 "Yes, Charmian, of course I remember." 
 
 Claude strove with all his might to speak warmly, impetu- 
 ously, to get back somehow the warmth, the impulse that had 
 driven him to write that letter. But he remembered, too, his 
 terrible desire to get that letter back out of the box. And he 
 felt guilty. He was glad just then that Charmian had turned 
 out those two burners. 
 
 "In these months I think we seem to have got away from 
 that letter, from that night." 
 
 Claude became cold. Dread overtook him. Had she 
 detected his lack of love? Was she going to tax him with 
 it? 
 
 "Oh, surely not! But how do you mean?" he broke in 
 anxiously. "That was a special night. We were all on fire. 
 One cannot always live at that high pressure. If we could we 
 should wear ourselves out."
 
 184 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Yes, perhaps. But geniuses do live at high pressure. 
 And you are a genius." 
 
 At that moment the peculiar sense of being less than the 
 average man, which is characteristic of greatly talented men 
 in their periods of melancholy and reaction, was alive in Claude. 
 Charmian's words intensified it. 
 
 "If you reckon on having married a genius, I'm afraid 
 you're wrong," he said, with a bluntness not usual in him. 
 
 "It isn't that!" she said quickly, almost sharply. "But 
 I can't forget things Max Elliot has said about you long ago. 
 And Madre thinks I know that, though she doesn't say 
 anything. And, besides, I have heard some of your things." 
 
 " And what did you really think of them ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 He had never before asked his wife what she thought of his 
 music. She had often spoken about it, but never because he 
 had asked her to. But this apparently was to be an evening 
 of a certain frankness. Charmian had evidently planned that 
 it should be so. He would try to meet her. 
 
 "That's partly what I wanted to talk about to-night." 
 
 Claude felt as if something in him suddenly curled up. 
 Was Charmian about to criticize his works unfavorably, 
 severely perhaps? At once he felt within him a sort of angry 
 contempt for her judgment. 
 
 Charmian was faintly conscious of his fierce independence, 
 as she had been on the night of their first meeting; of the 
 something strong and permanent which his manner so often 
 contradicted, a mental remoteness which was disagreeable to 
 her, but which impressed her. To-night, however, she was 
 resolved to play the Madame Sennier to her husband, to bring 
 up battalions of will. 
 
 "Well? "Claude said. 
 
 "I think, just as I know Madre does, that your things are 
 wonderful. But I don't think they are for everybody." 
 
 "For everybody! How do you mean?" 
 
 "Oh, I know the bad taste of the crowd. Why, Madre 
 always laughs at me for my horror of the crowd. But there 
 is now a big cosmopolitan public which has taste. Look at 
 the success of Strauss, for instance, of Debussy, and now of 
 Jacques Sennier our own Elgar, too! What I mean is that
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 185 
 
 perhaps the things you have done hitherto are for the very few. 
 There is something terrible about them, I think. They might 
 almost frighten people. They might almost make people 
 dislike you." 
 
 She was thinking of the Burningtons, the Drakes, of other 
 Sennier-worshippers. 
 
 "I believe it is partly because of the words you set," she 
 added. "Great words, of course. But where can they be 
 sung? Not everywhere. And people are so strange about 
 the Bible." 
 
 "Strange about the Bible!" 
 
 "English people, and even Americans, at any rate. There 
 is a sort of queer, absurd tradition. One begins to think of 
 oratorio." 
 
 She paused. Claude said nothing. He was feeling hot all 
 over. 
 
 " I can't help wishing, for your own sake, that you wouldn't 
 always go to the Bible for your inspiration." 
 
 " I daresay it is very absurd of me." 
 
 "Claudie, you could never be absurd." 
 
 "Anybody can be absurd." 
 
 " I could never think you absurd. But I suppose everyone 
 can make a mistake. It seems to me as if there are a lot of 
 channels, some short, ending abruptly, some long, going 
 almost to the center of things. And genius is like a liquid 
 poured into them. I only want you to pour yours into 
 along channel. Is it very stupid, or perverse, of me?" 
 
 As she said the last words she felt deeply conscious of her 
 feminine intelligence, of that delicate ingenuity peculiar to 
 women, unattainable by man. 
 
 "No, Charmian, of course not. So you think I've been 
 pouring into a very short channel?" 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 " I'm afraid I've never thought about it." 
 
 "I know. It wants another to do that, I think." 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 "You care for strange things. One can see that by your 
 choice of words. But there are strange and wonderful words 
 not in the Bible. The other day I was looking into Rossetti's
 
 186 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 poems. I read Staff and Scrip again and Sister Helen. There 
 are marvellous passages in both of those. I wish some- 
 times you'd let me come in here, when you're done working, 
 and make tea for you, and just cead aloud to you anything 
 interesting I come across." 
 
 That was the beginning of a new connection between hus- 
 band and wife, the beginning also of a new epoch in Claude's 
 life as a composer. 
 
 When they left the studio that night he had agreed to 
 Charmian's proposal that she should spend some of her spare 
 time in looking out words that might be suitable for a musical 
 setting, "in your peculiar vein," as she said. By doing this he 
 had abandoned his complete liberty as a creator. So at least 
 he felt. Yet he also felt unable to refuse his wife's request. 
 To do so, after all her beneficent energies employed on his 
 behalf, would be churlish. He might have tried to explain 
 that the something within him which was really valuable 
 could not brook bridle or spur, that unless it were left to range 
 where it would in untrammelled liberty, it was worth very 
 little to the world. He knew this. But a man may deny his 
 knowledge even to himself, deny it persistently through long 
 periods of time. And there was the weakness in Claude which 
 instinctively wished to give to others what they expected of 
 him, or strongly desired from him. On that evening in the 
 studio Charmian's definiteness gained a point for her. She 
 was encouraged by this fact to become more definite. 
 
 They were in Kensington by ten o'clock that night. Char- 
 mian was in high spirits. A strong hope was dawning in her. 
 Already she felt almost like a collaborator with Claude. 
 
 "Don't let us go to bed!" she exclaimed. "Let us dress 
 and go to Adelaide Shiffney's." 
 
 "Very well," replied Claude. "By the way, what were you 
 going to tell me about her?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing!" she said. 
 
 And they went up to dress. 
 
 There was a crowd in Grosvenor Square. A good many 
 people were still abroad, but there were enough in London to 
 fill Mrs. Shiffney's drawing-rooms. And notorieties, beauties, 
 and those mysterious nobodies who "go everywhere" until
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 187 
 
 they almost succeed in becoming somebodies, were to be seen 
 on every side. Charmian perceived at once that this was one 
 of Adelaide's non-exclusive parties. Mrs. Shiffney seldom 
 entertained on a very large scale. 
 
 "One bore, or one frump, can ruin a party," was a favorite 
 saying of hers. But even she, now and then, condescended 
 to "clear people off." Charmian realized that Adelaide was 
 making a clearance to-night. 
 
 Since her marriage with Claude she had not been invited 
 to No. 14 B Mrs. Shiffney's number in the Square before. 
 
 As she came in to the first drawing-room and looked quickly 
 round she thought: 
 
 " She is clearing off me and Claude." 
 
 And for a moment she wished they had not come. Her 
 old horror of being numbered with the great crowd of the 
 undistinguished came upon her once more. Then she thought 
 of the conversation in the studio, and she hardened herself in 
 resolve. 
 
 "He shall be famous. I will make him famous, whether 
 he wishes it, cares for it, or not." 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney was not standing close to the first door to 
 "receive" solemnly. She could not "be bothered" to do 
 that. The Heaths presently came upon her, looking very 
 large and Roman, in the middle of the second drawing-room. 
 
 In the room just beyond a small orchestra was playing. 
 This was a sure sign of a "clearance" party. Mrs. Shiffney 
 never had an orchestra playing alone, and steadily, through 
 an evening unless bores and frumps were present. "Hun- 
 garians in distress" she called these uniformed musicians, 
 "trying to help bores in distress and failing inevitably." 
 
 She held out her hand to Charmian with a faintly ironic 
 smile. 
 
 " I'm so glad to see you. Ah, Mr. Heath Benedick as the 
 married man. I expect you are doing something wonderful 
 as one hears nothing about you. The deep silence fills me 
 with expectation." 
 
 She smiled again, and turned to speak to an old lady with 
 fuzzy white hair.
 
 "One of the fuzzywuzzies who go to private views, and 
 who insist on knowing me once a year for my sins." 
 
 Charmian's lips tightened as she walked slowly on. 
 
 She met many people whom she knew, too many; and 
 that evening she felt peculiarly aware of the insignificance of 
 Claude and herself, combined as a "married couple," in the 
 eyes of this society. What were they? Just two people with 
 fifteen hundred a year and a little house near Kensington High 
 Street. As an -unmarried girl in Berkeley Square, with a 
 popular mother, possibilities had floated about her. Clever, 
 rising men came to that house. She had charm. She was 
 "in" everything. Now she felt that a sort of fiat had been 
 pronounced, perhaps by Adelaide Shiffney, and her following, 
 "Charmian's dropping out." 
 
 No doubt she exaggerated. She was half conscious that 
 she was exaggerating. But there was surely a change in the 
 attitude people adopted toward her. She attributed it to 
 Mrs. Shiffney. "Adelaide hates Claude," she said to herself, 
 adding a moment later the woman's reason, " because she was 
 in love with him before he married me, and he wouldn't look 
 at her." Such a hatred of Adelaide's would almost have 
 pleased her, had not Adelaide unfortunately been so very 
 influential. 
 
 Claude caught sight of Mrs. Mansfield and went to join her, 
 while Charmian spoke to Lady Mildred Burnington, and then 
 to Max Elliot. 
 
 Lady Mildred, whose eyes looked more feverish even than 
 usual, and whose face was ravaged, as if by some passion or 
 sorrow for ever burning within her, had a perfunctory manner 
 which fought with her expression. Her face was too much 
 alive. Her manner was half dead. Only when she played 
 the violin was the whole woman in accord, harmonious. 
 Then truth, vigor, intention emerged from her, and she con- 
 quered. To-night she spoke of the prospects for the opera 
 season, looking about her as if seeking fresh causes for dis- 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "It's going to be dull," she said. "Covent Garden has 
 things all its own way, and therefore it goes to sleep. But in 
 June we shall have Sennier. That is something. Without
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 189 
 
 him it would really not be worth while to take a box. I told 
 Mr. Brett so." 
 
 "What did he say?" asked Charmian. 
 
 "One Sennier makes a summer." 
 
 It was at this moment that Max Elliot came up, looking as 
 he nearly always did, cheerful and ready to be kind. 
 
 "I know," he said to Lady Mildred, "you're complaining 
 about the opera. "I've just been with the Admiral." 
 
 "Hilary knows less about music than even the average 
 Englishman." 
 
 "Well, he's been swearing, and even saving your pres- 
 ence cursing by Strauss." 
 
 "He thinks that places him with the connoisseurs. It's 
 his ambition to prove to the world that one may be an Admiral 
 and yet be quite intelligent, even have what is called taste. 
 He declines to be a sea-dog." 
 
 "I think it's only living up to you. But have you really 
 no hope of the opera?" 
 
 "Very little unless Sennier saves the situation." 
 
 "Has he anything new?" asked Charmian. 
 
 Max Elliot looked happily evasive. 
 
 "Madame Sennier says he hasn't." 
 
 "We ought to have a rival enterprise here as they have in 
 New York at present," said Lady Mildred. 
 
 "Sennier's success at the Metropolitan has nearly killed 
 the New Era," said Elliot. "But Crayford has any amount of 
 pluck, and a purse that seems inexhaustible. I suppose you 
 know he's to be here to-night." 
 
 "Mr. Jacob Crayford, the Impresario!" exclaimed Char- 
 mian. "He's in England?" 
 
 "Arrived to-day by the Lusitania in search of talent, of 
 someone who can 'produce the goods' as he calls it. Adelaide 
 sent a note to meet him at the Savoy, and he's coming. Shows 
 his pluck, doesn't it? This is the enemy's camp." 
 
 Max Elliot laughed gaily. He loved the strong battles 
 of art, backed by "commercial enterprise," and was friends 
 with everyone though he could be such a keen and concen- 
 trated partisan. 
 
 "Crayford would give a hundred thousand dollars without
 
 190 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 a murmur to get Jacques away from the Metropolitan," he 
 continued. 
 
 "Won't he go for that?" asked Lady Mildred, in her 
 hollow voice. "Is Madame Sennier holding out for two 
 hundred thousand?" 
 
 Again Max Elliot looked happily evasive. 
 
 "Henriette! Has she anything to do with it?" 
 
 "Mr. Elliot! You know she arranges everything for her 
 husband." 
 
 "Do I? Do I really? Ah, there is Crayford!" 
 
 "Where?" said Charmian, turning round rather sharply. 
 
 "He's going up to Adelaide now. He's taking her hand, 
 just over there. Margot Drake is speaking to him." 
 
 "Margot of course! But I can't see them." 
 
 Max Elliot moved. 
 
 "If you stand here. Are you so very anxious to see 
 Mm?" 
 
 Charmian saw that he was slightly surprised. 
 
 "Because I've heard so much about the New York battle 
 from Margot." 
 
 "To be sure!" 
 
 "What that little man!" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "With the tiny beard! It's the tiniest beard I ever saw." 
 
 "More brain than beard," said Max Elliot. "I can assure 
 you Mr. Crayford is one of the most energetic, determined, 
 enterprising, and courageous men on either side of the Atlantic. 
 Diabolically clever, too, in his way, but an idealist at heart. 
 Some people in America think that last fact puts him at a dis- 
 advantage as a manager. It certainly gives him point and 
 even charm as a man." 
 
 "I should like very much to know him," said Charmian. 
 "Of course you know him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do introduce me to him." 
 
 She had seen a faintly doubtful expression flit rapidly across 
 his face, and noticed that Mr. Crayford was already surrounded. 
 Adelaide Shiffney kept him in conversation. Margot Drake
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 191 
 
 stood close to him, and fixed her dark eyes upon him with an 
 expression of still determination. Paul Lane had come up to 
 the group. Three or four well-known singers were converging 
 upon it from different parts of the room. Charmian quite 
 understood. But she thought of the conversation in the studio 
 which marked the beginning of a new epoch in her life with 
 Claude, and she repeated quietly, but with determination: 
 "Please introduce me to him."
 
 CHAPTER XVn 
 
 A WO MAN knows in a moment whether a man is suscept- 
 ible to woman's charm, to sex charm, or not. There are 
 men who love, who have loved, or who will love, a woman. 
 And there are men who love woman. Charmian had not been 
 with Mr. Jacob Crayf ord for more than two minutes before she 
 knew that he belonged to the latter class. She only spent 
 some five minutes in his company, after Max Elliot had intro- 
 duced them to each other. But she came away from Grosvenor 
 Square with a very definite conception of his personality. 
 
 Mr. Crayford was small, thin, and wiry-looking, with large 
 keen brown eyes, brown and gray hair, growing over a well- 
 formed and artistic head which was slightly protuberant at 
 the back, and rather large, determined features. At a first 
 glance he looked "Napoleonic." Perhaps this was intentional 
 on his part. His skin was brown, and appeared to be unusually 
 dry. He wore the tiny beard noticed by Charmian, and a 
 carefully trained and sweeping moustache. His ears slightly 
 suggested a faun. His hands were nervous, and showed 
 energy, and the tendency to grasp and to hold. His voice 
 was a thin tenor, with occasional, rather surprisingly deep 
 chest notes, when he wished to be specially emphatic. His 
 smart, well-cut clothes, and big emerald shirt stud, and sleeve 
 links, suggested the successful impresario. His manner was, 
 on a first introduction, decidedly businesslike, cool, and watch- 
 ful. But in his eyes there were sometimes intense flashes 
 which betokened a strong imagination, a temperament capable 
 of emotion and excitement. His eyelids were large and 
 rounded. And on the left one there was a little brown wart. 
 When he was introduced to Charmian he sent her a glance 
 which she interpreted as meaning, "What does this woman 
 want of me?" It showed her how this man was bombarded, 
 how instinctively ready he was to be alertly on the defensive 
 if he judged defense to be necessary. 
 
 192
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 19$ 
 
 "I've heard so much of your battles, Mr. Crayford," she 
 said, "that I wanted to know the great fighter." 
 
 She had assumed her very self-possessed manner, the minx- 
 manner as some people called it. Claude had known it 
 well in the "early days." It gave her a certain very modern 
 charm in the eyes of some men. And it suggested a womart 
 who lived in and for the world, who had nothing to do with, 
 any work. There was daintiness in it, and a hint of imperti- 
 nence. 
 
 Mr. Crayford smiled faintly. He had a slight tic, moving, 
 his eyebrows sometimes suddenly upward. 
 
 "A good set-to now and then does no one any harm that. 
 I know of," he said, speaking rapidly. 
 
 "They say over here you've got the worst of it this season."' 
 
 "Do they indeed? Very kind and obliging of them, I'm: 
 sure." 
 
 "I hope it isn't true." 
 
 "Are you an enemy of the great and only Jacques then?"" 
 said Mr. Crayford. 
 
 "Monsieur Sennier? Oh, no! I was at the first perform- 
 ance of his Paradis Terrestre, and it altered my whole life." 
 . "Well, they like it over in New York. And I've got to 
 find another Paradise to put up against it just as quick as I 
 know how." 1 3?*- '**v~~- 
 
 " I do hope you'll be successful." 
 
 "I'll put Europe through my sieve anyway," said Mr. 
 Crayford. " No man can do more. And very few men know 
 the way to do as much. Are you interested in music?" 
 
 "Intensely." 
 
 She paused, looking at the little man before her. She was- 
 hesitating whether to tell him that she had married a musician 
 or to refrain. Something told her to refrain, and she added r 
 
 "I've always lived among musical people and heard the; 
 best of everything." 
 
 "Well, opera's the only thing nowadays, the only really 
 big proposition. And it's going to be a bigger proposition 
 than most people dream of." 
 
 His eyes flashed. 
 13
 
 194 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Wait till I build an opera house in London, something 
 better than that old barn of yours over against the Police 
 Station." 
 
 "Are you going to build an opera-house here?" 
 
 " Why not? But I've got to find some composers. They're 
 somewhere about. Bound to be. The thing is to find them. 
 It was a mere chance Sennier coming up. If he hadn't mar- 
 ried his wife he'd be starving at this minute, and I'd be lick- 
 ing the Metropolitan into a cocked hat." 
 
 Charmian longed to put her hand on the little man's arm 
 and to say: 
 
 "I've married a musician, I've married a genius. Take 
 him up. Give him his chance." 
 
 But she looked at those big brown eyes which confronted 
 her under the twitching eyebrows. And now that the flash was 
 gone she saw in them the soul of the business man. Claude 
 was not a "business proposition." It was useless to speak of 
 him yet. 
 
 "I hope you'll find your composer," she said quietly, 
 almost with a dainty indifference. 
 
 Then someone came up and claimed Crayford with deter- 
 mination. 
 
 "That's a pretty girl," he remarked. "Is she married? 
 I didn't catch her name." 
 
 "Oh, yes, she's married to an unknown man who com- 
 poses." 
 
 " The devil she is!" 
 
 The lips above the tiny beard stretched in a smile that 
 was rather sardonic. 
 
 Before going away Charmian wanted to have a little talk 
 with Susan Fleet, who was helping Mrs. Shiffney with the 
 "fuzzywuzzies." She found her at length standing before 
 a buffet, and entertaining a very thin and angular woman, 
 dressed in black, with scarlet flowers growing out of her toilet 
 in various unexpected places. Miss Fleet welcomed Charmian 
 with her usual unimpassioned directness, and introduced her 
 quietly to Miss Gretch, as her companion was called, surpris- 
 ingly.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 195 
 
 Miss Gretch, who was drinking claret cup, and eating little 
 rolls which contained hidden treasure of pate de foie gras, 
 bowed and smiled with anxious intensity, then abruptly be- 
 came unnaturally grave, and gazed with 'a sort of pierc- 
 ing attention at Charmian's hair, jewels, gown, fan, and 
 shoes. 
 
 "She seems to be memorizing me," thought Charmian, 
 wondering who Miss Gretch was, and how she came to be 
 there. 
 
 "Stay here just a minute, will you?" said Susan Fleet. 
 "Adelaide wants me, I see. I'll be back directly." 
 
 "Please be sure to come. I want to talk to you," said 
 Charmian. 
 
 As Susan Fleet was going she murmured: 
 
 "Miss Gretch writes for papers." 
 
 Charmian turned to the angular guest with a certain alac- 
 rity. They talked together with animation till Susan Fleet 
 came back. 
 
 A week later, on coming down to breakfast before starting 
 for the studio, Claude found among his letters a thin missive, 
 open at the ends, and surrounded with yellow paper. He tore 
 the paper, and three newspaper cuttings dropped on to his 
 plate. 
 
 "What's this?" he said to Charmian, who was sitting 
 opposite to him. "Romeike and Curtice! Why should they 
 send me anything?" 
 
 He picked up one of the cuttings. 
 
 " It's from a paper called My Lady" 
 
 "What is it about?" 
 
 "It seems to be an account of Mrs. Shiffney's party, with 
 something marked in blue pencil, 'Mrs. Claude Heath came in 
 late with her brilliant husband, whose remarkable musical 
 compositions have not yet attained to the celebrity which will 
 undoubtedly be theirs within no long time. The few who 
 have heard Mr. Heath's music place him with Elgar, Max 
 Reger, and Delius.' Then a description of what you were 
 wearing. How very ridiculous and objectionable!" 
 
 Claude looked furious and almost ashamed.
 
 196 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Here's something else! 'A Composer's Studio,' from 
 The World and His Wife. It really is insufferable." 
 
 "Why? What can it say?" 
 
 "'Mr. Claude Heath, the rising young composer, who 
 recently married the beautiful Miss Charmian Mansfield, cf 
 Berkeley Square, has just rented and furnished elaborately a 
 magnificent studio in Renwick Place, Chelsea. Exquisite 
 Persian rugs stew the floor ' 
 
 Claude stopped, and with an abrupt movement tore the 
 cuttings to pieces and threw them on the carpet. 
 
 "What can it mean? Who on earth ? Charmian, do 
 you know anything of this?" 
 
 "Oh," she said, with a sort of earnest disgust, mingled 
 with surprise, "it must be that dreadful Miss Gretch!" 
 
 "Dreadful Miss Gretch 1 I never heard of her. Who is 
 she?" 
 
 "At Adelaide Sniff ney's the other night Susan Fleet intro- 
 duced me to a Miss Gretch. I believe she sometimes writes, 
 for papers or something. I had a little talk with her while I 
 was waiting for Susan to come back." 
 
 "Did you tell her about the studio?" 
 
 "Let me see! Did I? Yes, I believe I did say something. 
 You see, Claude, it was the night of " 
 
 "I know it was. But how could you ?" 
 
 "How could I suppose things said in a private conversa- 
 tion would ever appear in print? I only said that you had a 
 studio because you composed and wanted quiet, and that I 
 had been picking up a few old things to make it look homey. 
 How extraordinary of Miss Gretch!" 
 
 "It has made me look very ridiculous. I am quite un- 
 known, and therefore it is impossible for the public to be 
 interested in me. Miss Gretch is certainly a very inefficient 
 journalist. Elgar! Deliustoo! I wonder she didn't compare 
 me with Scriabine while she was about it. How hateful it is 
 being made a laughing-stock like this." 
 
 "Oh, nobody reads those papers, I expect. Still, Miss 
 Gretch" 
 
 " Gretch! What a name!" said Claude.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 197 
 
 His anger vanished in an abrupt fit of laughter, but he 
 started for the studio in half an hour looking decidedly grim. 
 When he had gone Charmian picked up the torn cuttings which 
 were lying on the carpet. She had been very slow in finishing 
 breakfast that day. 
 
 Since her meeting with Jacob Crayford her mind had run 
 perpetually on opera. She could not forget his words, spoken 
 with the authority of the man who knew, "Opera's the only 
 thing nowadays, the only really big proposition." She could 
 not forget that he had left England to "put Europe through 
 his sieve" for a composer who could stand up against Jacques 
 Sennier. What a chance there was now for a new man. He 
 was being actively searched for. If only Claude had written 
 an opera! If only he would write an opera now! 
 
 Charmian never doubted her husband's ability to do some- 
 thing big. Her instinct told her that he had greatness of some 
 kind in him. His music had deeply impressed her. But she 
 was sure it was not the sort of thing to reach a wide public. 
 It seemed to her against the trend of taste of the day. There 
 was an almost terrible austerity in it, combined, she believed, 
 with great power and originality. She longed to hear some of 
 it given in public with the orchestra and voices. She had 
 thought of trying to "get hold of" one of the big conductors, 
 Harold Dane, or Vernon Randall, of trying to persuade him 
 to give Claude a hearing at Queen's Hall. Then a certain keen 
 prudence had held her back. A voice had whispered, "Be 
 patient!" She realized the importance of the first step taken 
 in public. Jacques Sennier had been utterly unknown in 
 England. He appeared as the composer of the Paradis 
 Terrestre, If he had been known already as the composer of a 
 number of things which had left the public indifferent, would he 
 have made the enormous success he had made? She remem- 
 bered Mascagni and his Cavalleria, Leoncavallo and his Pag- 
 liacci. And she was almost glad that Claude was unknown. 
 At any rate, he had never made a mistake. That was some- 
 thing to be thankful for. He must never make a mistake. 
 But there would be no harm in arousing a certain interest in 
 his personality, in his work. A man like Jacob Crayford kept
 
 198 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 a sharp look-out for fresh talent. He read all that appeared 
 about new composers of course. Or someone read for him. 
 Even "that dreadful Miss Gretch's" lucubrations might come 
 under his notice. 
 
 For a week now Claude had gone every day after breakfast 
 to the studio. Charmian had not yet disturbed him there. 
 She felt that she must handle her husband gently. Although 
 he was so kind, so disposed to be sympathetic, to meet people 
 half way, she knew well that there was something in him to 
 which as yet she had never probed, which she did not under- 
 stand. She was sufficiently intelligent not to deceive herself 
 about this, not to think that because Claude was a man of 
 course she, a woman, could see all of him clearly. The hidden 
 something in her husband might be a thing resistent. She 
 believed she must go to work gently, subtly, even though she 
 meant to be very firm. So she had let Claude have a week to 
 himself. This gave him time to feel that the studio was a 
 sanctum, perhaps also that it was a rather lonely one. Mean- 
 while, she had been searching for "words." 
 
 That task was a difficult one, because her mind was ob- 
 sessed by the thought of opera. Oratorio had always been a 
 hateful form of art to her. She had grown up thinking it 
 old-fashioned, out-moded, absurdly "plum-puddingy," and 
 British. In the realm of orchestral music she was more at 
 home. She honestly loved orchestral music divorced from 
 words. But the music of Claude's which she knew was joined 
 with words. And he must do something with words. For 
 that, as it were, would lead the way toward opera. Orchestral 
 music was more remote from opera. If Claude set some 
 wonderful poem, and a man like Jacob Crayford heard the 
 setting, he might see a talent for opera in it. But he could 
 scarcely see that in a violin concerto, a quartet for strings, or a 
 symphony. So she argued. And she searched anxiously 
 for words which might be set dramatically, descriptively. She 
 dared not assail Claude yet with a libretto for opera. She felt 
 sure he would say he had no talent for such work, that he was 
 not drawn toward the theater. But if she could lead him 
 gradually toward things essentially dramatic, she might
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 199 
 
 wake up in him forces the tendency of which he had never 
 suspected. 
 
 She re-read Rossetti, Keats, Shelley, dipped into William 
 Morris, Wordsworth no into Fiona Macleod, William Wat- 
 son, John Davidson, Alfred Noyes. Now and then she was 
 strongly attracted by something, she thought, "Will it do?" 
 And always at such moments a vision of Jacob Crayford seemed 
 to rise up before her, with large brown eyes, ears like a faun, 
 nervous hands, and the tiny beard. " Is it a business proposi- 
 tion?" The moving lips said that. And she gazed again at 
 the poem which had arrested her attention, she thought, "Is 
 it a business proposition?" Keats's terribly famous Belle 
 Dame Sans Merci really attracted her more than anything else. 
 She knew it had been set by Cyril Scott, and other ultra- 
 modern composers, but she felt that Claude could do some- 
 thing wonderful with it. Yet perhaps it was too well known. 
 
 One lyric of William Watson's laid a spell upon her: 
 
 "Pass, thou wild heart, 
 Wild heart of youth that still 
 Hast half a will 
 
 To stay. 
 I grow too old a comrade, let us part. 
 
 Pass thou away." 
 
 She read that and the preceding verse again and again, in 
 the grip of a strange and melancholy fascination, dreaming. 
 She woke, and remembered that she was young, that Claude 
 was young. But she had reached out and touched old age. 
 She had realized, newly, the shortness of the time. And a sort 
 of fever assailed her. Claude must begin, must waste no more 
 precious hours; she would take him the poem of William 
 Watson, would read it to him. He might make of it a song, 
 and in the making he would learn something perhaps to 
 hasten on the path. 
 
 She started for the studio one day, taking the Belle Dame, 
 William Watson's poems, and two or three books of French 
 poetry, Verlaine, Montesquieu, Moreas.
 
 200 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 | 
 
 She arrived in Renwick Place just after four o'clock. She 
 meant to make tea for Claude and herself, and had brought 
 -with her some little cakes and a bottle of milk. Quite a load 
 she was carrying. The gouty hands of the caretaker went up 
 when he saw her. 
 
 "My, ma'am, what a heavy lot for you to be carrying!" 
 
 "I'm strong. Mr. Heath's in the studio?" 
 
 Before the man could reply she heard the sound of a 
 piano. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he is. Is there water there? Yes. That's 
 light. I'm going to boil the kettle and make tea." 
 
 She went on quickly, opened the door softly, and slipped in. 
 
 Claude, who sat with his back to her playing, did not hear 
 her. She crept behind the screen into what she called "the 
 kitchen." What fun! She could make the tea without his 
 knowing that she was there, and bring it in to him when he 
 stopped playing. 
 
 As she softly prepared things she listened attentively, with 
 a sort of burning attention, to the music. She had not heard it 
 before. She knew that when her husband was composing he 
 did not go to the piano. This must be something which he 
 had just composed and was trying over. It sounded to her 
 mystic, remote, very strange, almost like a soul communing 
 with itself; then more violent, more sonorous, but always very 
 strange. 
 
 The kettle began to boil. She got ready the cups. In 
 turning she knocked two spoons down from a shelf. They fell 
 on the uncarpeted floor. 
 
 " What's that? Who's there? " 
 
 Claude had stopped playing abruptly. His voice was the 
 voice of a man startled and angry. 
 
 "Who's there?" he repeated loudly. 
 
 She heard him get up and come toward the screen. 
 
 "Claudie, do forgive me! I slipped in. I thought I would 
 make tea for you. It's all ready. But I didn't mean to 
 interrupt you. I was waiting till you had finished. I'm so 
 sorry." 
 
 "You, Charmian!"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 201 
 
 There was an odd remote expression in his eyes, and his 
 whole face looked excited. 
 
 "Do do forgive me, Claudie! Those dreadful spoons!" 1 
 
 She picked them up. 
 
 "Of course. What are all these books doing here?" 
 
 "I brought them. I thought after tea we might talk over 
 words. You remember?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Well but I've begun on something." 
 
 "Were you playing it just now?'\ 
 
 " Some of it." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Francis Thompson's The Hound of Heaven" 
 
 Jacob Crayford what would he think of that sort of thing? 
 
 "You know it, don't you?" Claude said, as she was silent. 
 
 "I've read it, but quite a while ago. I don't remember it 
 well. Of course I know it's very wonderfuL Madre loves 
 it." 
 
 "She was speaking of it at the Shiffney's the other night.. 
 That's why it occurred to me to study it." 
 
 "Oh. Well, now you have stopped shall we have tea?"" 
 
 "Yes. I've done enough for to-day." 
 
 After tea Charmian said: 
 
 "I'll study The Hound of Heaven again. But now do you 1 
 mind if I read you two or three of the things I have here?" 
 
 "No," he said kindly, but not at all eagerly. "Do read, 
 anything you like." 
 
 It was six o'clock when Charmian read Watson's poem "to 
 finish up with." Claude who, absorbed secretly by the thought 
 of his new composition, had listened so far without any keen 
 interest, at moments had not listened at all, though preserving 
 a decent attitude and manner of attention, suddenly woke up 
 into genuine enthusiasm. 
 
 "Give me that, Charmian 1" he exclaimed. "I scarcely 
 ever write a song. But I'll set that." 
 
 She gave him the book eagerly. 
 
 That evening they were at home. After dinner Claude 
 went to his little room to write some letters, and Charmian 
 read The Hound of Heaven. She decided against it, Beauti-
 
 202 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 ful though it was, she considered it too mystic, too religious. 
 She was sure many people could not understand it. 
 
 "I wish Madre hadn't talked to Claude about it," she 
 thought. "He thinks so much of her opinion. And she 
 doesn't care in the least whether Claude makes a hit with the 
 public or not." 
 
 The mere thought of the word "hit" in connection with 
 Mrs. Mansfield almost made Charmian smile. 
 
 "I suppose there's something dreadfully vulgar about me," 
 she said to herself. "But I belong to the young generation. 
 I can't help loving success." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield had been the friend, was the friend, of many 
 successful men. They came to her for sympathy, advice. She 
 followed their upward careers with interest, rejoiced in their 
 triumphs. But she cared for the talent in a man rather than 
 for what it brought him. Charmian knew that. And long ago 
 Mrs. Mansfield had spoken of the plant that must grow in 
 darkness. At this time Charmian began almost to dread her 
 mother's influence upon her husband. 
 
 She was cheered by a little success. 
 
 Claude set Watson's poem rapidly. He played the song 
 to Charmian, and she was delighted with it. 
 
 ''I know people would love that!" she cried. 
 
 "If it was properly sung by someone with temperament," 
 he replied. " And now I can go on with The Hound of Heaven." 
 
 Her heart sank. 
 
 "I'm only a little afraid they may think you are imitating 
 Elgar," she murmured after a moment. 
 
 " Imitating Elgar!" 
 
 "Not that you are, or ever would do such a thing. It isn't 
 your music, it's the subject, that makes me a little afraid. It 
 seems to me to be an Elgar subject." 
 
 "Really!" 
 
 The conversation dropped, and was not resumed. But a 
 fortnight later, when Charmian came to make tea in the studio, 
 and asked as to the progress of the new work, Claude said 
 rather coldly: 
 
 "I'm not going on with it at present."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 203 
 
 She saw that he was feeling depressed, and realized why. 
 But she was secretly triumphant at the success of her influence, 
 secretly delighted with her own cleverness. How deftly, with 
 scarcely more than a word, she had turned him from his task. 
 Surely thus had Madame Sennier influenced, guided her 
 husband. 
 
 "I believe I could do anything with Claude," she said to 
 herself that day. 
 
 "Play me your Watson song again, Claudie," she said. 
 "I do love it so." 
 
 "It's only a trifle." 
 
 "I love it!" she repeated. 
 
 He sat down at the piano and played it to her once more. 
 When he had finished she said: 
 
 "I've found someone who could sing that gloriously." 
 
 "Who? "he asked. 
 
 Playing the song had excited him. He turned eagerly 
 toward her. 
 
 "A young American who has been studying in Paris. I 
 met him at the Drakes' two or three days ago. Mr. Jacob 
 Crayford, the opera man, thinks a great deal of him, I'm told. 
 Let me ask him to come here one day and try the Wild Heart. 
 May I?" 
 
 "Yes, do," said Claude. 
 
 "And meanwhile what are you working on instead of The 
 Hound of Heaven? " 
 
 Claude's expression changed. He seemed to stiffen with 
 reserve. But he replied, with a kind of elaborate carelessness: 
 
 "I think of trying a violin concerto. That would be quite 
 a new departure for me. But you know the violin was my 
 second study at the Royal College." 
 
 "That won't do," thought Charmian. 
 
 "If only Kreisler would take it up when it is finished as 
 he took up " she began. 
 
 Claude interrupted her. 
 
 " It may take me months, so it's no use thinking about who 
 is to play it. Probably it will never be played at all." 
 
 "Then why compose it?" she nearly said.
 
 204 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 But she did not say it. What was the use, when she had 
 resolved that the concerto should be abandoned as The 
 Hound of Heaven had been? 
 
 She brought the young American, whose name was Alston 
 Lake, to the studio. Claude took a fancy to him at once. 
 Lake sang the Wild Heart, tried it a second time, became 
 enthusiastic about it. His voice was a baritone, and exactly 
 suited the song. He begged Claude to let him sing the song 
 during the season at the parties for which he was engaged. 
 They studied it together seriously. During these rehearsals 
 Charmian sat in an armchair a little way from the piano 
 listening, and feeling the intensity of an almost feverish antici- 
 pation within her. 
 
 This was the first step on the way of ambition. And she 
 had caused Claude to take it. Never would he have taken it 
 without her. As she listened to the two men talking, discuss- 
 ing together, trying passages again and again, forgetful for 
 the moment of her, she thrilled with a sense of achieved 
 triumph. Glory seemed already within her grasp. She ran 
 forward in hope, like a child almost. She saw the goal like 
 a thing quite near, almost close to her. 
 
 "People will love that songl They will love it!" she said 
 to herself. 
 
 And their love, what might it not do for Claude, and to 
 Claude? Surely it would infect him with the desire for more 
 of that curious heat-giving love of the world for a great talent. 
 Surely it would carry him on, away from the old reserves, 
 from the secrecies which had held him too long, from the 
 darkness in which he had labored. For whom? For him- 
 self perhaps, or no one. Surely it would carry him on along 
 the great way to the light that illumined the goal.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AT the end of November in that same year the house in 
 Kensington Square was let, the studio in Renwick Place 
 was shut up, and Claude and Charmian were staying in 
 Berkeley Square with Mrs. Mansfield for a couple of nights 
 before their departure for Algiers, where they intended to 
 stay for an indefinite time. They had decided first to go to 
 the Hotel St. George at Mustapha Superieur, and from there 
 to prosecute their search for a small and quiet villa in which 
 Claude could settle down to work. Most of their luggage 
 was already packed. A case of music, containing a large 
 number of full scores, stood in Mrs. Mansfield's hall. And 
 Charmian was out at the dressmaker's with Susan Fleet, try- 
 ing on the new gowns she was taking with her to a warmer 
 climate than England's. 
 
 This vital change in two lives had come about through a 
 song. 
 
 The young American singer, Alston Lake, had been true 
 to his word. During the past London season he had sung 
 Claude's Wild Heart of Youth everywhere. And people, 
 the right people, had liked it. Swiftly composed in an hour 
 of enthusiasm it was really a beautiful and original song. It 
 was a small thing, but it was a good thing. And it was pre- 
 sented to the public by a new and enthusiastic man who at 
 once made his mark both as a singer and as a personality. 
 Although one song cannot make anybody a composer of mark 
 in the esteem of a great public, yet Claude's drew some atten- 
 tion to him. But it did more than this. It awoke in Claude 
 a sort of spurious desire for greater popularity, which was 
 assiduously fostered by Charmian. The real man, deep down, 
 had a still and inexorable contempt for laurels easily won, for 
 the swift applause of drawing-rooms. But the weakness in 
 Claude, a thing of the surface, weed floating on a pool that had 
 
 205
 
 206 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 depths, responded to the applause, to the congratulations, 
 with an almost anxious quickness. His mind began to concern 
 itself too often with the feeble question, "What do people 
 want of me? What do they want Ifne to do?" Often he 
 played the accompaniment to his song at parties that season 
 when Alston Lake sang it, and he enjoyed too much that is 
 his surface enjoyed too much the pleasure it gave, the demon- 
 strations it evoked. He received with too much eagerness 
 the congratulations of easily touched women. 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield noticed all this, and it diminished her 
 natural pleasure in her son-in-law's little success. But Char- 
 mian was delighted to see that Claude was "becoming human 
 at last." The weakness in her husband made her trust 
 more fully her own power. She realized that events were 
 working with her, were helping her to increase her influence. 
 She blossomed with expectation. 
 
 Alston Lake had his part in the circumstances which were 
 now about to lead the Heaths away from England, were 
 to place them in new surroundings, submit them to fresh 
 influences. 
 
 His voice had been "discovered" in America by Jacob 
 Crayford, who had sent him to Europe to be trained, and 
 intended, if things went well and he proved to have the value 
 expected of him, to bring him out at the opera house in New 
 York, which was trying to put a fight against the Metro- 
 politan. 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder if I've got another Battistini in that 
 boy!" Crayford sometimes said to people. "He's got a 
 wonderful voice, but I wouldn't have paid for his training if 
 he hadn't something that's bullier." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "The devil's own ambition." 
 
 Crayford had not mistaken his man. He seldom did. 
 Alston Lake had a will of iron and was possessed of a passion- 
 ate determination to succeed. He had a driving reason that 
 made him resolve to "win out" as he called it. His father, 
 who was a prosperous banker in Wall Street, had sternly 
 vetoed an artistic career for his only son. Alston had re-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 207 
 
 belled, then had given in for a time, and gone into Wall 
 Street. Instead of proving his unfitness for a career he 
 loathed, he showed a marked aptitude for business, inherited 
 no doubt from his father. He could do well what he hated 
 doing. This fact accentuated his father's wrath when he 
 abruptly threw up business and finally decided that he would 
 be a singer or nothing. The Wall Street magnate stopped all 
 supplies. Then Crayford took Alston up. For three years 
 Alston had lived on the impresario's charity in Paris. Was 
 it matter for wonder if he set his teeth and resolved to win 
 out? He had in him the grit of young America, that intensity 
 of life which sweeps through veins like a tide. 
 
 "Father's going to see presently," he often said to him- 
 self. "He's just got to, and that's all there is to it." 
 
 This young man was almost as a weapon in Charmian's 
 hand. 
 
 He was charming, and specially charming in his enthu- 
 siasm. He had the American readiness to meet others half 
 way, the American lack of shyness. Despite the iron of 
 his will, the fierceness of his young determination, he was 
 often naive almost as a schoolboy. The evil of Paris had 
 swirled about him and had left him unstained by its black- 
 ness. He was no fool. He was certainly not ignorant of life. 
 But he preserved intact a delightful freshness that often 
 seemed to partake of innocence. 
 
 And he worked, as he expressed it, "like the devil." 
 
 Charmian, genuinely liking him, but also seeing his possi- 
 bilities as a lever, or weapon, was delightful to him. Claude 
 also took to him at once. The song seemed to link them all 
 together happily. Very soon Alston was almost as one of 
 the Heath family. He came perpetually to the studio to 
 "try things over." He brought various American friends 
 there. He ate improvised meals there at odd times, Charmian 
 acting as cook. He had even slept there more than once, 
 when they had been making music very late. And Charmian 
 had had a bed put on the platform behind the screen, and 
 called it " the Prophet's chamber." 
 
 This young and determined enthusiast had a power of
 
 208 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 flooding others with his atmosphere. He flooded Claude 
 with it. And his ambition made his atmosphere what it 
 was. Here was another who meant to "produce the goods." 
 
 Never before had Claude come closely in contact with the 
 vigor, with the sharply cut ideals, of the new world. He 
 began to see many things in a new way, to see some things 
 which he had never perceived before. Among them he saw 
 the fine side of ambition. He respected Alston's determina- 
 tion to win out, to justify his conduct in his father's eyes, and 
 pay back to Mr. Crayford with interest all he had received 
 from that astute, yet not unimaginative, man. He loved 
 the lad for his eagerness. When Alston came to Renwick 
 Place a wind from the true Bohemia seemed to blow through 
 the studio, and the day seemed young and golden. 
 
 Yet Alston, quite ignorantly, did harm to Claude. For he 
 helped to win Claude away from his genuine, his inner self, 
 to draw him into the path which he had always instinctively 
 avoided until his marriage with Charmian. 
 
 Although unspoiled, Alston Lake had not been unaffected 
 by Paris, which had done little harm to his morals, but which 
 had decidedly influenced his artistic sensibility. The brilliant 
 city had not smirched his soul, but it had helped to form his 
 taste. That was very modern, and very un-British. Alston 
 had a sort of innocent love for the strange and the complex 
 in music. He shrank from anything banal, and disliked the 
 obvious, though his contact with French people had saved 
 him from love of the cloudy. As he intended to make his 
 career upon the stage, and as he was too young, and far too 
 enthusiastic, not to be a bit of an egoist, he was naturally 
 disposed to think that all real musical development was likely 
 to take place in the direction of opera. 
 
 "Opera's going to be the big proposition!" was his art 
 cry. There was no doubt of Jacob Crayford's influence upon 
 him. 
 
 He was the first person who turned Claude's mind seriously 
 toward opera, and therefore eventually toward a villa in 
 Algeria. 
 
 Having launched the song with success, Alston Lake
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 209 
 
 naturally wished to hear more of Claude's music. Claude 
 played to him a great deal of it. He was interested in it, 
 admired it. But and here his wholly unconscious egoism 
 came into play he did not quite "believe in it." And his 
 lack of belief probably emanated from the fact that Claude's 
 settings of words from the Bible were not well suited to his 
 own temperament, talent, or training. Being very frank, 
 and already devoted to Claude, he said straight out what he 
 thought. Charmian loved him almost for expressing her 
 secret belief. She now said what she thought. Claude, 
 the reserved and silent recluse of a few months ago, was in- 
 duced by these two to come out into the open and take part 
 in the wordy battles which rage about art. The instant 
 success of his song took away from him an excuse which he 
 might otherwise have made, when Charmian and Alston Lake 
 urged him to compose with &. view to pleasing the. public taste; 
 by which they both meant the taste of the cultivated public 
 which was now becoming widely diffused, and which had 
 acquired power. He could not say that his talent was one 
 which had no appeal to the world, that he was incapable of 
 pleasing. One song was nothing. So he declared. Charmian 
 and Alston Lake in their enthusiasm elevated it into a great 
 indication, lifted it up like a lamp till it seemed to shed rays 
 of light on the way in which they urged Claude to walk. 
 
 He had long abandoned his violin concerto, and had worked 
 on a setting of the Belle Dame Sans Merci for soprano, chorus, 
 and orchestra. But before it was finished and during the 
 season his time for work was limited, owing to the numerous 
 social engagements in which Charmian and Alston Lake 
 involved him an event took place which had led directly 
 to the packing of those boxes which now stood ready for a 
 journey. Jacob Crayford reappeared in London after putting 
 Europe through his sieve. And Claude was introduced to 
 him by Alston Lake, who insisted on his patron hearing 
 Claude's song. 
 
 Mr. Crayford did not care very much about the song. A 
 song was not a big proposition, and he was accustomed to 
 think in operas. But his fondness for Lake, and Lake's 
 
 14
 
 210 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 boyish enthusiasm for Claude, led him to pay some attention 
 to the latter. He was a busy man and did not waste much 
 time. But he was a sharp man and a man on the look-out for 
 talent. Apparently this Claude Heath had some talent, not 
 much developed perhaps as yet. But then he was young. 
 In Claude's appearance and personality there was something 
 arresting. "Looks as if there might be something there," 
 was Crayford's silent comment. And then he admired Char- 
 mian and thought her "darned cute." He openly chaffed 
 her on her careful silence about her husband's profession 
 when they had met at Mrs. Shiffney's. "So you wanted to 
 know the great fighter, did you?" he said, pulling at the 
 little beard with a nervous hand, and twitching his eyebrows. 
 "And it he hadn't happened to have one opera house, and to 
 be thinking about running up another, much you'd have cared 
 about his fighting." 
 
 "My husband is not a composer of operas, Mr. Crayford," 
 observed Charmian demurely. 
 
 From Alston Lake had come the urgent advice to Claude 
 to try his hand on an opera. 
 
 Jacques Sennier and his wife, fresh from their triumphs 
 in America, had come to London again in June. The Paradis 
 Terrestre had been revived at Covent Garden, and its success 
 had been even greater than before. 
 
 "Claude, you've simply got to write an opera!" Lake had 
 said one night in his studio. 
 
 Charmian, Claude, and he had all been at Covent Garden 
 that night, and had dropped in, as they sometimes did, at 
 the studio to spend an hour on their way home. Lake loved 
 the studio, and if there were any question of his going either 
 there or to the house in Kensington, he always "plumped 
 for the studio." They "sat around" now, eating sandwiches 
 and drinking lemonade and whisky-and-soda, and discussing 
 the events of the evening. 
 
 "I couldn't possibly write an opera," Claude said. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I have no bent toward the theater." 
 
 Alston Lake, who was long-limbed, very blond, clean-
 
 shaved, with gray eyes, extraordinarily smooth yellow hair, 
 and short, determined and rather blunt features, stretched out 
 one large hand to the cigar-box, and glanced at Charmian. 
 
 "What is your bent toward?" he said, in his strong and 
 ringing baritone voice. 
 
 Claude's forehead puckered, and the sudden distressed look, 
 which Mrs. Mansfield had sometimes noticed, came into his eyes. 
 
 "Well ' he began, in a hesitating voice. "I hardly 
 know now." 
 
 "Now, old chap?" 
 
 "I mean I hardly know." 
 
 "Then for all you can tell it may be toward opera?" said 
 Alston triumphantly. 
 
 Charmian touched the wreath of green leaves which shone 
 in her dark hair. Her face had grown more decisive of late. 
 She looked perhaps more definitely handsome, but she looked 
 just a little bit harder. She glanced at her husband, glanced 
 away, and lit a cigarette. That evening she had again seen 
 Madame Sennier, had noticed, with a woman's almost miracu- 
 lous sharpness, the crescendo in the Frenchwoman's formerly 
 dominant personality. She puffed out a tiny ring of pale 
 smoke and said nothing. It seemed to her that Alston was 
 doing work for her. 
 
 "I don't think it is," Claude said, after a pause. "I'm 
 twenty-nine, and up to now I've never felt impelled to write 
 anything operatic." 
 
 "That's probably because you haven't been in the way of 
 meeting managers, opera singers, and conductors. Every 
 man wants the match that fires him." 
 
 "That's just what I think," said Charmian. 
 
 Claude smiled. In the recent days he had heard so much 
 talk about music and musicians. And he had noticed that 
 Alston and his wife were nearly always in agreement. 
 
 "What was the match that fired you, Alston?" he asked, 
 looking at the big lad he looked little more than a lad 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 "Well, I always wanted to sing, of course. But I think it 
 was Crayford."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 He puffed almost furiously at his cigar. 
 
 " Crayford's a marvellous man. He'll lick the Metropolitan 
 crowd yet. He's going to make me." 
 
 "You mean you're going to make yourself?" interrupted 
 Claude. 
 
 "Takes two to do it!" 
 
 Again he looked over to Charmian. 
 
 "Without Crayford I should never have believed I could 
 be a big opera singer. As it is, I mean to be. And, what 
 is more, I know I shall be. Now, Claude, old fellow, don't 
 get on your hind legs, but just listen to me. Every man 
 needs help when he's a kid, needs somebody who knows 
 knows, mind you to put him in the right way. What is 
 wanted nowadays is operatic stuff, first-rate operatic stuff. 
 Now, look here, I'm going to speak out straight, and that's 
 all there is to it. I wanted Crayford to hear your big things" 
 Claude shifted in his chair, stretched out his legs and drew 
 them up "I told him about them and how strong they 
 were. 'What subjects does he treat?' he said. I told him. 
 At least, I began to tell him. 'Oh, Lord!' he said, stopping 
 me on the nail but you know how busy he is. He can't 
 waste time. And he's out for the goods, you know 'Oh, 
 Lord!' he said. 'Don't bother me with the Bible. The 
 time for oratorio has gone to join Holy Moses!' I tried to 
 explain that your stuff was no more like old-fashioned oratorio 
 than Chicago is like Stratford-on-Avon, but he wouldn't 
 listen. All he said was, 'Gone to join Holy Moses, my boy! 
 Tell that chap Heath to bring me a good opera and I'll make 
 him more famous than Sennier. For I know how to run 
 him, or any man that can produce the goods, twice as well as 
 Sennier's run.' There, old chap! I've given it you straight. 
 Look what a success we've had with the song!" 
 
 "And / found him that!" Charmian could not help saying 
 quickly. 
 
 "Find him a first-rate libretto, Mrs. Charmian! I'll tell 
 you what, I know a lot of fellows in Paris who write. Sup- 
 pose you and I run over to Paris " 
 
 "Would you let me, Claudie?" she interrupted.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 213 
 
 "Oh!" he said, laughing, but without much mirth. "Do 
 whatever you like, my children. You make me feel as if I 
 know nothing about myself, nothing at all." 
 
 "Weren't you one of the best orchestral pupils at the 
 Royal College?" said Alston. "Didn't you win?" 
 
 "Go go to Paris and bring me back a libretto!" he ex- 
 claimed, assuming a mock despair. 
 
 He did not reckon with Charmian's determination. He 
 had taken it all as a kind of joke. But when, at the end of 
 the season, he suggested a visit to Cornwall to see his people, 
 Charmian said: 
 
 "You go! And I'll take Susan Fleet as a chaperon and 
 run over to Paris with Alston Lake." 
 
 "What to find the libretto? But there's no one in Paris 
 in August." 
 
 "Leave that to us," she answered with decision. 
 
 Claude still felt as if the whole thing were a sort of joke. 
 But he let his wife go. And she came back with a very clever 
 and powerful libretto, written by a young Algerian who knew 
 Arab life well, and who had served for a time with the Foreign 
 Legion. Claude read it carefully, then studied it minutely. 
 The story interested him. The plot was strong. There were 
 wonderful opportunities for striking scenic effects. But the 
 whole thing was entirely "out of his line." And he told 
 Charmian and Lake so. 
 
 "It would need to be as Oriental in the score as Louise is 
 French," he said. "And what do I know " 
 
 "Go and get it!" interrupted Lake. "Nothing ties you 
 to London. Spend a couple of years over it, if you like. It 
 would be worth it. And Crayford says there's going to be a 
 regular 'boom' in Eastern things in a year or two." 
 
 "Now how can he possibly know that?" said Claude. 
 
 "My boy, he does know it. Crayford knows everything. 
 He looks ahead, by Jove! Fools don't know what the people 
 want. Clever men do know what they want. And Crayfords 
 know what they're going to want." 
 
 And now the Heath's boxes were actually packed, and the 
 great case of scores stood in the hall in Berkeley Square.
 
 214 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 As Claude looked at it he felt like one who had burnt his 
 boats. 
 
 Ever since he had decided that he would "have a try at 
 opera," as Alston Lake expressed it, he had been studying 
 orchestration assiduously in London with a brilliant master. 
 For nearly three months he had given all his working time to 
 this. His knowledge of orchestration had already been con- 
 siderable, even remarkable. But he wanted to be sure of all 
 the most modern combinations. He had toiled with a per- 
 tinacity, a tireless energy that had astonished his "coach." 
 But the driving force behind him was not what it had been 
 when he worked alone in the long and dark room, with the 
 dim oil-paintings and the orange-colored curtains. Then he 
 had been sent on by the strange force which lives and per- 
 petually renews itself in a man's own genius, when he is at 
 the work he was sent into the world to do. Now he had 
 scourged himself on by a self-consciously exercised force of 
 will. He had set his teeth. He had called upon all the 
 dogged pertinacity which a man must have if he is to be 
 really a man among men. Always, far before him in the 
 distance which must some day be gained, gleamed the will-o'- 
 the-wisp lamp of success. He had an object now, which must 
 never be forgotten, success. What had been his object when 
 he toiled in Mullion House? He had scarcely known that he 
 had any object in working in giving up. But, if he had, it 
 was surely the thing itself. He had desired to create a certain 
 thing. Once the thing was created he had passed on to some- 
 thing else. 
 
 Sometimes now he looked back on that life of his, and it 
 seemed very strange, very far away. A sort of halo of faint 
 and caressing light surrounded it; but it seemed a thing 
 rather vague, almost a thing of dreams. The life he was 
 entering now was not vague, nor dreamlike, but solid, firmly 
 planted, rooted in intention. He read the label attached to 
 the case of scores: "Claude Heath, passenger to Algiers, via 
 Marseilles." And he could scarcely believe he was really 
 going. 
 
 As he looked up from the label he saw the post lying on
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 215 
 
 the hall-table. Two letters for him, and ah, some more 
 cuttings from Romeike and Curtice. He was quite accus- 
 tomed to getting those now. "That dreadful Miss Gretch" 
 had infected others with her disease of comment, and his 
 name was fairly often in the papers. 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Claude Heath are about to leave their 
 charming and artistic house in Kensington and to take up 
 their residence near Algiers. It is rumored that there is an 
 interesting reason, not wholly unconnected with things 
 operatic, for their departure, etc." 
 
 Charmian had been at work even in these last busy days. 
 Her energy was wonderful. Claude considered it for a 
 moment as he stood in the hall. Energy and will, she had 
 both, and she had made him feel them. She had become 
 quite a personage. She was certainly a very devoted wife, 
 devoted to what she called, and what no doubt everyone else 
 would call, his " interests." And yet and yet 
 
 Claude knew that he did not love her. He admired her. 
 He had become accustomed to her. He felt her force. He 
 knew he ought to be very grateful to her for many things. 
 She was devoted to him. Or was she was she not rather 
 devoted to his "interests," to those nebulous attendants 
 that hover round a man like shadows in the night? How 
 would it be in Algiers when they were quite alone together? 
 
 He sighed, looked once more at the label, and went upstairs. 
 
 He found Mrs. Mansfield there alone, reading beside the fire. 
 
 She had not been very well, and her face looked thinner than 
 usual, her eyes more intense and burning. She was dressed 
 in white. 
 
 As Claude came in she laid down her book and turned to 
 him. He thought she looked very sad. 
 
 " Charmian still out, Madre?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. Dressmakers hold hands with eternity, I think." 
 
 "Tailors don't, thank Heaven!" 
 
 He sat down on the other side of the fire, and they were 
 both silent for a moment. 
 
 "You're coming to see us in spring?" Claude said, lifting 
 his head.
 
 216 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Sadness seemed to flow from Mrs. Mansfield to him, to be 
 enveloping him. He disliked, almost feared, silence just then. 
 
 "If you want me." 
 
 "If!" 
 
 "I'm not quite sure that you will." 
 
 Their eyes met. Claude looked away. Did he really wish 
 Madre to come out into that life? Had she pierced down to 
 a reluctance in him of which till that moment he had scarcely 
 been aware? 
 
 "We shall see," she said, more lightly. "Susan Fleet is 
 going out, I know, after Christmas, when Adelaide Shiffney 
 goes off to India." 
 
 "Yes, she has promised Charmian to come. And Lake 
 will visit us too." 
 
 "Naturally. Will you see him in Paris on your way 
 through?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! What an enthusiast he is!" 
 
 Claude sighed. 
 
 "I shall miss you, Madre," he said, somberly almost. "I 
 am so accustomed to be within reach of you." 
 
 "I hope you will miss me a little. But the man who never 
 leans heavily never falls when the small human supports 
 we all use now and then are withdrawn. You love me, I 
 know. But you don't need me." 
 
 "Then do you think I never lean heavily?" 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 He moved rather uneasily. 
 
 "I I don't know that it is natural to me to lean. Still 
 still we sometimes do things, get into the habit of doing things, 
 which are not natural to us." 
 
 "That's a mistake, I think, unless we do them from a fine 
 motive, from unselfishness, for instance, from the motive of 
 honor, or to strengthen our wills drastically. But I believe 
 we have been provided with a means of knowing how far we 
 ought to pursue a course not wholly natural to us." 
 
 "What means?" 
 
 "If the at first apparently unnatural thing soon seems 
 quite natural to us, if it becomes, as it were, part of ourselves,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 217 
 
 if we can incorporate it with ourselves, then we have probably 
 made a step upward. But if it continues to seem persistently 
 unnatural, I think we are going downward. I am one of 
 those who believe in the power called conscience. But I 
 expect you knew that already. Here is Charmian!" 
 
 Charmian came in, flushed with the cold outside, her long 
 eyes sparkling, her hands deep in a huge muff. 
 
 "Sitting with Madre, Claude!" 
 
 "I have been telling her we expect her to come to us in 
 spring." 
 
 "Of course we do. That's settled. I found these cuttings 
 in the hall." 
 
 She drew one hand out of her muff. It was holding the 
 newspaper slips of Romeike and Curtice. 
 
 "They find out almost everything about us," she said, 
 in her clear, slightly authoritative voice. " But we shall soon 
 escape from them. A year two years, perhaps out of the 
 world! It will be a new experience for me, won't it, Madretta?' 
 
 "Quite new." 
 
 The expression in her eyes changed as she looked at Claude. 
 
 "And I shall see the island with you." 
 
 "The island?" he said. 
 
 "Don't you remember the night I came back from Algiers, 
 and you dined here with Madre and me, I told you about a 
 little island I had seen in an Algerian garden? I remember 
 the very words I said that night, about the little island wanting 
 me to make people far away feel it, know it. But I couldn't, 
 because I had no genius to draw in color, and light, and sound, 
 and perfume, and to transform them, and give them out again, 
 better than the truth, because / was added to them. Don't 
 you remember, Claudie?" 
 
 "Yes, now I remember." 
 
 " You are going to do that where I could not do it." 
 
 Claude glanced at Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 And again he felt as if he were enveloped by a sadness that 
 flowed from her.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CHARMIAN and her husband went first to the H6tel St. 
 George at Mustapha Superieur above Algiers. But they 
 had no intention of remaining there for more than two or 
 three weeks. Claude could not compose happily in a hotel. 
 And they wished to be economical. As Claude had not yet 
 given up the studio, they still had expenses in London. And 
 the house in Kensington Square was only let on a six months' 
 lease. They had no money to throw away. 
 
 During the first few days after their arrival Claude did not 
 think of work. He tried to give himself up to the new impres- 
 sions that crowded in upon him in Northern Africa. Charmian 
 eagerly acted as cicerone. That spoiled things sometimes for 
 Claude, but he did not care to say so to his wife. So he sent 
 that secret to join the many secrets which, carefully kept from 
 her, combined to make a sort of subterranean life running its 
 course in the darkness of his soul. 
 
 In addition to being a cicerone Charmian was a woman full 
 of purpose. And she was seldom able, perhaps indeed she 
 feared, to forget this. The phantom of Madame Sennier, 
 white-faced, red-haired, determined, haunted her. She and 
 Claude were not as other people, who had come from England 
 or elsewhere to Algiers. They had an "object." They must 
 not waste their time. Claude was to be "steeped" in the 
 atmosphere necessary for the production of his Algerian opera. 
 Almost a little anxiously, certainly with a definiteness rather 
 destructive, Charmian began the process of "steeping" her 
 husband. 
 
 She thought that she concealed her intention from Claude. 
 She had sufficient knowledge of his character to realize that he 
 might be worried if he thought that he was being taken too 
 firmly in hand. She honestly wished to be delicate with him, 
 even to be very subtle. But she was so keenly, so incessantly 
 
 218
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 219 
 
 alive to the reason of their coming to Africa, she was so deter- 
 mined that success should result from their coming, that pur- 
 pose, as it were, oozed out of her. And Claude was sensitive. 
 He felt it like a cloud gathering about him, involving him to 
 his detriment. Sometimes he was on the edge of speaking 
 of it to Charmian. Sometimes he was tempted to break 
 violently away from all his precautions, to burst out from 
 secrecy, and to liberate his soul. 
 
 But a voice within him held him back. It whispered: "It 
 is too late now. You should have done it long ago when you 
 were first married, when first she began to assert herself in 
 your art life." 
 
 And he kept silence. 
 
 Perhaps if he had been thoroughly convinced of the nature 
 of Charmian's love for him, he would even now have spoken. 
 But he could not banish from him grievous doubts as to the 
 quality of her affection. 
 
 She devoted herself to him. She was concentrated upon 
 him, too concentrated for his peace. She was ready to give 
 up things for him, as she had just given up her life and her 
 friends in England. But why? Was it because she loved him, 
 the man? Or was there another a not completely hidden 
 reason ? 
 
 Charmian and he went together to see the little island. The 
 owner of the garden in which it stood, with its tiny lake around 
 it, was absent in England. The old Arab house was closed. 
 But the head gardener, a Frenchman, who had spent a long life 
 in Algeria, remembered Charmian, and begged her to wander 
 wherever she pleased. She took Claude to the edge of the lake, 
 and drew him down beside her on a white seat. 
 
 And presently she said: 
 
 " Claudie, it was here I first knew I should marry you." 
 
 Claude, who had been looking in silence at the water, the 
 palm, and the curving shores covered with bamboos, flowering 
 shrubs, and trees, turned on the seat and looked at her. 
 
 " Knew that you would marry me!" he said. 
 
 Something in his eyes almost startled her. 
 
 "I mean I felt as if Fate meant to unite us."
 
 220 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 He still gazed at her with the strange expression in his eyes, 
 an expression which made her feel almost uneasy. 
 
 "Something here" she almost faltered, called on her will, 
 and continued " something here Deemed to tell me that I 
 should come here some day with you. Wasn't it strange?" 
 
 Well, yes, I suppose it was," he answered. 
 
 She thought his voice sounded insincere. 
 
 " I almost wonder," he added, "that you did not suggest 
 our coming here for our honeymoon." 
 
 "I thought of it. I wanted to." 
 
 "Then why didn't you?" 
 
 " I felt as if the right time had not come, as if I had to wait." 
 
 "And now the right time has come?" 
 
 "Yes, now it has come." 
 
 She tried to speak with energy. But her voice sounded 
 doubtful. That curious look in his eyes had filled her with an 
 unwonted indecision, had troubled her spirit. 
 
 The old gardener, who had white whiskers and narrow blue 
 eyes, came down the path under the curving pergola, carrying 
 a bunch of white and red roses in his earthy hand. 
 
 He presented it to Charmian with a bow. A young Arab, 
 who helped in the garden, showed for a moment among the 
 shrubs on the hillside. Claude saw him, followed him with 
 the eyes of one strange in Africa till he was hidden, watched 
 for his reappearance. Charmian got up. The gardener spoke 
 in a hoarse voice, telling her something about water-plants 
 and blue lilies, of which there were some in the garden, and of 
 which he seemed very proud. She glanced at Claude, then 
 walked a few steps with the old man and began to talk with 
 him. 
 
 It seemed to her that Claude had fallen into a dream. 
 
 That day, when Charmian rejoined Claude, she said: 
 
 "Old Robert has spoken to me of a villa." 
 
 "Old Robert!" 
 
 "The gardener. We are intimate friends. He has told 
 me a thousand things about Algeria, his life in the army, his 
 family. But what interests me us is that he knows of a 
 villa to be let by the year, Djenan-el-Maqui. It is old but in
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 221 
 
 good repair, pure Arab in style, so he says, and only eighty 
 pounds a year. Of course it is quite small. But there is a 
 garden. And it is only some ten or twelve minutes from here 
 in the best part of Mustapha Inferieur. Shall we go and look 
 at it now?" 
 
 "Isn't it rather late?" 
 
 "Then to-morrow," she said quickly. 
 
 "Yes, let us go to-morrow." 
 
 Djenan-el-Maqui proved to be suited to the needs of Char- 
 mian and Claude, and it charmed them both by its strangeness 
 and beauty. It lay off the high road, to the left of the Boule- 
 vard Brou, a little way down the hill; and though there were 
 many villas near it, and from its garden one could look over 
 the town, and see cavalry exercising on the Champs de Manoe- 
 uvres, which shows like a great brown wound in the fairness of 
 the city, it suggested secrecy, retirement, and peace, as only 
 old Oriental houses can. Around it was a high white wall, 
 above which the white flat-roofed house showed itself, its 
 serene line broken by two tiny white cupolas and by one 
 upstanding and lonely chamber built on the roof. On 
 passing through a doorway, which was closed by a strong 
 wooden door, the Heaths found themselves in a small paved 
 courtyard, which was roofed with bougainvillea, and pro- 
 vided with stone benches and a small stone table. The sun 
 seemed to drip through the interstices of the bright-colored 
 ceiling and made warm patches on the worn gray stone. The 
 house, with its thick white walls, and windows protected 
 by grilles, confronted them, holding its many secrets. 
 
 "We must have it, Claude," Charmian almost whispered. 
 
 "But we haven't even seen it!" he retorted, smiling. 
 
 "I know it will do." 
 
 She was right. Soon Claude loved it even more than she 
 did; loved its mysterious pillared drawing-room with the 
 small white arches, the faint-colored and ancient Moorish 
 tiles, the divans strewn with multi-colored cushions, the 
 cabinets and tables of lacquer work, and the low-set windows 
 about which the orange-hued venusta hung; the gallery 
 running right round it from which the few small bedrooms
 
 222 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 opened by low black doors; the many nooks and recesses 
 where, always against a background of colored tiles, more 
 divans and tiny coffee tables suggested repose and the quiet 
 of dreaming. He delighted in the coolness and the curious 
 silence of this abode, which threw the mind far back into a past 
 when the Arab was a law unto himself and to his household, 
 when he dreamed in what he thought full liberty, when Europe 
 concerned him not. And most of all he liked his own work- 
 room, though this was an addition to the house, and had been 
 made by a French painter who had been a former tenant. 
 This was the chamber built upon the roof, which formed 
 a flat terrace in front of it, commanding a splendid view over 
 the town, the bay, Cap Matifou, and the distant range of the 
 Atlas. Moorish tiles decorated the walls to a height of some 
 three feet, tiles purple, white, and a watery green. Above 
 them was a cream-colored distemper. At the back of the 
 room, opposite to the French window which opened on to 
 the roof, was an arched recess some four feet narrower than 
 the rest of the room, ornamented with plaques of tiles, and 
 delicate lacelike plaster-work above low windows which came 
 to within a foot and a half of the floor. A brass Oriental 
 lamp with white, green, and yellow beads hung in the archway. 
 An old carpet woven at Kairouan before the time of aniline 
 dyes was spread over the floor. White and green curtains, 
 and furniture covered in white and green, harmonized with 
 the tiles and the white and cream plaster. Through the win- 
 dows could be seen dark cypress trees, the bright blue of the sea, 
 the white and faint red of the crowding houses of the town. 
 
 It was better than the small chamber in Kensington Square, 
 better than the studio in Renwick Place. 
 
 "I ought to be able to work here!" Claude thought. 
 
 The small inner Arab court, with its fountain, its marble 
 basin containing three gold-fish, its roofed-in coffee-chamber, 
 the little dining-room separated from the rest of the house, 
 pleased them both. And Charmian took the garden, which 
 ran rather wild, and was full of geraniums, orange trees, fig 
 trees, ivy growing over old bits of wall, and untrained rose 
 bushes, into her special charge.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 223 
 
 Their household seemed likely to be a success. As cook 
 they had an astonishingly broad-bosomed Frenchwoman, 
 whom they called "La Grande Jeanne," and who immediately 
 settled down like a sort of mother of the house; a tall, tbin, 
 and birdlike Frenchman named Pierre, who had been a 
 soldier, and then for several years a servant at the Trappist 
 Monastery at Staoueli; Charmian's maid; and an Arab boy 
 whom everyone called Bibi, and who alternated between a 
 demeanor full of a graceful and apparently fatalistic languor, 
 and fits of almost monkeylike gaiety and mischief which Pierre 
 strove to repress. A small Arab girl, dressed like a little 
 woman In flowing cotton or muslin, with clinking bracelets and 
 anklets, charms on her thin bosom and scarlet and yellow silk 
 handkerchiefs on her braided hair, was also perpetually about 
 the house and the courtyard. Neither Charmian nor Claude 
 ever quite understood what had first led little Fatma there. 
 She was some relation of Bibi's, had always known La Grande 
 Jeanne, and seemed in some vague way to belong to the 
 ancient house. Very soon they would have missed her had 
 she gone. She was gentle, dignified, eternally picturesque. 
 The courtyard roofed in by the bougainvillea would have 
 seemed sad and deserted without her. 
 
 Charmian had come away from England with enthusiasm, 
 intent on the future. Till their departure life had been busy 
 and complicated. She had had a thousand things to do, 
 quantities of people to see; friends to whom she must say 
 good-bye, acquaintances, dressmakers, modistes, tailors. 
 Claude had been busy, too. He had been working at his 
 orchestration for hours every day. Charmian had never inter- 
 rupted him. It was her r6le to keep him to his work if he 
 showed signs of flagging. But he had never shown such signs. 
 London had hummed around them with its thousand suggestive 
 voices; hinting, as if without intention and because it could 
 not do otherwise, at a myriad interests, activities, passions. 
 The great city had kept their minds, and even, so it seemed to 
 Charmian and to Claude sometimes now in Africa, their hearts 
 occupied. Now they confronted a solitary life in a strange 
 country, in a milieu where they had no friends, no acquaint-
 
 224 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 ances even, except two or three casually met in the Hotel St. 
 George, and the British Consul-General and his wife, who had 
 been to call on them. 
 
 Quietude, a curious sort of emptiness, seemed to descend 
 upon them during those first days in the villa. Even Charmian 
 felt rather "flat." She was conscious of the romance of their 
 situation in this old Arab house, looking out over trees to the 
 bright-blue sea. But when she had carefully arranged and re- 
 arranged the furniture, settled on the places for the books, 
 put flowers in the vases, and had several talks with Jeanne, 
 she was acutely aware of a certain vagueness, a certain almost 
 overpowering oddity. She felt rather like a person who has 
 done in a great hurry something she did not really want to do, 
 and who understands her true feeling abruptly. 
 
 In the course of years she had become so accustomed to the 
 routine of a full life, a life charged with incessant variety of 
 interests, occupations, amusements, a life offering day after 
 day "something to look forward to," and teeming with people 
 whom she knew, that she now confronted weeks, months even, 
 of solitude with Claude almost in fear. He had his work. She 
 had never been a worker in what she considered the real sense, 
 that is a creator striving to "arrive." She conceived of such 
 work as filling the worker's whole life. She knew it must be 
 so, for she had read many lives of great men. Claude, there- 
 fore, had his life in Mustapha filled up to the brim for him. 
 But what was she going to do? 
 
 Claude, on his part, was striving to recapture in Africa the 
 desire for popularity, the longing for fame, the wish to give 
 people what they wanted of him in art, which he had some- 
 times felt of late in London. But now there were about him 
 no people who knew anything of his art or of him. The cries 
 of cultivated London had faded out of his ears. In Africa he 
 felt strongly the smallness of that world, the insignificance of 
 every little world. His true and indifferent self seemed to 
 gather strength. He fought it. He felt that it would be a foe 
 to the contemplated opera. He wished Alston Lake were 
 with them, or someone who would " wake him up." Charmian, 
 in her present condition, lacked the force which he had often
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 225 
 
 felt in London, a force which had often secretly irritated and 
 troubled him, but which had not been without tonic properties. 
 
 With very great difficulty, with a heavy reluctance of which 
 he was ashamed, he exerted his will, he forced himself to begin 
 the appointed task. With renewed and anxious attention he 
 re-studied the libretto. He laid out his music-paper, closed his 
 door, and hoped for a stirring of inspiration, or at least of some 
 power within him which would enable him to make a start. By 
 experience he knew that once he was in a piece of work some- 
 thing helped him, often drove him. He must get to that 
 something. He recalled those dreadful first days in Kensing- 
 ton Square, when he read Carlyle's French Revolution and 
 sometimes felt criminal. There must be nothing of that kind 
 here. And, thank Heaven, this was not Kensington Square. 
 Peace and beauty were here. All the social ties were broken. 
 If he could not compose an opera here it was certain that he 
 could never compose one anywhere. As inspiration was slow 
 in coming he began to write almost at haphazard, uncritically, 
 carelessly. "I will do a certain amount every day," he said 
 to himself, "whether I feel inclined to or not." 
 
 Inevitably, as the days went by, he and Charmian grew 
 more at ease in, more accustomed to, the new way of life. 
 They fell into habits of living. Claude was at last beginning 
 to "feel" his opera. The complete novelty of his task puzzled 
 him, put a strain on his nerves and his brain. But at the same 
 time it roused perforce his intellectual activities. Even the 
 tug at his will which he was obliged frequently to give, seemed 
 to strengthen certain fibers of his intellect. This opera was 
 not going to be easy in its coming. But it must, it should come ! 
 
 Charmian decided to take up a course of reading and wrote 
 to Susan Fleet, who was in London, begging her to send out a 
 series of books on theosophical practice and doctrine suitable 
 to a totally ignorant inquirer. Charmian chose to take a 
 course of reading on theosophy simply because of her admira- 
 tion and respect for Susan Fleet. Ever since she had known 
 Susan, and made that confession to her, she had been "going" 
 to read something about the creed which seemed to make 
 Susan so happy and so attractive. But she had never found 
 the time. At length the opportunity presented itself. 
 
 15
 
 226 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Susan Fleet sent out a parcel of manuals by Annie Besant 
 and Leadbeater, among them The Astral Plane, Reincarnation, 
 Death and Ajter? and The Seven Principles of Man. She 
 also sent bigger books by Sinnet, Bjavatsky, and Steiner. 
 But she advised Charmian to begin with the manuals, and to 
 read slowly, and only a little at a time. Susan was no pro- 
 pagandist, but she was a sensible woman. She hated " scamp- 
 ing." If Charmian were in earnest she had best be put in the 
 right way. The letter which accompanied the books was long 
 and calmly serious. When Charmian had read it she felt 
 almost alarmed at the gravity of the task which she had chosen 
 to confront. It had been easy to have energy for Claude in 
 London. She feared it would be less easy to have energy for 
 herself in Mustapha. But she resolved not to shrink back now. 
 Rather vaguely she imagined that through theosophy lay the 
 path to serenity and patience. Just now indeed, for a long 
 time to come, she needed, would need above all things, patience. 
 In calm must be made the long preparations for that which 
 some day would fill her life and Claude's with excitement, with 
 glory, with the fever of fame. For the first time she really 
 understood something of the renunciation which must make up 
 so large a part of every true artist's life. Sometimes she won- 
 dered what Madame Sennier's life had been while Jacques 
 Sennier was composing Le Paradis Terrestre, how long he 
 had taken in the creation of that stupendous success. Then 
 resolutely she turned to her little manuals. 
 
 She had begun with The Seven Principles of Man. The 
 short preface had attracted her. "Life easier to bear death 
 easier to face." If theosophy helped men and women to the 
 finding of that its value was surely inestimable. Charmian 
 was not obsessed by any dark thoughts of death. But she con- 
 sidered that she knew quite well the weight of time's burden 
 in life. She needed help to make the waiting easier. For some- 
 times, when she was sitting alone, the prospect seemed almost 
 intolerable. The crowded Opera House, the lights, the thunder 
 of applause, the fixed attention of the world they were all so 
 far away. 
 
 Resolutely she read The Seven Principles of Man.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 227 
 
 Then she dipped into Reincarnation and Death and After? 
 
 Although she did not at all fully understand much of what 
 she read, she received from these three books two dominant 
 impressions. One was of illimitable vastness, the other of an 
 almost horrifying smallness. She read, re-read, and, for the 
 moment, that is when she was shut in alone with the books, 
 her life with Claude presented itself to her like a mote in space. 
 Of what use was it to concentrate, to strive, to plan, to re- 
 nounce, to build as if for eternity, if the soul were merely a 
 rapid traveller, passing hurriedly on from body to body, as a 
 feverish and unsatisfied being, homeless and alone, passes 
 from hotel to hotel? Were she and Claude only joined to- 
 gether for a moment? She tried to realize thoroughly the 
 theosophical attitude of mind, to force herself to regard her 
 existence with Claude from the theosophical standpoint as, 
 say, Mrs. Besant might, probably must, regard her life with 
 anyone. She certainly did not succeed in this effort. But 
 she attained to a sort of nightmare conception of the futility 
 of passing relations with other hurrying lives. And she tried 
 to imagine herself alone without Claude in her life. 
 
 Instantly her mind began to concern itself with Claude's 
 talent, and she began to imagine herself without her present 
 aim in her life. 
 
 One day while she was doing this she heard the distant 
 sound of a piano above her. Claude was playing over a 
 melody which he had just composed for the opening scene of 
 the opera. Charmian got up, went to the window, leaned out, 
 and listened. And immediately the nightmare sensation 
 dropped from her. She was, or felt as if she were, conscious 
 of permanence, stability. Her connection with that man 
 above her, who was playing upon the piano, suddenly seemed 
 durable, almost as if it would be everlasting. Claude was 
 " her man," his talent belonged to her. She could not conceive 
 of herself deprived of them, of her life without them. 
 
 Early in the New Year the Heaths received a visit from 
 Armand Gillier, the writer of Claude's libretto. He had come 
 over from Paris to see his family, who lived at St. Eugene. 
 Charmian had met him in Paris, but Claude had never seen
 
 him, though he had corresponded with him, and sent him a 
 cheque of 100 for his work. 
 
 Armand Gillier was a small, rather square built man of 
 thirty-two, with a very polite manner-and a decidedly brusque 
 mind. His face was handsome, with a straight nose, strong 
 jaw, and large, widely opened, and very expressive dark eyes. 
 A vigorous and unusually broad moustache curled upward 
 above his sensual mouth. And the dark hair which closely 
 covered his well-shaped head was drenched with eau de 
 quinine. 
 
 Gillier was not a gentleman. His father was a small vine- 
 grower and cultivator, who had been rather disgusted by the 
 fugues of his eldest son, but who was now resigned to the 
 latter's etranges folies. The fact that Armand, after pre- 
 posterously joining the Foreign Legion, and then preposter- 
 ously leaving it, had actually been paid a hundred pounds down 
 for a piece of literary work, had made his father have some 
 hopes of him. 
 
 When he arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui Claude was at work, 
 and Charmian recieved him. She was delighted to have such 
 a visitor. Here was a denizen of the real Bohemia, and one 
 who, by the strange ties of ambition, was closely connected 
 with Claude and herself. She sat with the writer in the cool 
 and secretive drawing-room, smoking cigarettes with him, and 
 preparing him for Claude. 
 
 This man must "fire" Claude. 
 
 Gillier had been born and brought up in Algeria. All that 
 was strange to the Heaths was commonplace to him. But he 
 had an original and forcible mind and a keen sense of the 
 workings of environment and circumstance upon humanity. 
 At first he was very polite and formal, a mere bundle of good 
 manners. But under Charmian's carefully calculated in- 
 fluence, he changed. He perhaps guessed what her object 
 was, guessed that success for him might be involved in it. 
 And, suddenly abandoning his formality, he exclaimed: 
 
 " Eh bien, madame! And of what nature is your husband?" 
 
 Charmian looked at him and hesitated. 
 
 "Is he bold, strong, fierce, open-hearted? Has he lived, 
 loved, and suffered? Or is he gentle, closed, retiring, subtle,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 229 
 
 morbid perhaps? Does he live in the dreams of his soul, in the 
 twilight of his beautiful imaginings?" 
 
 Lifting his rather coarse and powerful hands to his mous- 
 tache, he pulled at the upward-pointing ends. 
 
 "I wish to know this," he exclaimed. "Because it is 
 important for me. My libretto was written by one who has 
 lived, and the man who sets it to music must have lived also 
 to do it justice." 
 
 There was a fierceness, characteristic of Algerians of a 
 certain class, in his manner now that he had got rid of his first 
 formality. 
 
 Charmian felt slightly embarrassed. At that moment she 
 hoped strongly that her husband would not come down. For 
 the first time she realized the gulf fixed between Claude and 
 the libretto which she had found for him. But he must bridge 
 that gulf out here. She looked hard at this short, brusque, and 
 rather violent young man. Armand Gillier must help Claude 
 to bridge that gulf. 
 
 "Take another cigarette. I'll tell you about my husband," 
 she said.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MRS SHIFFNEY, who was perpetually changing her 
 mind in the chase after happiness, changed it about 
 India. After all the preparations had been made, in- 
 numerable gowns and hats had been bought, a nice party had 
 been arranged, and the yacht had been "sent round" to Naples, 
 she decided that she did not want to go, had never wanted to 
 go. Whether the defection of a certain Spanish ex-diplomat, 
 who was to have been among the guests, had anything to do 
 with her sudden dislike of "that boresome India," perhaps 
 only she knew, and the ex-diplomat guessed. The whole 
 thing was abruptly given up, and January found her in Gros- 
 venor Square, much disgusted with her persecution by Fate, 
 and wondering what on earth was to become of her. 
 
 In such crises she generally sent for Susan Fleet, if the 
 theosophist were within reach. She now decided to telegraph 
 to Folkestone, where Susan was staying in lodgings not far 
 from the house of dear old Mrs. Simpkins. Susan replied that 
 she would come up on the following day, and she duly arrived 
 just before the hour of lunch. 
 
 She found Mrs. Shiffney dressed to go out. 
 
 "Oh, Susan, what a mercy to see you! We are going to 
 the Ritz. We shall be by ourselves. I want you to advise me 
 what to do. Things have got so mixed up. Is the motor 
 there?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Come along, then." 
 
 At the Ritz, although she met many acquaintances. Mrs. 
 Shiffney would not join any one for lunch or let any one 
 join her. 
 
 " Susan and I have important matters to discuss," she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 Her face and manner had completely changed directly she 
 got out of the motor. She now looked radiant, like one for 
 
 230
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 231 
 
 -whom life held nothing but good things. And all the time 
 she and Susan were lunching and talking she preserved a 
 radiant demeanor. Her reward was that everyone said how 
 handsome Adelaide Shiffney was looking. She even succeeded 
 in continuing to look handsome when she found that Susan 
 had made private plans for the immediate future. 
 
 "I've promised to go to Algiers," Susan said over the 
 csujs en cocotte, when Mrs. Shiffney asked what was to be done 
 to make things lively. 
 
 "To Algiers! Why? What is there to do there? You 
 know it inside out." 
 
 "Scarcely that. I'm going to stay with Charmian Heath." 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney's large mouth suddenly looked a little hard, 
 though her general expression hardly altered. 
 
 "Oh! Whereabouts are they?" 
 
 "Up at Mustapha, not far from Mrs. Graham." 
 
 "They say he's trying to write an opera. Poor fellow! 
 The very last thing he could do, I should think. But she 
 pushes him on. Since that song of his I forget the name, 
 heart something or other her head has been completely 
 turned about his talent. The fact is, Susan, Sennier's sudden 
 fame has turned all their heads, the young composers, les 
 jeunes, you know. They are all trying to write operas. In 
 Paris it's too absurd! But an Englishman, with his tempera- 
 ment, too Oliver Cromwell in Harris tweed! she must be 
 mad. Of course even if he ever finishes it he will never get it 
 produced." 
 
 Susan quietly went on eating her eggs. 
 
 "A totally unknown man. She thinks that song has made 
 him quite a celebrity. But nobody has ever heard of 
 him." 
 
 "Nobody had ever heard of Sennier till that night at 
 Covent Garden," observed Susan, lifting a glass of water 
 to her lips. 
 
 "Oh, yes, they had!" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney's musical passion for Sennier often led her to 
 embroider facts. 
 
 "Among the people who matter in Paris he was quite 
 famous."
 
 232 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Oh, I didn't know that," said Susan, without a trace of 
 doubt or of sarcasm. 
 
 "How could you? Besides, Sennier is a great man, the 
 only man we have, in fact. So you were going to stay with 
 the Heaths?" 
 
 "I am going. I promised Charmian Heath." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "In about ten days, I think. My mother is rather unwell, 
 only a bad cold. But I like to be at Folkestone to help Mrs. 
 Simpkins." 
 
 "Susan, what an extraordinary person you are!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "You are. But you are so extraordinary that I could 
 never make you see why. Sandringham and Mrs. Simpkins! 
 There is no one like you." 
 
 She branched off to various topics, but presently returned 
 to the Algerian visit. 
 
 "What do you think of Charmian Heath, Susan really 
 think, I mean? Do you care for her?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean as a theosophist, I mean as a human 
 being." 
 
 Susan smiled. "We are human beings." 
 
 "You are certainly. But, of course, I know you embrace 
 Charmian Heath with your universal love, just as you em- 
 brace me and Mrs. Simpkins and the King and the crossing- 
 sweeper at the corner. That doesn't interest me. I wish 
 to know whether you like her as you don't like me and the 
 King and the crossing-sweeper?" 
 
 " Charmian Heath and I are good friends. I am interested 
 in her." 
 
 "In a woman!" 
 
 " Greatly because she is a woman." 
 
 "I know you're a suffragette at heart!" 
 
 They talked a little about politics. When coffee came, 
 Mrs. Shiffney suddenly said: 
 
 "I'll take you over to Algiers, Susan." 
 
 "But you don't want to go there." 
 
 "It's absurd your going in one of those awful steamers
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 233 
 
 from Marseilles when the yacht is only about half an hour 
 away." 
 
 "Half an hour! I thought she was at Naples." 
 
 "I said about half an hour on purpose to be accurate." 
 
 "Really, I would just as soon take the steamer," said 
 Susan. 
 
 This definite, though very gentle, resistance to her suddenly 
 conceived project decided Mrs. Shiffney. If Susan genuinely 
 wished to go to Algiers by the public steamer, then she would 
 have to go on the yacht. Mrs. Shiffney had realized from the 
 beginning of their conversation that Susan wished to go to 
 Algiers alone. There had been something in the tone of her 
 voice, in her expression, her quiet manner, which had con- 
 vinced Mrs. Shiffney of that. Her curiosity was awake, and 
 something else. 
 
 "Susan dear, you must allow me to take care of you as 
 far as Algiers," she said. "If you don't want me there I'll 
 just put you ashore on the beach, near Cap Matifou or some- 
 where, and leave you there with your trunks. You are an 
 eccentric, but that's no reason why you shouldn't have a 
 comfortable voyage." 
 
 "Very well. It's very kind of you, Adelaide," Susan 
 returned, without a trace of vexation. 
 
 That very day Mrs. Shiffney telegraphed to the captain 
 of the yacht to bring her round to Marseilles. In the evening 
 Susan Fleet returned to Folkestone. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney did not intend to make the journey alone 
 with Susan, and to be left "in the air" at Algiers. She must 
 get a man or two. After a few minutes' thought she sent a 
 message to Max Elliot asking him to look in upon her. When 
 he came she invited him to join the party. 
 
 " You must come," she said. " Only ten days or so. Surely 
 you can get away. And you'll see your protege, Mr. Heath. 
 
 "My protege!" 
 
 "Well, you were the first to discover him." 
 
 "But he's impossible. A charming fellow with undoubted 
 talent, but so bearish about his music. I gave it up, as you 
 know, though I'm always the Heaths' very good friend." 
 
 "Well, but his song?"
 
 234 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "One song! What's that? And his wife made him 
 compose it. Nobody has ever heard his really fine work, 
 his Te Deum, and his settings of sacred words." 
 
 "His wife and mother have, I believe." 
 
 "His wife yes. And she will take care no one else ever 
 does hear them now." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Max Elliot looked at Mrs. Shiffney. Into his big and 
 genial eyes there came an expression of light sarcasm, almost 
 of contempt. He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Art and the world!" he said enigmatically. 
 
 "Well, but, Max, don't you represent the world in con- 
 nection with the art of music?" 
 
 "I! Do I?" he said, suddenly grave. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "I should think so, mon cher. I don't believe either you 
 or I have a right to talk!" 
 
 It was a moment of truth, and was followed, as truth often 
 is, by a moment of silence. Then Mrs. Shiffney said: 
 
 "Claude Heath has gone to Algiers to compose an opera." 
 
 "Oh, all this opera madness is owing to the success of 
 Jacques!" 
 
 "Of course. I know that. But another Jacques might 
 spring up, I suppose. Henriette wouldn't like that." 
 
 "Like it!" exclaimed Max Elliot, twisting his thick lips. 
 "She wants a clear field for the next big event. And I must 
 say she deserves it." 
 
 "Just what I think. Well, you'll come to Algiers and hear 
 how the new opera's getting on?" 
 
 He glanced at her determined eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I'll come. But it must be only for ten days. I've 
 got such a lot of work on hand!" 
 
 "Perhaps I'll ask Ferdinand to come, too. Or ' 
 
 Suddenly Mrs. Shiffney leaned forward. Her face had 
 become eager, almost excited. 
 
 "Shall I ask Henriette and Jacques to come with us? 
 They don't go to New York this year." 
 
 Max Elliot seemed to hesitate. He was an enthusiast, 
 and apt to be carried away by his enthusiasms, sometimes
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 235 
 
 even into absurdity. But he was a thoroughly good fellow, 
 and had not the slightest aptitude or taste for intrigue. Mrs. 
 Shiffney saw his hesitation. 
 
 "I will ask them," she said, "Charmian Heath will love 
 to know them, I'm sure. She has such a fine taste in celeb- 
 rities." 
 
 On a brilliant day in the first week of February The 
 Wanderer glided into the harbor of Algiers, and, like a 
 sentient being with a discriminating brain, picked her way 
 to her moorings. On board of her were Mrs. Shiffney, Susan 
 Fleet, Madame Sennier, Jacques Sennier, and Max Elliot. 
 
 The composer had been very ill on the voyage. His 
 lamentations and cries of "Ah, mon Dieu!" and "0 la la 
 Id!" had been distressing. Madame Sennier had never left 
 him. She had nursed him as if he were a child, holding his 
 poor stomach and back in the great crises of his malady, lay- 
 ing him firmly on his enormous pillows when exhaustion 
 brought a moment of respite, feeding him with a spoon and 
 drenching him with eau de Cologne. She now gave bim her 
 arm to help him on deck, twining a muffler round his meager 
 throat. 
 
 "It's lovely, my cabbage! You must lift the head! 
 You must regard the jewelled Colonial crown of our beloved 
 France!" 
 
 " A h, mon Dieu! la la la!" replied her celebrated husband. 
 
 "My little chicken, you must have courage!" 
 
 Susan Fleet had let Charmian know how she was coming, 
 and had mentioned Mrs. Shiffney. But she had said nothing 
 about the Senniers, for the simple reason that Adelaide had 
 told her nothing about them until they stepped into the 
 wagon-lit in Paris. Then she had remarked carelessly: 
 
 "Oh, yes, I believe they're crossing with us! Why not?" 
 
 As soon as the yacht was moored the whole party prepared 
 to leave her. Rooms had been engaged in advance at the 
 Hotel St. George. And Susan Fleet was going at once to 
 Djenan-el-Maqui. 
 
 "Tell Charmian Heath I'll look in this afternoon with
 
 236 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Max, Susan, about tea-time. Don't say anything about the 
 Senniers. They won't come, I'm sure. He says he's going 
 straight to bed directly he reaches the hotel. Charmian 
 would be disappointed. I'll explain to her." 
 
 These were Mrs. Shiffney's last words to Susan, as she 
 pulled down her thick white veil, opened her parasol, and 
 stepped into the landau to drive up to the hotel. Madame 
 Sennier was already in the carriage, where the composer lay 
 back opposite to her with closed eyes. Even the brilliant 
 sunshine, the soft and delicious air, the gay cries and the 
 movement at the wharf, where many Arabs were unloading 
 bales of goods from the ships, or were touting for employment 
 as porters and guides, failed to rouse him. 
 
 "I must go to bed!" was his sole remark. 
 
 "My cat, you shall have the best bed in Africa and stay 
 there for a week. Only have courage for another five 
 minutes!" said his wife, speaking to him with the intonation 
 of a strong-hearted mother reassuring a little child. 
 
 When Susan arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui she found Char- 
 mian there alone. Charmian greeted her eagerly, but looked 
 at her anxiously, almost suspiciously, after the first kiss. 
 
 "Where's Adelaide? On the yacht?" 
 
 " She's gone to the Hotel St. George." 
 
 "Oh! Close to us! How long is she going to stay? Oh, 
 Susan, why did you let her come?" 
 
 "I couldn't help it. But why need you mind?" 
 
 "Adelaide hates me!" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "She does. And you know it." 
 
 "I really don't think she has time to hate you, Charmian. 
 And Adelaide can be very kind." 
 
 "Your theosophy prevents you from allowing that there 
 are any faults in your friends. Yes, Susan, it does." 
 
 "Have you read the manuals carefully?" 
 
 "Yes, but I can't think of them now. Adelaide's being 
 here will spoil everything." 
 
 "No it won't! She'll only stay a day or two, not that, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "But why did she come at all?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 237 
 
 "She didn't tell me. She's coming to see you to-day 
 with Mr. Elliot." 
 
 "Max Elliot, too! Of course it is Claude whom Adelaide 
 wants to see. I quite understand that. But he's not here." 
 
 "What has become of him?" 
 
 "Susan, you know of course he wished to welcome you. 
 He is devoted to you. But well, the truth is" she slightly 
 lowered her voice, although there was no one in the room 
 "he had to go away for the opera. He has gone to Con- 
 stantine with Armand Gillier, the author of the libretto, to 
 study the native music there, and military life, I believe. 
 There is a big garrison at Constantine, you know. Monsieur 
 Gillier is a most valuable friend for Claude, and can help him 
 tremendously in many ways; with the opera, I mean." 
 
 She stopped. Then she added: 
 
 "Adelaide Shiffney might have been of great use to Claude, 
 too. But before we were married he offended her, I think. 
 And now, of course, she's on the other side." 
 
 "I don't know whether I quite understand what you 
 mean." 
 
 "She's on Sennier's side." 
 
 It seemed to Susan Fleet that Charmian was living rather 
 prematurely in a future that was somewhat problematic. 
 But she only said: 
 
 "Don't let us make too much of it. I hoped you might 
 learn from the manuals not to worry. But while I'm here 
 we can talk them over, if you like." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Charmian, changing, melting almost into 
 happiness. "Oh, I am glad you've come, even though it 
 entails Adelaide for a day or two. Of course she knows about 
 the opera?" 
 
 "Yes, she does." 
 
 "I knew." She looked into Susan's face, smiled, and 
 concluded: "Never mind!" 
 
 At five o'clock that day the peace of Djenan-el-Maqui was 
 broken by the sound of animated voices in the courtyard. 
 A bell jangled and a moment later Pierre, with his most bird- 
 like demeanor, ushered into the drawing-room Mrs. Shiffney, 
 Madame Sennier, her husband, and Max Elliot.
 
 238 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "What a dear little house!" said Mrs. Shiffney, looking 
 quickly round her with searching eyes, while they waited for 
 their hostess. "Nothing worth twopence-halfpenny, but 
 nothing wrong. I declare I quite envy- them." 
 
 "It's charming!" said Max Elliot. 
 
 "Love in a harem! Better than in a cottage." 
 
 Madame Sennier pushed up her huge floating veil and 
 showed her powerful face of a clown covered with white 
 pigment. Her lips made a scarlet bar across it. 
 
 "What is she like? I remember the man. He's clever." 
 
 "Oh, she she is charming; thin and charming." 
 
 "That's well!" observed the composer. "That's very 
 well." 
 
 He appeared to have quite recovered from his despair, and 
 now looked almost defiantly cheerful. Small in body, with 
 a narrow chest and shoulders, and a weakly growing beard, 
 he was nevertheless remarkable, even striking in appearance. 
 His large nose suggested Semitic blood, but also power, which 
 was shown, too, in his immense forehead and strong, energetic 
 head. He had a habit of blinking his eyes. But they were 
 fine eyes, full of feeling, imagination, and emotion, but also at 
 moments full of sarcasm and shrewdness. His dark, hairy and 
 small hands were rather monkeylike, and looked destructive. 
 
 "Every woman should be thin and charming," he con- 
 tinued. "The camel species, the elephant-type, the cowlike 
 ruminating specimen milky mother of the lowing herd, as an 
 English poet has expressed it, and very well, too should" 
 he flung out one little hairy hand vehemently "go with 
 the advance of corset-makers and civilization. She comes!" 
 
 The door had opened, and Charmian came in. 
 
 Instantly her eyes fastened on Madame Sennier. 
 
 She was so surprised that she stood still by the door, and 
 her whole face was suffused with blood. So much had this 
 woman meant, did she still mean in Charmian's life, that 
 even the habit of the world did not help Charmian to complete 
 self-control at this moment. 
 
 "I'm afraid our coming has quite startled you," said Mrs. 
 Shiffney. "Didn't Susan tell you we were going to look in?" 
 
 "Yes, of course. I'm delighted!"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 239 
 
 Charmian moved. She was secretly furious with herself. 
 
 Max Elliot took her hand, and Mrs. Shiffney carelessly 
 introduced the Senniers. 
 
 "What a dear little retreat you've found here, and how 
 deliciously you've arranged everything," she said. "You've 
 made a perfect nest for your genius. We are all longing to 
 see him." 
 
 They were sitting now. Charmian was on a divan beside 
 Madame Sennier. 
 
 "A clever man!" said Madame Sennier, decisively. "I 
 met him once at the opera. You remember, Jacques, I told 
 you what he said about your orchestration?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, about my use of the flutes in connection with 
 muted strings and the horns to give the effect of water." 
 
 "I want Monsieur Sennier to know him," said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 "I'm so sorry, but he's not here," said Charmian. 
 
 Just then Susan Fleet came in. Mrs. Shiffney turned to 
 her. 
 
 "Susan! Such a disappointment! But, of course, you 
 know!" 
 
 "About Mr. Heath? Yes." 
 
 "Has he gone back to England?" said Max Elliot. 
 
 "Oh, no. He's in Algeria." 
 
 Charmian obviously hesitated, saw that any want of frank- 
 ness would seem extraordinary, and added: 
 
 "He has gone to Constantine with a friend." 
 
 Her voice was reluctant. 
 
 "Do have some tea!" she added quickly, pulling the bell, 
 which Pierre promptly answered with the tea things. 
 
 "Constantine!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "That's no distance, 
 only a night in the train. Can't you persuade him to come 
 back and see us? Do be a dear and telegraph." 
 
 She spoke in her most airy way. 
 
 "I would in a minute. But he's not gone merely to amuse 
 himself." 
 
 "The opera!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "By the way, is it 
 indiscreet to ask who wrote the libretto?" 
 
 Ag ain Charmian hesitated, and again overcame her hesi- 
 tation.
 
 240 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "It is by a Frenchman, or rather an Algerian, French but 
 born here. His name is Gillier." 
 
 "Armand Gillier?" exclaimed Madame Sennier, while her 
 husband threw out his hands in a gesture of surprise. 
 
 "Yes. Do you know him?" 
 
 " Know him ! " exclaimed the composer. " When have I not 
 known him? Three libretti by him have I rejected three, 
 madame. He challenged me to a duel, pistols, if you please ! I 
 to fire, and perhaps be shot, because he cannot write a good lib- 
 retto ! Which has your poor unfortunate husband accepted? " 
 
 Charmian handed the tea. She felt Madame Sennier's 
 hard and observant eyes they were yellow eyes, and small 
 fixed upon her. 
 
 "Claude's libretto has never been offered to anyone else," 
 she answered. 
 
 Madame Sennier slightly shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "And so Gillier is with your husband!" she observed. 
 Apparently she was clairvoyante. "Well, madame, you are 
 a brave woman. That is all I can say!" 
 
 "Brave! But why?" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney's eyes looked full of laughter. 
 
 "Why, Henriette?" she asked, leaning forward. "Do tell 
 us." 
 
 "Gillier makes other people like he is," said Madame 
 Sennier. "But what does it matter? Each one for himself! 
 Don't you say that in England?" 
 
 She had turned to Max Elliot. 
 
 "That applies specially to women," she continued, with 
 her curiously ruthless and too self-possessed air. "Each 
 woman for herself, and the Devil will carefully take the hind- 
 most. Why should he not?" 
 
 She shot another glance at Charmian, a glance penetrating 
 and cold as a dagger. Charmian felt that she hated this 
 woman. And yet she admired her immensely, too. Madame 
 Sennier would never be taken by the Devil because she was 
 the hindmost. That was certain. 
 
 Max Elliot began to talk to Sennier and Mrs. Shiffney. 
 Susan Fleet went over to sit with them. And Charmian had 
 an opportunity for conversation with Madame Sennier.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 241 
 
 She secretly shrank from her, yet she longed to be more 
 intimate with her, to learn something from her. She felt 
 that the Frenchwoman was completely unscrupulous. She 
 saw cruelty in those yellow eyes. The red mouth was hard 
 as a bar of iron in the artificial white face. Madame Sennier 
 moved in a sea of perfume. And even this perfume troubled 
 and disgusted, yet half fascinated Charmian, suggesting to 
 her knowledge that she did not possess, and that perhaps 
 helped on the way of ambition. She felt like an ignorant 
 child, and almost preposterously English, as she talked to 
 Madame Sennier, who became voluble in reply. There was 
 something meridional in her manner and her fluency. Char- 
 mian felt sure that Madame Sennier had risen out of depths 
 about which she, Charmian, knew nothing. She wondered 
 if this woman loved her husband, or only loved the genius in 
 him which helped her to rise, which brought her wealth, in- 
 fluence, even, it seemed, a curious adoration. She wondered, 
 too, if this woman had known the first Madame Sennier. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Shiffney got up. She was apt to be rest- 
 less. 
 
 "May we go and look about outside?" she said. 
 
 "Of course. Shall I" 
 
 "No, no. I see you are interested in each other. Two 
 wives of geniuses! I don't want to spoil it. Come, Jacques, 
 let us explore." 
 
 They went away to the court of the gold-fish. Max Elliot 
 followed them. As they went Madame Sennier fixed her eyes 
 for a moment on her departing husband. In that moment 
 Charmian found out something. Madame Sennier certainly 
 cared for the man, as well as for the composer. Charmian 
 fancied that love, that softness for the one, bred hatred, 
 hardness, for many others, that it was an exclusive and almost 
 terrible love. Now that she was alone with Madame Sennier, 
 enclosed as it were in that strong perfume, she felt almost 
 afraid of her. She was conscious of being with someone far 
 cleverer than herself. And she realized what an effective 
 weapon in certain hands is an absolute lack of scruple. It 
 seemed to her as she sat and talked, about Paris, America, 
 London, art, music, that this woman must have divined her 
 
 16
 
 242 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 secret and intense ambition. Those yellow eyes had surely 
 looked into her soul, and knew that she had brought Claude 
 to Algeria in order that some day he might come forth as the 
 rival of Jacques Sennier. Almost she ielt guilty. She made 
 a strong effort, and turned the conversation to the subject of 
 the Paradis Terrestre, expressing her enthusiasm for it. 
 
 Madame Sennier received the praises with an air of gracious 
 indifference, as if her husband's opera were now so famous 
 that it was scarcely worth while to talk about it. This care- 
 lessness accentuated brutally the difference between her 
 position and Charmian's. And it stung Charmian into in- 
 discretion. Something fiery and impetuous seemed to rise 
 up in her, something that wanted to fight. She began to 
 speak of her husband's talent. 
 
 Madame Sennier listened politely, as one who listens on a 
 height to small voices stealing vaguely up from below. Char- 
 mian began to underline things. It was as if one of the voices 
 from below became strident in the determination to be ade- 
 quately heard, to make its due effect. Finally she was be- 
 trayed into saying: 
 
 "Of course we wives of composers are apt to be prejudiced." 
 
 Madame Sennier stared. 
 
 "But," added Charmian, "people who really know think 
 a great deal of my husband; Mr. Crayford, for instance." 
 
 Directly she had said this she repented of it. She realized 
 that Claude would have hated the remark had he heard it. 
 
 Madame Sennier seemed unimpressed, and at that moment 
 the others came in from the garden. But Charmian, why she 
 did not know, felt increasing regret for her inadvertence. 
 She even wished that Madame Sennier had shown some 
 emotion, surprise, even contemptuous incredulity. The 
 complete blankness of the Frenchwoman at that moment 
 made Charmian uneasy. 
 
 When they were all going Mrs. Shiffney insisted on Charmian 
 and Susan Fleet dining at the Hotel St. George that evening. 
 Charmian wanted to refuse and wished to go. Of course 
 she accepted. She and Susan had no engagement to plead. 
 
 Jacques Sennier clasped her hands on parting and gazed 
 fervently into her eyes.
 
 'OF COURSE WE WIVES OF COMPOSERS ARE APT TO BE 
 PREJUDICED ' "Pa?e 242
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 243 
 
 "Let me come sometimes and sit in your garden, may I, 
 Madame? " he said, as if begging for some great boon. "Only" 
 he lowered his voice "only till your husband comes back. 
 There is inspiration here!" 
 
 Charmian knew he was talking nonsense. Nevertheless 
 she glanced round half in dread of Madame Sennier. The 
 yellow eyes were smiling. The white face looked humorously 
 sarcastic. 
 
 "Of course! Whenever you like!" she said lightly. 
 
 The monkey-like hands pressed hers more closely. 
 
 "The freedom of Africa, you give it me!" 
 
 He whisked round, with a sharp and absurd movement, 
 and joined the others. 
 
 "She is delicious!" he observed, as they walked away. 
 "But she is very undeveloped. She has certainly never 
 suffered. And no woman can be of much use to an artist 
 unless she has suffered." 
 
 "Henriette, have you suffered?" said Mrs. Shiffney, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Terribly!" said Jacques Sennier, answering for his wife. 
 "But unfortunately not through me. That is the great flaw 
 in our connection." 
 
 He frowned. 
 
 "I must make her suffer!" he muttered. 
 
 "My cabbage, you are a little fool and you know it!" 
 observed Madame Sennier imperturbably. "Mon Dieu! 
 What dust!" 
 
 They had emerged into the road, and were enveloped in a 
 cloud sent up by a passing motor. 
 
 "If it doesn't rain, or they don't water the roads, I shall 
 run away to Constantine," observed Mrs. Shiffney. "There'll 
 be no dust in Constantine at this time of year."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IN the evening of the following day Charmian and Susan 
 Fleet had just sat down to dinner, and Pierre was about to 
 lift the lid off the soup tureen, when there was a ring at the 
 front door bell. 
 
 "What can that be?" said Charmian. 
 
 She looked at Susan. 
 
 " Susan, I feel as if it were somebody, or something im- 
 portant." 
 
 Pierre raised the lid with a pathetic gesture, and went out 
 carrying it high in his left hand. 
 
 "I wonder what it is?" said Charmian. 
 
 All day they had not seen Mrs. Shiffney or her party. 
 They had passed the hours alone in the garden, talking, 
 working, reading, but chiefly discussing Charmian's affairs. 
 And calm had flowed upon Charmian, had enfolded her almost 
 against her will. At the end of the day she had said: 
 
 "Susan, you do me more good than anyone I know. I 
 don't understand how it is, but you seem to purify me almost, 
 as a breeze from the sea when it's calm purifies a room if 
 you open the window to it." 
 
 But now, as she waited for Pierre's return, she felt strung 
 up and excited. 
 
 "If it should be Claude come back!" she said. 
 
 "Would he ring?" asked Susan. 
 
 "No. But he might!" 
 
 At this moment a loud murmur of talk was audible in the 
 hall, and then a voice exclaiming: 
 
 "Ca ne Jait rien! Ca ne Jait rienl Laissez moi passer, 
 mon bonl" 
 
 "Surely it's Monsieur Sennier!" exclaimed Charmian. 
 
 As she spoke, the door opened and the composer entered, 
 pushing past Pierre, whose thin face wore an outraged look. 
 
 "Me void!" he exclaimed. "Deserted, abandoned, I 
 
 244
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 245 
 
 come to you. How can I eat alone in a hotel? It is im- 
 possible! I tried. I sat down. They brought me caviare, 
 potage. I looked, raised my fork, my spoon. Impossible! 
 Will you save me from myself? See, I am in my smoking! 
 I shall not disgrace you." 
 
 "Of course! Pierre, please lay another place. But who 
 has abandoned you?" 
 
 "Everyone Henriette, Adelaide, even the faithful Max. 
 They would have taken me, but I refused to go." 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "Batna, Biskra, que sais-je? Adelaide is restless as an 
 enraged cat!" 
 
 He sat down, and began greedily to eat his soup. 
 
 "Ah, this is good! Your cook is to be loved. For once 
 may I?" 
 
 Glancing up whimsically, almost like a child, he lifted his 
 napkin toward his collar. 
 
 "I may! Madame, you are an angel. You are a flock of 
 angels. Why, I said to them, should I leave this beautiful 
 city to throw myself into the arms of a mad librettist, who 
 desires my blood simply because he cannot write? Must 
 genius die because an idiot has practised on bottles with a 
 revolver? It shall not be!" 
 
 "Do you mean Monsieur Gillier? Then they are going 
 to Constantine!" said Charmian sharply. 
 
 "To Constantine, Tunis, Batna, Biskra, the Sahara 
 que sais-je? Adelaide is like a cat enraged! She cannot 
 rest! And she has seduced my Henriette." 
 
 He seemed perfectly contented, ate an excellent dinner, 
 stayed till very late in the night, talked, joked, and finally, 
 sitting down at the piano, played and sang. He was by turns 
 a farceur, a wit, a man of emotion, a man with a touch of 
 genius. And in everything he said and did he was almost 
 preposterously unreserved. He seemed to be child, monkey 
 and artist in combination. It was inconceivable that he 
 could ever feel embarrassed or self-conscious. 
 
 At first, after his unexpected entry, Charmian had been 
 almost painfully preoccupied. Sennier, without apparently 
 noticing this, broke her preoccupation down. He was an
 
 246 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 egoist, but a singularly amusing and even attractive one, 
 throwing open every door, and begging you to admire and 
 delight in every room. Charmian began to study him, this 
 man of a great success. How different he was from Claude. 
 Now that she was with Sennier she was more sharply aware 
 of Claude's reserve than she had ever been before, of a certain 
 rigidity which underlay all the apparent social readiness. 
 
 When Sennier sang, in a voice that scarcely existed but 
 that charmed, she was really entranced. When he played 
 after midnight she was excited, intensely excited. 
 
 It was past one o'clock when he left reluctantly, promising 
 to return on the morrow, to take all his meals at Djenan-el- 
 Maqui, to live there, except for the very few hours claimed 
 by sleep, till the "cat enraged" and his wife returned. Char- 
 mian helped him to put on his coat. He resigned himself to 
 her hands like a child. Standing quite still, he permitted her 
 to button the coat. He left, singing an air from an opera 
 he was composing, arm in arm with Pierre, who was to escort 
 him to his hotel. 
 
 "I dare not go alone!" he exclaimed. "I am afraid of 
 the Arabs! The Arabs are traitors. Gladly would they 
 kill a genius of France!" 
 
 When he was gone, when his extraordinary personality was 
 withdrawn, Charmian's painful preoccupation returned. She 
 had sent Claude away because she did not wish Adelaide 
 Shiffney to meet him. It had been an instinctive action, not 
 preceded by any train of reasoning. Adelaide was coming 
 out of curiosity. Therefore her curiosity should not be 
 gratified. And now she had gone to Constantine, and taken 
 Madame Sennier with her. Charmian remembered her inad- 
 vertence of the day before when she had said, perhaps scarcely 
 with truth, that Jacob Crayford admired Claude's talent; the 
 Frenchwoman's almost strangely blank expression and appar- 
 ent utter indifference, her own uneasiness. That uneasiness 
 returned now, and was accentuated. But what could happen? 
 What could either Madame Sennier or Adelaide Shiffney do to 
 disturb her peace or interfere with her life or Claude's? Noth- 
 ing surely. Yet she felt as if they were both hostile to her, 
 were set against all she wished for. And she felt as if she had
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 247 
 
 been like an angry child when she had talked of her husband to 
 Madame Sennier. Women clever, influential women can 
 do much either for or against a man who enters on a public 
 career. 
 
 Charmian longed to say all that was in her heart to Susan 
 Fleet. But, blaming herself for lack of self-control on the 
 previous day, she resolved to exercise self-control now. So 
 she only kissed Susan and wished her " Good-night." 
 
 "I know I shan't sleep," she said. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Sennier's playing has stirred me up too much." 
 
 "Resolve quietly to sleep, and I think you will." 
 
 Charmian did not tell Susan that she was quite incapable 
 at that moment of resolving quietly on anything. 
 
 She lay awake nearly all night. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Shiffney, Madame Sennier, and Max Elliot 
 were in the night-train travelling to Constantine. 
 
 It had all been arranged with Mrs. Shiffney's usual appar- 
 ently careless abruptness. In the afternoon, after a little talk 
 with Henriette in the garden of the St. George, she had called 
 the composer and Max Elliot on to the big terrace, and had 
 said: 
 
 "I feel dull. Nothing special to do here, is there? Let's 
 all run away to Biskra. We can take Timgad and all the 
 rest on the way." 
 
 Max Elliot had looked at her for a moment rather sharply. 
 Then his mind had been diverted by the lamentations of the 
 composer, calling attention to the danger he ran in venturing 
 near to Armand Gillier. 
 
 Elliot had a very kind heart, and by its light he sometimes 
 read clearly a human prose that did not please him. Now, 
 as he lay in his narrow berth in the wagon-lit jolting toward 
 Constantine, he read some of Adelaide Shiffney's prose. 
 Faintly, for the train was noisy, he heard voices in the next 
 compartment, where Mrs. Shiffney and Madame Sennier were 
 talking in their berths. Mrs. Shiffney was in the top berth. 
 That fact gave the measure of Madame Sennier's iron will. 
 
 "You really believe it?" cried Madame Sennier. 
 
 "How is one to know? But Crayford is moving Heaven
 
 248 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 and earth to find a genius. He may have his eye on Claude 
 Heath. He believes in les jeunes." 
 
 "Jacques is forty." 
 
 " If one has arrived it doesn't matter much what age one is." 
 
 "You don't think Crayford can have given this man a 
 secret commission to compose an opera?" 
 
 "Oh, no. Why should he? Besides, if he had, she would 
 have let it out. She could never have kept such a thing to 
 herself." 
 
 "Max thought his music wonderful, didn't he?" 
 
 "Yes, but it was all sacred. Te Deums, and things of that 
 sort that nobody on earth would ever listen to." 
 
 "I should like to see the libretto." 
 
 "What? I can't hear. I'm right up against the roof, 
 and the noise is dreadful." 
 
 "I say, I should like to see the libretto!" almost screamed 
 Madame Sennier. 
 
 "Probably it's one that Jacques refused." 
 
 "No, it can't be." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " No, it can't be. He never saw a libretto that was Algerian. 
 And this one evidently is. I wonder if it's a good one." 
 
 " Make him show it to you." 
 
 " Gillier! He wouldn't. He hates us both." 
 
 "Not Gillier, Claude Heath." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney leaned desperately out over the side of her 
 narrow berth. 
 
 "Claude Heath or I'll make him." 
 
 "I never cared very much for the one Jacques is setting 
 for the Metropolitan. But it was the best sent in. I chose it. 
 I read nearly a hundred. It would be just like Gillier to 
 write something really fine, and then not to let us see it. 
 I always knew he was clever and might succeed some day." 
 
 "I'll get hold of it for you." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I'll get hold of it for you from Heath. When will Jacques 
 be ready, do you think?" 
 
 "Oh, not for ages. He works slowly, and I never inter-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 249 
 
 fere with him. Nobody but a fool would interfere with the 
 method of a man of genius." 
 
 "Do you think Charmian Heath is a fool?" 
 
 At this moment the train suddenly slackened, and Mrs. 
 Shiff ney and Madame Sennier, leaning down and up, exchanged 
 sibilant and almost simultaneous hushes. 
 
 Max Elliot heard them quite distinctly. They were the only 
 part of the conversation which reached him. 
 
 He was an old friend of Adelaide, and was devoted to the 
 Senniers and to their cause. But he did not quite like this ex- 
 pedition. He realized that these charming women, whom he 
 was escorting to a barbaric city, were driven by curiosity, and 
 that in their curiosity there was something secretly hostile. 
 He wished they had stayed at Mustapha, and had decided to 
 leave Claude Heath alone with his violent librettist. Elliot 
 greatly disliked the active hostility to artists often shown by 
 the partisans of other artists. There was no question, of course, 
 of any rivalry between Heath, an almost unknown man, and 
 Sennier, a man now of world-wide fame. Yet these two 
 women were certainly on the qui vive. It was very absurd, he 
 thought. But it was also rather disagreeable to him. He 
 began to wish that Henriette were not so almost viciously 
 determined to keep the path clear for her husband. The wife 
 of a little man might well be afraid of every possible rival. 
 But Sennier was not a little man. 
 
 Elliot did not understand either the nature of Henriette's 
 heart or the nature of her mind. Nor did he know her origin. 
 In fact, he knew very little about her. 
 
 She was just fifty, and had been for a time a governess in 
 a merchant's family in Marseilles. This occupation she had 
 quitted with an abruptness that had not been intentional. In 
 fact, she had been turned out. Afterward she had remained 
 in Marseilles, but not as a governess. Finally she had married 
 Jacques Sennier. She was low-born, but had been very well 
 educated, and was naturally clever. Her cleverness had 
 throughout her life instinctively sought an outlet in intrigue. 
 Some women intrigue when circumstances drive them to 
 subterfuge, trickery and underhand dealing. Henriette Sennier 
 needed no incentive of that kind. She liked intrigue for its
 
 250 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 own sake. In Marseilles she had lived in the midst of a net- 
 work of double dealing connected with so-called love. When 
 she married Jacques Sennier she had exchanged it for in- 
 trigue connected with art. She was- by nature suspicious 
 and inquisitive, generally unable to trust because she was 
 untrustworthy. But her devotion to her Jacques was sincere 
 and concentrated. It helped to make her cruel, but it helped 
 to make her strong. She was incapable of betraying Jacques, 
 but she was capable of betraying everyone for Jacques. 
 
 Without the slightest uneasiness she had left him alone at 
 Mustapha. He was the only person she trusted for a week. 
 She meant to be back at Mustapha within a week. 
 
 After their "Hush!" she and Mrs. Shiffney decided not to 
 talk any more. 
 
 "It makes my throat ache shouting up against the roof," 
 said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 She had, how or why she scarcely knew, come to occupy 
 an upper berth for the first time in her life. She resented this. 
 And she resented it still more when Madame Sennier replied: 
 
 "I wanted you to choose the lower bed, but I thought you 
 preferred being where you are." 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney made no reply, but turned carefully over till 
 she was looking at the wall. 
 
 "Why do I do things for this woman?" was her thought. 
 She had told herself more than once that she was travelling 
 to Constantine for Henriette. Apparently she was actually 
 beginning to believe her own statement. She closed her eyes, 
 opened them again, looked at the ceiling, which almost 
 touched her nose, and at the wall, which her nose almost 
 touched. 
 
 "Why does a woman ever do anything for another woman?" 
 she asked herself, amplifying her first thought. 
 
 Adelaide Shiffney in an upper berth! It was the incredible 
 accomplished!
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 WHAT a setting for melodrama!" said Mrs7 Shiffney. 
 She was standing on the balcony of a corner room on 
 the second floor of the Grand Hotel at Constantine, 
 looking down on the Place de la Breche. Evening was begin- 
 ning to fall. The city roared a tumultuous serenade to its 
 delicate beauty. The voices sent up from the dusty gardens, 
 the squares, and the winding alleys, from the teeming bazaars, 
 the dancing-houses, the houses of pleasure, and the painted 
 Moorish cafes, seemed to grow more defiant as the light grew 
 colder on the great slopes of the mountains that surround 
 Constantine, as in the folds of the shallow valleys the planta- 
 tions of eucalyptus darkened beside the streams. 
 
 Madame Sennier was standing with Mrs. Shiffney and was 
 also looking down. 
 
 "Listen to all the voices!" she said. "Nobody but Jacques 
 could ever get this sort of effect into an opera." 
 
 A huge diligence, painted yellow, green, and red, with an 
 immense hood beneath which crowded Arabs vaguely showed, 
 came slowly down the hill, drawn by seven gray horses. The 
 military Governor passed by on horseback, preceded by a 
 mounted soldier, and followed by two more soldiers and by a 
 Spahi, whose red jacket gleamed against the white coat of his 
 prancing stallion. Bugles sounded; bells rang; a donkey 
 brayed with dreary violence in a side street. Somewhere a 
 mandoline was being thrummed, and a very French voice 
 rose above it singing a song of the Paris pavements. In the 
 large cafes just below the balcony where the two women were 
 standing crowds of people were seated at little tables, sipping 
 absinthe, vermouth, and bright-colored syrups. Among the 
 Europeans of various nations the dignified and ample figures 
 of well-dressed Arabs in pale blue, green, brown, and white 
 burnouses, with high turbans bound by ropes of camel's hair, 
 stood out, the conquered looking like conquerors. 
 
 "CirezI Cirez!" cried incessantly the Arab boot-polishers, 
 
 251
 
 252 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 who scuffled and played tricks among themselves while they 
 waited for customers. "Cirez, moosoul CirezI" Long wag- 
 ons, loaded with stone from the quarries of the Gorge, jan- 
 gled by, some of them drawn by-jnixed teams of eleven 
 horses and mules, on whose necks chimed collars of bells. 
 Chauffeurs sounded the horns of their motors as they slowly 
 crept through the nonchalant crowd of natives, which had 
 gathered in front of the post-office and the Municipal Theater 
 to discuss the affairs of the day. Maltese coachmen, seated 
 on the boxes of large landaus, cracked their whips to announce 
 to the Kabyle Chasseurs of the two hotels the return of travel- 
 lers from their excursions. Omnibuses rolled slowly up from 
 the station loaded with luggage, which was vehemently grasped 
 by native porters, brought to earth, and carried in with eager 
 violence. The animation of the city was intense, and had in it 
 something barbaric and almost savage, something that seemed 
 undisciplined, bred of the orange and red soil, of the orange 
 and red rocks, of the snow and sun-smitten mountains, of the 
 terrific gorges and precipices which made the landscape vital 
 and almost terrible. 
 
 Yet in the evening light the distant slopes, the sharply cut 
 silhouettes of the hills, held a strange and exquisitely delicate 
 serenity. The sky, cloudless, shot with primrose, blue, and 
 green, deepening toward the West into a red that was flecked 
 with gold, was calm and almost tender. Nature showed two 
 sides of her soul; but humanity seemed to respond only to the 
 side that was fierce and violent. 
 
 "What a setting for melodrama!" repeated Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 She sighed. At that moment the presence of Henriette 
 irritated her. She wanted to be alone, leaning to watch this 
 ever-shifting torrent of humanity. This balcony belonged to 
 her room. She had revenged herself for the upper berth by 
 securing a room much better placed than Henriette's. But 
 if Henriette intended to live in it 
 
 Suddenly she drew back rather sharply. She had just 
 seen, in the midst of the crowd, the tall figure of Claude Heath 
 moving toward the cafe immediately opposite to her balcony. 
 
 "Is my tea never coming?" she said. "I think I shall 
 get into a tea-gown and lie down a little before dinner."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 253 
 
 Madame Sennier followed her into the room. 
 
 "Till dinner, then," she said. "We are sure to see them, 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "Of course. Leave the libretto entirely to me. He would 
 be certain to suspect any move on your part." 
 
 Madame Sennier's white face looked very hard as she 
 nodded and left the room. She met the waiter bringing Mrs. 
 Shiffney's tea at the door. 
 
 When she and the waiter were both gone Mrs. Shiffney drank 
 her tea on the balcony, sitting largely on a cane chair. She 
 felt agreeably excited. Claude Heath had gone into the cafe 
 on the other side of the road, and was now sitting alone at a 
 little table on the terrace which projects into the Place beneath 
 the Hotel de Paris. Mrs. Shiffney saw a waiter take his order 
 and bring him coffee, while a little Arab, kneeling, set to work 
 on his boots. 
 
 All day long Claude and Gillier had remained invisible. 
 Mrs. Shiffney, Henriette, and Max Elliot, after visiting the 
 native quarters in the morning, had expected to see the two 
 men at lunch, but they had not appeared. Now the two 
 women had just returned from a drive round the city and to 
 the suspension bridge which spans the terror of the Gorge. 
 And here was Claude Heath just opposite to Mrs. Shiffney, no 
 doubt serenely unconscious of her presence in Constantine! 
 As Mrs. Shiffney sipped her tea and looked down at him she 
 thought again, "What a setting for melodrama!" 
 
 She was a very civilized child of her age, and believed that 
 she had a horror of melodrama, looking upon it as a degraded 
 form of art, or artlessness, which pleased people whom she 
 occasionally saw but would never know. But this evening 
 some part of her almost desired it, not as a spectacle, but as 
 something in which she could take an active part. In this 
 town she felt adventurous. It was difficult to look at this 
 crowd without thinking of violent lives and deeds of vio- 
 lence. It was difficult to look at Claude Heath without the 
 desire to pay him back here with interest for a certain 
 indifference. 
 
 "But I'm not really melodramatic," said Adelaide Shiffney 
 to herself.
 
 254 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 She could resent, but she was not a very good hater. She 
 felt generally too affairee, too civilized to hate. In her heart 
 she rather disliked Claude Heath as once she had rather liked 
 him. He had had the impertinence and lack of taste to decline 
 her friendship, tacitly, of course, but quite definitely. She 
 had never been in love with him. If she had been she would 
 have been more definite with him. But he had attracted her 
 a good deal; and she always resented even the crossing of a 
 whim. Something in his personality and something in his 
 physique had appealed to her, a strangeness and height, an 
 imaginativeness and remoteness which features and gesture 
 often showed in despite of his intention. He was not like 
 everybody. It would have been interesting to take him in 
 hand. It had certainly been irritating to make no impression 
 upon him. And now he was married and living in a delicious 
 Arab nest with that foolish Charmian Mansfield. So Mrs. 
 Shiffney called Charmian at that moment. Suddenly she felt 
 rather melancholy and rather cross. She wanted to give some- 
 body a slap. She put down her teacup, lit a cigarette, and 
 drew her chair to the rail of the balcony. 
 
 Claude Heath was sipping his coffee. One long-fingered 
 musical hand lay on his knee. His soft hat was tilted a little 
 forward over the eyes that were watching the crowd. Prob- 
 ably he was thinking about his opera. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney was incapable of Henriette's hard and bitter 
 determination. Her love was not fastened irrevocably on 
 any man. She wished that it was, or thought she did. Such 
 a passion must give a new interest to life. Often she fancied 
 she was in love; but the feeling passed, and she bemoaned its 
 passing. Henriette was determined to keep a clear field for 
 her composer. She was ready to be suspicious, to be jealous 
 of every musical shadow. Mrs. Shiffney found herself wishing 
 that she had Henriette's incentive as she looked at Claude 
 Heath. She could not see his face quite clearly. Perhaps 
 when she did 
 
 That he should have married that silly Charmian Mansfield! 
 Ever since then Mrs. Shiffney had resolved to wipe them both 
 off her slate gradually. Charmian had been right in her 
 supposition. But now Mrs. Shiffney thought she was perhaps
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 255 
 
 on the edge of something that might be more amusing than a 
 mere wiping off the slate. 
 
 Of course Claude Heath and Gillier would be at dinner. It 
 would be rather fun to see Claude's face when she walked in 
 with Henriette and Max Elliot. 
 
 She got up and stood by the rail; and now she looked down 
 on Claude with intention, willing that he should look up at 
 her. Why should not she have the fun of seeing his surprise 
 while she was alone? Why should she share with Henriette? 
 
 Without turning his eyes in her direction Claude rapped 
 on his table with a piece of money, paid a waiter for his coffee, 
 got up, made his way out of the cafe, and mingled with the 
 crowd. He did not come toward the hotel, but turned up 
 the street leading to the Governor's palace and disappeared. 
 Mrs. Shiffney noticed an Arab in a blue jacket and a white 
 burnous, who joined him as he left the cafe. 
 
 "Local color, I suppose," she murmured to herself. She 
 wished she could go off like that in the strange and violent 
 crowd, could be quite independent. 
 
 "What a curse it is to be a woman!" she thought. 
 
 Then she resolved after dinner to go out for a stroll with 
 Claude. Henriette should not come. If she, Adelaide Shiff- 
 ney, were going to work for Henriette she must be left to work 
 in her own way. She thought of the little intrigue that was 
 on foot, and smiled. Then she looked out beyond the Place, 
 over the dusty public gardens and the houses, to the far-off, 
 serene, bare mountains. For a moment their calm outlines 
 held her eyes. For a moment the clamor of voices from 
 below seemed to die out of her ears. Then she shivered, 
 drew back into her room, and felt for the knob of the electric 
 light. Darkness was falling, and it was growing cold on this 
 rocky height which frowned above the gorge of the Rummel. 
 
 Neither Claude Heath nor Gillier appeared at dinner. 
 Their absence was discussed by Mrs. Shiffney and her friends, 
 and Mrs. Shiffney told them that she had seen Claude Heath 
 that evening in a cafe. After dinner Henriette Sennier re- 
 marked discontentedly: 
 
 "What are we going to do?" 
 
 "Max, why don't you get a guide and take Henriette out
 
 256 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 to see some dancing? There is dancing only five minutes from 
 here," said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 "Well, but you aren't you coming?" 
 
 She had exchanged a glance with Henriette. 
 
 "I must write some letters. If I'm not too long over them 
 perhaps I'll follow you. I can't miss you. All the dancing is 
 in the same street." 
 
 "But I don't think there are any dancing women here." 
 
 "The Kabyle boys dance. Go to see them, and I'll 
 probably follow you." 
 
 As soon as they were gone Mrs. Shiffney put on a fur coat, 
 summoned an Arab called Amor, who had already spoken to 
 her at the door of the hotel, and said to him : 
 
 "You know the tall Englishman who is staying here?" 
 
 "The one who takes Aloui as guide?" 
 
 "Perhaps. I don't know. But he is fond of music; he " 
 
 "It is Aloui's Englishman," interrupted Amor, calmly. 
 
 "Where does he go at night? He's a friend of mine. I 
 should like to meet him." 
 
 "He might be with Said Hitani." 
 
 "Where is that?" 
 
 " If madame does not mind a little walk " 
 
 "Take me there. Is it far? " 
 
 "It is on the edge of the town, close to the wall. When 
 Said Hitani plays he likes to go there. He is growing old. 
 He does not want to play where everybody can hear. Madame 
 has a family in England?" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney satisfied Amor's curiosity as they walked 
 through the crowded streets till they came to the outskirts of 
 the city. The stars were out, but there was no moon. The 
 road ran by the city wall. Far down below, in the arms of the 
 darkness, lay the gorge, from which rose faintly the sound of 
 water; lay the immense stretches of yellow-brown and red- 
 brown country darkened here and there with splashes of green ; 
 the dim plantations, the cascades which fall to the valley of 
 Sidi Imcin; the long roads, like flung-out ribands, winding 
 into the great distances which suggest eternal things. From 
 the darkness, as from the mouth of a mighty cavern, rose a 
 wind, not strong, very pure, very keen, which seemed dashed
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 257 
 
 with the spray of water. Now and then an Arab passed 
 muffled in burnous and hood, a fold of linen held to his mouth. 
 The noise of the city was hushed. 
 
 Presently Amor stood still. 
 1 "F^7<z Said Hitani!" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney heard in the distance a sound of music. 
 Several instruments combined to make it, but the voice of a 
 flute was dominant among them. Light, sweet, delicate, 
 it came to her in the night like a personality full of odd 
 magic, full of small and subtle surprises, intricate, gay, and 
 sad. 
 
 "Said Hitani!" she said. "He's delicious! Take me to 
 him, Amor." 
 
 She knew at once that he was the flute-player. 
 
 They walked on, and soon came to a patch of light on the 
 empty road. This was shed by the lamps of the cafe from 
 which the music issued. Under the two windows, which were 
 protected by wire and by iron bars, five Arabs were squatting, 
 immersed in a sea of garments in which their figures and even 
 their features were lost. Only their black eyes looked out, 
 gazing steadily into the darkness. A big man, with bare legs 
 and a spotted turban, came to the door of the cafe to invite 
 them to go in; but Mrs. Shiffney refused by a gesture. 
 
 "In a minute!" she said to Amor. 
 
 Amor spoke in Arabic to the attendant, who at once re- 
 turned to the coffee niche. Within the music never ceased, 
 and now singing voices alternated with the instruments. Mrs. 
 Shiffney kept away from the door and looked into the room 
 through the window space next to it. 
 
 She saw a long and rather narrow chamber, with a paved 
 floor, strewn with clean straw mats, blue-green walls, and an 
 orange-colored ceiling. Close to the door was the coffee 
 niche. At the opposite end of the room five musicians were 
 squatting, four in a semicircle facing the coffee niche, the 
 fifth alone, almost facing them. This fifth was Said Hitani, 
 the famous flute-player of Constantine a man at this time 
 sixty-three years old. In front of him was a flat board, on 
 which lay two freshly rolled cigarettes and several cigarette 
 ends. Now and then he took his flute from his lips, replaced 
 
 17
 
 258 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 it with a lighted cigarette, smoked for a moment, then swiftly 
 renewed his strange love-song, playing with a virile vigor as 
 well as with airy daintiness and elaborate grace. Of his com- 
 panions, one played a violin, held upright by the left hand, with 
 its end resting on his stockinged foot; the second a species 
 of large guitar; the third a derbouka; and the fourth a tar ah, 
 or native tambourine, ornamented with ten little discs of brass, 
 which made a soft clashing sound when shaken. On the left 
 of the room, down one side, squatted a row of Arabs with 
 coffee-cups and cigarettes. By the door two more were playing 
 a game of draughts. And opposite to the windows, on an 
 Oriental rug, the long figure of Claude Heath was stretched 
 out. He lay with his hat tilted to the left over one temple, his 
 cheek on his left hand, listening intently to the music. On a 
 wooden board beside him was some music paper, and now and 
 then with a stylograph he jotted down some notes. He looked 
 both emotional and thoughtful. Often his imaginative eyes 
 rested on the small and hunched-up figure of Said Hitani, 
 dressed in white, black, and gold, with a hood drawn over the 
 head. Now and then he looked toward the window, and it 
 seemed to Mrs. Shiffney then that his eyes met hers. But he 
 saw nothing, except perhaps some Eastern vision summoned 
 up by his lit imagination. 
 
 The music very gradually quickened and grew louder, 
 became steadily more masculine, powerful, and fierce, till it 
 sounded violent. The volume of tone produced by the players 
 astonished Mrs. Shiffney. The wild vagaries of the flute 
 seemed presently to be taking place in her brain. She drew 
 close to the window, put her hands on the bars. At her feet 
 the crouching Arabs never stirred. Behind her the cold wind 
 came up from the gorge and the great open country with the 
 sound of the rushing water. 
 
 At that moment she had the thing that she believed she 
 lived for a really keen sensation. 
 
 Suddenly, when the music had become almost intolerably 
 exciting, when the players seemed possessed, and noise and 
 swiftness to rush together like foes to the attack, the flute 
 wavered, ran up to a height, cried out like a thing martyred; 
 the violin gave forth a thin scream; on the derbouka the brown
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 259 
 
 'fingers of the player pattered with abrupt feebleness; the 
 guitar died away; the little brass discs shivered and fell to- 
 gether. Another thin cry from the flute upon some unknown 
 height, and there was silence, while Claude wrote furiously, 
 and the musicians began to smoke. 
 
 "Now I'll go in!" said Mrs. Shiffney to Amor. 
 
 He led the way and she followed. Claude glanced up, 
 stared for a moment, then sprang up. 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney!" 
 
 His voice was almost stern. 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney!" he repeated. 
 
 " Come to hear your music, for I know they are all playing 
 only for you and the opera." 
 
 Her strong, almost masculine hand lingered in his, and how 
 could he let it go without impoliteness? 
 
 "Aren't they?" 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 "It's wonderful the way they play. Said Hitani is an 
 artist." 
 
 "You know his name?" 
 
 "And I must know him. May I stay a little?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 He looked round for a seat. 
 
 "No, the rug!" she said. 
 
 And, despite her bulk, she sank down with a swift ease that 
 was almost Oriental. 
 
 "Now please introduce me to Said Hitani!" 
 
 Till late in the night she stayed between the blue-green 
 walls, listening to the vehement voices and to the instruments, 
 following all the strange journeys of Said Hitani's flute. She 
 was genuinely fascinated, and this fact made her fascinating. 
 As she had caught at Max Elliot that day when he asked her, 
 against his intention, to meet Claude Heath, so now she caught 
 at Claude Heath himself. She had come to the cafe with a 
 purpose, and, as she forgot it, she carried it out. Never before 
 had Claude understood completely why she had gained her 
 position in London and Paris, realized fully her fascination. 
 Her delightful naturalness, her pleasure, her almost boyish 
 gaiety, her simplicity, her humor took him captive for the
 
 260 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 moment. She explained that she had left her companions and 
 stolen away to enjoy Constantine alone. 
 
 "And now I'm interrupting you. But you must forgive 
 me just for this one night!" 
 
 Through Amor, who acted as interpreter, she carried on a 
 lively intercourse with Said Hitani. The other musicians 
 smiled, but seldom spoke, and only among themselves. But 
 Said Hitani, the great artist of his native city, a man famous 
 far and wide among the Arabs, was infinitely diverting and 
 descriptive in talk even as when he gave himself to the flute. 
 With an animation that was youthful he described the meaning 
 of each new song. He had two flutes on which he played alter- 
 nately " Mousou et Madame," he called them. And he knew, 
 so he declared, over a hundred songs. Mrs. Shiffney, speaking 
 to him always through Amor, told him of London, and what a 
 sensation he and his companions would make there in the decor 
 of a Moorish cafe. Said Hitani pulled his little gray beard 
 with his delicate hands, swayed to and fro, and smiled. Then 
 sharply he uttered a torrent of words which seemed almost to 
 fight their way out of some chamber in his narrow throat. 
 
 "Said Hitani says you have only to send money and the 
 address and they are all coming whenever you like. They are 
 very pleased to come." 
 
 At this point one of the musicians, a fair man with pale 
 eyes who played the tarah, interposed a remark which was 
 uttered with great seriousness. 
 
 " Can they go to London on camels, he wishes to know," 
 observed Amor gently. 
 
 Said Hitani waited for Mrs. Shiffney's answer with a slightly 
 judicial air, moving his head as if in approval of the tarah- 
 player's forethought. 
 
 "I'm afraid they can't." 
 
 The tarah-player spoke again. 
 
 "He says, can they go on donkeys?" 
 
 "No. It is further than Paris, tell him." 
 
 "Then they must go on the sea. Paris is across the sea." 
 
 "Yes, they will have to take a steamer." 
 
 At this juncture it was found that the tarah-player would 
 not be of the party.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 261 
 
 "He says he would be very sick, and no man can play 
 when he is sick." 
 
 "What will Madame pay?" interposed Said Hitani. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney declared seriously that she would think it 
 over, make a calculation, and Amor should convey her decision 
 as to price to him on the morrow. 
 
 All seemed well satisfied with this. And the tarah-player 
 remarked, after a slight pause, that he would wait to know 
 about the price before he decided whether he would be too sick 
 to play in London. Then, at a signal from Said Hitani, they 
 all took up their instruments and played and sang a garden 
 song called Mabouf, describing how a Sheik and his best loved 
 wife walked in a great garden and sang one against the 
 other. 
 
 "It has been quite delicious!" said Mrs. Shiffney to Claude, 
 when at last the song Au Revoir, tumultuously brilliant with 
 a tremendous crescendo at the close, had been played, and with 
 many salaams and good wishes the musicians had departed. 
 
 "I love their playing," Claude answered. "But really 
 you shouldn't have paid them. I have arranged with Hitani 
 to come every evening." 
 
 "Oh, but I paid them for wanting to know whether they 
 could go to London on camels. What a success your opera 
 ought to be if you have got a fine libretto." 
 
 They were just leaving the cafe. 
 
 "Do let us stand by the wall for a minute," she added. 
 "By that tree. It is so wonderful here." 
 
 Claude's guide, Aloui, had come to accompany him home, 
 and was behind with Amor. They stayed in the doorway of 
 the cafe. Mrs. Shiffney and Claude leaned on the wall, looking 
 down into the vast void from which rose the cool wind and the 
 sound of water. 
 
 "What would I give to be a creative artist!" she said. 
 "That must add so much meaning to all this. Do you know 
 how fortunate you are? Do you know you possess the earth? " 
 
 The sable sleeve of her coat touched Claude's arm and hand. 
 Her deep voice sounded warm and full of genuine feeling. A 
 short time ago, when she had come into the cafe, he had been 
 both astonished and vexed to see her. Now he knew that he
 
 262 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 had enjoyed this evening more than any other evening that he 
 had spent in Constantine. 
 
 "But there are plenty of drawbacks," he said. 
 
 "Oh, no, not real ones! After this evening well, I shall 
 wish for your success. Till now I didn't care in the least. 
 Indeed, I believe I hoped you never would have a great 
 success." 
 
 She moved slightly nearer to him. 
 
 "Did you?" he said. 
 
 " Yes. You've always been so horrid to me, when I always 
 wanted to be nice to you." 
 
 "Oh, but" 
 
 "Don't let us talk about it. What does it matter now? 
 I thought I might have done something for you once, have 
 helped you on a little, perhaps. But now you are married and 
 settled and will make your own way. I feel it. You don't 
 want anyone's help. You've come away from us all, and how 
 right you've been. And Charmian's done the right thing, too, 
 giving up all our nonsense for your work. Sacrifice means 
 success. You are bound to have it. I feel you are going to. 
 Ah, you don't know how I sometimes long to be linked, really 
 linked, to the striving, the abnegation, the patience, the tri- 
 umph of a man of genius! People envy my silly little position, 
 as they call it. And what is it worth? And yet I do know, I 
 have an instinct, a flair, for the real thing. I'm ignorant. I 
 can dare to acknowledge it to you. But I can tell what is 
 good and bad, and sometimes even why a thing is good. I'm 
 led away, of course. In a silly social life like mine everybody 
 is led away. We can't help it. But I could have been worth 
 something in the art life of a big man, if I'd loved him." 
 
 How soft sable is against a hand! 
 
 "I'm sure you could," Claude said. 
 
 "And as it is" 
 
 She stopped speaking abruptly. Then with a marked 
 change of voice she said: 
 
 "Oh, do forgive me for committing the unpardonable sin 
 babbling about myself! You're the only person I have ever 
 forget all about it, won't you? I don't know why I did it. 
 It was the music, I suppose, and the strangeness of this place.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 263 
 
 and thinking of your work and your hopes for the future. It 
 made me wish I had some too, either for myself or for for 
 someone like you." 
 
 As if irresistibly governed by feeling her voice had again 
 changed, become once more warm as with emotion. But 
 now she drew herself up a little and laughed. 
 
 "Don't be afraid! It's over! But you have had a glimpse 
 no one else has ever had, and I know you'll keep it to yourself. 
 Let's talk of something else anything. Tell me something 
 about your libretto, if you care to." 
 
 As they walked slowly toward the heart of the city, fol- 
 lowed by the two Arabs, she took Claude's arm, very naturally, 
 as if half for protection, half because it was dark and false steps 
 were possible. 
 
 And he told her a good deal, finally a great deal, about the 
 libretto. 
 
 "It sounds wonderful!" she said. "I'm so glad! But may 
 I give you a little bit of advice?" 
 
 "Yes, do." 
 
 "Don't say anything about it to Henriette Madame 
 Sennier." 
 
 "No. But" 
 
 "Why not? I scarcely know. My instinct! Don't!" 
 
 "I won't," Claude said. 
 
 "I'd give anything to read it. But if I were you I wouldn't 
 let anyone read it. As you probably know, I'm in half the 
 secrets of the artistic world, and always have been. But there 
 isn't one woman in a hundred who can be trusted to hold her 
 tongue. Is this the hotel? Good-night. Yes, isn't it a 
 delicious coat? Bonne nuit, Amor I %. demain!" 
 
 A minute later Mrs. Shiffney tapped at Henriette's door, 
 which was immediately opened. 
 
 "It is all right," she whispered. "I shall have the libretto 
 to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 TWO days later Mrs. Shiffney slipped Gillier's libretto sur- 
 reptitiously into Claude's hand. 
 
 "It's splendid!" she almost whispered. "With such a 
 libretto you can't fail." 
 
 They were in the deserted salon of the hotel, among arm- 
 chairs, albums, and old French picture-papers. Mrs. Shiffney 
 looked toward the door. 
 
 "Don't let anyone know I've read it especially Henriette. 
 She's a dear and a great friend of mine, but, all the same, she'd 
 be horribly jealous. There's only one thing about the libretto 
 that frightens me." 
 
 "What is it? Do tell me-!" 
 
 "Having so many Easterns in it. If by any chance you 
 should ever want to produce your opera " She hesitated, 
 with her eyes fixed upon him. "In America, I fancy no, 
 I think I'm being absurd." 
 
 "But what do you mean? Do tell me! Not that there's 
 the slightest chance yet of my opera ever being done any- 
 where." 
 
 "Well, it's only that Americans do so hate what they call 
 color." 
 
 "Oh, but that is only in negroes!" 
 
 "Is it? Then I'm talking nonsense! I'm so glad! Not 
 a word to Henriette! Hush! Here she is!" 
 
 At that moment the door opened and the white face of 
 Madame Sennier looked in. 
 
 "What are you two doing here? Where is Max?" 
 
 " Gone to arrange about the sleeping-car." 
 
 Claude slipped the libretto into the pocket of his jacket. In 
 London he had been rather inclined to like Madame Sennier. 
 In Constantine he felt ill at ease with her. He detected the 
 secret hostility which she scarcely troubled to conceal, though 
 she covered it with an air of careless indifference. Now and 
 then a corner of the covering slipped down, leaving a surface 
 
 264
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 265 
 
 exposed, \vhich, to Claude, seemed ugly. To-day at this 
 moment she seemed unable to mask entirely some angiy feeling 
 which possessed her. How different she was from Mrs. Shiff- 
 ney! Claude had enjoyed Mrs. Shiffney's visit. She had 
 rescued him from his solitude with Gillier a solitude which he 
 had endured for the sake of the opera, but which had been 
 odious to him. She had warmed him by her apparent en- 
 thusiasm, by her sympathy. He had been obliged to acknowl- 
 edge that she was very forgiving. He had certainly not 
 been "nice" to her in London. Her simplicity in telling him 
 she had felt his conduct, her sweetness in being so ready to 
 forget it, to enter into his expectations, to wish him well, 
 had fascinated him, roused his chivalry. But most of all had 
 her few words by the wall after Said Hitani's music touched 
 him, been instrumental in bringing him nearer to her. 
 
 "She showed me a bit of her real self," he thought. "And 
 she was not sorry afterward that she had shown it to me." 
 
 He had made her a return for this, the return which she 
 had wanted; but to Claude it seemed no return at all. 
 
 "You are really going away to-night?" he said now. And 
 there was a note of regret in his voice which was not missed by 
 her. 
 
 "I can't possibly leave Jacques alone any longer," said 
 Madame Sennier. " And what have we to do here ? We aren't 
 getting local color for an opera." 
 
 "No, no; of course, you want to get away!" said Claude 
 quickly, and stiffening with constraint. 
 
 "I should love to stay on. This place fascinates me by 
 its strangeness, its marvellous position," said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 She looked at Claude. 
 
 "But I suppose we must go back. Will you take me for a 
 last walk before tea?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 Madame Sennier passed the tip of her tongue across her 
 scarlet lips. 
 
 "Over the bridge and up into the pine-wood?" 
 
 "Wherever you like." 
 
 At this moment Armand Gillier walked brusquely into the 
 room. Mrs. Shiffney turned to Henriette.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "We'll leave Monsieur Gillier to take care of you." 
 
 Henriette's lips tightened. Gillier said: 
 
 " Bien, madame!" 
 
 As Mrs. Shiffney and Claude left theToom Gillier bowed with 
 very formal politeness. The door shut. After a pause Gillier 
 said: 
 
 "You go away to-night, madame?" 
 
 Madame Sennier sat down on a settee by a round table on 
 which lay several copies of L' Illustration, in glazed black covers, 
 La Depeche Algerienne, and a guide to Constantine. 
 
 She had been awake most of the previous night, with jealous 
 care studying the libretto Gillier had sold to Claude, which had 
 been put into her hands by Mrs. Shiffney. At once she had 
 recognized its unusual merit. She had in a high degree the 
 faculty, possessed by many clever Frenchwomen, of detecting 
 and appraising the value of a work of art. She was furious 
 because Gillier's libretto had never been submitted to her hus- 
 band; but she could not say all that was in her mind. She and 
 Adelaide Shiffney had been frank with each other in the matter, 
 and she had no intention of making any mistake because she 
 was angry. 
 
 "We haven't much time to spare. Jacques has to get on 
 with his new opera." 
 
 Gillier sat down on a chair with a certain cold and re- 
 luctant but definite politeness. His look and manner said: 
 "I cannot, of course, leave this lady whom I hate." 
 
 "He is a great man now. I congratulate you on his 
 success." 
 
 "Jacques was always a great man, but he didn't quite 
 understand it." 
 
 "You enlightened him, madame." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "That was very clever of you." 
 
 "It wasn't stupid. But I don't happen to be a stupid 
 woman." Her yellow eyes narrowed. 
 
 "I know how to detect quality. And I suppose you do?" 
 
 "Why, madame?" 
 
 "You tried to sell libretti to my husband before he was 
 famous."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 267 
 
 "And failed." 
 
 "Yes. But now I'm glad to know you have succeeded 
 with another man who is not famous yet." 
 
 Gillier laid his right hand down on one of the glazed black 
 covers of V 'Illustration. 
 
 "You do not believe in my talent, madame. I cannot 
 understand why you should be interested in such a matter." 
 
 " You make the mistake of supposing that a talented man 
 can never be immature. What you offered to my husband 
 was immature; but I always knew you had talent." 
 
 "Indeed? You never told me so that I remember." 
 
 "You appeared to be fully aware of it." 
 
 Gillier made a fist of his hand on the cover. He wished 
 Jacques Sennier were setting the libretto he had sold to Claude 
 Heath, and Madame Sennier wished exactly the same thing. 
 He did not know her thought; but she divined his. With all 
 her soul, greedy for her Jacques and for herself, she coveted 
 that libretto. She almost hated Claude Heath for possessing 
 it. And now, as she sat opposite to Gillier, with the round 
 table between them, always alert for intrigue, she began to 
 wonder whether in truth the libretto was irrevocably lost to 
 them. 
 
 "Weren't you?" she said, fixing her unflinching eyes upon 
 him. 
 
 "I knew I was not quite such a fool as your husband 
 certainly thought me." 
 
 "Jacques is a mere baby outside of his art." 
 
 "Si?" 
 
 "That is why I have to think for him very often. Which 
 of the libretti has Mr. Heath bought?" 
 
 "It is not one of those I had the honor of showing to 
 Monsieur Sennier." 
 
 "Really? You have written another specially for Mr. 
 Heath?" 
 
 "I wrote another to please myself. His wife saw it and 
 took it to him. He was so foolish as to think it good enough 
 to buy." 
 
 "Let us hope his music will be good enough to produce on 
 the stage."
 
 268 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Gillier looked very sharply at her, and began to tug at his 
 moustache; but he said nothing. After a moment Madame 
 Sennier said, with a change of tone and manner that seemed 
 to indicate an intention to be more friendly: 
 
 "When you write another libretto, why not let me see it?" 
 
 "You desire to inflict a fourth rejection upon me, madame?" 
 
 "If you like, I'll tell you the only thing I desire," she 
 replied, with a sort of brutal frankness well calculated to appeal 
 to his rough character. "It has nothing to do with you. I 
 haven't your interests at my heart. Why should I bother 
 about them? All I want is to get something fine for my hus- 
 band when a chance arises. I know what's good better than 
 you do, my friend. You showed me three libretti that didn't 
 do. Show me one that does do, and I'll pay you a price that 
 will astonish you." 
 
 Gillier's large eyes shone. 
 
 "How much would you pay?" 
 
 "Show me a fine libretto!" 
 
 "Tell me how much you'd pay." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "Five times as much as anyone else offered you. But you 
 would have to prove the offer to my satisfaction." 
 
 Gillier fidgeted on his chair, took hold of the Dep&che 
 Algerienne, and began carefully to fold it into pleats. 
 
 "I should want a royalty," he said, keeping his shining 
 eyes on her. 
 
 "If I were satisfied I would see that you got it." 
 
 There was a long silence, during which they looked at each 
 other. 
 
 Gillier was puzzled. He did not believe Claude Heath had 
 shown the libretto to her. Yet she was surely prompted now 
 by some very definite purpose. He could not guess what it 
 was. At last he looked down at the paper he was folding 
 mechanically. 
 
 "I haven't got anything to sell at present," he almost 
 growled, in a very low voice. 
 
 "That's a pity. We must hope for the future. There is 
 no reason why you and I should be mortal enemies since you 
 haven't had a chance to murder my poor old cabbage."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 269 
 
 "He's a coward," said Gillier. 
 
 " Of course he is. And I'm very thankful for it. Cowards 
 live long." 
 
 She got up from the settee. Gillier, returning to his varnish, 
 sprang up, dropping the paper, and opened the door. 
 
 "Don't forget what I said," she remarked as she went out. 
 "Five times the price anyone else offers, on account of a 
 royalty to be fixed by mutual agreement. But it would have 
 to be a libretto numero un." 
 
 He looked at her but did not say a word. 
 
 When she was gone he sat down again by the round table 
 and stared at the cloth, with his head bent and his muscular, 
 large-boned arms laid one upon the other. 
 
 And presently he swore under his breath. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Shiffney and Claude were making their way 
 through the crowded and noisy street toward the unfinished 
 Suspension Bridge which spans the gorge, linking the city to 
 the height which is crowned by the great hospital. Beyond 
 the hospital, opposite to the Grand Rocher, a terrific precipice 
 of rock beneath which a cascade leaps down to the valley where 
 lie the baths of Sidi Imcin, is a wood of fir-trees commanding 
 an immense view. This was the objective of their walk. The 
 sun shone warmly, brightly, over the roaring city, perched on its 
 savage height and crowding down to its precipices, as if seeking 
 for destruction. Clarions sounded from the woods, where 
 hidden soldiers were carrying out evolutions. Now and then a 
 dull roar in the distance, like the noise of a far-off earthquake, 
 proclaimed the activities of men among the rocks. From the 
 bazaars in the maze of covered alleys that stretch down the hill 
 below the Place du Chameau, from the narrow and slippery 
 pavements that wind between the mauve and the pale yellow- 
 house fronts, came incessant cries and the long and dull mur- 
 mur of voices. Bellebelles were singing everywhere in their 
 tiny cages, heedless of their captivity. On tiny wooden tables 
 and stands before the insouciant workers at trades, and the in- 
 different sellers of goods, were set vases of pale yellow jonquils. 
 Round the minarets fluttered the pigeons. And again, float- 
 ing across the terrific gorge, came the brave notes of the 
 military clarions.
 
 270 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "There is something here which I have never felt in any 
 other place," said Mrs. Shiffney to Claude. "A peculiar wild- 
 ness. It makes one want to cry out. The rocks seem to have 
 life almost under one's feet. And th& water in that terrible 
 gorge, that's like a devil's moat round the city, is more alive 
 than water in other places. It's so strange to have known you 
 in Mullion House and to find you here. How eternally in- 
 teresting life is!" 
 
 She did not always think so, but at this moment she really 
 found life interesting. 
 
 "I shall never forget this little time!" she added. "I 
 haven't enjoyed myself so much for years. And now it's 
 nearly over. What a bore!" 
 
 Claude felt exhilarated too. The day was so bright, 
 so alive, seemed full of wildness and gaiety and lusty 
 freedom. 
 
 "Let us enjoy what is left!" he said. 
 
 She stole a side glance at him as he swung along by her. 
 How would it be to be married to a man like him a man with 
 his way to make? 
 
 They came down to the bridge, escaping from the bustle of 
 the city. From the fir woods the clarions sounded louder, 
 calling to each other like bold and triumphant voices. 
 
 "Have you got those in your opera?" she asked him. 
 
 "I shall have them." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 They talked a little about the libretto as they crossed the 
 bridge, with the sound of the water in their ears. 
 
 "It is good to be out of the city!" Claude said, as they 
 came to the rubble of the unfinished track on the farther side, 
 where Arabs worked under the supervision of a French overseer. 
 "I did not know you were a walker." 
 
 "I don't think you knew very much about me." 
 
 "That's quite true. Where do you wish to go?" 
 
 ''Anywhere to the left. Let us sit on a rock under the 
 trees and look at the view." 
 
 "Can you get up here?" 
 
 "If you give me your hand." 
 
 They walked a little way in the shadow of the fir-trees,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 271 
 
 leaving the hospital on their right. The plantation was almost 
 deserted. The soldiers were evidently retiring, for the clarions 
 sounded more distant now. Here and there the figure of an 
 Arab was visible sauntering slowly among the trees, with the 
 smoke of his cigarette dispersing above him. Some young 
 Jews went by, holding hands, laughing and talking. They 
 sent glances of hard inquiry at Mrs. Shiffney's broad figure from 
 their too intelligent eyes. Soon their thin forms vanished 
 among the gray trunks. 
 
 "Shall we sit there?" asked Claude. 
 
 "Yes; just in the sun." 
 
 "Oh, but you wanted " 
 
 "No, let us sit in the sun." 
 
 She opened her green parasol. 
 
 Almost at the edge of the cliff, which descended steeply to 
 the high road to Philippeville, was a flat ledge of rock warmed 
 by the sunbeams. 
 
 "It's perfect here," she said, sitting down. "And what 
 a view!" 
 
 They were exactly opposite to the terrific Grand Rocher, a 
 gray and pale yellow precipice, with the cascades and the 
 Grand Moulin at its foot, the last houses of the city perched 
 upon its summit in the sky. 
 
 "And to think that women have been flung from there!" 
 said Claude, clasping his hands round his knees. 
 
 " Unfaithful women ! Rather hard on them !" she answered. 
 "If London husbands " She stopped. "No don't let us 
 think of London. And yet I suppose you loved it in that 
 little house of yours?" 
 
 "I think I did." 
 
 "Don't you ever regret that little house?" 
 
 She saw his eyebrows move downward. 
 
 "Oh, I I'm very fond of Djenan-el-Maqui." 
 
 "And no wonder! Only you seemed so much a part of 
 your London home. You seemed to belong to it. There was 
 an odd little sense of mystery." 
 
 "Was there?" 
 
 "And I felt it was necessary to you, to your talent. How 
 could I feel that without ever hearing your music? I did."
 
 272 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Don't I seem to belong to Djenan-el-Maqui?" 
 
 "I've never seen you there," she answered, with a deliberate 
 evasiveness. 
 
 Claude looked at her for a moment,.then looked away over 
 the immense view. It seemed to him that this woman was 
 beginning to understand him too well, perhaps. 
 
 "Of course," she added. "There is a sense of mystery in 
 an Arab house. But it's such a different kind. And I think 
 we each have our own particular brand of mystery. Now 
 yours was a very special brand, quite unlike anyone else's." 
 
 " I certainly got to love my little house." 
 
 " Because it was doing things for you." 
 
 Claude looked at her again, and thought how intelligent her 
 eyes were. As he looked at them they seemed to grow more 
 intelligent as if in answer to his gaze. 
 
 "Right things," she added, with an emphasis on the pen- 
 ultimate word. 
 
 "But forgive me how can you know?" 
 
 "I do know. I'm an ignoramus with marvellous instincts 
 in certain directions. That's why a lot of people silly 
 people, you think, I daresay follow my lead." 
 
 "Well, but " 
 
 "Goon!" 
 
 "I think I'd better not." 
 
 "You can say anything to me. I'm never in a hurry to 
 take offense." 
 
 "I was going to say that you seemed rather to wish once 
 to draw me out of my shell into a very different kind of life," 
 said Claude slowly, hesitatingly, and slightly reddening. 
 
 "I acted quite against my artistic instinct when I did 
 that." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney looked at him in silence for a moment. She 
 was wishing to blush. But that was an effort beyond her 
 powers. 
 
 Very far away behind them a clarion sounded. 
 
 "The soldiers must be going back to barracks, I suppose," 
 she said. 
 
 Claude was feeling treacherous, absurdly. The thought of
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 273 
 
 Charmian had come to him, and with it the disagreeable, 
 almost hateful sensation. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose they are," he said coldly. 
 
 He did not mean to speak coldly; but directly he had said 
 the words he knew that his voice had become frigid. 
 
 "What a stupid ass I am!" was his comment on himself. 
 But how to be different? 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney was looking very grave. Her drawn-down 
 brows, her powerful lips suggested to him at this moment 
 suffering. In London he had thought of her as a typical 
 pleasure-seeking woman, greedy of sensation, reckless in the 
 chase after it. And he had disliked, almost feared her, despite 
 her careless charm. Now he felt differently about her. He 
 had come to that point in a man's acquaintance with a woman 
 when he says to himself, "I never understood her properly." 
 He seemed to himself a brute. Yet what had he done? 
 
 She did not speak for several minutes. He wanted to 
 speak, to break a silence which, to him, was painful; but he 
 could think of nothing to say. He felt oddly moved, yet he 
 could not have said why, perhaps even to himself. Keeping 
 his hands clasped round his knees, he looked out beyond the 
 gorge over the open country. Far down, at the foot of the 
 cascades, he saw in a hollow the clustering trees about the 
 baths of Sidi Imcin. Along the reddish bareness of the hill 
 showed the white blossoms of some fruit-trees, almost like a 
 white dust flung up against the tawny breast of the earth. 
 The water made a hoarse noise in the hidden depths of the 
 gorge, lifted its voice into a roar as it leaped down into the 
 valley, murmured like the voice of a happy dreamer where it 
 slipped by among the trees. And Claude, as he sat in silence, 
 believed that he heard clearly the threefold utterance, subtly 
 combined, and, like some strange trinity, striving to tell him 
 truths of life. 
 
 His eyes travelled beyond the gorge, the precipices, the 
 tree-tops, beyond the hard white track far down beneath his 
 feet, to the open country, bare, splendid, almost incredibly 
 spacious, fiercely blooming in the strong colors reds, yellows, 
 golds with long rolling slopes, dimpling shallow depressions, 
 snakelike roads, visible surely for hundreds of kilometers, far- 
 is
 
 274 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 off ranges of solemn mountains whose crests seemed to hint 
 at divinity. And as he looked he felt that he wanted, or 
 perhaps needed, something that he had certainly never had, 
 that must exist, that must have been, be, known to some few 
 men and women; only that something experienced made life 
 truly life. 
 
 For a moment, in some mysterious process of the mind, 
 Claude mingled his companion with the dream and the long- 
 ing, transfigured, standing for women rather than a woman. 
 
 During that moment Mrs. Shiffney watched him, and 
 London desires connected with him returned to her, were 
 very strong within her. She had come to him as a spy from 
 an enemy's camp. She had fulfilled her mission. Any 
 further action must be taken by Henriette was, perhaps, 
 at this very moment being taken by her. But if this man 
 had been different she might well have been on his side. 
 Even now 
 
 Claude felt her eyes upon him and looked at her. And now 
 she deliberately allowed him to see her thought, her desire. 
 What did it matter if he was married? What on earth 
 had such a commonplace matter as marriage got to do with it? 
 
 Her look, not to be misunderstood, brought Claude at once 
 back to that firm ground on which he walked with Charmian 
 and his own instinctive loyalty; an austere rubbish in Mrs. 
 Shiffney's consideration of it. 
 
 He unclasped his hands from his knees. At that moment 
 he saw the minotaur thing, with its teeth and claws, heard 
 the shuddering voice of it. He wanted to look away at once 
 from Mrs. Shiffney, but he could not. All that he could do 
 was to try not to show by his eyes that he understood her 
 desire and was recoiling from it. 
 
 Of course, he failed, as any other man must have failed. 
 She followed every step of his retreat, and sarcasm flickered 
 into her face, transforming it. 
 
 "Don't you think I understand you?" she said lightly. 
 "Don't you think you ought to have lived on in Mullion 
 House?" 
 
 As she spoke she got up and gently brushed some twigs 
 from her tailor-made skirt.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 275 
 
 Claude sprang up, hoping to be helped by movement. 
 
 "Oh, no, I had had quite enough of it!" he replied, forcing 
 himself to seem careless, yet conscious that little of what he 
 was feeling was unknown by her at this moment. 
 
 "And your opera could never have been brought to the 
 birth there." 
 
 She had turned, and they walked slowly back among the 
 fir-trees toward the bridge. 
 
 "You knew that, perhaps, and were wise in your genera- 
 tion." 
 
 Claude said nothing, and she continued: 
 
 "I always think one of the signs of greatness in an artist 
 is his knowledge of what environment, what way of life, is 
 necessary to his talent. No one can know that for him. 
 Every really great artist is as inflexible as the Grand Rocher." 
 
 She pointed with her right hand toward the precipice. 
 
 "That is why women always love and hate him." 
 
 Her eyes and her voice lightly mocked him. She turned 
 her head and looked at him, smiling: 
 
 "I am sure Charmian knows that." 
 
 Claude reddened to the roots of his hair and felt suddenly 
 abased. 
 
 "There are very few great artists in the world," he said. 
 
 "And, so, very few inflexible men?" 
 
 "I have never " 
 
 He pulled himself up. 
 
 "Yes?" she said encouragingly. 
 
 "I was only going to say," he said, speaking now doggedly, 
 "that I have never laid claim to anything anything in the 
 way of talent. It isn't quite fair, is it, to assume that I con- 
 sider myself a man of talent or an important person when 
 I don't?" 
 
 "Do you really mean to tell me that you don't think 
 yourself a man of talent?" 
 
 " I am entirely unknown." 
 
 "What has that to do with it?" 
 
 "Nothing, of course, but but perhaps it is only when he 
 has something to offer, and has offered it, that a man knows 
 what is his value."
 
 276 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "In that case you will know when you have produced 
 your opera." 
 
 Claude looked down. 
 
 " All my good wishes and my prayers will go with you from 
 now till its production," she continued, always lightly. "I 
 have a right to be specially interested since that evening with 
 Said Hitani. And then I have been privileged. I have read 
 the libretto." 
 
 As she spoke Claude was conscious of uneasiness. He 
 thought of Charmian, of Mrs. Shiffney, of the libretto. Had 
 he not been carried away by events, by atmosphere, perhaps, 
 and by the influence of music, which always had upon him 
 such a dangerously powerful effect? He remembered the 
 night when he had written his decisive letter to Charmian. 
 Music had guided him then. Had it not guided him again in 
 Constantine? Was it angel or demon in his life? 
 
 "Help me down, please. It's a little difficult here.'"' 
 
 He took Mrs. Shiffney's hand. Its clasp now told him 
 nothing. 
 
 They crossed the bridge and came once more into the 
 violent activities, into the perpetual uproar of the city. 
 
 By the evening train Mrs. Shiffney and her party left 
 for Algiers. Claude went down to the station to see them off. 
 
 On the platform they found Armand Gillier, with a bunch 
 of flowers in his hand. 
 
 Just as the train was about to start he presented it to 
 Madame Sennier. 
 
 From the window of the wagon-lit Mrs. Shiffney looked at 
 the two men standing together as the train drew away from 
 the platform. 
 
 Then she nodded and waved her hand. 
 
 There was a mocking smile on her face. 
 
 When the station was hidden she leaned back, turning 
 toward Henriette. 
 
 "Claude Heath is a fool!" she said. "I wonder .-when he 
 will begin to suspect it?" 
 
 "Men have to take their time over things like that," 
 remarked Henriette. "What hideous flowers these are! I 
 think I shall throw them out of the window."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 277 
 
 "No, don't!" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "They are a symbol of your reconciliation with Armand 
 Gillier." 
 
 "He isn't altogether a fool, I fancy," remarked Henriette, 
 laying Gillier's bouquet down on the seat beside her. " But we 
 shall see." 
 
 "Oh, Max! Yes, come in and sit with us!" 
 
 The faces of the two women changed as Max Elliot joined 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AFTER their return from Constantine Mrs. Shiffney and 
 her party only stayed two nights at Mustapha. Then 
 they descended to the harbor and went on board The 
 Wanderer, which weighed anchor and set sail for Monte Carlo. 
 Before leaving they paid a visit to Djenan-el-Maqui to say 
 adieu to Charmian. 
 
 The day was unusually hot for the time of year, and both 
 Mrs. Shiffney and Madame Sennier were shrouded in white 
 veils with patterns. These, the latest things from Paris, 
 were almost like masks. Little of the faces beneath them 
 could be seen. But no doubt they preserved complexions 
 from the destructive influence of the sun. 
 
 Jacques Sennier had told his friends and his wife the story 
 of his days of desertion. A name summed it up, Djenan-el- 
 Maqui. With the utmost vivacity, however, he had described 
 all he had eaten, drunk, smoked, and done in that hospitable 
 house and garden; the impression he had made upon the 
 occupants and had received from them. 
 
 "I am beloved by all!" he had cried, with enthusiasm. 
 "They would die for me. As for the good Pierre, each night 
 he led me home as if I were his own child!" 
 
 "We must certainly go and thank them," said Mrs. Shiffney, 
 laughing. 
 
 The visit was not without intensities. 
 
 "We've come to say 'Good-bye,'" said Mrs. Shiffney, 
 when they came into the "harem," as she persisted in calling 
 the drawing-room. " We are just back from our little run, 
 and now we must be off to Monte Carlo. By the way, we came 
 across your husband in Constantine." 
 
 "I know. He wrote to me all about it," said Charmian. 
 
 Claude had really written a very short note, ending with 
 the maddening phrase, "all news when we meet." She was 
 
 278
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 279 
 
 burning with curiosity, was tingling almost with suspicion. 
 As she looked at those veils, and saw the shining of the feminine 
 eyes behind them, it seemed to her that the two women lay 
 in ambush while she stood defenseless in the open. 
 
 "Jacques has been telling me about your kindness to 
 him," said Madame Sennier, "and your long talks about 
 opera, America, the audiences over there, the managers, the 
 money-making. I'm afraid he must have bored you with our 
 affairs." 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Charmian quickly, and faintly reddening. 
 "We have had a delightful time." 
 
 "Adorable!" said Sennier. "And those syrups of fruit, 
 the strawberry, the greengage! And the omelettes of Jeanne, 
 'Jeanne la Grande,' " he flung forth his arms to indicate the 
 breadth of the cook. "And the evenings of moonlight, when 
 we wandered between the passion-flowers!" 
 He blew a kiss. 
 
 "Shall I forget them? Never!" 
 Madame Sennier was evidently quite undisturbed. 
 "You've given him a good time," she observed. "Indeed 
 I'm afraid you've spoilt him. But are there really passion- 
 flowers in the garden?" 
 
 "I don't believe it!" said Max Elliot, laughing. 
 The composer seized his arm. 
 
 "Come with me, Max, and I will show you. England, 
 that is the land of the sceptics. But you shall learn to have 
 faith. And you, my Susan, come!" 
 
 He seized these two, who happened to be nearest to him, 
 and, laughing like a child, but with imperative hands, com- 
 pelled them to go out with him to the courtyard. Their steps 
 died away on the pavement. The three women were left 
 alone. 
 
 "Shall we sit in the court?" said Charmian. "I think it's 
 cooler there. There's a little breeze from the sea." 
 "Let us go, then," said Madame Sennier. 
 When they were sitting not far from the fountain, which 
 made a pleasant murmur as it fell into the pool where the 
 three goldfish moved slowly as if in a vague and perpetual 
 search, Charmian turned the conversation to Constantine.
 
 280 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "It's perfectly marvellous!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "Barbaric 
 and extraordinary." 
 
 And she talked of the gorge and of the Chemin des Touristes. 
 Madame Sennier spoke of the terrific wall of rock from which, 
 in the days before the French occupation, faithless wives were 
 sometimes hurled to death by their Arab husbands. 
 
 "C'est affreuxl" she exclaimed, lapsing into French. She 
 put up her hand to her veil, and pulled it tightly under her 
 prominent chin with twisting fingers. 
 
 "Les Arabes sont des monstres." 
 
 As she spoke, as with her cold yellow eyes she glanced 
 through the interstices of her veil at Charmian, she thought 
 of Claude's libretto. 
 
 "Oh, but they are very attractive 1" said Charmian quickly. 
 
 She, too, was thinking of the libretto with its Arab char- 
 acters, its African setting. Not knowing, not suspecting 
 that Madame Sennier had read it, she supposed that Madame 
 Sennier was expressing a real and instinctive disgust. 
 
 The Frenchwoman shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Ce sont tons des monstres malpropresl" 
 
 "Henriette can't bear them," said Mrs. Shiffney, pushing 
 a dried leaf of eucalyptus idly over the pavement with the 
 point of her black-and-white parasol. "And do you know 
 I really believe that there is a strong antipathy between West 
 and East. I don't think Europeans and Americans really 
 feel attracted by Arabs, except perhaps just at first because 
 they are picturesque." 
 
 "Americans!" cried Madame Sennier. "Why, anything 
 to do with what they call color drives them quite mad!" 
 
 "Negroes are not Arabs," said Charmian, almost warmly. 
 
 "It is all the same. Us sont tons des monstres affreux." 
 
 "Tst! Tst! Tst!" 
 
 The voice of Jacques came up from the garden. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Tst! Tst!" 
 
 They were silent, and heard in the distance faintly a sound of 
 drumming and of native music. 
 
 "I must go! I must hear, see!" 
 
 The composer cried out.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 281 
 
 "Come with me, my Susan, and you, Max, old person!" 
 
 There was a patter of running feet, a sound of full-throated 
 laughter from Elliot, and presently silence but for the now 
 very distant music. 
 
 "He is a baby," observed Madame Sennier. 
 
 She yawned, slightly blowing out her veil. 
 
 " How hot it is!" 
 
 Pierre came out carrying a tray on which were some of the 
 famous fruit syrups, iced lemonade, cakes, and bonbons. 
 
 "These are the things your husband loves," said Charmian, 
 pointing to the syrups. "I wonder " She paused. "Did 
 you make as great friends with my husband as I have made 
 with yours?" she asked lightly. 
 
 Madame Sennier spread out her hands, which were encased 
 in thick white kid gloves sewn with black. Her amazingly 
 thin figure, which made ignorant people wonder whether she 
 possessed the physical mechanism declared by anatomists to 
 be necessary to human life, somehow proclaimed a negative. 
 
 "My husband opens his door, the window too. Yours 
 keeps his door shut and the blinds over the window. Jacques 
 gives all, like a child. Your husband seems to give some- 
 times; but he really gives nothing." 
 
 "Of course, the English temperament is very different from 
 the French," said Charmian, in a constrained voice. 
 
 "Very!" said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 Was she smiling behind the veil? 
 
 "You ought to go to America," said Madame Sennier. 
 "Nobody knows what real life is who has not seen New York 
 in the season. Paris, London, they are sleepy villages in 
 comparison with New York." 
 
 "I should like to see it," replied Charmian. "But we 
 have nothing to take us there, no reason to go." 
 
 She laughed and added: 
 
 "And Claude and I are not millionaires." 
 
 Madame Sennier talked for two or three minutes of the 
 great expense of living in a smart New York hotel, and then 
 said: 
 
 "But some day you will surely go." 
 
 "There doesn't seem any prospect of it," said Charmian.
 
 282 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "D'you remember meeting a funny little man called 
 Crayford in my house one night, an impresario?" said Mrs. 
 Shiffney, moving her shoulders, and pulling at one of her 
 long gloves, as if she were bored and must find some occupation. 
 
 "Yes, I believe I do a man with a tiny beard." 
 
 "Like a little inquiring goat's! D'you know that he's 
 searching the world to find some composer to run against 
 Jacques? Isn't it so, Henriette?" 
 
 "So they say in New York," said Madame Sennier. "I 
 wish he could find one; then perhaps he would leave off 
 bothering us with absurd proposals. And I'm sure there is 
 plenty of room for some more shining lights. I told Crayford 
 if he worried Jacques any more I would unearth someone for 
 him. He doesn't know where to look." 
 
 "But surely " began Charmian. 
 
 "Why do you think that?" asked Mrs. Shiffney, in an 
 uninterested voice. 
 
 Her brilliant eyes looked extraordinary, like some strange 
 exotic bird's eyes, through her veil. 
 
 "Because he began his search with England," said Madame 
 Sennier. 
 
 "Well, really Henriette!" observed Mrs. Shiffney, with 
 a faint laugh. 
 
 "Ought I to apologize?" said Madame Sennier, turning to 
 Charmian. "When art is in question I believe in speaking 
 the plain truth. Oh, I know your husband is by way of 
 writing an opera! But, of course, one sees that well, you 
 are here in this delicious little house, having what the Ameri- 
 cans call a lovely tune, enjoying North Africa, listening to 
 the fountain, walking, as my old baby says, among passion- 
 flowers, and playing about with that joke from the Quartier 
 Latin, Armand Gillier. Mais, ma chere, ce n'est pas serieux! 
 One has only to look at your interesting husband, to see him 
 in the African milieu, to see that. And, of course, one realizes 
 at once that you see through it all! A pretty game! If one 
 is well off one can afford it. Jacques and I starved; but it 
 was quite right that we should. The English talent is not 
 for opera. The Te Deum, the cathedral service, the oratorio 
 in one form or another, in fact the thing with a sacred basis,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 283 
 
 that is where the English strength lies. It is in the blood. 
 But opera!" Her shoulders went up. "Ah, here they 
 come! Jacques, my cabbage, you are to be petted for the last 
 time! Here are your syrups." 
 
 Jacques Sennier came, almost running. 
 
 "Did they ever nearly starve?" Charmian asked Mrs. 
 Shiffney, when for a moment the attention of all the others 
 was distracted from her by some wild joke of the com- 
 poser's. 
 
 "Henriette thinks so, I believe. Perhaps that is why 
 Jacques is eating all your biscuits now." 
 
 When the moment of parting came Jaques Sennier was 
 almost in tears. He insisted on going into the kitchen to say 
 farewell to "la grande Jeanne." He took Pierre in his arms, 
 solemnly blessed Caroline, and warmly pressed his lips to 
 Charmian's hands as he held them, squeezed one on the top 
 of the other, in both his own. 
 
 "I shall dedicate my new opera to you and to your syrups!" 
 he exclaimed. "To the greengage, ah, and the passion- 
 flowers! Max, you old person, have you seen them, or have 
 you not? The wonderful Washington was not more truthful 
 than I." 
 
 His eyes twinkled. 
 
 "Were it not that I am a physical coward, I would not go 
 even now. But to die because a man who cannot write has 
 practised on soda-water bottles! I fly before Armand Gillier. 
 But, madame, I fear your respectable husband is even more 
 cowardly than I!" 
 
 "Why?" said Charmian, at length releasing her hands 
 from his Simian grasp. 
 
 "He accepted a libretto!" 
 
 When they were gone Charmian was suddenly overcome 
 by a sense of profound depression such as she had never felt 
 before. With them seemed to go a world; and it was a world 
 that some part of her loved and longed for. Sennier stood 
 for fame, for success; his wife for the glory of the woman who 
 aids and is crowned; Mrs. Shiffney and Max Elliot for the joy 
 and the power that belong to great patrons of the arts. An 
 immense vitality went away with them all. So long as they
 
 284 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 were with her the little Arab house, the little African garden, 
 had stood in the center of things, in the heart of vital things. 
 The two women had troubled Charmian. Madame Sennier 
 had almost frightened her. Yet something in both of them 
 fascinated, must always fascinate such a mind and tempera- 
 ment as hers. They meant so much to the men who were 
 known. And they had made themselves known. Both were 
 women who stood apart from the great crowd. When their 
 names were mentioned everyone who counted knew who 
 they were. 
 
 As to Jacques Sennier, he left a crevasse in the life at 
 Djenan-el-Maqui. It had been a dangerous experience for 
 Charmian, the associating in intimacy with the little famous 
 man. Her secret ambitions were irritated almost to the 
 point of nervous exasperation. But she only knew it now 
 that he was gone. 
 
 Madame Sennier had frightened her. 
 
 "Mais, ma chere, ce n'est pas strieux!" 
 
 The words had been said with an air of hard and careless 
 authority, as if the speaker knew she was expressing the 
 obvious truth, and a truth known to both her hearers; and 
 then the words which had followed: "One has only to look 
 at your interesting husband, to see him in the African milieu, 
 to see that!" 
 
 What had happened at Constantine? How had Claude 
 been? 
 
 Charmian wanted so much to see him, to hear his account 
 of the whole matter, that she telegraphed: 
 
 "Come back as soon as you can they have gone very dull 
 here. CHARMIAN." 
 
 She knew that in sending this telegram she was coming out 
 of her role; but her nerves drove her into the weakness. 
 
 Within a week Claude and Gillier returned. 
 
 Charmian noticed at once that their expedition had not 
 drawn the two men together, that their manner to each other 
 was cold and constrained. On the day of their return she 
 persuaded Gillier to dine at the villa. He seemed reluctant 
 to accept, but she overcame his hesitation. 
 
 " I want to hear all about it," she said. " You must remem-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 285 
 
 ber what a keen interest I have in everything that has to do 
 with the opera." 
 
 Gillier looked at her oddly, with a sort of furtive inquiry, 
 she thought. Then he said formally: 
 
 " I am delighted to stay, madame." 
 
 During dinner he became more expansive, but Claude 
 seemed to Charmian to become more constrained. Beneath 
 his constraint excitement lay in hiding. He looked tired; 
 but his imaginative eyes shone as if they could not help speak- 
 ing, although his lips were often dumb. Only when he was 
 talking to Susan Fleet did he seem to be comparatively at ease. 
 
 The good Algerian wine went round, and Gillier's tongue 
 was gradually unloosed. Some of the crust of formality 
 flaked off from him, and his voice became a little louder. His 
 manner, too, was more animated. Nevertheless, Charmian 
 noticed that from time to time he regarded her with the 
 oddly furtive look at which she had wondered before dinner. 
 
 Presently Gillier found himself alone with Charmian. 
 Susan Fleet and Claude were pacing up and down in the 
 garden among the geraniums. Charmian and Gillier sat at 
 the edge of the court. Gillier sipped his Turkish coffee, 
 poured out a glass of old brandy, clipped a big Havana cigar, 
 which he took from an open box on a little low table beside 
 him. His large eyes rested on Charmian, and she thought 
 how disagreeably expressive they were. She did not like 
 this man, though she admired his remarkable talent. But 
 she had had a purpose in persuading him to stay that evening, 
 and she was resolved to carry it out. 
 
 "Has it gone off well?" she asked, with a careful light- 
 ness, a careful carelessness which she hoped was deceiving. 
 "Were you able to put my husband in the way of seeing and 
 hearing everything that could help him with his music?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, madame! He saw, heard everything." 
 
 Gillier blew forth a cloud of smoke, turned a little in his 
 chair and looked at his cigar. He seemed to be considering 
 something. 
 
 "Then the expedition was a success?" said Charmian. 
 
 Gillier glanced at her and took another sip of brandy. 
 
 "Who knows, madame?"
 
 286 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Who knows? Why, how do you mean?" 
 
 "Madame, since I have been away with your husband I 
 confess I begin to have certain doubts." 
 
 "Doubts!" said Charmian, in a changed and almost chal- 
 lenging voice. "I don't quite understand." 
 
 "That your husband is a clever man, I realize. He has 
 evidently much knowledge of the technique of music, much 
 imagination. He is an original, though he seldom shows it, 
 and wishes to conceal it." 
 
 "Then" 
 
 "A moment, madame! You will say, 'That is good for 
 the opera ! ' : 
 
 "Naturally!" 
 
 " That depends. I do not know whether his sort of original- 
 ity is what the public will appreciate. But I do know very 
 well that your husband and I will never get on together." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "He is not my sort. I don't understand him. And I 
 confess that I feel anxious." 
 
 "Anxious? What about, monsieur?" 
 
 "Madame, I have written a great libretto. I want a 
 great opera made of it. It is my nature to speak frankly; 
 perhaps you may call it brutally, but I am not homme du 
 monde. I am not a little man of the salons. I am not ac- 
 customed to live in kid gloves. I have sweated. I have 
 seen life. I have been, and I still am, poor poor, madame! 
 But, madame, I do not intend to remain sunk to my neck in 
 poverty for ever. No!" 
 
 "Of course not with your talent!" 
 
 "Ah, that is just it!" 
 
 His eyes shone with excitement as he went on, leaning 
 toward her, and speaking almost with violence. 
 
 "That is just it! My talent for the stage is great, I have 
 always known that. Even when my work was refused once, 
 a second, a third time, I knew it. 'The day will come,' I 
 thought, 'when those who now refuse my work will come 
 crawling to me to get me to write for them. Now I am told 
 to go! Then they will seek me.' Yes" he paused, finished 
 his glass of brandy, and continued, more quietly, as if he
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 287 
 
 were making a great effort after self-control "but is your 
 husband's talent for the stage as great as mine? I doubt it." 
 
 "Why do you doubt it?" exclaimed Charmian warmly. 
 "What reason have you to doubt it? You have not heard 
 my husband's music to your libretto yet, not a note of it." 
 
 "No. And that enables me " 
 
 "Enables you to do what? Why didn't you finish your 
 sentence, Monsieur Gillier?" 
 
 "Madame, if you are going to be angry with me " 
 
 "Angry! My dear Monsieur Gillier, I am not angry! 
 What can you be thinking of?" 
 
 "I feared by your words, your manner " 
 
 "I assure you besides, what is there to be angry about? 
 But do finish what you were saying." 
 
 "I was about to say that the fact that I have not yet 
 heard any of your husband's music to my libretto enables me, 
 without any offense personal offense pronouncing any 
 sort of judgment to approach you " He paused. The 
 expression in her eyes made him pause. He fidgeted rather 
 uneasily in his chair, and looked away from her to the fountain. 
 
 "Yes?" said Charmian. 
 
 "Madame?" 
 
 "Please tell me what it is you want of me, or my husband, 
 or of both of us." 
 
 "I do not I have not said I want anything. But it is 
 true I want success. I want it for this work of mine. Since 
 I have been in Constantine with Monsieur Heath I have 
 very reluctantly, madame, believe me! come to the con- 
 clusion that he and I are not suited to be associated together 
 in the production of a work of art. We are too different the 
 one from the other. I am an Algerian ex-soldier, a man who 
 has gone into the depths of life. He is an English Puritan 
 who never has lived, and never will live. I have done all I 
 could to make him understand something of the life not 
 merely in, but that underlies underlies my libretto. My 
 efforts well, what can I say?" he flung out his hands and 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It is only the difference between the French and English 
 temperaments."
 
 288 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 " No, madame. It is the difference between the man who 
 is and the man who is not afraid to live." 
 
 "I don't agree with you," said Charmian coldly. "But 
 really it is not a matter which I can discuss with you." 
 
 "I have no wish to discuss it. All I wish to say is this" 
 he looked down, hesitated, then with a sort of dogged obstin- 
 acy continued, "that I am willing to buy back my libretto 
 from you at the price for which I sold it. I have come to the 
 conclusion that it is not likely to suit your husband's talent. 
 I am very poor indeed, alas ! but I prefer to lose a hundred 
 pounds rather than to " 
 
 "Have you spoken to my husband of this?" Charmian 
 interrupted him. 
 
 She was almost trembling with anger and excitement, but 
 she managed to speak quietly. 
 
 "No, madame." 
 
 " You have asked me a question " 
 
 "I have asked no question, madame!" 
 
 "Do you mean to say you are not asking me if we will 
 resell the libretto?" 
 
 Gillier was silent. 
 
 "My answer is that the libretto is our property and that 
 we intend to keep it. If you offered us five times what we 
 gave you for it the answer would be the same." 
 
 She paused. Gillier said nothing. She looked at him and 
 suddenly anger, a sense of outrage, got the better of her, and 
 she added with intense bitterness: 
 
 "We are living here in North Africa, we have given up our 
 home, our friends, our occupations, everything our life in 
 England" her voice trembled. "Everything, I say, in 
 order to do justice to your work, and you come, you dare to 
 come to us, and ask ask " 
 
 Gillier got up. 
 
 " Madame, I see it is useless. You have bought my work, 
 if you choose to keep it " 
 
 " We do choose to keep it." 
 
 "Then I can do nothing." 
 
 He pulled out his watch. 
 
 " It is late. I must wish you good-night, madame. Kindly
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 289 
 
 say good-night for me to that lady, your friend, and to 
 Monsieur Heath." 
 
 He bowed. Charmian did not hold out her hand. She 
 meant to, but it seemed to her that her hand refused to move, 
 as if it had a will of its own to resist hers. 
 
 ''Good-night," she said. 
 
 She watched his rather short and broad figure pass across 
 the open space of the court and disappear. 
 
 After he had gone she moved across the court to the foun- 
 tain and sat down at its edge. She was trembling now, 
 and her excitement was growing in solitude. But she still 
 had the desire to govern it, the hope that she would be able 
 to do so. She felt that she had been grossly insulted by 
 Gillier. But she was not only angry with him. She stared 
 at the rising and falling water, clasping her hands tightly 
 together. "I will be calm!" she was saying to herself. "I 
 will be calm, mistress of myself." 
 
 But suddenly she got up, went swiftly across the court to 
 the garden entrance, and called out: 
 
 "Susan! Claude! Where are you?" 
 
 Her voice sounded to her sharp and piercing in the night. 
 
 "What is it, Charmian?" answered Claude's voice from the 
 distance. 
 
 " I'm going to bed. It's late. Monsieur Gillier has gone." 
 
 "Coming!" answered Claude's voice. 
 
 Charmian retreated to the house. 
 
 As she came into the drawing-room she looked at her watch. 
 It was barely ten o'clock. In a moment Susan Fleet entered, 
 followed by Claude. Susan's calm eyes glanced at Charmian's 
 face. Then she said, in her quiet, agreeable voice: 
 
 "I'm going to my room. I have two or three letters to 
 write, and I shall read a little before going to bed. It isn't 
 really very late, but I daresay you are tried." 
 
 She took Charmian's hand and held it for an instant. And 
 during that instant Charmian felt much calmer. 
 
 "Good-night, Susan dear. Monsieur Gillier asked me to 
 say good-night to you for him." 
 
 Susan did not kiss her, said good-night to Claude, and went 
 quietly away. 
 
 19
 
 290 
 
 " What is it?" Claude said, directly she had gone. " What's 
 the matter, Charmian? Why did Gillier go away so 
 early?" 
 
 "Let us go upstairs," she answeredv 
 
 Remembering the sound of her voice in the court, she 
 strove to keep it natural, even gentle, now. Susan's recent 
 touch had helped her a little. 
 
 "All right," he answered. 
 
 " Come into my sitting-room for a minute," she said, when 
 they were in the narrow gallery which ran round the drawing- 
 room on the upper story of the house. 
 
 Next to her bedroom Charmian had a tiny room, a sort of 
 nook, where she wrote her letters and did accounts. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" Claude asked again, when he had 
 followed her into this room, which was lit only by a hanging 
 antique lamp. 
 
 "How could you show the libretto to Madame Sennier?" 
 said Charmian. "How could you be so mad as to do such 
 a thing?" 
 
 As she finished speaking she sat down on the little divan 
 in the embrasure of the small grated window. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "I have never 
 shown the libretto to Madame Sennier. What could put 
 such an idea into your head?" 
 
 "But you must have shown it!" 
 
 " Charmian, I have this moment told you that I haven't." 
 
 "She has read it." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "I am positive she has read it." 
 
 "Then Gillier must have shown her a copy of it." 
 
 Charmian was silent for a minute. Then she said : 
 
 " You did not show it to anyone while you were at Constan- 
 tine?" 
 
 "I didn't say that." 
 
 "Ah! You you let Mrs. Shiffney see it!" 
 
 Her voice rose as she said the last words. 
 
 "I suppose I have a right to allow anyone I choose to read 
 a libretto I have bought and paid for," he said coldly, almost 
 sternly.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 291 
 
 "You did give it to Mrs. Shiffney then! You did! You 
 did!" 
 
 "Certainly I did!" 
 
 "And then then you come to me and say that Madame 
 Sennier hasn't read it!" 
 
 There was a sound of acute, almost of fierce exasperation 
 in her voice. 
 
 "She had not read my copy." 
 
 "I say she has!" ~*. 
 
 " Mrs. Shiffney herself specially advised me not to show it 
 to her." 
 
 "To her to Madame Sennier?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Mrs. Shiffney advised you! Oh you oh, that men 
 should claim to have keener intellects than we women! Ah! 
 Ah!" 
 
 She began to laugh hysterically, then suddenly put a 
 handkerchief before her mouth, turned her head away from 
 him and pressed her face, with the handkerchief still held to 
 it, against the cushions of the divan. Her body shook. 
 
 " Charmian!" he said. " Charmian!" 
 
 She looked up. All one side of her face was red. She 
 dropped her handkerchief on the floor. 
 
 "Do you understand now?" she said. "But, of course, 
 you don't. Well, then!" 
 
 She put both her hands palm downward on the divan, 
 and, speaking slowly with an emphasis that was cutting, and 
 stretching her body till her shoulders were slightly raised, she 
 said: 
 
 "Just now, while Susan and you were in the garden, 
 Armand Gillier asked me if we would give up his libretto." 
 
 "Give up the libretto?" 
 
 "Sell it back to him for one hundred pounds. He also 
 said he was very poor. Do you put the two things together?'* 
 
 "You think he fancies " 
 
 "No. I am sure he knows he could resell it at an advance 
 to Jacques Sennier. Those two Mrs. Shiffney and Madame 
 Sennier went to Constantine with the intention of finding 
 out what you were doing."
 
 292 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Absurd!" 
 
 "Is it? Just tell me! Wasn't it Mrs. Shiffney who 
 began to talk of the libretto?" 
 
 "Well" 
 
 "Of course it was! And didn't she pretend to be deeply 
 interested in what you were doing?" 
 
 Claude flushed. 
 
 "And didn't she talk of how other artists had trusted her 
 with secrets nobody else knew? And didn't she didn't 
 she" 
 
 But something in Claude's eyes stopped her as she was going 
 to say "make love to you." 
 
 "And so you gave your libretto up to our enemy to read, 
 and now they are trying to bribe Gillier to ruin us. Why are 
 we here? Why did I give up everything, my whole life, my 
 mother, my friends, our little house, everything I cared for, 
 everything that has made my life till now? Simply for you 
 and for your success. And then for the first woman who 
 comes along " 
 
 Her cheeks were flaming. As she thought more about 
 what had happened a storm of jealousy swept through her 
 heart. 
 
 "That's not true or fair what you imply!" said Claude. 
 " I never Mrs. Shiffney is absolutely nothing to me 
 nothing!" 
 
 "Do you understand now that she got the libretto in order 
 to show it to Madame Sennier?" 
 
 "Did Gillier ever say so?" 
 
 "Of course not! Even if he knows it, do you think it was 
 necessary he should to a woman!" 
 
 The contempt in her voice seemed to cut into him. He 
 began, against his will, to feel that Charmian must be right in 
 her supposition, to believe that he had been tricked. 
 
 "We have no proof," he said. 
 
 Charmian raised her eyebrows and sank back on the divan. 
 She was struggling against an outburst of tears. Her lips 
 moved. 
 
 "Proof! Proof!" she said at last. 
 
 Her lips moved violently. She got up, and tried hurriedly
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 293 
 
 to go by Claude into the gallery; but he put out a hand and 
 caught her by the arm. 
 
 "Charmian!" 
 
 She tried to get away. But he held her. 
 
 "I do understand. You have given up a lot for me.' 
 Perhaps I was a great fool at Constantine. I begin to believe 
 I was. But, after all, there's no great harm done. The 
 libretto is mine ours, ours. And we're not going to give 
 it up. I'll try I'll try to put my heart into the music, 
 to bring off a real success, to give you all you want, pay you 
 back for all you've given up for me and the work. Of course, 
 I may fail " 
 
 She stopped his mouth with her lips, wrenched herself from 
 his grasp, and hurried away. 
 
 A moment later he heard the heavy low door of her bedroom 
 creak as she pushed it to, then the grinding of the key in the 
 lock. 
 
 He sat down on the divan she had just left. For a moment 
 he sat still, facing the gallery, and the carved wooden balus- 
 trade which protected its further side. Then he turned and 
 looked out through the low, grated window, from which no 
 doubt in days long since gone by veiled Arab women had 
 looked as they sat idly on the divan. 
 
 He saw a section of almost black-purple sky. He saw 
 some stars. And, leaning his cheek on his hand, he gazed 
 through the little window for a long, long time.
 
 CHAPTER XX\N 
 
 MORE than a year had passed away. April held sway 
 over Algeria. 
 
 In the white Arab house on the hill Claude and 
 Charmian still lived and Claude still worked. To escape the 
 great heat of the previous summer they had gone to England 
 for a time, but early October had found them once more at 
 Djenan-el-Maqui, and since then they had not stirred. 
 
 Their visit to London had been a strange experience for 
 Charmian. 
 
 They had arrived in town at the beginning of July, and had 
 stayed with Mrs. Mansfield in Berkeley Square. Mrs. Mans- 
 field had not paid her proposed visit to Algiers. She had 
 written that she was growing old and lazy, and dreaded a sea 
 voyage. But she had received them with a warmth of affection 
 which had earned their immediate forgiveness. There was still 
 a month of "season" to run, and Charmian went about and 
 saw her old friends. But Claude refused to go out, and re- 
 turned at once to orchestral studies with his "coach." He 
 even remained in London during the whole of August and 
 September, while Charmian paid some visits, and went to the 
 sea with her mother. Thus they had been separated for a 
 time after their long sojourn together in the closest intimacy. 
 
 Charmian found that she missed Claude very much. One 
 day she said to her mother, with pretended lightness and 
 smiling: 
 
 " Madre, I've got such a habit of Claude and Claude's work 
 that I seem to be in half when I'm not with him." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield wondered whether her son-in-law felt in 
 half when he was by himself in London. 
 
 To Charmian, coming back, London and "the set" seemed 
 changed. She had sometimes suffered from ennui in Africa, 
 even from loneliness in the first months there. She had got 
 up dreading the empty days, and had often longed to have a 
 
 294
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 295 
 
 party in the evening to look forward to. In England she 
 realized that not only had she got a habit of Claude, but that 
 she had got a habit, or almost a habit, of Africa and a quiet 
 life in the sunshine under blue skies. If the opera were 
 finished, the need for living in Mustapha removed, would 
 she be glad not to return to Djenan-el-Maqui? The mere 
 thought of never seeing the little white house with its cupolas 
 and its flat roof again sent a sharp pang through her. Pierre, 
 with his arched eyebrows and upraised, upturned palm, "La 
 Grande Jeanne," Bibi, little Fatma, they had become almost 
 a dear part of her life. 
 
 But soon she fell into old ways of thought and of action, 
 though she was never, she believed, quite the same Charmian 
 as before. She longed, as of old, but even more strongly, to 
 conquer the set, and this world of pleasure-seekers and con- 
 noisseurs. But she looked upon them from the outside, 
 whereas before she had been inside. During her long absence 
 she had certainly "dropped out" a little. She realized the 
 root indifference of most people to those who are not perpetu- 
 ally before them, making a claim to friendship. When she 
 reappeared in London many whom she had hitherto looked 
 upon as friends greeted her with a casual, " Oh, are you back 
 after all? We thought you had quite forsaken us!" And it 
 was impossible for even Charmian to suppose that such a 
 forsaking would have been felt as a great affliction. 
 
 This recognition on her part of the small place she had 
 held, even as merely a charming girl, in this society, made 
 Charmian think of Djenan-el-Maqui with a stronger affection, 
 but also made her long in a new, and more ruthless way, to 
 triumph in London, as clever wives of great celebrities tri- 
 umph. She saw Madame Sennier several times, as usual 
 surrounded and feted. And Madame Sennier, though she 
 nodded and said a few words, scarcely seemed to remember 
 who Charmian was. Only once did Charmian see a peculiarly 
 keen expression in the yellow eyes as they looked at her. 
 That was when some mention was made of a project of Cray- 
 ford's, his intention to build a big opera house in London. 
 Madame Sennier had shrugged her shoulders. But as she 
 answered, "What would be the use? The Metropolitan has
 
 296 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 nearly killed him. Covent Garden, with its subscription, 
 would simply finish him off. He has moved Heaven and earth 
 to get Jacques' new opera either for America or England, but 
 of course we laughed at him. He may pretend as much as 
 he likes, but he's got nothing up his sleeve" the yellow eyes 
 had fixed themselves upon Charmian with an intent look 
 that was almost like a look of inquiry. 
 
 To Sennier she had only spoken twice. The first time he 
 had forgotten who she was. The second time he had exclaimed, 
 "Ah, the syrups! the greengage! and the moonlight among 
 the passion-flowers!" and had greeted her with effusion. 
 
 But he had never come to call on her. 
 
 She still felt a sort of fondness for him; but she understood 
 that he was like a child who needed perpetual petting and did 
 not care very much from whom it came. 
 
 The impression she received, on coming back to this world 
 after a long absence, was of a shifting quicksand. She also 
 now knew absolutely how much of a nobody she was in it. 
 
 She had returned to Africa caring for it much less, but 
 longing much more to conquer it and to dominate it. 
 
 On that day in October, a gorgeous day which had surely 
 lain long in the heart of summer, when she saw again the 
 climbing white town on the hill, when later she stood again 
 in the Arab court, hearing the French voices of the servants, 
 the guttural chatter of Bibi and Fatma, seeing the three gold 
 fish making their eternal pilgrimage through the water shed 
 by the fountain into the marble basin, she felt an intimate 
 thrill at her heart. There was something here that she loved 
 as she loved nothing in London. 
 
 From the night when Claude and Armand Gillier had 
 returned to Mustapha after the visit to Constantine "the 
 opera" had been to Charmian almost as a living thing a 
 thing for which she had fought, from which she had beaten 
 off enemies. She thought of it as their child, Claude's 
 and hers. They had no other child. She did not regret 
 that. 
 
 Claude had long ago learnt to work in his home without 
 difficulty. The paralysis which had beset him in Kensington 
 had not returned. He was inclined to believe that by con-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 297 
 
 stant effort he had strengthened his will. But he had also 
 become thoroughly accustomed to married life. And the 
 fact that Charmian had become accustomed to it, too, had 
 helped him without his being conscious of it. The embarrass- 
 ment of beginnings was gone. And something else was gone; 
 the sense of secret combat which in the first months of their 
 marriage had made life so difficult to both of them. 
 
 The man had given in to the woman. When Claude left 
 England with Gillier's bought libretto he was a conquered 
 man. And this fact had brought about a cessation of struggle 
 and had created a sensation of calm even in the conquered. 
 
 Every day now, when Claude went up to his room on the 
 roof to work at the opera, he was doing exactly what his wife 
 wished him to do. By degrees he had come to believe that 
 he was also doing what he wished to do. 
 
 He was no longer reserved about his work with Charmian. 
 The barriers were broken down. The wife knew what the 
 husband was doing. They "talked things over." 
 
 Twice during their long sojourn at Mustapha they had been 
 visited by Alston Lake. And now, in the first days of April, 
 came a note from Saint Eugene. Gillier was once more in 
 Algeria. He had never given them a sign of life since he had 
 tried to buy back his libretto from them. Now he wrote 
 formally, saying he was paying a short visit to his family, and 
 asking permission to call at Djenan-el-Maqui at any hour that 
 would suit them. His note was addressed to Claude, who at 
 once showed it to Charmian. 
 
 "Of course we must let him come," Claude said. 
 
 "Of course!" 
 
 She turned the note over, twisted it in her fingers. 
 
 "How I hate him!" she said. "I can't help it. His 
 insult to you and " 
 
 " Don't let us go into all that again. It is so long ago." 
 
 "This letter brings it all back." 
 
 She made a grimace of disgust. 
 
 "Why should you see him?" said Claude. "Let me see 
 him alone. You can easily have an engagement. You are 
 going to those theatricals at the Hotel Continental on Friday. 
 Let me have him here then."
 
 298 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Shall I?" She glanced at Claude. "No, I'd better be 
 liere too." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know but I'd better! Tell him to come 
 on Thursday." 
 
 "Lunch?" 
 
 "Oh, no! Let us just have him in the afternoon." 
 
 Gillier came at the time appointed, and was received by 
 Charmian, who made a creditable effort to behave as if she 
 were at her ease and glad to see him. She made him sit down 
 with her in the cosiest corner of the drawing-room, gave him 
 coffee and a cigarette, and promised that Claude would come 
 in a moment. 
 
 In the morning of that day she had persuaded Claude to 
 let her have a quarter of an hour alone with Gillier. He had 
 asked her why she wanted to be alone with a man she disliked. 
 She had replied, "After Constantine, don't you think you 
 had better leave the practical part of it to me?" Claude 
 had reddened slightly, but he had only said, "Very well. 
 But I don't quite see what you mean. We have no reason to 
 suppose Gillier has a special purpose in coming." "No, 
 But I should like that quarter of an hour." 
 
 So now she and Gillier sat together in the shady drawing- 
 room, and she asked him about Paris and his family, and he 
 replied with a stiff formality which had in it something 
 military. 
 
 Directly Charmian had looked at Gillier she had realized 
 that he had a definite purpose in coming. She was on the 
 defensive, but she tried not to show it. Presently she said: 
 
 "Have you been working writing?" 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 "Another libretto?" 
 
 " Madame," Gillier said, with a sort of icy fierceness, "I 
 cannot believe that you are good enough to be genuinely 
 interested in my unsuccessful life." 
 
 After the unpleasant scene at Djenan-el-Maqui Gillier had 
 returned to Paris, shut himself in, and labored almost with 
 fury on a libretto destined for Jacques Sennier. He had 
 taken immense pains and trouble, and had not spared time.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 299 
 
 At last the work had been completed, typed, and submitted 
 to Madame Sennier. After a week of anxious waiting Gillier 
 had received the libretto with the following note: 
 
 "DEAR GILLIER, This might do very well for some un- 
 known genius, say Monsieur Heath, but it is no good to a man 
 like Jacques. Nevertheless, we believe in you still, and renew 
 our offer. Send us a fine libretto, such as I know you can write, 
 and we will pay you five times as much as anyone else would, 
 on account of a royalty. We should not mind even if someone 
 else had already tried to set it. All we care about is to get 
 your best work. HENRIETTE SENNIER." 
 
 Gillier had torn this note up with fury. Then he had 
 thought things over and paid Madame Sennier a visit. It 
 was this visit which had prompted his return to Djenan-el- 
 Maqui. 
 
 "But I hope it won't be unsuccessful much longer," Char- 
 mian said, with deliberate graciousness. 
 
 "I hope so too, madame." 
 
 Something in his voice, a new tone, almost startled her. 
 But she continued, without any change of manner: 
 
 "We must all hope for a great success." 
 
 "We, madame?" 
 
 "You and I and my husband." 
 
 Gillier bit his moustache and looked down. A heavy 
 gloom seemed to have overspread him. After a moment he 
 looked up, leaned back, as if determined to be at his ease, and 
 said abruptly: 
 
 " Monsieur Sennier has completed a new opera. It is to be 
 produced at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York some 
 time next winter." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 Charmian tried to keep all expression out of her voice as 
 she spoke. 
 
 "Since I last saw you, madame," Gillier continued, "I 
 have managed to get a look at the libretto." 
 
 Without knowing that she did so Charmian leaned forward 
 quickly and moved her hands.
 
 300 
 
 "It does not approach my work, the work your husband 
 bought from me for only one hundred pounds, in strength 
 and drama." 
 
 "Your libretto is splendid. Mr. Lake and I have always 
 thought so; and of course my husband agrees with us. But 
 you know that." 
 
 Gillier pulled his thick moustache, looked quickly round 
 the room, then at his hands, which he had abruptly brought 
 down on his knees, and then at Charmian. 
 
 "I have reason to believe that Jacques Sennier or rather 
 Madame Sennier, for she read all the libretti sent in to him, 
 and only showed him those she thought worth considering 
 that if Madame Sennier had seen the libretto I sold to your 
 husband Sennier would have set mine mine in preference 
 to the one he has set." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Charmian, with studied indifference. 
 
 "Yes!" he exclaimed, almost with violence. 
 
 "All this is very interesting. But I don't see what it 
 has to do with me and my husband. You were good enough 
 to offer to buy back your libretto from us last year. We 
 refused. Our refusal " 
 
 "Your refusal, madame! I never spoke about the matter 
 to your husband. I never asked him." 
 
 "Have you come here now to ask him? Is that what you 
 mean, monsieur?" 
 
 Gillier got up, throwing his cigarette end into the brass 
 coffee tray. He was evidently much excited. As he stood 
 up in front of her Charmian thought that he looked suddenly 
 more common, coarser. He thrust his hands into the pockets 
 of his black trousers. 
 
 "I must understand the position," he began. 
 
 "It is perfectly clear. Forgive me, monsieur, but I must 
 say I think it rather bad taste on your part to return to a 
 subject which has been finally disposed of and which is very 
 disagreeable to me." 
 
 "Madame, I am here to say to you that I cannot consider 
 it as finally disposed of till I have discussed it with Monsieur 
 Heath. I came here prepared to make a proposition." 
 
 "It is useless."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 301 
 
 "Madame, I trust that your husband is not endeavoring 
 to avoid me." 
 
 Charmian got up and sharply clapped her hands. The 
 Arab boy, Bibi, appeared. 
 
 "Bibi, ask monsieur to come," she said to him in French. 
 
 "Bieng, madame," replied Bibi, who turned and walked 
 softly away. 
 
 During the two or three minutes which elapsed before 
 Claude came in Charmian and Gillier said nothing. Gillier, 
 who, under the influence of excitement, was losing his veneer 
 of good manners, moved about the room pretending to ex- 
 amine the few bibelots it contained. His face was flushed. 
 He still kept his hands in his pockets. Charmian sat still in 
 her corner, watching him. She was too angry to speak. 
 And what was there to be said now? Although she had a 
 good deal of will she was clever enough to realize when its ex- 
 ercise would be useless. She knew that she could do nothing 
 more with this man. Otherwise she would not have sent for 
 Claude. 
 
 " F'/d, Mousou!" 
 
 Bibi had returned and gently pointed to his master, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Bon jour, Gillier!" said Claude, as the Frenchman swung 
 round sharply. 
 
 "Bonjourl" 
 
 They shook hands. Claude looked from Gillier to his 
 wife. 
 
 " You were smoking ?" he said, glancing at the tray. "Won't 
 you have another cigarette?" 
 
 "Merci!" 
 
 "Anyhow, I will." 
 
 He picked up the cigarette box. 
 
 "We haven't seen you for a long while." He lit a cigar- 
 ette. "Aren't you going to sit down?" 
 
 After a pause Gillier sat down. His eyes were fixed on 
 Claude. 
 
 " I am glad you have come," he said. " Madame does not 
 quite understand " 
 
 "I understand perfectly, Monsieur Gillier," Charmian
 
 302 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 interrupted. "Pray don't endow me with a stupidity which 
 I don't possess." 
 
 "I prefer at any rate to explain the reason of my visit to 
 Monsieur Heath, madame." 
 
 "Have you come with a special object then?" said Claude. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " By all means tell me what it is. 
 
 "Man Dieul" said Gillier. "What is the good of a cloud 
 of words between two men? I want to buy back the libretto 
 I sold to you more than a year ago." 
 
 Charmian gazed at her husband. To her surprise his 
 usually sensitive face did not show her what was passing in 
 his mind. Indeed she thought it looked peculiarly inexpres- 
 sive as he replied: 
 
 "Do you? Why?" 
 
 "Why? Because I don't think you and I are suited to 
 work together. I don't think we could ever make a satis- 
 factory combination in art. This has been my opinion ever 
 since I was with you at Constantine." 
 
 "More than a year ago. And you only come here and 
 say so now!" 
 
 Gillier was silent and fidgeted on the divan. 
 
 "Surely you must have some other reason?" said Claude 
 in a very quiet, almost unnaturally quiet voice. 
 
 "That is one reason, and an excellent one. Another is, 
 however, that if you will consent to sell me back my libretto 
 I believe I could get it taken up by a man, a composer, who is 
 more in sympathy with me and my artistic amis than you 
 could ever be." 
 
 "I see. And what about all the months of work I have 
 put in? What about all the music I have composed? Are 
 you here to ask me to throw it away, or what?" 
 
 Gillier was silent. 
 
 "Surely your proposition isn't a serious one?" said Claude, 
 still speaking with complete self-control. 
 
 " But I say it is! I say" Gillier raised his voice "that 
 it is serious. I am a poor man, and I am sick of waiting 
 for success. I sold my libretto to you in a hurry, not knowing 
 what I was doing. Now I have a chance, a great chance, of
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 303 
 
 being associated with someone who is already famous, who 
 would make the success of my libretto a certainty " 
 
 "A chance, when your libretto is my property!" inter- 
 rupted Claude. 
 
 "Oh, I know as well as you do that it's a hard thing to ask 
 you to throw away all these months of labor! I don't think 
 I could have done it, though in this world every man, every 
 artist especially, must think of himself, if it wasn't for one 
 thing." 
 
 " And that is ?" 
 
 "Your heart isn't in the work!" said Gillier defiantly, 
 but with a curious air of conviction the conviction of an 
 acute man who had made a discovery which could not be 
 contested or gainsaid. 
 
 "That's not true, Monsieur Gillier!" said Charmian, with 
 hot energy. 
 
 Claude said nothing, and Ciller continued, raising his voice: 
 
 "It is true. Your talent and mine are not fitted to be 
 joined together, and you are artist enough to know it as well as 
 I do. I haven't heard your music; but I can tell. I may be 
 poor, I may be unknown that doesn't matter! I've got the 
 instinct that doesn't lie, can't lie. If I had known you as I do 
 now, before I had sold my libretto, you never should have had 
 it, even if you had offered me five hundred pounds instead of a 
 hundred, and nobody else would have looked at it. With 
 your temperament, with your way of thinking, you'll never 
 make a success of it never! I tell you that I who am 
 speaking to you!" 
 
 The veins in his temples swelled, and he frowned. 
 
 "Give me back my libretto and take back your money! 
 Let me have my chance of success. Madame she is hard! 
 She cares nothing! But " 
 
 "Monsieur, I must ask you to leave my wife's name out," 
 said Claude. 
 
 And for the first time since he had come into the room he 
 spoke with stern determination. 
 
 He had become very pale, and now looked strangely moved. 
 
 "I won't have her name brought in," he added. "This is 
 my affair."
 
 304 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Very well! Will you let me buy back my libretto?" 
 
 Charmian expected an instant stern refusal from her hus- 
 band. But after Gillier's question there was a prolonged pause. 
 She wanted to break it, to answer fiercely for Claude; but she 
 did not dare to. For a moment something in her husband's 
 look and manner dominated her. For a moment she was in 
 subjection. She sat still staring at Claude, waiting for him to 
 speak. He sat looking down, and it seemed to her as if he 
 were wrestling as Jacob wrestled with the angel. His white 
 forehead drew her eyes. She was filled with fear; but when he 
 looked up at her the fear grew. She felt almost sick sick 
 with apprehension. 
 
 " Claude !" she said. " Oh, Claude I" 
 
 It seemed that his eyes had put a great question to her, and 
 now her voice had answered it. 
 
 Claude turned to Armand Gillier. 
 
 "Monsieur," he said, "you can't have your libretto back. 
 It's mine, and I'm going to keep it." 
 
 When Gillier was gone Charmian said, almost in a faltering 
 voice, and with none of her usual self-possession of manner: 
 
 "How how could you bear that man's insults as you 
 did?" 
 
 "His insults?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Claude looked at her in silence. And again she was con- 
 scious of fear. 
 
 "Don't let us ever speak of this again," he answered 
 at last. 
 
 He went away. 
 
 That day he was in his workroom till very late. He did 
 not come to tea. The evening fell; but he was not working 
 on the opera. Charmian heard him playing Bach. 
 
 At the end of April Alston Lake came once more to visit 
 them. 
 
 Since those London days when they had first met him Lake 
 had made great progress toward the fulfilment of his ambition. 
 His energy and will were beginning to reap a good reward. He
 
 THE WAY O.F AMBITION 305 
 
 was making money, enough money to live upon; but he had 
 still to pay back his big debt to Jacob Crayford, had still to 
 achieve his great desire, an appearance in Grand Opera. When 
 he arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui he brought with him, as of old, 
 an infectious atmosphere of enthusiasm. With his iron will he 
 combined a light heart. He had none of the childishness that 
 surprised, and sometimes charmed, in Jacques Sennier, but 
 much that was boyish still pleasantly lingered with him. In 
 him, too, there was something courageous that inspired courage 
 in others. 
 
 This time he announced he could stay for a month if they 
 did not mind. He wanted a thorough rest before the many 
 concerts he was going to sing at during the London season. 
 Both Charmian and Claude were delighted. When Claude 
 heard of it he was silent for a moment. Then he began to 
 reckon. 
 
 "The thirtieth to-day, isn't it? By a month do you mean 
 a month or four weeks?" 
 
 "Well, four weeks, old chap!" 
 
 "That is less than a month." 
 
 "I wish it weren't. But I have to sing in London at the 
 Bechstein Hall early in June. So I'm running it pretty 
 close as it is." 
 
 "May the twenty-eighth you go, then," said Claude. 
 
 " That's it. But why these higher mathematics?" 
 
 Claude only smiled and went out of the room. 
 
 "What is he up to, Mrs. Charmian?" asked Lake mystified. 
 
 "I don't know," she answered. 
 
 "Does he want to get rid of me? Is that why he was so 
 keen to know whether it was four weeks or a month?" said 
 Lake, laughing. 
 
 "I am afraid that probably is it. But come up and see 
 the flowers I've put in your room." 
 
 "This is a little Paradise," said Lake, in his ringing baritone 
 voice. " Sometimes this winter in Paris, when I was all in, 
 don't you know 
 
 "All in?" 
 
 "Blues." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" 
 
 20
 
 306 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I'd think of Djenan-el-Maqui, and wish I was a composer 
 instead of a singer for a fifth of a minute." 
 
 " Oh!" she said reproachfully. " Only a fifth!" 
 
 tl l know. It wasn't long. But you see I'm born to sing, 
 so I'm bound to love it more than anything else. Making a 
 noise oh, it's rare!" 
 
 He opened his mouth and ran up a scale to the high A. 
 
 "I can get there pretty well now, don't you think?" 
 
 "Splendid! Your voice gets bigger and bigger!" she said, 
 with real enthusiasm. "But it's almost " 
 
 He stopped her. 
 
 "I know what you're going to say; but I shall always be 
 a baritone. If you knew as much as I do about baritones 
 turned into tenors, you'd say, 'Leave it alone, my boy!' and 
 that's what I'm going to do. Now what about these flowers? 
 It is good to be here." 
 
 Claude did not join Alston Lake in making holiday. In- 
 deed, Charmian noticed that he was working much harder 
 than usual, as if Lake's coming had been an incentive to him. 
 
 "I don't apologize to you, Alston," he said. 
 
 "Odd if you did when I was the first to try and set you 
 on to an opera. Besides, you can't get ahead too fast now. 
 There's" 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 "Crayford'll be over this summer," he remarked, giving a 
 casual tone to his voice. 
 
 "Ah!" said Claude. 
 
 And the conversation dropped. 
 
 Only in the early morning, and for an hour, or an hour and 
 a half after lunch, did Claude intermit his labors. In the 
 morning the three of them rode, on good horses hired from the 
 Vitoz stables. After lunch they sat in the little court of the 
 fountain, smoked and talked. Conversation never flagged 
 when Alston was there. His young energy bred a desire for 
 expression in those about him. And Charmian and Claude 
 were now his most intimate friends. He identified himself 
 with them in a charming way, was devoted to their fortunes, 
 and assumed, without a trace of conceit, their devotion to his. 
 When Claude, about three o'clock, got up and went away to
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 307 
 
 his workroom Alston often went off for a stroll alone. Between 
 tea and dinner time, if Charmian had no engagement, she and 
 Alston walked together in the scented Bois de Boulogne, past 
 "Tananarive," or drove down to the Jardin d'Essai, and spent 
 an hour there near the shimmering sea. 
 
 In these many intimate hours Charmian learnt to appreciate 
 the chivalry and delicacy peculiar to well-bred American men 
 in their relations with women. Although she and Alston were 
 both young, and she was an attractive woman, she felt as safe 
 with him as if he were her brother. His life in Paris had left 
 him entirely unspoiled, had even left him in possession of the 
 characteristic and open-hearted naivete which was one of his 
 chief attractions, though he was quite unaware of it. She was 
 very happy with Alston. But often she thought of Claude, 
 far away on the hill, shut in, resigning all this freedom, this 
 delicious open-air life, which she was enjoying with his friend. 
 
 ''He's working almost too hard," she said one day when 
 they were sitting in the Jardin d'Essai, "and he will work at 
 night now. He never used to do that. Don't you think 
 he's beginning to look rather white and worn out?" 
 
 She spoke with some anxiety. 
 
 "Sometimes he does look a bit tired," Alston allowed. 
 "But a man's bound to when he puts his back into a thing. 
 And there's not much doubt as to whether old Claude's back 
 is in the opera. I say, Mrs. Charmian, how far has he got 
 exactly?" 
 
 "Practically the whole of the music is composed, I believe. 
 It's the orchestration that takes such a lot of time." 
 
 "Well, and how far has that got? Claude's never told me 
 plump out. Composers never do. And I know better than 
 to pump them. It's fatal that! They simply can't stand 
 it." 
 
 "I know. I believe the opera might be ready by the end 
 of this year." 
 
 "Not before then?" 
 
 They looked at each other, then Charmian said: 
 
 "Oh, Alston, if you only knew how difficult it is to me to 
 wait to wait and not to show any impatience to him. Some- 
 times well, now and then, I've shut myself in and cried with
 
 308 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 impatience, cried angrily. I've wanted to bite things. One 
 day I actually did bite a pillow." 
 
 She laughed, but her cheeks were flushed. 
 
 "It's the perpetual keeping it in that is such a torment. 
 I know how wicked it would be to hurry him. And he does 
 work so hard. And I've heard of people taking ten years over 
 an opera. Claude only began about a year and five months 
 ago. He's been marvellously quick, really. But, oh, some- 
 times I feel as if this suppressed impatience were making me ill, 
 physically and mentally, as if it were a kind of poison stealing 
 all through me! Can you understand?" 
 
 "Can I? You bet! I only wish the thing could be ready 
 before Crayford goes back to the States." 
 
 "When does he go?" 
 
 "Some time in September, I believe. He goes on the 
 Continent after July. Of course, July he's in London, June 
 too. Then he has his cure at Divonne. If only When do 
 you come to London?" 
 
 Charmian suddenly grasped his arm. 
 
 "Alston, I'll keep him here, give up London, anything to 
 have the opera finished by the end of August!" 
 
 "Well, but the heat!" 
 
 "I don't believe it's too hot upon the hill where we are, 
 with all those trees. Every afternoon I expect there's a 
 breeze from the sea. I know we could stand it. It's only 
 April now. That would mean four solid months of steady 
 work. But then?" 
 
 " I'd bring Crayford over." 
 
 "Would he come?" 
 
 "I'd make him." 
 
 "But we might " 
 
 "No, Mrs. Charmian. He ought to hear it in Mustapha. 
 I know him. He's a hard business man. But he's awfully 
 susceptible too. And then he's great on scenic effects. Now, 
 he's never been in Africa. Think of the glamour of it, espe- 
 cially in summer, when the real Africa emerges, by Gee, in all its 
 blue and fire ! We'd plunge him in it, you and I. That Casbah 
 scene you know, the third act! I'd take him there by moon- 
 light on a September night full moon show him the women
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 309 
 
 on their terraces and in their courts, the town dropping down 
 to the silver below, while the native music by Gee! We'd 
 dazzle him, we'd spread the magic carpet for him, we'd carry 
 him away till he couldn't say no, till he'd be as mad on the 
 thing as we are!" 
 
 "Oh, Alston, if we could!" 
 
 She had caught all his enthusiasm. It seemed to her that 
 in North Africa Mr. Crayford could not refuse the opera. 
 From that moment she had made up her mind. No London 
 season! Whatever happened, she and Claude were going to 
 remain at Djenan-el-Maqui till the opera was finished, finished 
 to the last detail. That very evening she spoke about it to 
 Claude. 
 
 "Claudie," she said. "Are you very keen on going to 
 London this year?" 
 
 He looked at her as if almost startled. 
 
 "I? But, surely do you mean that you don't want to go?" 
 
 She moved her head. 
 
 "Not one little bit." 
 
 "Well, but then where do you wish to go?" 
 
 "Where? Why should we go anywhere?" 
 
 "Stay here?" 
 
 " I've come to love this little house, the garden, even those 
 absurd goldfish that are always looking for nothing." 
 
 "Well, but the heat!" 
 
 His voice did not sound reluctant or protesting, only a little 
 doubtful and surprised. 
 
 "Lots of people stay. Algiers doesn't empty of human 
 beings, only of travellers, because it's summer. And we are 
 up on a height." 
 
 "That's true. And I could work on quietly." 
 
 "Absolutely undisturbed." 
 
 "The only thing is I meant to see Jernington." 
 
 Jernington was the professor with whom Claude studied 
 orchestration in London. 
 
 " Get him over here." 
 
 "Jernington! Why, he never leaves London!" 
 
 " Get him to for a month. We'll pay all his expenses and 
 everything, of course."
 
 310 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "How you go ahead!" he said, laughing. "You must 
 be a twin of Alston's, I think." 
 
 "What has got to be done can be done." 
 
 "Well, but the expense; you know, Charmian, we live 
 right up to our income." 
 
 "Hang the expense! Oh, as Alston would say!" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "You really are a marvellous wife!" 
 
 "Ami? Ami?" 
 
 "I might sound old Jernington. He'll think I'm raving 
 mad, but still " 
 
 "I only hope," she said, smiling and eager, "that he won't 
 be so raving sane as to refuse." 
 
 "But what will Madre think, not seeing you us, I mean?" 
 
 Charmian looked grave. 
 
 "Yes, I know. But Madre has never come to see us here." 
 
 "Oh, Charmian, there could never be a cloud between Madre 
 and us!" 
 
 "No, no, never! Still, why has she never come?" 
 
 " She really hates the sea. You know she has never in her 
 life done more than cross the Channel." 
 
 "Do you think that is the reason why she has never come?" 
 
 "How can I know?" 
 
 "Claude, Madre is strange sometimes. Don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 " Strange? She is absolutely herself. She does not take any- 
 one else's color, if that is what you mean. I love that in her." 
 
 "So do I. Still, I think she is strange." 
 
 At this moment Alston came in and the conversation 
 dropped. But both husband and wife thought many times 
 of "Madre" that day, and not without a certain uneasiness. 
 Was the heart of the mother with them in their enterprise? 
 
 Charmian put that question to herself. But Claude did 
 not put it. He thought of Mrs. Mansfield's intense and fiery 
 eyes. They saw far, saw deep. He loved them, the look in 
 them. But he must try to forget them. He must give himself 
 to the enthusiasm of his wife and of Alston Lake. 
 
 He sent a long telegram to Jernington, saying how difficult it 
 was for him to leave Mustapha, and begging Jernington to
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 311 
 
 come over during the summer so that they might work to- 
 gether in quiet. All expenses were to be paid. Next day he 
 received a telegram from Jernington: "Very difficult is it 
 absolutely impossible for you to come to England?" 
 
 " I'll answer that," said Charmian. 
 
 She telegraphed, "Absolutely impossible HEATH." 
 
 In the late evening a second telegram came from Jernington: 
 "Very well suppose I must come JERNINGTON." 
 
 Charmian laughed as she read it over Claude's shoulder. 
 
 "The pathos of it," she said. "Poor old Jernington! He 
 is horror-stricken. Bury St. Edmunds has been his farthest 
 beat till now except for his year in Germany. Claudie, he loves 
 the opera or he would never have consented to come. I felt it 
 was a test. The opera, the child, has stood it triumphantly. 
 I love old Jernington. And he is a first-rate critic, isn't he?" 
 
 "Of orchestration, certainly." 
 
 "That's half the battle in an opera. I feel so happy. Let 
 us have an audition to-night!" 
 
 "All right," he said. 
 
 "And play us an act right through; the first act. Alston 
 has only heard it in bits." 
 
 "I don't really care for anyone to hear it yet," Claude said, 
 with obvious reluctance. 
 
 Yet he desired a verdict of praise. He longed for encour- 
 agement. In old days, when he had composed for himself, he 
 had felt indifferent to that. But now he was working on some- 
 thing which was planned, which was being executed, with the 
 intention to strike upon the imagination of a big public. He 
 was no longer indifferent. He was secretly anxious. He 
 longed to be told that what he was doing was good. 
 
 That evening he was genuinely warmed by the enthusiasm 
 of his wife and of Alston. 
 
 "And surely," he said to himself, "they would be inclined 
 to be more critical than others, to be hypercritical." 
 
 He forgot that in some natures desire creates conviction. 
 
 On the last day of Alston's visit Charmian and he under- 
 stood why Claude's mathematical powers had been brought to 
 bear on the question of its exact duration. Claude himself 
 explained with rather a rueful face.
 
 312 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I hoped I thought if you were going to stay for the 
 extra days I might possibly have the finale of the opera finished. 
 Even when you told me your month meant four weeks I 
 thought I would have a tremendous try- to complete it. Well, 
 I have had a tremendous try. But I've failed. I must have 
 two more weeks, I believe, before I conquer the monster." 
 
 He was looking very pale, had dark rings under his eyes, 
 and moved his hands nervously while he was speaking. 
 
 "That was it!" exclaimed Alston. 
 
 "Yes, that was it." 
 
 Charmian and Alston exchanged a quick glance. 
 
 "When you've done the finale," Alston said, with the 
 firmness of one who spoke with permission, even perhaps by 
 special request, "will the opera be practically finished?" 
 
 "Finished? Good Heavens, no!" 
 
 "Well, but if it's the finale of the whole opera?" said 
 Charmian. 
 
 "I've got bits here and there to do, and a lot to re-do." 
 
 Again Charmian and the American exchanged glances. 
 
 "I say, old chap," said Alston. "You read Balzac, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Of course. But what has that to do with the opera?" 
 
 "Did you ever read that story of his about a painter who 
 was always striving to attain perfection, could never let a 
 picture alone, was for ever adding new touches, painting details 
 out and other details in? One day he called in his friends to 
 see his masterpiece. When they came they found a mere mess 
 of paint representing nothing." 
 
 "Well?" said Claude, rather stiffly. 
 
 "You've got a splendid talent. I hope you're going to 
 trust it." 
 
 Claude said nothing, and Alston, in his easy, almost boyish 
 way, glanced off to some other topic. But before he started 
 for England he said to Charmian: 
 
 " Do watch him a bit if you can, Mrs. Charmian, for over- 
 elaboration. Don't let him work it to death, I mean, till all 
 the spontaneity is gone. I believe that's a danger with him. 
 Somehow I think he lacks complete confidence in himself." 
 
 "You see it's the first time he has ever tried to do an opera."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 313 
 
 "I know. It's natural enough. But do watch out for 
 over-elaboration. ' ' 
 
 "I'll try to. But I have to be very careful with Claude." 
 
 "How d'you mean exactly?" 
 
 "He can be very reserved." 
 
 "Yes, but you know how to take him. And well we 
 can't let the opera be anything but a big success, can we?" 
 
 If Claude had heard that "we!" 
 
 "I say, shall we walk around the garden?" Alston added, 
 after a pause. "It isn't quite tune to go, and I want to talk 
 over things before Claude comes down to see the last of me." 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 They went out, and descended the steps from the terrace. 
 
 "I wanted to tell you, Mrs. Charmian, that I'm going to 
 bring Crayford over whatever happens, whether the opera's 
 done or not. There's heaps ready for him to judge by. And 
 you must read him the libretto." 
 
 "I?" exclaimed Charmian, startled. 
 
 "Yes, you. Study it up! Recite it to yourself. Learn 
 to give it all and more than its value. That libretto is going 
 to catch hold of Crayford right away, if you read it, and read 
 it well." 
 
 When she had recovered from her first shock of surprise 
 Charmian felt radiantly happy. She had something to do. 
 Alston, with his shrewd outlook, was bringing her a step farther 
 into this enterprise. He was right. She remembered Cray- 
 ford. A woman should read him the libretto, and in a decor 
 swiftly her imagination began to work. The decor should be 
 perfection; and her gown! 
 
 " How clever of you to think of that, Alston!" she exclaimed. 
 "I'll study as if I were going to be an actress." 
 
 "That's the proposition! By Jove, you and I understand 
 each other over this. I know Crayford by heart. We've got 
 to what the French call 'eblouir' him when we get him here. 
 We must play upon him with the scenery proposition; what he 
 can do in the way of wonderful new stage effects. When 
 we've got him thoroughly worked up over the libretto and the 
 scenery prop., we'll begin to let him hear the music, but not a 
 jroment before. We can't be too careful, Mrs. Charmian.
 
 314 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Crayford's a man who doesn't start going in a hurry on newly 
 laid rails. He wants to test every sleeper pretty nearly. But 
 once get him going, and the evening express from New York 
 City to Chicago isn't in it with him. Now you and I have 
 got to get him started before ever he comes to old Claude. In 
 fact" 
 
 He paused, put one finger to his firm round chin. 
 
 "But we can decide that a bit later on." 
 
 "That? What, Alston?" 
 
 " I was going to say it might be as well to get Claude out of 
 the way for a day or two while we start on old Crayford here. 
 I suppose it could be managed somehow?" 
 
 "Alston " Charmian stopped on the path between the 
 geraniums. "Anything can be managed that will help to 
 persuade Mr. Crayford to accept Claude's opera." 
 
 "Right you are. That's talking! I'll think it all over 
 and let you know." 
 
 "Oh," she exclaimed. "How I wish the end of August 
 was here! You'll be in London. All your time will be filled 
 up. You'll be singing, being applauded, getting on. And I 
 have to sit here, and wait wait." 
 
 "You'll be studying the libretto." 
 
 "So I shall!" 
 
 She sent him a grateful look. 
 
 "What a good friend you are to us, Alston!" she said, and 
 there was heart at that moment in her voice. 
 
 "And haven't you been good friends to me? What about 
 the studio? What about the Prophet's Chamber? Why, 
 you've given me a sort of a home and family, you and old 
 Claude. I can tell you I've often felt lonesome in Europe, 
 I've often felt all in, right away from everybody, and my 
 Dad trying to starve me out, and all my people dead against 
 what I was doing. Since I've known you, well, I've felt quite 
 bully in comparison with what it used to be. Claude's success 
 and yours, it's just going to be my success too. And that's all 
 there is to it." 
 
 He wrung her hand and shouted for Claude. 
 
 It was nearly time for him to go.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 JERNINGTON, after sending to Claude several anxious and 
 indeed almost deplorable letters, pleading to be let off his 
 bargain by telegram, arrived in Algiers in the middle of the 
 following July, with a great deal of fuss and very little luggage. 
 
 The Heaths welcomed him warmly. 
 
 Although he was a native of Suffolk, and had only spent 
 a year in Germany, he succeeded in looking almost exactly 
 like a German student. Rather large and bulky, he had a 
 quite hairless face, very fair, with Teutonic features, and a 
 high forehead, above which the pale hair of his head was 
 cropped like the coat of a newly singed horse. His eyes were 
 pale blue, introspective and romantic. At the back of his 
 neck, just above his low collar, appeared a neat little roll of 
 white flesh. Charmian thought he looked as if he had once, 
 consenting, been gently boiled. A flowing blue tie, freely 
 peppered with ample white spots, gave a Bohemian touch to 
 his pleasant and innocent appearance. He was dressed for 
 cool weather in England, and wore boots with square toes 
 and elastic sides. 
 
 In his special line he was a man of extraordinary talent. 
 
 He had intended to be a composer, but had little faculty 
 for original work. His knowledge of composition, never- 
 theless, was enormous, and he was the best orchestral 
 "coach" in England. 
 
 His heart was in his work. His devotion to a clever pupil 
 knew no limits. And he considered Claude the cleverest 
 pupil he had ever taught. 
 
 Charmian, therefore, accepted him with enthusiasm 
 boots, tie, little roll of white flesh, the whole of him. 
 
 He settled down with them in Mustapha, once he had been 
 conveyed into the house, as comfortably as a cat in front of 
 whom, with every tender precaution, has been placed a bowl 
 of rich milk. In a couple of days it seemed as if he had always 
 been there. 
 
 315
 
 316 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Charmian did not see very much of him. The two men 
 toiled with diligence despite the great heat which lay over 
 the land. They began early in the morning before the sun 
 was high, rested and slept in the middle of the day, resumed 
 work about five, and, with an interval for dinner, went on till 
 late in the night. 
 
 The English Colony had long since broken up. Only the 
 British Vice-Consul and his wife remained, and they lived a 
 good way out in the country. Since May few people had 
 come to disturb the peace of Djenan-el-Maqui. Charmian 
 dwelt in a strange and sun-smitten isolation. She was very 
 much alone. Only now and then some French acquaintance 
 would call to see her and sit with her for a little while at even- 
 ing in the garden, or in the courtyard of the fountain. 
 
 The beauty, the fierce romance of this land, sometimes 
 excited her spirit. Sometimes, with fiery hands, it lulled her 
 into a condition almost of apathy. She listened to the foun- 
 tain, she looked at the sea which was always blue, and she 
 felt almost as if some part of her nature had fallen away from 
 her, leaving her vague and fragmentary, a Charmian lacking 
 some virtue, or vice, that had formerly been hers and had 
 made her salient. But this apathy did not last long. The 
 sound of Jernington's strangely German voice talking loudly 
 above would disturb it, perhaps, or the noise of chords or 
 passages powerfully struck upon the piano. And immediately 
 the child was with her again, she was busy thinking, planning, 
 hoping, longing, concentrated on the future of the child. 
 
 She had studied the libretto minutely, had practised read- 
 ing it aloud. It was of course written in French, and she 
 found a clever woman, retired from a theatrical career in Paris, 
 Madame Thenant, who gave her lessons in elocution, and who 
 finally said that she read the libretto "assez bien." This from 
 Madame Thenant, who had played Dowagers at the Comedie 
 Francaise, was a high compliment. Charmian felt that she 
 was ready to make an effect on Jacob Crayford. She was in 
 active correspondence with Alston Lake, who was still in 
 London, and who had had greater success than before. From 
 him she knew that Crayford was in town, and would take his 
 usual "cure" in August at Divonne-les-Bains. Lake had
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 317 
 
 "begun upon him" warily, but had not yet even hinted at the 
 visit to Africa. After his "cure" Cray ford proposed making a 
 motor tour. He thought nothing of running all over Europe 
 in his car. Lake was going presently to speak of the perfect 
 surfaces of the Algerian roads, "the best way perhaps of 
 getting him to go to Algeria." He still wanted operas " badly," 
 and had asked after the Heaths directly he arrived in London. 
 Lake had replied that Claude was finishing off an opera. Was 
 he? Where? Alston had evaded the question, giving the 
 impression that Claude wished to remain hidden away. There- 
 upon Crayford had asked after Charmian, and had been in- 
 formed that of course she was with her husband. Turtle doves, 
 eh? Crayford had dropped the subject, but had eventually 
 returned to it again in a casual way. Had Lake heard the 
 opera? Some of it. Did it seem any good? Lake had not 
 expressed an opinion. He had shrewdly made rather a mystery 
 of the whole thing. This, as he expected, had put Crayford 
 on the alert. Since the success of Jacques Sennier he saw the 
 hand of his rival, "The Metropolitan," everywhere, like the 
 giant hand of one of the great Trusts. Lake's air of mystery 
 had evidently made him suspect that Claude had some reason 
 for keeping away and making a sort of secret of what he was 
 doing. Finally he had inquired point blank whether any one 
 was "after young Heath's opera." Lake could not say any- 
 thing as to that. "Why don't he write in Europe anyway, 
 where folk could get at him if they wanted to?" had been the 
 next question. Lake's answer had rather indicated that the 
 composer was very glad to have a good stretch of ocean between 
 himself and any "folk" who might want to get at him. 
 
 This was the point at which the Lake correspondence with 
 Charmian stood in the first week of August. His last letter 
 lay on her knee one afternoon, as she sat in a hidden nook at 
 the bottom of the garden, with delicate bamboos rustling in a 
 warm south wind about her. 
 
 Claude knew nothing of this exchange of letters, of all the 
 planning and plotting. It was all for him. Some day, when 
 the result was success, he should be told everything, unless 
 by that time it was too late, and the steps to success were all 
 forgotten. Charmian did nothing to disturb him. She
 
 318 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 wished him to be obsessed by the work, to do it now merely for 
 its own sake. The result of his labors would probably be better 
 if that were so. If Crayford did come and he must come! 
 Charmian was willing it every day his coming would be a 
 surprise to Claude, and would seem to be a surprise to Char- 
 mian. She would get rid of Claude for a few days when Lake 
 forewarned her that their arrival was imminent; would per- 
 suade him to take a little holiday, to go, perhaps, up into the 
 cork woods to Hammam R'rirha. He was very pale, had dark 
 circles beneath his eyes. The incessant work was beginning to 
 tell upon him severely. Charmian saw that. But how could 
 she beg him to rest now, when Jernington had come out, when 
 it was so vital to their interests that the opera should be finished 
 as soon as possible! Besides, she was certain that even if she 
 spoke Claude would not listen to her. Jernington, so he said, 
 always gave him an impetus, always excited him. It was a 
 keen pleasure to show a man of such deep knowledge what he 
 had been doing, a keener pleasure still when he approved, 
 when he said, in his German voice, "That goes!" And they 
 had been trying over passages with instrumentalists who had 
 been "unearthed," as Jernington expressed it, in Algiers. 
 They had got hold of a horn player, had found another 
 man who played the clarinet, the violin, and a third instru- 
 ment. 
 
 In fact, they were living for, and in, the opera. And Char- 
 mian, devoured by her secret ambition, had no heart to play 
 a careful wife's part. She had the will to urge her man on. 
 She had no will to hold him back. Afterward he could rest, 
 he should rest on the bed of his laurels. 
 
 She smiled now when she thought of that. 
 
 Presently she felt that some one was approaching her. She 
 looked up and saw Jernington coming down the path, wiping 
 his pale forehead with a silk handkerchief in which various 
 colors seemed fortuitously combined. 
 
 "Is the work over?" she cried out to him. 
 
 He threw up one square-nailed white hand. 
 
 "No. But for once he has got a passage all wrong. I 
 have left him to correct it. He kicked me out, in fact!" 
 
 Jernington threw back his head and laughed gutturally. His
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 319 
 
 laugh always contradicted his eyes. They were romantic, 
 but his laugh was prosaic. 
 
 He sat down by Charmian and put his hands on his knees. 
 One still grasped the handkerchief. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Jernington, tell me!" she said. "You know so 
 much. Claude says your knowledge is extraordinary. Isn't 
 the opera fine?" 
 
 Now Jernington was a specialist, and he was one of those 
 men who cannot detach their minds from the subject in which 
 they specialize in order to take a broad view. His vision 
 was extraordinarily acute, but it was strictly limited. When 
 Charmian spoke of the opera he believed he was thinking of the 
 opera as a whole, whereas he was in reality only thinking 
 about the orchestration of it. 
 
 "It is superb!" he replied enthusiastically. "Never before 
 have I had a pupil with such talent as your husband." 
 
 With a rapid movement he put one hand to the back of his 
 neck and softly rubbed his little roll of white flesh. 
 
 "He has an instinct for orchestration such as I have found 
 in no one else. Now, for example " 
 
 He flung himself into depths of orchestral knowledge, 
 dragging Charmian with him. She was happily engulfed. 
 When they emerged in about half an hour's time she again 
 threw out a lure for general praise. 
 
 "Then you really admire the opera as a whole? You think 
 it undoubtedly fine, don't you?" 
 
 Jernington wiped his perspiring face, his forehead, and, 
 finally, his whole head and neck, manipulating the huge 
 handkerchief in a masterly manner almost worthy of an 
 expensive conjurer. 
 
 " It is superb. When it is given, when the world knows that 
 the great Heath studied with me well, I shall have to take 
 a studio as large as the Albert Hall, there will be such a rush 
 of pupils. Do you know that his employment of the oboe in 
 combination with the flute, the strings being divided 
 
 And once more he plunged down into the depths of orches- 
 tral knowledge taking Charmian with him. He quoted 
 Prout, he quoted Vincent d'Indy; he minutely compared 
 passages in Elgar's second symphony with passages in Tchai-
 
 320 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 kovsky's fifth symphony; he dissected the delicate orchestral 
 effects in Debussy's Nuages and Fete Nocturne, compared the 
 modern French methods in orchestration with Richard Strauss's 
 gigantic, and sometimes monstrous combinations. But again 
 and again he returned to his pupil, Claude. As he talked his 
 enthusiasm mounted. The little roll of flesh trembled as he 
 emphatically moved his head. His voice grew harsher, more 
 German. He untied and reknotted his flowing cravat, pulled 
 up his boots with elastic sides, thrust his cuffs, which were not 
 attached to his shirt, violently out of sight up his plump 
 arms. 
 
 Charmian could not doubt his admiration for the opera. It 
 was expressed in a manner peculiar to Jernington that became 
 almost epileptic, but it was undoubtedly sincere. 
 
 When he left her and went back to Claude's workroom she 
 was glowing with pride and happiness. 
 
 "That funny old thing knows!" she thought. "He knows!" 
 
 Jernington was usually called an old thing, although he 
 was not yet forty. 
 
 His departure was due about the twentieth of August, but 
 when that day drew near Claude begged him to stay on till 
 the end of the month. Charmian was secretly dismayed. She 
 had news from Lake that his campaign on Claude's behalf had 
 every prospect of success. Crayford was now at Divonne-les- 
 Bains, but had invited Lake to join him in a motor tour as soon 
 as his "cure" by no means a severe one was over. 
 
 "That tour, Mrs. Charmian, as I'm a living man with good 
 prospects, will end on the quay at Marseilles, and start again 
 on the quay at Algiers. Crayford has tried to bring off a 
 fresh deal with Sennier, but been beaten off by the pierrot in 
 petticoats, as he calls the great Henriette. She asked for the 
 earth, and all the planets and constellations besides. Now 
 they are at daggers drawn. That's bully for us. Take out 
 your bottom dollar, and bet it that I bring him over before 
 September is ten days old." 
 
 September yes. But Lake was impulsive. He might 
 hurry things, might arrive with the impresario sooner. Jern- 
 ington must not be at Djenan-el-Maqui when he arrived. 
 If Claude were found studying with a sort of professor Cray-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 321 
 
 ford would certainly get a wrong impression. It might just 
 make the difference between the success of the great plan and 
 its failure. Claude must present himself, or be presented by 
 Lake as a master, not as a pupil. 
 
 She must get rid of old Jernington as soon as possible. 
 
 But it now became alarmingly manifest that old Jernington 
 was in no hurry to go. He was one of those persons who arrive 
 with great difficulty, but who find an even greater difficulty 
 in bringing themselves to the point of departure. Never 
 having been out of Europe before, it seemed that he was not 
 unwilling to end his days in a tropical exile. He "felt" the 
 heat terribly, but professed to like it, was charmed with the 
 villa and the comfort of the life, and "really had no need to 
 hurry away" now that he had definitely relinquished his 
 annual holiday at Bury St. Edmunds. 
 
 As Claude wished him to stay on, and had no suspicion 
 that any plan was in the wind, Charmian found herself in a 
 difficult position as the days went by and the end of August 
 drew near. Her imagination revolved about all sorts of pre- 
 posterous means for getting rid of the poor fellow, whom she 
 honestly liked, and to whom she was grateful for his enthusias- 
 tic labors. She thought of making a hole in his mosquito net, 
 to permit the entry of those marauders whom he dreaded; 
 of casually mentioning that there had been cases suspiciously 
 resembling Asiatic cholera in the Casbah of Algiers; of 
 pretending to fall ill and saying that Claude must take her 
 away for a change; even of getting Alston Lake to send 
 a telegram to Jernington saying that his presence was urgently 
 demanded in his native Suffolk. Had he a mother? Till 
 now Charmian had never thought of probing into Jernington's 
 family affairs. When, driven by stress of circumstances, she 
 began to do so, she found that his mother had died almost 
 before he was born. Indeed, his relatives seemed to be as 
 few in number as they were robust in constitution. 
 
 She dismissed the idea of the telegram. She even said 
 to herself that of course she had never entertained it. But 
 what was she to do? 
 
 She tried to be a little cold to Jernington, thinking it might 
 be possible to convey to him subtly the idea that perhaps his 
 
 21
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 visit had lasted long enough, that his hostess had other plans 
 in which his presence was not included. 
 
 But Jernington was conscious of no subtleties except those 
 connected with the employment of musical instruments. 
 And Charmian found it almost impossible to be glacial to such 
 a simple and warm-hearted creature. His very boots seemed 
 to claim her cordiality with their unabashed elastic sides. 
 The way in which he pushed his cuffs out of sight appealed 
 to the goodness of her heart, although it displeased her aesthetic 
 sense. She had to recognize the fact that old Jernington was 
 one of those tiresome people you cannot be unkind to. 
 
 Nevertheless she must get him out of the house and out 
 of Africa. 
 
 If he stuck to the plan of leaving them at the end of August 
 there would probably be no need of diplomacy, or of forcible 
 ejection; but it had become obvious to Charmian that the 
 last thing old Jernington was capable of doing was just that 
 sticking to a plan. 
 
 "Do you mean to sail on the Marechal Bugeaud or the 
 Ville d'Alger?" she asked him. 
 
 "I wonder," he replied artlessly. "In my idea Berlioz 
 was not really the founder of modern orchestration as some have 
 asserted. Your husband and I " 
 
 She could not stop him. She began to feel amost as if she 
 hated the delicious orchestral family. Jernington had a special 
 passion for the oboe. Charmian found herself absurdly 
 feeling against that rustic and Arcadian charmer an enmity 
 such as she had scarcely ever experienced against a human 
 being. One night she spoke unkindly, almost with a warmth 
 of malignity, about the oboe. Jernington sprang amorously 
 to its defense. She tried to quarrel with him, but was dis- 
 armed by his fidelity to the object of his affections. She was 
 too much a woman to rail against fidelity. 
 
 The 3oth of August arrived. In the afternoon of that day 
 she received the following telegram from Alston Lake: 
 
 "Crayford and I start motor trip to-morrow he thinks 
 Germany have no fear all right Marseilles or I Dutchman. 
 LAKE."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 323 
 
 As she read this telegram Charmian knew that the two men 
 would come to Algiers. She believed in Alston Lake. He 
 had an extraordinary faculty for carrying things through; 
 and Crayford was fond of him. Crayford had been kind, 
 generous to the boy, and loved him as a man may love his 
 own good action. Lake, as he had said in private to Char- 
 mian, could "do a lot with dear old Crayford." 
 
 He would certainly bring Crayford to Mustapha. Old 
 Jernington must go. 
 
 The 3ist of August dawned and began to fade. 
 
 Charmian felt desperate. She resolved to tackle Claude on 
 the matter. Old Jernington would never understand unless 
 she said to him, "Go! For Heaven's sake, go!" And even 
 then he would probably think that she was saying the reverse 
 of what she meant, in an effort after that type of playful humor 
 which, for all she knew, perhaps still prevailed in his native 
 Suffolk. She had bent Claude to her purposes before. She 
 must bend him to her purpose now. 
 
 "Claudie," she said, "you know what an old deax I think 
 Jernington, don't you?" 
 
 Claude looked up at her with rather searching eyes. She 
 had come into his workroom at sunset. All day she had been 
 considering what would be the best thing to do. Old Jerning- 
 ton was strolling in the garden smoking a very German pipe 
 after having been "at it" for many hours. 
 
 "Jernington?" 
 
 "Yes, old Jernington." 
 
 "Of course he's an excellent fellow. What about him?" 
 
 She sat down delicately. She was looking very calm, and 
 her movement was very quiet. 
 
 "Well, I'm beginning almost to hate him!" she remarked 
 quietly. 
 
 "What do you mean, Charmian?" 
 
 "If I tell you are you going to get angry?" 
 
 "Why should I get angry?" 
 
 "You are looking very fierce." 
 
 He altered his expression. 
 
 "It's the work," he muttered. "Whe one grinds as I 
 do one does feel fierce. "
 
 324 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "That's why I'm beginning to well, love Mr. Jernington 
 a little less than I used to. He's almost killing you." 
 
 "Jernington!" 
 
 "Yes. It's got to stop." 
 
 Her voice and manner had quite changed. She spoke now 
 with earnest and very serious decision. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The work, Claude. I've seen for some time that unless 
 you take a short holiday you are going to break down." 
 
 "Well, but you have always encouraged me to work!" 
 
 She noticed a faint suspicion in his expression and voice. 
 
 "I know. I've been too eager, too keen on the opera. I 
 haven't realized what a strain you are going through. But 
 it's just like a woman, I'm afraid! now I see another urging 
 you on, I see plainly. It may be jealousy " 
 
 "You jealous of old Jernington!" 
 
 "I believe I am a tiny bit. But, apart really from that, 
 you are looking dreadful these last few days. When you 
 asked Jernington to prolong his visit I was horrified. You see, 
 he's come to it all fresh. And then he's not creating. That's 
 the tiring work. It's all very well helping and criticising." 
 
 "That's very true," Claude said. 
 
 He sighed heavily. She had told him that he was very tired, 
 and he felt that he was very tired. 
 
 "It is a great strain," he added. 
 
 "It has got to stop, Claude." 
 
 There was a little silence. Then she said: 
 
 "These extra months have made a great difference, haven't 
 they?" 
 
 "Enormous." 
 
 "You've got on very far?" 
 
 "Farther than I had thought would be possible." 
 
 Her heart bounded. But she only said: 
 
 "There's a boat to Marseilles the day after to-morrow. 
 Old Jernington is going by it." 
 
 "Oh, but Charmian, we can't pack the dear old fellow 
 
 "The dear old fellow is going by that boat, Claudie." 
 
 "But what a tyrant you are!" 
 
 "I've been selfish. My keenness about your work has
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 325 
 
 blinded me. Jernington has made me see. We've been two 
 slave-drivers. It can't go on. If he could stay and be different 
 but he can't. He's a marvel of learning, but he has only 
 one subject orchestration. You've got to forget that for a 
 little. So Jernington must go. Dear old boy! When I see 
 your pale cheeks and your burning eyes I I " 
 
 Tears came into her eyes. From beneath the trickster the 
 woman arose. Her own words touched her suddenly, made 
 her understand how Claude had sacrificed himself to his work, 
 and so to her ambition. She got up and turned away. 
 
 "Old Jernington shall go by the Marechal Bugeaud," she 
 said, in a voice that slightly shook. 
 
 And by the Marechal Bugeaud, old Jernington did go. 
 
 So ingeniously did Charmian manage things that he believed 
 he went of his own accord, indeed that it had been his " idea " 
 to go. She told Claude to leave it to her and not to say one 
 word. Then she went to Jernington, and began to talk of 
 his extraordinary influence over her husband. He soon 
 pulled at his boots, thrust his cuffs up his arms, and showed 
 other unmistakable symptoms of gratification. 
 
 "You can do anything with him," she said presently. "I 
 wish I could." 
 
 Jernington protested with guttural exclamations. 
 
 "He's killing himself," she resumed. "And I have to sit 
 by and see it, and say nothing." 
 
 "Killing himself!" 
 
 Jernington, who believed in women, was shocked. 
 
 "With overwork. He's on the verge of a complete break- 
 down. And it's you, Mr. Jernington, it's all you!" 
 
 Jernington was more than shocked. His gratification had 
 vanished. A piteous, almost a guilty expression, came into 
 his large fair face. 
 
 "Ach!" he exclaimed. "What have I done?" 
 
 " Oh, it's not your fault. But Claude almost worships you. 
 He thinks there is no one like you. He's afraid to lose a 
 moment of time while you are with him. Your learning, your 
 enthusiasm excite him till he's beside himself. He can't rest 
 with such a worker as you in the house, and no wonder. You 
 are an inspiration to him. Who could rest with such an influ-
 
 326 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 ence near? What are we to do? Unless he has a complete 
 holiday he is going to break completely down. Do watch 
 him to-day! Notice! See for yourself! 
 
 Jernington, much impressed for Gharmian's despair had 
 been very definite indeed, "oleographic in type," as she 
 acknowledged to herself did notice, did see for himself, and 
 inquired innocently of Charmian what was to be done. 
 
 "I leave that to you," she answered, fixing her eyes almost 
 hypnotically upon him. 
 
 Secretly she was willing him to go. She was saying in 
 her mind: "Go! Go! Go!" was striving to "suggestion" 
 him. 
 
 "Perhaps " he paused, and pulled his cuffs down over his 
 large, pale hands. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Perhaps I had better take him away for a little holiday." 
 
 She could have slapped him. But she only said eagerly: 
 
 "To England, you mean! Why not? There's a boat 
 going the day after to-morrow at noon, the Marechal Bugeaud. 
 Don't say a word to Claude. But take your passage on her 
 and leave the rest to me. I know how to manage Claude. 
 And if I get a little help from you!" 
 
 Old Jernington took his passage on the Marechal Bugeaud 
 and left the rest to Charmian, with this result. Late the next 
 night, when they were all going to bed, she whispered to him, 
 "I've put a note in your room. Don't say a word to him!" 
 She touched her lips. Much intrigued by all this feminine 
 diplomacy Jernington went to his room, and found the follow- 
 ing note under a candlestick. (Charmian had a sense of the 
 dramatic.) 
 
 " DEAR MR. JERNINGTON, Claude won't go. It's no use for 
 me to say anything. He is in a highly nervous state brought 
 on by this overwork. I see the only thing is to let him have his 
 own way in everything. Don't even mention that we had 
 thought of this holiday in England. The least thing excites 
 him. And as he won't go, what is the use of speaking of it? 
 If I can get him to join you later well and good. For the 
 moment we can only give in and be discreet. You have been
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 327 
 
 such a dear to us both. The house will seem quite different 
 without you. Not a word to Claude. Burn this! 
 
 "C. H." 
 
 And old Jernington burnt it in the flame of the candle, and 
 went away alone on the Marechal Bugeaud the next morning, 
 with apologies to Claude. 
 
 The house did seem to Charmian quite different without 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 TWO days later, on the 4th of September, Charmian had 
 got rid of Claude as well as of old Jernington, and, in a 
 condition of expectation that was tinged agreeably with 
 triumph, was awaiting the arrival of important visitors. She 
 had received a telegram from Lake: 
 
 "Have got him into the Chateaux country going on to 
 Orange hope on hope ever ALSTON." 
 
 And she knew that the fateful motor would inevitably 
 find its way to the quay at Marseilles. 
 
 She had had no difficulty in persuading Claude to go. 
 When Jernington had departed Claude felt as if a strong prop 
 had suddenly been knocked from under him, as if he might 
 collapse. He could not work. Yet he felt as if in the little 
 house which had seen his work he could not rest. 
 
 "Go away," Charmian said to him. "Take a couple of 
 weeks' complete holiday." 
 
 "Where shall we go?" 
 
 "But I am not going." 
 
 He looked surprised. But she noticed that he did not look 
 displeased. Nevertheless, thinking of the future and remem- 
 bering Alston Lake's advice, she continued: 
 
 "You need a complete change of people as well as of place. 
 Is there anyone left in Algiers?" 
 
 "If you don't come," he interrupted her quickly, "I'd much 
 rather go quite alone. It will rest me much more." 
 
 She saw by the look in his eyes that this sudden prospect 
 of loneliness appealed to him strongly. He moved his shoul- 
 ders, stretched out his arms. 
 
 "Yes, it will do me good. You are right, Charmian. It 
 is sweet of you to think for me as you do." 
 
 And he bent down and kissed her. 
 
 Then he hurried to his room, packed a very small trunk, 
 and took the first train, as she had suggested, to Hammam 
 R'rirha. 
 
 328
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 329 
 
 "If you move from there mind you let me know your 
 address," she said, as he was starting. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "I want always to know just where you are." 
 
 "Of course I shall let you know. But I think I shall stay 
 quietly at Hammam R'rirha." 
 
 Charmian had been alone for five days when another 
 telegram came: 
 
 "Starting to-morrow for Algiers by the Timgad Hurrah 
 ALSTON." 
 
 She read that telegram again and again. She even read it 
 aloud. Then she hurried to her room to get her copy of the 
 libretto. Two days and they would be here! Her heart 
 danced, sang. Everything was going well, more than well. 
 The omens were good. She saw in them a tendency. Success 
 was in the air. She did not doubt, she would not doubt, that 
 Crayford's coming meant his eventual acceptance of the opera. 
 The combination of Alston and herself was a strong one. 
 They knew their own minds; they were both enthusiasts; they 
 both had strong wills. Crayford was devoted to his protege, 
 and he admired her. She had seen admiration in his eyes the 
 first time they had looked at her. Madame Sennier had surely 
 never worked for her husband more strenuously and more 
 effectively than she, Charmian, had worked for Claude; and 
 she would work more strenuously, more effectively, during the 
 next few days. The libretto! She snatched it up and sat 
 down once more to study it. But she could not sit still, and 
 she took it down with her into the garden. There she paced 
 up and down, reading it aloud, reciting the strongest passages 
 in it without looking at the words. She nearly knew the whole 
 of it by heart. 
 
 When the day came on which the Timgad was due she was 
 in a fever of excitement. She went about the little house 
 re-arranging the furniture, putting flowers in all the vases. Of 
 course Mr. Crayford and Alston would stay at a hotel. But 
 no doubt they would spend a good deal of time at the villa. 
 She would insist on their dining with her that night.
 
 330 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Jeanne! Jeanne!" 
 
 She hurried toward the kitchen. It occurred to her that 
 she was not supposed to know that the two men were coming. 
 Oh, but of course, when he found them there, Claude would 
 understand that naturally Alston had telegraphed from Mar- 
 seilles. So she took "La Grande Jeanne" into her confidence 
 without a scruple. They must have a perfect little dinner, a 
 dinner for three such as had never yet been prepared in 
 Mustapha! 
 
 She and Jeanne were together for more than an hour. 
 Afterward she went out to watch for the steamer from a point 
 of vantage on the Boulevard Bleu. Just after one o'clock she 
 saw it gliding toward the harbor over the glassy sea. Then 
 she went slowly home in the glaring heat, rested, put on a white 
 gown, very simple but quite charming, and a large white 
 hat, and went out into the Arab court with a book to await 
 their arrival. 
 
 It was half-past four when a sound struck on her ears, a 
 loud and trembling chord, a buzz, the rattle of a "cut-out." 
 The blessed noises drew near. They were certainly in the 
 little by-road which led to the house. They ceased. She 
 did not move, but sat where she was with a fast-beating heart. 
 
 "Well, this is a cute little snuggery and no mistake!" 
 
 It was Crayford's voice in the court of the bougainvillea. 
 
 She bent her head and pored over her book. In a moment 
 Alston Lake's voice said, in French: 
 
 "In the garden! No, don't call her, Bibi, we will find her!" 
 
 "Look well on the stage that boy!" said Crayford's voice. 
 "No mistake at all about its being picturesque over here." 
 
 Then the two men came in sight in the sunshine. In- 
 stantly Alston said, as he took off his Panama hat: 
 
 "You got my wire from Marseilles, Mrs. Charmian?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I was expecting you! But I didn't know when. 
 Mr. Crayford, how kind of you to come over here in September! 
 No one ever does." 
 
 She had got up rather languidly and was holding out her 
 hand. 
 
 " Guess it's the proper time to come," said Crayford, squeez- 
 ing her hand with his dried-up palm. " See a bit of the real
 
 thing! I don't believe in tourist seasons at all. Tourists 
 always choose the wrong time, seems to me." 
 
 By the look in his eyes as he glanced around him Chairman 
 saw that he was under the spell of D jenan-el-Maqui. 
 
 "You must have tea, iced drinks, whatever you like," she 
 said. " I'm all alone as you see." 
 
 "What's that?" said Crayford. 
 
 "My husband is away." 
 
 Crayford' s lips pursed themselves. For a moment he 
 looked like a man who finds he has been "had." In that 
 moment Charmian knew that his real reason in "running 
 over" to North Africa had certainly been the opera. She 
 did not suppose he had acknowledged this to Lake, or ever 
 would acknowledge it to anyone. But she was quite certain 
 of it. 
 
 "Gone to England?" asked Crayford, carelessly. 
 
 "Oh, no. He's been working too hard, and run away by 
 himself for a little holiday to a place near here, Hammam 
 R'rirha. He'll be sorry to miss you. I know how busy you 
 always are, so I suppose you'll only stay a day or two." 
 
 Crayford's keen eyes suddenly fastened upon her. 
 
 "Yes, I haven't too much time," he remarked drily. 
 
 They all sat down, and again Crayford looked around, 
 stretching out his short and muscular legs. 
 
 "Cute, and no mistake!" he observed, with a sigh, as he 
 pulled at the tiny beard. "Think of living here now! Pity 
 I'm not a composer, eh, Alston?" 
 
 He ended with a laugh. 
 
 "And what's your husband been up to, Mrs. Heath?" he 
 continued, settling himself more comfortably in his big chair, 
 and pushing his white Homburg hat backward to leave his 
 brown forehead bare to a tiny breeze which spoke softly, very 
 gently, of the sea. " You've been over here for a big bunch of 
 Sundays, Alston tells me, week-days too." 
 
 "Oh " She seemed to be hesitating. 
 
 Alston's boyish eyes twinkled with appreciation. 
 
 "Well, we came here we wanted to be quiet." 
 
 "You've got out of sight of Broadway, that's certain." 
 
 Tea and iced drinks were brought out. They talked of
 
 332 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 casual matters. The softness of late afternoon, warm, scented, 
 exotic, dreamed in the radiant air. And Crayford said: 
 
 "It's cute! It's cute!" 
 
 He had removed his hat now and almost lay back in his 
 chair. Presently he said: 
 
 "Seems to me years since I've rested like this, Alston!" 
 
 "I believe it is many years," said Lake, with a little satisfied 
 laugh. "I've never seen you do it before." 
 
 "'Cepting the cure. And that don't amount to anything." 
 
 "Stay and dine, won't you?" said Charmian. "If you're 
 not bored." 
 
 "Bored!" said Crayford. 
 
 " We'll dine just as we are. I'll go in and see the cook about 
 it." 
 
 "Very good of you I'm sure," said Crayford. "But I 
 don't want to put you out." 
 
 "Where are you staying?" 
 
 "The Excelsior," said Lake.- 
 
 "Right down in the town. You must stay. It is cooler 
 here." 
 
 She got up and went slowly into the house. 
 
 "Stunning figure she's got and no mistake!" observed 
 Crayford, following her with his eyes. "But I say, Alston, 
 what about this fellow Heath? Now I'm over here I ought 
 to have a look at what he's up to. She seemed to want to 
 avoid the subject, I thought. D'you think he's writing on 
 commission? Or perhaps someone's seen the music. The 
 Metropolitan crowd " 
 
 They fell into a long discussion on opera prospects, during 
 which Alston Lake succeeded in giving Crayford an impression 
 that there might be some secret in connection with Claude 
 Heath's opera. This set the impresario bristling. He was 
 like a terrier at the opening of a rat-hole. 
 
 Charmian's little dinner that night was perfect. Crayford 
 fell into a seraphic mood. Beneath his hard enterprise, his 
 fierce energies, his armor of business equipment, there was a 
 strain of romance of which he was half-ashamed, and which he 
 scarcely understood or was at ease with. That night it came 
 rather near to the surface of him. As he stepped out into the
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 333 
 
 court to take coffee, with an excellent Havana in his mouth, 
 as he saw the deep and limpid sky glittering with strong, almost 
 fierce stars, and farther fainter stars, he heaved a long sigh. 
 
 " Bully!" he breathed. " Bully, and no mistake!" 
 
 Exactly how it all came about Charmian did not remember 
 afterward; Alston, she thought, must have prepared the way 
 with masterly ingenuity. Or perhaps she no, she was not 
 conscious of having brought it about deliberately. The fact 
 was this. At ten o'clock that night, sitting with a light behind 
 her, Charmian began to read the libretto of the opera to the 
 two men who were smoking near the fountain. 
 
 It had seemed inevitable. The hour was propitious. They 
 were all " worked up." The night, perhaps, played upon them 
 after "La Grande Jeanne" had done her part. Crayford was 
 obviously in his softest, most receptive mood. Alston was ex- 
 pansive, was in a gloriously hopeful condition. The opera 
 was mentioned again. By whom? Surely by the hour or 
 the night ! It had to be mentioned, and inevitably was. Cray- 
 ford was sympathetic, spoke almost with emotion a liqueur- 
 glass of excellent old brandy in his hand of the young talented 
 ones who must bear the banner of art bravely before the coming 
 generations. 
 
 "I love the young!" he said. "It is my proudest boast 
 to seek out and bring forward the young. Aren't it, 
 Alston?" 
 
 Influenced perhaps by the satiny texture of the old brandy, 
 in combination with the scented and jewelled night, he spoke 
 as if he existed only for the benefit of the young, never thought 
 about money-making, or business propositions. Charmian 
 was touched. Alston also seemed moved. Claude was young. 
 Crayford spoke of him, of his talent. Charmian was no longer 
 evasive, though she honestly meant to be, thinking evasiveness 
 was " the best way with Mr. Crayford." How could she, burn- 
 ing with secret eagerness, be evasive after a perfect dinner, 
 when she saw the guest on whom all her hopes for the future 
 were centered giving himself up almost greedily to the soft 
 emotion which only comes on a night of nights? 
 
 The libretto was touched upon. Alston surely begged her 
 to read it. Or did she offer to do so, induced and deliciously
 
 334 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 betrayed into the definite by Alston? She and he were sup- 
 posed to be playing into each other's hands. But, in that 
 matter of the libretto, Charmian never was able to believe that 
 they did so. The whole thing seemed somehow to "come 
 about of itself." 
 
 Sitting with her feet on a stool, which she very soon got rid 
 of, Charmian began to read, while Crayford luxuriously struck 
 a match and applied to it another cigar. At that moment 
 he was enjoying himself, as only an incessantly and almost 
 feverishly active man is able to in a rare interval of perfect 
 repose, when life and nature say to him " Rest! We have pre- 
 pared this dim hour of stars, scents, silence, warmth, wonder 
 for you!" He was glad not to talk, glad to hear the sound of 
 a woman's agreeable voice. 
 
 Just at first, as Charmian read, his attention was inclined 
 to wander. The night was so vast, so starry and still, that 
 as he afterward said to himself "it took every bit of ginger 
 out of me." But Charmian had not studied with Madame 
 Thenant for nothing. This was an almost supreme moment 
 in her life, and she knew it. She might never have another 
 opportunity of influencing fate so strongly on Claude's behalf. 
 Madame Sennier's white face, set in the frame of an opera-box, 
 rose up before her. She took her feet off the stool she was 
 no odalisque to be pampered with footstools and cushions and 
 she let herself go. 
 
 Very late in the night Crayford's voice said: 
 "That's the best libretto since Carmen, and I know some- 
 thing about libretti." 
 
 Charmian had her reward. He added, after a minute: 
 "Your reading, Mrs. Heath, was bully, simply bully!" 
 Charmian was silent. Her eyes were full of tears. At 
 that moment she was incapable of speech. Alston Lake 
 cleared his throat. 
 
 "Say," began Crayford, after a prolonged pause, during 
 which he seemed to be thinking profoundly, pulling incessantly 
 at his beard, and yielding to a strong attack of the tic which 
 sometimes afflicted him "say, can't you get that husband of 
 yours to come right back from wherever he is?" 
 With an effort, Charmian regained self-control.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 335 
 
 "Oh, yes, I could, of course. But but I think he needs 
 the holiday he is taking badly." 
 
 "Been working hard has he, sweating over the music?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Young 'uns must sweat if they're to get there. That's 
 all right. Aren't it, Alston?" 
 
 "Rather!" 
 
 "Can't you get him back?" continued Crayford. 
 
 The softness, the almost luxurious abandon of look and 
 manner was dropping away from him. The man who has 
 "interests," and who seldom forgets them for more than a very 
 few minutes, began to reappear. 
 
 "Well, I might. But why?" 
 
 "Don't he want to see his chum Alston?" 
 
 "Certainly; he always likes to see Mr. Lake." 
 
 "Well then?" 
 
 " The only thing is he needs complete rest." 
 
 "And so do I, but d'you think I'm going to take it? Not 
 I! It's the resters get left. You might telegraph that to 
 your husband, and say it comes straight from me." 
 
 He got up from his chair, and threw away the stump of the 
 fourth cigar he had enjoyed that night. 
 
 " We've no room for resters in New York City." 
 
 "I'm sure you haven't. But my husband doesn't happen 
 to belong to New York City." 
 
 As they were leaving Djenan-el-Maqui, after Mr. Crayford 
 had had a long drink, and while he was speaking to his chauf- 
 feur, who had the bonnet of the car up, Alston Lake whispered 
 to Charmian: 
 
 " Don't wire to old Claude. Keep it up. You are masterly, 
 quite masterly. Hulloa! anything wrong with the car?" 
 
 When they buzzed away Charmian stood for a moment 
 in the drive till silence fell. She was tired, but how happily 
 tired! 
 
 And to think that Claude knew nothing, nothing of it all! 
 Some day she would have to tell him how hard she had worked 
 for him! She opened her lips and drew into her lungs the 
 warm air of the night. She was not a "rester." She would 
 not surely "get left."
 
 336 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Pierre yawned rather loudly behind her. 
 
 "Oh, Pierre!" she said, turning quickly, startled. "It 
 is terribly late. Stay in bed to-morrow. Don't get up early. 
 Bonne nuit." 
 
 "Bonne nuit, madame." 
 
 On the following day she received a note from Alston. 
 
 "DEAR MRS. CHARMIAN, You are a wonder. No one on 
 earth could have managed him better. You might have known 
 him from the cradle yours, of course, not his! I'm taking 
 him around to-day. He wants to go to Djenan-el-Maqui, 
 I can see that. But I'm keeping him off it. Lie low and 
 mum's the word as to Claude. Your fellow conspirator, 
 
 "ALSTON." 
 
 It was difficult to "lie low." But she obeyed and spent 
 the long day alone. No one came to see her. Toward evening 
 she felt deserted, presently even strangely depressed. As she 
 dined, as she sat out afterward in the court with Caroline repos- 
 ing on her skirt in a curved attitude of supreme contentment, 
 she recalled the excitement and emotion of the preceding 
 night. She had read well. She had done her part for Claude. 
 But if all her work had been useless? If all the ingenuity of 
 herself and Alston should be of no avail? If the opera should 
 never be produced, or should be produced and fail? Perhaps 
 for the first time she strongly and deliberately imagined that 
 catastrophe. For so long now had the opera been the thing 
 that ruled in her life with Claude, for so long had everything 
 centered round it, been subservient to it, that Charmian could 
 scarcely conceive of life without it. She would be quite alone 
 with Claude. Now they were a menage d trois. She recalled 
 the beginnings of her married life. How fussy, how anxious, 
 how unstable they had been ! Now the current flowed strongly, 
 steadily, evenly. The river seemed to have a soul, to know 
 whither it was flowing. 
 
 Surely so much thought, care, labor and love could not be 
 bestowed on a thing in vain; surely the opera, child of so many 
 hopes, bearer of such a load of ambition, could not "go 
 down"? She tried to regain her strength of anticipation. 
 But all the evening she felt depressed. If only Alston would
 
 come in for five minutes! Perhaps he would. She looked at 
 the tiny watch which hung by her side at the end of a thin gold 
 chain. The hands pointed to half-past nine. He might come 
 yet. She listened. The night, one of a long succession of 
 marvellous African nights, was perfectly still. The servants 
 within the villa made no sound. Caroline heaved a faint sigh 
 and stirred, turning to push her long nose into a tempting fold 
 of Charmian's skirt. But, midway in her movement she 
 paused, lifted her head, stared at the darkness with her small 
 yellow eyes, and uttered a muffled bark which was like an 
 inquiry. Her nose was twitching. 
 
 "What is it, Caroline?" said Charmian. 
 
 She lifted the dog on to her knees. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Caroline barked faintly again. 
 
 "Someone is coming," thought Charmian. "Alston is 
 coming." 
 
 Almost directly she heard the sound of wheels, and Caroline 
 jumping down with her lopetty movement, delivered herself up 
 to a succession of calm barks. She was a gentle individual, 
 and never showed any great animation, even in such a crisis 
 as this. The sound of wheels ceased, and in a moment a voice 
 called: 
 
 ' ' Charmian ! Where are y ou ? " 
 
 "Claude!" 
 
 She felt that her face grew hot, though she was alone, and 
 she had spoken the name to herself, for herself. 
 
 "I'm out here on the terrace!" 
 
 She felt astonished, guilty. She had thought that he 
 would only come when she summoned him, perhaps to-morrow, 
 that he would learn by telegram of the arrival of Crayford 
 and Alston. Now she would have to tell him. 
 
 He came out into the court, looking very tall in the night. 
 
 "Are you surprised?" 
 
 He kissed her. 
 
 "Very! Very surprised!" 
 
 "I thought I had had enough holiday, that I would get 
 back. I only decided to-day, quite suddenly. 
 
 "Then didn't you enjoy your holiday?" 
 
 22
 
 338 T L HE k WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I thought I was going to. I tried to. I even pretended 
 to myself that I was enjoying it very much. But it was all 
 subterfuge, I suppose, for to-day I found I must come back. 
 The fact is I can't keep away from the opera." 
 
 Charmian was conscious of a sharp pang. It felt like a 
 pang of jealousy. 
 
 "Have you had any dinner?" she asked, in a rather con- 
 strained voice. 
 
 "Yes. I dined at Gruber's." 
 
 She wondered why, but she did not say so. 
 
 "I nearly stayed the night in town. I felt it seemed so 
 absurd my rushing back like this." 
 
 He ended with a little laugh. 
 
 "Who do you think is here?" she said. 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 He glanced round. 
 
 "I mean in Algiers." 
 
 He looked at her with searching eyes. 
 
 "Someone we know well?" 
 
 "Two people." 
 
 "Tell me!" 
 
 "No guess!" 
 
 "Women? Men?" 
 
 "Men." 
 
 "Sennier?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Max Elliot?" 
 
 " No. One is Alston Lake." 
 
 "Alston? But why isn't he up here, then?" 
 
 "He has brought someone with him." 
 
 "Whom?" 
 
 "Jacob Crayford." 
 
 "Crayford here? What has he come here for?" 
 
 "He's taking a holiday motoring." 
 
 "But to come to Algiers in summer!" 
 
 "He goes everywhere, and can't choose his season. He's 
 far too busy." 
 
 "To be sure. Has he been to see you?" 
 
 "Yes; he dined here yesterday and stayed tiD past mid-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 339 
 
 night. He wants to see you. I meant to telegraph to you 
 almost directly." 
 
 "Wants to see me?" 
 
 "Yes. Claude, last night I read the libretto of the opera 
 to him and Alston." 
 
 He was silent. It was dark in the court. She could not 
 see his face clearly enough to know whether he was pleased or 
 displeased. 
 
 "Do you mind?" 
 
 Why should I?" 
 
 "I think you sound as if you minded." 
 
 "Well? What did Crayford think of it?" 
 
 "He said, 'It's the best libretto since Carmen.'" 
 
 "It is a good libretto." 
 
 "He was enthusiastic. Claude" she put her hand on his 
 arm "he wants to hear your music." 
 
 "Has he said so?" 
 
 "Not exactly; not in so many words; but he seemed very 
 much put out when he found you weren't here. And, after 
 he had heard the libretto, he suggested my telegraphing to 
 you to come straight back." 
 
 "Funny I should have come without your telegraphing." 
 
 "It almost seems " She paused. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "As if you had been led to come back of your own accord, 
 as if you had felt you ought to be here." 
 
 "Are you glad?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, now." 
 
 "Did you mean " 
 
 "Claude," she said, taking a resolution, "I don't think it 
 would be wise for us to seem too eager about the opera with 
 Mr. Crayford." 
 
 "But I have never even thought 
 
 "No, no. But now he's here, and thinks so much of the 
 libretto, and wants to see you, it would be absurd of us to 
 pretend that he could not be of great use to us. I mean, to 
 pretend to ourselves. Of course if he would take it it would be 
 too splendid." 
 
 "He never will."
 
 340 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Why not? Covent Garden took Sennier's opera." 
 
 "I'm not a Sennier unfortunately." 
 
 "What a pity it is you have not more belief in yourself!" 
 she exclaimed, almost angrily. 
 
 She felt at that moment as if his lack of self-confidence 
 might ruin their prospects. 
 
 "O Claude," she continued in the same almost angry voice, 
 " do pluck up a little belief in your own talent, otherwise how 
 can" 
 
 She pulled herself up sharply. 
 
 "I can't help being angry," she continued. "I believe in 
 you so much, and then you speak like this." 
 
 Suddenly she burst into tears. Her depression culminated 
 in this breakdown, which surprised her as much as it astonished 
 Claude. 
 
 "My nerves have been on edge all day," she said, or, rather, 
 sobbed. "I don't know why." 
 
 But even as she spoke she did know why. The strain of 
 secret ambition was beginning to tell upon her. She was 
 perpetually hiding something, was perpetually waiting, desir- 
 ing, thinking, "How much longer?" And she had not Susan 
 Fleet's wonderful serenity. And then she could not forget 
 Claude's remark, "I can't keep away from the opera." It 
 ought to have pleased her, perhaps, but it had wounded her. 
 
 "I'm a fool!" she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm strung up; 
 not myself." 
 
 Claude put his arm round her gently. 
 
 "I understand that my attitude about my work must often 
 be very aggravating," he said. "But " 
 
 He stopped, said nothing more. 
 
 "Let us believe in the opera," she exclaimed "your own 
 child. Then others will believe in it, too. Alston does." 
 
 She looked up at him with the tears still shining in her eyes. 
 
 "And Jacob Crayford shall." 
 
 After a moment she added: 
 
 " If only you leave him to me and don't spoil things." 
 
 "How could I spoil my own music?" he asked. 
 
 But she only answered: 
 
 "Oh, Claude, there are things you don't understand!"
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 the darned fester's come back, has he?" 
 Crayford was the speaker. Dressed in a very thin 
 suit, with a yellow linen coat on his arm, a pair of goggles 
 in one hand, and a huge silver cigar-case, "suitably inscribed," 
 in the other, he had just come into the smoking-room of the 
 Excelsior Hotel. 
 
 "They gave you the note, then?" said Alston. 
 
 "Yaw." 
 
 Crayford laid the coat down, opened the cigar-case, and 
 took out a huge Havana. 
 
 "I guess we'll let the car wait a bit, Alston," he said, 
 lighting up. "Of course she telegraphed him to come." 
 
 "I'm quite sure she didn't," said Alston emphatically. 
 
 "Think I can't see?" observed Crayford drily. 
 
 He sat down and crossed his legs. 
 
 "No. But even you can't see what isn't." 
 
 "There's not much that is this eye don't light on. The 
 little lady up at D jen-anne-whatever you may call it is follow- 
 ing up a spoor; and I'm the big game at the end of it. She's 
 out to bring me down, my boy. Well, that's all right, only 
 don't you two take me for too much of an innocent little thing, 
 that's all." 
 
 Alston said nothing, and maintained a cheerful and imper- 
 turbable expression. 
 
 " She's brought the rester back so as not to miss the oppor- 
 tunity of his life. Now I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm 
 going right up to Djen-anne. I'm going to take the rester by 
 myself, and I'm just going to hear that darned opera; and 
 neither the little lady nor you's going to get a look in. This is 
 up to me, and you'll just keep right out of it. See?" 
 
 He turned the cigar in his mouth, and his tic suddenly 
 became very apparent. 
 
 "And what am I to do?" asked Alston. 
 
 341
 
 342 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "When I get to Djen-anne, I'll open out at once, come 
 right to business. You stop here. As likely as not the little 
 lady'll come back in the car to take you for a spin. If she 
 does, keep her out till late. You can tell her a good bit 
 depends on it." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "Happen she'll dine with you?" threw out Crayford, 
 always with the same half-humorous dryness. 
 
 "Do you mean that you wish me to try and keep Mrs. 
 Heath to dinner?" said Alston, with bland formality. 
 
 "She might cheer you up. You might cheer each other 
 up." 
 
 At this point in the conversation Crayford allowed a faint 
 smile to distort slightly one corner of his mouth. 
 
 Charmian did come down from Mustapha in Crayford's 
 big yellow car. She was in a state of great excitement. 
 
 "O Alston!" she exclaimed, "where are we going? 
 What a man he is when it comes to business! He simply 
 packed me off. I have never been treated in such a way be- 
 fore. We've got hours and hours to fill up somehow. I 
 feel almost as if I were waiting to be told on what day I am 
 to be guillotined, like a French criminal. How will Claude 
 get on with him? Just think of those two shut in together!" 
 
 As Alston got into the car she repeated: 
 
 "Where are we going?" 
 
 " Allez au DiableJ" said Alston to Crayford's chauffeur, who 
 was a Frenchman. 
 
 "Bien, m'sieul" 
 
 "And " Alston pulled out his watch. "You must take 
 at least seven hours to get there." 
 
 " Tr&s bien, m'sieu." 
 
 "That's a cute fellow," said Alston to Charmian, as they 
 drove off. "Knows how to time things!" 
 
 It was evening when they returned to the hotel, dusty and 
 tired. 
 
 "You'll dine with me, Mrs. Charmian!" said Alston. 
 
 "Oh, no; I must go home now. I can't wait any longer." 
 
 "Better dine with me." 
 
 She took off her big motor veil, and looked at him.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 343 
 
 "Did Mr. Crayford say I was to dine with you?" 
 
 "No. But he evidently thought it would be a suitable 
 arrangement." 
 
 "But what will people think?" 
 
 "What they always do, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, but what's that?" 
 
 "I've wondered for years!" 
 
 He held out his big hand. Charmian yielded and got out 
 of the car. 
 
 At ten o'clock Crayford had not reappeared, and she in- 
 sisted on returning home. 
 
 "I can't stay out all night even for an impresario," she 
 said. 
 
 Alston agreed, and they went out to the front door to get a 
 carriage. 
 
 "Of course I'll see you home, Mrs. Charmian." 
 
 "Yes, you may." 
 
 As they drove off she exclaimed: 
 
 "That man really is a terror, Alston, or should I say a 
 holy terror? Do you know, I feel almost guilty in daring to 
 venture back to my own house." 
 
 "Maybe we'll meet him on the way up." 
 
 "If we do be sure you stop the carriage." 
 
 "But if he doesn't stop his?" 
 
 "Then I'll stop it. Keep a sharp lookout. I'm tired, 
 but oh! I do feel so excited. You look out all the time on 
 your side, and I'll do the same on mine." 
 
 "Well, but we meet everything on the 
 
 "Never mind! Oh, don't be practical at such a moment! 
 He might pass us on any side." 
 
 Alston laughed and obeyed her mandate. 
 
 They were a long way up the hill, and were near to the church 
 of the Holy Trinity when Charmian cried out: 
 
 " There's a carriage coming. I believe he's in it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I do! Be ready to stop him." 
 
 "Gee! He is in it! Hi! Mr. Crayford! Crayford!" 
 
 Charmian, leaning quickly forward, gave their astonished 
 coachman a violent push in the small of his_back.
 
 344 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Stop! Stop!" 
 
 He pulled up the horses with a jerk. 
 
 "Hello!" said Crayford. 
 
 He took off his hat. 
 
 " Goin' home to roost?" he added to Charmian. 
 
 "If you have no objection," she answered, with a pretense 
 of dignity. 
 
 They looked at one another in the soft darkness which was 
 illumined by the lamps of the two carriages. Crayford, as 
 usual, was smoking a big cigar. 
 
 "Have you dined?" said Alston. 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Have you " Charmian began, and paused. "Have you 
 been hearing the opera all this time?" 
 
 "Yaw." 
 
 He blew out a smoke ring. 
 
 "Hearing it and talking things over." 
 
 Her heart leaped with hope and with expectation. 
 
 "Then you then I suppose " 
 
 "See here, little lady," said Crayford. "I'm not feeling 
 quite as full as I should like. I think I'll be getting home 
 along. Your husband will tell you things, I've no doubt. 
 Want Lake to see you in, do you?" 
 
 "No. I'm almost there." 
 
 "Then what do you say to his coming back with me?" 
 
 "Of course. Good-night, Mr. Lake. No, no! I don't 
 want you really! All the coachmen know me here, and I 
 them. I've driven alone dozens of times. Good-night. 
 Good-night, Mr. Crayford." 
 
 She almost pushed Alston out of the carriage in her excite- 
 ment. She was now burning with impatience to be with 
 Claude. 
 
 "Good-night, good-night!" she called, waving her hands as 
 the horses moved forward. 
 
 "She's a oner," said Crayford. "And so are you to keep 
 a woman like that quiet all these hours. My boy, I'm empty, 
 I can tell you." 
 
 He said not a word to Alston about the opera that night, 
 and Alston did not attempt to make him talk.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 345 
 
 When Charmian arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui she found 
 Claude in the little dining-room with Caroline, who was seated 
 beside him on a chair, leaning her lemon-colored chin upon the 
 table, and gazing with pathetic eyes at the cold chicken he 
 was eating. 
 
 "O Claude!" she said, as he looked round. "Such a 
 day! Well?" 
 
 She came to the table, pushed Caroline ruthlessly to the 
 floor, took the dog's chair, and repeated, "Well?" 
 
 Claude's face was flushed, his short hair was untidy, and 
 the eyes which he fixed upon her looked excited, tired, and, 
 she thought, something else. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" 
 
 "No, why should there be? Where have you been?" 
 
 " With Alston. He insisted on my keeping out of the way. 
 Crayford I mean, of course. Has it gone well? Did you 
 play the whole of it; all you've composed, I mean?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What did he say? What did he think of it?" 
 
 "It isn't easy to know exactly what that kind of man 
 thinks." 
 
 "Was he disagreeable? Didn't you get on?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose we did." 
 
 "What did he say, then?" 
 
 "All sorts of things." 
 
 " Go on eating. You look dreadfully tired. Tell me some 
 of the things." 
 
 "Well, he liked some of it." 
 
 "Only some?" 
 
 "He seemed to like a good deal. But he suggested quanti- 
 ties of alterations." 
 
 "Where? Which part?" 
 
 "I should have to show you." 
 
 "Drink some wine. I'm sure you need it. Give me some 
 idea. You can easily do that without showing me to-night." 
 
 "He says a march should be introduced. You know, in 
 
 that scene 
 
 "I know, the soldiers, the Foreign Legion. Well, that 
 would be easy enough. You could do that in a day."
 
 " Do you think one has only to sit down?" 
 
 "Two days, then; a week if you like! You have wonderful 
 facility when you choose. And what else? Here, I'll pour 
 out the wine. What else?" 
 
 "Heaps of things. He wants to pull half the opera to 
 pieces, I think." 
 
 "Oh, no, Claudie! You are exaggerating. You always 
 do, dear old boy. And if you do what he says, what then?" 
 
 "How d'you mean?" 
 
 "Would he take it? Would he produce it?" 
 
 "He didn't commit himself." 
 
 "Of course not! They never do. But would he? You 
 must have gathered something from his manner, from what 
 he said, what he looked like." 
 
 "He seemed very much struck with the libretto. He said 
 there were great opportunities for new scenic effects." 
 
 " He is going to take it! He is! He is!" she cried exultantly. 
 "I knew he would. I always knew. Why, why do you 
 look so grim, Claudie?" 
 
 She threw one arm round his neck and kissed him. 
 
 "Don't look like that when we are on the eve of everything 
 we've been working for, waiting longing for, for months and 
 years! Caroline! Caroline!" 
 
 Caroline hastily indicated her presence. 
 
 "Come up! The darling, she shall have a piece of cake, 
 two pieces! There! And the sugary part, too!" 
 
 "You'll make her ill." 
 
 "Never mind. If she is ill it is in a good cause. Claudie, 
 just think, you are going to be another Jacques Sennier! It's 
 too wonderful. And yet I knew it. Didn't I tell you that 
 night in the opera house? I said it would be so. Didn't I? 
 Can you deny it?" 
 
 " I don't deny it. But" 
 
 "You are made of buts. If it were not for me you would 
 go and hide away your genius, and no one would ever know 
 you existed at all. It's pathetic. But you've married a 
 wife who knows what you are, and others shall know too. 
 The whole world shall know."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 347 
 
 He could not help laughing at her -wild enthusiasm. But 
 he said, with a sobriety that almost made her despair: 
 
 "You are going too fast, Charmian. I'm not at all sure 
 that I shall be able to consent to make changes in the opera." 
 
 Then began a curious conflict which lasted for days between 
 Claude Heath on the one side, and Charmian, Alston Lake, 
 and Crayford on the other. It was really a tragic conflict, 
 for it was, Claude believed, the last stand made by an artist 
 in defense of his art. Never had he felt so much alone as 
 during these days of conflict. Yet he was in his own home, 
 with a wife who was working for him, a devoted friend who 
 was longing for his success, and a man who was seriously 
 thinking of bringing him and his work into the notice of the 
 vast world that loves opera. No one knew of his loneliness. 
 No one even suspected it. And comedy hung, as it ever does, 
 about the heels of tragedy. 
 
 Crayford revealed himself in his conflict. He was a self- 
 made man, and before he "went in" for opera had been a 
 showman all over the States, and had made a quantity of 
 money. He had run a menagerie, more than one circus, had 
 taken about a "fake-hypnotist," a "living-magnet," and 
 other delights. Then he had "started in" as a music-hall 
 manager. With music halls he had been marvellously success- 
 ful. He still held interests in halls all over the States. More 
 recently he had been one of the first men to see the possibilities 
 in moving pictures, and had made a big pile with cinemato- 
 graph halls. But always, even from the beginning, beneath 
 the blatant cleverness, the vulgar ingenuities of the showman, 
 there had been something else; something that had ambition 
 not wholly vulgar, that had ideals, furtive perhaps, but 
 definite, that had aspirations. And this something, that was 
 of the soul of the man, was incessantly feeling its way through 
 the absurdities, the vulgarities, the deceptions, the inanities, 
 toward a goal that was worth the winning. Crayford had 
 always wanted to be one of the recognized leaders of what he 
 called "high-class artistic enterprise" in the States, and 
 especially in his native city of New York. And he was ready 
 to spend a lot of his "pile" to "get there." 
 
 Of late years he had been getting there. He had run a
 
 348 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 fine theater on Broadway, and had "presented" several native 
 and foreign stars in productions which had been remarkable 
 for the beauty and novelty of the staging and " effects." And, 
 finally, he had built an opera house, ^,nd had "put up" a big 
 fight against the mighty interests concentrated in the New 
 York Metropolitan. He had dropped thousands upon 
 thousands of dollars. But he was now a very rich man, and 
 he was a man who was prepared to lose thousands on the road 
 if he reached the goal at last. He was a good fighter, a man 
 of grit, a man with a busy brain, and a profound belief in his 
 own capacities. And he was remarkably clever. Somehow 
 he had picked up three foreign languages. Somehow he 
 had learned a good deal about a variety of subjects, among 
 them music. Combative, he would yield to no opinion, 
 even on matters of which he knew far less than those opposed 
 to him. But he had a natural "flair" which often carried him 
 happily through difficult situations, and helped him to "win 
 out all right" in the end. The old habit of the showman 
 made him inclined to look on those whom he presented in his 
 various enterprises as material, and sometimes battled with an 
 artistic instinct which often led him to pick out what was good 
 from the seething mass of mediocrity. He believed profoundly 
 in names. But he believed also in "new blood," and was for 
 ever on the lookout for it. 
 
 He felt pretty sure he had found "new blood" at Djenan- 
 el-Maqui. 
 
 But Claude must trust him, bow to him, be ready to follow 
 his lead of a long experience if he was to do anything with 
 Claude's work. Great names he let alone. They had cap- 
 tured the public and had to be trusted. But people without 
 names must be malleable as wax is. Otherwise he would not 
 touch them. 
 
 Such was the man who entered into the conflict with Claude. 
 Charmian was passionately on his side because of ambition. 
 Alston Lake was on his side because of gratitude, and in 
 expectation. 
 
 The opera was promising, but it had to be "made over," 
 and Crayford was absolutely resolved that made over it should 
 be in accordance with his ideas.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 349 
 
 "I don't spend thousands over a thing unless I have my 
 say in what it's to be like," he remarked, with a twist of his 
 body, at a crisis of the conflict with Claude. " I wouldn't do 
 it. It's me that is out to lose if the darned thing's a failure." 
 
 There was a silence. The discussion had been long and 
 ardent. Outside, the heat brooded almost sternly over the 
 land, for the sky was covered with a film of gray, unbroken by 
 any crevice through which the blue could be seen. It was a 
 day on which nerves get unstrung, on which the calmest, 
 most equable people are apt to lose their tempers suddenly, 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 Claude had felt as if he were being steadily thrashed with 
 light little rods, which drew no blood, but which were gradu- 
 ally bruising him, bruising every part of him. But when 
 Crayford said these last sentences it seemed to Claude as if 
 the blood came oozing out in tiny drops. And from the very- 
 depths of him, of the real genuine man who lay in concealment, 
 rose a lava stream of contempt, of rage. He opened his lips 
 to give it freedom. But Charmian spoke quickly, anxiously, 
 and her eyes travelled swiftly from Claude's face to Alston's, 
 and to Crayford's. 
 
 "Then if we I mean if my husband does what you wish, 
 you will spend thousands over it?" she said, "you will produce 
 it, give it its chance?" 
 
 Never yet had that question been asked. Never had 
 Crayford said anything definite. Naturally it had been 
 assumed that he would not waste his time over a thing in 
 which he did not think of having a money interest. But he 
 had been careful not to commit himself to any exact statement 
 which could be brought against him if, later on, he decided to 
 drop the whole affair. Charmian's abrupt interposition 
 was a challenge. It held Claude dumb, despite that rage of 
 contempt. It drew Alston's eyes to the face of his patron. 
 There was a moment of tense silence. In it Claude felt 
 that he was waiting for a verdict that would decide his fate, 
 not as a successful man, but as a self-respecting artist. As 
 he looked at the face of his wife he knew he had not the strength 
 to decide his own fate for himself in accordance with the dic- 
 tates of the hidden man within him. He strove to summon
 
 up that strength, but a sense of pity, that perhaps really was 
 akin to love, intervened to prevent its advent. Charmian's 
 eyes seemed to hold her soul in that moment. He could not 
 strike it down into the dust of despair; 
 
 Crayford's eyebrows twitched violently, and he turned the 
 big cigar that was between his lips round and round. Then 
 he took it out of his mouth, looked at Charmian, and said: 
 
 "Yah!" 
 
 Charmian turned and looked into Claude's eyes. She did 
 not say a word. But her eyes were a mandate, and they were 
 also a plea. They drove back, beat down the hidden man into 
 the depths where he made his dwelling. 
 
 "Well," said Crayford roughly, almost rudely, to Claude, 
 "how's it going to be? I want to know just where I am in 
 this thing. This aren't the only enterprise I've got on the 
 stocks by a long way. I wasn't born and bred a nigger, nor 
 yet an Arab, and I can't sit sweltering here for ever trying to 
 find out where I am and where I'm coming to. We've got 
 to get down to business. The little lady is worth a ton of 
 men, composers or not. She's got us to the point, and now 
 there's no getting away from it. I'm stuck, dead stuck, on 
 this libretto. Now, it's not a bit of use your getting red and 
 firing up, my boy. I'm not saying a word against you and your 
 music. But the first thing is the libretto. Why, how could 
 you write an opera without a libretto? Just tell me that! 
 Very well, then. You've got the best libretto since ' Carmen,' 
 and you've got to write the best opera since ' Carmen.' Well, 
 seems to me you've made a good start, but you're too far away 
 from ordinary folk. Now, don't think I want you to play 
 down. I don't. I've got a big reputation in the States, 
 though you mayn't think it, and I can't afford to spoil it. 
 Play for the center. That's my motto. Shoot to hit the bull's 
 eye, not a couple of feet above it." 
 
 "Hear, hear!" broke in Lake, in his strong baritone. 
 
 "Ah!" breathed Charmian. 
 
 Crayford almost swelled with satisfaction at this dual 
 backing. Again he twisted his body, and threw back his 
 head with a movement he probably thought Napoleonic. 
 
 "Play for the center! That's the game. Now you're
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 351 
 
 aiming above it, and my business is to bring you to the center. 
 Why, my boy" his tone was changing under the influence of 
 self-satisfaction, was becoming almost paternal "all I, all 
 we want is your own good. All we want is a big success, 
 like that chap Sennier has made, or a bit bigger eh, little 
 lady? Why should you think we are your enemies?" 
 
 " Enemies! I never said that!" interrupted Claude. 
 
 His face was burning. He was perspiring. He was longing 
 to break out of the room, out of the villa, to rush away away 
 into some desert place, and to be alone. 
 
 " Who says such things? No; but you look it, you look it." 
 
 "I can't help how would you have me look?" 
 
 "Now, my boy, don't get angry!" 
 
 " Claudie, we all only want " 
 
 "I know I know!" 
 
 He clenched his wet hands. 
 
 "Well, tell me what you want, all you want, and I'll try 
 to do it." 
 
 "That's talking!" cried Crayford. "Now, from this 
 moment we know what we're up against. And I'll tell you 
 what. Sitting here as we are, in this one-horse heat next door 
 but one to Hell don't mind me, little lady! I'll stop right 
 there! we're getting on to something that's going to astonish 
 the world. I know what I'm talking about 's going to 
 astonish the world! And now we'll start right in to hit the 
 center!" 
 
 And from that moment they started in. Once Claude had 
 given way he made no further resistance. He talked, discussed, 
 tried sometimes, rather feebly, to put forward his views. 
 But he was letting himself go with the tide, and he knew it. 
 He secretly despised himself. Yet there were moments when 
 he was carried away by a sort of spurious enthusiasm, when the 
 desire for fame, for wide success, glowed in him ; not at all as it 
 glowed in Charmian, yet with a warmth that cheered him. 
 Out of this opera, now that it was being "made over" by Jacob 
 Crayford, with his own consent, he desired only the one thing, 
 popular success. It was not his own child. And in art he 
 did not know how to share. He could only be really enthu- 
 siastic, enthusiastic in the soul of him, when the thing he had
 
 352 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 created was his alone. So now, leaving aside all question of 
 that narrow but profound success, which repays every man 
 who does exactly what the best part of him has willed to do, 
 Claude strove to fasten all his desire on a wide and perhaps 
 shallow success. 
 
 And sometimes he was able, helped by the enthusiasm a 
 genuine enthusiasm of his three companions, to be almost 
 gay and hopeful, to be carried on by their hopes. 
 
 As his enthusiasm of the soul died Jacob Crayford's was 
 born; for where Claude lost he gained. He was now assisting 
 to make an opera; with every day his fondness for the work 
 increased. Although he could be hard and business-like, he 
 could also be affectionate and eager. Now that Claude had 
 given in to him he became almost paternal. He was a sort of 
 "Padre eterno" in Djenan-el-Maqui, and he thoroughly 
 enjoyed his position. The more he did to the opera, in the way 
 of suggestion of effects and interpolations, re-arrangement and 
 transposition of scenes, cuttings out and writings in, the more 
 firmly did he believe in it. 
 
 "Put in that march and it wakes the whole thing up," 
 he would say; or "that quarrelling scene with the Spahis" 
 thought of by himself "makes your opera a different thing." 
 
 And then his whole forehead would twitch, his eyes would 
 flash, and he would pull the little beard till Charmian almost 
 feared he would pull it off. He had returned to his obsession 
 about the young. Frequently he reiterated with fervor that 
 his chief pleasure in the power he wielded came from the fact 
 that it enabled him to help the careers of young people. 
 
 "Look at Alston!" he would say. "Where would he be 
 now if I hadn't got hold of his talent? In Wall Street eating 
 his heart out. I met him, and I'll make him another Battistini. 
 See here" and he turned sharply to Claude "I'll bring him 
 out in your opera. That baritone part could easily be worked 
 up a bit, brought forward more into the limelight. Why, it 
 would strengthen the opera, give it more backbone. Mind 
 you, I wouldn't spoil the score not for all the Alstons ever 
 created. Art comes first with me, and they know it from 
 Central Park to San Francisco. But the baritone part would 
 bear strengthening. It's for the good of the opera."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 353 
 
 That phrase "for the good of the opera" was ever on his 
 lips. Claude rose up and went to bed with it ringing in his 
 ears. It seemed that he, the composer, knew little or nothing 
 about his own work. The sense of form was leaving him. 
 Once the work had seemed to him to have a definite shape; 
 now, when he considered it, it seemed to have no shape at all. 
 But Crayford and Charmian and Alston Lake declared that it 
 was twice as strong, twice as remarkable, as it had been before 
 Crayford took it in hand. 
 
 "He's a genius in his own way!" Lake swore. 
 
 Claude was tempted to reply: 
 
 "No doubt. But he's not a genius in my way." 
 
 But he refrained. What would be the use? And Charmian 
 agreed with Alston. She and Crayford were the closest, the 
 dearest of friends. He admired not only her appearance, 
 which pleased her, but her capacities, which delighted her. 
 
 "She's no rester!" he would say emphatically. "Works 
 all the time. Never met an Englishwoman like her!" 
 
 Charmian almost loved him for the words. At last some- 
 one, and a big man, recognized her for what she was. She 
 had never been properly appreciated before. Triumph burned 
 within her, and fired her ambitions anew. She felt almost as 
 if she were a creator. 
 
 "If Madre only knew," she thought. "She has never quite 
 understood me." 
 
 While Claude was working on the new alterations and 
 developments devised by Crayford and he worked like a 
 slave driven on by the expectations of those about him, 
 scourged to his work by their desires Lake studied the bari- 
 tone part in the opera with enthusiasm, and Crayford and 
 Charmian "put their heads together" over the scenery and 
 the "effects." 
 
 "We must have it all cut and dried before I sail," said 
 Crayford. "And I can't stay much longer; ought really 
 have been back home along by now." 
 
 "Let me help you! I'll do anything!" she cried. 
 
 "And, by Gee! I believe you could if you set your mind 
 to it," he answered. "Now, see here " 
 
 They plunged deep into the libretto. 
 
 23
 
 354 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Crayford was resolved to astonish New York with his 
 production of the opera. 
 
 "We'll have everything real," he said. "We'll begin with 
 real Arabs. I'll have no fake-niggers; nothing of that kind." 
 
 That Arabs are not niggers did not trouble him at all. He 
 and Charmian went down together repeatedly into the city, 
 interviewed all sorts of odd people. 
 
 "I'm out for dancers to-day," he said one morning. 
 
 And they set off to "put Algiers through the sieve" for 
 dancing girls. They found painters, and Crayford took them 
 to the Casbah, and to other nooks and corners of the town, to 
 make drawings for Him to carry away to New York as a guide 
 to his scenic artist. They got hold of a Fakir, who had 
 drifted from India to North Africa, and Crayford engaged him 
 on the spot to appear in one of the scenes and perform some of 
 his marvels. 
 
 "Claude" the composer was Claude to him now "can 
 write in something weird to go with it," he said. 
 
 And Charmian of course agreed. 
 
 It had been decided that the opera should be produced at 
 the New Era Opera House some time in the New Year, if 
 Claude carried out faithfully all the changes which Crayford 
 demanded. 
 
 "He will. He has promised to do everything you wish," 
 said Charmian. 
 
 "You stand by and see to it, little lady," said Crayford. 
 "Happen when I'm gone, when the slave-driver's gone, eh, 
 he'll get slack, begin to think he knows more about it than 
 I do! He's not too pleased making the changes. I can see 
 that." 
 
 "It will be all right, I promise you. Claude isn't so mad 
 as to lose the chance you are offering him." 
 
 "It's the chance of a lifetime. I can tell you that." 
 
 "He realizes it." 
 
 "I'll tell you something. Only you needn't go telling 
 everybody." 
 
 "I won't tell a soul." 
 
 "And watch out for the bodies, too. Well, I'm going to 
 run Claude against Jacques Sennier. Mind you, I wouldn't
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 355 
 
 do it if it wasn't for the libretto. Seems to me the music is 
 good enough to carry it, and it's going to be a lot better now 
 I've made it over. Sennier's new opera is expected to be 
 ready for March at latest. We'll produce ours" Charmian 
 thrilled at that word "just about the same time, a day or 
 two before, or after. I'll get together a cast that no opera 
 house in this world or the next can better. I'll have scenery 
 and effects such as haven't been seen on any stage in the 
 world before. I'll show the Metropolitan what opera is, and 
 I'll give them and Sennier a knock out, or I'm only fit to run 
 cinematograph shows, and take about fakes through the one 
 night stands. But Claude's got to back me up. I don't sign 
 any contract till every note in his score's in its place." 
 
 "But you'll be in America when he finishes it." 
 
 "That don't matter. You're here to see he don't make 
 any changes from what I've fixed on. We've got that all cut 
 and dried now. It's only the writing's got to be done. I'll 
 trust him for that. But there's not a scene that's to be cut 
 out, or a situation to be altered, now I've fixed everything up. 
 If you cable me, 'Opera finished according to decision,' I'll 
 take your word, get out a contract, and go right ahead. 
 You'll have to bring him over." 
 
 "Of course! Of course!" 
 
 "And I'll get up a boom for you both that'll make the 
 Senniers look like old bones." 
 
 He suddenly twisted his body, stuck out his under jaw, 
 and said in a grim and determined voice which Charmian 
 scarcely recognized as his: 
 
 " I've got to down the Metropolitan crowd this winter. I've 
 got to do it if I spend four hundred thousand dollars over it." 
 
 He stared at Charmian, and added after a moment of silence: 
 
 "And this is the only opera I've found that might help me 
 to do it, though I've searched all Europe. So now you know 
 just where we are. It's a fight, little lady! And it's up to 
 us to be the top dogs at the finish of it." 
 
 "And we will be the top dogs!" she exclaimed. 
 
 From that moment she regarded Claude as a weapon in the 
 fight which must be won if she were to achieve her great 
 ambition.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 ON a January evening in the following year Claude and 
 Charmian had just finished dinner, and Claude got up, 
 rather slowly and wearily, from the small table which 
 stood in the middle of their handsome red sitting-room on the 
 eighth floor of the St. Regis Hotel in New York. 
 
 "How terribly hot this room is!" he said. 
 
 "Americans like their rooms hot. But open a little bit of 
 the window, Claudie." 
 
 "If I do the noise of Fifth Avenue will come in." 
 
 He spoke almost irritably, like a man whose nerves were 
 tired. But Charmian did not seem to notice it. She looked 
 bright, resolute, dominant, as she replied in her clear voice: 
 
 "Let it come in. I like to hear it. It is the voice of the 
 world we are here to conquer. Don't look at me like that, 
 dear old boy, but open the window. The air will do you good. 
 You're tired. I shouldn't have allowed you to work during 
 the voyage." 
 
 "I had to work." 
 
 "Well, very soon you'll be able to rest, and on laurels." 
 
 Claude went to open the big window, pulling aside the 
 blind, while Charmian lighted a cigarette, and curled herself 
 up on the padded sofa. And as, in a moment, the roar of the 
 gigantic city swelled in a fierce crescendo, she leaned forward 
 with the cigarette in her hand, listening intently, half smiling, 
 with an eager light in her eyes. 
 
 "What a city it is!" she said, as Claude turned and came 
 toward her. "It makes London seem almost like a village. 
 Fm glad it is here the opera is to be given for the first time." 
 
 "So am I," he said, sitting down. 
 
 But he spoke almost gloomily, looking at the floor. His 
 face was white and too expressive, and his left hand, as it 
 hung down between his knees, fluttered. He lifted it, turning 
 the fingers inward. 
 
 356
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 357 
 
 "Why?" Charmian said. 
 
 He looked up at her. 
 
 "Oh, I they are all strangers here." 
 
 She said nothing, and just then the telephone bell sounded. 
 Mr. Alston Lake was below asking if Mr. Heath was in. 
 
 In a moment he entered, looking enthusiastic, full of cheer- 
 fulness and vitality, bringing with him an atmosphere which 
 Charmian savored almost greedily, of expectation and virile 
 optimism. 
 
 " My!" he said, as he shook them both by the hand. " You 
 look settled in for the night." 
 
 " So we are," said Charmian. 
 
 Alston laughed. 
 
 "I've come to take you to the theater." 
 
 "But they're not rehearsing to-night," said Claude. 
 
 "No; but Crayford's trying effects." 
 
 "Mr. Crayford! Is he back from Philadelphia?" exclaimed 
 Channian. 
 
 "Been back an hour and hard at work already. He sent 
 me to fetch you. They're all up on the stage trying to get 
 the locust effect." 
 
 "The locusts! Wait a minute, Alston! I'll change my 
 gown." 
 
 She hurried out of the room. 
 
 "Well, old chap, what's up? You don't look too pleased," 
 said Alston to Claude as the door shut. "Don't you want 
 to come out? But we must put our backs into this, you 
 know. The fight's on, and a bully big fight it is. Seen the 
 papers to-day?" 
 
 "No. I haven't had a minute. I've been going through 
 the orchestration with Meroni." 
 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 "He was very nice," answered Claude evasively. "But 
 what's in the papers?" 
 
 "A bit of news that's made Crayford bristle like a scrubbing 
 brush. The Metropolitan's changed the date for the pro- 
 duction of Sennier's new opera, put it forward by nearly a fort- 
 night, pledged themselves to be ready by the first of March." 
 
 "What does it matter?"
 
 358 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Well, I like that! It takes all the wind out of our sails. 
 In a big race the getting off is half the battle. We were 
 coming first. But if I know anything of Crayford we shall 
 come first even now. It's all Madame Sennier. She's mad 
 against Crayford and the opera and you, and she's specially 
 mad against Mrs. Charmiart. The papers to-night are full of 
 a lot of nonsense about the libretto." 
 
 "Which libretto?" 
 
 " Yours. Apparently Madame Sennier's been saying it was 
 really written for Sennier and had been promised to him." 
 
 "That's a lie." 
 
 "Of course it is. But she's spread herself on it finely, 
 I can tell you. Crayford's simply delighted." 
 
 "Delighted, when I'm accused of mean conduct, of stealing 
 another man's property." 
 
 "It's no use getting furious over our papers! Doesn't 
 pay! Besides, it makes a story, works up public interest. 
 Still, I think she might have kept out Mrs. Charmian's 
 name." 
 
 "Charmian is in it?" 
 
 " Yes, a lot of rubbish about her hearing what a stunner 
 the libretto was, and rushing over to Paris to bribe it away 
 before Sennier had considered it in its finished state." 
 
 "How abominable! I shall " 
 
 "I know, but I wouldn't. Crayford says it will give value 
 to the libretto, prepare the public mind for a masterpiece, and 
 help to carry your music to success." 
 
 "I see! With this and the locusts!" 
 
 He turned away toward the open window, through which 
 came the incessant roar of traffic, the sound of motor horns, 
 and now, for a moment, a chiming of bells from St. Patrick's 
 Cathedral. 
 
 "Well, we must do all we know. We mustn't give away a 
 single chance. The whole Metropolitan crowd is just crazy 
 to down us, and we must put up the biggest fight we can. 
 Leave it all to Crayford. He knows more than any living 
 man about a boom. And he said just now Madame Sennier 
 was a deed fool to have given us such a lift with her libel. 
 There'll be a crowd of pressmen around at the theater about
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 359 
 
 it to-night, you can bet. Here she comes! Get on your 
 
 coat, and let's be off, or Crayford'll be raging." 
 
 Claude stood still for an instant, looking from Alston to 
 
 Charmian, who walked in briskly, wearing a sealskin coat 
 
 that reached to her heels, and buttoning long white gloves. 
 
 Then he said, "I won't be a minute!" and went out of the 
 
 room. 
 As he disappeared Charmian and Alston looked after him. 
 
 Then Alston came nearer to her, and they began to talk in 
 
 rather low voices. 
 "The fight is on!" 
 How Claude hated those words; how he hated the truth 
 
 which they expressed! To-night, in New York, as he went 
 to fetch his overcoat from the smart and brilliantly lit bed- 
 room which was opposite to the sitting-room across a lobby, 
 he wondered why Fate had led him into this situation, why 
 he had been doomed to become a sort of miserable center of 
 intrigue, recrimination, discussion, praise, blame, dissension. 
 No man, surely, on the face of the earth had loved tranquillity 
 more than he had. Few men had more surely possessed it. 
 He had known his soul and he had been its faithful guardian 
 once but long ago, surely centuries ago! That he should be 
 the cause of battle, what an irony! 
 
 Thinking with great rapidity, during this brief interval 
 of loneliness, while he got ready to go out, a rapidity to which 
 his fatigue seemed to contribute, giving it wings, Claude re- 
 viewed his life since the first evening at Elliot's house. Events 
 and periods and details flashed by; his close friendship with 
 Mrs. Mansfield (who had refused to come to America), his 
 almost inimical acquaintance with Charmian, Mrs. Shiffney's 
 capricious endeavors to get hold of him, the firmness of his 
 refusals, the voyage to Algiers, his regret at missing the 
 wonders of Africa, Charmian's return full of a knowledge he 
 lacked, the dinner during which he had looked at her with new 
 eyes. 
 
 (He took down from its hook his heavy fur coat bought for 
 the bitter winter of New York.) 
 
 Chateaubriand's description of Napoleon, the little island in 
 Mrs. Grahame's garden, the production of Jacques Sennier's
 
 360 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 opera they were all linked together closely at this moment in 
 a tenacious mind; with the expression in Charmian's eyes at 
 the end of the opera, Oxford Street by night as he walked 
 home, the spectral bunch of white roses on his table, the 
 furtive whisper of the letter of love to Charmian as it dropped 
 in the box, the watchful policeman, the noise of his heavy 
 steps, the dying of the moonlight on the leaded panes of the 
 studio, the scent of the earth as the dawn near drew. 
 
 Events and periods, and little details! And who or what 
 had guided him through the maze of them? And whither was 
 he going? Whither and to what was he hastening? 
 
 His marriage and the new life came back to him. He heard 
 the maids whispering together on the stairs in Kensington 
 Square, and the sound of the street organ in the frost. He 
 saw the studio in Renwick Place, Charmian coming in with 
 books of poetry in her hands. There, had been the beginning 
 of that which had led to Algiers and now to New York, his 
 abdication. There, he had taken the first step down from 
 the throne of his own knowledge of himself. 
 
 He saw a gulf black beneath him. 
 
 But Charmian called: 
 
 " Claude, do make haste!" 
 
 He caught up hat and gloves and went out into the lobby. 
 But even as he went, with an extraordinary swiftness he 
 reviewed the incidents of his short time in America; the arrival 
 in the cruel coldness of a winter dawn; the immensity of the 
 city's aspect seen across the tufted waters, its towers as 
 they had seemed to him then climbing into Heaven, its 
 voices companioning its towers; the throngs of pressmen and 
 photographers, who had gazed at him with piercing, yet 
 not unkind, eyes, searching him for his secrets; the meeting 
 with Crayford and Crayford's small army of helpers; publicity 
 agents, business and stage managers, conductors, producers, 
 machinists, typewriters, box-office people, scene painters, 
 singers, instrumentalists. Their figures rushed across Claude's 
 mind with a vertiginous rapidity. Their faces flashed by 
 grimacing. Their hands beckoned him on in a mad career. 
 And he saw the huge theater, a monster of masonry, with a 
 terrific maw which he he of all men! was expected to fill,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 361 
 
 a maw gaping for human beings, gaping for dollars. What a 
 coldness it had struck into him, as he stood for the first time 
 looking into its dimness as into the dimness of some gigantic 
 cavern. In that moment he had realized, or had at least 
 partially realized, the meaning of a tremendous failure, and 
 how far the circles of its influence radiate. And he had felt 
 very cold, as a guilty man may feel who hugs his secret. And 
 the huge theater had surely leaned over, leaned down, filled 
 suddenly with a sinister purpose, to crush him into the dust. 
 
 "Claude!" 
 
 "Here I am!" 
 
 "What a time you've been! We are you very tired?" 
 
 "Not a bit. Come along!" 
 
 They went out into the corridor lined with marble, stepped 
 into a lift, shot down, and passed through the vestibule to the 
 street where a taxi-cab was waiting. A young man stood on 
 the pavement, and while Charmian was getting in he spoke 
 to Claude. 
 
 "Mr. Claude Heath, I believe?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I represent " 
 
 "Very sorry I can't wait. I have to go to the theater." 
 
 He sprang in, and the taxi turned to the right into Fifth 
 Avenue, and rushed toward Central Park. A mountain 
 of lights towered up on the left where the Plaza invaded the 
 starless sky. The dark spaces of the Park showed vaguely 
 on the right, as the cab swung round. In front gleamed the 
 golden and sleepless eyes of the Broadway district. The 
 sharp frosty air quivered with a thousand noises. Motors 
 hurried by in an unending procession, little gleaming worlds, 
 each holding its group of strangers, gazing, gesticulating, 
 laughing, intent on some unknown errand. The pavements 
 were thronged with pedestrians, muffled to the ears and 
 walking swiftly. The taxi-cab, caught in the maze of traffic, 
 jerked as the chauffeur applied the brakes, and slowed down 
 almost to walking pace. Under a lamp Claude saw a colored 
 woman wearing a huge pink hat. She seemed to be gazing 
 at him, and her large lips parted in a smile. In an instant 
 she was gone. But Claude could not forget her. In his ex-
 
 362 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 citement and fatigue he thought of her as a great goblin 
 woman, and her smile was a terrible grin of bitter sarcasm 
 stretching across the world. Charmian and Alston were 
 talking unweariedly. Claude did not hear what they were 
 saying. He saw snowflakes floating down between the 
 lights, strangely pure and remote, lost wanderers from some 
 delicate world where the fragile things are worshipped. And, 
 with a strange emotion, his heart turned to the now remote 
 children of his imagination, those children with whom he had 
 sat alone by his wood fire on lonely evenings, when the pale 
 blue of the flames had struck on his eyes like the soft notes of 
 a flute on his ears, those children with whom he had kept 
 long vigils and sometimes seen the dawn. How far they had 
 retreated from him, as if they thought him a stern, or neglect- 
 ful father! He shut his eyes, and seemed to see once more 
 the smile of the goblin woman, and then the fiery gaze of Mrs. 
 Mansfield. 
 
 "How could she say it? But I don't know that I mind!" 
 
 "Minding things doesn't help any in a place like New 
 York." 
 
 "But will they believe it?" 
 
 "If they do half of them will think you worth while." 
 
 "Yes, but the other half?" 
 
 "As long as you get there it's all right." 
 
 The cab stopped at the stage door of Crayford's opera house. 
 
 As they went in two or three journalists spoke to them, 
 asking for information about the libretto. Claude hurried 
 on as if he did not hear them. His usual almost eager amia- 
 bility of manner with strangers had deserted him this even- 
 ing. But Charmian and Alston Lake spoke to the pressmen, 
 and Alston's whole-hearted laugh rang out. Claude heard 
 it and envied Alston. 
 
 From a room on the right of the entrance a very dark young 
 man came carrying some letters. 
 
 "More letters!" he said to Claude, with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, thank you." 
 
 "They're all on the stage. The locusts will be real fine 
 when they fix them right. We have folks inquiring about 
 them all the time. Nothing like that in the Sennier opera."
 
 THE WAY OP AMBITION 363 
 
 He smiled again with pleasant boyishness. Claude longed 
 to take him by the shoulders and say to him: 
 
 ''It isn't a swarm of locusts that will make an opera!" 
 But he only nodded and remarked: 
 
 "All the better for us!" 
 
 Then hastily he opened his letters. Three were from auto- 
 graph hunters, and he thrust them into the pocket of his coat. 
 The fourth was from Armand Gillier. When Claude saw the 
 name of his collaborator he stood still and read the note 
 frowning. 
 
 "Letters! Always letters!" said Charmian, coming up. 
 "Anything interesting, Claudie?" 
 
 " Gillier is coming out after all." 
 
 "Armand Gillier!" 
 
 "Yes. Or he arrived to-day, I expect, though this was 
 posted in France. What day does the Philadelphia " 
 
 "This morning," said Alston. 
 
 "Then he's here." 
 
 Charmian looked disgusted. 
 
 "It's bad taste on his part. After his horrible efforts to 
 ruin the opera he ought to have kept away." 
 
 "What does it matter?" said Claude. 
 
 "He'll be interviewed on the libretto," said Alston. "Gee 
 knows what he'll say, the beast!" 
 
 "If he backs up Madame Sennier in her libelous remarks 
 it will be proclaiming that he can be bribed," exclaimed Char- 
 mian. 
 
 " I suppose he's bound to throw in his lot with us," added 
 Alston, as they came into the huge curving corridor which 
 ran behind the ground tier boxes. 
 
 "How dark it is! Claudie, give me your hand. It slopes, 
 doesn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. The entrance is just here." 
 
 "How hot your hand is!" 
 
 "Here we are!" said Alston. 
 
 He pushed a swing door, and they came into the theater. 
 It was dimly lighted, and over the rows of stalls pale coverings 
 were drawn. The hundreds of empty boxes gaped. The 
 distant galleries were lost in the darkness. It was a vast
 
 364 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 house, and the faint light and the emptiness of it made it 
 look even vaster than it was. 
 
 "The maw, and I am to fill it!" Claude thought again. 
 And he was conscious of unimportance^ He even felt as if he 
 had never composed any music, as if he knew nothing about 
 composition, had no talent at all. It seemed to him incredible 
 that, because of him, of what he had done, great sums of 
 money were being spent, small armies of people were at work, 
 columns upon columns were being written in myriads of 
 newspapers, a man such as Crayford was putting forth all 
 his influence, lavishing all his powers of showman, impresario, 
 man of taste, fighting man. He remembered the night when 
 Sennier's opera was produced, and it seemed to him impossible 
 that such a night could ever come to him, be his night. He 
 thought of it somewhat as a man thinks of Death, as his 
 neighbor's visitant not as his own. 
 
 "Chaw-lee/" shouted an imperative voice. "Chaw-ley! 
 Chaw-tee/" 
 
 "Ah!" cried a thin voice from somewhere behind the stage. 
 
 "Get down that light! Give us your ambers! No, not 
 the blues! Your ambers! Where's Jimber? I say, where is 
 Jimber? 
 
 Mr. Mulworth, the stage producer, who was the speaker, 
 appeared running sidewise down an uncovered avenue between 
 two rows of stalls close to the stage. Although a large man, 
 he proceeded with remarkable rapidity. Emerging into the 
 open he came upon Claude. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Crayford is here. He wants very much to see 
 you." 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "Somewhere behind. I think he's viewing camels. Can 
 you come with me?" 
 
 "Of course!" 
 
 He went off quickly with Mr. Mulworth, who shouted: 
 
 "I say, where is Jimber?" to some unknown personality 
 as he ran toward a door which gave on to the stage. 
 
 "Let us go and sit down at the back of the stalls, Alston," 
 said Charmian. "They don't seem to be trying the locusts 
 yet."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 365 
 
 "No. There are always delays. The patience one needs 
 in a theater! Talk of self-control! Here, I'll pull away the 
 or shall we go to that box?" 
 
 "Yes. I'll get on this chair. Help me! That's it." 
 
 They sat down in a dark box at the back of the stalls. Far 
 off, across a huge space, they saw the immense stage, lit up 
 now by an amber glow which came not from the footlights but 
 from above. The stage was set with a scene representing an 
 oasis in the desert with yellow sand in the distance. Among 
 some tufted palms stood three or four stage hands, pale, dusty, 
 in shirt sleeves. At the extreme back of the scene, against 
 the horizon, Mr. Mulworth crossed, with a thick-set, lantern- 
 jawed, and very bald man, who was probably Jimber. Claude 
 followed two or three yards behind them, and disappeared. 
 His face looked ghastly under the stream of amber light. 
 
 "It's dreadful to see people on the stage not made up!" said 
 Charmian. "They all look so corpse-like. O Alston, are 
 we going to have a success?" 
 
 "What! You beginning to doubt!" 
 
 " No, no. But when I see this huge dark theater I can't 
 help thinking, ' Shall we fill it? ' What a fight art is! I never 
 realized till now that we are on a battlefield. Alston, I feel I 
 would almost rather die than fail." 
 
 "Fail! But" 
 
 "Or quite rather die." 
 
 "In any case it couldn't be your failure." 
 
 She turned and looked at him in the heavy dimness. 
 
 "Couldn't it?" 
 
 "You didn't write the libretto. You didn't compose the 
 music." 
 
 "And yet," she said, in a low tense voice, "it would be my 
 failure if the opera failed, because but for me it never would 
 have been written, never have been produced out here. Alston, 
 it's a great responsibility. And I never really understood 
 how great till I saw Claude go across the stage just now. He 
 looked so he looked " 
 
 She broke off. 
 
 "Whatever is it, Mrs. Charmian?" 
 
 "He looked like a victim, I thought."
 
 366 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Everyone does in that light unless there's Crayford!" 
 
 At this moment Mr. Crayford came upon the stage from the 
 side on which Claude had just vanished. He had a soft hat 
 on the back of his head, and a cigar in his mouth. 
 
 "He doesn't!" whispered Charmian. 
 
 "Now go ahead!" roared Crayford. "Work your motors 
 and let's see!" 
 
 There was a sound like a rushing mighty wind. 
 
 At two o'clock in the morning Crayford was still smoking, 
 still watching, still shouting. Charmian and Alston were 
 still in the darkness of the box, gazing, listening, sometimes 
 talking. They had not seen Claude again. If he came into 
 the front of the theater they meant to call him. But he did 
 not come. The hours had flown, and now, when Alston 
 looked at his watch and told Charmian the time, she could 
 scarcely believe him. 
 
 "Where can Claude be?" 
 
 "I'll go behind." 
 
 "Jimber!" roared Mr. Crayford. "Where is Jimber?" 
 
 Mr. Mulworth, who looked now as if he had lain awake in 
 his clothes for more nights than he cared to remember, rushed 
 upon the stage almost fanatically. 
 
 "The locusts are all in one corner!" shouted Crayford. 
 "What's the use of that? They must spread." 
 
 "Spread your locusts!" bawled Mr. Mulworth. 
 
 He lifted both his arms in a semaphore movement, which he 
 continued until it seemed as if his physical mechanism had 
 escaped from the control of his brain. 
 
 "Spread your locusts, Jimber!" he wailed. "Spread! 
 Spread! I tell you spread your locusts!" 
 
 He vanished, always moving his arms. His voice died away 
 in the further regions. 
 
 Charmian was alone. She had nodded in reply to Alston's 
 remark. To-night she felt rather anxious about Claude. 
 She could not entirely rid her mind of the remembrance of 
 him crossing under the light, looking unnatural, ghastly, 
 like a persecuted man. And now that she was alone she felt 
 as if she were haunted. Eager to be reassured, she fixed her 
 eyes on the keen figure, the resolute face, of Mr. Crayford.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 367 
 
 The power of work in Americans was almost astounding, she 
 thought. All the men with whom she and Claude had had 
 anything to do seemed to be working all the time, unresting as 
 waves driven by a determined wind. Keenness! That was 
 the characteristic of this marvellous city, this marvellous land. 
 And it had acted upon her almost like electricity. She had 
 felt charged with it. 
 
 It would be terrible to fail before a nation that worshipped 
 success, that looked for it with resolute piercing eyes. 
 
 And she recalled her arrival with Claude in the cold light 
 of early morning, her first sensation of enchantment when a 
 pressman, with searching eyes and a firm mouth turned down 
 at the corners, had come up to interview her. At that moment 
 she had felt that she was leaving thedulness of the unknown life 
 behind her for ever. It was no doubt a terribly vulgar feeling. 
 She had been uneasily conscious of that. But, nevertheless, 
 it had grown within her, fostered by events. For Crayford's 
 publicity agent had been masterly in his efforts. Charmian 
 and Claude had been snapshotted on the deck of the ship by 
 a little army of journalists. They had been snapshotted again 
 on the gangplank. In the docks they had been interviewed 
 by more than a dozen people. A little later, in the afternoon 
 of the same day, they had held a reception of pressmen in 
 their sitting-room at the St. Regis Hotel. Charmian thought 
 of these men now as she waited for Alston's return. 
 
 They had been introduced by Mr. Cane, Crayford's public- 
 ity agent, and had arrived about three o'clock. All of them 
 were, or looked as if they were, young men, smart and alert, men 
 who meant something. And they had all been polite and 
 charming. They had "sat around" attentively, and had put 
 their questions without brutality. They had seemed inter- 
 ested, sympathetic, as if they really cared about Claude's 
 talent and the opera. His song, Wild Heart oj Youth, had 
 been touched upon, and a tall young man, with a pale face and 
 anxious eyes, had told Charmian that he loved it. Then they 
 had discussed music. Claude at first had seemed uncomfort- 
 able, almost too modest, Charmian had thought. But the 
 pressmen had been so agreeable, so unself -conscious, that 
 his discomfort had worn off. His natural inclination to please,
 
 368 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 to give people what they seemed to expect of him, had come 
 to his rescue. He had been vivacious and even charming. 
 But when the pressmen had gone he had said to Charmian: 
 
 "Pleasant fellows, weren't they? But their eyes ask one 
 for success. Till the opera is out I shall see those eyes, asking, 
 always asking!" 
 
 And he had gone out of the room with a gesture suggestive 
 of anxiety, almost of fear. 
 
 Charmian saw those eyes now as she sat in the box. What 
 Claude had said was true. Beneath the sympathy, the charm, 
 the frankness, the readiness in welcome of these Americans, 
 there was a silent and strong demand the demand of a power- 
 ful, vital country. 
 
 "We are here to make you known over immense distances to 
 thousands of people!" the eyes of the pressmen had seemed to 
 say. "But produce the goods!" In other words, "Be a 
 success!" 
 
 "Be a success! Be a success!" It seemed to Charmian 
 as if all America were saying that in her ears unceasingly. 
 " We will be kind to you. We will shower good- will upon you. 
 We have hospitable hands, keen brains, warm hearts at your 
 service. We only ask to give of our best to you. But be a 
 success! Be a success!" 
 
 And the voice grew so strong that at last it seemed almost 
 stern, almost fierce in -her ears. At last it seemed as if peril 
 would attend upon non-compliance with its demand. 
 
 She thought of Claude crossing the stage under the amber 
 light, she looked into the vast dim theater with its thousands 
 of empty seats, and excitement and fear burned in her, mingled 
 together. Then something determined in her, the thing 
 perhaps which had enabled her to take Claude for her husband, 
 and later to play a part in his art life, rose up and drove out 
 the fear. "It is fear which saps the will, fear which disin- 
 tegrates, fear which calls to failure." She was able to say that 
 to herself and to cast fear away. And her mind repeated the 
 words she had often heard Crayford utter, "It's up to us 
 now to bring the thing off and we've just got to bring it off !" 
 
 "No, no, I tell you! They're too much on one side of the 
 scene still! Who in thunder ever saw locusts swarming in a
 
 comer when they've got the whole desert to spread themselves 
 in? It aren't their nature. What? Well, then, you must 
 alter the position of your motors. Where is Jimber?" 
 
 And Mr. Crayford strode behind the scenes. 
 
 Half -past two in the morning! What could Claude be 
 doing? Was Alston never coming back? Charmian suddenly 
 began to feel tired and cold. She buttoned her sealskin coat 
 up to her throat. For a moment there was no one on the stage. 
 From behind the scenes came no longer the clever imitation 
 of a roaring wind. An abrupt inaction, that was like desola- 
 tion, made the great house seem oddly vacant. She sat staring 
 rather vaguely at the palms and the yellow sands. 
 
 After she had sat thus for perhaps some five minutes she 
 saw Claude walk hastily on to the stage. He had a large 
 black note-book and a pencil in his hand, and seemed in search 
 of someone. Crayford came on brusquely from the opposite 
 side of the scene and met him. They began to confer together. 
 
 The box door behind Charmian was opened and Alston came 
 in. 
 
 " Old Claude's too busy to come. He wants me to take you 
 home." 
 
 "What has he been doing all this time?" 
 
 "No end of things. It's just as I said. Crayford's deter- 
 mined to be first in the field. This move of the Metropolitan 
 has put him on the run, and he'll keep everyone in the theater 
 running till the opera's out. Claude's been with the pressmen 
 behind, and having a hairy-teary heart to heart with Enid 
 Mardon. Come, Mrs. Charmian!" 
 
 "But I don't like to leave Claude." 
 
 "There's nothing for us to do, and he'll follow us as soon 
 as ever he can. I'll just leave you at the hotel." 
 
 "What was the matter with Miss Mardon?" Charmian 
 asked anxiously, as she got up to go. 
 
 "Oh, everything! She was in one of her devil's moods 
 to-night; wanted everything altered. She's a great artist, 
 but as destructive as a monkey. She must pull everything 
 to pieces as a beginning. So she's pulling her part to pieces 
 now." 
 
 "How did Claude take it?" 
 
 24
 
 370 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Very quietly. Tell the truth I think he's a bit tired out 
 to-night." 
 
 "Alston," Charmian said, stopping in the corridor, "I 
 won't go home without him. No, I won't. We must stick 
 to Claude, back him up till the end. Take me into the stalls. 
 I'm going to sit where he can see us." 
 
 " He'll send us away." 
 
 "Oh, no, he won't!" she replied, with determination. 
 
 The Madame Sennier spirit was upon her in full force.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 IT was nearly four o'clock when they left the theater. Jacob 
 Crayf ord, Mr. Mulworth and Jimber were still at work 
 when they came out of the stage door into the cold black- 
 ness of the night and got into the taxi-cab. Alston said he 
 would drive with them to the hotel and take the cab on to 
 his rooms in Madison Avenue. But when they reached the 
 hotel Claude asked him to come in. 
 
 "I can't go to bed," he said. 
 
 "But, Claudie, it's past four," said Charmian. 
 
 "I know. But after all this excitement sleep would be out 
 of the question. Come in, Alston, we'll have something to 
 eat, smoke a cigar, and try to quiet down." 
 
 "Right you are! I feel as lively as anything." 
 
 "It would be rather fun," said Charmian. "And I'm fear- 
 fully hungry." 
 
 At supper they were all unusually talkative, unusually, 
 excitedly, intimate. Instead of "quieting down" Claude 
 became almost feverishly vivacious. Although his cheeks 
 were pale, and under his eyes there were dark shadows, he 
 seemed to have got rid of all his fatigue. 
 
 " The climate here carries one on marvellously," he exclaimed. 
 "When I th,nk that I wanted to go to bed just before you 
 came, Alston!" 
 
 He threw out his hand with a laugh. Then, picking up a 
 glass of champagne, he added: 
 
 "I say, let us make a bargain!" 
 
 "What is it, old chap?" 
 
 "Let us just us three have supper together after the 
 first performance. I couldn't stand a supper-party with a 
 lot of semi-strangers." 
 
 " I'll come! Drink to that night !" 
 
 They drank. 
 
 Cigars were lit and talk flooded the warm red room. 
 
 371
 
 372 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Words rushed to the lips of them all. Charmian lay back on 
 the sofa, with big cushions piled under her head, and Claude, 
 sometimes walking about the room, told them the history of 
 the night in the theater. They interrupted, put questions, 
 made comments, protested, argued, encouraged, exclaimed. 
 
 Mr. Cane had brought pressman after pressman to interview 
 Claude on the libretto scandal, as they called it. It seemed 
 that Madame Sennier had made her libelous statement in 
 a violent fit of temper, brought on by a bad rehearsal at the 
 Metropolitan Opera House. Annie Meredith, who was to 
 sing the big r61e in Sennier's new opera, and who was much 
 greater as an actress than as a vocalist, had complained 
 of the weakness of the libretto, and had attacked Madame 
 Sennier for having made Jacques set it. Thereupon the great 
 Henriette had lost all control of her powerful temperament. 
 The secret bitterness engendered in her by her failure to 
 capture the libretto of Gillier had found vent in the outburst 
 which, no doubt with plenty of amplifications, had got into 
 the evening papers. The management at first had wished to 
 attempt the impossible, to try to muzzle the pressmen. But 
 their publicity agent knew better. Madame Sennier had been 
 carried by temper into stupidity. She had made a false move. 
 The only thing to do now was to make a sensation of it. 
 
 As Claude told of the pressmen's questions his mind burned 
 with excitement, and a recklessness, such as he had never felt 
 before, invaded him. He had been indignant, had even felt 
 a sort of shame, when he was asked whether he had been " cute" 
 in the libretto matter, whether he had stolen a march on his 
 rival. Crayford's treatment of the affair had disgusted him. 
 For Crayford, with his sharp eye to business, had seen at once 
 that their "game" was, of course with all delicacy, all sub- 
 tlety, to accept the imputation of shrewdness. The innocent 
 11 stunt" was "no good to anyone" in his opinion. And he 
 had not scrupled to say so to Claude. There had been an 
 argument the theater is the Temple of Argument and 
 Claude had heard himself called a "lobster," but had stuck 
 to his determination to use truth as a weapon in his defense. 
 But now, as he told all this, he felt that he did not care either 
 way. What did it matter if dishonorable conduct, if every
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 373 
 
 deadly sin, were imputed to him out here so long as he "made 
 good" in the end with the work of his brain, the work which 
 had led him to Africa and across the Atlantic? What did it 
 matter if the work were a spurious thing, a pasticcio, a poor 
 victim which had been pulled this way and that, changed, cut, 
 added to? What did it matter if the locusts swarmed over it 
 so long as it was a success? The blatant thing everyone, 
 every circumstance, was urging Claude to snatch at it; and 
 in this early hour of the winter morning, excited by the intensity 
 of the strain he was undergoing, by the pull on his body, but 
 far more by the pull on his soul, he came to a sudden and crude 
 decision; at all costs the blatant thing should be his, the popu- 
 lar triumph, the success, if not of the high-bred merit, then 
 of sheer spectacular sensation. There is an intimate success 
 that seems to be of the soul, and there is another, reverber- 
 ating, resounding, like the clashing of brass instruments beaten 
 together. Claude seemed to hear them at this moment as 
 he talked with ever-growing excitement. 
 
 One of the pressmen had mentioned Gillier, who had arrived 
 and been interviewed at the docks. He had evidently been 
 delighted to find his work a "storm center," but had declined 
 to commit himself to any direct statement of fact. The 
 impression left on the pressmen by him, however, had been 
 that a fight had raged for the possession of his libretto, which 
 must have been won by the Heaths since Claude Heath had 
 set it to music. Or had the fight really been between Joseph 
 Crayford and the management of the Metropolitan Opera 
 House? Gillier had finally remarked, " I must leave it to you, 
 messieurs. All that matters to me is that my poor work 
 should be helped to success by music and scenery, acting and 
 singing. I am not responsible for what Madame Sennier, or 
 anyone else, says to you." 
 
 "Then what do they really believe?" exclaimed Charmian, 
 raising herself up on the cushions, and resting one flushed 
 cheek on her hand. 
 
 "The worst, no doubt!" said Alston. 
 
 "What does it matter?" said Claude. 
 
 Quickly he took out of a box, clipped, lit, and began to smoke 
 a fresh cigar.
 
 374 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 " What does anything matter so long as we have a success, 
 a big, resounding success?" 
 
 Charmian and Alston exchanged glances, half astonished, 
 half congratulatory. 
 
 "I never realized till I came here," Claude continued, "the 
 necessity of success to one who wants to continue doing good 
 work. It is like the breaths of air drawn into his lungs by the 
 swimmer in a race, who, to get pace, keeps his head low, his 
 mouth under water half the time. I've simply got to win 
 this race. And if anything helps, even lies from Madame 
 Sennier, and the sly deceit of Gillier, I mean to welcome it. 
 That's the only thing to do. Crayford is right. I didn't see 
 it at first, but I see it now. It's no earthly use the artist trying 
 to keep himself and his talent in cotton wool in these days. 
 If you've got anything to give the public it doesn't do to be 
 sensitive about what people say and think. I had a lecture 
 to-night from Crayford on the uses of advertisement which 
 has quite enlightened me." 
 
 "What did he say?" interjected Alston. 
 
 " ' My boy, if I were producing some goods, and it would 
 help any to let them think I'd killed my mother, and robbed 
 my father of his last nickel, d'you think I'd put them right, 
 switch them on to the truth? Not at all! I'd get them all 
 around me, and I'd say, "See here, boys, mother's gone to 
 glory, and father's in the poorhouse, but it isn't up to me to 
 say why. That's my affair. I know I can rely on you all to 
 keep my name before the public." ' " 
 
 Charmian and Alston broke into laughter, but Claude's 
 face continued to look grave and excited. 
 
 "The fact of the matter is that the work has got to come 
 before the man," he said. "And now we've all got so far in 
 this affair nothing must be allowed to keep us back from 
 success. Let the papers say whatever they like so long as 
 they talk about us. Let Madame Sennier rail and sneer as 
 much as she chooses. It will be all to the good. Crayford 
 told me so to-night. He said, 'My boy, it shows they're 
 funky. They think our combination may be stronger than 
 theirs.' It seems Sennier's new libretto has come out quite 
 dreadfully at rehearsal, and they've been trying to re-write
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 375 
 
 a lot of it and change situations. Now, we got nearly every- 
 thing cut and dried at Djenan-el-Maqui. By Jove, how I 
 did work there! D'you remember old Jernington's visit, 
 Charmian? He believed in the opera, didn't he?" 
 
 "I should think so!" she cried. "Why, he positively raved 
 about it. And he's not an amateur. He only cares for the 
 music and he's a man who knows." 
 
 "Yes, he does know. What a change in our lives, eh, 
 Charmian, if we bring off a big success! And you'll be in it 
 Alston." 
 
 "Rather! The coming baritone!" 
 
 "What a change!" 
 
 His eyes shone with excitement. 
 
 " I used to be almost afraid of celebrity, I think. But now 
 I want it, I need it. America has made me need it." 
 
 "This is the country that wakes people up," said Alston. 
 
 "It drives me almost mad!" cried Claude, with sudden 
 violence. 
 
 "Claudie!" exclaimed Charmian. 
 
 "It does! There's something here that pumps nervous 
 energy into one until one's body and mind seem to be swirling 
 in a mill race. When I think of my life in Mullion House and 
 my life here!" 
 
 Charmian, with a quick movement, sat upright on the sofa. 
 
 "Then you do realize " she began, almost excitedly. 
 She paused, gazing at Claude. 
 
 The two men looked at her. 
 
 "What is it?" Claude said at length, as she remained 
 silent. 
 
 "You do realize that I did see something for you that you 
 hadn't seen for yourself, when you shut yourself and your 
 talent in, when you wouldn't look at, wouldn't touch the 
 world?" 
 
 "Of course. I hadn't courage then. I dreaded contact 
 with life. Now I defy life to get the better of me. I know it, 
 and I'm beginning to know how to deal with it. I say, let 
 us plan out our campaign if Madame Sennier persists in her 
 accusations." 
 
 He sat down between them.
 
 376 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "But first tell us exactly what you gave out to the press- 
 men to-night," said Alston. 
 
 They talked till the dawn crept along the sky. 
 
 When at last Alston got up to go, Claude said: 
 
 "If three strong wills are worth anything we must suc- 
 ceed." 
 
 "And we've got Crayford's back of ours," said Alston, 
 putting his arms behind him into the sleeves of his coat. 
 "Good-morning! I'm really going." 
 
 And he went. 
 
 Charmian had got up from her sofa, and was standing by 
 the writing-table, which was in an angle of the room on the 
 right of the window. As Alston went out, her eyes fell on an 
 envelope lying by itself a little apart from the letters with 
 which the table was strewn. Scarcely thinking about what 
 she was doing she stretched out her hand. Her intention 
 was to put the envelope with its fellows. But when she took 
 it up she saw that it had not been opened and contained a 
 letter, or note, addressed to Claude. 
 
 "Why, here's a letter for you, Claudie!" she said, giving it 
 to him. 
 
 "Is there? Another autograph hunter, I suppose." 
 
 Without glancing at the writing he tore the envelope, 
 took out a letter, and began to read it. 
 
 "It's from Mrs. Shiffney!" he said. "She arrived to-day 
 on the same ship as Gillier." 
 
 "I knew she would come!" cried Charmian. "Though 
 they all pretended she was going to winter at Cap Martin." 
 
 "And she's brought Susan Fleet with her." 
 
 "Susan!" 
 
 "But read what she says. It seems to have all been quite 
 unexpected, a sudden caprice." 
 
 "You poor thing!" said Charmian, looking at him with 
 pitiful eyes. "When will you begin to understand?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Us." 
 
 Claude sent a glance so keen that it was almost like a dart 
 at Charmian. But she did not see it for she was reading the 
 letter.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 377 
 
 " THE RITZ-CARLTON HOTEL, 
 
 Friday. 
 
 "DEAR MR. HEATH, I've just arrived with Susan Fleet 
 on the Philadelphia. I heard such reports of the excitement 
 over your opera out here that I suddenly felt I must run over. 
 After all you told me about it at Constantine I'm naturally 
 interested. Do be nice and let me into a rehearsal. I never 
 take sides in questions of art, and though of course I'm a 
 friend of the Senniers, I'm really praying for you to have a 
 triumph. Surely the sky has room for two stars. What 
 nonsense all this Press got-up rivalry is. Don't believe a word 
 you see in the papers about Henriette and your libretto. She 
 knows nothing whatever about it, of course. Such rubbish! 
 Susan is pining to see her beloved Charmian. Can't you both 
 lunch with us at Sherry's to-morrow at one o'clock? Love 
 to Charmian. Yours very sincerely, 
 
 ADELAIDE SHIFFNEY." 
 
 "Well?" said Claude, as Charmian sat without speaking, 
 after she had finished the letter. "Shall we go to Sherry's 
 to-morrow?" 
 
 He spoke as if he were testing her, but she did not seem to 
 notice it. 
 
 "Yes, Claudie, I think we will." 
 
 She looked at him. 
 
 "What are you thinking?" she asked quickly. 
 
 "Do you still believe Mrs. Shiffney tricked me at 
 Constantine?" 
 
 "I know she did." 
 
 " And yet ' 
 
 She interrupted him. 
 
 "We are in the arena!" 
 
 "Ah I understand." 
 
 "If we go to Sherry's, and Mrs. Shiffney speaks about 
 coming to a rehearsal, what do you mean to do?" 
 
 "What do you think about it?" 
 
 "Of course she only wants to come in the hope of being 
 able to carry a bad report to the Senniers." 
 
 Claude was silent for a moment. Then he said:
 
 378 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "That may be. But we are in the arena." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "You dislike Mrs. Shiffney, you distrust her, but you do 
 think she has taste, judgment, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes some." 
 
 "A great deal?" 
 
 "When she isn't biased by personal feeling. But she is 
 biased against you." 
 
 Claude's eyes had become piercing. 
 
 "I think," he said, "that if I were with Mrs. Shiffney at a 
 rehearsal I should divine her real, her honest opinion, the 
 opinion one has of a thing whether one wishes to have it or 
 not. If she were to admire the opera " He paused. His 
 face looked self-conscious. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "I only mean that I think it might be the verdict in 
 advance." 
 
 "I see," she said slowly. "Yes, I see." 
 
 She got up. 
 
 " We simply must go to bed." 
 
 " Come along then. But I feel as if I should never want to 
 sleep again." 
 
 "We must sleep. The verdict in advance yes, I see. 
 But Adelaide might make a mistake." 
 
 "She really has a flair." 
 
 "I know. Oh, Claudie, the verdict!" 
 
 They were now in their bedroom. Charmian sighed and 
 put her arms round his neck. 
 
 "The verdict!" she breathed against his cheek softly. 
 
 He felt moisture on his cheek. She had pressed wet eyes 
 against it. 
 
 " Charmian, what is it? Why" 
 
 "Hush! Just put your arms round me for a minute 
 yes, like that! Claudie, I want you to win, I want you to 
 win. Oh, not altogether selfishly! I I am an egoist, I sup- 
 pose. I do care for my husband to be a success. But there's 
 more than that. Yes, yes, there is!" 
 
 She held him, with passion, and suddenly kissed his eyes. 
 She was crying quite openly now, but not unhappily.
 
 '"CLAUDIK, I WANT YOU TO WIN, I WANT YOU TO WIN i "'-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 379 
 
 "There's something in you far, far down, that I love," 
 she whispered. "I am not always conscious of it, but I am 
 now. It called me to you, I believe, at the very first. And 
 I want that to win, I want that to win!" 
 
 Claude's face had become set. He bent over Charmian. 
 For a moment he was on the verge of a strange confession. 
 But something that still had great power held him back from 
 it. And he only said: 
 
 "You have worked hard for me. If we do win it will be 
 your victory." 
 
 "And if we lose?" she whispered. 
 
 "Charmian " he kissed her. "We must try to sleep."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 ON a night of unnatural excitement Claude had come to a 
 crude resolution. He kept to it, at first only by a strong 
 effort, during the days and the nights which followed, 
 calling upon his will with a recklessness he had never known 
 before, a recklessness which made him sometimes feel hard and 
 almost brutal. He was "out for" success on the large scale, 
 and he was now fiercely determined to win it. Within him the 
 real man seemed to recede like a thing sensitive seeking a hiding- 
 place. Sometimes, during these strange and crowded days and 
 nights, he felt as if he were losing himself in the turmoil around 
 him and within him. And the wish came to him to lose him- 
 self, and to have done for ever with that self which once he had 
 cherished, but which was surely of no use, of no value at all, in 
 the violent blustering world. 
 
 Now and then he saw the pale shining of the lamp in the 
 quiet studio, where he had dwelt with the dear children of his 
 imagination; now and then he listened, and seemed to hear 
 the silence there. Then the crowd closed about him, the noises 
 of life rushed upon him, and the Claude Heath of those far-off 
 days seemed to pass by him fantastically on the way to eternal 
 darkness. And, using his will with fury, he cried out to the 
 fugitive, "Go! Go!" as to something shameful that must not 
 be seen. 
 
 Always he was suffering, as a man only suffers when he 
 tries to do violence to himself, when he treats himself as an 
 enemy. But when he had time he strove to sneer at his own 
 suffering. Coolness, hardness, audacity, these were the 
 qualities needed in life as he knew it now; swiftness not 
 sensitiveness, boldness not delicacy. The world was not gentle 
 enough for the trembling qualities which vibrate at every touch 
 of emotion, giving out subtle music. And he would nevermore 
 wish it gentle. Things as they are! Fall down and worship 
 
 380
 
 them! Accommodate yourself to them lest you be the last 
 of fools! 
 
 Claude acted, and carried on by excitement, he acted well. 
 He was helped by his natural inclination to meet people half- 
 way when he had to meet them. And he was helped, too, by 
 the cordiality, the quickness of response, in those about him. 
 Charmian did her part with an energy and brilliance to which 
 the apparent change in him gave an impetus. Hitherto she 
 had tried to excite in Claude the worldly qualities which she 
 supposed to make for success. Now Claude excited them in 
 her. His vivacity, his intensity, his power to do varied work, 
 and especially the dominating faculty which he now began to 
 display, sometimes almost amazed her. She said to herself, 
 " I have never known him till now!" She said to Alston Lake, 
 "Isn't it extraordinary how Claude is coming out?" And 
 she began to look up to him in a new way, but with the worldly 
 eyes, not with the mild or the passionate eyes of the spirit. 
 
 Others, too, were impressed by the change in Claude. After 
 the luncheon at Sherry's Mrs. Shiffney said, with a sort of 
 reluctance, to Charmian: 
 
 "The air of America seems to agree with your composer. 
 Has he been on Riverside Drive getting rid of the last traces of 
 the Puritan tradition? Or is it the theater which has stirred 
 him up? He's a new man." 
 
 "There's a good deal more in Claude than people were 
 inclined to suppose in London," said Charmian, trying to 
 speak with light indifference, but secretly triumphing. 
 
 "Evidently!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "Perhaps, now that 
 you've forced him to come out into the open, he enjoys being 
 a storm-center, as they call it out here. 
 
 "Oh, but I didn't force him!" 
 
 "Playfully begged him not to come, I meant." 
 
 Claude was sitting a little way off talking to Susan Fleet. 
 Mrs. Shiffney had "managed" this. She wanted to feel how 
 things were through the woman. Then perhaps she would 
 tackle the man. At lunch it had seemed to her as if success 
 were in the air. Had she always been mistaken in her judg- 
 ment of Claude Heath! Had Charmian seen more clearly 
 and farther than she had? She felt more interested in Char-
 
 382 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 mian than she had ever felt before, and disliked her, in con- 
 sequence, much more than formerly. How Charmian would 
 triumph if the Heath opera were a success! How unbearable 
 she would be! In fancy Mrs. Shiffney saw Charmian en- 
 throned, and "giving herself" a thousand airs. Mrs. Shiffney 
 had never forgiven Charmian for taking possession of Claude. 
 She did not hate her for that. Charmian had only got in the 
 way of a whim. But Mrs. Shiffney disliked those who got in 
 the way of her whims, and resented their conduct, as the spoilt 
 child resents the sudden removal of a toy. Without hating 
 Charmian she dearly wished for the failure of the great enter- 
 prise, in which she knew Charmian's whole heart and soul were 
 involved. And she wished it the more on account of the change 
 in Claude Heath. In his intensity, his vivacity, his resolution, 
 she was conscious of fascination. He puzzled her. "There 
 really is a great deal in him," she said to herself. And she 
 wished that some of that "great deal" could be hers. As 
 it could not be hers, unless her judgment of a man, not happily 
 come to, and now almost angrily accepted, was at fault, she 
 wished to punish. She could not help this. But she did not 
 desire to help it. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney separated from the Heaths that day without 
 speaking of the "libretto-scandal," as the papers now called 
 the invention of Madame Sennier. They parted apparently 
 on cordial terms. And Mrs. Shiffney 's last words were: 
 
 " I'm coming to see you one day in your eyrie at the Saint 
 Regis. I take no sides where art is in question, and I want 
 both the operas to be brilliant successes." 
 
 She had said not a word about the rehearsals at the New Era 
 Opera House. 
 
 Charmian was almost disappointed by her silence. She 
 had turned over and over in her mind Claude's words about 
 the verdict in advance. She continued to dwell upon them 
 mentally after the meeting with Mrs. Shiffney. By degrees 
 she became almost obsessed by the idea of Mrs. Shiffney as 
 arbiter of Claude's destiny and hers. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney's position had always fascinated Charmian, 
 because it was the position she would have loved to occupy. 
 Even in her dislike, her complete distrust of Mrs. Shiffney,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 383 
 
 Charmian was attracted by her. Now she longed with increas- 
 ing intensity to use Mrs. Shiffney as a test. 
 
 Rehearsals of Claude's opera were being hurried on. Cray- 
 ford was determined to produce his novelty before the Metro- 
 politan crowd produced theirs. 
 
 "They've fixed the first," he said. "Then it's up to us to 
 be ready by the twenty-eighth, and that's all there is to it. 
 We'll get time enough to die all right afterward. But there 
 aren't got to be no dying nor quitting now. We've fixed 
 the locusts, and now we'll start in to fix all the rest of the 
 cut-out." 
 
 He had begun to call Claude's opera "the cut-out" because 
 he said it was certain to cut out Sennier's work. The rumors 
 about the weakness of Sennier's libretto had put the finishing 
 touch to his pride and enthusiasm. Thenceforth he set no 
 bounds to his expectations. 
 
 "We've got a certainty!" he said. "And they know it." 
 
 His energy was volcanic. He knew neither rest nor the 
 desire to rest. His season so far had been successful, much 
 more successful than any former season of his. He knew that 
 he was making way with the great New York public, and 
 he was carried on by the vigor which flames up in a strong and 
 determined man who believes himself to be almost within 
 reach of the satisfaction of his greatest desire. 
 
 Claude, in his new character of the man determined to win a 
 great popular triumph, appealed forcibly to Crayford. 
 
 "I've made him over!" he exclaimed to Charmian, almost 
 with exultation. "He's a man now. When I lit out on him 
 he was well, well, little lady, don't you begin to fire up at me! 
 All I mean is that Claude knows how to carry things with him 
 now. Look how he's stood up against all the nonsense about 
 the libretto! Why, he's right down enjoyed it. And the 
 first night the pressmen started in he was like a man possessed, 
 talked about his honor, and all that kind of rubbish. Now he 
 says 'Stir it up! It's all for the good of the opera!' Cane's 
 fairly mad about him, says he's on the way to be the best boom- 
 center that ever made a publicity agent feel young. I'm proud 
 of him! And he's moving all the time. He'll get there and 
 no mistake!"
 
 384 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I always knew Claude would rise to his chance if he got 
 it," she said. 
 
 "He's got it now, don't you worry yourself. Not one man 
 in a million has such a chance at his age; I tell you, Claude is 
 a made man!" 
 
 A made man! Charmian felt a thrill at her heart. But 
 again she longed for a verdict from outside, for a verdict from 
 Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 In the midst of the tumult of her life one day, very soon after 
 the lunch at Sherry's, she begged Susan Fleet to come to see 
 her. That day Claude and she had been with Gillier at 
 the theater. As they had ignored Mrs. Shiffney's treachery 
 in the affair of the libretto, so they had ignored Gillier's insult- 
 ing behavior to them at Djenan-el-Maqui. Against his will 
 he was with them now in the great enterprise. They had 
 resolved to be charming to him, and had taken care to be so. 
 And Gillier, delighted with the notoriety that was his, his con- 
 ceit decked out with feathers, met them half-way. He was 
 impressed by the situation which Crayford's powerful efforts 
 had created for them. He was moved by the marked change 
 in Claude. These people did not seem to him the same husband 
 and wife he had known in the hidden Arab house at Mustapha. 
 They had gained immeasurably in importance. Comment 
 rained upon them. Conflict swirled about them. Expecta- 
 tions centered upon them. And they had the air of those 
 upon whose footsteps the goddess, Success, is following. Gil- 
 lier began to lose his regret for his lost opportunity. He was 
 insensibly drawn to the Heaths by the spell of united effort. 
 Now that Claude did not seem to care twopence for him, or 
 for anyone else, Gillier began to respect him, to think a good 
 deal of him. In Charmian he had always been aware of certain 
 faculties which often make for success. 
 
 On the day when Charmian was expected to see Susan 
 Fleet she had just come from an afternoon rehearsal which had 
 gone well. Gillier had been almost savagely delighted with 
 the performance of Enid Mardon, who sang and acted the r61e 
 of the heroine. He knew little of music, but in the scene re- 
 hearsed Claude had introduced a clever imitation, if not an 
 exact reproduction, of the songs of Said Hitani and his compan-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 385 
 
 ions. This had aroused the enthusiasm of Gillier, who had 
 a curious love of the country where he had spent the wild years 
 of his youth. It had been evident both to Charmian and to 
 Claude that he began to have great hopes of the opera. Char- 
 mian had become so exultant on noticing this that she had been 
 unable to refrain from saying to Gillier, "Do you begin to 
 believe in it?" As she sat now waiting for Susan she remem- 
 bered his answer, "Madame, if the whole opera goes like that 
 scene well!" He had finished with a characteristic gesture, 
 throwing out his strong hands and smiling at her. She almost 
 felt as if she liked Gillier. She began to find excuses for his 
 former conduct. He was a poor man struggling to make his 
 way, terribly anxious to succeed. Madame Sennier had "got 
 at" him. It was not unnatural, perhaps, that he had wished 
 to associate himself with Jacques Sennier. Of course he had 
 had no right to suggest the withdrawal of his libretto from 
 Claude. That had been insulting. But still that day Char- 
 mian found room in her heart for charity. She had not felt 
 so happy, so safe, for a very long time. It was almost as if 
 she held success in her hand, as a woman may hold a jewel and 
 say, "It is mine!" 
 
 A slight buzzing sound told her that there was someone at 
 the outer door of the lobby. In a moment Susan walked in, 
 looking as usual temperate, kind, and absolutely unconscious 
 of herself. She was warmly wrapped in a fur given to her by 
 Mrs. Shiffney. When she had taken it off and sat down beside 
 Charmian in the over-heated room, Charmian began at once 
 to use her as a receptacle. She proceeded to pour her exulta- 
 tion into Susan. The rehearsal had greatly excited her. She 
 was full of the ardent impatience of one who had been patient 
 by force of will in defiance of natural character, and who now 
 felt that a period was soon to be put to her suffering and that 
 she was to enter into her reward. As, long ago, in an Algerian 
 garden, she had used Susan, she used her now. And Susan 
 sat quietly listening, with her odd eyes dropping in their 
 sockets. 
 
 "Oh, Susan, do take off your gloves!" Charmian exclaimed 
 presently. "You are going to stay a good while, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, if you like me to." 
 
 25
 
 386 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I should like to be with you every day for hours. You 
 do me good. We'll have tea." 
 
 She went to the telephone, came back quickly, sat down 
 again, and continued talking enthusiastically. When the 
 tea-table was in front of her, and the elderly German waiter 
 had gone, she said: 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful? I shall never forget how you spoke 
 of destiny to me when we were by the little island. It was 
 then, I think, that I felt it was my fate to link myself with 
 Claude, to help him on. Do you remember what you said?" 
 
 "That perhaps it was designed that you should teach Mr. 
 Heath." 
 
 "Don't say mister on such a day as this!" 
 
 "Claude, then." 
 
 "And, Susan, I don't want to seem vain, but I have taught 
 him, I have taught him to know and rely on himself, to believe 
 in himself, in his genius, to dominate. He's marvellously 
 changed. Everyone notices it. You do, of course!" 
 
 "There is a change. And I remember saying that perhaps 
 it was designed that you should learn from him. Do you 
 recollect that?" 
 
 Charmian was handing Susan her tea-cup. 
 
 "Oh yes," she said. 
 
 She looked at Susan as the latter took the cup with a calm 
 and steady hand. 
 
 "What excellent tea!" observed Susan. 
 
 "Is it? Susan!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I believe you are very reserved." 
 
 "No, I don't think so." 
 
 "Yes, you keep half your thoughts about things and people 
 entirely to yourself." 
 
 "I think most of us do that." 
 
 "About me, for instance! I've been talking a great deal 
 to you in here. And you've been listening, and thinking." 
 
 There was an uneasy sound in Charmian's voice. 
 
 "Yes. Didn't you wish me to listen?" 
 
 "I suppose I did. But you've been thinking. What 
 have you been thinking?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 387 
 
 "That it's a long journey up the ray," said Susan, with a 
 sort of gentle firmness. 
 
 "Ah the ray! I remember your saying that to me long 
 ago." 
 
 "We've got a great deal to learn, I think, as well as to 
 teach." 
 
 Charmian was silent for a minute. 
 
 "Do you mean that you think I only care to teach, that I 
 that I am not much of a pupil?" she said at length. 
 
 "Perhaps that is putting it too strongly. But I believe 
 your husband had a great deal to give." 
 
 "Claude! Do you? But yes, of course Susan!" Char- 
 mian's voice changed, became almost sharply interrogative. 
 "Do you mean that Claude could teach me more than I could 
 ever teach him?" 
 
 "It is impossible for me to be sure of that." 
 
 "Perhaps. But, tell me, do you think it is so?" 
 
 "I am inclined to." 
 
 Charmian felt as if she flushed. She was conscious of a stir 
 of something that was like anger within her. It hurt her 
 very much to think that perhaps Susan put Claude higher than 
 her. But she controlled the expression of what she felt, and 
 only said, perhaps a little coldly: 
 
 "It ought to be so. He is so much cleverer than I am." 
 
 "I don't think I mean that. It isn't always cleverness we 
 learn from." 
 
 "Goodness then!" 
 
 Charmian forced herself to smile. 
 
 "Do you think me far below Claude from the moral point 
 of view?" she added, with an attempt at laughing lightness. 
 
 "It isn't that either. But I think he has let out an anchor 
 which reaches bottom, though perhaps at present he isn't 
 aware of it. And I'm not sure that you ever have. By the 
 way, I've a message from Adelaide for you." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "She wants to know how your rehearsals are going." 
 
 "Wonderfully well, as I said." 
 
 Charmain spoke almost gravely. Her exultant enthusiasm 
 had died away for the moment.
 
 388 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "And, if it is allowed, she would like to go to one. Can 
 she?" 
 
 Charmian hesitated. But the strong desire for Mrs. 
 Shiffney's verdict overcame a certain suddenly born reluctance 
 of which she was aware, and she said: 
 
 " I should think so. Why not? Even a spy cannot destroy 
 the merit of the enemy's work by wishing." 
 
 Susan said nothing to this. 
 
 "You must come with her if she does come," Charmian 
 added. 
 
 She was still feeling hurt. She had looked upon Susan as 
 her very special friend. She had let Susan see into her heart. 
 And now she realized that Susan had criticized that heart. 
 At that moment Charmian was too unreasonable to remember 
 that criticism if often an inevitable movement of the mind 
 which does not touch the soul to change it. Her attempt at 
 cordiality was, therefore, forced. 
 
 "I don't know whether she will want me," said Susan. 
 "But at any rate I shall be there for the first night." 
 
 "Ah the first night!" said Charmian. 
 
 Again she changed. With the thought of the coming epoch 
 in her life and Claude's her vexation died. 
 
 "It's coming so near!" she said. "There are moments when 
 I want to rush toward it, and others when I wish it were 
 iar away. It's terrible when so much hangs on one night, 
 just three or four hours of time. One does need courage in 
 art. But Claude has found it. Yes, Susan, you are right. 
 Claude is finer than I am. He is beginning to dominate me 
 here, as he never dominated me before. If he triumphs 
 and he will, he shall triumph! I believe I shall be quite at 
 his feet." 
 
 She laughed, but tears were not far from her eyes. This 
 period she was passing through in New York was tearing at 
 her nerves with teeth and claws although she scarcely knew it. 
 
 Susan, who had seen clearly the hurt she had inflicted, 
 moved, came nearer to Charmian, and gently took one of her 
 hands. 
 
 "My dear," she said. "Does it matter so much which 
 it is?"
 
 THE k WAY OF AMBITION 389 
 
 "Matter! Of course it does. Everything hangs upon it 
 for us, I mean, of course. We have given up everything 
 for the opera, altered our lives. It is to be the beginning of 
 everything for us." 
 
 Susan looked steadily at Charmian with her ugly, beautiful 
 eyes. 
 
 "Perhaps it might be that in either case," she said. "Dear 
 Charmian, I think preaching is rather odious. I hope I don't 
 often step into the pulpit. But we've talked of many things, 
 of things I care for and believe in. May I tell you something 
 I think with the whole of my mind, and even more than that 
 as it seems to me?" 
 
 "Yes. Yes, Susan!" 
 
 "I think the success or failure only matters really as it 
 affects character, and the relation existing between your soul 
 and your husband's. The rest scarcely counts, I think. And 
 so, if I were to pray about such a thing as this opera, pray 
 with the impulse of a friend who really does care for you, I 
 should pray that your two souls might have what they need, 
 what they must be asking for, whether that is a great success, 
 or a great failure." 
 
 The door opened and Claude came in on the two women. 
 
 " Did I hear the word failure?" he said, smiling, as he went 
 up to Susan and took her hand. "Charmian, I wonder 
 you allow it to be spoken in our sitting-room." 
 
 "I I didn't we weren't," she almost stammered. But 
 quickly recovering herself, she said: 
 
 " Susan has come with a message from Adelaide Shiffney." 
 
 "You mean about being let in at a rehearsal?" 
 
 "Yes," said Susan. 
 
 "I've just been with Mrs. Shiffney. She called at the thea- 
 ter after you had gone, Charmian. I drove to the Ritz with 
 her and went in." 
 
 Charmian looked narrowly at her husband. 
 
 "Then of course she spoke about the rehearsal?" 
 
 "Yes. Madame Sennier dropped in upon us. What do 
 you think of that?" 
 
 Charmian thought that his face and manner were strangely 
 hard.
 
 390 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Madame Sennier! And did you stay, did you " 
 
 "Of course. I thanked her for giving the opera such a 
 lift with her slanders about the libretto. I tackled her. It 
 was the greatest fun. I only wish Crayford had been there to 
 hear me." 
 
 "How did she take it?" asked Charmian, glancing at Susan, 
 and feeling uncomfortable. 
 
 "She was furious, I think. I hope so. I meant her to be. 
 But she didn't say much, except that the papers were full of 
 lies, and nobody believed them except fools. When she was 
 going I gave her a piece of news to comfort her." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 "That my opera will be produced the night before her 
 husband's." 
 
 Susan got up. 
 
 "Well, I must go," she said. "I've been here a long time, 
 and daresay you both want to rest." 
 
 "Rest!" exclaimed Claude. "That's the last thing we 
 want, isn't it, Charmian?" 
 
 He helped Susan to put on her fur. 
 
 "There's another rehearsal to-night after the performance 
 of A'ida. You see it's a race, and we mean to be in first. 
 I wish you could have seen Madame Sennier's face when I 
 told her we should produce on the twenty-eighth." 
 
 He laughed. But neither Charmian nor Susan laughed with 
 him. As Susan was leaving he said: 
 
 "You come from the enemy's camp, but you do wish us 
 success, don't you?" 
 
 "I have just been telling Charmian what I wish you," 
 answered Susan gently, with her straight and quiet look. 
 
 "Have you?" He wheeled round to Charmian. "What 
 was it?" 
 
 Charmian looked taken aback. 
 
 "Oh what was it?" 
 
 "Yes?" said Claude. 
 
 "The the very best! Wasn't it, Susan?" 
 
 "Yes. I wished you the very best." 
 
 "Capital! Too bad, you are going!" 
 
 He went with Susan to the door.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 391 
 
 When he came back he said to Charmian: 
 
 "Susan Fleet is very quiet, the least obtrusive person I 
 ever met. But she's strange. I believe she sees far." 
 
 His face and manner had changed. He threw himself 
 down in a chair and leaned his head against the back of it. 
 
 "I'm going to relax for a minute, Charmian. It's the 
 only way to rest. And I shall be up most of the night." 
 
 He shut his eyes. His whole body seemed to become loose. 
 
 "She sees far, I think," he murmured, scarcely moving his 
 sensitive lips. 
 
 Charmian sat watching his pale forehead, his white eyelids. 
 
 And New York roared outside.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 >T~"VHE respective publicity agents of the two opera houses 
 had been so energetic in their efforts on behalf of their 
 managements, that, to the Senniers, the Heaths, and all 
 those specially interested in the rival enterprises, it began to 
 seem as if the whole world hung upon the two operas, as if noth- 
 ing mattered but their success or failure. Charmian received 
 all the "cuttings" which dealt with the works and their com- 
 posers, with herself and Madame Sennier, from a newspaper 
 clipping bureau. And during these days of furious prepara- 
 tion she read no other literature. Whenever she was in the 
 hotel, and not with people, she was poring over these articles, 
 or tabulating and arranging them in books. The Heaths, 
 Claude Heath, Charmian Heath, Claude Heath's opera, 
 Armand Gillier and Claude Heath, Madame Sennier's quarrel 
 with Claude Heath, Mrs. Heath's brilliant efforts for her 
 talented husband, Joseph Crayford's opinion of Mrs. Charmian 
 Heath, how a clever woman can help her husband was there 
 really anything of importance in this world except Charmian 
 and Claude Heath's energy, enterprise, and ultimate success? 
 
 From the hotel she went to the Opera House. And there 
 she was in the midst of a world apart, which seemed to her the 
 whole of the world. Everybody whom she met there was 
 concentrated on the opera. She talked to orchestral players 
 about the musical effects; to the conductor about detail, 
 color, ensemble; to scene-painters about the various "sets," 
 their arrangement, lighting, the gauzes used in them, the 
 properties, the back cloths; to machinists about the locusts 
 and other sensations; to the singers about their roles; to 
 dancers about their strange Eastern poses; to Fakirs about 
 their serpents and their miracles. She lived in the opera, as 
 the opera lived in the vast theater. She was, as it were, 
 enclosed in a shell within a shell. New York was the great 
 sea murmuring outside. And always it was murmuring of 
 
 392
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 393 
 
 the opera. In consequence of Jacob Crayford's great opinion 
 of Charmian she was the spoilt child in his theater. Her 
 situation there was delightful. Everybody took his cue from 
 Crayford. And Crayford's verdict on Charmian was, " She's a 
 wonderful little lady. I know her, and I say she's a peach. 
 Heath did the cleverest thing he ever did in his life when he 
 married her." 
 
 Charmian really had influence with Crayford, and she 
 used it, revelling in a sense of her power and importance. He 
 consulted her about many points in the performance. And 
 she spoke her mind with decision, growing day by day in 
 self-reliance. In the theater she was generally surrounded, 
 and she grew to love it as she had never loved any place before. 
 The romance and beauty of Djenan-el-Maqui were as nothing 
 in comparison with the fascination of the Monster with the 
 Maw, vast, dark, and patient, waiting for its evening prov- 
 ender. To Charmian it seemed like a great personality. 
 Often she found herself thinking of it as sentient, brooding 
 over the opera, secretly attentive to all that was going on in 
 connection with it. She loved its darkness, the ghostly light- 
 ness of the covers spread over it, the ranges of its gaping 
 boxes, the far-off mystery of its galleries receding into a 
 heaven of ebon blackness. She wandered about it, sitting 
 first here, then there, becoming intimate with the monster on 
 whom she sometimes felt as if her life and fortunes depended. 
 
 "All this we are doing for you!" something within her 
 seemed to whisper. "Will you be satisfied with our efforts? 
 Will you reward us?" 
 
 And then, in imagination, she saw the monster changed. 
 No longer it brooded, watched, considered, waited. It had 
 sprung into ardent life, put off its darkness, wrapped itself in 
 a garment of light. 
 
 "You have given me what I needed I" she beard it saying. 
 "Look!" 
 
 And she saw the crowd! 
 
 Then sometimes she shut her eyes. She wanted to feel the 
 crowd, those masses of souls in masses of bodies for which 
 she had done so much. Always surely they had been keeping 
 the ring for Claude and for her. And it seemed to her that,
 
 394 THE WAY OF AMBITION! 
 
 unseen, they had circled the Isle in the far-off Algerian garden 
 where she first spoke of her love and desire for Claude, that 
 they had ever since been attending upon her life. Had they 
 not muttered about the white house that held the worker? 
 Had they not stared at the one who sat waiting by the foun- 
 tain? Had they not seen the arrival of Jacob Crayford? 
 Had they not assisted at those long colloquies when the 
 opera which was for them was changed? Absurdly, she felt 
 as if they had. And now, very soon, it would be for them to 
 speak. And striving to shut her eyes more firmly, or pressing 
 her fingers upon them, Charmian saw moving hands, a forest 
 of them below, circles above circles of them, and in the distance 
 of the gods a mist of them. And she saw the shining of 
 thousands of eyes, in which were mirrored strangely, almost 
 mystically, souls that Claude's music, conceived in patience 
 and labor, had moved and that wished to tell him so. 
 
 She saw the crowd! And she saw it returning to listen again. 
 And she remembered, with the extraordinary vitality of an 
 ardent woman, who was still little more than a girl, how she 
 had sat opposite to the white-faced, red-haired heroine on 
 the first night of Jacques Sennier's Paradis Terrestre; how 
 she had watched her, imaginatively entered into her mind, 
 become one with her. That night Claude had written his 
 letter to her, Charmian. The force in her, had entered into 
 him, had inspired him to do what he did that night, had in- 
 spired him to do what he had since done always near to her. 
 And soon, very soon, the white-faced, red-haired woman 
 would be watching her. 
 
 Then something that was almost like an intoxication of the 
 senses, something that, though it was born in the mind, 
 seemed intimately physical, came upon, rushed over Charmian. 
 It was the intoxication of an acute ambition which believed 
 itself close to fulfilment. Life seemed very wonderful to her. 
 Scarcely could she imagine anything more wonderful than life 
 holding the gift she asked for, the gift something in her de- 
 manded. And she connected love with ambition, even with 
 notoriety. She conceived of a satisfied ambition drawing two 
 human beings together, cementing their hearts together, 
 merging their souls in one.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 395 
 
 "How I shall love Claude triumphant!" she thought 
 exultantly, even passionately, as if she were thinking of a man 
 new made, more lovable by a big measure than he had been 
 before. And she saw love triumphant with wings of flame 
 mounting into the regions of desire, drawing her soul up. 
 
 "Claude's triumph will develop me," she thought. 
 "Through it I shall become the utmost of which I am capable. 
 I am one of those women who can only thrive in the atmos- 
 phere of glory." 
 
 Claude triumphant, and made triumphant by her! She 
 cherished that imagination. She became possessed by it. 
 
 Everything conspired to keep that imagination alive and 
 powerful within her. Crayford was an enthusiast for the 
 opera, and infected all those who belonged to him, who were 
 connected with his magnificent theater, with his own enthu- 
 siasm. The scene-painter, who had, almost with genius, 
 prepared exquisite Eastern pictures, was an enthusiast fore- 
 seeing that he would gain in the opera the triumph of his 
 career. The machinist was "fairly wild" about the opera. 
 Had he not invented the marvellous locust effect, which was 
 to be a new sensation? Mr. Mulworth, by dint of working 
 with fury and sitting up all night, had become fanatical about 
 the opera. He existed only for it. No thought of any other 
 thing could find a resting-place in his mind. His "produc- 
 tion" was going to be a masterpiece such as had never before 
 been known in the history of the stage. Nothing had been 
 forgotten. He had brought the East to New York. It was 
 inconceivable by him that New York could reject it. He 
 spoke about the music, but he meant his "production." The 
 man was a marvel in his own line, and such a worker as can 
 rarely be found anywhere. He believed the opera was going 
 to mark an epoch in the history of the lyric stage. And he 
 said so, almost wildly, in late hours of the night to Charmian. 
 
 Then there was Alston, who was to have his first great 
 chance in the opera, and who grew more fervently believing 
 with each rehearsal. 
 
 The great theater was pervaded by optimism, which flowed 
 from the fountain-head of its owner. And this optimism 
 percolated through certain sections of society in New York,
 
 396 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 as had been the case in London before Sennier's Paradis 
 Terrestre was given for the first time. 
 
 Report of the opera was very good. And with each passing 
 day it became better. 
 
 Charmian remembered what had happened in London, and 
 thought exultantly, "Success is in the air." 
 
 It certainly seemed to be so. Rumor was busy and spoke 
 kind things. Charmian noticed that the manner of many- 
 people toward her and Claude was becoming increasingly 
 cordial. The pressmen whom she met gave her unmistakable 
 indications that they expected great things of her husband. 
 Two of them, musical critics both, came to dine with her and 
 Claude one night at the St. Regis, and talked music for hours. 
 One of them had lived in Paris, and was steeped in modernity. 
 He was evidently much interested in Claude's personality, 
 and after dinner, when they had all returned from the restau- 
 rant to the Heaths' sitting-room, he said to Charmian: 
 
 "Your husband is the most interesting English personality 
 I have met. He is the only Englishman who has ever given 
 to me the feeling of strangeness, of the beyond." 
 
 He glanced around with his large Southern eyes and saw 
 that there was a piano in the room. 
 
 "Would he play to us, do you think?" he said, rather 
 tentatively. "I am not asking as a pressman but as a keen 
 musician." 
 
 "Claude!" Charmian said. "Mr. Van Brinen asks if you 
 will play us a little bit of the opera." 
 
 Claude got up. 
 
 "Why not?" he said. 
 
 He spoke firmly. His manner was self-reliant, almost 
 determined. He went to the piano, sat down, and played 
 the scene Gillier had liked so much, the scene in which some of 
 Said Hitani's curious songs were reproduced. The two 
 journalists were evidently delighted. 
 
 "That's new!" said Van Brinen. "Nothing like that has 
 ever been heard here before. It brings a breath of the East 
 to Broadway." 
 
 Claude had turned half round on the piano stool. His eyes 
 were fixed upon Van Brinen. And now Van Brinen looked
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 397 
 
 at him. There was an instant of silence. Then Claude swung 
 round again to the piano and began to play something that was 
 not out of the opera. Charmian had never heard it before. 
 But Mrs. Mansfield had heard it. 
 
 "'I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the 
 seven angels, "Go your ways, and pour out the vials of the 
 wrath of God upon the earth. . . . " 
 
 "The second angel poured out his vial upon the sea; and it 
 became as the blood of a dead man. . . . 
 
 "The fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and 
 power was given to him to scorch men with fire. . . . 
 
 ' ' The sixth angel poured out his vial upon the great river 
 Euphrates; and the water thereof was dried up, that the way 
 of the Kings of the East might be prepared. . . . 
 
 "Behold I come as a thief. Blessed is he that watcheth, 
 and keepeth his garments, lest he walk naked, and they see 
 his shame. ' ' 
 
 When Claude ceased there was a silence that seemed long. 
 He remained sitting with his back to his wife and his guests, 
 his face to the piano. At last he got up and turned, and his 
 eyes again sought the face of Van Brinen. Then Van Brinen 
 moved, clasped his long and thin hands tightly together, and 
 said: 
 
 "That's great! That's very great!" 
 
 He paused, gazing at Claude. 
 
 "That's enormous!" he said. " Do you mean is that from 
 the opera?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Claude. 
 
 He came to sit down, and began to talk quickly of all sorts 
 of things. When the two pressmen were about to go away 
 Van Brinen said: 
 
 "I wish you success, Mr. Heath, as I have very seldom 
 wished it for any man. For since I have heard some of your 
 music, I feel that you deserve it as very few musicians I know 
 anything of do." 
 
 Claude's face flushed painfully, became scarlet. 
 
 "Thank you very much," he almost muttered. But he 
 wrung Van Brinen's thin hand hard, and when he was alone 
 with Charmian he said:
 
 398 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Of all the men I have met in New York that is the one I 
 like best." 
 
 Van Brinen had considerable influence in the musical world 
 of New York, and after that evening he~ used it on Claude's 
 behalf. The members of the art circles of the city had Claude's 
 name perpetually upon their lips. Articles began to appear 
 which voiced the great expectation musicians were beginning 
 to found upon Claude's work. The "boom" grew, and was 
 no longer merely sensational, a noisy thing worked up by paid 
 agents. 
 
 Charmian became quickly aware of this and exulted. Now 
 and then she remembered her conversation with Susan Fleet 
 and had a moment of doubt, of wonder. Now and then a 
 fleeting expression in the pale face of her husband, a look in 
 his eyes, a sound in his voice, even a movement, sent a slight 
 chill through her heart. But these faintly disagreeable sen- 
 sations passed swiftly from her. The whirling round of life 
 took her, swept her on. She had scarcely time to think, 
 though she had always time to feel intensely. 
 
 Often during these days of fierce preparation she was sepa- 
 rated from Claude. He had innumerable things to do con- 
 nected with the production. Charmian haunted the opera 
 house, but was seldom actually with Claude there, though she 
 often saw him on the stage or in the orchestra, heard him dis- 
 cussing points concerning his work. And Claude was very 
 often away, when rehearsals did not demand his attention, 
 visiting the singers who were to appear in the opera, going 
 through their rdles with them, trying to imbue them with his 
 exact meaning. Charmian meanwhile was with some of the 
 many friends she had made in New York. 
 
 Thus it happened that Claude was able to meet Mrs. Shiff- 
 ney several times without Charmian's knowledge. 
 
 It was an understood thing and Charmian knew this 
 that Mrs. Shiffney was to come to the first full rehearsal of the 
 opera. The verdict in advance was to be given and taken. 
 Mrs. Shiffney had called once at the St. Regis, when Claude was 
 out, and had sat for ten minutes with Charmian. And Char- 
 mian had called upon her at the Ritz-Carlton and had not 
 found her. Here matters had ended in connection with
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 399 
 
 "Adelaide," so far as Charmian knew. Mrs. Shiffney had 
 multitudes of friends in New York, and was always rushing 
 about. It never occurred to Charmian that she had any time 
 to give to Claude, or that Claude had any time to give to her. 
 But Mrs. Shiffney always found time to do anything she really 
 cared to do. And just now she cared to meet Claude. 
 
 Long ago in London, when he was very genuine, she had been 
 attracted by him. Now, in New York, when he was dressed 
 up in motley, with painted face and eyes that strove, though 
 sometimes in vain, to be false, he fascinated her. The new 
 Claude, harder, more dominant, secretly unhappy, feverish 
 with a burning excitement of soul and brain, appealed to this 
 woman who loved all that was strange, exotic, who hated and 
 despised the commonplace, and who lived on excitement. 
 
 She threw out one or two lures for Claude, and he, who in 
 London had refused her invitations, in New York accepted 
 them. Why did he do this? Because he had flung away his 
 real self, because he was secretly angry with, hated the self to 
 which he was giving the rein, because he, too, during this 
 period was living on excitement, because he longed sometimes, 
 with a cruel longing, to raise up a barrier between himself and 
 Charmian. 
 
 And perhaps there were other reasons that only a physician 
 could have explained, reasons connected with tired and irri- 
 tated nerves, with a brain upon which an unnatural strain had 
 been put. The overworked man of talent sometimes is con- 
 fronted with strange figures making strange demands upon him. 
 Claude knew these figures now. 
 
 He had always been aware of fascination in Mrs. Shiffney. 
 Now he let himself go toward this fascination. He had 
 always, too, felt what he had called the minotaur-thing in 
 her, the creature with teeth and claws fastening upon pleasure. 
 Now he was ready to be with the minotaur-thing. For some- 
 thing within him, that was intimately connected with what- 
 ever he had of genius, murmured incessantly, "To-morrow 
 I die!" And he wanted, at any cost, to dull the sound of that 
 voice. Why should not he let his monster fasten on pleasure 
 too? The situation was full of a piquancy which delighted 
 Mrs. Shiffney. She was " on the other side," and was now pre-
 
 400 THE WAY OT AMBITION 
 
 paring to make love in the enemy's camp. Nothing pleased 
 her more than to mingle art with love, linking the intelligence 
 of her brain with the emotion, such as it was, of her thoroughly 
 pagan heart. And the feeling that she was a sort of traitress 
 to her beloved Jacques and Henriette was quite enchanting. 
 One thing more gave a very feminine zest to her pursuit 
 the thought of Charmian, who knew nothing about it, but 
 who, no doubt, would know some day. She rejoiced in in- 
 trigue, loved a secret that would eventually be hinted at, if not 
 actually told, and revelled in proving her power on a man who, 
 in his unknown days, had resisted it, and who now that he 
 was on the eve, perhaps, of a wide fame, seemed ready to suc- 
 cumb to it. There were even moments when she found 
 herself wishing for the success of Claude's opera, despite her 
 active dislike of Charmian. It would really be such fun to 
 take Claude away from that silly Charmian creature in the 
 very hour of a triumph. Yet she did not wish to see Charmian 
 even the neglected wife of a great celebrity. Her feelings 
 were rather complex. But she had always been at home with 
 complexity. 
 
 She managed to get rid of Susan Fleet, by persuading her 
 to visit some friends of Susan who lived in Washington. Then 
 it was easy enough to see Claude quietly, in her apartment at 
 the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and elsewhere. Mrs. Shiffney was a 
 past mistress of what she called "playing about." Claude 
 recognized this, and had a glimpse into a life strangely different 
 from his own, an almost intimate glimpse which both inter- 
 ested and disgusted him. 
 
 In his determination to grasp at the blatant thing, the big 
 success, a determination that pushed him almost inevitably 
 into a certain extravagance of conduct, because it was foreign 
 to his innermost nature, Claude gave himself to the vulgar 
 vanity of the male. He was out here to conquer. Why not 
 conquer Mrs. Shiffney? To do that would be scarcely more 
 spurious than to win with a "made over" opera. 
 
 He kept secret assignations, which were not openly sup- 
 posed to be secret by either Mrs. Shiffney or himself. For 
 Mrs. Shiffney was leading him gently, savoring nuances, while 
 lie was feeling blatant, though saved by his breeding from
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 401 
 
 showing it. They had some charming, some almost exciting 
 talks, full of innuendo, of veiled allusions to personal feeling 
 and the human depths. And all this was mingled with art 
 and the great life of human ambition. Mrs. Shiffney's attrac- 
 tion to artists was a genuine thing in her. She really felt the 
 pull of that which was secretly powerful in Claude. And she, 
 not too consciously, made him know this. The knowledge 
 drew him toward her. 
 
 One day Claude went to see her after a long rehearsal. 
 When he reached the hotel it was nearly eight o'clock. The 
 rehearsal of his opera had only been stopped because it had 
 been necessary to get ready for the evening performance. 
 Claude had promised to dine with Van Brinen that night, and 
 Charmian was dining with some friends. But, at the last 
 moment, Van Brinen had telephoned to say that he was 
 obliged to go to a concert on behalf of his paper. Claude 
 had left the opera house, weary, excited, doubtful what 
 to do. If he returned to the St. Regis he would be all alone. 
 At that moment he dreaded solitude. After hesitating 
 for a moment outside the stage door, he called a taxi-cab, 
 and ordered the man to drive to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney would probably be out, would almost certainly 
 have some engagement for the evening. The hour was un- 
 orthodox for a visit. Claude did not care. He had been 
 drowned in his own music for hours. He was in a strongly 
 emotional condition, and wanted to do something strange, 
 something bizarre. 
 
 He sent up his name to Mrs. Shiffney, who was at home. 
 In a few moments she sent down to say she would see him in 
 her sitting-room. When Claude came into it he found her 
 there in an evening gown. 
 
 "Do forgive me! You're going out?" he said. 
 
 " Where are you dining?" she answered. 
 
 Claude made a vague gesture. 
 
 "Have you come to dine with me?" she said, smiling. 
 
 "But I see you are going out!" 
 
 She shook her powerful head. 
 
 " We will dine up here. But I must telephone to a number 
 in Fifth Avenue." 
 
 26
 
 402 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 She went toward the telephone. 
 
 "Oh, but I can't keep you at home. It is too outrageous!" 
 he said. 
 
 "Give me time to telephone!" she answered, looking round 
 at him over her shoulder. 
 
 "You are much too kind!" he said. "I I looked in to 
 settle about your coming to that rehearsal." 
 
 She got on to the number in Fifth Avenue and spoke 
 through the telephone softly. 
 
 "There! That's done! And now help me to order a 
 dinner for " she glanced at him shrewdly "a tired genius." 
 
 Claude smiled. They consulted together, amicably arrang- 
 ing the menu. 
 
 The dinner was brought quickly, and they sat down, one on 
 each side of a round table decorated with lilies of the valley. 
 
 "I'm playing traitress to-night," Mrs. Shiffney said in her 
 deep voice. "I was to have been at a dinner arranged for 
 the Senniers by Mrs. Algernon Batsford." 
 
 "I am so ashamed." 
 
 "Or are you a little bit flattered?" 
 
 "Both, perhaps." 
 
 "A divinely complex condition. Tell me about the re- 
 hearsal." 
 
 They plunged into a discussion on music. Mrs. Shiffney 
 was a past mistress in the art of subtle flattery, when she chose 
 to be. And she always chose to be, in the service of her ca- 
 prices. She understood well the vanity of the artistic tempera- 
 ment. She even understood its reverse side, which was strongly 
 developed in Claude. Her efforts were dedicated to the dual 
 temperament, and beautifully. The discussion was long and 
 animated, lasting all through dinner to the time of Turkish 
 coffee. Claude forgot his fatigue, and Mrs. Shiffney almost 
 forgot her caprice. She became genuinely interested in the 
 discussion merely as a discussion. Her sincere passion for 
 art got the upper hand in her. And this made her the more 
 delightful. The evening fled and its feet were winged. 
 
 "I was going to a party at Eve Inness's," she said, when 
 half-past ten chimed in the clock on her writing-table. "But 
 I'll give it up."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 403 
 
 Claude sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Really you must not. I must go. I must really. I 
 know I need any amount of sleep to make up arrears." 
 
 "You don't look sleepy." 
 
 "How could I, in New York?" 
 
 "We don't need to sleep here. Sit down again. Eve 
 Inness is quite definitely given up." 
 
 "But 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney looked at him, and he sat down. At that 
 moment he remembered the morning in the pine wood at 
 Constantine, and how she had looked at him then. He 
 remembered, too, and clearly, his own recoil. Now he believed 
 that she had been very treacherous in regard to him. Yet 
 he felt happier with her, and even at this moment as he re- 
 turned her look he thought, "Whatever she may have felt at 
 Constantine, I believe I have won her over to my side now. 
 I have power. She always felt it. She feels it now more than 
 ever." And abruptly he said: 
 
 "You are on Sennier's side. And really it is a sort of 
 battle here. The two managements have turned it into a 
 battle. We've been talking all this evening of music. Do 
 you really wish me to succeed? I think " he paused. He 
 was on the edge of accusing her of treachery at Constantine. 
 But he decided not to do so, and continued, "What I mean is, 
 do you genuinely care whether I succeed or not?" 
 
 After a minute Mrs. Shiffney said: 
 
 "Perhaps I care even more than Charmian does." 
 
 Her large and intelligent eyes were still fixed upon Claude. 
 She looked absolutely self-possessed, yet as if she were feeling 
 something strongly, and meant him to be aware of that. And 
 she believed that just then it depended upon Claude whether 
 she cared for his success or desired his failure. His long re- 
 sistance to her influence, followed by this partial yielding to it, 
 had begun to irritate her capricious nature intensely. And 
 this irritation, if prolonged, might give birth in her either to a 
 really violent passion, of the burning straw species, for Claude, 
 or to an active hatred of him. At this moment she knew 
 this. 
 
 "Perhaps I care too much!" she said.
 
 404 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 And instantly, as at Constantine, when the reality of her 
 nature deliberately made itself apparent, with intention calling 
 to him, Claude felt the invincible recoil within him, the back- 
 ward movement of his true self. The spurious vanity of the 
 male died within him. The feverish pleasure in proving his 
 power died. And all that was left for the moment was the 
 dominant sense of honor, of what he owed to Charmian. Mrs. 
 Shiffney would have called this "the shriek of the Puritan." 
 It was certainly the cry of the real man in Claude. And he had 
 to heed it. But he loathed himself at this moment. And he 
 felt that he had given Mrs. Shiflfney the right to hate him for 
 ever. 
 
 "My weakness is my curse!" he thought. "It makes me 
 utterly contemptible. I must slay it!" 
 
 Desperation seized him. Abruptly he got up. 
 
 "You are much too kind!" he said, scarcely knowing what 
 he was saying. "I can never be grateful enough to you. 
 If I if I do succeed, I shall know at any rate that one ' 
 He met her eyes and stopped. 
 
 "Good-night!" she said. "I'm afraid I must send you 
 away now, for I believe I will run in for a minute to Eve Inness, 
 after all." 
 
 As Claude descended to the hall he knew that he had left 
 an enemy behind him. 
 
 But the knowledge which really troubled him was that he 
 deserved to have Mrs. Shiffney for an enemy. 
 
 His own self, his own manhood, whipped him.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THAT night, when Claude arrived at the St. Regis, 
 Charmian was still out. She did not return till just after 
 midnight. When she came into the sitting-room she 
 found Claude in an armchair near the window, which was 
 slightly open. He had no book or paper, and seemed to be 
 listening to something. 
 
 "Claudie! Why, what are you doing?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing," he said. 
 
 "But the window! Aren't you catching cold?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " I believe you were listening to 'New York'!" she continued, 
 taking off her cloak. 
 
 "I was." 
 
 She put her cloak down on the sofa. 
 
 "Listening for the verdict?" she said. "Trying to divine 
 what it will be?" 
 
 " Something like that, perhaps." 
 
 "There is still a good deal of the child in you, Claude," 
 she said seriously, but fondly too. 
 
 " Is there? Too much perhaps," he answered in a low voice. 
 
 " What's the matter? Are you feeling depressed?" 
 
 She sat down close to him. 
 
 "Are you doubtful, anxious to-night?" 
 
 " Well, this is rather an anxious time. The strain is strong." 
 
 "But you are strong, too!" 
 
 "I!" he exclaimed. 
 
 And there was in his voice a sound of great bitterness. 
 
 "Yes, I think you are. I know you are." 
 
 "You have very little reason for knowing such a thing, "he 
 answered, still with bitterness. 
 
 "You mean?" she was looking at him almost furtively. 
 "Whatever you mean," she concluded, "I can't help it! I 
 
 405
 
 406 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 think you are. Or perhaps I really mean that I think you 
 would be." 
 
 "Would be! When?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't know! In a great moment, a terrible 
 moment perhaps!" 
 
 She dropped her , eyes, and began slowly to pull off her 
 gloves. 
 
 "Talking of the verdict," she said presently, glancing to- 
 ward the still open window, "is the date of the first full 
 rehearsal fixed?" 
 
 "Yes. We decided on it this evening at the theater." 
 
 "When is it to be?" 
 
 "Next Friday night. There's no performance that night. 
 We begin at six. I daresay we shall get through about six 
 the next morning." 
 
 "Friday! Have you I mean, are you going to ask Mrs. 
 Shiffney?" 
 
 During their long and intimate talk at dinner that evening 
 Claude had invited Mrs. Shiffney to be present at the rehearsal, 
 and she had accepted. Now it suddenly occurred to him that 
 she was his enemy. Would she still come after what had 
 occurred just before he left her? 
 
 "I have asked her!" he almost blurted out. 
 
 "Already! When?" 
 
 "I went round to the Ritz-Carlton to-night." 
 
 "Was she in?" 
 
 "Yes. But she was but she went out afterward, to 
 Mrs. Inness." 
 
 "Oh! And did she accept? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Charmian's eyes were fixed upon Claude. He saw by 
 their expression that she suspected something, or that she 
 had divined a secret between him and Mrs. Shiffney. She 
 looked suddenly alert, and her lips seemed to harden, giving 
 her face a strained and not pleasant expression. 
 
 "How is she coming?" she asked. 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Yes. Are you going to fetch her? Or am I to?" 
 
 "That wasn't decided. Nothing was said about that."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 407 
 
 " She can't just walk in alone, without a card to admit her, 
 or anything. You know what an autocrat Mr. Crayford is." 
 
 "But he knows Mrs. Shiffney. We met him first at her 
 house in London, don't you remember?" 
 
 "You don't suppose he's going to let everyone he knows 
 into a rehearsal, do you?" 
 
 Claude got up from his chair. 
 
 "No. But Charmian, I can't think of all these details. 
 I can't I can't!" 
 
 There was a sharp edge to his voice. 
 
 "I have too much to carry in my mind just now." 
 
 "I know," she said, softening. "I didn't mean" the 
 alert expression, which for an instant had vanished, returned 
 to her face "I only wanted to know " 
 
 "Please don't ask me any more! I asked Mrs. Shiffney to 
 come to the rehearsal. She said she would. Then we talked 
 of other things." 
 
 "Other things! Then you stayed some time?" 
 
 " A little while. If she really wishes to be at the rehearsal " 
 
 "But we know she wishes it!" 
 
 "Well, then, she will suggest coming with you, or she may 
 write to Crayford. I'm not going to do anything more about 
 it." 
 
 His face was stern, grim. 
 
 "Now I'll shut the window," he added, "or you'll catch 
 cold in that low dress." 
 
 He was moving to the window when she caught at his 
 hand and detained him. 
 
 " Would you care if I did? Would you care if I were ill? " 
 
 "Of course I should." 
 
 " Would you care if I 
 
 She did not finish the sentence, but still held his hand closely 
 in hers. In her hand-grasp Claude felt jealousy, warm, fiery, 
 a thing almost strangely vital. 
 
 " Does she is she getting to love me as I wish to be loved? " 
 
 The question flashed through his mind. At that moment 
 he was very glad that he had never betrayed Charmian, very 
 glad of the Puritan in him which perhaps many women would 
 jeer at, did they know of its existence.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Charmian," he said, "let me shut the window." 
 "Yes, yes; of course." 
 She let his hand go. 
 
 " It is better not to listen to the voices,- 1 ' she added. "They 
 make one feel too much!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 NOTHING more was said by Charmian or Claude about 
 Mrs. Shiff ney and the rehearsal. Mrs. Shiff ney made no 
 sign. The rehearsals of Jacques Sennier's new opera were 
 being pressed forward almost furiously, and no doubt she had 
 little free time. Claude wondered very much what she would 
 do, debated the question with himself. Surely now she would 
 not wish to come to his rehearsal! And even if she did wish 
 to be present, surely she would not try to come now! But 
 women are not easily to be read. Claude was aware that he 
 could not divine what Mrs. Shiffney would do. He thought, 
 however, that it was unlikely she would come. He thought 
 also that he wished her not to come. 
 
 Nevertheless, when the darkness gathered over New York 
 on Friday evening, he found himself wishing strongly, even 
 almost painfully, for her verdict. 
 
 Charmian was greatly excited. Claude still kept up his 
 successful pretense of bold self-confidence. He had to strain 
 every nerve to conceal his natural sensitiveness. But although 
 he was racked by anxiety, and something else, he did not show 
 it. Charmian was astonished by his apparent serenity now 
 that the hour full of fate was approaching. She admired him 
 more than ever. She even wondered at him, remembering 
 moments, not far off, when he had shown a sort of furtive 
 bitterness, or weariness, or depression, when she had partially 
 divined a blackness of the depths. Now his self-confidence 
 lifted her, and she told him so. 
 
 "There's an atmosphere of success round you," she said. 
 
 " Why not? We are going to reap the fruits of our labors," 
 he replied. 
 
 " But even Alston is terribly nervous to-day." 
 
 "Is he? My hand is as steady as a rock." 
 
 He held it out, by a fierce effort kept it perfectly still for a 
 moment, then let it drop against his side. 
 
 409
 
 410 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 The bells of St. Patrick's Cathedral chimed five o'clock. 
 
 "Only an hour and we begin!" said Charmian. "Oh, 
 Claude! This is almost worse than the performance." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I don't know. Perhaps because it won't be final. And 
 then they say at dress rehearsals things always go badly, and 
 everyone thinks the piece, or the opera, is bound to be a failure. 
 I feel wrinkles and gray hairs pouring over me in spite of your 
 self-possession. I can't help it!" 
 
 She forced a laugh. She was walking about the room. 
 
 "I'm devoured by nerves, I suppose!" she exclaimed. 
 " By the way, hasn't Mrs. Shiff ney written about coming to- 
 night?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You haven't seen her again?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "How very odd! Do you suppose she will try to get 
 in?" 
 
 "How can I tell?" 
 
 "But isn't it strange, after her making such a fuss about 
 coming this silence?" 
 
 "Probably she's immersed in Sennier's opera and won't 
 bother about mine." 
 
 "Women always bother." 
 
 There was a "b-r-r-r!" in the lobby. Charmian started 
 violently. 
 
 "What can that be?" 
 
 Claude went to the door, and returned with Armand 
 Gillier. 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur Gillier!" 
 
 Charmian looked at Gillier's large and excited eyes. 
 
 "You are coming with us?" 
 
 "If you allow me, madame!" said Gillier formally, bowing 
 over her hand. " It seems to me that the collaborators should 
 go together." 
 
 "Of course. It's still early, but we may as well start. The 
 theater's pulling at me pulling!" 
 
 "My wife's quite strung up!" said Claude, smiling. 
 
 "And Claude is disgustingly cool!" said Charmian.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 411 
 
 Gillier looked hard at Claude, and Charmian thought she 
 detected admiration in his eyes. 
 
 "Men need to be cool when the critical moment is at hand," 
 he remarked. "I learned that long ago in Algeria." 
 
 "Then you are not nervous now?" 
 
 "Nerves are for women!" he returned. 
 
 But the expression in his face belied his words. 
 
 "Claude is cooler than he is!" Charmian thought. 
 
 She went to put on her hat and her sealskin coat. She 
 longed, yet dreaded to start. 
 
 When they arrived at the stage-door of the Opera House 
 the dark young man came from his office on the right with 
 his hands full of letters, and, smiling, distributed them to 
 Charmian, Claude and Gillier. 
 
 "It will be a go!" he said, in a clear voice. "Everyone 
 says so. Mr. Crayford is up in his office. He wants to see 
 Mr. Heath. There's the elevator!" 
 
 At this moment the lift appeared, sinking from the upper 
 regions under the guidance of a smiling colored man. 
 
 "I'll come up with you, Claudie. Are you going on the 
 stage, Monsieur Gillier?" 
 
 "No, madame, not yet. I must speak to Mademoiselle 
 Mar don about the Ouled Na'il scene." 
 
 People were hurrying in, looking preoccupied. In a small 
 abode on the left, a little way from the outer door, an elderly 
 man in uniform, with a square gray beard, sat staring out 
 through a small window, with a cautious and important 
 air. 
 
 Charmian and Claude stepped into the lift, holding their 
 letters. As they shot up they both glanced hastily at the 
 addresses. 
 
 ' ' Nothing from Adelaide Shiffney ! ' ' said Charmian. ' ' Have 
 you got anything?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then she can't be coming." 
 
 "It seems not." 
 
 "I then we shan't have the verdict in advance." 
 
 The lift stopped, and they got out. 
 
 "If we had it would probably have been a wrong one,"
 
 412 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 said Claude. "The only real verdict is the one the great 
 public gives." 
 
 "Yes, of course. But, still" 
 
 "Hulloh, little lady! So you're sticking to the ship till 
 she's safe in port!" 
 
 Crayford met them in the doorway of his large and elab- 
 orately furnished sanctum. 
 
 "Come right in! There's a lot to talk about. Shut the 
 door, Harry. Now, Mulworth, let's get to business. What 
 is it that is wrong with the music to go with the Fakir scene? " 
 
 At six o'clock the rehearsal had not begun. At six-thirty 
 it had not begun. The orchestra was there, sunk out of sight 
 and filling the dimness with the sounds of tuning. But the 
 great curtain was down. And from behind it came shouting 
 voices, noises of steps, loud and persistent hammerings. 
 
 A very few people were scattered about in the huge space 
 which contained the stalls, some nondescript men, whispering 
 to each other, or yawning and staring vaguely; and five or 
 six women who looked more alert and vivacious. There was 
 no one visible in the shrouded boxes. The lights were kept 
 very low. 
 
 The sound of hammering continued and became louder. A 
 sort of deadness and strange weariness seemed to brood in the 
 air, as if the great monster were in a sinister and heavy mood, 
 full of an almost malign lethargy. The orchestral players 
 ceased from tuning their instruments, and talked together in 
 their sunken habitation. 
 
 Seven o'clock struck in the clocks of New York. Just as 
 the chimes died away, Mrs. Shiffney drew up at the stage-door 
 in a smart white motor-car. She was accompanied by a very 
 tall and big man, with a robust air of self-confidence, and a 
 face that was clean-shaven and definitely American. 
 
 "I don't suppose they've begun yet," she said, as she got 
 out and walked slowly across the pavement, warmly wrapped 
 up in a marvellous black sable coat. "Have you got your 
 card, Jon son?" 
 
 "Here!" said the big man in a big voice. 
 
 The dark young man came from his office. On seeing the 
 big man he started, and looked impressed.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 413 
 
 "Mr. Crayford here?" said the big man. 
 "I think he's on the stage." 
 
 "Could you be good enough to send him in my card? 
 There's some writing on the back. And here's a note from 
 this lady." 
 
 "Certainly, with pleasure," said the young man, with 
 his cheerful smile. "Come right into the office, if you 
 will!" 
 
 "Hulloh!" said Crayford, a moment later to Claude. 
 "Here's Mrs. Shiffney wants to be let in to the rehearsal! 
 And whom with, d'you think?" 
 
 " Whom ? " asked Claude quickly. " Not Madame Sennier ?" 
 
 "Jonson Ramer." 
 
 "The financier?" 
 
 "Our biggest! My boy, you're booming! Old Jonson 
 Ramer asking to come in to our rehearsal! We'll have that 
 all over the States to-morrow morning. Where's Cane?" 
 
 "I'll fetch him, sir!" said a thin boy standing by. 
 
 "Are you going to let them in?" 
 
 "Am I going to! Finnigan, go and take the lady and 
 Mr. Ramer to any box they like. Ah, Cane! Here's some- 
 thing for you to let yourself out over!" 
 
 Mr. Cane read Ramer's card and looked radiant. 
 
 "Well, I'm!" 
 
 "I should think you are! Go and spread it. This boy's 
 getting compliments enough to turn him silly." 
 
 And Crayford clapped Claude almost affectionately on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Now then, Mulworth!" he roared, with a complete 
 change of manner. "When in thunder are we going to have 
 that curtain up?" 
 
 Claude turned away. He wished to find Charmian, to tell 
 her that Mrs. Shiffney had come and had brought Jonson 
 Ramer with her. But he did not know where she was. As 
 he came off the stage into the wings he met Alston Lake dressed 
 for his part of an officer of Spahis. 
 
 "I say, Claude, have you heard?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Jonson Ramer's here for the rehearsal!"
 
 414 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "I know. Can you tell me where Charmian is?" 
 
 "Haven't an ideal There's the prelude beginning! My! 
 Where are my formamints?" 
 
 Charmian meanwhile had gone into the theater with a 
 dressmaker, who had come to see the effect of Enid Mar don's 
 costumes which she had "created." Charmian and the 
 dressmaker, a massive and handsome woman, were sitting 
 together in the stalls, discussing Enid Mardon's caprices. 
 
 "She tore the dress to pieces," said the dressmaker. 
 "She made rags of it, and then pinned it together all wrong, 
 and said to me to me! that now it began to look like an 
 Ouled Nail girl's costume. I told her if she liked to face 
 Noo York" 
 
 "H'sh-sh!" whispered Charmian. "There's the prelude 
 beginning at last. She's not going to ?" 
 
 "No. Of course she had to come back to my original 
 idea!" 
 
 And the dressmaker pressed a large handkerchief against 
 her handsome nose, savored the last new perfume, and leaned 
 back in her stall magisterially with a faint smile. 
 
 It was at this moment that Mrs. Shiffney came into a box 
 at the back of the stalls followed by Jonson Ramer. Without 
 taking off her sable coat she sat down in a corner and looked 
 quickly over the obscure space before her. Immediately she 
 saw Charmian and the dressmaker, who sat within a few yards 
 of her. Claude was not visible. Mrs. Shiffney sat back a 
 little farther in the box, and whispered to Mr. Ramer. 
 
 "Are you really going to join the Directorate of the 
 Metropolitan?" she said. 
 
 "I may, when this season's over." 
 
 "Does Crayford know it?" 
 
 Mr. Ramer shook his massive and important head. 
 
 "I'm not certain of it myself," he observed, with a smile, 
 
 "And if you do join?" 
 
 "If I decide to join" he glanced round the enormous 
 empty house. "I think I should buy Crayford out of here." 
 
 "Would he go?" 
 
 "I think he might for a price." 
 
 "If this new man turns out to be worth while, I suppose
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 415 
 
 you would take him over as one of the what are they called- 
 one of the assets?" 
 
 "Ha!" He leaned toward her, and just touched her 
 arm with one of his powerful hands. "You must tell me 
 to-night whether he is going to be worth while." 
 
 "Won't you know?" 
 
 "I might when I got him before a New York audience. 
 But you are more likely to know to-night." 
 
 " I have got rather a flair, I believe. Now I'll taste the 
 new work." 
 
 She did not speak again, but gave herself up to attention, 
 though her mind was often with the woman in the sealskin 
 coat who sat so near to her. Had Claude said anything to 
 that woman? There was very little to say. But had he 
 said it? She wondered on what terms Charmian and Claude 
 were, whether the Puritan had ever found any passion for 
 the Charmian-creature. Claude's music broke in upon her 
 questionings. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney had a retentive as well as a swift mind, and 
 she remembered every detail of Gillier's powerful, almost 
 brutal libretto. In the reading it had transported her into a 
 wild life, in a land where there is still romance, still strangeness 
 a land upon which civilization has not yet fastened its 
 padded claw. And she had imagined the impression which 
 this glimpse of an ardent and bold life might produce upon 
 highly civilized people, like herself, if it were helped by 
 powerful music. 
 
 Now she listened, waited, remembering her visits to 
 Mullion House, the night in the cafe by the city wall when 
 Said Hitani and his Arabs played, the hour of sun in the pine 
 wood above the great ravine, other hours in New York. There 
 was something in Heath that she had wanted, that she wanted 
 still, though part of her sneered at him, laughed at him, had a 
 worldly contempt for him, though another part of her almost 
 hated him. She desired a fiasco for him. Nevertheless the 
 art feeling within her, and the greedy emotional side of her, 
 demanded the success of his effort just now, because she was 
 listening, because she hated to be bored, because the libretto 
 was fine. The artistic side of her nature was in strong conflict
 
 416 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 with the capricious and sensual side that evening. But she 
 looked for Jonson Ramer coolly self-possessed and discrim- 
 inating as she sat very still in the shadow. 
 
 "That's a fine voice!" murmured Ramer presently. 
 
 Alston Lake was singing. 
 
 "Yes. I've heard him in London. But he seems to have 
 come on wonderfully." 
 
 "It's an operatic voice." 
 
 When Alston Lake went off the stage Ramer remarked: 
 
 "That's a fellow to watch." 
 
 " Crayford's very clever at discovering singers." 
 
 "Almost too clever for the Metropolitan, eh?" 
 
 "Enid Mardon looks wonderful." 
 
 Silence fell upon them again. 
 
 The dressmaker had got up from her seat and slipped away 
 into the darkness, after examining Enid Mardon's costume 
 for two or three minutes through a small but powerful opera- 
 glass. Charmian was now quite alone. 
 
 While the massive woman was with her Charmian had been 
 unconscious of any agitating, or disturbing, influence in her 
 neighborhood. The dressmaker had probably a strong 
 personality. Very soon after she had gone Charmian began 
 to feel curiously uneasy, despite her intense interest in the 
 music, and in all that was happening on the stage. She 
 glanced along the stalls. No one was sitting in a line with her. 
 In front of her she saw only the few people who had already 
 taken their places when the curtain went up. She gave her 
 attention again to the stage, but only with a strong effort. 
 And very soon she was again compelled by this strange un- 
 easiness to look about the theater. Now she felt certain that 
 somebody whom she had not yet seen, but who was near to 
 her, was disturbing her. And she thought, "Claude must 
 have come in!" On this thought she turned round rather 
 sharply, and looked behind her at the boxes. She did not 
 actually see anyone. But it seemed to her that, as she turned 
 and looked, something moved back in a box very near to her, 
 on her left. And immediately she felt certain that that box 
 was occupied. 
 
 "Adelaide Shiffney's there!"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 417 
 
 Suddenly that certainty took possession of her. And 
 Claude? Where was he? 
 
 Hitherto she had supposed that Claude was behind the 
 scenes, or perhaps in the orchestra sitting near the conductor, 
 Meroni; but now jealousy sprang up in her. If Claude were 
 with Adelaide Shiffney in that box while she sat alone! If 
 Claude had really known all the time that Adelaide Shiffney 
 was coming and had not told her, Charmian! Unreason, 
 which is the offspring of jealousy, filled her mind. She burned 
 with anger. 
 
 "I know he is in that box with her!" she thought. "And 
 he did not tell me she was coming because he wanted to be 
 with her at the rehearsal and not with me." 
 
 And suddenly her intense, her painful interest in the opera 
 faded away out of her. She was concentrated upon the purely 
 human things. Her imagination of a possibility, which her 
 jealousy already proclaimed a certainty, blotted out even the 
 opera. Woman, man the intentness of the heart came 
 upon her, like a wave creeping all over her, blotting out 
 landmarks. 
 
 The curtain fell on the first act. It had gone well, un- 
 expectedly well. Behind the scenes there were congratula- 
 tions. Crayf ord was radiant. Mr. Mulworth wiped his brow 
 fanatically, but looked almost human as he spoke in a hoarse 
 remnant of voice to a master carpenter. Enid Mardon went 
 off the stage with the massive dressmaker in almost amicable 
 conversation. Meroni, the Milanese conductor, mounted up 
 from his place in the subterranean regions, smiling brilliantly 
 and twisting his black moustaches. Alston Lake had got rid 
 of his nervousness. He knew he had done well and was more 
 "mad" about the opera than ever. 
 
 "It's the bulliest thing there's been in New York in 
 years!" he exclamied, as he went to his dressing-room, where 
 he found Claude, who had been sitting in the orchestra, and 
 who had now hurried round to ask the singers how they felt 
 in their parts. Gillier was with Miss Mardon, at whose feet 
 he was laying his homage. 
 
 Meanwhile Charmian was still quite alone. 
 
 She sat for a moment after the curtain fell. 
 
 27
 
 418 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Surely Claude will come now!" she said to herself. "In 
 decency he must come!" 
 
 But no one came, and anger, the sense of desertion, grew 
 in her till she was unable to sit still any longer. She got 
 up, turned, and again looked toward the box in which she had 
 fancied that she saw something move. Now she saw a woman's 
 arm and hand, a bit of a woman's shoulder. Somebody, a 
 woman, wearing sables, was in the box turning round, evidently 
 in conversation with another person who was hidden. 
 
 Adelaide Shiffney owned wonderful sables. 
 
 Without further hesitation Charmian, driven, made her 
 way to the exit from the stalls on her right, went out and 
 found herself in the blackness of the huge corridor running 
 behind the ground- tier boxes. Before leaving the stalls she 
 had tried to locate the box, and thought that she had located 
 it. She meant to go into it without knocking, as one who 
 supposed it to be empty. Now, with a feverish hand she felt 
 for a door-handle. She found one, turned it, and went into 
 an empty box. Standing still in it, she listened and heard a 
 woman's voice that she knew say: 
 
 "I dare say. But I don't mean to say anything yet. I 
 have my reputation to take care of, you must remember." 
 
 The words ended in a little laugh. 
 
 "It is Adelaide. She's in the next box!" said Charmian 
 to herself. 
 
 For a moment a horrible idea suggested itself to her. She 
 thought of sitting down very softly and of eavesdropping. 
 But the better part of her at once rebelled against this idea, 
 and without hesitation she slipped out of the box. She stood 
 still in the corridor for three or four minutes. The fact that 
 she had seriously thought of eavesdropping almost frightened 
 her, and she was trying to come to the resolve to abandon her 
 project of interrupting Mrs. Shiffney's conversation with the 
 hidden person who, she felt sure, must be Claude. Presently 
 she walked away a few steps, going toward the entrance. 
 Then she stopped again. 
 
 "I have my reputation to take care of, you must 
 remember." 
 
 Adelaide Shiffney's words kept passing through her mind.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 419 
 
 What had Claude said to evoke such words? In the darkness, 
 Charmian, with a strong and excited imagination, conceived 
 Claude faithless to her. She did more. She conceived of 
 triumph and faithlessness coming together into her life, of 
 Claude as a famous man and another woman's lover. " Would 
 you rather he remained obscure and entirely yours?" a voice 
 seemed to say within her. She did not debate this question, 
 but again turned, made her way to Mrs. Shiffney's box, which 
 she located rightly this time, pushed the door and abruptly 
 went into it. 
 
 "Hulloh!" said a powerful and rather surprised voice. 
 
 In the semi-obscurity Charmian saw a very big man, whom 
 she had never seen before, getting up from a chair. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she exclaimed, startled. "I didn't 
 know " 
 
 "Charmian! Is it you?" 
 
 Adelaide Shiffney's voice came from beyond the big man. 
 
 "Adelaide! You've come to our rehearsal!" 
 
 " Yes. Let me introduce Mr. Jonson Ramer to you. This 
 is Mrs. Heath, Jonson, the genius's good angel. Sit down with 
 us for a minute, Charmian." 
 
 Adelaide Shiffney's deep voice was almost suspiciously 
 cordial. But Charmian's sense of relief was so great that 
 she accepted the invitation, and sat down feeling strangely 
 happy. 
 
 But almost instantly with the laying to rest of one anxiety 
 came the birth of another. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of the opera?" she asked, 
 trying to speak carelessly. 
 
 Jonson Ramer leaned toward her. He thought she looked 
 pretty, and he liked pretty women even more than most 
 men do. 
 
 "Very original!" he said. "Opens powerfully. But I 
 don't think we can judge of it yet. It's going remarkably 
 well." 
 
 "Wonderfully!" said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 Charmian turned quickly toward her. It was Adelaide's 
 verdict that she wanted, not Jonson Ramer's. 
 
 "Enid Mardon's perfect," continued Mrs. Shiffney. "She
 
 420 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 will make a sensation. And the mise-en-scecne is really ex- 
 quisite, not overloaded. Crayford has evidently learnt some- 
 thing from Berlin." 
 
 "How malicious Adelaide is!" thought Charmian. "She 
 won't speak of the music simply because she knows I only 
 care about that." 
 
 She talked for a little while, sufficiently mistress of herself 
 to charm Jonson Ramer. Then she got up. 
 
 "I must run away. I have so many people to see and 
 encourage." 
 
 Her gay voice indicated that she needed no encourage- 
 ment, that she was quite sure of success. 
 
 "We shall see you at the end?" said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 "But will you stay? It may be six o'clock in the morn- 
 ing," said Charmian. 
 
 "That is a little late. But" 
 
 At this moment Charmian saw Claude coming into the 
 stalls by the left entrance near the stage. 
 
 "Oh, there's Claude!" she exclaimed, interrupting Mrs. 
 Shiffney, and evidently not knowing that she did so. "Au 
 revoir! Thank you so much!" 
 
 She was gone. 
 
 "Thank me so much!" said Mrs. Shiffney to Jonson Ramer. 
 "What for? Do you know, Jonson?" 
 
 "Seems to me that little woman's unfashionable mad 
 about her own husband!" said Jonson Ramer. 
 
 The curtain went up on the second act. 
 
 Claude had sat down in the stalls. In a moment Charmian 
 slipped into a seat at his side and touched his hand. 
 
 "Claude, where have you been?" 
 
 Her long fingers closed on his hand. 
 
 "Charmian!" 
 
 He looked excited and startled. He stared at her. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 His face changed. 
 
 "Nothing. It's all going well so far." 
 
 "Perfectly. Adelaide Shiffney's here." 
 
 "I know." 
 
 Charmian's fingers unclasped.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 421 
 
 "You've seen her?" 
 
 "No, but I heard she was here with Jonson Ramer." 
 
 "Yes. I've" 
 
 They fell into silence, concentrated upon the stage. In 
 a few minutes they were joined by Gillier, who sat down just 
 behind them. With his coming their attention was intensified. 
 They listened jealously, attended as it were with every fiber 
 of their bodies, as well as with their minds, to everything that 
 was happening in this man-created world. 
 
 Charmian felt Gillier listening, felt, far away behind him, 
 Adelaide Shiffney listening. Gradually her excitement and 
 anxiety became painful. Her mind seemed to her to be burn- 
 ing, not smouldering but flaming. She clasped the two arms 
 of her stall. 
 
 Something went wrong on the stage, and the opera was 
 stopped. The orchestra died away in a sort of wailing 
 confusion, which ceased on the watery sound of a horn. 
 Enid Mardon began speaking with concentrated determination. 
 Crayford and Mr. Mulworth came upon the stage. 
 
 "Where's Mr. Heath? Where's Mr. Heath?" shouted 
 Crayford. 
 
 Claude, who was already standing up, hurried away to- 
 ward the entrance and disappeared. Charmian sat biting 
 her lips and tingling all over in an acute exasperation of the 
 nerves. Behind her Armand Gillier sat in silence. Claude 
 joined the people on the stage, and there was a long col- 
 loquy in which eventually Meroni, the conductor, took part. 
 Charmian presently heard Gillier moving restlessly behind 
 her. Then she heard a snap of metal and knew that he had 
 just looked at his watch. What was Adelaide doing? What 
 was she thinking? What did she think of this breakdown? 
 Everything had been going so well. But now no doubt 
 things would go badly. 
 
 "Will they ever start again?" Charmian asked herself. 
 "What can they be talking about? What can Miss Mardon 
 mean by those frantic gesticulations, now by turning her back 
 on Mr. Crayford and Claude? If only people 
 
 Meroni left the stage. In a moment the orchestra sounded 
 once more. Charmian turned round instinctively for sympathy
 
 422 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 to Armand Gillier, and caught an unpleasnat look in his large 
 eyes. Instantly she was on the defensive. 
 
 "It's going marvellously for a first full rehearsal," she said 
 to him. " Claude expected we should be~ here for nine or ten 
 hours at the very least." 
 
 "Possibly, madame!" he replied. 
 
 He gnawed his moustache. His head, drenched as usual 
 with eau-de-quinine, looked hard as a bullet. Charmian 
 wondered what thoughts, what expectations it contained. 
 But she turned again to the stage without saying anything 
 more. At that moment she hated Gillier for not helping her 
 to be sanguine. She said to herself that he had been always 
 against both her and Claude. Of course he would be cruelly, 
 ferociously critical of Claude's music, because he was so in- 
 fatuated with his own libretto. Angrily she dubbed him a 
 poor victim of megalomania. 
 
 Claude slipped into the seat at her side, and suddenly she 
 felt comforted, protected. But these alternations of hope and 
 fear tried her nerves. She began to be conscious of that, to 
 feel the intensity of the strain she was undergoing. Was not 
 the strain upon Claude's nerves much greater? She stole a 
 glance at his dark face, but could not tell. 
 
 The second act came to an end without another break- 
 down, but Charmian felt more doubtful about the opera than 
 she had felt after the first act. The deadness of rehearsal 
 began to creep upon her, almost like moss creeping over a 
 building. Claude hurried away again. And Mrs. Haynes, the 
 dressmaker, took his place and began telling Charmian a long 
 story about Enid Mardon's impossible proceedings. It seemed 
 that she had picked, or torn, to pieces another dress. Charmian 
 listened, tried to listen, failed really to listen. She seemed to 
 smell the theater. She felt both dull and excited. 
 
 "I said to her, 'Madame, it is only monkeys who pick 
 everything to pieces.' I felt it was time that I spoke out 
 strongly." 
 
 Mrs. Haynes continued inexorably. In the well of the 
 orchestra a hidden flute suddenly ran up a scale ending on E 
 flat. Charmian almost began to writhe with secret irritation. 
 
 "What a long wait!" she exclaimed, ruthlessly inter-
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 423 
 
 rupting her companion. "I really must go behind and see 
 what is happening." 
 
 "But they must have a quarter of an hour to change the 
 set," said the dressmaker. "And it's only five minutes 
 since " 
 
 "Yes, I know. I'll look for you here when the curtain 
 goes up." 
 
 As she made her way toward the exit she turned and 
 looked toward the boxes. She did not see the distant figures 
 of Mrs. Shiffney and the financier. And she stopped abruptly. 
 Could they have gone away already? She looked at her watch. 
 It was only ten o'clock. Her eyes travelled swiftly round the 
 semicircle of boxes. She saw no one. They must have gone. 
 Her heart sank, but her cheeks burned with an angry flush. 
 At that moment she felt almost like a mother who hears people 
 call her child ugly. She stood for a moment, thinking. The 
 verdict in advance! If Mrs. Shiffney had gone away it was 
 surely given already. Charmian resolved that she would say 
 nothing to Claude. To do so might discourage him. Her 
 cheeks were still burning when she pushed the heavy door 
 which protected the mysterious region from the banality she 
 had left. 
 
 But there she was again carried from mood to mood. 
 
 She found everyone enthusiastic. Crayford's tic was 
 almost triumphant. His little beard bristled with an aggres- 
 sive optimism. 
 
 "Where's Claude?" said Charmian, not seeing him and 
 thinking of Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 "Making some cuts," said Crayford. "The stage shows 
 things up. There are bits in that act that have got to come 
 out. But it's a bully act and will go down as easily as a 
 Hullo, Jimber! Sure you've got your motors right for the 
 locust scene?" 
 
 He escaped. 
 
 "Mr. Mulworth!" cried Charmian, seeing the producer 
 rushing toward the wings, with the perspiration pouring over 
 his now haggard features. "Mister Mulworth! How long 
 will Claude take making the cuts, do you think?" 
 
 "He'll have to stick at them all through the next act. If
 
 424 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 they're not made the act's a fizzle! Jeremy! See here! 
 We've got to have a pin-light on Miss Mardon when she comes 
 down that staircase!" 
 
 He escaped. 
 
 "Signer Meroni, I hear you have to make some cuts! 
 D'you think" 
 
 " Signora ma si! Ma si! " 
 
 He escaped. 
 
 "Take care, marm, if you please! Look out for that sand 
 bank!" 
 
 Charmian withdrew from the frantic turmoil of work, and 
 fled to visit the singers, and drink in more comfort. The only 
 person who dashed her hopes was Miss Enid Mardon, who 
 was a great artist but by nature a pessimist, ultra critical, 
 full of satire and alarmingly outspoken. 
 
 "I tell you honestly," she said, looking at Charmian with 
 fatalistic eyes, "I don't believe in it. But I'll do my 
 best." 
 
 "But I thought you were delighted with the first act. 
 Surely Monsieur Gillier told me " 
 
 "Oh, I only spoke to him about the libretto. That's a 
 masterpiece. Did you ever see such a dress as that elephant 
 Haynes expects me to wear for the third act?" 
 
 "Really Miss Mardon's impossible!" Charmian was saying 
 a moment later to Alston Lake. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Charmian?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know! She always looks on the dark side." 
 
 "With eyes like hers what else can she do? Isn't it going 
 stunningly?" 
 
 "Alston, I must tell you you're an absolute darling!" 
 
 She nearly kissed him. A bell sounded. 
 
 "Third act!" exclaimed Alston, in his resounding baritone. 
 
 Charmian escaped, feeling much more hopeful, indeed 
 almost elated. Alston was right. With eyes like hers how 
 could Enid Mardon anticipate good things? 
 
 Nevertheless Charmian remembered that she had called 
 the libretto a masterpiece. 
 
 Oh! the agony of these swiftly changing moods! She felt 
 as if she were being tossed from one to another by some cruel
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 425 
 
 giant. She tried to look forward. She said to herself, " Very 
 soon we shall know! All this will be at an end." 
 
 But when the third act was finished she felt as if never 
 could there be an end to her acute nervous anxiety. For the 
 third act did not go well. The locusts were all wrong. The 
 lighting did not do. Most of the "effects" missed fire. 
 There were stoppages, there were arguments, there was a row 
 between Miss Mardon and Signor Meroni. Passages were 
 re-tried, chaos seemed to descend upon the stage, engulfing 
 the opera and all who had anything to do with it. Charmian 
 grew cold with despair. 
 
 "Thank God Adelaide did go away!" she said to herself 
 at half-past one in the morning. 
 
 She turned her head and saw Mrs. Shiffney and Jonson 
 Ramer sitting in the stalls not far from her. Mrs. Shiffney 
 made a friendly gesture, lifting up her right hand. Charmian 
 returned it, and set her teeth. 
 
 "What does it matter? I don't care!" 
 
 The act ended as it had begun in chaos. In the finale 
 something went all wrong in the orchestra, and the whole 
 thing had to be stopped. Miss Mardon was furious. There 
 was an altercation. 
 
 "This," said Charmian to herself, "is my idea of Hell." 
 
 She felt that she was being punished for every sin, however 
 tiny, that she had ever committed. She longed to creep 
 away and hide. She thought of all she had done to bring 
 about the opera, of the flight from England, of the life at 
 Djenan-el-Maqui, of the grand hopes that had lived in the 
 little white house above the sea. 
 
 "Start it again, I tell you!" roared Crayford. "We can't 
 stand here all night to hear you talking!" 
 
 "Yes," a voice within Charmian said, "this is Hell!" 
 
 She bent her head. She felt like one sinking down. 
 
 When the act was over she went out at once. She was 
 afraid of Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 The smiling colored man took her up in the elevator to 
 a room where she found Claude in his shirt sleeves, with a 
 cup of black coffee beside him, working at the score. He 
 looked up.
 
 426 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Charmian! I've just finished all I can do to-night. 
 What's the time?" 
 
 "Nearly two." 
 
 "Did the third act go well?" 
 
 She looked at his white face and burning eyes. 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 " Sit down. You look tired." 
 
 He went on working. 
 
 Just as two o'clock struck he finished, and got up from the 
 table over which he had been leaning for hours. 
 
 "Come along! Let's go down. Oh!" 
 
 He stopped, and drank the black coffee. 
 
 "By the way," he said, "won't you have some?" 
 
 "Yes," she said eagerly. 
 
 He rang and ordered some for her. While they were 
 waiting for it she said: 
 
 "What an experience this is!" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How quietly you take it!" 
 
 "We're in for it. It would be no use to lose one's head." 
 
 " No, of course! But oh, what a fight it is. I can scarcely 
 believe that in a few days it must be over, that we shall 
 know!" 
 
 "Here's the coffee. Drink it up." 
 
 She drank it. They went down in the lift. As they 
 parted for Claude had to go to Meroni Charmian said: 
 
 "Adelaide Shiffney's still here." 
 
 "If she stays to the end we must find out what she thinks." 
 
 "Or shall we leave it? After all " 
 
 "No, no! I wish to hear her opinion." 
 
 There was a hard dry sound in his voice. 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 Claude disappeared. 
 
 The black coffee which Charmian had drunk excited her. 
 But it helped her. As she went back into the theater for the 
 fourth and last act she felt suddenly stronger, more hopeful. 
 She was able to say to herself, "This is only a rehearsal. 
 Rehearsals always go badly. If they don't actors and singers 
 think it a bad sign. Of course the opera cannot sound really
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 427 
 
 well when they keep stopping." Another thing helped her 
 now. She was joined by Alston Lake who was not on in 
 the last act. He took her to a box and they ensconced them- 
 selves in it together. Then he produced from the capacious 
 pockets of his overcoat a box of delicious sandwiches and a 
 small bottle of white wine. The curtain was still down. 
 They had time for a gay little supper. 
 
 How Charmian enjoyed it and Alston's optimism I The 
 world changed. She saw everything in another light. She 
 ate, drank, talked, laughed. Mrs. Shiffney and Ramer had 
 vanished from the stalls, but Alston said they were still in 
 the theater. They were having supper, too, in one of the 
 lobbies. Crayford had just gone to see them. 
 
 "And is he satisfied?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. He says it's coming out all right." 
 
 "But it can't be ready by the date he's fixed for the first 
 night!" 
 
 "Yes, it can. It's got to be." 
 
 "Well, I don't see how it can be." 
 
 "It will be. Crayford has said so. And that settles it." 
 
 "What an extraordinary man he is!" 
 
 "He's a great man!" 
 
 "Alston!" 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Charmian?" 
 
 "He wouldn't make a great mistake, would he?" 
 
 "A mistake!" 
 
 "I mean a huge mistake." 
 
 "Not he! There goes the curtain at last." 
 
 "And there's Adelaide Shiffney coming in again. She is 
 going to stay to the end. If only this act goes well!" 
 
 She shut her eyes for a minute and found herself praying. 
 The coffee, the little supper had revived her. She felt re- 
 newed. All fatigue had left her. She was alert, intent, ex- 
 cited, far more self-possessed than she had been at any other 
 period of the night. And she felt strongly responsive. The 
 power of Gillier's libretto culminated in the last act, which was 
 short, fierce, concentrated, and highly dramatic. In it Enid 
 Mardon had a big acting chance. She and Gillier had become 
 great allies, on account of her admiration of his libretto.
 
 428 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Gillier, who had been with her many times during the night r 
 now slipped into the front row of the stalls to watch his 
 divinity. 
 
 "There's Gillier!" whispered Charmian. "He's mad about 
 Miss Mardon." 
 
 "She's a great artist." 
 
 "I know. But, oh, how I hate her!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 But Charmian would not tell him. And now they gave 
 themselves to the last act. 
 
 It went splendidly, without a hitch. After the misery of 
 the third act this successful conclusion was the more surpris- 
 ing. It swept away all Charmian's doubts. She frankly 
 exulted. It even seemed to her that never at any time had 
 she felt any doubts about the fate of the opera. From the 
 first its triumph had been a foregone conclusion. From the 
 abysses she floated up to the peaks and far above them. 
 
 "Oh, Alston, it's too wonderful!" she exclaimed. "If only 
 there were someone to applaud!" 
 
 "There'll be a crowd in a few days." 
 
 "How glorious! How I long to see them, the dear thou- 
 sands shouting for Claude. I must go to Adelaide Shiffney. 
 I must catch her before she goes. There can't be two opinions. 
 An act like that is irresistible. Oh!" 
 
 She almost rushed out of the box. 
 
 In the stalls she came upon Mrs. Shiffney and Jonson 
 Ramer who were standing up ready to go. A noise of de- 
 parture came up from the hidden orchestra. Voices were 
 shouting behind the scenes. In a moment the atmosphere 
 of the vast theater seemed to have entirely changed. Night 
 and the deadness of slumber seemed falling softly, yet heavily, 
 about it. The musicians were putting their instruments into 
 cases and bags. A black cat stole furtively unseen along a 
 row of stalls, heading away from Charmian. 
 
 "So you actually stayed to the end!" Charmian said. 
 
 Her eyes were fastened on Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 "Oh, yes. We couldn't tear ourselves away, could we, 
 Mr. Ramer?" 
 
 "No, indeed!"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 429 
 
 "The last act is the best of all," Mrs. Shiffney said. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it?" said Charmian. 
 
 There was a slight pause. Then Ramer said: 
 
 "I must really congratulate you, Mrs. Heath. I don't 
 know your husband unfortunately, but " 
 
 "Here he is!" said Charmian. 
 
 At this moment Claude came toward them, holding 
 himself, she thought, unusually upright, almost like a man 
 who has been put through too much drill. With a deter- 
 mined manner, and smiling, he came up to them. 
 
 "I feel almost ashamed to have kept you here to this 
 hour," he said to Mrs. Shiffney. "But really for a rehearsal 
 it didn't go so badly, did it?" 
 
 "Wonderfully well we thought. Mr. Ramer wants to 
 congratulate you." 
 
 She introduced the two men to one another. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" said Ramer. "It's a most interesting 
 work most interesting." He laid a heavy emphasis on the 
 repeated words, and glanced sideways at Mrs. Shiffney, whose 
 lips were fixed in a smile. "And how admirably put on!" 
 
 He ran on for several minutes with great self-possession. 
 
 "Miss Mar don is quite wonderful!" said Mrs. Shiffney, 
 when he stopped. 
 
 And she talked rapidly for some minutes, touching on 
 various points in the opera with a great deal of deftness. 
 
 "As to Alston Lake, he quite astonished us!" she said 
 presently. "He is going to be a huge success." 
 
 She discussed the singers, showing her usual half-slipshod 
 discrimination, dropping here and there criticisms full of 
 acuteness. 
 
 "Altogether," she concluded, "it has been a most interest- 
 ing and unusual evening. Ah, there is Monsieur Gillier!" 
 
 Gillier came up and received congratulations. His expres- 
 sion was very strange. It seemed to combine something 
 that was morose with a sort of exultation. Once he shot a 
 half savage glance at Claude. He raved about Enid Mardon. 
 
 "We are going round to see her!" Mrs. Shiffney said. 
 "Come, Mr. Ramer!" 
 
 Quickly she wished Charmian and Claude good-night.
 
 430 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "All my congratulations!" she said. "And a thousand 
 wishes for a triumph on the first night. By the way, will it 
 really be on the twenty-eighth, do you think?" 
 
 "I believe so," said Claude. 
 
 " Can it be ready?" 
 
 "We mean to try." 
 
 "Ah, you are workers! And Mr. Crayford's a wonder. 
 Good-night, dear Charmian! What a night for you!" 
 
 She buttoned her sable coat at the neck and went away 
 with Ramer and Armand Gillier. 
 
 As she turned to the right in the corridor she murmured 
 to Gillier: 
 
 "Why didn't you give it to Jacques? Oh, the pity of 
 it!" 
 
 Claude and Charmian said scarcely anything as they drove 
 to their hotel. Charmian lay back in the taxi-cab with shut 
 eyes, her temples throbbing. But when they were in their 
 sitting-room she came close to her husband, and said: 
 
 "Claude, I want to ask you something." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Have you had a quarrel with Adelaide Shiffney?" 
 
 Claude hesitated. 
 
 "A quarrel?" 
 
 "Yes. Have you given her any reason just lately to 
 dislike you personally, to hate you perhaps?" 
 
 "What should make you think so?" 
 
 "Please answer me!" Her voice had grown sharp. 
 
 "Perhaps I have. But please don't ask me anything 
 more, Charmian. If you do, I cannot answer you." 
 
 "Now I understand!" she exclaimed, almost passionately. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Why she turned down her thumb at the opera." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Claude, she did, she did! You know she did! There 
 was not one real word for you from either her or Mr. Ramer, 
 not one! We've had her verdict. But what is it worth? 
 Nothing! Less than nothing! You've told me why. All 
 her cleverness, all her discrimination has failed her, just 
 because oh, we women are contemptible sometimes! It's
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 431 
 
 no use our pretending we aren't. Claude, I'm glad I'm 
 thankful you've made her hate you. And I know how!" 
 
 "Hush! Don't let us talk about it." 
 
 "Poor Adelaide! How mad she will be on the twenty- 
 eighth when she hears how the public take it!" 
 
 Claude only said: 
 
 "If we are ready."
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 JACOB CRAYFORD was not the man to be beaten when 
 he had set his heart on, put his hand to, any enterprise. 
 On the day he had fixed upon for the production of 
 Claude's opera the opera was ready to be produced. At the 
 cost of heroic exertions the rough places had been made plain, 
 every stage " effect " had been put right, all the " cuts " declared 
 by Crayford to be essential had been made by Claude, the 
 orchestra had mastered its work, the singers were "at home" 
 in their parts. How it had all been accomplished in the short 
 time Charmian did not understand. It seemed to her almost 
 as if she had assisted at the accomplishment of the incredible, 
 as if she had seen a miracle happen. She was obliged to be- 
 lieve in it after the final rehearsal, which was, so Crayford, Mr. 
 Mulworth, Meroni, and it was even rumored Jimber declared, 
 the most perfect rehearsal they had ever been present at. 
 
 "Exactly three hours and a half!" Crayford had remarked 
 when the curtain came down on the fourth act. "So we 
 come ahead of the Metropolitan. I've just heard they've had 
 a set back with Sennier's opera; can't produce for nearly 
 a week after the date they'd settled. We needn't have been 
 in such a devil of a hurry after all. But we've got the laugh 
 on them now. Sennier's first opera was a white man. No 
 doubt about that. But the hoodoo seems out against this one. 
 I tell you" he had swung round to Claude, who had just 
 come upon the stage "I'd rather have this opera of yours 
 than Sennier's, although he's known all over creation and 
 you're nothing but a boom-boy up to now. I used to believe 
 in names, but upon my word seems to me the public's changing. 
 Give 'em the goods and they don't care where they come from." 
 
 His eyes twinkled as he added, clapping Claude on the 
 shoulder : 
 
 "All very well for you now, my boy! But you'll wish it 
 was the other way, p'raps, when you come round to the stage 
 door with your next opera on offer!" 
 
 432
 
 433 
 
 He was in grand spirits. He had "licked" the Metro- 
 politan to a " frazzle" over the date of production, and he 
 was going to "lick them to a frazzle" with the production. 
 Every reserved seat in the house was sold for Claude's first 
 night. Crayford stepped on air. 
 
 In the afternoon of the day of production, when Charmian 
 and Claude, shut up in their apartment at the St. Regis, and 
 denied to all visitors, were trying to rest, and were pretending 
 to be quite calm, a note was brought in from Mrs. Shiffney. 
 It was addressed to Charmian, and contained a folded slip of 
 green paper, which fell to the ground as she opened the note. 
 Claude picked it up. 
 
 "What is it?" said Charmian. 
 
 "A box ticket for the Metropolitan. It must be for 
 Sennier's first night, I suppose." 
 
 "It is!" said Charmian, who had looked at the note. 
 
 In a moment she gave it to Claude without comment. 
 
 RITZ-CARLTON HOTEL. 
 Feb. zSth 
 
 "DEAR CHARMIAN, Only a word to wish you and your 
 genius a gigantic success to-night. We've all been praying for 
 it. Even Susan has condescended from the universal to the 
 particular on this occasion, because she's so devoted to both 
 of you. We are all coming, of course, Box Number Fifteen, 
 and are going to wear our best Sunday tiaras in honor of the 
 occasion. I hear you are to have a marvellous audience, all 
 the millionaires, as well as your humble friends, the Adelaides 
 and the Susans and the Henriette Senniers. Mr. Crayford 
 is a magnificent drum-beater, but after to-night your genius 
 won't need him, I hope and believe. I enclose a box for 
 Jacques Sennier's first night, which, as you'll see by the date, 
 has had to be postponed for four days something wrong with 
 the scenery. No hitch in your case! I feel you are on the 
 edge of a triumph. 
 
 "Hopes and prayers for the genius. Yours ever sincerely, 
 
 "ADELAIDE SHIFFNEY." 
 
 "Susan sends her love not the universal brand." 
 
 28
 
 434 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Claude read the note, and kept it for a moment in his hand. 
 He was looking at it, but he knew Charmian's eyes were 
 on him, he knew she was silently asking him to tell her all 
 that had happened between Mrs. Shiffney and him. And he 
 realized that her curiosity was the offspring of a jealousy 
 which she probably wished to conceal, but which she suffered 
 under even on such a day of anxiety and anticipation as 
 this. 
 
 "Very kind of her!" he said at last, giving back the note 
 with the box ticket carefully folded between the leaves. 
 "Of course we will go to hear Sennier's opera. He is coming 
 to ours." 
 
 "To yours!" 
 
 "Ours!" Claude repeated, with emphasis. 
 
 Charmian looked down. Then she went to the writing- 
 table and put Mrs. Shiffney's note into one of its little drawers. 
 She pushed the drawer softly. It clicked as it shut. She 
 sighed. Something in the note they had just read made her 
 feel apprehensive. It was almost as if it had given out a 
 subtle exhalation which had affected her physically. 
 
 "Claudie!" she said, turning round. "I would give 
 almost anything to be like Susan to-day." 
 
 "Would you? But why?" 
 
 "She would be able to take it all calmly. She would be 
 able to say to herself 'all this is passing, a moment in 
 eternity, whichever way things go my soul will remain un- 
 affected' something like that. And it would really be so 
 with Susan." 
 
 " She certainly carries with her a great calmness." 
 
 Charmian gazed at him. 
 
 "You are wonderful to-day, too." 
 
 Claude had kept up to this moment his dominating, almost 
 bold air of a conqueror of circumstances, the armor which he 
 had put on as a dress suitable to New York. 
 
 "But in quite a different way," she added. "Susan 
 never defies." 
 
 Claude was startled by her shrewdness but avoided com- 
 ment on it. 
 
 "Madre must be thinking of us to-day," he said.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 435 
 
 "Yes. I thought I almost expected she would send us 
 a cablegram." 
 
 "It may come yet. There's plenty of time." 
 
 Charmian looked at the clock. 
 
 "Only four hours before the curtain goes up." 
 
 "Or we may find one for us at the theater." 
 
 " Somehow I don't think Madre would send it there." 
 
 She went to sit down on the sofa, putting cushions behind 
 her with nervous hands, leaned back, leaned forward, moved 
 the cushions, again leaned back. 
 
 "I almost wish we'd asked Alston to come in to-day," 
 she said. 
 
 "But he's resting." 
 
 "I know. But he would have come. He could have 
 rested here with us." 
 
 "Better for him to keep his voice perfectly quiet. To- 
 night is his debut. He has got to pay back over three years 
 to Crayford with his performance to-night. And we shall 
 have him with us at supper." 
 
 Charmian moved again, pushed the cushions away 'from 
 her. 
 
 "Yes, I've ordered it, a wonderful supper, all the things 
 you and Alston like best." 
 
 "We'll enjoy it." 
 
 "Won't we? You sent Miss Mardon the flowers?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The telephone sounded. 
 
 "It is Miss Mardon," Claude said, as he listened. "She's 
 thanking me for the flowers." 
 
 "Give her my love and best wishes for to-night." 
 
 Claude obeyed, and added his own in a firm and cheerful 
 voice. 
 
 "She's resting, of course," said Charmian. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Everyone resting. It seems almost ghastly." 
 
 "Why?" he said, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know death-like. I'm stupid to-day." 
 
 She longed to say, "I am full of forebodings!" But she 
 was held back by the thought, " Shall I fail in resolution at
 
 436 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 the last moment, show the white feather when he is so cool, 
 so master of himself? I who have been such a courageous 
 wife, who have urged him on, who have made this day 
 possible!" 
 
 "It's only the physical reaction," she added hastily. 
 "After all we've gone through." 
 
 "Oh, we mustn't give way to reaction yet. We've got the 
 big thing in front of us. All the rest is nothing in comparison 
 with to-night." 
 
 "I know! I hope Madre will cable. If she doesn't, it 
 will seem like a bad omen. I shall feel as if she didn't care 
 what happens." 
 
 He said nothing. 
 
 "Won't you?" she asked. 
 
 "I think she will cable. But even if she doesn't, I know 
 she always cares very much what happens to you and me. 
 Nothing would ever make me doubt that." 
 
 "No, of course not. But I do want her to show it, to 
 prove it to us to-day. It is such a day in our lives! Never, 
 so long as we live, can we have such another day. It is the 
 day I dreamed of, the day I foresaw, that night at Covent 
 Garden." 
 
 She felt a longing, which she checked, to add, "It is the 
 day I decreed when I looked at Henriette Sennier!" But 
 though she checked the longing, its birth had brought to her 
 hope. She, a girl, had decreed this day and her decree had 
 been obeyed. Her will had been exerted, and her will had 
 triumphed. Nothing could break down that fact. Nothing 
 could ever take from her the glory of that achievement. 
 And it seemed to point to the ultimate glory for which she had 
 been living so long, for which she had endured so patiently. 
 Suddenly her restlessness increased, but it was no longer 
 merely the restlessness of unquiet nerves. Anticipation 
 whipped her to movement, and she sprang up abruptly from 
 the sofa. 
 
 "Claude, I can't stay in here! I can't rest. Don't ask 
 me to. Anything else, but not that!" 
 
 She went to him, put her hands on his shoulders. 
 
 "Be a dear! Take me out!"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 437 
 
 "Where to?" 
 
 "Anywhere! Fifth Avenue, Central Park! Let us walk! 
 I know! Let us walk across the park and look at the theater, 
 our theater. A walk will do me more good than you can 
 dream of, genius though you are. And the time will pass 
 quickly. I want it to fly. I want it to be night. I want to 
 see the crowd. I want to hear it. How can we sit here in 
 this hot red room waiting? Take me out!" 
 
 Claude was glad to obey her. They wrapped themselves 
 up, for it was a bitter day, and went down to the hall. As 
 they passed the bureau the well-dressed, smooth-faced men be- 
 hind the broad barrier looked at them with a certain interest and 
 smiled. Charmian glanced round gaily and nodded to them. 
 
 "I am sure they are all wishing us well!" she said to Claude. 
 "I quite love Americans." 
 
 "A taxi, sir?" asked a big man in uniform outside. 
 
 "No, thank you." 
 
 They went to the left and turned into Fifth Avenue. 
 
 How it roared that day! An endless river of motor-cars 
 poured down it. Pedestrians thronged the pavements, 
 hurrying by vivaciously, brimming with life, with vigor, 
 with purpose. The nations, it seemed, were there. For the 
 types were many, and called up before the imagination a 
 great vision of the world, not merely a conception of New 
 York or of America. Charmian looked at the faces flitting 
 past and thought: 
 
 "What a world it is to conquer!" 
 
 "Isn't it splendid out here!" she said. "What an almost 
 maddening whirl of life. Faces, faces, faces, and brains and 
 souls behind them. I love to see all these faces to-day. I 
 feel the brains and the souls are wanting something that you 
 are going to give them." 
 
 "Let us hope one or two out of the multitude may be!" 
 
 "One or two! Claudie, you miserable niggard! You 
 always think yourself unwanted. But you will see to-night. 
 Every reserved seat and every box is taken, every single one! 
 Think of that and all because of what you have done. Are 
 we going to Central Park?" 
 
 " Unless you wish to promenade up and down Fifth Avenue."
 
 438 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "No, I did say the Park, and we will go there. But let 
 us walk near the edge, not too far away from this marvellous 
 city. Never was there a city like New York for life. I'm 
 sure of that. It's as if every living creature had quicksilver 
 in his veins or her veins. For I never saw such vital women 
 as one sees here anywhere else! Oh, Claude! When you 
 conquer these wonderful women!" 
 
 Her vivacity and excitement were almost unnatural. 
 
 "New York intoxicates me to-day!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "How are you going to do without it?" 
 
 "When we go?" 
 
 "Yes, when we go home?" 
 
 "Home? But where is our home?" 
 
 "In Kensington Square, I suppose." 
 
 "I don't feel as if we should ever be able to settle down 
 there again. That little house saw our little beginnings, 
 when we didn't know what we really meant to do." 
 
 "Djenan-el-Maqui then?" 
 
 "Ah!" she said, with a changed voice. "Djenan-el- 
 Maqui! What I have felt there! More than I ever can tell 
 you, Claudie." 
 
 She began to desire the comparative quiet of the Park, 
 and was glad that just then they passed the Plaza Hotel and 
 went toward it. 
 
 "I wonder how Enid Mardon is feeling," she said, looking 
 up at the ranges of windows. "Which is the tenth floor 
 where she is?" 
 
 "Don't ask me to count to-day. I would rather play 
 with the squirrels." 
 
 They were among the trees now and walked on briskly. 
 Both of them needed movement and action, something to 
 "take them out of themselves." A gray squirrel ran down 
 from its tree with a waving tail and crossed just in front of 
 them slowly. Charmian followed it with her eyes. It had 
 an air of cheerful detachment, of self-possession, almost of 
 importance, as if it were fully conscious of its own value in 
 the scheme of the universe, whatever others might think. 
 
 "How contented that little beast looks," said Claude.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 439 
 
 "But it can never be really happy, as you and I could be, 
 as we are going to be." 
 
 "No, perhaps not. But there's the other side." 
 
 He quoted Dante: 
 
 "Quanta la cosa b piti perjetta piu senta U bene, e cosi la 
 doglienza." 
 
 "I don't wish to prove that I'm high up in the scale by 
 suffering," she said. "Do you?" 
 
 "Ought not the artist to be ready for every experience?" 
 he answered. 
 
 And she thought she detected in his voice a creeping of 
 irony. 
 
 "We are getting near to the theater," she said presently, 
 when they had walked for a time in silence. "Let us keep in 
 the Park till we are close to it, and then just stand and look 
 at it for a moment from the opposite side of the way." 
 
 "Yes," he said. 
 
 Evening was falling as they stood before the great building, 
 the home of their fortune of the night. The broad roadway 
 lay between them and it. Carriages rolled perpetually by, 
 motor-cars glided out of the dimness of one distance into the 
 dimness of the other. Across the flood of humanity they 
 gazed at the great blind building, which would soon be bril- 
 liantly lit up for them, because of what they had done. The 
 carriages, the motor-cars filed by. A little later and they 
 would stop in front of the monster, to give it the food it desired, 
 to fill its capacious maw. And out of every carriage, out of 
 every motor-car, would step a judge, or judges, prepared to 
 join in the great decision by which was to be decided a fate.- 
 Both Claude and Charmian were thinking of this as they stood 
 together, while the darkness gathered about them and the cold 
 wind eddied by. And Charmian longed passionately to have 
 the power to hypnotize all those brains into thinking Claude's 
 work wonderful, all those hearts into loving it. For a moment 
 the thought of the human being's independence almost appalled 
 her. 
 
 "It looks cold and almost dead now," she murmured. 
 "How different it will look in a few hours!"
 
 440 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They still stood there, almost like two children, fascinated 
 by the sight of the theater. Charmian was rapt. For a 
 moment she forgot the passers-by, the~gliding motor-cars, the 
 noises of the city, even herself. She was giving herself im- 
 aginatively to fate, not as herself, but merely as a human life. 
 She was feeling the profound mystery of human life held in 
 the arms of destiny. An abrupt movement of Claude almost 
 startled her. 
 
 "What is it?" she said. 
 
 She looked up at him quickly. 
 
 "What's the matter, Claude?" 
 
 "Nothing," he answered. "But it's time we went back 
 to the hotel. Come along." 
 
 And without another glance at the theater he turned round 
 and began to walk quickly. 
 
 He had seen on the other side of the way, going toward 
 the theater, the colored woman in the huge pink hat, of whom 
 he had caught a glimpse on the night when Alston Lake had 
 fetched him and Charmian to see the rehearsal of the " locust- 
 effect." The woman turned her head, seemed to gaze at him 
 across the road with her bulging eyes, stretched her thick lips 
 in a smile. Then she took her place in a queue which was be- 
 ginning to lengthen outside one of the gallery doors of the 
 theater.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE great theater which Jacob Crayford had built to 
 "knock out" the Metropolitan Opera House filled slowly. 
 Those dark and receding galleries, which had drawn the 
 eyes of Charmian, were already crowded, alive with white 
 moving faces, murmurous with voices. In the corridors and 
 the lobbies many men were standing and talking. Smartly 
 dressed women began to show themselves in the curving ranges 
 of boxes. Musical critics and newspaper men gathered in 
 knots and discussed the musical season, the fight that was 
 "on" between the two opera houses, the libretto-scandal, 
 which had not yet entirely died down, Jacob Crayford's pros- 
 pects of becoming a really great power in opera. 
 
 Crayford's indomitable pluck and determined spending of 
 money, had impressed the American imagination. There 
 were many who wished him well. The Metropolitan Opera 
 House, with the millionaires behind it, could be trusted to 
 take care of itself. Crayford was spending his own money, 
 won entirely by his own enterprise, cleverness and grit. He 
 was a man. Men instinctively wished to see him get in front. 
 And to-night Claude stood side by side with Crayford, his 
 chosen comrade in the battle. Critics and newspaper men 
 were disposed to lift him on their shoulders if only he gave 
 them the chance. The current of opinion favored him. 
 Report of his work was good. Jaded critics, newspaper men 
 who had seen and known too much, longed for novelty. 
 Crayford's prophecy was coming true. America was turning 
 its bright and sharp eyes toward the East. And out of the 
 East, said rumor, this new opera came. Surely it would 
 bring with it a breath of that exquisite air which prevails 
 where the sands lift their golden crests, the creaking rustle of 
 palm trees, the silence of the naked spaces where God lives 
 without man, the chatter, the cries, the tinkling stream voices 
 of the oases. 
 
 Even tired men and men who had seen too much knew 
 
 441
 
 442 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 anticipation to-night. Word had gone around that Crayford 
 had brought the East to America. People were eager to take 
 their places upon his magic carpet. 
 
 The crowd in the lobbies increased. The corridors were 
 thronged. 
 
 Van Brinen passed by, walking slowly, and looking about 
 him with his rather pathetic eyes. He saw Jacob Crayford, 
 smartly dressed, a white flower in his buttonhole, standing in 
 a group of pressmen, went up to him and gently took him by 
 the arm. 
 
 "Hulloh, Van Brinen! Going to be kind to us to-night?" 
 
 "I hope so. Your man is a man of value." 
 
 "Heath? And if he weren't, d'you think I'd be spending 
 my last dollar on him? But what do you know of his music 
 more than the others?" 
 
 And Crayford's eyes, become suddenly sharp and piercing, 
 fixed themselves on the critic's face. 
 
 "I heard some of it one night in his room at the St. Regis." 
 
 "Bits of the opera?" 
 
 "One bit. But there was something else that impressed 
 me enormously almost terrible music." 
 
 "Oh, that was probably some of his Bible rubbish. But 
 thank the Lord we've got him away from all that. Hulloh, 
 Perkins! Come here to see me get in front?" 
 
 In box fifteen, on the ground tier, Mrs. Shiffney settled 
 herself with Madame Sennier, Jacques Sennier, and Jonson 
 Ramer. Susan Fleet was next door with friends, a highly 
 cultivated elderly man, famous as a lawyer and connoisseur, 
 and his wife. Alston Lake's family and most of his many 
 friends were in the stalls, where Armand Gillier had a seat 
 close to a gangway, so that he could easily slip out to pay his 
 homage to Enid Mardon. His head was soaked with eau-de- 
 quinine. On his muscular hands he wore thick white kid 
 gloves. And he gazed at his name on the programme with 
 almost greedy eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney glanced swiftly about the immense house, 
 looking from box to box. She took up her opera glasses. 
 
 "I wonder where the Heaths are sitting," she said. 
 "Henriette, can you see them?"
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 443 
 
 Madame Sennier looked round with her hard yellow eyes. 
 
 "No. Perhaps they aren't here yet. Or they may be 
 above us. Or perhaps they are too nervous to come." 
 
 Her painted lips stretched themselves in a faint and enig- 
 matic smile. 
 
 "I'm quite sure Charmian Heath will be here. This is 
 to be the great night of her life. She is not the woman to 
 miss it." 
 
 Mrs. Shiffney leaned round to the next box. 
 
 "Susan, can you see the Heaths?" 
 
 "Yes," returned the theosophist, in her calm chest voice. 
 "She is just coming into a box on the same tier as we are in " 
 
 "Where? Where?" 
 
 "Over there, on my right, about ten boxes from us. She 
 is in pale green." 
 
 "That pretty woman!" said the elderly lawyer. "Is she 
 the composer's wife?" 
 
 He put up his glasses. 
 
 "Yes, I see now," said Mrs. Shiffney. 
 
 She drew back into her box. 
 
 "There she is, Henriette! She seems to be alone. But 
 Heath is sitting behind her in the shadow. I saw him for a 
 minute before he sat down." 
 
 Madame Sennier looked at Charmian as Charmian had once 
 looked at her across another opera house. But her mind 
 contemplated Charmian in this hour of her destiny implacably. 
 She said nothing. 
 
 Jacques Sennier began to chatter. 
 
 At a few minutes past eight the lights went down and the 
 opera began. 
 
 Charmian and Claude were alone in their box. On the 
 empty seat beside hers Charmian had laid some red roses sent 
 to her by Alston Lake before she had started. Five minutes 
 after the arrival of the flowers had come a cablegram from 
 England addressed to Claude: "I wish you both the best 
 to-night love. Madre." 
 
 Just before the opera began, as Charmian glanced down at 
 her roses, she saw a paper lying beside them on the silk- 
 covered chair.
 
 444 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 "What's that? "she said. 
 
 "Madre's cablegram," said Claude. "I found I had 
 brought it with me, so I laid it down there. If Madre had 
 come with us she might have occupied that seat. I thought 
 I would let her wish lie there with Alston's roses." 
 
 Their eyes met in the shadow of the box. On coming into 
 it Claude had turned out the electric burner. 
 
 "It's strange to think of Madre in Berkeley Square to- 
 night," said Charmian slowly. "I wonder what she is doing." 
 
 "I am quite sure she is alone, up in her reading-room 
 thinking of us, in one of her white dresses." 
 
 "And wishing us " she paused. 
 
 The first notes of the Prelude sounded in the hidden 
 orchestra. 
 
 Claude fixed his mind on the thought of Madre, in a white 
 dress, sitting alone in the well-known quiet room, thinking of 
 him in that moment he was an egoist wishing him the best. 
 He could almost see Madre's face rise up before him, as it must 
 have looked when she wrote that cablegram, a face kind, 
 intense, with fire, sorrow, and love in the burning eyes. And 
 the thought of that face helped him very much just then, more 
 than he would have thought it possible that anything could 
 help him, was a firm and a tender friend to him in a difficult 
 crisis of his life. 
 
 He sat back in the shadow behind Charmian in a sort of 
 strange loneliness, conscious of the enormous crowd around 
 him. He could not see the members of this crowd. He saw 
 only Charmian in her pale green gown, with a touch of green 
 in her cloud of dark hair, and a long way off the stage. He 
 heard perpetually his own music. But to-night it did not 
 seem to him to be his own. He listened to it with a kind of 
 dreadful and supreme detachment, as if it had nothing to do 
 with him. But he listened with great intensity, with all his 
 critical intelligence at work, and with so at least it seemed 
 to him his heart prepared to be touched, moved. It was 
 not a hard heart which was beating that night in the breast of 
 Claude, nor was it the foolish, emotional heart of the partisan, 
 lost to the touch of reason, to the influence of the deepest 
 truth which a man of any genius dare not deny. No critic
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 445 
 
 in the vast theater that night listened to Claude's opera 
 more dispassionately than did Claude himself. Sometimes he 
 thought of the colored woman in the huge pink hat. He 
 knew she was somewhere in the theater, probably far up in that 
 dim gallery toward which he had looked at rehearsal, when the 
 building had presented itself to his imagination as a monster 
 waiting heavily to be fed. On this one night at least he 
 had fed it full. Was not she stretching her great lips in a 
 smile? 
 
 Sometimes Claude heard faint movements, slight coughing, 
 little sounds like minute whispers from the crowd. Now and 
 then there was applause. Alston Lake was applauded strongly 
 once after a phrase which showed off his magnificent voice, 
 and Charmian looked quickly round at Claude with cheeks 
 flushing, and shining eyes, which said plainly, "It is coming! 
 Listen! The triumph is on the way!" Then the widespread 
 silence of an attentive crowd fell again, like some vast veil 
 falling, and Claude attended intensely to the music as if it 
 were the music of another. 
 
 After the first act there was more applause, which sounded 
 in their box rather strong in patches but scattered. The 
 singers were called three times, but always in this uncon- 
 centrated way. 
 
 "It's going splendidly. They like it!" said Charmian 
 quickly. "Three calls. That's unusual after a first act, 
 when the audience hasn't warmed up. Isn't it odd, Claudie, 
 that Americans always applaud quite differently from the 
 way the English do? They always applaud like that." 
 
 She had turned right round and was almost facing him. 
 
 "How do you mean?" he said. 
 
 "Didn't you notice? Persistently, but in clumps as it 
 were. It is by their persistence they show how pleased they 
 are, rather than by their their I hardly know just how to 
 put it." 
 
 "By their unanimity perhaps." 
 
 "Oh, no! Not exactly that! Here's Mr. Crayford." 
 
 Crayford slipped in, but only stayed for a moment. 
 
 "Hear that applause?" he said. "They're mad about 
 it. Alston's got them. I knew he would. That boy's going
 
 446 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 to be famous. But wait till the second act. They're in a fine 
 humor, only asking to be pleased. I know the signs. The 
 libretto's hit them hard. They're all asking what's to happen 
 next." 
 
 "You're satisfied then?" said Charmian. 
 
 "Satisfied! I'm so happy I don't know what to do." 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 "He knows!" Charmian said. 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon Claude. They looked almost 
 defiant. 
 
 "If anyone in America knows what he is talking about I 
 suppose it is Mr. Crayford," she added. 
 
 There was a tap at the door. Claude opened it and two of 
 their American friends came in and stayed a few minutes, 
 saying how well the opera was going, how much they liked it, 
 how splendidly it was "put on" all the proper and usual 
 things which are said by proper and usual persons on such 
 occasions. One of them was an acquaintance of Van Brinen's. 
 Claude asked him if Van Brinen were in the house. He said 
 yes. Claude then inquired whether Van Brinen knew the 
 number of his box, and was told that he did know it. The 
 conversation turned to other topics, but when the two men 
 had gone out Charmian said: 
 
 "Why did you ask those questions about Mr. Van Brinen, 
 Claudie?" 
 
 "Only because I thought if he knew where our box was he 
 might pay us a visit. No one has been more friendly with 
 us than he has." 
 
 "I see. He's certain to come after the next act. Ah! 
 the lights are going down." 
 
 She had been standing for a few minutes. Now she moved 
 to sit down. Before doing so she drew her chair a little way 
 back in the box. 
 
 "I don't want to be distracted from the stage my atten- 
 tion, I mean by seeing too many people," she whispered, in 
 explanation of her action. "You are quite right to keep at 
 the back. One can listen much better if one doesn't see too 
 much of the audience." 
 
 Claude said nothing. The curtains were parting.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 447 
 
 The second act was listened to by the vast audience in a 
 silence that was almost complete. 
 
 Now and then Charmian whispered a word or two to 
 Claude. Once she said: 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful, the silence of a crowd? Doesn't it 
 show how absorbed they are?" 
 
 And again: 
 
 "I think it's such a mercy that modern methods of com- 
 position give no opportunity to the audience to break in with 
 applause. Any interruption would ruin the effect of the act 
 as a whole." 
 
 Claude just moved his head in reply. 
 
 Everything was satisfactory. Jacob Crayford had been 
 right. The opera was ready for production and was "going" 
 without a hitch. The elaborate scenic effects were working 
 perfectly. Miss Mardon had never been more admirable, 
 more completely mistress of her art. Nor had she ever looked 
 more wonderful. Alston Lake's success was assured. His 
 voice filled the great house without difficulty. Even Charmian 
 and Claude were surprised by its volume and beauty. 
 
 "Isn't Alston splendid?" whispered Charmian once. 
 
 "Yes," Claude replied. 
 
 He added, after a pause: 
 
 " Dear old Alston is safe." 
 
 Charmian turned her face toward the stage. Now and 
 then she moved rather restlessly in her chair. She had a fan 
 with her and began to use it. Then she laid it down on the 
 ledge of the box, then took it up again, opened it, closed it, 
 and kept it in her hand. She felt the audience almost like a 
 weight laid upon her. Their silent attention began to frighten 
 her. She knew that was ridiculous, that if this production did 
 not intimately concern her the audience's silence would not 
 strike her as strange. People listening attentively are always 
 silent. She blamed herself for her absurdity. Leaning a 
 little forward she could just see the outline of Madame Sennier, 
 sitting very upright in the front of her box, with one arm and 
 hand on the ledge. Crayford, who was determined to be "in 
 the front artistically," kept the theater very dark when the 
 curtain was up, in order to focus the attention of the audience
 
 448 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 on the stage. To Charmian, Madame Sennier looked like a 
 shade, erect, almost strangely motionless, implacable. This 
 shade drew Charmian' s eyes as the act went on. She did not 
 move her seat forward again, but she often leaned forward a 
 little. A shade with a brain, a heart and a soul! What were 
 they doing to-night? Charmian remembered the attempt to 
 get the libretto away from Claude, Madame Sennier's remarks 
 about Claude after the return from Constantine. The shade 
 had done her utmost to ensure that this first night should 
 never be. She had failed. And now she was sitting over there 
 tasting her own failure. Charmian stared at her trying to 
 triumph. All the time she was listening to the music, was 
 saying to herself how splendid it was. They had made great 
 sacrifices for it. And it was splendid. That was their reward. 
 
 The music sounded strangely new to her in this environ- 
 ment. She had heard it all at Djenan-el-Maqui, on the piano, 
 sung by Alston and hummed by Claude. She had felt it, 
 sometimes deeply on nights of excitement, when Claude had 
 played till the stars were fading. She had had her favorite 
 passages, which had always come to her out of the midst of 
 the opera like friends, smiling, or passionate, or perhaps weep- 
 ing, tugging at her heart-strings, stirring longings that were 
 romantic. At the rehearsals she had heard the opera with 
 the singers, the orchestra. 
 
 Yet now it seemed to her new and strange. The great 
 audience had taken it, had changed it, was showing it to her 
 now, was saying to her: "This is the opera of the composer, 
 Claude Heath, a man hitherto unknown." And presently it 
 seemed to be saying to her with insistence: 
 
 "It is useless for you to pretend to be apart from me, 
 separate from me. For you belong to me. You are part of 
 me. Your thought is part of my thought, your feeling is part 
 of mine. You are nothing but a drop in me and I am the 
 ocean." 
 
 Charmian felt as if she were struggling against this attempt 
 of the audience to take possession of her, were fighting to 
 preserve intact her independence, her individuality. But it 
 became almost the business of a nightmare, this strange and 
 unequal struggle in the artistic darkness devised by Crayford.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 449 
 
 And the audience seemed to be gaining in strength, like an 
 adversary braced up by conflict. 
 
 Conflict! The word had appeared like a criminal in 
 Charmian's mind. She strove vehemently to banish it. 
 There was, there could be no conflict in such a matter as was 
 now in hand. But, oh! this portentous silence! 
 
 It came to an end at last. The curtain fell, and applause 
 broke forth. It resembled the applause after the first act. 
 And once more there were three calls for the singers. Then 
 the clapping died away and conversation broke out, spreading 
 over the crowd. Many people got up from their seats and 
 went out or moved about talking with acquaintances. 
 
 "I can see Mr. Van Brinen," said Charmian. 
 
 " Can you? Where is he? " 
 
 Claude got up slowly, picked up the roses and the cable- 
 gram from the chair beside Charmian, put them behind him, 
 and took the chair, bringing it forward quite to the front of 
 the box. As he did so Charmian made a sound like a word 
 half-uttered and checked. 
 
 "Where is he?" Claude repeated. 
 
 Many people in the stalls were looking at him, were pointing 
 him out. He seemed to ignore the attention fixed upon him. 
 
 "There!" said Charmian, in a low voice. 
 
 She pointed with her fan, then leaned back. 
 
 Claude looked and saw Van Brinen not far off. He was 
 standing up in the stalls, facing the boxes, bending a little 
 and talking to two smartly dressed women. His pale face 
 looked sad. Presently he stood up straight and seemed to 
 look across the intervening heads into Claude's eyes. 
 
 "He must see me!" Claude thought. "He does see me!" 
 
 Van Brinen stood thus for quite a minute. Then he made 
 his way to one of the exits and disappeared. 
 
 "He is coming round to the box, I'm sure," said Charmian 
 cheerfully. "He evidently saw us." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 But Van Brinen did not come. Nor did Jacob Crayford. 
 Several others came, however, and there were comments, 
 congratulations. The same things were repeated by several 
 mouths with strangely similar intonations. And Charmian 
 
 29
 
 450 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 made appropriate answers. And all the time she kept on 
 saying to herself: "This is my hour of triumph, as Madame 
 Sennier's was at Covent Garden. Only this is America and 
 not England. So of course there is a difference. New York 
 has its way of setting the seal on a triumph and London has 
 its way." 
 
 Moved presently to speak out of her mind she said to a 
 Boston man, called Hostatter, who had looked in upon them: 
 
 "It is so interesting, I think, to notice the difference be- 
 tween one nation and another in such a matter for instance 
 as this receiving of a new work." 
 
 "Very interesting, very interesting," said Hostatter. 
 
 "You Americans show what you feel by the intensity of 
 your si by the intensity, the concentration with which you 
 listen." 
 
 "Exactly. And what is a London audience like? I have 
 never been to a London premiere." 
 
 "Oh, more more boisterous and less intense. Isn't it 
 so, Claude?" 
 
 "No doubt there's a difference," said Claude. 
 
 "Do you mean they are boisterous at Covent Garden?" 
 said Hostatter, evidently surprised. "I always thought the 
 Covent Garden audience was such a cold one." 
 
 "Oh, no, I don't think so," said Charmian. 
 
 She remembered the first night of Le Paradis Terrestre. 
 Suddenly a chill ran all through her, as if a stream of ice-cold 
 water had trickled upon her. 
 
 "Really!" said Hostatter. "And yet we Americans are 
 said to have a bad reputation for noise." 
 
 He had been smiling, but looked suddenly doubtful. 
 
 "But as you say," he added, rather hastily, "in a theater 
 we concentrate, especially when we are presented with some- 
 thing definitely artistic, as we are to-night." 
 
 He shook hands. 
 
 "Definitely artistic. My most sincere congratulations." 
 
 He went out, and another man called Stephen Clinch, an 
 ally of Crayford's immediately came in. After a few minutes 
 of conversation he said: 
 
 "Everybody is admiring the libretto. First-rate stuff,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 451 
 
 to find the auth r with *** ^ ^ 
 
 "Yes, but he told us he would sit in the stalls," said 
 Chairman. 
 
 "Haven't you seen him?" 
 "No," said Claude. 
 
 "Well, of course you'll appear after the next act with him 
 There's sure to be a call. And I know Gillier will be called 
 for as well as you." 
 
 His rather cold gray eyes seemed to examine the two faces 
 before him almost surreptitiously. Then he, too, went out 
 of the box. 
 
 "A call after this act!" said Charmian. 
 "I believe they generally summon authors and composers 
 after the penultimate act over here." 
 
 "You'll take the call, of course, Claudie?" 
 There was a silence. Then he said: 
 "Yes, I shall take it." 
 
 His voice was hard. Charmian scarcely recognized it. 
 "Then you'll have to go behind the scenes." 
 "Yes." 
 " Will you " 
 
 "I'll wait till the curtain goes up, and then slip out." 
 Again there was a silence. Charmian broke it at length 
 by saying: 
 
 "I think Monsieur Gillier might have come to see us to- 
 night. It would have been natural if he had visited our box." 
 "Perhaps he will come presently." 
 A bell sounded. The third act was about to begin. 
 Soon after the curtains had once more parted, disclosing a 
 marvellous desert scene which drew loud applause from the 
 audience, Claude got up softly from his seat. 
 "I'll slip away now," he whispered. 
 
 She felt for his hand in the dimness, found it, squeezed it. 
 She longed to get up, to put her lips to his, to breath some 
 word she knew not the word it would be of encourage- 
 ment, of affection. Tears rushed into her eyes as she felt 
 the touch of his flesh. As the door shut behind him she 
 moved quite to the back of the box and put her handkerchief
 
 452 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 to her eyes. She had great difficulty just then in not letting 
 the tears run over her face. For several minutes she scarcely 
 heard the music or knew what was happening upon the stage. 
 There was a tumult of feeling within her which she did not 
 at all fully understand, perhaps because even now she was 
 fighting, fighting blindly, desperately, but with courage. 
 
 There came a tap at the door. Charmian did not hear it. 
 In a moment it was softly repeated. This time she did hear 
 it. And she hastily pressed her handkerchief first against 
 one eye, then against the other, got up and opened the 
 door. 
 
 "May I come in for a little while?" came a calm whisper 
 from Susan Fleet, who stood without in a very plain black 
 gown with long white gloves over her hands and arms. 
 
 "Oh, Susan yes! I am all alone." 
 
 "That is why I came." 
 
 "How did you know?" 
 
 "My friend, Mr. Melton, happened to be in the corridor 
 with Mr. Ramer and they saw your husband pass. Mr. Ramer 
 spoke to him and he said he was going behind the scenes. 
 So I thought I would come for a minute." 
 
 She stepped gently in and closed the door quietly. 
 
 "Where were you sitting?" she whispered. 
 
 "Here, at the back. Sit by me oh, wait! Let me move 
 Alston's flowers." 
 
 She took them up. As she did so she remembered Madre's 
 cablegram, and looked for it. But it was no longer there. 
 She searched quickly on the floor. 
 
 "What is it?" said Susan. 
 
 "Only a cablegram from Madre that was with the flowers. 
 It's gone. Never mind. Claude must have taken it." 
 
 The conviction came to her that Claude had taken it with 
 him, as a man takes a friend he can trust when he is going into 
 a " tight place." 
 
 "Sit here!" she whispered to Susan. 
 
 Susan sat softly down beside Charmian at the back of the 
 box, took one of her hands and held it, not closely, but gently. 
 They did not speak again till the third act was finished. 
 
 It was the longest act of the opera, and the most elaborate.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 453 
 
 Charmian had always secretly been afraid of it since the first 
 full rehearsal. She could never get out of her mind the torture 
 she had endured that evening when everything had gone 
 wrong, when she had said to herself in a sort of fierce and 
 active despair: "This is my idea of Hell." She felt that even 
 if the opera were a triumphant success, even if the third act 
 were acclaimed, she would always dread it, almost as a woman 
 may dread an enemy. Once it had tortured her, and she had 
 a feminine memory for a thing that had caused her agony. 
 
 Now she sat with her hand in Susan's, face to face with the 
 dangerous act, and anticipating the end, when at last Claude 
 would confront the world he had avoided so carefully till she 
 came into his life. 
 
 The act, which had been chaotic at rehearsal, was going 
 with perfect smoothness, almost too smoothly Charmian began 
 to think. It glided on its way almost with a certain bland- 
 ness. In Algeria, Crayford had devoted most of his attention 
 to this act, which he had said "wanted a lot of doing to." 
 He had "made" the whole of it "over." Charmian remem- 
 bered now very well the long discussions which had taken 
 place at Djenan-el-Maqui about this act. One discussion 
 stood out from the rest at this moment. She almost felt the 
 heat brooding over the far-off land. She almost saw the sky 
 shrouded in filmy gray, the white edge of the sea breaking 
 sullenly against the long line of shore, the beads of sweat on the 
 forehead of Claude, his clenched hands, the expression in his 
 eyes when he said, after her answered challenge to Crayford, 
 "Tell me what you want, all you want, and I'll try to do it." 
 
 This act to which this vast audience, in which she was now 
 definitely included against her will, was listening was the 
 product of that scene, that discussion, that resignation of 
 Claude's. 
 
 Charmian's hand twitched under Susan's, but she did not 
 draw it away, though Susan as she knew would have made 
 no effort to retain it. She was thankful Susan was with her. 
 To-night it was impossible for her to feel calm. No one could 
 have communicated calm to her. But Susan did give her 
 something which was a help to her. Always, when with 
 Susan, she was able to feel, however vaguely, something of
 
 454 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 the universal, something of the largeness which men feel when 
 they look at the stars, or hear the wind across vast spaces, or 
 see a great deed done. As the act ran its course her mind be- 
 came fixed upon the close, upon the caH for Claude. Armand 
 Gillier was blotted out from her mind. The cry that went 
 up would be for Claude. Would it be a cry from the heart 
 of this crowd? She remembered, she even heard distinctly 
 in her mind, the cry the Covent Garden crowd had sent up 
 for Jacques Sennier on the first night of Le Paradis Terrestre. 
 There had been in it a marvellous sound which had stirred 
 her to the depths. It was that sound which had made her 
 speak to Claude, which had determined her marriage with 
 Claude. 
 
 If a similar sound burst from the lips and the hearts of the 
 crowd at the end of this act, it would determine Claude's fate 
 as an artist, her fate with his. 
 
 Her hand twitched more convulsively under Susan's as she 
 thought of, waited for, the sound. 
 
 The locust scene was a triumph for Crayford, Mr. Mulworth, 
 and Jimber. The scene which succeeded it was a triumph for 
 Alston Lake. Whatever else this night might bring forth one 
 thing was certain; Alston had "made good." He had "won 
 out" and justified Crayford's belief in him. Even his father, 
 reluctantly sitting in the stalls after a hard day in Wall Street, 
 was obliged to be proud of his boy. 
 
 "Dear old Alston!" Charmian found herself whispering. 
 "He's a success. Alston's a success a success!" 
 
 She kept on forming the last word, and willing with all her 
 might. 
 
 "Success! Success it is coming; it is ours! In a moment 
 we shall know it, we shall have it! Success! Success!" 
 
 With her soul and it seemed to her with her whole 
 body, tense in the pretty green gown so carefully chosen for 
 the great night, she willed, she called upon, she demanded 
 success. And then she prayed for success. She shut her 
 eyes, prayed hard, went on praying, marshalling all she and 
 Claude had done before the Unseen Power, as reason for the 
 blessing she entreated. And while she prayed, her hand ceased 
 from twitching in Susan Fleet's.
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 455 
 
 Long though the third act was, at last it drew near its end. 
 And then Charmian began to be afraid, terribly afraid. She 
 feared the decisive moment. She wished she were not in the 
 theater. She thought of the asking eyes of the pressmen, 
 expressing silently but definitely the great demand of this won- 
 derful city, this wonderful country: "Be a success!" If that 
 demand were not complied with! She recalled the notoriety 
 she and Claude had had out here, the innumerable attentions 
 which had been showered upon them, the interest which had 
 been shown in them, the expectations aroused by Claude. 
 She recalled the many allusions that had been made to herself 
 in the papers, the interviews with the "clever wife" who had 
 done so much for her husband, the columns about her ex- 
 pedition to Paris to get Gillier's libretto for Claude. Crayford 
 had taken good care that the "little lady" should have her 
 full share of the limelight. Now, through shut eyelids she 
 saw it blaze like an enemy. 
 
 If the opera should go down despite all that had been done 
 how could she endure the situation that would be hers? But 
 it would not go down. She remembered that she had once 
 heard that fear of a thing attracts that thing to you. Was she 
 who had been so full of will, so resolute, so persistent, so marvel- 
 lously successful up to a point, going to be a craven now, 
 going to show the white feather? When that evening began 
 she had been sitting in the front of the box, in full view of the 
 audience. Now she was sitting in the shadow, clasping a 
 woman's hand. Claude had gone to the front of the box 
 when she retreated. Now, in a very few minutes, he was 
 going to face the great multitude. He was showing will, grit, 
 to-night. And she felt, she knew, that, whatever the occa- 
 sion, there was in Claude something strong enough to turn 
 a bold front to it to-night, perhaps on any night or any day 
 of the year. She must help him. Whether he could see her 
 from the stage, she did not know She doubted it. But he 
 knew where she was sitting. He might look for her at such 
 a moment. He might miss her if she were hidden away in 
 the shadow like a poltroon. 
 
 She drew her hand away from Susan's, got up, and took 
 her place alone in the front of thejsox, in sight of all the
 
 456 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 people in the stalls, in sight also of Mrs. Shiffney and Madame 
 Sennier. Susan remained where she was. She felt that 
 Charmian needed to be alone just then. She liked her for 
 the impulse which she had divined. 
 
 At last the curtain fell. 
 
 People applauded. 
 
 "This is the American way," Charmian was saying to 
 herself. "Not our way! But they keep on! That shows 
 it is a success. I mustn't think of Covent Garden." 
 
 Nevertheless, with her ears, and with her whole soul, she 
 was listening for that wonderful sound, heard at the Covent 
 Garden, the sound that stirs, that excites, that is soul in 
 utterance. 
 
 "This is for the singers," she said to herself, "not for 
 Claude. Bravo, Alston! Bravo! Bravo!" 
 
 The sound from the audience suddenly rose as Alston Lake 
 showed himself, and, as it did so, Charmian was sharply, and 
 deliciously, conscious of the long power that lay behind, like 
 a stretching avenue leading down into the soul of the audience. 
 
 "Ah, they can be as we are!" she thought. "They are 
 only waiting to show it. I am going to hear the sound." 
 
 With a sharp change of mood she exulted. She savored 
 the triumph that was close at hand. Her cheeks flushed, her 
 eyes shone, her heart beat violently. 
 
 "The sound ! The sound !" 
 
 The last of the singers disappeared behind the curtain. The 
 applause continued persistently, but, so at least it must have 
 seemed to English ears, lethargically. A few cries were heard. 
 
 "They are calling for Claude!" 
 
 Charmian turned round to Susan Fleet. Susan was 
 clapping her hands forcibly. She stood up as if to make her 
 applause more audible. 
 
 The cries went up again. But in the stalls the applause 
 seemed to be dying down, and Charmian had a moment of 
 such acute, such exquisite apprehension, that always after- 
 ward she felt as if she had known the bitterness of death. 
 Scarcely knowing what she did, and suddenly quite pale, she 
 began to clap with Susan. She felt like one fighting against 
 terrible odds. And the enemy sickened her because it was
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 457 
 
 full of a monstrous passivity. It seemed to exhale inertia. 
 To fight against it was like struggling against being smothered 
 by a gigantic feather bed. 
 
 But she clapped, she clapped. And as she did so, moved 
 to look round, she saw Mrs. Shiffney and Madame Sennier 
 watching her through two pairs of opera-glasses. 
 
 Her hands fell apart, dropped to her sides mechanically. 
 
 Still cries, separated, far, it seemed, from one another, 
 went up. 
 
 "Heath! Heath!" Charmian now heard distinctly. 
 
 "Gillier! Author! Author!" 
 
 The curtains moved. One was drawn back. A strangely 
 shaped gap showed itself. But for a long moment no one 
 emerged through this gap. And again the applause died 
 down. Charmian sat quite still, her arms hanging, her eyes 
 fixed on the gap, her cheeks still very white. 
 
 Just as the applause seemed fading beyond recall Claude 
 stepped through the gap, followed by Armand Gillier. 
 
 Once more the cries were heard. The applause revived. 
 Charmian gazed at Claude. His face, she thought, looked set 
 but quite calm. He stood at the very edge of the stage, and 
 she saw him look, not toward where she was, but up to the 
 gallery as if in search of someone. Then he stepped back. 
 He had come to the audience before Gillier. He now dis- 
 appeared before Gillier, who seemed about to follow him 
 closely, hesitated, looked round once more at the audience, 
 and stood for an instant alone on the stage. 
 
 Then suddenly came from the audience the sound! 
 
 It was less full, less strong, less intense than it had been at 
 Covent Garden on the night of the first performance of Le 
 Paradis Terrestre. But essentially it was the same sound. 
 
 Charmian heard it and her lips grew pale. But she sat well 
 forward in the box, and, though she saw two opera-glasses 
 levelled at her, she lifted her hands again and clapped till 
 Armand Gillier passed out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH 
 
 IN the red sitting-room at the St. Regis Hotel a supper-table 
 was laid for three people. It was decorated with some 
 lilies-of-the- valley and white heather, which Jacob Crayford 
 had sent in the afternoon to the "little lady." On a table near 
 stood a gilded basket of tulips, left by Gillier with a formal 
 note. The elderly German waiter, who looked like a very 
 respectable butler, placed a menu beside the lilies and the 
 heather soon after the clock struck twelve. Then he glanced 
 at the clock, compared it with his silver watch, and retired 
 to see that the champagne was being properly iced. He 
 returned, with a subordinate, about half-past twelve, and 
 began to arrange an ice pail, from which the neck of a bottle 
 protruded, and other things on a side table. While he was 
 still in the room he heard voices in the corridor, and the three 
 people for whom the preparations had been made came in. 
 
 "Supper is ready? That's right!" Charmian said, in a 
 high and gay voice. 
 
 She turned. 
 
 " Doesn't the table look pretty, Alston, with Mr. Crayford's 
 white heather?" 
 
 She had Alston's red roses in her hand. 
 
 "I am going to put your roses in water now." 
 
 She turned again to the waiter. 
 
 "Could I have some water put in that vase, please? And 
 we'll have supper at once." 
 
 "Certainly, ma'am!" 
 
 "Come and see the menu, both of you, and tell me if you 
 are satisfied with it." 
 
 She picked it up and handed it to Alston. 
 
 "And then show it to Claude while I take off my cloak." 
 
 She went away, smiling. 
 
 The waiters had gone out for a moment. The two friends 
 were alone together. 
 
 458
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 459 
 
 Claude put his arm round Alston Lake's shoulder. 
 
 ^'Alston, this has been my first chance to congratulate you 
 without a lot of people round us, or really to tell you, I 
 mean, how fine your performance was. There is no doubt 
 that you are a made man from to-night. I am glad for you. 
 You've worked splendidly, and you deserve this great success." 
 
 Alston wrung his friend's hand. 
 
 "Thank you, Claude. But I only got my chance through 
 you and Mrs. Charmian. If you hadn't composed a splendid 
 opera, I couldn't have scored in it." 
 
 "You would have scored in something else. You are 
 going to." 
 
 "I shall never enjoy singing any r61e so much as I have 
 enjoyed singing your Spahi." 
 
 " I don't see how you are ever going to sing any role better," 
 said Claude. 
 
 Their hands fell apart as Charmian quickly came in. 
 
 "You've put your coats in the lobby? That's right. Oh, 
 here is supper! Caviare first! I'll sit here. Oh, Alston, 
 what a comfort to be quietly here with just you and Claude 
 after all the excitement!" 
 
 For a moment her mouth dropped, but only for a moment. 
 
 "But I'm wonderfully little tired!" she continued. "It 
 all went so splendidly, without a single hitch. Mr. Crayford 
 must be enchanted. I only saw him for a moment coming 
 out after I had congratulated Miss Mardon. There were so 
 many people. There was no time to hear all he thought. 
 But there could not be two opinions. Claudie, do you feel 
 quite finished?" 
 
 "No," said Claude, in a strong voice, which broke in 
 almost strangely upon her lively chattering. 
 
 Both Charmian and Alston looked at him for an instant 
 with a sort of inquiry, which in Charmian was almost furtive. 
 
 "That's good!" Charmian began, after a little pause. "I 
 was almost afraid here's the champagne! We ought to 
 drink a toast to-night, I think. Suppose we 
 
 "We'll drink to Alston's career," interrupted Claude. And 
 he lifted his glass. 
 
 "Alston!" said Charmian, swiftly following his example.
 
 460 THE WA[Y OF AMBITION 
 
 "And now no more toasts for the present. They seem too 
 formal when only we three are together. And we know what 
 we wish each other without them. Oyster soup! You see, 
 I remembered what you are fond of, _Claudie. I recollect 
 ages ago in London I once met Mr. Whistler. It was when I 
 was very small. He came to lunch with Madre. By the 
 way, Claude, did you take Madre's cablegram with you when 
 you went to answer your call?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I thought you had, because I couldn't find it. Well Mr. 
 Whistler came to lunch with us, Alston. And he talked about 
 nothing but oysters." 
 
 "Was he painting them at the time? A nocturne of 
 natives?" 
 
 "How absurd you are! But he knew everything that 
 could be known about Blue Points " 
 
 She ran on vivaciously. Alston seconded her, when she 
 gave him an opportunity. Claude listened, sometimes smiled, 
 spoke when there seemed to be any necessity for a word 
 from him. Alston was hungry after his exertions, and ate 
 heartily. Charmian pretended to eat and sipped her cham- 
 pagne. On each of her cheeks an almost livid spot of red 
 glowed. Her eyes, which looked more sunken than usual 
 in her head, were full of intense life, as they glanced per- 
 petually from one man to the other with a ceaseless watchful- 
 ness. She pressed Claude to eat, even helped him herself 
 from the dishes. The clock had just struck a quarter-past 
 one when a buzzing sound outside indicated the presence of 
 someone at the door of the lobby. 
 
 Charmian moved uneasily. 
 
 "Who can it be so late? Perhaps it's Mr. Crayford." 
 
 She got up. 
 
 "I'll go and see what it is," said Claude. 
 
 He went out. Charmian stood, watching the door. 
 
 "D'you think it's Mr. Crayford?" she asked of Alston 
 Lake. 
 
 "Hardly!" 
 
 "What is it, Claude?" 
 
 "A note or letter."
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 461 
 
 "A letter! Whom can it be from! Has it only come 
 now?" 
 
 "Apparently." 
 
 " Do read it. But have you finished?" 
 
 "Quite. I couldn't eat anything more." 
 
 He went to the sofa, behind which, on a table, an electric 
 light was burning, sat down and tore the envelope which he 
 held. Charmian and Alston remained at the supper-table. 
 Charmian had sat down again. She gazed at Claude, and saw 
 him draw out of the envelope not a note, but a letter. He 
 began to read it, and read it slowly. And as he did so Char- 
 mian saw his face change. Once or twice his jaw quivered. 
 His brows came down. He turned sideways on the sofa. 
 Very soon she saw that he was with difficulty controlling 
 some strong emotion. She began to talk to Alston Lake and 
 turned her eyes away from her husband. But presently she 
 heard the rustle of paper and looked again. Claude, with 
 a hand which slightly trembled, was putting the letter back 
 into its envelope. When he had done so he put both into 
 the breast-pocket of his evening coat, and sat quite still gazing 
 on the ground. Charmian went on talking, but she did not 
 know what she was saying, and at last she felt that she could 
 not endure to sit any longer at the disordered supper- 
 table. Movement seemed necessary to her body, which felt 
 distressed. 
 
 "Do have some more champagne, Alston!" she said. 
 
 "Not another drop, Mrs. Charmian, thank, you! I must 
 think of my voice." 
 
 "Well, then" 
 
 She pushed back her chair, glanced at Claude. He moved, 
 lifted his eyes. 
 
 "Dare you smoke, Alston?" he said. 
 
 "I've got to, whether I dare or not. But" his kind and 
 honest eyes went from Charmian to Claude "I think, if you 
 don't mind, I'll smoke on the way home. I'll go right away 
 now if you won't think it unfriendly. The fact is I'm a bit 
 tired, and I bet you both are, too. These things take it out 
 of one, unless one is made of cast-iron like Crayford, or steel 
 like Mulworth, or whipcord like Jimber. You must both
 
 462 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 want a good long rest after all you've been through over here 
 in God's own country, eh?" 
 
 He fetched his coat from the lobby. Claude got up and 
 gave him a cigar, lit it for him. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Charmian " he said. 
 
 He held out his big hand. His fair face flushed a little, and 
 his rather blunt features looked boyish and emotional. 
 
 "We've brought it off. We've done our best. Now we 
 can only leave it to the critics and the public." 
 
 He squeezed her hand so hard that all the blood seemed to 
 leave it. 
 
 "Good-night! I'll come round to-morrow. Good-night." 
 
 He seemed reluctant to depart, still held her hand. But at 
 last he just repeated "Good-night!" and let it go. 
 
 "Good-night, dear Alston," she murmured. 
 
 Claude went with him into the lobby and shut the sitting- 
 room door behind them. She heard their voices talking, but 
 could not hear any words. The voices continued for what 
 seemed to her a long while. She moved about the room, saw 
 Alston's red roses where she had laid them down when she 
 came in from the theater, and the vase full of water which the 
 German waiter had brought. And she began to put the flowers 
 in the water, lifting them carefully and slowly one by one. 
 They had very long stems and all their leaves. She arranged 
 them with apparent sensitiveness. But she was scarcely 
 conscious of what she was doing. When all the roses were in 
 the vase she did not know what else to do. And she stood still 
 listening to the murmur of those voices. At last it ceased. 
 She heard a door shut. Then the sitting-room door opened, 
 and Claude came in. 
 
 "What a lot you had to say to each " she began. 
 
 She stopped. Claude's face had stopped her. 
 
 "Shall I ring for the waiter to clear away?" she said falter- 
 ingly, after a moment of silence. 
 
 "He came when Alston and I were in the lobby. I told 
 him to leave it all till to-morrow. Do you mind?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Claude shut the door. His eyes still held the intensity, 
 the blazing expression which had stopped the words on her
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 463 
 
 lips. Always Claude's face was expressive. She remembered 
 how forcibly she had been struck by that fact when she walked 
 airily into Max Elliot's music-room. But she had never before 
 seen him look as he was looking now. She felt frightened of 
 him, and almost frightened of herself. 
 
 "I had something to say to Alston," Claude said, coming 
 up to her. " I don't think I could have rested to-night unless 
 I had said it. I'm sure I couldn't." 
 
 "You were telling him again how splendidly " 
 
 "No. He knew what I thought of his work. I told him 
 that before supper. I had to tell him something else what 
 I thought of my own." 
 
 "What you what you thought of your own!" 
 
 " Yes. What I thought of my own spurious, contemptible, 
 heartless, soulless, hateful work." 
 
 "Claude!" she faltered. 
 
 "Don't you know it is so? Don't you know I am right? 
 You may have deceived yourself hi Algeria. You may have 
 deceived yourself even here at all the rehearsals. But, 
 Charmian" his eyes pierced her "do you dare to tell me 
 that to-night, when you were part of an audience, when you 
 were linked with those hundreds and hundreds of listeners, 
 do you dare to tell me you didn't know to-night?" 
 
 "How can you oh, how can you speak like this? Oh, 
 how can you attack your own child?" she cried, finding in 
 herself still a remnant of will, a remnant of the fierceness that 
 belongs to deep feeling of any kind. "It's unworthy. It's 
 cruel, brutal. I can't hear you do it. I won't 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that to-night when you sat in the 
 theater you didn't know? Well, if you do tell me so I shall 
 not believe you. No, I shall not believe you." 
 
 She was silent, remembering her sense of struggle in the 
 theater, her strong feeling that she was engaged on a sort of 
 horrible, futile fight against the malign power of the audience. 
 
 "You see!" he said. "You dare not tell me you didn't 
 know!" 
 
 His eyes were always upon her. She opened her lips. She 
 tried to speak, to say that she loved the opera, that she thought 
 it a work of genius, that everyone would recognize it as such
 
 464 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 soon, very soon, if not now, immediately. Words seemed to 
 be struggling up in her, but she could not speak them. She 
 felt that she was growing paler and paler beneath his gaze. 
 
 "Thank God!" he exclaimed, with^ violence. "You've 
 got some sincerity left in you. We want it, you and I, to- 
 night!" 
 
 He turned away from her, went to the sofa, sat down on 
 it, put his hand to the breast-pocket of his coat, and drew out 
 two papers Madre's cablegram and the letter which had 
 come while they were at supper. 
 
 "Come here, Charmian!" he said, more quietly. 
 
 She came to him, hesitated, met his eyes again, and sat 
 down in the other corner of the sofa beside him. 
 
 "I want you to read that." 
 
 He gave her the letter. 
 
 "Read it carefully. Don't hurry!" he said. 
 
 She took the letter and read. 
 
 "My DEAR MR. HEATH, I've left the opera-house and have 
 come to the office of my paper to write my article on your 
 work which I have just heard. But before I do so I feel moved 
 to send this letter to you. I don't know what you will think 
 of it, or of me for writing it, but I do care. I want you very 
 much not to hate it, not to think ill of me. People, I believe, 
 very often speak and think badly of us who call ourselves, 
 are called, critics. They say we are venial, that we are log- 
 rollers, that we have no convictions, that we don't know what 
 we are talking about, that we are the failures in art, all that 
 kind of thing. We have plenty of faults, no doubt. But 
 there are some of us who try to be honest. I try to be honest. 
 I am going to try to be honest about your work to-night. 
 That is why I am sending you this. 
 
 "Your opera is not a success. I know New York. I dare 
 even to say that I know America. I have sat among American 
 audiences too long not to be able to 'taste' them. Their 
 feeling gets right into me. Your opera is not a success. But 
 it isn't really that which troubles me to-night. It is this. 
 Your opera doesn't deserve to be a success. 
 
 "That's the wound!
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 465 
 
 "I don't know, of course I can't know whether you are 
 aware of the wound. But I can't help thinking you must be. 
 It is presumption, I dare say, for a man like me, a mere critic, 
 who couldn't compose a bar of fine genuine music to save his 
 life, to try to dive into the soul of an artist, into your soul. 
 But you are a man who means a lot to me. If you didn't 
 I shouldn't be writing this letter. I believe you know what 
 I know, what the audience knew to-night, that the work you 
 gave them is spurious, unworthy. It no more represents you 
 than the mud and the water that cover a lode of gold repre- 
 sent what the miner is seeking for. I'm pretty sure you must 
 know. 
 
 "Perhaps you'll say: 'Then why have the impertinence to 
 tell me?' 
 
 " It's because I've seen a little bit of the gold shining. The 
 other night, after I dined with you you remember? Gold 
 it was, that's certain. We Americans know something about 
 precious metal, or the world belies us. After that night I was 
 looking to write a great article on you. And I'll do it yet. 
 But I can't do it to-night. That's my trouble. And it's a 
 heavy one, heavier than I've had this season. I've got to 
 sit right down and say out the truth. I hate to do it. And 
 yet do I altogether? I don't want to show up as conceited, 
 yet now, as I'm covering this bit of paper, I've begun to think 
 to myself: Shan't I, perhaps, while I'm doing my article, be 
 helping to clear away a little of the water and the mud that 
 cover the lode? Shan't I, perhaps, be getting the gold a bit 
 nearer to the light of the day, and the gaze of the world? Or, 
 better still, to the hand of the miner? Well, anyhow, I've 
 got to go ahead. I can't do anything else. 
 
 "But I remember the other night. And if I believe there's 
 music worth having in any man of our day I believe it's in 
 you. Your very sincere friend, and your admirer, 
 
 "ALFRED VAN BRINEN." 
 
 Charmian read this letter slowly, not missing a word. As 
 she read she bent her head lower and lower; she almost crouched 
 over the letter. When she had finished it she sat quite still 
 without raising her eyes for a long time. The letter had van- 
 so
 
 466 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 ished from her sight. And how much else had vanished! 
 In that moment little or nothing seemed left. 
 
 At last, as she did not move, Claude said, "You've 
 finished?" 
 
 "You've finished the letter?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "May I have it, then?" 
 
 She knew he was holding out his hand. She made a great 
 effort, lifted her hand, and gave him Van Brinen's letter 
 without looking at him. She heard the thin paper rustle as 
 he folded it. 
 
 "Charmian," he said, "I'm going to keep this letter. Do 
 you know why? Because I love the man who wrote it. 
 Because I know that if ever I am tempted again, by anyone 
 or by anything, to prostitute such powers as have been given 
 me, I have only to look at this letter, I have only to remember 
 to-night, to be saved from my own weakness, from my disease 
 of weakness." 
 
 Still she did not look at him. But she noticed in his voice 
 a sound of growing excitement. And now she heard him get 
 up from the sofa. 
 
 "But I believe, in any case, what has happened to-night 
 would have cured me. I've had a tremendous lesson to-night. 
 We've both had a tremendous lesson. Do you know that 
 after the call at the end of the third act Armand Gillier very 
 nearly assaulted me?" 
 
 "Claude!" 
 
 Now she looked up. Claude was standing a little way from 
 her by the piano. With one hand he held fast to the edge of 
 the piano, so fast that the knuckles showed white through the 
 stretched skin. 
 
 " Miss Mar don and he realized, as of course everyone else 
 realized, my complete failure which dragged his libretto down. 
 The way the audience applauded him when I left the stage 
 told the story. No other comment was necessary. But 
 Gillier isn't a very delicate person, and he made comments 
 before Miss Mardon, Crayford, and several of the company,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 467 
 
 before scene-shifters and stage carpenters, too. What he said 
 was true enough. But it wasn't pleasant to hear it in such 
 company." 
 
 He came away from the piano, turned his back on her for 
 a moment, and walked toward the farther wall of the room. 
 
 "Oh, I've had my lesson!" she heard him say. "Miss 
 Mardon said nothing to you?" 
 
 He had turned. 
 
 "No," she said. 
 
 "Crayford said nothing?" 
 
 "Mr. Crayford was surrounded. He said, 'It's gone 
 grandly. We've all made good. I don't care a snap what 
 the critics say to-morrow.' " 
 
 "And you knew he was telling you a lie!" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "You knew the truth, which is this: everyone made good 
 except myself. And everyone will be dragged down in the 
 failure because of me. They've all built on a rotten founda- 
 tion. They've all built on me. And you you've built on 
 me. But not one of you, not one, has built on what I really 
 am, on the real me. Not one of you has allowed me to be 
 myself, and you least of all!" 
 
 "Claude!" 
 
 "You least of all! Don't you know it? Haven't you 
 always know r n it, from the moment when you resolved to 
 take me in hand, when you resolved to guide me in my art 
 life, to bring the poor weak fellow, who had some talent, but 
 who didn't know how to apply it, into the light of success! 
 You meant to make me from the first, and that meant unmak- 
 ing the man you had married, the man who had lived apart 
 in the odd, little unfashionable Bayswater house, who had 
 lived the odd, little unfashionable life, composing Te Deums 
 and Bible rubbish, the man whom nobody knew, and who 
 didn't specially want to know anyone, except his friends. 
 You thought I was an eccentricity " 
 
 "No, no!" she almost faltered, bending under the storm 
 of unreserve which had broken in this reserved man. 
 
 "An eccentricity, when I was just being simply myself, 
 doing what I was meant to do, what I could do, drawing my
 
 468 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 inspiration not from the fashions of the moment but from the 
 subjects, the words, the thoughts, which found their way 
 into my soul. I didn't care whether they had found their 
 way into other people's souls. Whatxlid that matter to me? 
 Other people were not my concern. I didn't think about 
 them. I didn't care what they cared for, only what I cared 
 for. I was myself, just that. And from to-night I'm going 
 to be just that, just simply myself again. It's the only chance 
 for an artist." He paused, fixing his eyes upon her till she 
 was forced to lift her eyes to his. "And I believe I believe 
 in my soul it's the only chance for a man." 
 
 He stood looking into her eyes. Then he repeated : 
 
 "The only chance for a man." 
 
 He went back slowly to the piano, grasped it, held it once 
 more. 
 
 "Charmian," he said, "you've done your best. You've 
 drawn me into the world, into the great current of life; you've 
 played upon the surface ambition that I suppose there is in 
 almost every man; you've given me a host of acquaintances; 
 you've turned me from the one or two things that I fancied 
 I might make something of since we married, The Hound oj 
 Heaven, the violin concerto. On the other side of the account 
 you found me that song, and Lake to sing it. And you got me 
 Gillier's libretto and opened the doors of Crayford's opera- 
 house to me. You've devoted yourself to me. I know that. 
 You've given up the life you loved in London, your friends, 
 your parties, and consecrated yourself to the life of the opera. 
 You've done your best. You've stuck to it. You've done all 
 that you, or any other woman with your views and desires, 
 could do for me in art. You've unmade me. I've been weak 
 and contemptible enough to let you unmake me. From 
 to-night I've got to build on ruins. Perhaps you'll say that's 
 impossible. It isn't. I mean to do it. I'm going to do it. 
 But I've got to build in freedom." 
 
 His eyes shone as he said the last words. They were 
 suddenly the eyes not of a man crushed but of a man released. 
 
 She felt a pang of deadly cold at her heart. 
 
 "In freedom?" she almost whispered. 
 
 She had believed that the failure of all her hopes, the
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 469 
 
 failure before the world of which she no longer dared to 
 cherish any lingering doubt, had completely overwhelmed her. 
 
 In this moment she knew it had not been so, for abruptly 
 she saw a void opening in her life, under her feet, as it were. 
 And she knew that till this moment even in the midst of ruin 
 she had been standing on firm ground. 
 
 "In freedom!" she said again. "What what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 He was silent. A change had come into his face, a faint 
 and dawning look of surprise. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she repeated. 
 
 And now there was a sharp edge to her voice. 
 
 "That I must take back the complete artistic freedom 
 which I have never had since we married, that I must have it 
 as I had it before I ever saw you." 
 
 She got slowly up from the sofa. 
 
 "Is that all you mean?" she said. 
 
 "All! Isn't it enough?" 
 
 "But is it all? I want to know I must know!" 
 
 The look in her face startled him. Never before had he 
 seen her look like that. Never had he dreamed that she 
 could look like that. It was as if womanhood surged up in 
 her. Her face was distorted, was almost ugly. The features 
 seemed suddenly sharpened, almost horribly salient. But her 
 eyes held an expression of anxiety, of hunger, of something 
 else that went to his heart. He dropped his hand from the 
 piano and moved nearer to her. 
 
 "Is that all you meant by freedom?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She sighed and went forward against him. 
 
 "Did you think do you care?" he stammered. 
 
 All the dominating force had suddenly departed from him. 
 But he put his arms around her. 
 
 "Do you care for the man who has failed?" 
 
 "Yes, yes!" 
 
 She put her arms slowly, almost feebly, round his neck. 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes!" 
 
 She kept on repeating the word, breathing it against his 
 cheek, breathing it against his lips, till his lips stifled it on hers.
 
 470 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 At last she took her lips away. Their eyes almost touched 
 as she gazed into his, and said: 
 
 "It was always the man. Perhaps. I didn't know it, but 
 it was the man, not the triumph."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 AND you really mean to give up Kensington Square 
 and the studio, and to take Djenan-el-Maqui for five 
 years?" said Mrs. Mansfield to Charmian on a spring 
 evening, as they sat together in the former's little library on 
 the first floor of the house in Berkeley Square. 
 
 "Yes, my only mother, if there's always an 'if' in our 
 poor lives, isn't there?" 
 
 "If?" said her mother gently. 
 
 " If you will occasionally brave the Gulf of Lyons and come 
 to us in the winter. In the summer we shall generally come 
 back to you." 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield looked into the fire for a moment. Caroline 
 lay before it in mild contentment, unchanged, unaffected by 
 the results of America. Enough for her if a pleasant warmth 
 from the burning logs played agreeably about her lemon- 
 colored body, enough for her if the meal of dog biscuit soaked 
 in milk was set before her at the appointed time. She sighed 
 now, but not because she heard discussion of Djenan-el- 
 Maqui. Her delicate noise was elicited by the point of her 
 mistress's shoe, which at this moment pressed her side softly, 
 moving her loose skin to and fro. 
 
 "The Gulf of Lyons couldn't keep me from coming," Mrs. 
 Mansfield said at last. "Yes, I daresay I shall see you in 
 that Arab house, Charmian. Claude wishes to go there 
 again?" 
 
 "It is Claude who has decided the whole thing." 
 
 Charmian's voice held a new sound. Mrs. Mansfield looked 
 closely at her daughter. 
 
 "You see, Madre, he and I well, I think we have earned 
 our retreat. We we did stand up to the failure. We went 
 to the first night of Jacques Sennier's new opera and helped, 
 as everyone in an audience can help, to seal its triumph. II 
 went round to Madame Sennier's box with Claude Adelaide 
 
 471
 
 472 THE WAY OF AMBITION 
 
 Shiffney and Armand Gillier were in it! and congratulated 
 her. Madre, we faced the music." 
 
 Her voice quivered slightly. Mrs. Mansfield impulsively 
 took her child's hands and held them. ~- 
 
 "We faced the music. Claude is strong. I never knew 
 what he was before. Without that tremendous failure I 
 never should have known him. He helped me. I didn't 
 know one human being could help another as Claude helped 
 me after the failure of the opera. Even Mr. Crayford admired 
 him. He said to me the last day, when we were going to 
 start for the ship: 'Well, little lady, you've married the 
 biggest failure we've brought over here in my time, but you 
 have married a man!' And I said I said " 
 
 "Yes, my only child?" 
 
 " 'I believe that's all a woman wants.' " 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 Mrs. Mansfield's dark, intense eyes searched Charmian's. 
 
 "Is it all that you want?" 
 
 "You mean?" 
 
 "Isn't the fear of the crowd still haunting you? Isn't 
 uneasy ambition still tugging at you?" 
 
 Charmian took her foot away from Caroline's side and sat 
 very still for a moment. 
 
 "I do want Claude to succeed, yes, I do, Madre. I believe 
 every woman wants her man to succeed. But I shall never 
 interfere again never. I've had my lesson. I've seen the 
 truth, both of myself and of Claude. But I shall always wish 
 Claude to succeed, not in my way, but in his own. And I 
 think he will. Yes, I believe he will. Weren't we he and 
 I both extremists? I think perhaps we were. I may have 
 been vulgar oh, that word! in my desire for fame, in my 
 wish to get out of the crowd. But wasn't Claude just a little 
 bit morbid in his fear of life, in his shrinking from publicity? 
 I think, perhaps, he was. And I know now he thinks so. 
 Claude is changed, Madre. All he went through in New York 
 has changed him. He's a much bigger man than he was when 
 we left England. You must see that!" 
 
 "I do see it." 
 
 "From now onward he'll do the work he is fitted to do,
 
 THE WAY OF AMBITION 473 
 
 only that. But I think he means to let people hear it He 
 said to me only last night: 'Now they all know the false man 
 I have the wish to show them the man who is real.' " 
 
 "The man who had the crucifix standing before his piano " 
 said Mrs. Mansfield, in a low voice. "The man who heard'a 
 great voice out of the temple speaking to the seven angels." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 ^'Did he ever play you that?" she asked Charmian. 
 
 "One night in America, when our dear friend, Alfred Van 
 Brinen, was with us. But he played it for Mr. Van Brinen " 
 
 "And since then?" 
 
 "Madre, he has played it since then for me." 
 
 Charmian got up from her chair. She stood by the fire. 
 Her thin body showed in clear outline against the flames, but 
 her face w r as a little in shadow. 
 
 "Madretta," she began, and was silent. 
 
 "Yes?" said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 "Susan Fleet and I were once talking about theosophy. 
 And Susan said a thing I have never forgotten." 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 "She said: 'It's a long journey up the Ray.' I didn't 
 understand. And she explained that by the Ray she meant 
 the bridge that leads from the personal which perishes to 
 the immortal which endures. Madre, I shall always be very 
 personal, I think. I can't help it. I don't know that I even 
 want to help it. But but I do believe that in America, that 
 night after the opera, I took a long, long step on the journey 
 up the Ray. I must have, I think, because that night I was 
 happy." 
 
 Her eyes became almost mysterious in the firelight. She 
 looked down and added, in a withdrawn voice: 
 
 "7 was happy in failure!" 
 
 "No, in success!" said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 THE END