A CALL 
 
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE FIFTH QUEEN 
 
 PRIVY SEAL 
 
 THE FIFTH QUEEN CROWNED 
 
 THE SOUL OF LONDON 
 
 THE HEART OF THE COUNTRY 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 THE HALF-MOON 
 
 MR. APOLLO 
 
 THE ENGLISH GIRL 
 
A CALL 
 
 THE TALE OF TWO PASSIONS 
 
 BY 
 
 FORD MADOX HUEFFER 
 
 We have a flower in our garden, 
 
 We call it Marygold : 
 And if you will not when you may, 
 
 You shall not when you wold." 
 
 Folk-Songs from Somerset 
 
 LONDON 
 GHATTO & WINDUS 
 
 1910 
 
[A/i rights reserved] 
 

 PART I 
 
 QQ-ysi s 
 
A CALL 
 
 It was once said of Mr. Robert Grimshaw : 
 " That chap is hke a seal " — and the simile was 
 a singularly just one. He was like a seal who 
 is thrusting his head and shoulders out of the 
 water, and, with large, dark eyes and sensitive 
 nostrils, is on the watch. All that could be 
 known of him seemed to be known ; all that 
 could be known of the rest of the world he 
 moved in he seemed to know. He carried 
 about with him usually, in a crook of his arm, 
 a polished, light brown dachshund that had 
 very large feet, and eyes as large, as brown, 
 and as luminous, as those of his master. Upon 
 the occasion of Pauline Lucas's marriage to 
 Dudley Leicester the dog was not upon his 
 arm, but he carried it into the drawing-rooms 
 of the many ladies who welcomed him to 
 
 1—2 
 
4 A CALL 
 
 afternoon tea. Apparently it had no attrac- 
 tions save its clear and beautiful colour, its 
 excellent if very grotesque shape, and its 
 complete docility. He called upon a lady at 
 tea-time, and, with the same motion that let 
 him down into his chair, he would set the dog 
 upon the floor between his legs. There it 
 would remain, as motionless and as erect as a 
 fire-dog, until it was offered a piece of buttered 
 tea-cake, which it would accept, or until its 
 master gave it a minute and hardly audible 
 permission to rove about. Then it would rove. 
 The grotesque, large-little feet paddled set 
 wide upon the carpet, the long ears flapped to 
 the ground. But, above all, the pointed and 
 sensitive nose would investigate with a minute 
 attention, but with an infinite gentleness, every 
 object within its reach in the room, from the 
 line of the skirting- board to the legs of the 
 piano and the flounced skirts of the ladies 
 sitting near the tea-tables. Robert Grimshaw 
 would observe these investigations w^ith an 
 indulgent approval ; and, indeed, someone else 
 once said — and perhaps with more justness — 
 that Mr. Grimshaw resembled most nearly his 
 own dog Peter. 
 
A CALL 5 
 
 But upon the occasion of Pauline Lucas's 
 marriage to Dudley Leicester, in the rustle of 
 laces, the brushing sound of feet upon the 
 cocoa-nut matting, to the strains of the organ, 
 and the " honk " of automobiles that, arriving, 
 set down perpetually new arrivals, the dog 
 Peter pursued no investigations. Neither, 
 indeed, did Mr. Grimshaw, for he was upon 
 ground absolutely familiar. He was heard to 
 be asked and to answer: "Where did Cora 
 Strangeways get her dresses made ?" with the 
 words : "Oh, she gets them at Madame Sera- 
 fine's, in Sloane Street. I waited outside once 
 in her brougham for nearly two hours." 
 
 And to ladies who asked for information as 
 to the bride's antecedents, he would answer 
 patiently and gently (it was at the very 
 beginning of the winter season, and there were 
 present a great many people " back from " all 
 sorts of places— from the Rhine to Caracas) 
 
 " Oh, Pauline's folk are the very best sort of 
 people in the world. Her mother was army, 
 her father navy — well, you all know the 
 Lucases of Laughton, or you ought to. Yes, 
 it's quite true what you've heard, Mrs. Tres- 
 sillian ; Pauline was a nursery governess. 
 
6 A CALL 
 
 What do you make of it ? Her father would 
 go a mucker in South American water-works 
 because he'd passed a great deal of his hfe on 
 South American stations and thought he knew 
 the country. So he joined the other Holy 
 Innocents — the ones with wings — and Pauline 
 had to go as a nursery governess till her 
 mother's people compounded with her father's 
 creditors." 
 
 And to Hartley Jenx's croaking remark that 
 Dudley Leicester might have done himself 
 better, Grimshaw, with his eyes upon the 
 bride, raised and hardened his voice to say : 
 
 " Nobody in the world could have done 
 better, my good man. If it hadn't been 
 Dudley, it would have been me. You're come 
 to the wrong shop. / know what I'm talking 
 about. I haven't been carting Yankees around 
 ruins ; I've been in the centre of things." 
 
 Hartley Jenx, who estimated Dudley 
 Leicester at five thousand a year and several 
 directorates, estimated Grimshaw at a little 
 over ten, plus what he must have saved in the 
 six years since he had come into the Spartalide 
 money. For it was obvious that Grimshaw, 
 who lived in rooms off Cadogan Square and 
 
A CALL 7 
 
 had only the smallest of bachelor shoots — that 
 Grimshaw couldn't spend anything like his 
 income. And amongst the guests at the sub- 
 sequent reception, Hartley Jenx — who made 
 a living by showing Americans round the 
 country in summer, and by managing a 
 
 ^charitable steam-laundry in the winter — with 
 croaking voice, might at intervals be heard 
 exclaiming : 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Van Notten, my dear Miss 
 Schuylkill, we don't estimate a girl's fortune 
 here by what she's got, but by what she's 
 refused." And to the accentuated " My's !" of 
 
 ^ the two ladies from Poughkeepsie he added, 
 with a singular gravity : 
 
 " The bride of the day has refused sixty 
 thousand dollars ayear !" 
 
 So that, although the illustrated papers 
 lavishly reproduced Pauline's pink-and-white 
 beauty, stated that her father was the late 
 Commodore Lucas, and her mother a daughter 
 of Quarternion Castlemaine, and omitted the 
 fact that she had refused twelve thousand a 
 year to marry seven and a few directorates, 
 there were very few of those whom Grimshaw 
 
8 A CALL 
 
 desired to have the knowledge that did not 
 know this his tragedy. 
 
 On the steps of the church, Robert Grimshaw 
 was greeted by his cousin, EUida Langham, 
 whose heavily patterned black veil, drooping 
 hat of black fur, and long coat all black with 
 the wide black sleeves, enhanced the darkness 
 of her coal-black eyes, the cherry colour of 
 her cheeks, and the rich red of her large lips. 
 Holding out her black-gloved hand with an 
 odd little gesture, as if at the same time she 
 were withdrawing it, she uttered the words : 
 
 " Have you heard anything of Katya ?" Her 
 head seemed to be drawn back, birdlike, into 
 the thick furs on her neck, and her voice had 
 in it a plaintive quality. Being one of two 
 daughters of the late Peter Lascarides, and the 
 wife of Paul Langham, she was accounted 
 fortunate as owning great possessions, a very 
 attached husband, and sound health. The 
 plaintive tone in her voice was set down to the 
 fact that her little daughter of six was said to 
 be mentally afflicted, and her sister Katya to 
 have behaved in the strangest possible manner. 
 Indeed, Mr. Hartley Jenx was accustomed to 
 assure his American friends that Katya Las- 
 
A CALL 9 
 
 carides had been sent abroad under restraint, 
 though her friends gave it out that she was in 
 Philadelphia working at a nerve-cure place. 
 
 '" She is still in Philadelphia," Robert Grim- 
 shaw answered, " but I haven't heard from her." 
 
 EUida Langham shivered a little in her furs. 
 
 " These November weddings always make 
 me think of Katya and you," she said ; " it 
 was to have been done for you in November, 
 too. I don't think you have forgotten." 
 
 " I'm going to walk in the Park for ten 
 minutes," Grimshaw replied. " Peter's in the 
 shop. Come too." 
 
 She hooked herself on to his arm to be 
 conducted to her coupe at the end of a strip 
 of red carpet, and in less than two minutes 
 they were dropped on the pavement beside 
 the little cigar- shop that is set, as it were, into 
 the railings of the Park. Here Peter the 
 dachshund, sitting patiently on the spot where 
 his master had left him, beside the doormat, 
 greeted Robert Grimshaw with one tiny 
 whimper and a bow of joy ; and then, his nose 
 a hair's-breadth from Robert Grimshaw's heel, 
 he paddled after them into the Park. 
 
 It was very grey, leafless, and deserted. 
 
10 A CALL 
 
 The long rows of chairs stretched out un- 
 tenanted, and the long perspective of the soft- 
 going Ladies' Mile had no single rider. They 
 walked very slowly, and spoke in low tones. 
 
 "I almost wish," EUida Langham said, 
 "that you had taken Katya's offer. What 
 could have been said worse of her than they 
 say now ?" 
 
 " What do you say of her as it is ?" Robert 
 Grimshaw answered. 
 
 Mrs. Langham drooped in discouragement. 
 
 " That she is engaged in good works. But 
 in Philadelphia ! Who believes in good works 
 in Philadelphia? Besides, she's acting as a 
 nurse — for payment. That isn't good works, 
 and it's disagreeable to lie even about one's 
 sister." 
 
 " Whatever Katya did," Robert Grimshaw 
 answered seriously, " she would be engaged 
 in good works. You might pay her a king's 
 salary, and she'd still do more than she was 
 paid for. That's what it is to do good works." 
 
 " But if you had taken her on her own 
 terms . . . " — Mrs. Langham seemed as if she 
 were pleading with him — " don't you think 
 that one day she or you will give in ?" 
 
A CALL 11 
 
 " I think she never will, and she may be 
 right," he answered. " I think I never shall, 
 and I know I am." 
 
 " But if no one ever knew," she said 
 "wouldn't it be the same thing as the other 
 thing ?" 
 
 " Ellida, dear," he answered gravely, 
 " wouldn't that mean a great deal more lying 
 for you — about your sister ?" 
 
 " But wouldn't it be much better worth 
 lying about ?" she appealed to him. " You 
 are such a dear, she's such a dear, and I 
 could cry; I want you to come together so 
 much !" 
 
 " I don't think I shall ever give in," he 
 answered. And then, seeing a real moisture 
 of tears in the eyes that were turned towards 
 him, he said : 
 
 ** I might, but not till I grow much more 
 tired — oh, much more tired ! — than 1 am." 
 
 And then he added, as briskly as he could, 
 for he spoke habitually in low tones, " I am 
 coming in to supper to-night, tell Paul. 
 How's Kitty ?" 
 
 They were turning across the soft going, 
 down towards where Mrs. Langham's motor 
 
12 A CALL 
 
 was waiting for her beside the door of the 
 French Embassy. 
 
 " Oh, Doctor Tressider says there's nothing 
 to be fundamentally anxious about. He says 
 that there are many children of six who are 
 healthy enough and can't speak. I don't 
 exactly know how to put it, but he Says — 
 well, you might call it a form of obstinacy." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw said " Ah ! " 
 
 " Oh, I know you think," his cousin com- 
 mented, "that that runs in the family. At 
 any rate, there's Kitty as lively as a lark and 
 perfectly sound physically, and she won't speak." 
 
 " And there's Katya," Mr. Grimshaw said, 
 " as lively as a thoroughbred, and as sound as 
 a roach, and a great deal better than any angel 
 — and she won't marry." 
 
 Again Mrs. Langham was silent for a 
 moment or two, then she added : 
 
 " There was mother, too. I suppose that 
 was a form of obstinacy. You remember she 
 always used to say that she would imitate poor 
 mother to the death. Why — mother used to 
 dress ten years before her age so that Katya 
 should not look like a lady of lifty. AVhat a 
 couple of angels they were, weren't they ?" 
 
A CALL 13 
 
 *' You haven't heard " — Mr. Grimshaw con- 
 tinued his musings — " you haven't heard from 
 your mother's people that there was any 
 obstacle ?" 
 
 " None in the world," she answered. " There 
 couldn't have been. We've made all the in- 
 quiries that were possible. Why, my father's 
 private bank-books for years and years back 
 exist to this day, and there's no payment in 
 them that can't be traced. There would have 
 been mysterious cheques if there were anything 
 of the sort, but there's nothing, nothing. And 
 mother— well, you know the Greek system of 
 dealing with girls — she was shut up in a harem 
 till she — till she came out here to father. No, 
 it's inexplicable." 
 
 "Well, if Kitty's obstinate not to imitate 
 people," Grimshaw commented, ** you can only 
 say that Katya's obstinacy takes the form of 
 imitation." 
 
 Mrs. Langham gave vent to a little sort of 
 wail. 
 
 "You aren't going back on Katya?" she 
 said. " It isn't true, is it, that there's another ?" 
 
 " I don't know whether it's true or not true," 
 Grimshaw said, " but you can take it that to- 
 
14 A CALL 
 
 day's ceremony has hit me a httle hard. Katya 
 is always first, but think of that dear httle 
 woman tied to the sort of obtuse hypochondriac 
 that Dudley Leicester is !" 
 
 *' Oh, but there's nothing in Pauline Lucas," 
 Mrs. Langham objected, " and I shouldn't say 
 Dudley was a hypochondriac. He looks the 
 picture of health." 
 
 " Ah, you don't know Dudley Leicester as 
 I do," Grimshaw said. " I've been his best 
 friend for years." 
 
 " I know you've been very good to him," 
 Ellida Langham answered. 
 
 " I know I have," Grimshaw replied, as 
 nearly as possible grimly. " And haven't I now 
 given him what was dearest and best to me ?" 
 
 " But Katya ?" Mrs. Langham said. 
 
 " One wants Katya," Grimshaw said — " one 
 wants Katya. She is vigour, she is life, she is 
 action, she is companionship. One wants her, 
 if you hke, because she is chivalry itself, and so 
 she's obstinate ; but, if one can't have Katya, 
 one wants. ..." 
 
 He paused and looked at the dachshund 
 that, when he paused, paused and looked back 
 at him. 
 
A CALL 15 
 
 " That's what one wants," he continued. 
 " One wants tenderness, fidehty, pretty grace, 
 quaintness, and, above all, worship. Katya 
 could give me companionship ; but wouldn't 
 Pauhne have given me worship ?" 
 
 " But still ..." Mrs. Langham commenced. 
 
 " Oh, I know," Grimshaw interrupted, 
 "there's nothing in her, but still. ..." 
 
 " But still," Mrs. Langham mocked him, 
 "dear old Toto, you do want to talk about 
 her. Let's take another little turn ; I can give 
 you five minutes more." 
 
 She beckoned to her car to come in at the 
 gates and follow them along the side-walk past 
 the tall barracks in the direction of Kensington. 
 
 " Yes, I dearly want to talk about Pauline," 
 Grimshaw said, and his cousin laughed out the 
 words : 
 
 " Oh, you strong, silent men ! Don't you 
 know you are called a strong, silent man ? I 
 remember how you used to talk to Katya and 
 me about all the others before you got engaged 
 to Katya. When I come to think of it, the 
 others were all little doll-things like Pauline 
 Leicester. Katya used to say : * There's 
 nothing in them !' She used to say it in 
 
16 A CALL 
 
 private to me. It tore her heart to shreds, 
 you know. I couldn't understand how you 
 came to turn from them to her, but I know 
 you did and I know you do. . . . 
 
 " You haven't changed a bit, Toto," she 
 began again. " You play at being serious and 
 reserved and mysterious and full of knowledge, 
 but you're still the kiddie in knickerbockers 
 who used to have his pockets full of chocolate 
 creams for the gardener's mite of a daughter. 
 I remember I used to see you watching her 
 skip. You'd stand for minutes at a time and 
 just devour her with your eyes — a little tot of 
 a thing. And then you'd throw her the 
 chocolate creams out of the window. You 
 were twelve and I was nine and Katya was 
 seven and the gardener's daughter was six, but 
 what an odd boy I used to think you !" 
 
 '* That's precisely it," Grimshaw said. 
 "That's what I want in Pauline. I don't 
 want to touch her. I want to watch her 
 going through the lancers with that little 
 mouth just open, and the little hand just 
 holding out her skirt, and a little, terider 
 expression of joy. Don't you see — just to 
 watch her ? She's a small, light bird. I want 
 
A CALL 17 
 
 to have her in a cage, to chirrup over her, to 
 whistle to her, to give her grapes, and to have 
 her peep up at me and worship me. No, I 
 haven't changed. When I was that boy it 
 didn't occur to me that I could have Katya ; 
 we were like brother and sister, so I wanted 
 to watch little Millie Neil. Now I know I 
 might have Katya and I can't, so I want to 
 watch Pauline Leicester. I want to ; I want 
 to ; I want to." 
 
 His tones were perfectly level and tranquil ; 
 he used no gesture ; his eyes remained upon 
 the sand of the rolled side-walk, but his 
 absolutely monotonous voice expressed a 
 longing so deep, and so deep a hunger that 
 Ellida Langham said : 
 
 " Oh, come, cheer up, old Toto ; you'll be 
 able to watch her as much as you want. I 
 suppose you will dine with the Leicesters the 
 three times a week that you don't dine with 
 us, and have tea with Pauline every day, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 "But they're going out of England for a 
 month," Grimshaw said, " and I'm due to start 
 for Athens the day before they come back." 
 
 " Oh, poor boy !" Ellida commiserated him. 
 
 2 
 
18 A CALL 
 
 "You won't be able to watch your bird in 
 Leicester's cage for a whole ten weeks. I 
 believe you'd like to cry over her." 
 
 "I should like to cry over her," Robert 
 Grimshaw^ said, with perfect gravity. " I 
 should like to kneel down and put my face 
 in her lap and cry, and cry, and cry." 
 
 "As you used to do with me years ago," 
 she said. 
 
 " As I used to do with you," he answered. 
 
 "Poor — old — Tot," she said very slowly, 
 and he kissed her on her veil over her cheek, 
 whilst he handed her into her coupe. She 
 waved her black-gloved fingers at him out of 
 the passing window, and, his hands behind his 
 back, his shoulders square and his face serious, 
 tranquil, and expressing no emotion, he slowly 
 continued his stroll towards the Albert 
 Memorial. He paused, indeed, to watch four 
 sparrows hopping delicately on their mysterious 
 errands, their heads erect, through the grimy 
 and long grass between the Park railings and 
 the path. It appeared to him that they were 
 going ironically through a set of lancers, and 
 the smallest of them, a paler coloured hen, 
 might have been Pauline Leicester. 
 
II 
 
 That was not, however, to be the final colloquy 
 between Robert Grimshaw and Ellida Lang- 
 ham, for he was again upon her doorstep just 
 before her time to pour out tea. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" she asked ; *' you 
 know you are?it looking well, Toto." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw was a man of thirty-five, 
 who, by reason that he allowed himself the 
 single eccentricity of a very black, short beard, 
 might have passed for fifty. His black hair 
 grew so far back upon his brow that he had an 
 air of incipient baldness ; his nose was very 
 aquiline and very sharply modelled at the tip, 
 and when, at a Christmas party, to amuse his 
 little niece, he had put on a red stocking-cap, 
 many of the children had been frightened ot 
 him, so much did he resemble a Levantine 
 pirate. His manners, however, were singularly 
 unnoticeable ; he spoke in habitually low 
 
 19 2—2 
 
20 A CALL 
 
 tones ; no one exactly knew the extent of his 
 resources, but he was reputed rather " close," 
 because he severely limited his expenditure. 
 He commanded a cook, a parlourmaid, a knife- 
 boy, and a man called Jervis, who was the 
 husband of his cook, and he kept them upon 
 board wages. His habits were of an extreme 
 regularity, and he had never been known to 
 raise his voice. He was rather an adept with 
 the fencing-sword, and save for his engagement 
 to Katya Lascarides and its rupture he had 
 had no appreciable history. And, indeed, 
 Katya Lascarides was by now so nearly for- 
 gotten in Mayfair that he was beginning to 
 pass for a confirmed bachelor. His conduct 
 with regard to Pauhne Lucas, whom every- 
 body had expected him to marry, was taken 
 by most of his friends to indicate that he had 
 achieved that habit of mind that causes a man 
 to shrink from the disturbance that a woman 
 would cause to his course of life. Himself the 
 son of an English banker and of a lady called 
 Lascarides, he had lost both his parents before 
 he was three years old, and he had been 
 brought up by his uncle and aunt, the Peter 
 Lascarides, and hi the daily society of his 
 
A CALL 21 
 
 cousins, Katya and Ellida. Comparatively 
 late — perhaps because as Ellida said, he had 
 always regarded his cousins as his sisters — he 
 had become engaged to his cousin Katya, very 
 much to the satisfaction of his uncle and his 
 aunt. But Mrs. Lascarides having died shortly 
 before the marriage was to have taken place, it 
 was put off, and the death of Mr. Lascarides, 
 occurring four months later, and with extreme 
 suddenness, the match was broken off, for 
 no reason that anyone knew altogether. 
 Mr. Lascarides had, it was known, died intes- 
 tate, and apparently, according to Greek law, 
 Robert Grimshaw had become his uncle's 
 sole heir. But he was understood to have 
 acted exceedingly handsomely by his cousins. 
 Indeed, it was a fact Mr. Hartley Jenx had 
 definitely ascertained, that upon the marriage 
 of Ellida to Paul Langham, Robert Grimshaw 
 had executed in her benefit settlements of a 
 sum that must have amounted to very nearly 
 half his uncle's great fortune. Her sister 
 Katya, who had been attached to her mother 
 with a devotion that her English friends con- 
 sidered to be positively hysterical, had, it was 
 pretty clearly understood, become exceedingly 
 
22 .^ A CALL 
 
 strange in her manner after her mother's death. 
 The reason for her rupture with Robert Grim- 
 shaw was not very clearly understood, but it 
 was generally thought to be due to religious 
 differences. Mrs. Lascarides had been exceed- 
 ingly attached to the Greek Orthodox Church, 
 whereas, upon going to Winchester, Robert 
 Grimshaw, for the sake of convenience and 
 with the consent of his uncle, had been received 
 into the Church of England. But whatever 
 the causes of the rupture, there was no doubt 
 that it was an occasion of great bitterness. 
 Katya Lascarides certainly suffered from a 
 species of nervous breakdown, and passed some 
 months in a hydropathic establishment on the 
 Continent ; and it was afterwards known by 
 those who took the trouble to be at all accurate 
 in their gossip that she had passed over to 
 Philadelphia in order to study the more obscure 
 forms of nervous diseases. In this study she 
 was understood to have gained a very great 
 proficiency, for Mrs. Clement P. N^'an Husum, 
 junior, whose balloon-parties were such a 
 feature of at least one I^ondon season, and 
 who herself had been one of Miss Lascarides' 
 patients, was accustomed to say with all the 
 
A CALL •^ 23 
 
 enthusiastic emphasis of her country and race 
 — she had been before marriage a Miss Car- 
 teighe of Hoboken, J^.Y. — that not only 
 had Katya Lascarides saved her Hfe and reason, 
 but that the chief of the Philadelphian Insti- 
 tute was accustomed always to send Katya to 
 diagnose obscure cases in the more remote 
 parts of the American continent. It was, as 
 the few friends that Katya had remaining in 
 London said, a little out of the picture— at 
 any rate, of the picture of the slim, dark and 
 passionate girl with the extreme, pale beauty 
 and the dark eyes that they remembered her 
 to have had. 
 
 But there was no knowing what religion 
 might not have done for this southern nature 
 if, indeed, religion was the motive of the 
 rupture with Robert Grimshaw ; and she was 
 known to have refused to receive from her 
 cousin any of her father's money, so that that, 
 too, had some of the aspect of her having 
 become a nun, or, at any rate, of her having 
 adopted a cloisteral frame of mind, devoting 
 herself, as her sister Ellida said, " to good 
 works." But whatever the cause of the 
 quarrel, there had been no doubt that Robert 
 
24 A CALL 
 
 Grimshaw had felt the blow very severely — 
 as severely as it was possible for such things 
 to be felt ill the restrained atmosphere of 
 the more southerly and western portions of 
 London. He had disappeared, indeed, for a 
 time, though it was understood that he had 
 been spending several months in Athens 
 arranging his uncle's affairs and attending 
 to those of the firm of Peter Lascarides and 
 Company, of which firm he had become a 
 director. And even when he returned to 
 London it was to be observed that he was 
 still very "hipped." What was at all times 
 most noticeable about him, to those who 
 observed these things, was the pallor of his 
 complexion. When he was in health, this 
 extreme and delicate whiteness had a sub- 
 cutaneous flush like the intangible colouring 
 of a China rose. But upon his return from 
 Athens it had, and it retained for some time, 
 the peculiar and chalky opacity. Shortly 
 after his return he engrossed himself in the 
 affiiirs of his friend Dudley Leicester, who 
 had lately come into very large but very 
 involved estates. Dudley Leicester, who, 
 whatever he had, had no head for business. 
 
A CALL 25 
 
 had been Robert Grimshaw's fag at school, 
 and had been his almost daily companion at 
 Oxford and ever since. But little by little the 
 normal flush had returned to Robert Grim- 
 shaw's face ; only whilst lounging through life 
 he appeared to become more occupied in his 
 mind, more reserved, more benevolent and 
 more gentle. 
 
 It was on observing a return of the excessive 
 and chalk-like opacity in Robert Grimshaw's 
 cheeks that Ellida, when that afternoon he 
 called upon her, exclaimed : 
 
 " What's the matter ? You know you aren't 
 looking well. One would think Peter was 
 dead." 
 
 '* You've got," he said, "to put on your 
 things and come and see them off at the 
 station." 
 
 " 1 ?" she protested. " What are they to 
 me?" 
 
 He passed his hand over his forehead. 
 
 " I've got to go," he said. " I don't want 
 to, but I've got to. I've got to see the last 
 of Pauline." 
 
 Ellida said : " Oh /" 
 
26 A CALL 
 
 ** It's not," he answered, " a question of what 
 you are to them, but of what I am to you. 
 You're the only sister I've got in the world." 
 
 Ellida was walking up to him to put her 
 hands upon his shoulders. 
 
 " Yes, dear," she was beginning, with the 
 note of tenderness in her voice. 
 
 " And," he interrupted her, *' you're the only 
 sister that Katya's got in the world. If I've 
 arranged this marriage it's for your sake, to 
 keep myself for Katya." 
 
 She gave a little indrawing of the breath : 
 
 " Oh, Toto dear," she said painfully, " is it as 
 bad as that ?" 
 
 " It's as bad as that — it's worse," he answered. 
 
 " Then don't go," she pleaded. " Stop 
 away. What's the use of it ?" 
 
 " I can't," he said numbly. " It's no use, 
 but I can't stop away ;" and he added in a 
 fierce whisper : " Get your things on quickly ; 
 there's not much time. I can't answer for 
 what will happen if you're not there to safe- 
 guard Katya's interests." 
 
 Slie shivered a little back from him. 
 
 "Oh, Toto," she said, "it's not that I'm 
 thinking of. It's you, if you're in such pain." 
 
A CALL 27 
 
 " Be quick ! be quick !" he insisted. 
 Whilst she was putting on her furs she sent 
 in to the room the small, dark, laughing and 
 dumb Kitty. With steps of swift delight, 
 with an air at once jolly and elfin, the small, 
 dark child in her white dress ran to catch hold 
 of the lappets of her uncle's coat, but for the 
 first time in his life Robert Grimshaw gazed 
 out unseeing over his niece's head. He brushed 
 her to one side and began to walk feverishly 
 down the room, his white teeth gleaming with 
 an air of fierceness through the bluish-black of 
 his beard and moustache. But even with their 
 haste, it was only by almost running along the 
 platform beside the train that EUida was able 
 in the dusk to shake the hands of Dudley 
 Leicester and his wife. Grimshaw himself 
 stood behind her, his own hands behind his 
 back. And EUida had a vision, as slowly the 
 train moved, of a little, death-white, childish 
 face, of a pair of blue eyes, that gazed as if 
 from the face of Death himself, over her 
 shoulder. And then, whilst she fumbled with 
 the flowers in her breast, Pauline Leicester 
 suddenly sank down, her head falling back 
 amongst the cushions, and at the last motion 
 
28 A CALL 
 
 of her hand she dropped on to the platform 
 the small bunch of violets. Ellida leaned 
 forward with a quick and instinctive gesture 
 of rescue. 
 
 " She's fainted !" she exclaimed. '' Oh, poor 
 child !" 
 
 The train glided slowly and remorselessly 
 from the platform, and for a long time Robert 
 Grimshaw watched it dwindling out of the 
 shadow of the high station into the shadows 
 of the falling November dusk, until they were 
 all alone on the platform. And suddenly 
 Robert Grimshaw ground the little bunch of 
 flowers beneath his heel vindictively, his teeth 
 showing as they bit his lower lip. 
 
 " T'oto /" Ellida exclaimed in a tone of sharp 
 terror and anguish, " why did she throw them 
 to you ? She shouldn't have. But why do 
 you do that ?" 
 
 His voice came harshly from his throat. 
 
 " They were my flowers — my gift. She 
 was throwing them away. Hadn't you the 
 sense to see that ?" and his voice was cruel. 
 
 She recoiled minutely, but at his next action 
 she came swiftly forward, her hands out- 
 stretched as if to stop him. He had picked 
 
A CALL 29 
 
 up the violets, his lips moving silently. He 
 touched with them each of his wrists, each of 
 his eyes, his lips and his heart. 
 
 " Oh, don't," she said. " You aren't serious 
 — you can't be serious !" for, as it seemed to 
 her, semi - ironically her cousin was going 
 through a Greek incantation that they had 
 been told of by their old Greek nurse. " You 
 can't want to retain that poor little thing's 
 aifections." 
 
 " Serious !" Robert Grimshaw muttered. 
 
 " Oh, Robert," she said, " what have you 
 done it for? If she's so frightfully in love 
 with you, and you're so frightfully in love 
 with her . . . and you've only got to look at 
 her face to see. I never saw such misery. 
 Isn't it horrible to think of them steaming 
 away together ?" 
 
 Robert Grimshaw clenched his teeth firmly. 
 " What did I do it for ?" he said. 
 
 His eyes wandered over the form of a lady 
 who passed them in earnest conversation with 
 a porter. " That woman's going to drop her 
 purse out of her muff," he said ; and then he 
 added sharply : "I didn't know what it would 
 mean ; no, I didn't know what it would mean. 
 
30 A CALL 
 
 It's the sort of thing that's done every day, 
 but it's horrible." 
 
 "It's horrible," Ellida repeated. "You 
 oughtn't to have done it. It's true I stand 
 for Katya, but if you wanted that child so 
 much and she wanted you so dreadfully, 
 wasn't it your business to have made her 
 happy, and yourself ? If I'd known, / shouldn't 
 have stood in the way, not even for Katya's 
 sake. She's no claim — none that can be set 
 against a feeling like that. She's gone away : 
 she's shown no sign." 
 
 She stopped, and then she uttered suddenly : 
 
 " Oh, Robert, you oughtn't to have done it ; 
 no good can come of it." 
 
 He turned upon her sharply. 
 
 " Upon my word," he said, " you talk like 
 an old-fashioned shopkeeper's wife. Nothing 
 but harm can come of it! What have we 
 arrived at in our day and our class if we haven't 
 learnt to do what we want, to do what seems 
 proper and expedient — and to take what we 
 get for it ?" 
 
 They turned and went slowly up the long 
 platform. 
 
 " Oh, our day and our class," Ellida said 
 
A CALL 31 
 
 slowly. "It would be better for Pauline to 
 be the old-fashioned wife of a small shop- 
 keeper than what she is — if she cared for 
 him." 
 
 They were nearly at the barrier, and he 
 said: 
 
 " Oh sentimentality, sentimentality ! I had 
 to do what seemed best for, us all — that was 
 what I wanted. Now I'm taking what I get 
 for it." 
 
 And he relapsed into a silence that lasted 
 until they were nearly at home. And seated 
 beside him in her coupe, Ellida, with the little 
 deep wisdom of the woman of the household, 
 sat beside him in a mood of wonder, of tender- 
 ness, and of commiseration. 
 
 " And it's always like this," she seemed to 
 feel in her wise, small bones. " There they 
 are, these men of ours. We see them al- 
 together affable, smiling, gentle, composed. 
 And we women have to make believe to their 
 faces and to each other that they're towers of 
 strength and all- wise, as they like to make out 
 that they are. We see them taking action 
 that they think is strong ; and forcible, and 
 masculine, and that we know is utterly mad ; 
 
82 A CALL 
 
 and we have to pretend to them and to each 
 other that we agree in placid confidence ; and 
 then we go home, each one of us with our 
 husbands or our brothers, and the strong 
 mascuHne creature breaks down, groans and 
 drags us after him hither and thither in his 
 crisis, when he has to pay for his folly. And 
 that's life. And that's love. And that's 
 the woman's part. And that's all there is 
 to it." 
 
 It is not to be imagined that EUida did any- 
 thing so unsubtle as to put these feelings of 
 hers, even to herself, into words. They found 
 vent only in the way her eyes, compassionate 
 and maternal, rested on his brooding face. 
 Indeed, the only words she uttered, either to 
 herself or to him, were, with deep concern —he 
 had taken off his hat to ease the pressure of 
 the blood in his brows — as she ran her fingers 
 gently through his hair : 
 
 " Poor old Toto !" 
 
 He remained lost in his abstraction, until 
 they were almost at her door. Then he 
 squared his shoulders and resumed his hat. 
 
 " Yet I'm sure I was right," he said. " Just 
 consider what it was up to me to do. You've 
 
A CALL 38 
 
 got to think that I don't by any means care 
 for Katya less. I want her for myself. But I 
 want to see to it that Pauline has a good time, 
 and I want to see her having it." 
 
 " How can she have it if you've given her 
 Dudley Leicester when she wants you ?" 
 
 *' My dear child," he answered, and he had 
 become again calm, strong, and infinitely lofty. 
 " Don't you understand that's how Society 
 has to go on ? It's the sort of thing that's got. 
 to happen to make us the civilized people that 
 we are. Dudley's the best fellow in the world : 
 I'm sure he's the best fellow in the world. I 
 know everything he's ever done and every 
 thought he's ever thought for the last twenty 
 years, and everything that Pauline wants to do 
 in this world he'll do. She'll make a man of 
 him. She'll give him a career. He'll be her 
 life's work. And if you can't have what you 
 want, the next best thing is to have a life's 
 work that's worth doing, that's engrossing, that 
 keeps you from thinking about what you 
 haven't got." 
 
 Ellida refrained from saying that what a 
 different thing it was, and with his air of 
 tranquil wisdom he went on : 
 
 3 
 
34 A CALL 
 
 " We're all — all of us, in our class and our 
 day, doing the same thing. Every one of us 
 really wants the moon, and we've got somehow 
 to get on with just the earth, and behave our- 
 selves. I suppose what I really want is both 
 Katya and Pauline. That sort of thing is 
 probably in our blood — yours and mine — and 
 no doubt in the great days of our race I should 
 have had both of them, but I've got to sacrifice 
 physical possession of one of them to the 
 amenities of a civilization that's pleasant 
 enough, and that's taken thousands of years to 
 bring together. We're the children of the age 
 and of all the ages, and if at times it's painful, 
 we've got to get over the pain somehow. This 
 is done with. You won't see me wdnce again, 
 not ever. It's my business in life just to wait 
 for Katya, and to see that Pauline has a good 
 time." 
 
 Ellida did not say : " You mean, in fact, 
 to keep as much as you want of both of 
 them ?" She said instead ; " What's wanted 
 is that Katya should come back from Phila- 
 delphia to look after you. You need to be 
 looked after by a woman, and I'm going to 
 get her." 
 
A CALL 35 
 
 " Oh yes, I need to be looked after," he 
 said. And he added : 
 
 " But you know, dear, you do it splendidly." 
 She nodded in the very least. 
 I *' Yes," she said, " but you need to be looked 
 ' after by at least two of us, and to have the 
 whole time of at least one. I've got Paul and 
 I've got Kitty as well as you." She added to 
 herself: "Katya will be able to manage you 
 with my hints. I don't believe she could 
 without, if she is anything like the passionate 
 darling she used to be." And she concluded 
 out loud : " It's Kitty that's going to bring 
 her back from Philadelphia. I've had my 
 trump card up my sleeve for some time, but 
 I haven't wanted to interfere in matters with 
 two such volcanoes as you and she really are. 
 It seemed too much of a responsibility. And 
 I've sort of felt that a little person like Pauline 
 was the person who ought to have married 
 you. I know it now. You ought to have 
 married Pauline and given her a good time. 
 Then you could have gone on waiting for 
 Katya till the end of the chapter." 
 Robert Grimshaw said *' Oh !" 
 " But you're in," she shut him up, " such a 
 
 3—2 
 
36 A CALL 
 
 hopeless pickle as it is that I don't believe 
 even Katya, darling as she is, could make you 
 any worse. So that if she comes back you'd 
 better just take her on her own terms, and 
 make the very best of it." 
 
Ill 
 
 Pauline Leicester's mothers cottage had 
 only one spare bedroom. It stood in the New 
 Forest, some seven miles from Brockenhurst, 
 with no house nearer it than just that seven 
 miles. And Mrs. Lucas, the mother of 
 Pauline Leicester, suffered from angina pec- 
 toris. She was a little, pleasant woman, with 
 the greatest tact that was ever known ; she 
 played a variety of Patiences, and she had one 
 very attached servant. But, little and pleasant 
 and patient and tactful, she suffered very much 
 pain. 
 
 It was not, indeed, angina pectoris, but 
 pneumonia ijiat brought the Leicesters down 
 in March. 
 
 " And, poor dear !" Pauline said to her 
 husband, " no one knows what she has borne. 
 And now ..." 
 
 She was sitting alone opposite Leicester in 
 
 37 
 
V 
 
 38 A CALL 
 
 the railway carriage; she M^as still in furs, for 
 March was by no means done with, and the 
 black, grey- tipped hairs encircling her porcelain 
 cheeks and chin, the black, grey-tipped furs 
 crowning her brow, that was like soft and 
 translucent china, she leaned back in the seat, 
 and was so tiny that her feet did not touch the 
 floor. Her brows curved out over her eyes ; 
 their lashes curved out and upwards, so that 
 she had an expression of being a newly 
 awakened and wondering child, and about her 
 lips there hovered always one of those faint 
 ghosts of smiles that are to other smiles as the 
 faint odour of pot-pourri is to the scent of 
 roses. Her husband called her PufF-Ball, 
 because he said a breath of wind would scatter 
 her like an odorous smoke, gone in a second ; 
 but she had acquired her faint smile whilst 
 tending five very robust children when she had 
 been a nursery governess. She was twenty- 
 three. 
 
 " You see," she wxnt on, " it was always 
 mother's ambition — her secret ambition — to 
 have a white pony and a basket-work open 
 chaise. It must be a white pony and a basket- 
 work chaise. You know, the New Forest's 
 
A CALL 39 
 
 the place where all Admirals go to die, and all 
 their widows always set up these chaises, just 
 as all the Admirals always have parrots. Not 
 that I ever considered mother as a widow. I 
 suppose that was because I hardly saw her at 
 all in her weeds, and I hardly ever saw her 
 with my father — and yet she was in such an 
 agony of fear whenever the wind blew, or 
 when the weather was fierce. When it blew 
 in the Forest, it used to remind her that there 
 might be wind at sea ; when it was a dead 
 calm, she was always convinced that that 
 meant that there was a particularly vicious 
 cyclone somewhere else. She always seemed 
 most characteristic when she was sitting bolt 
 upright, with one hand close to her heart — 
 listening. And I don't think she was the 
 woman for father. He was so big and grizzled, 
 and loud and romantic. He used to shout at 
 her : ' What 'd a pufF of wind do to a first-class 
 cruiser ? What 'd it do, d'you think ?' It wasn't 
 that he wasn't prouder of her than you are of 
 me. Why, I've seen him take her up in his 
 arms and hoist her towards the ceiling, as if 
 she had been a baby, and roar with laughter. 
 But I don't think that was very good for 
 
40 A CALL 
 
 mother. And you know she got her first 
 touch of heart trouble when the Victoria was 
 rammed. She was m Lyndhurst, and read it 
 on tlie placards — 'Flagship sunk: Admiral 
 and six hundred lives lost.' She put her hand 
 over her heart and fell over backwards. Oh ! 
 poor dear 1" 
 
 Pauline looked at her husband. 
 " Yes, old boy," she said, " you don't know 
 what we women have to suffer." 
 
 He was like a large, pleased spaniel assaulted 
 by a Persian kitten. He was so slow that he 
 seemed never to get a word out ; he was so 
 happy that he never made the effort. He 
 had promised to stand for IMid-Kent when 
 they had been married one year, because she 
 declared that he needed an occupation, and 
 would be tired of her prattle. She said she 
 could hold him a year ; after that he'd have to 
 go out of the house. And, indeed, she ran on 
 and on, but it was pleasant enough to hear 
 her as she thought aloud, her mind linking up 
 topic to topic. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " there were father's specula- 
 tions, that were as bad for her as the winds on 
 the sea. He'd roar out : ' I never put into 
 
A CALL 41 
 
 anything in any one year more than three- 
 fifths of my year's screw. I never did, and 
 I never will. And the wheel's bound to turn 
 right side up.' But it never did, and it never 
 would. And he had expensive tastes, and 
 there was me to dress. And I've seen him sit- 
 ting with his chin between his hands. So that 
 when he died his coffin stood in an empty house 
 — the brokers had cleared it that day. And 
 I was at the Brigstocks' — up in the nursery." 
 
 Dudley Leicester swore suddenly at Fate 
 that had so misused his PufF-Ball. 
 
 "I've never really told you this," Pauline 
 said, '* though I dare say you knew it." 
 
 " I never knew it," he said. " By God ! I'd 
 like to, . . . Well, the most I knew was, I 
 heard the Brigstocks only gave you three days 
 for your father's funeral, and cut it off your 
 holidays next summer." 
 
 " Well, I've got to thank them that I never 
 really think of mother as a widow. I'm glad 
 of that ; and there were five children in the 
 nursery, and only me to look after them." 
 
 Mr. Leicester muttered beneath his breath 
 that they were cursed hogs. 
 
 ** Well, I've got to thank them for you /" 
 
42 A CALL 
 
 she said. " For if Mr. Grimshaw hadn't come 
 up into the nursery — if he hadn't been so fond 
 of children— he'd never have seen me, and so 
 he'd never have helped mother to patch up 
 her impossible affairs, and get her compas- 
 sionate allowance, and keep out of rooms in 
 Hampton Court that she dreaded so. . Yoiid 
 never have come to Hampton Court. You've 
 never been to Hampton Court in your 
 life." 
 
 " I have,'' Dudley Leicester asseverated. 
 " When I was a kid I scratched a wart off 
 my hand on the hollies in the maze ; there's 
 the scar on the little finger. And I wish 
 you'd call him Robert. I've told you so 
 many times. It's deuced bad form to call 
 him Mr. Grimshaw," 
 
 Pauline's lower lip curved inwards. 
 
 " Anyhow, mother's ambition to have a pony 
 was a secret all tlie time." 
 
 "She might have had fifty ponies if I'd 
 known," Leicester said. 
 
 " But you were engaged to Etta Stackpole 
 all the while," Pauline mocked him. "You 
 know you'd have married her if she had not 
 flirted with the boot-blacks. You've told me 
 
A CALL 43 
 
 so many times I And anyhow, she didn't 
 want fifty ponies : she only wanted one. And, 
 now I'm off her hands, and she's been able to 
 get one — there comes this. ..." 
 
 For Mrs. Lucas, driving out with her pony 
 for the third time in the Forest, the pony — 
 white, with extreme age— had fallen, and lay 
 still, and a March storm had come sweeping 
 up from the Solent. So that there was the 
 pneumonia. 
 
 " And the only reason I tell you all this," 
 Pauline said, " is to make you very quiet and 
 good, and careful not to knock things over, 
 because it's such a tiny box of a place, and 
 you're such a clumsy creature, and falling 
 crockery is so bad for a weak heart. I should 
 say it's worse than sudden deaths or runaway 
 marriages. ..." 
 
 But Dudley Leicester had no chance of 
 breaking his mother-in-law's china. He was 
 fond of standing before her little mantelshelf, 
 and, with a motion of his shoulder-blades, 
 knocking her blue vases into the fender, and 
 his dismal contrition then had always been 
 almost worse for Mrs. Lucas's nerves than the 
 
44 A CALL 
 
 actual crash and collision. He had no chance, 
 because the little cottage was full to over- 
 flowing. There were two nurses in attendance ; 
 there were a doctor and a specialist at the 
 moment of the Leicesters' arrival, and there 
 was only one spare bedroom, and only one 
 servant. And there was no other dwelling- 
 place within seven miles. Dudley Leicester 
 was left to imagine that it was the cold, calm, 
 closely-lipped nurses in their white aprons that 
 seemed to stand out so stiffly, to take up so 
 much space, and with their rustlings so to fill 
 the tiny house — that it was they who sent the 
 quite dismal Dudley Leicester back to town. 
 But no doubt, though she never let him sus- 
 pect it, or the shadow of it, it was Pauline. 
 With the secret consciousness that his presence, 
 though he never went near the sick-room, was 
 a constant torture to her mother — it was 
 Pauline who really ejected him from the 
 cottage, who put against the fact that he was 
 willing to sleep on the sofa or in the loft over 
 the white pony's stable the other fact — that 
 Ann, the servant, was terribly overworked 
 already, with so many extra beds to make, 
 meals to cook, and plates to wash up. In 
 
A CALL 45 
 
 fact, gay and brave and pleading, Pauline put 
 her hands on her husband's chest and pushed 
 him backwards out of the crowded house. 
 And he never realized that it was she who / w 
 did it. ^ ^ 
 
IV 
 
 So tall that he looked over most men's heads, 
 so strong that his movements must be for ever 
 circumscribed and timid, Dudley Leicester had 
 never in his life done anything — he had not 
 even been in the Guards. Least of all did he 
 ever realize personal attitudes in those around 
 him. The minute jealousies, the very deep 
 hatreds, and the strong passions that swelled 
 in his particular world of deep idleness, of high 
 feeling, and of want of occupation — in this 
 world where, since no man had any need of 
 anything to do, there were so many things 
 to feel — Dudley Leicester perceived absolutely 
 nothing, no complexities, no mixed relation- 
 ships. To him a man was a man, a woman a 
 woman ; the leader in a newspaper was a series 
 of convincing facts, of satisfying views, and of 
 final ideals. Belonging as he did to the govern-' 
 ing classes, Dudley Leicester had not even the 
 
 46 
 
A CALL 47 
 
 one outlet for passion that is open to these 
 highly groomed and stall-fed creatures. The 
 tradition of the public service was in his blood. 
 He owned a slice of his kingdom that was 
 more than microscopic on the map. But 
 though he had come into his great possessions 
 at the age of twenty- seven, he made no effort 
 whatever to put things straight, since he had 
 more than enough to satisfy his simple needs, 
 — to provide him with a glass bath and silver 
 taps, to pay his subscription at his club, to 
 give him his three cigars a day, his box at 
 a music-hall once a week, his month on the 
 Riviera — and to leave him a thousand or two 
 over every year, which was the fact most 
 worrying to his existence. 
 
 It was Robert Grimshaw who set his estates 
 in order ; who found him a young, hard steward 
 with modern methods ; who saw to it that he 
 built additions to several Church schools, and 
 who directed the steward to cut down the rent 
 on overburdened farms, to raise other rents, to 
 provide allotments, to plant heavy land with 
 trees, and to let the shootings to real advan- 
 tage. It was, indeed, Robert Grimshaw who 
 raised Dudley Leicester's income to figures 
 
48 A CALL 
 
 that in other circumstances Leicester would 
 have found intolerable. But, on the other 
 hand, it was Robert Grimshaw who put all 
 the surplus back into the estates, who had 
 all the gates rehung, all the hedges replanted, 
 all the roofs of the barns ripped and retiled, and 
 all the cottages rebuilt. And it was Robert 
 Grimshaw who provided him with his Pauline. 
 So that at thirty-two, with a wife whom 
 already people regarded as likely to be the 
 making of him, a model landlord, perfectly 
 sure of a seat in the House, without a charac- 
 teristic of any kind or an enemy in the world, 
 there, gentle and exquisitely groomed, Dudley 
 Leicester was a morning or so after his return 
 to town. Standing in front of his mantelshelf 
 in a not too large dining-room of Curzon 
 Street, he surveyed his breakfast-table with 
 an air of immense indiiFerence, of immense 
 solitude, and of immense want of occupation. 
 His shoulder-blades rubbed the glass front of 
 the clock, his hand from time to time lightly 
 pulled his moustache, his face was empty, 
 but with an emptiness of depression. He 
 had nothing in the world to do. Nothing 
 whatever ! 
 
A CALL 49 
 
 So that turning round to take a note from 
 the frame of the mirror behind him was with 
 him positively an action of immense impor- 
 tance. He hadn't a visit to pay to his tailor ; 
 there wouldn't be at his club or in the Park 
 anyone that he wanted to be talked to by. 
 
 The one bright spot in his day was the P 
 
 exercise that he would take just before lunch 
 in his bath-room before the open window. This 
 interested him. This really engrossed him. 
 It engrossed him because of his docility, his 
 instructor having told him that, unless he paid 
 an exact attention to each motion of his hands 
 and wrists the exercises would cause him no 
 benefit whatever. He longed immensely for 
 physical benefit, for he suffered from constant 
 panics and ideas of ill-health. He remembered 
 that he had an aunt who had been a consump- 
 tive ; therefore he dreaded tuberculosis. He 
 had read in some paper that the constant 
 string of vehicles passing us in the streets of 
 London so acted on the optic nerves that 
 general paralysis was often induced. Therefore 
 sometimes he walked along the streets with 
 his eyes shut ; he instructed his chauffeur to 
 drive him from place to place only by way of 
 
 4 
 
50 A CALL 
 
 back streets and secluded squares, and he aban- 
 doned the habit of standnig in the window of 
 his club, which overlooked Piccadilly. Because 
 Pauline, by diverting his thoughts, diverted 
 also these melancholy forebodings, he imagined 
 that marriage had done him a great deal of 
 good. The letter that he took from the mantel- 
 shelf contained an invitation from the Phyllis 
 Trevors to dine that night at the Equator Club, 
 and to go afterwards to the Esmeralda, the 
 front row of whose stalls Phyllis Trevors had 
 engaged. That matter w^as one for deep and 
 earnest consideration, since Dudley Leicester 
 had passed his last three evenings at the place 
 of entertainment in question, and was begin- 
 ning to feel himself surfeited with its particular 
 attractions. Moreover, the Phylhs Trevors 
 informed him that Etta Stackpole — now Lady 
 Hudson — was to be one of the party. But, on 
 the other hand, if he didn't go to the Phyllis 
 Trevors, where in the w^orld was he to spend 
 his evening ? 
 
 Promptly upon his return to town, he had 
 despatched letters to the various more stately 
 houses where he and Pauline were to liave 
 dined — letters excusing himself and his wife 
 
A CALL 51 
 
 on account of the extreme indisposition of his 
 wife's mother. He dreaded, in fact, to go to 
 a dinner alone ; he was always afraid of being 
 taken ill between the soup and the fish ; he 
 suffered fi*om an unutterable shyness ; he was 
 intolerably afraid of " making an ass of him- 
 self." He felt safe, however, as long as Pauline 
 had her eyes on him. But the Phylhs Trevors' 
 dinners were much more like what he called 
 " a rag. " If he felt an uncontrollable impulse to 
 do something absurd — to balance, for instance, 
 a full glass on the top of his head or to flip 
 drops of wine at his neighbour's bare shoulders 
 — nobody would be seriously perturbed. It 
 was not necessary to do either of these things, 
 but you might if you wanted to ; and all 
 the Phyllis Trevors' women could be trusted 
 either to put up the conversation for you, or — 
 which was quite as good — to flirt prodigiously 
 with their neighbours on the other side. The 
 turning-point of his deliberations, which lasted 
 exactly three-quarters of an hour, the actual 
 impulse w^hich sent him out of the room to the 
 telephone in the hall, came from the remem- 
 brance that Pauline had made him promise not 
 to be an irrational idiot. 
 
 4—2 
 
52 A CALL 
 
 He had promised to go out to some dinners, 
 and it was only dinners of the PhylHs Trevors' 
 sort that he could bring himself to face. So 
 that, having telephoned his acceptance to Mrs. 
 Trevor, who called him the Great Chief Long- 
 in-the-fork, and wanted to know why his 
 voice sounded like an undertaker's mute, a 
 comparative tranquillity reigned in Dudley 
 Leicester's soul. This tranquillity was only 
 ended when at the dinner-table he had at his 
 side red -lipped, deep -voiced, black -haired, 
 large, warm, scented, and utterly uncontrol- 
 lable Etta Stackpole. She had three dark red 
 roses in her hair. 
 
Etta Stackpole — now Lady Hudson — had 
 been Dudley Leicester's first and very ardent 
 passion. She was very much his age, and, 
 commencing in a boy-and-girl affair, the en- 
 gagement had lasted many years. She was 
 the only daughter of the Stackpoles of Cove 
 Place, and she had all the wilfulness of an only 
 daughter, and all the desperate acquisitiveness 
 of the EHzabethan freebooters from whom she 
 was descended. Robert Grimshaw said once 
 that her Ufe was a series of cutting-out expedi- 
 tions ; her maids used to declare that they 
 certainly could not trust their young men in 
 the hall if Miss Etta was likely to come down 
 the stairs. It was perhaps her utter disrespect 
 for the dictates of class that made Dudley 
 Leicester finally and quite suddenly break off 
 from her. 
 
 It was not exactly the case that he had 
 
 53 
 
54 A CALL 
 
 caught her flirtmg with a boot-black. The man 
 was the son of the farrier at Cove, and he had 
 the merit of riding uncommonly straight to 
 hounds. Dudley Leicester — one of those men 
 who are essentially monogamous — had suffered 
 unheard-of agonies at hunt balls, in grand 
 stands ; he had knowTi the landscape near the 
 Park to look like hell ; he had supported some- 
 how innumerable Greshams, Hewards, Traceys, 
 Stackpole cousins, and Boveys. But the name 
 of Bugle stuck in his gorge. " Bugle : Farrier," 
 was printed in tarnished gold capitals over the 
 signboard of the vet's front-door ! It had 
 made him have a little sick feeling that he had 
 never had before. And that same afternoon 
 Etta's maid Agnes had come to him, her 
 cheeks distorted with pitiful rage, to ask him 
 for mercy's sake to marry Miss Etta soon, or 
 she herself would never get married. She said 
 that her young man — her third young man 
 that it had happened to— had got ideas above 
 his place because of the way Miss Etta spoke 
 to him whilst he waited at table. So that it 
 wasn't even only the farrier ; it was the third 
 footman too. His name was JNIoddle. . . . 
 That very afternoon — it had been six years 
 
A CALL 55 
 
 before — Dudley Leicester had announced his 
 departure. He had, indeed, announced it to 
 the maid Agnes first of all. It broke out of 
 him, such a hot rage overcoming him that he, 
 too, very tall and quivering, forgot the limits 
 of class. 
 
 " I'm sorry for you, Agnes," he had blurted 
 out ; " I'm sorry for myself; but I shall never 
 marry Miss Stackpole." The girl had taken 
 her apron down from her eyes to jump for joy. 
 
 And very gradually — the process had taken 
 years — hot rage had given way to slow dislike, 
 and that to sullen indifference. He sat at her 
 side at the dinner-table, and she talked to him 
 — about concerts I She had a deep, a moving, 
 a tragic voice, and when she talked to her 
 neighbour it was with so much abandonment 
 always that she appeared to be about to lay 
 her head upon his black shoulder and to rest 
 her white breasts upon the tablecloth. She 
 perfumed herself always with a peculiar, musky 
 scent that her father, years ago, had discovered 
 in Java. 
 
 " Bodya," she would say, " has the tone of 
 heaven itself; it's better than being at the 
 best after-theatre supper in the world with the 
 
56 A CALL 
 
 best man in the world. But he uses his bow 
 like a cobbler stitching. If I shut my eyes 
 La Jeuiva makes me use all the handkerchiefs 
 I can get hold of. Real tears ! . . . But to 
 look at, she's like a bad kodak — over-exposed 
 and under-developed. She shouldn't be so 
 decolletee, and she ought to sing in a wood at 
 night. We've had her do it down at Well- 
 lands. . , . 
 
 " But," she added, '' I dare say you never go 
 to concerts now." 
 
 " I haven't been to one since the ones I 
 went to with you," Dudley said grimly. 
 
 '* Ah !" she said. " Don't you remember 
 our last ? It was a Monday Pop. We were 
 passing through town, all the lot of us, from 
 the East Kent to Melton. What a lot of frost 
 there was that year ! Don't you remember ? 
 It was so hard on the Monday that we didn't 
 go down to the Shires, but stayed up instead. 
 And there was the quartette with Joachim 
 and Strauss and Ries and Piatti ! I wonder 
 what they played ? I've got the programme 
 still. Those quaint old green programmes ! 
 I'll look it up and let you know. But oh, it's 
 all gone ! They're all dead ; there are no 
 
A CALL 57 
 
 Pops now and St. James's Hall. . . . And 
 yet it only seems yesterday. . . . Don't 
 you remember how dear old Piatti's head 
 looked exactly like the top of his 'cello in 
 shape ?" 
 
 Dudley Leicester, gazing rigidly at the table- 
 cloth, was at that moment wondering how 
 Etta Hudson got on with her footman. For 
 as a matter of fact, Dudley Leicester's thoughts, 
 if they were few and if they rose very slowly 
 in his rather vacant mind, were yet almost in- 
 variably of a singular justnesss. He had broken 
 off the habit of Etta Stackpole, who, like many 
 troublesome but delightful things, had become 
 a habit to be broken off. And Dudley Leicester 
 had, as it were, chopped her off in the very 
 middle because of a train of thought. She 
 could carry on with the Traceys, the Greshams, 
 the Stackpole cousins and the rest. If it pained 
 him he could yet just bear it, for he imagined 
 that he would be able to defend his hearth 
 against them. But when it had come to Bugle, 
 the farrier s son, and to Moddle, the third foot- 
 man, it had suddenly come into his head that 
 you couldn't keep these creatures off* your 
 
58 A CALL 
 
 hearth. He knew it had been as impossible as 
 it would be sickening. . . . 
 
 So whilst Etta Stackpole talked he had been 
 wondering, not only how Lady Hudson got on 
 with her footman, but how Sir ^Villiam liked 
 it. Sir William Hudson was the IVIanaging 
 Director of the Great Southern Railway. Com- 
 pany. As far as Dudley Leicester knew, he 
 passed his time in travelling from one end of 
 the world to the other, whilst Etta carried on 
 her cutting-out expeditions from a very snug 
 harbour in Curzon Street, or from the very 
 noble property known as Well -lands in Surrey. 
 But, indeed, although the Leicesters and the 
 Hudsons lived in the same street, their points 
 of contact were almost non-existent, and since 
 their rupture Dudley Leicester and Etta Stack- 
 pole had never met. His mother, indeed, who 
 had managed his estate a little too economically 
 till her death three years ago, had let Hangham, 
 the Leicesters' place, which was just next door 
 to Cove Park, and Etta, perhaps because she 
 thought it was full time, or perhaps because 
 she had stipulated for some agreeable arrange- 
 ment with Sir William, had almost immediately 
 " made a match " with the director of rail- 
 
A CALL 59 
 
 ways. And although it would be hard to say 
 what was Dudley Leicester's " line," we may 
 put it down in his own words that railway 
 directors were not in it. But vaguely and 
 without much interest, at odd moments Dudley 
 Leicester had gathered — it is impossible to 
 know how one does gather these things, or 
 perhaps Robert Grimshaw had really formu- 
 lated the idea for his simple brain — that the 
 Hudsons were one of several predatory and 
 semi-detached couples. They didn't interfere 
 apparently with each other. They hit where 
 they liked, like what used to be called " chain 
 shot," dangerous missiles consisting of two can- 
 non-balls chained one to the other and whirl- 
 ing through Society. Robert Grimshaw had 
 certainly gained this impression from his two 
 friends, the Senhora de Bogota and Madame 
 de Mauvesine, the wives of two of the diplo- 
 matic body in London, two ladies who, though 
 they were upon the most intimate of terms 
 with Etta Hudson, were yet in a perpetual 
 state of shocked and admiring envy. It was 
 as if, witnessing Etta's freedom, these ladies of 
 Latin origin and comparatively circumscribed 
 liberties, rubbed their eyes and imagined that 
 
60 A CALL 
 
 they had been allowed to witness scenes from 
 a fahyland — from a veritable Island of the 
 Blessed. They couldn't imagine how it was 
 possible to be married and yet to be so abso- 
 lutely free. They couldn't, indeed, imagine how 
 it was possible to be so absolutely free in any 
 state, whether married, single, or any of the 
 intermediary stages. And, indeed, Senhora de 
 Bogota, at that moment opposite them at the 
 table, w^as leaning across the little blonde man 
 who was always known as Mr. " Phyllis " 
 Trevor, for much the same reason that Dudley 
 Leicester came afterw^ards to be known as 
 Mr. " Pauline " Leicester — Senhora de Bogota 
 was leaning, a splendid mass of dark and opulent 
 flesh, across her diminutive neighbour's form to 
 whisper with a strong Brazilian accent to 
 Madame de Mauvesine : 
 
 " Regardez done cette Etta ! Ces Anglaises, 
 a-t-on jamais vu rien de pareilles !" 
 
 And Madame de Mauvesine, blonde with 
 coppery hair and a peaked, almost eel-like, face, 
 raised her eyes to heaven, or rather to the 
 ceiling that was painted to resemble a limpid 
 blue sky filled with chains of roses and gambol- 
 ling cherubs. 
 
VI 
 
 Etta Stackpole raised herself in the hansom 
 that carried them home from the Esmeralda. 
 She lifted her white hand above the roof, and 
 the horse, checked suddenly, came to a vacil- 
 lating halt at the kerb. They were midway 
 in the curve of Regent Street, and it was 
 about half-past twelve of a fine night. 
 
 "We're getting home much too fast," she said 
 to the wordless Dudley Leicester. "There's 
 such oceans to remember yet." 
 
 It was as if, years before, he had been 
 married to a masterful woman. He could 
 no more control her to-day than he could 
 then. He saw her bend forward, lithe, large 
 and warm, push open the apron of the cab, 
 and the next moment she was on the pave- 
 ment. He thought so slowly that he had no 
 time to think anything at all before he found 
 
 61 
 
62 A CALL 
 
 himself, too, on the kerbstone, reaching up 
 coins to the shadowy and thankful driver. 
 
 *' I say, you know," he said, ** if anybody 
 saw us . . ." 
 
 She hooked herself on to his arm. 
 
 "I don't believe," she said, "that I did 
 shriek on the switchback at Earl's Court. 
 It's seventeen years ago now, and I was only 
 fourteen at the time. But I've always said 
 I never shrieked in my life." She moved her- 
 self half round him, so that she seemed about 
 to envelop him in her black dress and hood, 
 in order to gaze into his face. Her features 
 appeared long, white, and seductive : her voice 
 was very deep and full of chords. 
 
 " Whatever you can say against me ..." 
 she began and paused. 
 
 Regent Street was very much as empty or 
 as full as it always is at that hour, the tall 
 lamps sparkling, the hoofs of very few horses 
 sounding in cadence to innumerable whispers 
 in polyglot tongues. 
 
 " You don't know who will see us," Dudley 
 repeated. He was conscious that, as they 
 passed, groups and individuals swung round 
 to gaze upon them. 
 
A CALL 68 
 
 "Whatever you may say against me," her 
 deep voice came, "you can't say I've ever 
 been untruthful, and I've alv^ays said I never 
 shrieked in my Kfe." 
 
 "You did then," Dudley Leicester asseve- 
 rated. " And we were alone in the car ; it 
 was not anyone else." 
 
 They were at the top of Vigo Street, and 
 suddenly she swung him round. 
 
 " Oh, if you're afraid to be seen," she said, 
 "let's go down the back streets. They're as 
 empty as sin, and as black. As to my shriek- 
 ing, you can't prove it. But I can prove that 
 you called me a penguin in your last nice 
 letter to me." 
 
 In the black and tortuous streets, in the 
 chilly and silent night, her warmth as she 
 clung to him seemed to envelop him, and her 
 subtle and comfortable Eastern perfume was 
 round them, as it were an invisible cloud. He 
 appeared to hang back a little, and she, leaning 
 her body forward, her face back to him, to 
 draw him along, as in a picture a nymph 
 might lead away a stripling into scented 
 obscurities into leafy woods. 
 
 " I might say," Dudley Leicester was urged 
 
64 A CALL 
 
 to a sudden lucidity, "that I couldn't have 
 called you a penguin because I never rightly 
 knew what a penguin was." 
 
 " Oh, but you did once," she said. " It is 
 one of the things you have forgotten." She 
 laughed. *' So many things you had forgotten, 
 but you are remembering them now." . 
 
 She laughed again. 
 
 "Now you'll remember how you came to 
 know what a penguin was. On that day — the 
 day of the evening we went to the JNIonday 
 Pop — we went to the Zoo. It was you who 
 wanted to go there to be alone with me ; you 
 considered that the Zoo in that weather would 
 be the most solitary place in London — the 
 hard frost that it was. Colder than this, 
 colder than you are now. You're thawing a 
 little, you stiff creature. ..." 
 
 She shivered under her cloak. 
 * " We stopped most of the time with the 
 monkeys, but we saw the penguins, too. 
 Don't you remember ?" 
 
 " I don't," he answered. " 1 don't want to. 
 It would not have been like me to call you 
 a penguin. You're not like one." 
 
 " Ah," she said, " when you're in love you 
 
A CALL 65 
 
 don't bother about likenesses. I'll bet you 
 called your wife a penguin before you married 
 her, or a tooth-brush, or a pufF-ball. I've 
 heard that men always transfer their pet 
 names from woman to woman." 
 
 He attempted to blurt out that she was to 
 leave Pauline out of it, but she cried : 
 
 "Oh, you traitor! You have called her 
 one of these names. Couldn't you have kept 
 them sacred ? Isn't anything sacred to a man ? 
 I loved you so, and you loved nie. And 
 then. . ." 
 
 The memory of their past hves came 
 suddenly over him. 
 
 " Go away," she said—-" go away." 
 
 " I must see you to your door," he muttered, 
 with a sense of guilt, and stood irresolutely, 
 for she had torn her arm from his. 
 
 " I don't want you," she called out. " Can't 
 I walk twenty steps without you ?" And she 
 began to glide swiftly away, with him doggedly 
 on the very edge of the pavement beside her. 
 
 Suddenly she slackened her steps. 
 
 " What did you give me up for, Dudley 
 Leicester ?" she said. " What did you do 
 it for? I cared more for your little finger 
 
 5 
 
66 A CALL 
 
 than for all the heads of all the other men. 
 You knew it well enough. You know it now. 
 You feel like a coward. Don't tell me you 
 feared for the sanctity of your hearth. You 
 knew me well enough. What I was then I 
 am now." 
 
 She paused, and then she brought out : 
 " I've always wanted men about me, and 
 I mean to have them. You never heard me 
 say a good word for a woman, and I never 
 did say one. I shouldn't even of your wife. 
 But I am Etta Stackpole, I tell you. The 
 world has got to give me what I want, for it 
 can't get on without me. Your women might 
 try to down me, but your men wouldn't allow 
 it." 
 
 Dudley Leicester murmured apologetically, 
 feeling himself a hypocrite : "' Why should 
 anyone want to down you ?" 
 
 " The women would," she answered. *' If 
 ever my name got into the papers they'd 
 manage it too. But that will never happen. 
 You know women are quite powerless until 
 your name does get into the papers. Mine 
 never will ; that's as certain as eggs is eggs. 
 And even if it did, there's half the hostesses 
 
A CALL 67 
 
 in London would try to bolster me up. 
 Where would their dinners be — where would 
 the Phyllis Trevors be if they hadn't me for 
 an attraction ? . . . 
 
 " I'm telling you all this, Dudley," she said, 
 "just to show you what you've missed. You're 
 a bit of a coward, Dudley Leicester, and you 
 threw me over in a panic. You're subject to 
 panics now, aren't you -about your liver and 
 the like ? But when you threw me over, 
 Dudley, it was the cowardliest thing you ever 
 did." 
 
 Walking at her side, now that she had 
 repulsed him, Dudley Leicester had the 
 sensation of being deserted and cold. He 
 had, too, the impulse to offer her his arm again 
 and the desire to come once more within the 
 circle of warmth and perfume that she threw 
 out. The quiet, black, deserted streets, with 
 the gleam from lamps in the shining black 
 glass of windows, the sound of his footsteps — 
 for her tread was soundless, as if she moved 
 without stepping — the cold, the solitude, all 
 these things and her deep-thrilled voice took 
 him out of himself, as if into some other plane. 
 It was, perhaps, into a plane of the past, for 
 
 5—2 
 
68 A CALL 
 
 that long, early stage of his life cast again its 
 feehng over him. He tried to remember 
 Pauline ; but it was with a sense of duty, and 
 memory will not act at the bidding of duty. 
 
 No man, indeed, can serve two women — no 
 man, at any rate, who is essentially innocent, 
 and who is essentially monogamous as was 
 Dudley Leicester. 
 
 "... The cowardliest thing you ever did in 
 your life," he heard her repeat, and it was as if 
 in trying to remember Pauline, he were com- 
 mitting a new treachery to Etta Stackpole. 
 
 "... For it wasn't because you were afraid 
 of my betraying you — you knew I shouldn't 
 betray you — it was because you were afraid of 
 what the other women would say. You knew 
 I should be justified in my actions, but you 
 were afraid of their appearance. You're a 
 hypochondriac, Dudley Leicester. You had 
 a panic. One day you will have a panic, and 
 it will pay you out for dropping me. It '11 do 
 more than pay you out. You think you've 
 taken a snug sort of refuge in the arms of a 
 little wife who might be a nun out of a 
 convent, but it'll find you." 
 
 Dudley licicester swore hiwardly because 
 
A CALL 69 
 
 there was an interval of a sob in her rounded 
 speech. He experienced impulses to protect, 
 to apologize, to comfort her. She became the 
 only thing in the world. 
 
 " And it's because you know how bitterly 
 you wronged me," she continued, ''that you 
 behaved gloomily towards me. I w^ouldn't 
 have spoken like this if you hadn't been such 
 an oaf at dinner, but it's up to me ; you put it 
 up to me and I'm doing it. If you'd played 
 the game — if you had pretended to be cordial, 
 or even if you'd been really a little sheepish — 
 I might have spared you. But now you've 
 got to see it through. . . . 
 
 '' But no," she added suddenly, " here 
 endeth the first lesson. I think you've had 
 enough gruel. ... 
 
 " All the same," she added as suddenly 
 and quite gaily, " you did call me a penguin in 
 the last nice letter you wrote me." 
 
 He was by now so far back into his past 
 that he seemed to be doing no more than 
 " see Etta home " — as he had seen her home a 
 thousand times before. It only added to the 
 reality of it that she had suddenly reconciled 
 herself to him after finally upbraiding him. 
 
70 A CALL 
 
 For, when they had been engaged, she had 
 upbraided him as fiercely at least a hundred 
 times — after each of her desperate flirtations, 
 when he had been filled with gloom. And 
 always — always — ^just as now, she had con- 
 trived to put him in the wrong. Always after 
 these quarrels he had propitiated her with a 
 little present of no value. 
 
 And suddenly he found himself thinking 
 that next day he would send her a bunch of 
 jonquils ! 
 
 He was, indeed, as innocent as a puppy ; he 
 was just " seeing Etta home " again. And he 
 had alwavs seen her home before with such an 
 innocence of tender passion, that once more 
 the tenderness arose in him. It found its vent 
 in his saying : 
 
 " You know you'll catch cold if you let your 
 hood fall back like that." 
 
 ** Then put it up for me," she said saucily. 
 
 Her hood had fallen on to her shoulders, 
 and in the March night her breasts gleamed. 
 Both her hands were occupied with her skirts. 
 He trembled — as he had been used to tremble 
 — when his hands touched her warm and 
 scented hair, whose filaments caressed iiis 
 
A CALL 71 
 
 wrists. In the light of a lamp her eyes 
 gleamed mockingly. 
 
 " Do you remember the riddle with the 
 rude answer ?" she asked suddenly, " about the 
 hare. There was a hare in a pit, sixty feet 
 deep, and there was no way out, and a grey- 
 hound was let into it. How did the hare 
 escape ? And the answer was : That's the 
 hare's business." 
 
 She had hooked herself on to his arm again. 
 " What's that got to do with it ?" he asked 
 thinkingly. 
 
 " Oh," she answered, " I was only thinking ; 
 it is the hare's business, you know. That 
 means that you can't really get away from 
 your past. It comes back again. Do you 
 remember a French story called * Toutes les 
 Amoureuses '? . . . about a man who had 
 hundreds of adventures. And of each lady he 
 kept a ribbon or a lock of hair, or a shoe- 
 buckle — some trifle. And once a year he used 
 to lock his door and take out these odds and 
 ends — and remember — ^just remember ! Well, 
 Mr. Dudley Leicester, that's a good thing to 
 do. It's an act of piety for one thing; it 
 averts evil for another. It's like touching for 
 
72 A CALL 
 
 the evil chance. If you'd done that for me — 
 for my sake, because you had a good shce of 
 my Hfe — if you had done it . . . well ! you'd 
 not have been so desperately unhappy now." 
 
 " I'm not unhappy," he said, and he spoke 
 the truth. 
 
 "Aren't you?" she mocked him. "Aren't 
 you ?" 
 
 They were within a few steps of her door, 
 almost opposite w^here, black and silent, his 
 own house awaited him — as if, reproachfully, 
 it gazed at him with darkened eyes. And 
 suddenly she burst into a carol, and with 
 quickened steps she danced him onwards : 
 
 " He called me a penguin, a penguin, a penguin ; 
 He called me a penguin a long time ago !" 
 
 She sang it to the triumphant lilt of " Voici 
 le sabre !" And then they were on her door- 
 step. She had her key in the latch, the door 
 went back into darkness. 
 
 " I'll prove to you you called me that," she 
 said, and crouching forward, as she had bent 
 to open the door, she cauglit the end of his 
 sleeve and pulled him into the inner darkness. 
 He could see nothing, and the heavy door was 
 closed behind him. 
 
PART II 
 
And suddenly, in the thick darkness, whirring 
 as if it were a scream, intermitted for a moment 
 and again commencing, a Uttle bell rang out 
 at Dudley Leicester's elbow. As suddenly, 
 but with a more gracious diffusion, light welled 
 down from above his head, and Etta Hudson's 
 voice mingling with it : 
 
 " Stop that confounded thing ! I don't want 
 all the servants in the house to know you are 
 here." 
 
 She leaned over the white and ormolu 
 banisters: the light swinging over her head 
 made a halo above her disordered hair ; her 
 white shoulders gleamed. 
 
 "Stop it," she said; "Don't fumble so 
 ridiculously. Don't you know how to take 
 the thing off the hooks ?" 
 
 She laughed at him derisively ; her face dis- 
 appeared as if she were about to continue her 
 
 75 
 
76 A CALL 
 
 upward journey. Then once more she was 
 looking down at him : 
 
 " Tell whoever it is," she said, " that Sir 
 William is in Paris and Lady Hudson in bed. 
 Say ' sir ' when you speak, and they'll think it's 
 the second footman, JNloddle ! Don't you 
 remember Moddle ?" And again she laughed, 
 and her ascent of the stairs was marked by the 
 tips of her fingers, visible as if they were little 
 white and creeping mice. 
 
 Dudley Leicester put the receiver to his ear. 
 A peremptory '' Are you 4,259 JNIayfair ?" made 
 him suddenly afraid, as if a schoolmaster had 
 detected him in some crime. Hitherto he had 
 had no feeling of crime. It was as if he had 
 merely existed in the tide of his senses. An 
 equally peremptory " Don't go aivay " was 
 succeeded by the words : '' Get down," and then : 
 
 " Is that Sir WiUiam Hudson's ?" 
 
 I^eicester answered — he had the words clearly 
 fixed in his mind — but already he was panting : 
 
 " Yes, but Sir William's in Paris, and Lady 
 Hudson in bed." And he did not omit to add 
 " sir." 
 
 Through his mind, quickened by his emotions 
 of fear, there shot the idea that now they must 
 
A CALL 77 
 
 go away ; that it was all over ; that he was 
 very tired ; that he must sit down and rest. 
 
 Then suddenly — still low, distinct, stealthy, 
 and clear — the voice of the invisible man asked : 
 
 " Isn't that Dudley Leicester speaking ?" 
 
 " He answered '* Yes," and then with a 
 sudden panic he hung the receiver upon the 
 hooks. 
 
 And Etta Hudson, descending the stair 
 with the letter in her hand, saw him sitting 
 dishevelled and dejected, as if all his joints had 
 been broken, in the messenger- boy's chair 
 beside the heavy, dark table. 
 
 He rose suddenly, exclaiming : " You've got 
 me into this scrape ; you've got to get me out 
 of it. What's to be done ?" 
 
 Standing on the bottom step of the stairs, 
 she laughed at him, and she laughed still more 
 while she listened : 
 
 '* How do I know who it was ?" He poured 
 forth disjointed sentences. " I told you some- 
 body would see us in Regent Street. It 
 might have been your husband, or some black- 
 mailer. London's full of them. I can't possibly 
 ring them up again to ask who it was. Perhaps 
 they spoke from a call-office. What's to be 
 
78 A CALL 
 
 done ? What in the name of God is to be 
 done ?" 
 
 A certain concern and pity were visible in 
 her eyes : she opened her hps and was about to 
 speak, when he exclaimed : 
 
 " It would break Pauline's heart. What's 
 to be done ?" 
 
 The line of her brows hardened, and she 
 uttered a hard little laugh. 
 
 " Don't you know," she said ; " why, my 
 dear Dudley, the answer is : ' That's the hare's 
 business.' " 
 
 His first action on awakening was always to 
 stretch out his hand for the letters that his 
 silent man would have placed by his side, and 
 to glance at the clock on his dressing table to 
 see how many hours he had slept. And, 
 indeed, next morning his first sensation was 
 one of bodily well-being and of satisfaction 
 because the clock appeared to inform him that 
 he had slept for three hours longer than was 
 his habit. But with a sliglit feehng of un- 
 easiness he remembered how late he had been 
 the night before, and stretching out his hand 
 for the letters, he heard a voice say : 
 
A CALL 79 
 
 " Are you 4,259 Mayfair ?" 
 
 He had answered " What ?" before he reaUzed 
 that this question was nothing more than a very 
 vivid recollection. But even when he had assured 
 himself that it was only a very vivid recollec- 
 tion, he lay still and discovered that his heart 
 was beating very quickly. And so afraid was 
 he that the motion of stretching out his 
 arm would bring again the voice to his 
 ears, that he lay still, his hand stretched along 
 the counterpane. And suddenly he got up. 
 
 He opened one white-painted cupboard, then 
 the other. Finally, he went to the door of the 
 room and peered out. His man, expressionless, 
 carrying over his arm a pair of trousers, and 
 in one hand a white letter crossed with blue, 
 was slowly ascending the staircase at the end of 
 the corridor. 
 
 " You didn't ask me a question," Dudley 
 Leicester said, " about two minutes ago ?" 
 
 Saunders said : " No, sir, I was answering 
 the door to the postman. This, sir." And 
 he held out the registered letter. 
 
 It was as if Dudley Leicester recoiled from 
 it. It bore Pauline's handwriting, a large, 
 round, negligent scrawl. 
 
80 A CALL 
 
 *' Did he ask our number ?" Dudley inquired 
 eagerly ; and Saunders, with as much of sur- 
 prise as could come into his impassive face, 
 answered : 
 
 " Why, no, sir ; he's the regular man." 
 
 " Our telephone number, I mean," Dudley 
 I^eicester said. 
 
 Saunders was by this time in the room, 
 passing through it to the door of the bath- 
 cabinet. 
 
 " As a matter of fact, sir," he said, 
 " the only thing he asked was whether Mrs. 
 Leicester's mother was any better." 
 
 " It's very odd," Dudley Leicester answered. 
 And with Saunders splashing the water in 
 the white bath-cabinet, with a touch of sun 
 lighting up the two white rooms — in the midst 
 of these homely and familiar sounds and re- 
 flections, fear suddenly seized Dudley Leicester. 
 His wife's letter frightened him ; when there 
 fell from it a bracelet, he started as he had 
 never in his life started at a stumble of his 
 horse. He imagined that it was a sort of 
 symbol, a sending back of his gifts. And even 
 when he had read her large, sparse words, and 
 discovered that the curb chain of the bracelet 
 
A CALL 81 
 
 was broken, and Pauline desired him to take 
 it to the jeweller's to be repaired — even then 
 the momentary relief gave way to a host of 
 other fears. For Dudley Leicester had entered 
 into a world of dread. 
 
II 
 
 He appeared to have become friendless and 
 utterly solitary. Even his man Saunders, to 
 whom he had been attached as he had been 
 attached to his comfortable furniture and his 
 comfortable boots, seemed to him now to be 
 grown reserved, frigid, disapproving. He 
 imagined that Saunders had a threatening 
 aspect. Fear suddenly possessed his heart 
 when he perceived, seated in the breakfast- 
 room, well forward in a deep saddle-bag chair, 
 with Peter the dachshund between his speck- 
 less boots, Robert Grimshaw. 
 
 " What have you come for ?" Leicester 
 asked ; " what's it about ?" 
 
 Robert Grimshaw raised his dark, seal-like 
 eyes, and Leicester seemed to read in tliem 
 reproof, judgment, condemnation. 
 
 "To leave Peter with the excellent 
 
 82 
 
A CALL 83 
 
 Saunders," Robert Grimshaw said ; " I can't 
 take him to Athens." 
 
 «* Oh, you're going to Athens ?" Dudley 
 Leicester said, and oddly it came into his 
 mind that he was glad Grimshaw was going 
 to Athens. He wanted Grimshaw not to hear 
 of his disgrace. 
 
 For although Grimshaw had frequently 
 spoken dispassionately of unfaithful husbands 
 — dispassionately, as if he were registering 
 facts that are neither here nor there, facts that 
 are the mere inevitabilities of life, he had the 
 certainty, the absolute certainty, that Grim- 
 shaw would condemn him. 
 
 '' I start at one, you know," Grimshaw said. 
 '•' You're not looking very bright." 
 
 Dudley Leicester sat down before his coffee- 
 pot ; his hand, with an automatic motion, went 
 out to the copy of the Times, which was 
 propped between the toast-rack and the cream- 
 jug ; but it suddenly shot back again, and with 
 a hang-dog look in his eyes he said : 
 
 " How long does it take things to get into 
 the newspapers ?" 
 
 It was part of his sensation of loneliness and 
 of fear that he could not any more consult 
 
 6—2 
 
84 A CALL 
 
 Robert Grimshaw. He might ask him 
 questions, but he couldn't tell just what 
 question wouldn't give him away. Robert 
 Grimshaw had so many knowledges ; so that 
 when Robert Grimshaw asked : 
 
 " What sort of things ?" he answered, with 
 a little fluster of hurry and irritation : 
 
 " Oh, any sort of thing ; the things they do 
 print." 
 
 Grimshaw raised his eyelids. 
 
 *' I don't see how I can be expected to know 
 about newspapers," he said ; " but I fancy they 
 get printed about half-past one in the morning 
 — about half-past one. I shouldn't imagine it 
 was any earlier." 
 
 At this repetition, at this emphasis of the 
 hour at which the telephone-bell had rung, 
 Dudley seized and opened his paper with a 
 sudden eagerness. He had the conviction that 
 it must have been a newspaper reporter who 
 had rung him up, and that by now the matter 
 might well be in print. He looked feverishly 
 under the heading of Court and Society, and 
 under the heading of Police Court and Divorce 
 Court. But his eye could do no more than 
 travel over the spaces of print and speckled 
 
A CALL 85 
 
 paper, as if it had been a patterned fabric- 
 And suddenly he asked : 
 
 " Do you suppose the servants spy upon us ?" 
 
 " Really, my dear fellow," Grimshaw said, 
 " why can't you buy an encyclopaedia of out- 
 of-the-way things ?" 
 
 " But do you ?" Dudley insisted. 
 
 " I don't know," Grimshaw speculated. 
 " Some do ; some don't. It depends on their 
 characters ; on whether it would be worth their 
 whiles. I've never heard of an authentic case 
 of a servant blackmailing a master, but, of 
 course, one would not hear of it." 
 
 " But your man Jervis ? Or Saunders, 
 now ? They talk about us, for instance, don't 
 they ?" 
 
 Grimshaw considered the matter with his 
 eyes half closed. 
 
 " Jervis ? Saunders ?" he said. " Yes, I 
 suppose they do. I hope they do, for we're 
 their life's work, and if they take the interest 
 in us that I presume they do, they ought to 
 talk about us. I imagine Jervis discusses me 
 now and then with his wife. I should think 
 he does it affectionately, on the whole. I 
 don't know. ... It's one of the few things 
 
86 A CALL 
 
 that are as mysterious as life and death. 
 There are these people always about us — all 
 day, all night. They've got eyes — I suppose 
 they use them. But we've got no means^ of 
 knowing what they think or what they know. 
 I do know a lot — about other people. Jervis 
 gives me the news while he's shaving me. So 
 I suppose I know nearly all he knows about 
 other people. He knows I like to know, and 
 it's part of what he's paid for. But as for 
 what he knows about me " — Grimshaw waved 
 his hand as if he were flicking cigarette-ash off 
 his knee — " why, I know nothing about that. 
 We never can ; we never shall. But we never 
 can and we never shall know what anyone in 
 the world knows of us and thinks. You'll find, 
 as you go on, that you'll never really know nil 
 that Pauline thinks of you — not quite all. 1 
 shall never really know all that you think 
 about me. I suppose we're as intimate as 
 men can be in this world, aren't we ? Well ! 
 You're probably at this very moment thinking 
 something or other about me. Perhaps I'm 
 boring you or irritating you, but you won't 
 tell me. And," he added, fixing his eyes 
 gently and amiably upon Dudley Leicester's 
 
A CALL 87 
 
 face, "you'll never know all I know about 
 you." 
 
 Dudley Leicester had become filled with an 
 infpetuous dread that he had " given himself 
 away " by his questions. 
 
 " Why I asked," he said, and his eyes 
 avoided Grimshaw's glance, " is that the post- 
 man seems to have been talking to Saunders 
 about Pauline." 
 
 Grimshaw started suddenly forward in his 
 seat. 
 
 " Oh," Dudley Leicester said, " it's only that 
 I asked Saunders about a voice I had heard, 
 and he said it was the postman asking when 
 Pauline would be home, or how her mother 
 was. Something of that sort. It seems rather 
 impertinent of these chaps." 
 
 " It seems to me rather nice," Grimshaw 
 said, " if you look at it without prejudice. We 
 may as well suppose that both Saunders and 
 the postman are decent fellows, and Pauline is 
 so noticeable and so nice that it's only natural 
 that an old servant and an old postman should 
 be concerned if she's upset. After all, you know 
 we do live in a village, and if we don't do any 
 harm, I don't see why we should take it for 
 
88 A CALL 
 
 granted that these people crab us. You've 
 got to be talked about, old man, simply 
 because you're there. Everyone is talked 
 about — all of us." 
 
 Dudley Leicester said, with a sudden and 
 hot gloom : 
 
 " There's nothing about me to talk about. 
 I've never wanted to be an interesting 
 chap, and I never have been. I shall 
 give Saunders the sack and report the 
 postman." 
 
 '' Oh, come now," Grimshaw said. " I know 
 it's in human nature to dislike the idea of 
 being talked about. It used to give me the 
 creeps to think that all around me in the 
 thousands and thousands of people that one 
 knows, every one of them probably says some- 
 thing of me. But, after all, it all averages 
 out. Some say good, no doubt, and some 
 dislike me, and say it. I don't suppose I can 
 go out of my door without the baker at the 
 corner knowing it. I am spied upon by all 
 the policemen in the streets round about. No 
 doubt half the shop-assistants in Bond Street 
 snigger at the fact that I help two or three 
 women to choose their dresses and their brace- 
 
A CALL 89 
 
 lets, and sometimes pay their bills, but what 
 does it all amount to ?" 
 
 " Hell," Dudley Leicester said — " sheer 
 hell !" 
 
 " Oh, well, eat your breakfast," Grimshaw 
 replied. " You can't change it. You'll get 
 used to it in time. Or if you don't get used 
 to it in time, I'll tell you what to do. I'll 
 tell you what I do. People have got to talk 
 about you. If they don't know things they'll 
 invent lies. Tell 'em the truth. The truth 
 is never very bad. There's my man Jervis. 
 I've said to him : * You can open all my 
 • letters ; you can examine my pass-book at the 
 bank ; you can pay my bills ; you're at liberty 
 to read my diary of engagements ; you can 
 make what use you like of the information. 
 If I tried to stop you doing these things, I 
 ^know I should never succeed, because you 
 chaps are always on the watch, and we're 
 bound to nod at times. Only I should advise 
 you, Jervis,' I said, ' to stick to truth in what 
 you say about me. It don't matter a tinker's 
 curse to me what you do say, but you'll 
 get a greater reputation for reliability if what 
 you say always proves true.' So there I 
 
90 A CALL 
 
 am. Of course it's an advantage to have no 
 vices in particular, and to have committed no 
 crimes. But I don't think it would make 
 much difference to me, and it adds immensely 
 to the agreeableness of life not to want to 
 conceal things. You can't conceal things. 
 It's a perpetual strain. Do what you want, 
 and take what you get for doing it. It's the 
 only way to hve. If you tell the truth people 
 may invent a bit, but they won't invent so 
 much. When you were married, I told 
 Hartley Jenx that if you hadn't married 
 Pauline, I should have. Everybody's pretty 
 well acquainted with that fact. If I'd tried to 
 conceal it, people would have been talking 
 about my coming here three times a week. 
 As it is, it is open as the day. Nobody talks. 
 I know they don't. Jervis would have told 
 me. He'd be sure to know." 
 
 " What's all that got to do with it ?" Dudley 
 Leicester said with a suspicious exasperation. 
 
 Robert Grimshawlpicked up on to his arm 
 Peter the dachshund, that all the while had 
 remained immobile, save for an occasional 
 blinking of the eyelids, between his feet. 
 Holding the dog over his arm, he said : 
 
A CALL 91 
 
 " Now, 1 am going to confide Peter to 
 Saunders. That was the arrangement I made 
 with Pauhne, so that he shouldn't worry you. 
 But you can take this as a general principle : 
 * Let your servants know all that there is to 
 know about you, but if you find they try to 
 take advantage of you — if they try to black- 
 mail you — hit them fair and square between 
 the jaws.' Yes, I mean it, literally and physic- 
 ally. You've got mettle enough behind your 
 fists." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw desired to speak to 
 Saunders in private, because of one of those 
 small financial transactions which the de- 
 cencies require should not be visible between 
 guest and master and man. He wanted, too, 
 to give directions as to the feeding of Peter 
 during his absence ; but no sooner had the door 
 closed upon him than Dudley Leicester made 
 after him to open it. For he was seized by a 
 sudden and painful aversion from the thought 
 that Saunders should be in private communica- 
 tion with Robert Grimshaw. He strongly 
 suspected that Saunders knew where he had 
 spent those hours of the night — Saunders, with 
 his mysterious air of respectful reserve — and it 
 
 / 
 
92 A CALL 
 
 drove him nearly crazy to think that Saunders 
 should communicate this fact to Robert Grim- 
 shaw. It wasn't that he feared Grimshaw's 
 telling tales to Pauline. It was that he 
 dreaded the reproach that he imagined would 
 come into Robert Grimshaw's dark eyes ; for 
 he knew how devoted Grimshaw was to his 
 wife. He had his hand upon the handle of 
 the door ; he withdrew it at the thought that 
 interference would appear ridiculous. He 
 paused and stood irresolute, his face distorted 
 by fear, and his body bent as if with agony. 
 Suddenly he threw the door open, and, striding 
 out, came into collision with EUida Langham. 
 Later, the feeling of relief that he had not 
 uttered what was just on the tip of his tongue 
 — the words : '' Has Pauline sent you ? How 
 did she hear it ?" — the feeling of relief that he 
 had not uttered these words let him know how 
 overwhelming his panic had been. Ellida, 
 however, was bursting into voluble speech : 
 
 " Katya's coming back !" she said. *' Katya's 
 coming back. She's on one of the slow ships 
 from Philadelphia, with an American. She 
 may be here any day, and I did so want to let 
 Toto know before he started for Athens." 
 
A CALL 93 
 
 She was still in black furs, with a black veil, 
 but her cheeks were more flushed than usual, 
 and her eyes danced. 
 
 *' Think of Katya's coming back !" she said, 
 but her lower lip suddenly quivered. " Toto 
 hasn't started r she asked. " His train doesn't 
 go till one." 
 
 She regarded Dudley Leicester with some- 
 thing of impatience. She said afterwards that 
 she had never before noticed he was goggle- 
 eyed. He stood, enormously tall, his legs 
 very wide apart, gazing at her with his mouth 
 open. 
 
 " I'm not a ghost, nian," she said at last. 
 " What's wrong with you ?" , 
 
 Dudley Leicester raised his hand to his 
 straw-coloured moustache. 
 
 " Grimshaw's talking to Saunders," he said. 
 
 Ellida looked at him incredulously. But 
 eventually her face cleared. 
 
 " Oh, about Peter ?" she said. " I was 
 beginning to think you'd got an inquest in the 
 house. ..." ^ ^ 
 
 And suddenly she touched Dudley Leicester 
 vigorously on the arm. 
 
 " Come ! Get him up from wherever he is," 
 
94 A CALL 
 
 she said, with a good-humoured vivacity. 
 " Katya's more important than Peter, and I've 
 got the largest number of things to tell him in 
 the shortest possible time." 
 
 Dudley Leicester, in his dull bewilderment, 
 was veering round upon his straddled legs, 
 gazing first helplessly at the bell beside the 
 chimney-piece and then at the door. Even if 
 he hadn't been already bewildered, he would 
 not have known very well how properly to 
 summon a friend who was talking to a servant 
 of his own. Did you ring, or did you go to 
 the top of the stairs and call ? But his 
 bewilderment was cut short by the appearance 
 of Grimshaw himself, and at the sight of his 
 serene face just lighting up with a little smile 
 of astonishment and pleasure, Dudley Leicester's 
 panic vanished as suddenly and irrationally as 
 it had fallen on him. He even smiled, while 
 Ellida Langham said, with a sharp, quick little 
 sound, " Boo !" in answer to Robert's exclama- 
 tion of " EUida !" But Grimshaw took him- 
 self up quickly, and said : 
 
 " Ah ! I know you've some final message 
 for me, and you went round to my rooms, and 
 Jervis told you I'd come on here." 
 
A CALL 95 
 
 She was quite a different Ellida from the 
 plaintive lady in the Park. Her lips were 
 parted, her eyes sparkled, and she held her 
 arms behind her back as if she were expecting 
 a dog to jump up at her. 
 
 " Ah ! You think you know everything, 
 Mr. Toto," she said ; " but, je vous le donne en 
 mille, you don't know what I've come to tell 
 you." 
 
 " I know it's one of two things," Grimshaw 
 said, smiling : " Either Kitty's spoken, or else 
 Katya has." 
 
 " Oh, she's more than spoken," Ellida cried 
 out. " She's coming. In three days she'll be 
 here." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw reflected for a long time. 
 
 " You did what you said you would ?" he 
 asked at last. 
 
 " I did what I said I would," she repeated. 
 '' I appealed to her sense of duty. I said that, 
 if she was so good in the treatment of obscure 
 nervous diseases — and you know the head- 
 doctor-man over there said she was as good a 
 man as himself — it was manifestly her duty, 
 her duty to mother's memory, to take charge 
 of mother's only descendant — that's Kitty — 
 
96 A CALL 
 
 and this is her answer: She's coming — she's 
 coming with a patient from Philadelphia. . . . 
 Oh ! she's coming. Katya's coming again. 
 Won't it make everything different ?" 
 
 She pulled Robert Grimshaw by the button- 
 hole over to the window, and began to speak 
 in little sibilant whispers. 
 
 And it came into Dudley Leicester's head to 
 think that, if Katya Lascarides was so splendid 
 in the treatment of difficult cases, she might 
 possibly be able to advise him as to some of 
 the obscure maladies from which he was certain 
 that he suffered. 
 
 Robert Grimshaw was departing that day 
 for the city of Athens, where for two months 
 he was to attend to the business of the firm of 
 Peter Lascarides and Co., of which he was a 
 director. 
 
Ill 
 
 With her eyes on the grey pinnacles of the 
 Seilhes, Katya Lascarides rose from her deck- 
 chah*, saying to Mrs. Van Husum : 
 
 " I am going to send a marconigram." 
 Mrs. Van Husum gave a dismal but a 
 healthy groan. It pleased Katya, since it 
 took the place of the passionately pleading 
 " Oh, don't leave me — don't leave me !" to 
 which Katya Lascarides had been accustomed 
 for many months. It meant that her patient 
 had arrived at a state of mind so normal that 
 she was perfectly fit to be left to the unaided 
 care of her son and daughter-in-law, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Clement P. Van Husum junior, who 
 resided at Wantage. Indeed, Mrs. Van 
 Hu sum's groan was far more the sound of an 
 elderly lady recovering from the troubles of 
 sea-sickness than that which would be made by 
 a neurotic suiferer from the dread of solitude. 
 
 97 7 
 
98 A CALL 
 
 Katya, with her tranquil and decided step, 
 moved along the deck and descended the com- 
 panion forward to where the JNIarconi installa- 
 tion sent out its cracklings from a little cabin 
 surrounded by what appeared a schemeless 
 jumble of rusty capstans and brown cables. 
 With the same air of pensive introspection 
 and tranquil resolve she leaned upon the 
 little slab that was devoted to the sender of 
 telegrams, and wrote to her sister Ellida, using 
 the telegraphic address of her husband's office : 
 
 " Shall reach London noon to-morrow. Beg 
 you not to meet ship or to come to hotel for 
 three days. Writing conditions." 
 
 And, having handed in this message through 
 the little shutter to the invisible operator, she 
 threaded her way with the same pensiveness 
 between the capstans and the ropes up the 
 companion and on to the upper deck where, 
 having adjusted the rugs around the dozing 
 figure of Mrs. Yani Husum in her deck-chair, 
 she paused, with her grey eyes looking out 
 across the grey sea, to consider the purplish 
 islands, fringed with white, the swirls of foam 
 
A CALL 99 
 
 in the greeny and slate-coloured waters, the 
 white lighthouse, and a spray-beaten tramp- 
 steamer that, rolling, undulating, and battling 
 through the long swell between them and the 
 Scillies, was making its good departure for 
 Mexico. 
 
 Tall, rounded, in excellent condition, with 
 slow but decided actions, with that naturally 
 pale complexion and clean-cut run of the 
 cheek-bone from chin to ear which came to 
 her with her Greek parentage, Katya Las- 
 carides was reflecting upon the terms of her 
 letter to her sister. 
 
 From the tranquillity of her motions and 
 the determination of her few words, she was to 
 be set down as a person, passionless, practical, 
 and without tides of emotion. But her eyes, as 
 she leant gazing out to landwards, changed 
 colour by imperceptible shades, ranging from 
 grey to the slaty-blue colour of the sea itself, 
 and her brows from minute to minute, follow- 
 ing the course of her thoughts, curved slightly 
 upwards above eyes that expressed tender 
 reminiscences, and gradually straightened them- 
 selves out until, like a delicate bar below her 
 forehead, they denoted, stretched and tensile, 
 
 7—2 
 
100 A CALL 
 
 the fact that she had arrived at an inflexible 
 determination. 
 
 In the small and dusky reading-room, that 
 never contained any readers, she set herself 
 slowly to write. 
 
 " My dear Ellida " (her letter ran), 
 
 " I have again carefully read through 
 your report of what Dr. Tressider says of 
 Kitty's case, and I see no reason why the dear 
 child should not find it in her to speak within 
 a few weeks — within a month even. Dr. 
 Tressider is certain that there is no functional 
 trouble of the brain or the vocal organs. Then 
 there is just the word for it — obstinacy. The 
 case is not so very uncommon : the position 
 must be regarded psychologically rather than 
 by a pathologist. On the facts given me I 
 should say that your httle Kitty is indulging 
 in a sort of dramatic display. You say that 
 she is of an affectionate, even of a jealously 
 affectionate, disposition. Very well, then ; I 
 take it that she desires to be fussed over. 
 Children are very inscrutable. Who can tell, 
 then, whether she has not found out (I do not 
 mean to say that slie is aware of a motive, as 
 
A CALIi 101 
 
 you or I might be) — found out that the way to 
 be fussed over is just not to speak. For you, 
 I should say, it would be almost impossible to 
 cure her, simply because you are the person 
 most worried by her silence. And similarly 
 ■ with the nurses, who say to her : ' Do say so- 
 and-so, there's a little pet !' The desire to be 
 made a fuss of, to occupy the whole mind of 
 some person or of many persons, to cause one's 
 power to be felt — are these not motives very 
 human ? Is there any necessity to go to the 
 length of putting them down to mental 
 
 I aberration ?" 
 
 i 
 
 Katya Lascarides had finished her sheet of 
 paper. She blotted it with deliberate motions, 
 and, leaving it face downwards, she placed her 
 arms upon the table, and, her eyelashes droop- 
 ing over her distant eyes, she looked reflectively 
 at her long and pointed hands. At last she 
 took up her pen and wrote upon a fresh sheet 
 in her large, firm hand : 
 
 " I am diagnosing my own case !" 
 
 Serious and unsmiling she looked at the 
 
102 A CALL 
 
 words ; then, as if she were scrawhng idly, she 
 
 wrote : 
 
 " Robert." 
 
 Beneath that : 
 
 " Robert Hurstlett Grimshaw." 
 
 And then 
 
 aat; ayairu) I 
 
 She heaved a sigh of voluptuous pleasure, 
 and began to write, " I love you ! I love you ! 
 I love you ..." letting the words be accom- 
 panied by deep breaths of solace, as a very 
 thirsty child may drink. And, having written 
 the page full all but a tiny corner at the bottom, 
 she inscribed very swiftly and in minute 
 letters : 
 
 " Oh, Robert Grimshaw, why don't you 
 bring me to my knees ?" 
 
 She heaved one great sigh of desire, and, 
 leaning back in her chair, she looked at her 
 words, smiling, and her lips moving. Then, 
 as it were, she straightened herself out; she 
 took up the paper to tear it into minute and 
 regular fragments, and, rising, precise and 
 tranquil, she walked out of the doorway to 
 the rail of the ship. She opened her hand, and 
 
A CALL 103 
 
 a little flock of white squares whirled, with the 
 swiftness of swallows, into the discoloured 
 wake. One piece that stuck for a moment to 
 her forefinger showed the words : 
 
 " My own case !" 
 
 She turned, appearing engrossed and full of 
 reserve, again to her writing. 
 
 " No," she commenced, " do not put down 
 this form of obstinacy to mental aberration. 
 It is rather to be considered as a manifestation 
 of passion. You say that Kitty is not of a 
 passionate disposition. I imagine it may prove 
 that she is actually of a disposition passionate 
 in the extreme. But all her passion is centred 
 in that one desire — the desire to excite concern. 
 The cure for this is not medical ; it is merely 
 practical. Nerve treatment will not cure it, nor 
 solicitude, but feigned indifference. You will 
 not touch the spot with dieting ; perhaps by . . . 
 But there, I will not explain my methods to 
 you, old Ellida. I discussed Kitty's case, 
 as you set it forth, very fully with the chief in 
 Philadelphia, and between us we arrived at 
 certain conclusions. I won't tell you what 
 they were, not because I want to observe a 
 
104 A CALL 
 
 professional reticence, but simply so that, in 
 case one treatment fails, you may not be in 
 agonies of disappointment and fear. I haven't 
 myself much fear of non-success if things are 
 as you and Dr. Tressider say. After all, 
 weren't we both of us as kiddies celebrated 
 for fits of irrational obstinacy ? Don't you 
 remember how one day you refused to eat if 
 Calton, the cat, was in the dining-room ? And 
 didn't you keep that up for days and days and 
 days ? Yet you were awfully fond of Calton. 
 . . . Yes ; I think I can change Kitty for 
 you, but upon one condition — that you never 
 plead for Robert Grimshaw, that you never 
 mention his name to me. Quite apart from 
 any other motive of mine — and you know that 
 I consider mother's example before anything 
 else in the world — if he will not make this 
 sacrifice for me he does not love me. I do not 
 mean to say that you are to forbid him your 
 house, for I understand he dines with you 
 every other day. His pleadings I am prepared 
 to deal with, but not yours, for in you they 
 savour of disrespect for mother. Indeed, dis- 
 respect or no disrespect, I will not have it. If 
 you agree to this, come to our hotel as soon as 
 
A CALL 105 
 
 you have read it. If you disagree — if you 
 won't, dear, make me a solemn promise — leave 
 me three days in which to make a choice out 
 of the five patients who wish to have me in 
 London, and then come and see me, bringing 
 Kitty. 
 
 "Not a word, you understand — not one 
 single word ! 
 
 " On that dreadful day when Robert told us 
 that father had died intestate and that other 
 — I was going to add * horror,' but, since it 
 was mother's doing, she did it, and so it must 
 have been right — when he told us that we 
 were penniless and illegitimate, I saw in a 
 flash my duty to mother's memory. I have 
 stuck to it, and I will stick to it. Robert 
 must give in, or I will never play the part of 
 wife to him." 
 
 She folded her letter into the stamped 
 envelope, and, having dropped it deliberately 
 into the ship's letter-box, she rejoined Mrs. Van 
 Husum, who was reading " The Mill on the 
 Floss," on the main deck. 
 
PART III 
 
1 
 
 In the shadow of a huge mulberry-tree, upon 
 whose finger-like branches already the very 
 light green leaves were beginning to form a 
 veil, Katya Lascarides was sitting in a deck- 
 chair. The expression upon her face was one 
 of serenity and of resigned contentment. She 
 was looking at the farmhouse ; she was knit- 
 ting a silk necktie, a strip of vivid green that 
 fell across her light grey skirt. With a little 
 quizzical and jolly expression, her hands thrust 
 deep into the pockets of cream-coloured over- 
 alls, Kitty Langham looked sideways for 
 approval at her aunt. She had just succeeded 
 in driving a black cat out of the garden. 
 
 They lived down there in a deep silence, 
 Katya never speaking and eliciting no word 
 from the child. But already the child had 
 made concessions to the extent of clearing her 
 throat or emitting a little " Hem !" when she 
 
 109 
 
no A CALL" 
 
 desired to attract her aunt's attention ; but her 
 constant occupation was found in the obstinate 
 gambols of a pet lamb — a " sock," as the farm- 
 people called it — which inhabited the farm- 
 house, bleated before the door, or was accus- 
 tomed by butting to send the garden-gate 
 flying back upon its hinges. 
 
 This creature, about one-third the size of a 
 mature ram, was filled with obstinacies appar- 
 ently incomprehensible ; it was endowed with 
 great strength and a considerable weight. 
 With one push of its head it would send the 
 child rolling several feet along the grass ; it 
 would upset chairs in the dining-room ; it 
 bleated clamorously for milk at all meals when 
 Kitty had her milk and water. 
 
 Against its obstinacies Kitty's was valiant 
 but absolutely useless. With her arms round 
 its neck — a little struggling thing with dark 
 eyes and black hair, in her httle white woollen 
 sweater — she would attempt to impede the 
 lamb's progress across a garden-bed. But the 
 clinching of her white teeth availed nothing at 
 all. She would be dragged across the moist 
 earth, and left upon her back like a little 
 St. Lawrence amongst tlie flames of the yellow 
 
A CALL HI 
 
 crocuses. And at these struggles Katya Las- 
 carides presided with absolute deafness and 
 with inflexible indifference ; indeed, after their 
 first meeting, when Ellida Langham had 
 brought the child with her nurse to the 
 gloomy, if tranquil, London hotel, where 
 Katya had taken from Mrs. Van Husum a 
 parting which lasted three days, and ended in 
 Mrs. Van Husum's dissolving into a flood of 
 tears — at the end of that meeting Ellida had 
 softly reproached Katya for the little notice 
 she had taken of what was, after all, the nicest 
 child in London. 
 
 But cool, calm, tall, and dressed in a grey 
 that exactly matched her eyes, Katya " took 
 charge." And, during the process, whilst she 
 said, '' I shall want this and that," or " The 
 place must be on a hill ; it must face south- 
 west ; it must be seven miles from the sea ; it 
 must be a farm, with plenty of live-stock but 
 no children," Ellida watched her, silent, be- 
 wildered, and admiring. Tt seemed so im- 
 probable that she should have a sister so 
 professional, so practical, so determined. Yet 
 there it was. 
 
 And then they descended, Katya and Kitty 
 
112 A CALL 
 
 alone, into the intense silence of the farm that 
 was found. It was on a hill ; it faced south- 
 west ; it was seven miles from the sea, and the 
 farmer's wife, because she was childless, sur- 
 rounded herself with httle animals whose 
 mothers had died. 
 
 And there the child played, never hearing a 
 word, in deep silence with the wordless beasts. 
 This had lasted three weeks. 
 
 The gate was behind Katya's back as she 
 smiled at the rolling hills below the garden. 
 She smiled because the night before she 
 believed she had overheard Kitty talking to 
 the lamb ; she smiled because she was ex- 
 hausted and quivering and lonely. She knitted 
 the green necktie, her eyes upon the April 
 landscape, where bursts of sunlight travelled 
 across these veil-like films of new leaves that 
 covered tenderly the innumerable liedgerows. 
 
 And suddenly she leaned forward ; the long 
 fingers holding the knitting-needles ceased all 
 motion. She had heard a footstep — and slie 
 knew every footstep of the farm. . . . 
 
 He was leaning over the back of her chair ; 
 she saw, against the blue when slie opened her 
 eyes, his clear, dark skin, his clear, dark con- 
 
A CALL 113 
 
 templative eyes. Her arms slowly raised them- 
 selves ; her lips muttered unintelligible words 
 which were broken into by the cool of his 
 cheek as she drew him down to her. She rose 
 to her feet and recoiled, and again, with her 
 arms stretched straight before her, as if she 
 were blind and felt her way, her head thrown 
 back and her eyes closed, an Oriental with a 
 face of chiselled alabaster. And with her eyes 
 still closed, her lips against his ear as if she 
 were asleep, she whispered : 
 
 "Oh, take me! Take me! Now! For 
 good. ..." 
 
 But these words that came from her without 
 will or control ceased, and she had none to say 
 of her own volition. There fell upon them the 
 silent nirvana of passion. 
 
 And suddenly, vibrant, shrill, and interrupted 
 by sobs and the grinding of minute teeth, there 
 rose up in the child's voice the words : 
 
 " Nobody must be loved but me. Nobody 
 must be loved but me." 
 
 They felt minute hands near their knees ; 
 they were parted by a little child, who panted 
 and breathed through her nostrils. They 
 looked at each other with eyes into which, very 
 
 8 
 
114 A CALL 
 
 slowly, there came comprehension. And then, 
 over the little thing's head, Katya repeated : 
 
 " Nobody must be loved but me. Nobody 
 must be loved but me." And with a quick 
 colour upon her cheeks and the wetness of tears 
 in her eyes, " Oh, poor child !" she said. 
 
 For in the words the child had given to her 
 she recognized the torture of her own passion. 
 
 That night quite late Katya descended the 
 stairs upon tiptoe. She spoke in a very low 
 voice : 
 
 " The little thing's been talking, talking," 
 she said, ** the quaintest little thoughts. I've 
 seen it coming for days now. Sometimes I've 
 seen her lips moving. She's the most precise 
 eniinciation in the world." 
 
 " I wired Ellida this afternoon," Robert 
 Grimshaw said. 
 
 " Then Ellida will be down here by the last 
 train ?" Katya answered, and he commented : 
 " We've only got an hour." 
 
 " But little Kitty," she was beginning. 
 
 " No, no," he interrupted. " Nobody must 
 be talked about but us. Nobody must be 
 talked about but us. I'm as glad as you or 
 
A CALL 115 
 
 Ellida or Paul could possibly be about Kitty, 
 but now that I have got you alone at last 
 you're bound to face the music." 
 
 " But little Kitty ?" Katya said. She said 
 it, however, only for form's sake, for Robert 
 Grimshaw's gentle face was set in a soft inflexi- 
 bility, and his low tones she knew would hold 
 her to the mark. She had to face the music. 
 In the half-darkness his large eyes perused 
 her face, dark, mournful and tender. The low, 
 long farmhouse room with its cheap varnished 
 furniture was softened by the obscure light 
 from the fire over which he had been standing 
 for a very long hour. 
 
 "Is it the same terms, then ?" he asked 
 slowly, and she answered : ^ o 
 
 " Exactly the same." ^ 
 
 He looked down at the fire, resting his hand 
 on the chimney-piece. At last she said : '* We 
 might modify it a little ;" and he moved his 
 face, his eyes searching the obscurity in which 
 she stood, only one of her hands catching the 
 glow from the fire. 
 
 " I cannot modify anything," he said. 
 " There must be a marriage, by what recog- 
 nized rite you like, but — that." 
 
 8—2 
 
116 A CALL 
 
 Her voice remained as level as his, express- 
 ing none of the longing, the wistfulness, that 
 were in her whole being. 
 
 " Nobody knew about mother," she said. 
 " Nobody seems to have got to know now." 
 
 '' And you mean," he said, " that now you 
 consent to letting nobody know it about 
 you? 
 
 " You did succeed," she evaded him, " in 
 concealing it about mother. It was splendid 
 of you ! At the time I thought it wasn't 
 possible. I don't know how you managed it. 
 I suppose nobody knows about it but you and 
 mj and EUida and Pauline." 
 
 " You mean," he pursued relentlessly, '* you 
 mean that now you consent to letting nobody 
 know it about you ? Of course, besides us, 
 my solicitor knows — of your mother." 
 
 " At the first shock," she said, " I thought 
 that the whole world must know, and so I 
 was determined that the whole world should 
 know that I hadn't deserted her memory. ..." 
 She paused for a wistful moment, whilst in- 
 flexibly he reflected over the coals. " Have 
 you," she said, " the slightest inkling of why 
 she did it ?" 
 
A CALL 117 
 
 He shook his head slowly ; he sighed. 
 
 " Of course I couldn't take you even on 
 those terms — that nobody knew," he said, witli 
 his eyes still averted. Then he turned upon 
 her, swarthy, his face illumined with a red 
 glow. The slow mournfulness of their 
 speeches, the warmth, the shadow, kept him 
 silent for a long time. " No," he said at last, 
 "there isn't a trace of a fact to be found. I'm 
 as much in the dark as I was on that day when 
 we parted. I'm not as stunned, but I'm just 
 as mystified." 
 
 " Ah !" she said, " but what did you feel — 
 then ?" , 
 
 " Did you ever realize," he asked, " how the 
 shock came to me ? You remember old Part- 
 ington, with the grey beard? He asked me 
 to call on them. He sat on the opposite side 
 of his table. He handed me the copy of some 
 notes your father had made for their instruc- 
 tions as to his will. It was quite short. It 
 ran : ' You are to consider that my wife and I 
 were never married. I desire you to frame a 
 will so phrased that my entire estate, real 
 and personal, should devolve upon my two 
 daughters, Ellida and Katharine, without 
 
118 A CALL 
 
 revealing the fact that they are illegitimate. 
 This should riot be difficult, since their mother's 
 name, which they are legally entitled to bear, 
 was the same as my own, she having been my 
 cousin.'" Grimshaw broke off his low mono- 
 logue to gaze again at her, when he once more 
 returned his eyes to the coals. " Yoii under- 
 stand," he said, " what that meant to me.^ It\^ 
 was handed to me without a word ; and after * 
 a long time Partington said : * You understand 
 that you are your uncle's heir-at-law — nothing 
 more." 
 
 Katya whispered : " Poor old Toto !" 
 
 " You know how I honoured your father 
 and mother," he said. " They were all the 
 parents I ever knew. Well, you know all 
 about that. . . . And then I had to break 
 the news to you. . . . Good God !" 
 
 He drew his hands down his face. 
 
 " Poor old Toto !" Katya said slowly again. 
 " I remember." 
 
 " And you won't make any amends ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 " I'll give you myself," she said softly. 
 
 He answered : " No ! no !" and then, 
 wearily, " It's no good." 
 
A CALL 119 
 
 " Well, I did speak like a beast to you," 
 she said. " But think what a shock it was to 
 me — mother not dead a month, and father not 
 four days, and so suddenly — all that. I'll tell 
 you how I felt. I felt a loathing for all men. 
 I felt a recoiling from you — a recoiling, a 
 shudder." 
 
 " Oh, I know," he said, and suddenly he 
 began to plead : " Haven't you injured me 
 enough ? Haven't I suffered enough ? And 
 why ? — why ? For a mad whim. Isn't it a 
 mad whim ? Or what ? I can understand 
 you felt a recoil. But . . ." 
 
 " Oh, I don't feel it now," she said ; " you 
 know." 
 
 " Ah yes," he answered ; " but I didn't know 
 till to-day, till just now when you raised your 
 arms. And all these years you haven't let me 
 know." 
 
 " How did you know ?" she asked. " How 
 did you know that I felt it ? But, of course, 
 you understand me even when I don't speak." 
 
 " It's heaven," he said, " to know that you've 
 grown out of it. It has been hell to bear the 
 thought. ..." 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! . . ." she said. 
 
120 A CALL 
 
 " Such loneliness," he said. '* Do you 
 know," he continued suddenly, " 1 came 
 back from Athens ? I'm supposed to be a 
 strong-minded man — I suppose I am a strong- 
 minded jnan —but I turned back the moment 
 I reached Greece because I couldn't bear — 
 I could not bear the thought that you might 
 still shudder at my touch. Now I know you 
 don't, and ..." 
 
 " EUida will be here soon," Katya said. 
 " Can't you hear her train coming down the 
 valley . . . there . . . ? And I want to tell you 
 what I've found out about mother. I've found 
 it out, I've made it out, remembering what she 
 said from day to day. I'll tell you what it 
 was — it was trustfulness. I remember it 
 now. It was the mainspring of her life. I 
 think I know how the very idea came into her 
 mind. I've got it down to little details. I've 
 been inquiring even about the Orthodox priests 
 there were in England at the time. There 
 wasn't a single one ! One had just died sud- 
 denly, and there did not come a successor for 
 six months. And mother was there. And 
 when she was a young thing, mother, I know, 
 had a supreme contempt — a bitter contempt 
 
A CALL 121 
 
 —for all English ideas. She got over it. 
 When we children were born she became the 
 gentlest being. You know, that was what 
 she always was to me — she was a being, not a 
 woman. When she came into the room she 
 spread soothing around her. 1 might be in 
 paroxysms of temper, but it died out when 
 she opened the door. It's so strong upon me 
 that I hardly remember what she looked like. 
 I can't remember her any more than I can 
 conceive of the looks of a saint. A saint ! — 
 well, she was that. She liad been hot- 
 tempered, she had been contemptuous. She 
 became what you remember after we were 
 born. You may say she got religion." 
 
 Katya, her eyes full of light, paused; she 
 began again with less of exultation. 
 
 *' I dare say," she said, '' she began to hve 
 with father without the rites of the Church 
 because there was no Church she acknowledged 
 to administer them ; but later, she didn't want 
 them. I remember how she always told us, 
 ' Trust each other, trust each other ; then you 
 will become perfectly to be trusted.' And 
 again, she would never let us make promises 
 one to another. Don't you remember ? She 
 
122 A CALL 
 
 always said to us : * Say that you will do a 
 thing. Never promise — never. Your word 
 must be your bond.' You remember?" 
 
 Grimshaw slowly nodded his head. " I 
 remember." 
 
 " So that I am certain," she said, " that that 
 was why she never married father. I think 
 she regarded marriage — the formality, the 
 vows — as a desecration. Don't you see, she 
 wanted to be my father's chattel, and to trust 
 him absolutely — to trust, to trust ! Isn't that 
 the perfect relationship ?" 
 
 Grimshaw said : " Yes, I dare say that is 
 the explanation. But ..." 
 
 " But it makes no difference to you ?" she 
 pleaded. In the distance she heard the faint 
 grind of wheels. 
 
 " No," he said, " not even if no one else 
 knew it. I'm very tired ; I'm very lonely. I 
 want you so ; I want you with all my heart. 
 But not that — not that." 
 
 " Not ever ?" she said. 
 
 " No," he answered ; "I'll play with my 
 cards on the table. If I grow very tired — 
 very, very tired — if I cannot hold out any 
 longer, well, I may consent — to your living 
 
A CALL 123 
 
 with me as your mother Hved with your 
 father. But " — and he stood up briskly — ** I'll 
 tell you this : you've strengthened me — you've 
 strengthened me in my motive. If you had 
 shuddered at me as you did on that day years 
 ago, I think I should have given in by now. 
 But you didn't any longer. You've come to 
 me ; you raised your arms to me. Don't you 
 see how it has strengthened me ? I'm not 
 alone any more ; I'm not the motherless boy 
 that I was. . . . Yes, it's heaven." 
 
 Her hands fell by her side. The sound of 
 wheels filled the room, and ceased. 
 
 " If I'd repulsed you, you'd have given in ?" 
 she said. 
 
 The door fell violently back, and from the 
 black and radiant figure of Ellida came the 
 triumphant cry : " Kitty's spoken ! Kitty's 
 spoken ! You've not deceived me 1" 
 
II 
 
 He found Pauline Leicester in his dining-room 
 upon his return to town. Little and serious, 
 and always with the tiny smile about her lips, 
 she was seated in his deep chair by the fire- 
 place. He was happy and erect, with Katya's 
 kisses still upon his lips, and for all the world 
 he felt a tenderness. 
 
 " I got your letter," she said. " Miss Las- 
 carides has come back ; the child has spoken. 
 1 suppose you are very happy ?" 
 
 He feared to detect jealousy in her tones ; 
 he found only a business-like precision. 
 
 " I was coming to dine with you," he said. 
 " Can't you do with me ?" 
 
 " Oh, we want you so much !" she said. 
 
 He had a sudden and black premoni- 
 tion. 
 
 "You're not on bad terms with Dudley?" 
 he asked. 
 
 124 
 
A CALL 125 
 
 " Tell me," she said, " you were in town part 
 of the time when Dudley was all alone ? 
 Mother died, you know, a week after you left 
 for Athens." 
 
 " Oh, poor child !" Grimshaw answered. 
 
 Her lips moved a little. 
 
 '' She suffered so much, poor dear ; she was 
 so brave." She looked up at him with a queer 
 little smile. " I suppose we're born to suffer. 
 It's up to us to be brave." 
 
 "Oh, but Dudley hasn't been giving you 
 trouble ?" he asked. " You aren't on bad 
 terms with him ?" 
 
 "One could not be on bad terms with 
 Dudley," she answered. " But he's giving me 
 trouble." 
 
 " The hound !" Grimshaw answered. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't what he does, it's what he is," 
 she said quickly. She rose and put her little 
 hand upon his arm. " Tell me, Robert," she 
 said, " what has happened to him ? He's very 
 ill." 
 
 Grimshaw made a step back. 
 
 "Not tuberculosis, really ?" he asked. 
 
 " I am sure he's very ill," she said, " mentally; 
 he's quite altered. What's to be done ?" 
 
126 A CALL 
 
 " My poor girl," Grimshaw voiced his tender- 
 ness and concern. 
 
 " Tell me," she adjured him, " what happened 
 to him ? It's something that's happened. He 
 couldn't do anything. Tell me the truth !" 
 
 '* How should I know ?" he asked. '' How 
 should I know ?" 
 
 " Sometimes he's quite the same ; sometimes 
 he's gay — he's too gay. And then ..." She 
 looked up. " He sits and thinks ; he'll sit silent 
 for hours. He's not spoken a word all the 
 morning. And then suddenly . . . he'll shudder. 
 And his eyes aren't the same ; they aren't the 
 same, you understand. It's as if he were afraid. 
 Afraid ! He cowers into a corner. What is 
 it, Robert ? You know." 
 
 Grimshaw was silent, pondering. 
 
 " Tell me !" she said. You shall tell me ; 
 you know. Is it religious mania ?" 
 
 Grimshaw shook his head. 
 
 *' No, I don't think it can be religious mania." 
 He added : " It might be hypochondria — sheer 
 anxiety about his health. He was always like 
 that." 
 
 " No," she said, " he liasn't been near a doctor. 
 It can't be that." She looked up at him with 
 
A CALL • 127 
 
 a little, birdlike gaze. " I know what it is," 
 she said, " it's another woman." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw threw up his hands that 
 were still gloved. 
 
 " You aren't surprised," she said, and there 
 was about her whole figure an air of a little 
 and tender calmness. " It's no good your feign- 
 ing surprise. I am sure you know all about it. 
 Oh, I know what men are, and women. 1 
 have been a nursery governess, you know. 
 Isn't it true that there was another woman ?" 
 and, at his hesitation, she pleaded : " Tell me 
 the truth, there was !" 
 
 " Well, there was," he said. 
 
 "And it was Etta Stackpole," she accused 
 him. 
 
 He saw her sit, looking down at the point 
 of her umbrella. 
 
 " IVe got to get him well," she said. " Tell 
 me the truth." 
 
 " Yes, it was Lady Hudson," he answered. 
 " But you aren't going to . . ." 
 
 " Robert dear," she said, with her little, clear, 
 appeahng voice. " You can't make such a 
 mistake as to think that I am going to hamper 
 Dudley. It's my task in life to keep him going. 
 
128 A CATJ. 
 
 Think it out. I'm not really the girl to give 
 ourselves away. I turned Dudley out of my 
 mother's house. I ought not to have done it, 
 but mother could not bear him. Perhaps I 
 valued mother more than Dudley — perhaps 
 that was wrong. But I've heard you say : ' Do 
 what you want and take what you get for it.' 
 I'm taking what I get for it, and it's easier to 
 do it because I know what men are." 
 
 " It wasn't Dudley's doing," Grimshaw said. 
 **We can't even tell ..." 
 
 " Robert, dear," she repeated, " I have been 
 a nursery-governess, you know." 
 
 ** Oh yes," he answered, " but you're a 
 woman too." 
 
 " Oh yes," she imitated him, " but I'm a 
 woman of our class. Don't you see the two 
 things I've learned ? One is, that we can't 
 have what we want. I may have wanted . . . 
 Well, that does not matter. But if I couldn't 
 give, I could get — adoration. That's all there 
 is to it.' 
 
 Robert Grimshaw said suddenly : " Yes, 
 you could make something out of poor 
 Dudley." 
 
 " I won t say that it doesn't hurt," she took him 
 
A CALL 129 
 
 up : "it does. Or, no, it doesn't. Well, one 
 can't say. . . . Up in the nursery at the Brig- 
 stocks' there were great big clumsy boys. They 
 adored me, and it was my business to make 
 men of them — at any rate, during the hohdays. 
 Well, they'd disobey me. Sometimes they'd 
 even deceive me — rather meanly, in little 
 things ; and then they'd behave like Dudley. 
 So that I'm used to it on a small scale. It's 
 saddening that a man can't be quite true, 
 even when he adores you ; but he can't. 
 That's all." 
 
 She was buttoning up her little black gloves, 
 and she stood up to go. 
 
 " Wouldn't you hke me," Grimshaw asked, 
 " to break it to him that you know ? I sup- 
 pose he's got to know it ?" 
 
 " Of course he's got to know it," she 
 said. " He'll never be himself as long as he's 
 trying to conceal it. But ... I think I'll 
 tell him myself. You see, he might not like 
 you to know; it might make him shy. It's 
 best to drink one's own black draughts." But 
 when she reached the door she turned to say : 
 *' You might come along soon — quite soon. I 
 shan't say more than three words to him. 
 
130 A CALL 
 
 Your coming in might relieve any strain. It 
 would carry us over till bedtime." 
 
 *' I'll be there well before lunch," he said. 
 " It's twelve now." 
 
 As they stood on the doorstep, he taking his 
 farewell, she brought out : " Mind, nobody's 
 to blame but me, from the beginning. If it 
 hadn't been for mother, I don't suppose I 
 should have married Dudley. I knew I could 
 make a good wife for him ; I know I can 
 make a man of him, and I know he adores 
 me. But that isn't everything. I can put 
 him into the sort of position he ought to 
 occupy. But that's only being a nursery 
 governess on a larger scale. It's a good piece 
 of work. . . . But — but for mother . . . oh, 
 poor dear !" — she broke off, and the blue eyes 
 that gazed down the empty street were filmed 
 over for a moment — " much it has profited 
 mother to have me off her hands. It's five 
 months now, and she's been dead thirteen days. 
 Well, so long." 
 
 She waved her hand minutely to him from 
 the pavement, and exclaimed : "• Go in ; you'll 
 take cold !" and then she seemed to be blown 
 round the corner into Curzon Street. 
 
Ill 
 
 In passing from the dining-room to his snug- 
 gery at the back of the house, Dudley Leicester 
 brushed against his tall hat. He took it from 
 the rack, and surveyed distastefully its ruffled 
 surface. 
 
 " Saunders," he called, " take this round to 
 Tang's. They're to put a band on it a half- 
 inch deeper, and to iron it. I hate a hat that's 
 been ruffled." 
 
 " It does mark a man off, sir," Saunders said 
 from the dining-room door. 
 
 Saunders had been considering with his 
 master the question of dark shades in trouser- 
 ing, and the colloquial atmosphere seemed to 
 remain in the air. 
 
 " Now, what the devil do you mean by 
 that ?" Leicester asked. " Do you mean it 
 would help you to track him ?" 
 
 *" It helps you to place him, sir," Saunders 
 131 9—2 
 
132 A CALL 
 
 answered. He brushed the hat with his sleeve, 
 and surveyed it inscrutably. " If a gentleman 
 doesn't know that his hat's ruffled, it means 
 that he's something on his mind. I mean, sir, 
 it means that he belongs to the professional or 
 merchant class, or below that. It's only gentle- 
 men of leisure who can think of their hats at 
 all times." 
 
 Dudley Leicester laughed. 
 
 " What an odd fish you are, Saunders," he 
 said. '' Get along, man, with the hat at once. 
 I'm going to Mrs. Langham's with your mis- 
 tress just after lunch." 
 
 He lounged towards his snuggery, smiling to 
 himself at the thought that Katya Lascarides 
 had again refused Robert Grimshaw, though 
 he and she, and Ellida and the child had been 
 staying a week or more at Brighton together. 
 
 " A funny job — what ?" he said. He had 
 developed the habit of talking to himself whilst 
 Pauline had been away. He looked at himself 
 in the rather smoky mirror that was over the 
 black marble mantel of a gloomy room. 
 " What the deuce is it all about ? She loves 
 him like nuts ; he's like a bee after honey. 
 Why don't they marry f 
 
A CALL 133 
 
 Looking at himself in the mirror, he pulled 
 down one of his eyelids to see if he were not a 
 little anemic, for he had heard the day before 
 that if a man were at all anaemic, the inner 
 flesh of the eyelid was pale. A careful survey 
 showed him that his eyelid was very red, and 
 his eyes watering. He muttered : " Cobwebs ! 
 That's what it is ! Cobwebs in the brain. ..." 
 He dropped himself into a deep, dark saddle- 
 bag chair. In twenty minutes it would be 
 time for him to take his exercise. " Umph ! 
 cobwebs !" he said. " Yes, I've had some of 
 my own, but Fve broken through them. Poor 
 old Robert ! He hasn't, though." 
 
 He suddenly realized that he was talking 
 aloud, and then the telephone-bell rang at his 
 elbow. He gave a grunt, swore, and switched 
 off the connection, so that it would ring in the 
 butler's pantry. And when he had got over 
 the slight shock to his nerves, he sat for some 
 time in silence. Suddenly he exclaimed : 
 " What rot it was !" 
 
 He was thinking of what he called his cob- 
 webs. It had all been a trifle, except that 
 Etta was a devil. He would like to flay her 
 hide with a whip. But he reahzed that it was 
 
134 A CALL 
 
 impossible that Pauline should have heard of 
 it. At least, it was unlikely. If she had 
 been going to hear of it, she would have heard 
 by now. 
 
 He stretched his arms behind his head, and 
 rested his crown upon his hands. 
 
 " Never felt so fit in my life," he said, 
 ** never." 
 
 Saunders — if Saunders knew — he wouldn't 
 go and blab to Pauline. What good would it 
 do him ? Besides, Saunders was a decent sort ; 
 besides, too, the fellow who had recognized his 
 voice, probably he was a decent sort, too. 
 After all, blackmailers were not in his line. 
 He doubted if he had ever spoken to a real 
 bad hat in his life for long enough to let him 
 recognize his voice. . . . And perhaps the 
 whole thing had been a trick of his nerves. He 
 had certainly been nervy enough at the time. 
 
 " All cobwebs," he said, '' beastly cobwebs !" 
 
 Then all the dreadful fears that he had felt 
 . . . they were all nothing ! It would have 
 broken Pauline's heart. 
 
 " She's had such rough times, little woman," 
 he said, "such beastly rough times." 
 
 But though his cobwebs had been imbecile 
 
A CALL 135 
 
 enough, the remembrance of the pain made 
 him wince. 
 
 " By Jove ! I was nearly mad," he said. 
 
 He had felt insane desires to ask strangers — 
 perfect strangers in the street — whether they 
 were the men who had rung up 4,259 Mayfair. 
 
 " By Jove !" he repeated again, " by Jove ! 
 And now it's all over." 
 
 He leaned back luxuriously in his chair ; he 
 stretched his long legs. 
 
 " Never so fit in my life," he said ; and he 
 extended his long hand to take from the desk 
 at his side a little carved box that Pauline had 
 bought of a Japanese to hold his nail-scissors. 
 
 He had observed a little speck of dirt 
 beneath the nail of his forefinger. And in the 
 pleasant well-being of the world he half dozed 
 away, the box held nearly to his nose. It 
 exhaled a faint musky odour, and suddenly his 
 eyes opened as he jerked out of his day-dream. 
 
 " Etta !' he said, for the box exhaled the 
 scent that Etta Hudson always had about her 
 — a sweet, musky, cobwebby odour. . . . 
 
 " By God !" he said ; and he crossed himself 
 as he had learned to do in St. Andrew's, Hol- 
 born, where his wife worshipped. 
 
136 A CALL 
 
 The lines of his face seemed to decompose ; 
 his head fell forward ; his mouth opened. 
 Pauline was closing the door after her silent 
 entry. It was a long, dusky slice of the rear- 
 house, and he watched her approach, wide-eyed 
 and panic-stricken, as if she held an animal- 
 trainer's whip. The little smile was about her 
 lips when she stood over his huddled figure in 
 the light of the stained-glass window that had 
 been put in to hide the dreary vision of house- 
 backs. 
 
 She held out her little gloved hand ; her 
 face was quite tranquil. 
 
 " She knows all about it," he said. " Good 
 God !" 
 
 " Dudley, dear," she said, " I know all 
 about it." 
 
IV 
 
 Robert Grimshaw was pushing the electric 
 button beside the Leicesters' entry when, hat- 
 less, the daylight falling on his ruffled hair, 
 Dudley Leicester flung open the door and ran 
 down the street. 
 
 " Oh, go after him ; go after him !" Pauline 
 cried from the hall. 
 
 If Dudley Leicester had done anything at 
 all in his life it was to run at school. Thus it 
 was a full minute before Grimshaw came to 
 the door of the little dark hat-ironing shop, in 
 the middle of which Leicester stood, leaning 
 over the counter, holding by the waistcoat a 
 small man with panic-stricken blue eyes. After- 
 wards he heard that Leicester had asked where 
 his man Saunders was. But for the moment 
 he had ceased to shake the little hatter. And 
 then, suddenly, he asked : 
 
 137 
 
138 A CALL 
 
 " Are you the chap who rang up 4,259 
 Mayfair ?" 
 
 " Sir ! su* !" the Httle man cried out. Dudley 
 Leicester shook him and shook him : a white 
 band-box fell from the counter and rolled 
 almost into the street. 
 
 *' Are you ? Are you ?" Dudley Leicester 
 cried out incessantly. 
 
 And when the little man screamed : " No ! 
 no ! " Leicester seized the heavy rounded 
 smoothing-iron and raised it to the height of 
 his arm so that it struck the brown, smoked 
 ceiling. The little man ducked beneath the 
 counter, his agonized eyes gazing upwards. 
 
 But at Grimshaw's cool, firm grasp upon his 
 wrists, Leicester sank together. He passed 
 his hand so tightly down his face that the 
 colour left it, to return in a swift flush. 
 
 " I've got cobwebs all over my face," he 
 muttered, " beastly, beastly cobwebs." 
 
 He did not utter another word. Grimshaw, 
 taking him firmly by the arm above the elbow* 
 led him back to his house, of which the white 
 door still stood open. 
 
 The dark door of tlie snuggery at the end 
 of the long passage closed upon Leicester and 
 
A CALL 139 
 
 Pauline, as if upon a deep secret. In the hall, 
 Robert Grimshaw remained standing, looking 
 straight before him. It was, perhaps, the first 
 time that he had ever meditated without look- 
 ing at Peter, and the dog's large and luminous 
 eyes fixed upon his face were full of uneasiness. 
 Robert Grimshaw had always looked mature. 
 In the dreary illumination from the fanlight 
 above the hall-door he seemed positively old. 
 The healthy olive colour of his clear, pale com- 
 plexion seemed to have disappeared in a deadly 
 whiteness. And whilst he stood and thought, 
 and whilst, having gone into the dining-room, 
 he sat deep in a chair with Peter before him, 
 the expression of his face deepened gradually. 
 At each successive progress of his mind from 
 point to point, his mouth, which was usually 
 pursed as if he were pleasantly about to 
 whistle — his mouth elongated itself minutely, 
 until at last the lips turned downwards. He 
 had been leaning back in his chair. He leaned 
 suddenly forward as if with fear and irresolu- 
 tion. His eyes saw nothing when they rested 
 upon the little brown dog that turned its 
 quivering muzzle up to his face. 
 
 He rose and stood irresolutely. He went, 
 
140 A CALL 
 
 setting down his feet very gently on the 
 marble squares of the hall. It was as if he 
 crept to the door of the room that held 
 mystery. He could hear the voices of the 
 servants and a faint clicking of silver being 
 laid upon a tray. But from the room . . . 
 nothing ! 
 
 He stood listening for a long time, then 
 gently he turned the handle and entered, 
 standing near the door. Pauline Leicester 
 was leaning over her husband, who was sunk 
 deep into his chair. He had an odd, a grotesque 
 j aspect, of being no more than so many clothes 
 carelessly thrown down. She looked for a 
 moment round at Robert Grimshaw, and then 
 again bent her tender face over her husband. 
 
 " Dudley, dear," she said ; " don't you hear ? 
 It's nothing. It's all nothing. Listen !" She 
 raised her voice to repeat : " It is all nothing. 
 I have nothing against you." 
 
 She remained seated on the arm of the 
 chair, looking at him intently, mournfully, 
 almost as Peter looked at his master, and the 
 little dog paddling through the room stood up 
 on its hind-legs to touch her hand with the tip 
 of its tongue. She began to speak again, 
 
A CALL 141 
 
 uttering the same words, repeating and repeat- 
 ing them, hoping that some at least would 
 reach his brain. He sat entirely still, hunched 
 together, his eyes looking as if they were veiled 
 and long dead. Pauline had ceased speaking 
 again, when suddenly he passed his hand down 
 his face from brow to chin, and 'then, as if the 
 sudden motion gave her the idea that his brain 
 might again have become alert, she repeated : 
 
 " Listen, Dudley dear. ..." 
 
 Her voice, clear and minute, continuing in 
 a low monotone, had the little flutings and 
 little catches that so exactly and so exquisitely 
 fitted the small quaintnesses of expression. 
 And to Robert Grimshaw she appeared to 
 look downwards upon Dudley, not as if she 
 were expecting him to answer, but with a 
 tender expression of a mother looking at a 
 child many months before it can talk. 
 
 And suddenly she let herself down from the 
 arm of the chair and glided over to where, in 
 the gloom, Robert Grimshaw was standing 
 beside the door. The little brown dog flapped 
 after her over the floor. 
 
 '' You had better go and get a doctor,'' she 
 said. 
 
142 A CALL 
 
 He answered hesitatingly : " Isn't it a little 
 early ?" He added : " Isn't it a little early to 
 take it that he's definitely ill ?" 
 
 " Oh, I've known that he's been definitely ill 
 for a long time," she answered. " I ought to 
 have called in a doctor before, but I wanted to 
 consult you, so I waited. It was wrong. As 
 it turns out, it was wrong, too, my not letting 
 you speak to Dudley instead of me. You 
 think it would hurt my feelings to hear a 
 doctor say that he is actually mad. But I've 
 been through with it already. I know it. The 
 only thing now is treatment, and the sooner it 
 begins the better." 
 
 Grimshaw's face set sharply in its painful 
 lines. 
 
 " Don't say that he's mad," he said, in the 
 most commanding accent she had ever heard 
 him use. 
 
 '' Just look at him," she answered. 
 
 Dudley Leicester, with the air of a dissipated 
 scarecrow ruined by gambling, was gazing 
 straight in front of him, sunk deep in his 
 chair, his eyes gazing upon nothing, his 
 hands beating a tattoo upon the leather 
 arms." 
 
A CALL * 143 
 
 " I won't have you say it," Robert Grimshaw 
 said fiercely. 
 
 " Well, the responsibility's mine," she an- 
 swered, and her tiny lips quivered. " There's 
 my mother dead and Dudley mad, and I'm 
 responsible." 
 
 " No, I'm responsible," Grimshaw said in a 
 fierce whisper. 
 
 " Now come," she answered ; " if I hadn't 
 married Dudley, mother would never have 
 had her pony-chaise or got pneumonia ..." 
 
 "It was I that brought you together," 
 Grimshaw said. 
 
 " Oh ! if you put it that way," she answered ; 
 *' there's no end to who's responsible. You 
 may say it was the Brigstocks. But the 
 immediate responsibility is mine. I ought to 
 have called in a doctor sooner. I ought not 
 to have given him this shock. Don't think 
 I'm going to be morbid about it, but that 
 sums it up, and the only question is how the 
 thing is to be put straight. For that we want 
 advice, and soon. The only question is who's 
 to give it ?" 
 
 " But what are the facts ?" Robert Grimshaw 
 asked. 
 
144 A CALL 
 
 " Oh ! you know the facts," she answered. 
 
 " I want a few details," he responded, *' to 
 give to the man I go to. When did it begin ? 
 Have you seen any signs of fever ? Has he 
 been off his feed, and so on ?" 
 
 Pauhne opened the door gently. She looked 
 over her shoulder to see if Leicester had 
 stirred. She held the door just ajar when she 
 and Grimshaw were outside. 
 
 '' I used to think," she said, " even when we 
 were engaged, that there was something a 
 little strange about Dudley. It wasn't an un- 
 pleasant strangeness. No, it was an attraction. 
 He used to be absent in his manner at times. 
 It was that gave me the idea that there might 
 be something in him. It gave an idea that he 
 really had a brain that stuck to something. 
 Of course, when I twitted him with it, when I 
 got really to know him, I discovered — but 
 that was only after we were married — that he 
 was only thinking about his health. But since 
 we've been married he's been quite different. 
 I don't believe you really know Dudley. He 
 is very quiet, but he does observe things, and 
 he's got a little humour of his own. I don't 
 suppose anyone else has ever noticed it, but it 
 
A CALL 145 
 
 is there. His fits of strangeness before we 
 were married were very much like this. Not so 
 wild, but still like this in kind." 
 
 She opened the door and peeped in. Dudley 
 Leicester was sitting where he had been. 
 
 " As to fever — no, I haven't noticed that he's 
 had any fever. He's eaten very well, except 
 when these fits of gloom were on him ; then it 
 was almost impossible to get him to the table. 
 I don't know when I noticed it first. He 
 came down for mother's funeral, and it seemed 
 to me to be natural that he should be depressed. 
 But in between these fits he's been so nice, so 
 nice I , 
 
 "I'll 'phone to Sir William Wells," Grimshaw 
 said ; " I'll 'phone at once." 
 
 " Oh, don't 'phone. Go !" she answered. 
 
 He hesitated markedly : 
 
 " Well, then, have Saunders with you in 
 the room," he said, "or just outside the door." 
 
 She looked up at him for a moment, her 
 blue eyes wide. 
 
 " Oh, that /" she said. " You don't need to 
 have the least fear for me. Don't you under- 
 stand — if he is mad, what it is that has driven 
 him mad ?" 
 
 10 
 
146 A CALL 
 
 He looked down upon her with a deep 
 tenderness. 
 
 '' I suppose it's the shock," he said. 
 
 " Oh no," she answered. *• It isn't that ; 
 it's his feehng for me. Haven't you heard 
 him say a hundred times : ' Poor httle woman ! 
 she's had such a beastly time !' Don't you 
 understand ? The quality of his love for me 
 was his desire to protect me. It's funny, isn't 
 it ? — funny enough to make you cry. He 
 thought I'd had such a bad time that it was 
 up to him to keep every kind of trouble from 
 me. He's done something — wdth Etta Hudson. 
 Well, and ever since he's been dreading that it 
 should get to my ears — and me in mourning 
 for dear mother, and he alone and dreading — 
 oh, dreading. And not a soul to speak 
 to. . . ." 
 
 Again she looked up into Grimshaw's 
 eyes — and he was filled with an in- 
 tolerable pity. She smiled, quaintly and 
 bravely. 
 
 " You see," she said, " he was not afraid of 
 what I should do but of what I should feel. 
 1 woke up and found him crying one night. 
 Fuuny, isn't it ? that anyone should cry — 
 
A CALL 147 
 
 about me. But I suppose he was feeling all 
 that he thought / should feel. He was identify- 
 ing himself with me. And now he's like that, 
 and I don't feel anything more about it. 
 But," she added, "that ought to satisfy you 
 that I'm quite safe." 
 
 " Ah," he said, " but so often — these strong 
 passions take exactly the opposite turn. Do 
 have Saunders handy." 
 
 " Robert, dear," she said, " if he's mad 
 enough for that, I should not mind his killing 
 me. I should be glad." 
 
 " Oh, dear child," he answered, " would that 
 be the way to help you to make a man of 
 him ?" 
 
 She reflected for a moment. 
 
 " Robert," she said, " how right you always 
 are ! I seem to be so wise to myself until you 
 prove how wrong I always am. I thought it 
 the right way for me to speak to Dudley. If 
 I only had. . . . And oh, Robert," she said, 
 ** how good you are to us ! How could we 
 get on without you ?" 
 
 He said suddenly, as if it were a military 
 command : 
 
 " Don't say that. I forbid it !" He added 
 
 10—2 
 
148 A CALL 
 
 more softly : '' I'll go to Sir William Wells at 
 once. Katya says he's the best man of the 
 kind in London." 
 
 " She ought to know," she said. *' Yes ; go 
 quickly. I've kept you talking only so as to 
 let you know all there is to know. It's diffi- 
 cult for a wife to talk about these things to a 
 dQctor. He might not beheve it if I said that 
 Dudley was so fond of me. But you know, 
 and you may make him believe it. For it all 
 turns on that. . . . But I will have Saunders 
 within call till you come back with him. ..." 
 
 She went into the room, and, having touched 
 the bell, stood looking down upon her husband 
 with a contemplation of an infinite compas- 
 sion. In the light of the stained glass at the 
 end of a long passage of gloom she brought 
 tears into Grimshaw's eyes, and an infinite 
 passion and tenderness into his whole being. 
 His throat felt loosened, and he gasped. It 
 was a passion for which there was neither 
 outlet nor expression. He was filled with 
 a desire for action without having any 
 guidance as to what it was that he desired 
 to do. 
 
 And the discreet Saunders, coming up the 
 
A CALL 149 
 
 servants' steps to answer the bell, saw his 
 master's friend strike himself suddenly on the 
 high white forehead a hard blow with his still 
 gloved hand. 
 
 " Ah ! I thought it would come to that," he 
 said to himself. 
 
" Well, you aren't looking very chirpy," 
 Etta Stackpole said. 
 
 " I'm not feeling it," Robert Grimshaw 
 answered. 
 
 He was leaning over the rails in the Row, 
 and Etta Stackpole sat on a huge chestnut 
 that, its body motionless as a statue, its legs 
 planted wide apart, threw its arched neck from 
 time to time into the air, and dispersed great 
 white flakes of foam. 
 
 " Time goes on, too," he continued. " It 
 goes on, and it's only you that it passes by." 
 
 " Thanks," she said, and she touched her hat 
 with her crop. 
 
 With the clitter of stirrups and the creak of 
 leather and the indistinguishable thud of hoofs, 
 the riders went by behind her in twos and 
 threes. Behind his back was the perpetual 
 crushing of feet and whisper of innumerable 
 
 150 
 
A CALL 151 
 
 conversations, conducted in discreet under- 
 tones. It was a place of a myriad rustlings 
 and small, pleasant sounds ; and along the 
 great length of the Row, vanishing into the 
 distance, the young green of the leaves swayed 
 in the April breezes. A huge cloud toppled 
 motionless above the barracks, pink against 
 the blue sky and dull in its softened shadows. 
 
 Robert Grimshaw had walked along nearer 
 the rails than was his habit until he came to 
 where Etta Stackpole — it was just as much her 
 habit, so that he had known where to find her 
 — was talking to three men in her brilliant 
 way. And raising his head, Robert Grimshaw 
 had inserted himself between Hugo van Voss, 
 a Dutch Jew beginning to show adiposity, 
 and Charles McDiarmid, who, with his grey 
 peaked beard and slight hsp, was asking why 
 she hadn't come to the Caledonian Market last 
 Tuesday to look for bargains in the bric-a-brac 
 that is displayed there upon the broad flag- 
 stones. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not a bit gone on bric-a-brac 
 really," she said, "and it's the most tiring 
 thing in the world." 
 
 **Well, Hugo there," McDiarmid Hsped 
 
152 A CALL 
 
 slightly, in his gentle and sibilant tones, " got 
 a Chinese tapestry in scarlet silk as big as the 
 side of the Ritz, with realistic dragons and 
 mandolines embroidered on it in sky-blue and 
 purple. He got it for thirteen and sixpence, 
 and he's going to make dressing-gowns out 
 of it." 
 
 Van Voss protested inaudibly. 
 
 " Oh, you are, you know you are," McDiarmid 
 asserted gaily, " and we're going to carry you 
 in triumph down the Mall. Get Van Voss to 
 give you one, Lady Hudson, and get Grim- 
 shaw here to drive you down to Bushey on a 
 coach labelled ' Queen of Sheba.' " 
 
 "He doesn't take me anywhere any more," 
 Etta Hudson said. 
 
 And Grimshaw answered desultorily : 
 
 " Only give me a chance." 
 
 Etta Hudson sustained, with a brilliant 
 indifference, the glances from the half-closed 
 eyes of McDiarmid and those of the dark, 
 large, rather insolent and inscrutable orbs of 
 the stockbroker. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said to Grimshaw. " You 
 take me down to Bushey again. I'm booked 
 up three deep for the next six months, but 111 
 
A CALL 153 
 
 chuck anybody you like except my dress- 
 maker." 
 
 '' Booked up ?" Robert Grimshaw leant over 
 the rails to say. " Yes, we're all booked up. 
 We're an idle, useless crowd, and we never 
 have an instant to do anything that we 
 like." 
 
 McDiarmid, reaching over a long claw, 
 caught hold of the shiny financier, and, hauling 
 him off up the Row, seemed to involve him in 
 a haze of monetary transactions. He was, 
 indeed, supposed at that moment to be selling 
 Van Voss a castle on the Borders, where the 
 King had stayed. 
 
 " Well, we used to be chummy enough in 
 the old days," Etta Hudson said. " Yes, you 
 take me down to Bushey again. Don't you 
 remember the time we went, and Dudley 
 stopped at home because he thought he was 
 sickening for the measles ?" 
 
 It was then, after their eyes had encountered 
 for a long minute, that Etta Hudson had said 
 that Robert Grimshaw wasn't looking very 
 chirpy. Except for the moments when their 
 eyes did meet — the moments when each 
 wondered what the deuce the other was up to 
 
154 A CALL 
 
 — Etta Hudson flung out her words with an 
 admkable naturalness : 
 
 " Oh, take a pill, and don't talk about the 
 passing years," she said. " It's the spring 
 that's crocking you up. Horses are just like 
 that. Why, even Orlando here stumbles at 
 the fall of the leaf and about Chestnut Sunday. 
 Yes, you take me down to Bushey. You 
 know you'll find me as good as a tonic. I 
 should say you're having an overdose of too- 
 brainy society. Doesn't Dudley's wife go in 
 for charity organization or politics ? She's a 
 sort of a little wax saint, isn't she, got up to 
 look like a Gaiety girl ? I know the sort. 
 Yes, you tell me about Dudley Leicester's 
 wife. I'd like to know. That's a bargain. 
 You take me down to Bushey and talk about 
 Dudley Leicester's wife all the way down, and 
 then you can talk about me all the way up, 
 and we're quits." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw raised his eyes till, dark 
 and horseshoe-like, they indicated, as it were, 
 a threat — as it were, a challenge. 
 
 " If you put it up to me to that extent," he 
 said, " I'll bet you a new riding-habit that 
 you look as if you could do with, that 
 
A CALL 155 
 
 you won't come down and lunch in Bushey 
 to-day." 
 
 '' What's the matter with my habit ?" she 
 said. " I've had it six years. If it's been 
 good enough for all that time, it's good enough 
 for now. Give me time to say a word to old 
 Lady Colhmore. My husband wants me to 
 keep in with her, and she's got a new astrologer 
 living with her as a P. G. I won't be five 
 minutes after I've spoken to her, and then 
 I'm your man." 
 
 " You'll come in these things ?" Grimshaw 
 said. 
 
 '* Oh, that's all right," she answered. " It's 
 just popping into a taxi-cab and getting out 
 at the Park gates and walking across the 
 Park, and having lunch at one of those 
 little 'pub' places, and then I suppose you'll 
 let the taxi drop me at the door. You won't 
 turn me adrift at the Marble Arch, or send 
 me home by tram ?" 
 
 I " Well, you are like a man," Robert Grim- 
 "shaw said. " You look like a man, and you 
 talk like a man. ..." 
 
 She tapped her horse with her crop. 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," she said. " But I 
 
156 A CALL 
 
 wish — I wish to hell I had been one," she 
 called over her shoulder, whilst slowly she 
 walked her horse along by the railings, search- 
 ing with her eyes for the venerable figure and 
 tousled grey hair emerging centaur-like from 
 its bath- chair — the figure of the noted Lady 
 Collimore, who had mysterious gifts, who had 
 been known to make top-hats perform the feat 
 of levitation, and whose barrack-like house at 
 Queen's Gate had an air of being filled with 
 astrologers, palmists, and faith-healers. 
 
 And the first thing that, bowler-hatted and 
 in her tight habit, Etta Hudson said to Grim- 
 shaw in the taxi-cab was : 
 
 " Now tell me the truth. Is everything that 
 I'm going to say likely to be used as evidence 
 against me ?" 
 
 " Oh, come, come !" Robert Grimshaw said. 
 
 They were whirled past the tall houses and 
 the flitting rails. They jerked along at a 
 terrific rate down through Kensington until, 
 falling into a stream of motor-propelled vehicles 
 near the Albert Hall, their speed was reduced 
 to a reasonable jog-trot. 
 
 " Tlien you only want to know things," 
 
A CALL 157 
 
 Etta Stackpole said. " You,see, one never can 
 tell in these days what who's up to. There's 
 no reason why you shouldn't have fixed it up 
 with Leicester's wife. She can divorce him 
 and have you." 
 
 **Oh, it's nothing of that sort," Grimshaw 
 said. 
 I She looked him up and down with her eyes, 
 curious and scrutinizing. 
 
 *' I should have thought," she said, " that 
 she would have preferred you to Dudley. I'm 
 only telling you this that you mayn't think 
 me mad, suspecting the other thing, but I see 
 you from my window going into Dudley's 
 house, with your dog behind you. And 1 
 should have said that that child preferred you 
 to Dudley, or would jolly well find out her 
 mistake after she'd married him." 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing of that sort," Grimshaw 
 reiterated. 
 
 " I'll take your word for it," she answered. 
 " So 1 expect it's only curiosity that brought 
 you here. Why do you always want to know 
 such a jolly lot about people ? It must give 
 you a lot of trouble, and you don't make any- 
 thing out of it." 
 
158 A CALL 
 
 " My dear child," Robert Grimshaw said, 
 " why do you always . . . ?" He hesitated 
 and she put in mockingly : 
 
 " Go m for cutting-out expeditions. That 
 is what was on the tip of your tongue, wasn't 
 it, Robert? I've heard you say that of me 
 from half a dozen sources. Well, I'll tell you. I 
 do what I do because I want to. It's a hobby." 
 
 " And I do what I do because I want to," 
 Robert Grimshaw mocked her. " It's my 
 hobby. We're Eve and the serpent. You 
 want the apple and I want — I've got the 
 knowledge." 
 
 " You have, have you ?" she said. And 
 when Grimshaw answered in the affirmative, 
 she uttered a long and reflective, " Ah !" 
 And then suddenly she said, '' But this isn't 
 in the contract. You ought to talk about 
 Dudley's wife all the way down to Bushey. 
 Tell me about her !" 
 
 They were whirling through the dirty and 
 discoloured streets of Hammersmith, while 
 pieces of waste-paper flew up into the air in 
 the wind of their passage. It was a progress 
 of- sudden jerks, long, swift rushes, and of 
 sudden dodghigs aside. 
 
 I 
 
A CALL 159 
 
 '' All, Pauline Leicester !" Grimshaw said ; 
 " you haven't got to fear her on one side, but 
 you have on another. She's a quaint, dear, 
 cool, determined little person. I shouldn't 
 advise you to do Dudley Leicester any more 
 harm because, though she's not in the least bit 
 revengeful, she won't let you play any more 
 monkey-tricks to damage poor Dudley. Don't 
 you make the mistake of thinking she's only a 
 little wax doll. She's much more dangerous 
 than you could ever be, because she doesn't 
 spread herself so much abroad. You've 
 damaged poor Dudley quite enough." 
 
 A sudden light came into her fierce eyes. 
 
 " You don't mean to say ..." she said. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean to say," he answered, 
 " Dudley's perishing of passion for you, and I 
 don't mean to say that you've spread dissension 
 between Dudley and Pauline. It's worse 
 than that ..." 
 
 " What is it ; what the deuce is it ?" she 
 interrupted him. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " that's not in the contract ! 
 You shall hear as soon as we're in Bushey 
 Park, not before. We're going to talk of 
 Pauline Leicester all the way down." 
 
160 A CALL 
 
 " I hear Katya Lascarides has come back/' 
 she said. " \¥ell, then, about your Pauline." 
 
 *' Well," Grimshaw said, " I've said you 
 haven't got to fear Pauline's taking any 
 revenge on you, but you have got to fear that 
 she'll upset your little game with Dudley 
 Leicester." 
 
 " What's my little game with Dudley, any- 
 how ?" she said. " I don't want him." 
 
 " What Pauline's going to do is to make a 
 man of him," Robert Grimshaw said. " She'll 
 put some life into him. She'll put some back- 
 bone into him. He'll end up by being a pretty 
 representative County Member, But your 
 game has always been to make a sort of cross 
 between a puppy and a puppet out of him. 
 It's that little game that Pauline will spoil." 
 
 She turned a furious red. 
 
 " Now, before God," she said, ** Pd have 
 made a good wife to him. You haven't the 
 right to say that to me, Robert Grimshaw." 
 And she picked furiously at her thick riding- 
 gloves with one hand after the other. " By 
 Jove, if I'd my crop with me, I think I should 
 lay it over your back." 
 
 " You couldn't lay it over my back," he 
 
A CALL 161 
 
 said placidly, " because I'm sitting down ; but 
 I'm not insulting you in that way. I dare say 
 you'd have been perfectly faithful to Dudley — 
 faithful and probably furiously jealous too ; 
 but you wouldn't have made a man of him. 
 He'd have lived a sort of doll's life under your 
 petticoats. You'd probably have made him 
 keep a racing-stable, and drop a pot of money 
 at Monte Carlo, and drop another pot over 
 bridge, and you'd have got him involved all 
 round, and he'd have dragged along somehow 
 whilst you carried on as women to-day do 
 carry on. That's the sort of thing it would 
 have been. Mind 1 I'm not preaching to you. 
 If people like to live that sort of life, that's 
 their business. It takes all sorts to make a 
 world, but ..." 
 
 Lady Hudson suddenly put her hand upon 
 his knee. 
 
 "I've always believed, Robert Grimshaw," 
 she said — " I always did believe that it was 
 you who made Dudley break off from me. 
 You're the chap, aren't you, that made him 
 look after his estates, and become a model 
 landowner, and nurse the county to give him a 
 seat ? All that sort of thing." 
 
 11 
 
162 A CALL 
 
 ** I'm the chap who did look after his 
 estates," Robert Grimshaw said. " I'm not 
 saying that I wouldn't have influenced Dudley- 
 Leicester against you ; I didn't, as a matter of 
 fact. I never said a word against you in my 
 life ; but it's possible, of course, that my taking 
 up his land business, out of sheer meddlesome- 
 ness, may have influenced him against you. 
 Dudley's got more in him than appears on the 
 surface. Or, at least, he can stick straight in 
 a way if he is put into it, and just about that 
 time Dudley got it into his head that he had 
 a duty to his county and his country, and so 
 on . . . 
 
 Etta Stackpole's fingers moved convulsively. 
 
 " Oh, my man," she said, " what the deuce's 
 business was it of yours ? Why couldn't you 
 have let him alone ?" 
 
 "I'm telling you the worst of what I did to 
 you," Robert Grimshaw said. " I didn't take 
 Dudley Leicester from you. I've never said 
 a word against you, but I probably kept him 
 from coming back to you once he had thrown 
 you over. I don't mean to say that I did it 
 by persuasions ; he was dogged enough not to 
 come back, but I dare say he would have 
 
A CALL 163 
 
 returned to you if he hadn't had his mind 
 occupied — if I hadn't occupied his mind with 
 barn-roofs and rents and field-draining, and 
 the healthy sort of things that keep a man off 
 women." 
 
 "• Oh, you devil !" Etta Hudson said. 
 " Who'd have thought you had it in you ? 
 Where do you get it from ? You look just 
 like any other Park loafer." 
 
 " I suppose," Robert Grimshaw said specu- 
 latively, '' it's because I'm really Greek. My 
 name's English, and my training's been 
 English, and I look it, and smell it, and talk it, 
 and dress the part ; but underneath I should 
 think I'm really a Dago. You see, I'm much 
 more my mother's child than my father's. 
 She was a Lascarides, and that's a clan name. 
 Belonging to a clan makes you have what no 
 Englishman has — a sense of responsibility. I 
 can't bear to see chaps of my class — of my 
 clan and my country — going wrong. I'm not 
 preaching ; it's my private preference. I can't 
 bear it because I can't bear it. I don't say 
 that you ought to feel like me. That's your 
 business." 
 
 " My word r Etta Hudson said with a 
 
 11—2 
 
164 A CALL 
 
 bitter irony, "we English are a lost race, 
 then !" 
 
 " I never said so," Robert Grimshaw 
 answered. " I said you were an irresponsible 
 one. You've other qualities, but not that one. 
 But that's why I've been a sort of Dutch uncle 
 to numbers of young men of our class. 
 Dudley's not the only one, but he is the 
 chief of them." 
 
 " And so you took him up, and dry-nursed 
 him, and preached to him ..." 
 
 " Oh, I never preached to him," Grimshaw 
 said; " he had the intelligence to see ..." 
 
 '' To see that I'm an undesirable woman ?" 
 she asked ironically. 
 
 " To see, if it's held under his nose, that it's 
 profitable and interesting and healthy to do the 
 best for the people that Chance, Providence, 
 whatever it is, has put under him in this world. 
 It helps them ; it helps him. He's got a 
 desire by now to be a good landlord. It's a 
 languid desire, but it's as much a part of him 
 as his desire to dress well." 
 
 Etta Stackpole said : 
 
 " By gum !" 
 
 They were dodging between a huge electric 
 
A CALL 165 
 
 tram and the kerb of a narrow street beside a 
 grim and squalid brewery ; they dipped down 
 under a railway arch ; they mounted a rise, 
 and ran beside a green, gay with white painted 
 posts and rails, and surrounded by little houses. 
 Etta looked meditatively in front of her with 
 an air as if she were chewing tobacco. 
 
 " By thunder, as Clemmy van Husum says," 
 she brought out at last, '' you dry-nursed him 
 till he's good enough for marrying a little 
 person you've kept in a nursery, and she " 
 
 ** She takes charge !" Robert Grimshaw said. 
 " She'll give him personal ambition, or if she 
 doesn't do that she'll make him act just as if 
 he had it, in order to please her. He'd kiss the 
 dust oif her feet." 
 
 '' Thanks," she said spitefully. " Rub it in." 
 
 The cab swayed along in the gay weather. 
 
 " What a father-protector you are," she said, 
 " according to your own account, and all be- 
 cause you're a — what is it ? — a Dago ? Well, 
 well ! you've got all the virtues of Greece and 
 all the virtues of us too. Well, well, well !" 
 
 " Oh, come, come," Robert Grimshaw said. 
 ** I've given you your opening ; you're quite 
 right to take it. But I've not the least doubt 
 
166 A CALL 
 
 that I've got the Dago vices if any pressure 
 came to bring em out. I dare say I shouldn't 
 be straight about money if I were hard up. 
 Fortunately, I'm not. I dare say I should be 
 untruthful if I ever had occasion to be. I 
 should be rather too tender-hearted and too 
 slack to get on in the world if I had to do it — 
 at least, I suppose so." 
 
 She said : 
 
 "Well, well! Heir's a joke! Here we 
 have — what is it ? — a Dago— a blamed Dago, 
 as Clement P. would say." 
 
 " You know the Van Husums ?" Grimshaw 
 interrupted her. 
 
 " Oh, I thought I'd tickle you," she said. 
 "Yes, I know the Van Husums, and your 
 Katya Lascarides was in their employment, 
 wasn't she ? But I'm not going to talk of 
 your other flame, Mr. Robert Hurstlett Grim- 
 shaw. You don't play your Oriental harem 
 trick in this taxi-cab. One man one girl's the 
 motto here. I only introduced Clement P.'s 
 name to stir you up ; you're so damn 
 calm." 
 
 " This is a fight," Grimshaw said. " You 
 score one and go on." 
 
A CALL 167 
 
 " What are we fighting for ?" she asked. 
 
 " Ah ! that's telUng," he said. 
 
 "If you only want to tell me I'm a bad, bad 
 girl," she said, " I know it already. I'm rather 
 proud of it." 
 
 " You ought to be," he said ; " you play up 
 to it well. But it's not that that would have 
 brought me here. I've got an object." 
 
 " Want to make me promise to leave your 
 adopted nephew in peace ?" she asked. 
 
 " Oh, Pauline's taken hold again," Grimshaw 
 said. " You aren't going to have another 
 look in." 
 
 " Oh, I've had all I want of him," she said. 
 " She can have the dregs." 
 
 " That's a pretty appropriate word at 
 present," he said. " A good word for Dudley 
 — dregs." 
 
 " What the deuce do you mean ?" she asked. 
 " Anything happened to Dudley ?" 
 
 " You'll hear when we get to Bushey," he 
 said. " I'll tell you when we pass the fifth 
 chestnut of the avenue." 
 
 " What the deuce is it ?" she asked. 
 
 He answered merely : 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
168 A CALL 
 
 Her hard eyes gazed straight forward 
 through the screen of glass. 
 
 " Somethmg happened to Dudley ?" she 
 said. " And it's not that his wife's lamning 
 into him about me." 
 
 " Oh, Pauline takes it as the negligible thing 
 that it was," Grimshaw said. 
 
 She uttered : 
 
 " Thanks !" still absently. Then " Dregs ?" 
 she repeated. Suddenly she turned upon him 
 and caught hold of his hand. 
 
 " It's not ..." she began. 
 
 " You'll hear when we get to Bushey," he 
 said. " It's ten minutes still." 
 
 " Oh, you devil !" she said — " you torment- 
 ing devil !" 
 
 He just lifted up one hand in token of 
 assent. 
 
 " Yes, it's the function of the devil to tor- 
 ment the damned. You've had what you 
 wanted in Dudley Leicester's case ; now 
 you've got to take what you get for it — from 
 his best friend." 
 
 '* His wife's best friend," she said. 
 
 " And his wife's best friend," Grimshaw 
 repeated calmly. They were shooting fast 
 
A CALL 169 
 
 over bad roads between villas. Etta Stack- 
 pole may have shaken with laughter, or it may 
 have been merely a ** Thankee, marm " in the 
 road. 
 
 " Well, it's a damn funny thing," she said. 
 " Here's our Dago God Almighty splitting him- 
 self to set up a bright and beautiful English 
 family upon its respectable legs. What a lark ! 
 I suppose it's out of gratitude to the land that 
 gives him hospitality. He picks up a chap 
 without a backbone and turns him into a good 
 landlord. Then, when he's made (I suppose 
 you have made) perfectly sure of his morals, he 
 hands him over to a bright and beautiful 
 English girl ' of good family and antecedents ' 
 (that's the phrase, ain't it ?), and she's to run 
 the dummy along till it turns into a representa- 
 tive Cabinet Minister — not brilliant, but a good 
 household article. That's the ticket, isn't it T 
 
 Grimshaw nodded his head slowly. 
 
 ''And so the good old bachelor makes a 
 little family for himself — a little harem that 
 doesn't go farther than the tea-table — with 
 what he can get of Katya Lascarides for 
 Sultana No. 1 and Ellida Langham and child 
 for No. 2. No. 2's more platonic, but it's all 
 
170 A CALL 
 
 the same little dilly-dally, Oriental, father- 
 benefactor game ; and No. 3's Pauline — little 
 pretty Pauline. Oh, my eye !" 
 
 She regarded the gates of the Park flying 
 towards them. 
 
 "What is it the Orientals allowed? Four 
 wives and forty of the other sort? Well, I 
 suppose youVe plenty of lesser favourites. 
 Why not take me on, too ?" 
 
 " Oh, you !" Grimshaw ilaid good-humouredly 
 — " you'd always be upsetting the apple-cart. 
 You'd have to be bow-stringed." 
 
 " I believe a sort of Sultan father-confessor 
 would be good for me," she said, as she 
 gathered her skirts together. 
 
 The car had stopped near the dingy yellow 
 Park wall, whose high gates showed the bour- 
 geoning avenue and the broad, sandy road. 
 
 " Well, this has been what you might call a 
 conversation galante so far." 
 
VI 
 
 Thev" passed the little weather-beaten and dis- 
 coloured lodge, waited for half a dozen deer 
 that with delicate and nonchalant footsteps 
 passed from the light of the broad road into 
 the shade of the avenue ; then they followed 
 them into the aisle between the columnar 
 trunks, the vista stretching to an infinite 
 distance. The deep silence of the place 
 seemed to render them both speechless. She 
 walked, holding her long skirts held high. 
 
 Suddenly Grimshaw said : " Here's the 
 fifth tree." 
 
 She answered : I don't want to hear what's 
 happened to him." 
 
 " Ah, but you've got to." 
 
 She averted her face. 
 
 " I know," she said. 
 
 " You've heard ?" 
 
 Her voice was rather muffled when she said : 
 171 
 
172 A CALL 
 
 " No. I prophesied it. He's had a panic. 
 Perhaps he's cut his throat. I don't want to 
 know. It serves him right." 
 
 *' He is mad," Grimshaw said slowly. 
 
 She stood quite still with her back to him. 
 Her broad shoulders heaved. 
 
 " All right, it's my fault," she said. *' You 
 needn't rub it in. Go away." 
 
 " I'm not saying it's your fault," he said. 
 " The point is whether he's curable or not. 
 You might possibly help us." 
 
 She stood quite still. 
 
 " Why should I want to help you ?" she 
 said. 
 
 He looked at her statuesque limbs. Beyond 
 her tlie level grass stretched out. The little 
 company of deer wandered from a patch of 
 cloud shadow into a patch of sunlight. The 
 boughs of a small enclosure, heightened by 
 vivid greens, shook in the April wind. 
 
 " Oh, don't take it too hard," he said. " I 
 know what it's like." 
 
 She faced suddenly round upon him, her 
 eyes rather staring. 
 
 " Who's taking it hard ?" she said. " Let 
 him rot. ' She added : ** You devil, to tell me 
 
A CALL 173 
 
 not to take it hard ! What do you know 
 about it ? Go and give someone else hell. 
 I've done with you." 
 
 She began to walk away between the trees. 
 After a while he followed her. 
 
 " Look here," he said, " if . . ." 
 
 She turned violently upon him, her eyes 
 staring, her mouth drawn into a straight line. 
 
 " By God !" she threw out, " if you follow 
 me, I'll throttle you !" 
 
 " Listen," he said. He called after her : " I 
 don't believe it's really your fault. I'll wait here 
 and tell you why when you're ready to hear." 
 
 She walked away fast, and then, finding 
 that he did not pursue her, she wandered 
 slowly and aimlessly between the tree-trunks. 
 Close to him a bole of one of the great trees 
 formed a table about knee-high. He took off 
 his silk hat, and, holding it in his hand, sat 
 down. His face was an ashy white, and 
 slowly little drops of sweat came out upon his 
 high forehead. He rose and went into the 
 road, looking upwards along the avenue. At 
 a little distance she stood leaning one hand 
 against a tree-trunk, her head bowed down, 
 her long skirt falling all around her feet, a tall 
 
174 A CALL 
 
 and motionless figure, shadowy and grey 
 amongst the young green. 
 
 He returned to his bole. After a long time 
 another small company of deer passed quite 
 close at hand. Suddenly they quickened 
 their pace, their feet rustling on the turf. 
 
 "Well," Etta Hudson said from close 
 beside him, " what is it you want ?" 
 
 He said : " It's like this : three days ago 
 Dudley Leicester seemed to go mad. He 
 assaulted a man after asking him an apparently 
 senseless question. We have had him under 
 observation ever since. And he's twice stopped 
 strangers in the street and asked them the 
 same question. When they've answered * No ' 
 he attempts to assault them. He's got an 
 attendant now, and if he's headed off before 
 he can ask the question he's calm enough ; 
 but he won't speak a word." 
 
 Etta said : " You might let me sit down 
 there ; I can't stand." And when she was on 
 the bole she asked expressionlessly : " What's 
 tlie question he asks ?" 
 
 *' It's always," Grimshaw said, " whether 
 the man — a perfect stranger — rang up your 
 telephone number." 
 
A CALL 175 
 
 Etta Stackpole said: "Ah ! . . ." 
 
 She sat silent for a long time, looking down 
 at the ground, Grimshaw standing before her 
 and looking musingly at her face. 
 
 " Well, what is it you want to know ?" 
 
 " I want to know," he said, " what happened 
 on the night he saw you home." 
 
 " I didn't think," she said expressionlessly, 
 *' that you could play the cad as well as the 
 private detective." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw uttered sharply the one 
 word, " Rot !" 
 
 " Well, it's a cad's question, and you must 
 have played the private detective to know that 
 he saw me home." 
 
 " My dear woman," he said, " don't the 
 Phyllis Trevors know it, and Mme. de Mauve- 
 sine, and Mme. de Bogota, and half London. 
 I am not making any accusations." 
 
 " I don't care a pin if you are," she said. 
 
 " It's merely a question of this sort," he 
 went on. " The doctor who's in charge of the 
 case wants to know whether he had any shock 
 on that night. He wasn't by any chance 
 knocked down at a crossing ? He didn't fall ? 
 The cab horse hadn't been dow^n ?" She shook 
 
176 A CALL 
 
 her head minutely. " There wasn't any violent 
 scene ? Your husband ..." 
 
 " Oh, he . . ." she said. " Besides, he was 
 in Paris." Suddenly she broke out: ** Look 
 here, you don't know what this means to me. 
 I don't mean to say that Leicester's very much 
 to me, but still, it's pretty sickening to have it 
 happen to him." 
 
 " Well " — Grimshaw conceded a point — 
 " I'm not saying that it's your fault." 
 
 '* Oh, I'm not worrying about whose fault 
 it is," she said. '' It's him. It's the thought 
 of him, poor harmless devil !" She looked up 
 at Grimshaw. ** A'N^hat doctor have you got ? 
 What does he say ?" 
 
 " We've got a man called Wells," he an- 
 swered. "He doesn't say much either way. He 
 says he can't tell till he knows what happened.'' 
 
 She scrutinized his face. 
 
 " Look here," she said, " this is true ? You 
 aren't merely telling me a tale to get things 
 out of me ?" Grimshaw did not even answer 
 her before she looked desolately down again. 
 " Of course it's true," she said ; " you aren't 
 that sort." 
 
 *'And you knew I knew already that he 
 
A CALL 177 
 
 saw you home and that he stayed two hours," 
 Grimshaw said. " What I want to know is 
 what gave him a shock." 
 
 " Ah ! . . . you'd get that from his servant," 
 she said. " He'd be sitting up for Dudley. 
 Well, I don't care about that ; I'd fight any 
 case on that." 
 
 " Oh, don't worry," Grimshaw said. " I 
 promise you that Pauline ..." 
 
 " Don't you," she said suddenly, and clench- 
 ing her hands, " don't you mention that little 
 pink toad to me, if you want to get anything 
 out of me. I hate her and I hate you ! You 
 got Dudley away from me together. Why, 
 it's been like devils and angels fighting for a 
 man's soul. That's what it's been. I'm a 
 religious woman, though you mayn't believe 
 it. I believe in angels and the devil, too." 
 She pulled her skirt a little up from the 
 ground. " I expect you'll say," she began 
 again, " that you're on the side of the angels. 
 Well, see what you've made of him, poor 
 dear ! This wouldn't have happened if you'd 
 left him to me. It's you that are responsible 
 for it all — you, poking your nose into what 
 doesn't concern you." 
 
 12 
 
178 A CALL 
 
 " Ah !" he said slowly and rather mourn- 
 fully, " perhaps it has turned out like that if 
 we get outside and look on. But as to which 
 of us is which — angel and devil — I should not 
 care to say." 
 
 She looked up at him. 
 
 " You wouldn't ?" she said. 
 
 " You see," he said, and he shook his head 
 slowly, "perhaps it's only a case of a square 
 peg and a round hole. 1 don't know\ If 
 you'd had him you'd have let him be a 
 loafer all his life. Perhaps that's all he's 
 really fitted for. Possibly, by shoving him on 
 to do things, Pauline and I — or I principally— 
 have brought this sort of thing on. English- 
 men haven't any sense of responsibility. 
 Perhaps it's bad for them to have it aroused 
 in them. They can work ; they can fight ; they 
 can do things ; but it's for themselves alone. 
 They're individualists. But there is a class 
 that's got the sense of duty to the whole. 
 They've got a rudimentary sense of it — a 
 tradition, at least, if not a sense. And 
 I^eicester comes of that class. But the tradi- 
 tion's dying out. I suppose it was never 
 native to them. It was forced on them because 
 
A CALL 179 
 
 someone had to do the public work and it was 
 worth their while. But now that's changing, 
 it isn't worth while. So no doubt Dudley 
 hadn't got it in his blood. . . . And yet 1 
 don't know," he said ; " he's shaped so well. 
 I would have sworn he had it in him to do it 
 with careful nursing. And Pauhne had it in 
 her — the sense of the whole, of the clan, the 
 class, the county, and all the rest of it. Women 
 have it much more often than men. That's 
 why she isn't going for you. Only the other 
 day she said to me : * I'm not the sort of girl 
 to give ourselves away.' " 
 
 " Now, look here," she said, " what right 
 have you, a confounded foreigner, to run us 
 down ? We take you up ; we let you be one 
 of us, and then you gas. There's a great deal 
 too many of you in the country. Taken as you 
 are, on your own showing, poor dear Dudley, 
 that you patronize — damn you — is worth a 
 score of you. If you're so set on the public 
 service why isn't it you who's standing for 
 Parliament instead of him ? You're ten times 
 as rich. You've a hundred times more the gift 
 of the gab ..." and she broke off, to begin 
 again. 
 
 12—2 
 
180 A CALL 
 
 " Whatever you can say of him," she said 
 "he doesn't go nosing out secrets and peep- 
 ing and prying. He is straight and clear, and 
 as innocent as a baby, and as honest as a 
 die " 
 
 " If he's as honest as a die," Robert Grim- 
 shaw said, "why was he carrying on an 
 intrigue with you all that time ? He must 
 have been pretty deep to keep it concealed 
 from me." 
 
 She looked up at him with pale fury. 
 
 " Oh, you horrible-minded man !" she said. 
 "How dare you ! How dare you ! You may 
 kick me as much as you like. T am down. 
 But you let Dudley Leicester alone. He's 
 too decent to be jumped on by a man like 
 you." 
 
 Grimshaw displayed a sudden and incompre- 
 hensible agitation. 
 
 " Then he hadn't been carrying on with 
 you ?" he said. 
 
 " Carrying on with me ?" she mocked him, 
 but with a bitter scorn. "Do you mean to 
 say that you suspected him of that ? I suppose 
 you suspected him of fooling about with me 
 before he was married to his Pauline, and after ? 
 
A CALL 181 
 
 What an unspeakable toad of a mind you've 
 got !" 
 
 Robert Grimshaw said, " Good God !" 
 She struck her hip with her clenched hand. 
 "I see it," she said, "you thought Dudley 
 Leicester had seized the chance of his wife's 
 mother being ill to monkey about with me. 
 You thought he'd been doing it before. You 
 thought he was going to go on doing it. You 
 thought he'd managed to conceal it from you. 
 You thought he was a deep, dark ne'er-do- 
 well like yourself or any other man. But I 
 tell you this : Dudley Leicester's a man in a 
 thousand. I'm the only person that's to blame. 
 I tell you Dudley Leicester hasn't spoken a 
 word to me since the day we parted. I tell 
 you I got him just that one night to show my- 
 self what I could do. He couldn't help being 
 with me ; he had to see me home. We were 
 all at the Esmeralda together, and all the rest of 
 us were married, or engaged or coupled up 
 somehow. He had to see me home as we lived 
 next door. He did it with the worst grace in 
 the world. He tried to get out of it. It was 
 because he behaved so like an oaf that I set 
 myself to get him. I swear that it is true. I 
 
182 A CALL 
 
 swear as 1 am a religious woman. I believe in 
 God and things." 
 
 Again Robert Grimshaw said, " Good God !" 
 and his agitation grew on him. 
 
 " Well," Etta Stackpole said, " what is there 
 to get so upset about? It doesn't count in 
 Dudley for dissoluteness. There isn't a man 
 in the world, not even yourself, Robert Grim- 
 shaw, could get out of my having him if I set 
 myself to it at that time of night and after that 
 sort of evening. I'm not boasting about it. 
 It's the nature of the beast that you men are. 
 I set myself to do it because I knew it would 
 mortify him ; because it would make him feel 
 he was a dirty sort of dog next morning. 
 What are you in such a stew about ?" she said. 
 ' It wasn't anything to do with Dudley's real 
 nature. I tell you he's as pure-minded as a 
 sucking-lamb." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw was walking nervously up 
 and down, striking the side of his trousers with 
 his ebony stick. 
 
 " Oh," she said with a sudden gibe, " I know 
 what's the matter with you ; you're feeling 
 remorse. You're upset because you suspected 
 Dudley of being a mean hound. I know you, 
 
A CALL 183 
 
 Robert Grimshaw. You were jealous of him ; 
 you were madly jealous of him. You married 
 him to that little pink parroquet and then you 
 got jealous of him. You wanted to believe 
 that he was mean and deceitful. You wanted 
 to believe that he was going to turn out a bad 
 hat. You wanted to believe it so that you 
 could take your Pauline off his hands again, 
 and now you're feeling remorse because you 
 suspected him. You knew in your heart that 
 he was honest and simple and pure, but your 
 jealousy turned you mad ; I know you, Robert 
 Grimshaw. Well, go on feeling remorse. 
 Get all you can of it. I tell you this : I got 
 Dudley Leicester into my hands and 1 did 
 what I wanted with him, and nothing happened 
 to shock him except when the telephone bell 
 rang and someone recognized his voice. I 
 guess that was shock enough for him. I 
 thought he was in for something. I could tell 
 it by the look of his eyes, but that only proves 
 the thorough good sort he was. It wasn't till 
 then that he understood what he'd been up to. 
 Then he was knocked flat." 
 
 " There wasn't anything else at all ?" Robert 
 Grimshaw said. He had pulled himself to- 
 
184 A CALL 
 
 gether and stood with his stick behind his back, 
 leaning upon it a httle. *' Yes I admit I mis- 
 judged Dudley ; but it's a queer sort of world. 
 You're quite sure there wasn't anything else ?" 
 
 "What more do you want?" she asked. 
 " Could a chap hke that have had anything 
 more beastly happen to him ? Besides, it's indi- 
 cated in the form you say his madness takes. 
 He's always asking who it was who rung us up. 
 Doesn't it prove that that's what hit his brain ? 
 No, he wasn't thrown out of a cab. He didn't 
 stumble. My husband didn't turn up, no. 
 Nothing of the sort. He was just knocked 
 plumb-centre by that chap saying : ' Isn't that 
 Dudley Leicester speaking V " 
 
 Robert Grimshaw's face was the hue of 
 wood-ash. 
 
 " My dear Etta," he said with his gentle 
 coUectiveness. " It's perfectly obvious that 
 you aren't responsible for Dudley's collapse. 
 It was the meddling fool at the other end of 
 the telephone." 
 
 " It was rather meddlesome w^hen you come 
 to think of it, but then perhaps he didn't know 
 there was anything wrong in Dudley's being 
 where he was." 
 
A CALL 185 
 
 " Perhaps he didn't," Robert Grimshaw said. 
 " Let's go and have lunch." 
 
 " Oh, I don't want any lunch," she said. 
 " Take me home." 
 
 She supported herself on his arm as they 
 walked jp the long avenue, for her footsteps 
 were not very steady. 
 
PART IV 
 
I 
 
 " Oh no," the specialist said, " I don't see 
 what purpose it would serve, your telling his 
 wife exactly what happened. I prefer, indeed, 
 that you should not. No doubt it was the 
 shock of hearing the voice on the telephone 
 that actually induced the state of mind. But 
 to know the fact doesn't help us — it doesn't 
 help us towards the cure. All we can do is to 
 wait. His chance is that he's not such a very 
 young man. If it had happened ten years ago 
 there wouldn't have been any chance for him 
 at all ; but the brain-fibre — what the Germans 
 call the Hirnstoff—i^ tougher now. Anyhow, 
 we can't say." 
 
 Sir William Wells, an unreasonably lugu- 
 brious man of fifty, having in his eyes the 
 look of a man doomed beyond hope, with 
 ruffled grey hair, an untidy grey beard, very 
 
 189 
 
190 A CALL 
 
 dark eyebrows, a whitish complexion, in which 
 tints of blue predominated, except that on his 
 cheek-bones were patches of red so bright that 
 he had the appearance of having rouged — 
 with an air, in fact, of having had all his hair 
 ruffled up the wrong way, and of remaining 
 still a personage of importance — Sir William 
 Wells repeated : 
 
 " All we can do is to wait." 
 
 " Don't you think," Robert Grimshaw said 
 — they were in the great man's first-class con- 
 sulting-room — a tall place, very gay, with 
 white walls, bright plaster-worked ceiling, 
 chairs with seats and backs of scarlet leather, 
 and numerous cabinets inlaid with green and 
 yellow wood, very shiny and new% and yet 
 conveying a sinister suspicion that they con- 
 tained not rose-leaves, silks, or bibelots, but 
 instruments, diagrams, and disinfectants — 
 ** don't you think," Robert Grimshaw said, 
 " that, since his mania, if it is a mania, is so 
 much along the lines of his ordinary character, 
 that is an indication that his particular state is 
 not so very serious ?" 
 
 " My dear sir," the specialist answered, 
 " what w^e've got to do is to establish w^hether 
 
A CALL 191 
 
 there is or isn't a lesion in the brain. His 
 character's nothing to do with it." 
 
 " Of course we're in your hands," Grimshaw 
 answered, " but I should have thought that a 
 man who's been abnormal all his life ..." 
 
 " My dear sir," Sir William repeated, shak- 
 ing his glasses as if minatorily at Grimshaw 's 
 nose, " have you any profession ? I suppose 
 not. But if you had a profession you would 
 know how utterly impossible the suggestions 
 of laymen are to the professional. People 
 come to me for this sort of thing because I 
 have had thousands — literally, thousands — of 
 similar cases. It's no good my considering 
 individual eccentricities ; my business is to 
 put my finger on the spot." 
 
 " Then, what do you propose to do ?" Grim- 
 shaw said. 
 
 " Nothing," the specialist answered. " For 
 the present, absolutely nothing." 
 
 " But don't you think a change ..." Grim- 
 shaw suggested. 
 
 Having entirely redecorated his house from 
 top to bottom in order to indicate that he was 
 more prosperous than Dr. Gegg of No. IGl, 
 Sir William, who was heavily indebted to 
 
192 A CALL 
 
 Jews, was upon the turning-point between 
 bankruptcy and possible salvation. 
 
 " No," he said determinedly, so that he 
 seemed to bay like a dog from his chest, 
 ** certainly not. If I am to cure him, I must 
 have him under my own close personal atten- 
 tion. There's nothing to be done but to 
 wait." 
 
 He rose upon the points of his toes, and 
 then brought his heels sharply down upon the 
 floor. 
 
 "You understand, we know nothing yet. 
 Your friend doesn't speak a word. He's no 
 doubt aware that he's watched. He has a 
 companion whom I have personally instructed, 
 and who will report to me. Get him 
 to take as much exercise as he can. Keep 
 him fairly quiet, but have him in the room 
 when cheerful people are about. I will drop 
 in at every moment of the day that I can 
 spare." 
 
 He paused to glare at Robert Grimshaw. 
 
 "* I'm a very busy man, but I'll pay special 
 attention to your friend's case. I will try to 
 be always in and out of Mr. Leicester's house. 
 More I can't do." 
 
A CALL 193 
 
 Backed up as he was by Katya Lascarides' 
 suggestion that Sir WilHam was a good man, 
 Grimshaw felt an intense satisfaction — even 
 a gratitude — to Sir Wilham ; and whilst he 
 slipped his five-pound note carefully wrapped 
 round five shillings under the specialist's 
 paper-weight, which was made of one huge 
 aqua-marine, he uttered a formal speech of 
 thanks. 
 
 " Mind," Sir William shouted at him as he 
 reached the door, " I don't promise you a cure. 
 I'm not one of those quacks. But you know 
 my position, and you know my reputation. 
 I work from ascertained facts, not from 
 theories. If it were possible to communicate 
 with your friend — if he'd speak, or if it were 
 possible to manipulate him — we might get at 
 something. If, for instance, we could get him 
 to stand with his heels together, his hands at 
 his sides, and his eyes shut ; but we can't get 
 him to speak, and he doesn't listen when he's 
 spoken to. There's nothing to do but wait 
 until he does." 
 
 A period of strain, enhanced by the continual 
 droppings in of Sir William Wells, ensued for 
 
 13 
 
194 A CALL 
 
 the house in Curzon Street, and nothing hap- 
 pened, save that they all became personally 
 acquainted with Sir William's idiosyncrasies. 
 They discovered that he had a singular pre- 
 judice against the eating of fish ; that he vras 
 exceedingly insolent to the servants ; that he 
 read the Daily Telegraph ; that he liked the 
 singing of Scotch comedians, and considered 
 all ballet-dancers to be physically abnormal- 
 They also had the perpetual company of a 
 gentle and black-haired youth called Held. 
 This young man, with a singular slimness and 
 taciturnity, had been put in by Sir William as 
 if he were a bailiff in possession of Dudley 
 Leicester. Dudley Leicester never spoke, 
 the young man hardly ever ; but he was 
 exceedingly nice in his table manners, and 
 eventually Pauline made the discovery at 
 dinner that he very much disliked cats, and 
 was a Christian Scientist. And with these 
 additions the household continued its way. 
 
 To Robert Grimshaw the bright spot in this 
 tenebrous affair was the inflexible tranquilhty 
 of Pauline Leicester. Looking back upon it 
 afterwards he seemed to see her upon the back- 
 ground of his own terrible pain — to see her as 
 
A CALL 195 
 
 a golden and vibrating spot of light. She 
 spoke about the weather, about some improve- 
 ments that were being made in the village of 
 Icking, about the forthcoming General Elec- 
 tion, about her clothes. She went everywhere 
 that she could go without her husband. She 
 went to " at homes," to private views, she 
 was " at home." She had Dudley himself in 
 her drawing-room where in the farther corners 
 young Mr. Held and Ellida Langham held 
 animated conversations so close to his passive 
 form that it might appear that, monosyllabic 
 as he always was, he was at least attentive to 
 the conversation. She drove regularly in the 
 Park with Dudley beside her, and most often 
 with Robert Grimshaw sitting opposite them ; 
 but she never mentioned her husband's condi- 
 tion to Grimshaw, and her face wore always its 
 little, tender smile. He was aware that in her 
 there was a certain determination, almost a 
 fierceness. It wasn't that in her deep black 
 her face was more pallid, or that her features 
 hardened. It wasn't that she chattered less. 
 Her little tongue was going perpetually, with 
 its infantile gaiety, if her eyes were for ever on 
 the watch. 
 
 13—2 
 
196 A CALL 
 
 There was, moreover, a feeling of a General 
 Election in the air — of that General Election 
 in which Dudley, as a foregone conclusion, 
 was to replace the member sitting for his 
 division of the county ; and one afternoon 
 Robert Grimshaw came in to one of Pauline's 
 " at homes." The little encampment round 
 Dudley Leicester had its place usually in the 
 small, back drawing-room which Dudley's 
 great chair and EUida's enormous hat and 
 Mr. Held's slim figure almost contrived to fill. 
 Dudley sprawled back, his complexion perfectly 
 clear, his eyes gazing abstractedly before him. 
 perfectly normal, perfectly healthy, on show 
 for anyone who chose to look at him ; and Ellida 
 and Mr. Held joined in an unceasing and 
 animated discussion on Christian Science. 
 Robert Grimshaw, having addressed a word or 
 two to Madame de Bogota, and having nodded 
 to Mr. Balestier, who sat for a Midland county, 
 and having shaken hands with Mrs. Jimtort, 
 the wife of a Recorder of a south-western city, 
 was moving slowly up to close in the little 
 group in the background. And suddenly, 
 with an extraordinary running step, Dudley 
 Leicester shot past him straight at the member 
 
A CALL 197 
 
 for the Midland county. He had brought out 
 the words : " Are you the man ..." when 
 already shooting, as it were sideways, between 
 the people, Mr. Held had very lightly touched 
 his wrist. 
 
 " You know," he said, " that you're not to 
 talk politics this afternoon. We're all tired 
 out." 
 
 Leicester passed his hand lightly down his 
 face, and, turning slowly, went back to his arm- 
 chair. 
 
 Mr. Balestier opened his eyes rather wide ; 
 he was a stoutish, clean-shaven man of forty- 
 five with a rather disagreeable expression, who, 
 probably because he was interested in South 
 American railways, went about everywhere 
 with the Senhora de Bogota. 
 
 *' Oh, I say," he ejaculated to Pauline, 
 "you have got them under your thumb, if 
 it's you who insists they're not to talk 
 politics. It seems to act like a military 
 command." 
 
 And Pauline stifled a yawn with her tiny 
 hand. 
 
 " Well, it's perfectly true what Dudley's 
 secretary says. We are all nearly worn out, 
 
198 A CALL 
 
 so you'll have to excuse my yawning," Grim- 
 shaw heard her say from behind his back. 
 " And Dudley hasn't been really well since he 
 had the ' flu; " 
 
 " Oh, you're altogether too nervous," Mr. 
 Balestier's fat voice came. " Dudley's abso- 
 lutely certain of his seat, and as for not well, 
 why, he's a picture of ox-like health. Just look 
 at him !" 
 
 " But he's so terribly thorough," Pauline 
 answered. " He's much too wrapped up in this 
 work. Why, he thinks about nothing else all 
 day and all night. If you watch him you'll 
 see he hardly ever speaks. He's thinking, I 
 wouldn't mind betting, about how to win the 
 heart of a man called " Down," with red 
 whiskers, who's an Antipedobaptist and not 
 our tenant, and supposed to be able to influence 
 thirty Nonconformists' votes. You just keep 
 your eye on Dudley." 
 
 " Oh, I'll take your word for his industry," 
 Mr. Balestier said. " But I've got something 
 much better worth keeping my eyes on." 
 
 " Is that meant for you or me, JNIadame de 
 Bogota ?" Pauline said. " Or possibly it's you, 
 Mrs. Jimtort !" 
 
A CALL 199 
 
 " As a matter of fact," Mr. Balestier said, " I 
 was thinking of Grimshaw's dog. I feel con- 
 vinced he'll have a piece out of my leg, one of 
 these days." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw meanwhile was support- 
 ing himself with one hand on the blue curtains 
 that decorated the archway between the two 
 rooms. He was positively supporting himself ; 
 the sudden shock of Leicester's shooting past 
 him had left him weak and trembling. And 
 suddenly he said : 
 
 " What's the good ?" 
 
 Ellida — for even Ellida had not yet re- 
 covered from the panic of Dudley's swift 
 evasion — took with avidity this opening for a 
 recommencement of one of her eternal and 
 animated conversations with Mr. Held. 
 
 " What's the good of exposing these im- 
 postures ?" she said. Why, all the good in 
 the world. Think of all the unfortunate people 
 that are taken in. ..." 
 
 And so she talked on until Mr. Held, the 
 name of Mrs. Mary Baker G. Eddy upon his 
 lips, plunged again into the fray. 
 
 But Robert Grimshaw was not asking what 
 was the good of Christian Science. He had 
 
200 A CALL 
 
 turned his back upon the front room. Never- 
 theless, every word that PauUne uttered had 
 at once its hearing, its meaning, and its pain- 
 ful under- meaning in his ears. And when he 
 had said, " What's the good ?" it had been 
 merely the question of what was the good of 
 Pauline's going on with these terrible vigi- 
 lances, this heart-breaking pretence. And 
 through his dreadfully tired mind there went — 
 and the vision carried with it a suggestion of 
 sleep, of deep restfulness — the vision of the 
 logical sequence of events. If they let Dudley 
 Leicester down, if they no longer kept up the 
 pretence — the pretence that Dudley Leicester 
 was no more an engrossed politician — then 
 Dudley Leicester would go out of things, and 
 he and Pauline ... he and Pauline would fall 
 together. For how long could PauUne keep 
 it up ? 
 
 The cruelty of the situation — of each word 
 that was uttered, as of each word that she 
 uttered in return, the mere impish malignancy 
 of accidental circumstances — all these things 
 changed for the moment his very view of 
 Society. And the people sitting behind him — 
 Madame de Bogota, with the voluptuous eyes 
 
A CALL 201 
 
 and the sneering lips ; Mrs. Jimtort, whose Hps 
 curved and whose eyes were cold ; Mr. Bales - 
 tier, whose eyes rolled round and round, so 
 that they appeared to be about to burst out 
 of his head, and the deuce only knows what 
 they didn't see or what conclusions they 
 wouldn't draw from what they did see — these 
 three seemed to be a small commission sent 
 by Society to inquire into the state of a house- 
 hold where it was suspected something was 
 *' wrong." He realized that it was probably 
 only the state of his nerves ; but every new 
 word added to his conviction that these were 
 not merely " people," bland,- smiling, idle, and 
 innocuous — good people of social contacts. 
 They were, he was convinced, Inquisitors, repre- 
 senting each a separate interest — Mrs. Jimtort 
 standing for provincial Society, Madame de 
 Bogota for all the cosmopolitanism of the 
 world's centre that Western London is, and 
 Balestier for the Party. And outside there 
 seemed to be — he seemed to hear them — the 
 innumerable w^iispers of the tongues of all 
 Society, canvassing the results of the report 
 that would be brought back by this committee 
 of inquiry. It worked up, indeed, to an \itterly 
 
202 A CALL 
 
 abominable climax when Balestier, with his 
 rather strident voice, exclaimed : 
 
 " Why don't you let me mote you down to 
 Well-lands one day, Mrs. Leicester ? You 
 ought to know the Hudsons. Lady Etta's a 
 peach, as I learned to say when I went over 
 with the Newfoundland Commission." 
 
 And at that even Ellida threw up her hands 
 and gazed, her lips parted, into Grimshaw's 
 eyes. From behind his back, a minute before, 
 there had come little rustlings of people stand- 
 ing up. He had heard Pauline say : 
 
 " What, you can't all be going at once ?" 
 and he had heaved a great sigh of relief. But 
 in the dead silence that followed Mr. Bales- 
 tier's words, whilst Robert Grimshaw was 
 wondering whether Balestier had merely and 
 colossally put his almost ox-like foot into it, 
 or whether this actually was a " try on," 
 Pauline's voice came : 
 
 " Oh, not just yet. I'm in mourning, you 
 know. I think I go out a little too much as 
 it is." ^ 
 
 " Oh, she's sav^ed the situation again !" And 
 then irresistibly it came over him to ask what 
 was the good of this eternally saving the situa- 
 
A CALL 203 
 
 tion that neither of them really wanted to 
 maintam. " She should," he said to himself 
 fiercely, " give it up." He wasn't going to 
 stand by and see her tortured. Dudley 
 Leicester had given in, and serve him right, 
 the cad ! For all they could tell, he was 
 having the time of his life. Why shouldn't 
 they do the same ? 
 
 " Oh, isn't she wonderful T Ellida exclaimed 
 suddenly. " I don't wonder . . . ." And then 
 she gazed at him with her plaintive eyes. The 
 slim, dark Mr. Held brought out suddenly : 
 
 " It's the most wonderful ..." but his voice 
 died away in his jaws. " After all," he con- 
 tinued as suddenly, " perhaps she's holding the 
 thought. You see, we Christian Scientists 
 . . ." But again his voice died away ; his 
 dark eyes gazed, mournful and doglike, at 
 Pauline's dimly-lit figure. 
 
 The tall, small room, with its large white 
 panels, to which the frames of pale-tinted 
 pictures gave an occasional golden gleam, had 
 about it an air of blue dimness, for the curtains, 
 straight at the sides, and half concealing the 
 very tall windows, were of a transparent and 
 
204 A CALL 
 
 ultramarine network. The little encampment 
 around Dudley Leicester occupied a small 
 back drawing-room, where the window, being 
 of stained glass that showed on its small, 
 square panels the story of St. George, was, 
 on account of its tall, dark furniture, almost 
 in gloom. Little, and as it were golden, 
 Pauline stood motionless in the middle of the 
 room ; she looked upon the floor, and appeared 
 lost in reflection. Then she touched one side 
 of her fair hair, and without looking up she 
 came silently towards them. Ellida was upon 
 the point of running towards her, her arms 
 outstretched, and of saying : " You are won- 
 derful !" but Pauline, with her brown eyes a 
 little averted, brought out without any visible 
 emotion, as if she were very abstracted, 
 the words : " And how is your little Kitty ? 
 She is still at Brighton with Miss Lascarides ? 
 Robert dear, just ring the bell for the tea- 
 things to be taken away." 
 
 It was as if the strain upon her rendered her 
 gently autocratic to Robert Grimshaw, who 
 watched her from another point, having settled 
 himself down in the arm-chair before the 
 
A CALL 205 
 
 window looking into the little back room. 
 Against the rows of the stained -glass window 
 Ellida Langham appeared all black, impulsive, 
 and ready as it were to stretch out her arms 
 to enfold this little creature in her cloak, to 
 hide her face under the great black hat with 
 the drooping veil and the drooping feathers. 
 But as he understood it, Pauline fended off 
 these approaches by the attentive convention 
 of her manner. They were in face of Dudley 
 I^eicester's condition ; they had him under 
 their eyes, but Pauline was not going — even 
 to the extent of accepting Ellida's tenderness 
 — to acknowledge that there was any condition 
 about Dudley Leicester at all. It wasn't, of 
 course, that ElHda didn't know, for Robert 
 Grimshaw himself had told her, and Ellida, with 
 her great and impulsive tenderness, had herself 
 offered to come round and to play at animated 
 conversations with Dudley and Mr. Held. 
 But except by little pressures of the hand at 
 meeting or at parting, and by little fluttering 
 attentions to EUida's hats and toilets when 
 she rose to go, Pauline was not going to show 
 either gratitude or emotion for the moment. 
 It was her way of keeping her flag flying. ^ 
 
 • y^-^ 
 
206 A CALL 
 
 And he admired her for it as he admired her 
 for everything, and looking down at Peter 
 between his feet, Robert shook his head very 
 sadly. "Perhaps," he thought to himself, 
 " until she knows it's hopeless, she's not going 
 to acknowledge even to herself that there's 
 anything the matter at all." 
 
II 
 
 Between his feet Peter's nostrils jerked twice, 
 and a little bubble of sound escaped. He was 
 trying to tell his master that a bad man was 
 coming up the stairs. It was, however, only 
 Sir William Wells who, with his brisk straight- 
 forwardness and his frowning authority, seemed 
 to push himself into the room as its master, 
 and to scatter the tables and chairs before him. 
 In his harsh and minatory tones he informed 
 them that the Marchioness of Sandgate had 
 gone to Exeter with Mrs. Jjohns, and then he 
 appeared to scatter the little group. It was, 
 indeed, as if he had thrown Ellida out of the 
 room, so quickly — whilst she exclaimed over her 
 shoulder to Grimshaw : " Well, you'll be round 
 to dinner ?" — did she disappear. 
 
 With his rasping voice, shaking his glasses 
 at her. Sir William continued for some minutes 
 to inform Pauline of the movements of those 
 
 207 
 
208 A CALL 
 
 of liis patients who were of political prominence. 
 They were his patients of that class uneasily 
 dispersing over the face of the country, opening 
 bazaars, bowling the first balls of cricket- 
 seasons, devising acts of graciousness all night, 
 putting them into practice all day, and per- 
 petually shaking hands that soiled their delicate 
 gloves. For that particular world was full of 
 the whispered words " General Election." 
 When it was coming no one seemed to know, 
 for the Prime Minister with his amiable in- 
 scrutability very reasonably distrusted the great 
 majority of his followers. This disconcerted 
 innumerable hostesses, for no one knew when 
 they wouldn't have to pack up bag and baggage 
 and bolt like so many rabbits back to their 
 burrows. This febrile condition gave occupation 
 of a secretarial kind to great numbers of sleek 
 and smooth-haired young gentlemen, but it was 
 very hard upon the London tradesman. 
 
 It was, Robert Grimshaw was thinking, very 
 hard upon Pauline, too. He couldn't be abso- 
 lutely certain what she meant to do in case 
 the General Election came before Dudley could 
 make some sort of appearance in the neighbour- 
 hood of Cove Park. In the conversations that 
 
A CALL 209 
 
 he had had with her they had taken it for 
 tacitly understood that he was to be well — or 
 at least that he was to be well enough for 
 Pauline to run him herself. 
 
 But supposing it was to be a matter of some 
 years, or even of some months ? What was 
 Pauline thinking of when she thought of the 
 General Election that hung over them? 
 Mustn't it add to her suspense ? And he 
 wondered what she meant to do. Would she 
 simply stick Leicester in bed and give it out 
 that he had a temporary illness, and run the 
 election off her own bat ? She had already 
 run Leicester down in their car all over the 
 country roads, going dead slow and smiling at 
 the cottagers. And there wasn't much chance 
 of the other side putting up a candidate. . . . 
 
 Between his feet Peter was uttering little 
 bubbles of dissatisfaction whenever Sir Wilham 
 spoke, as if his harsh voice caused the small 
 dog the most acute nervous tension. Grim- 
 shaw whistled in a whisper to keep the animal 
 quiet. " All these details," Grimshaw thought, 
 Pauline had all these details to attend to, an 
 incessant vigilance, a fierce determination to ^ 
 keep her end up, and to do it in silence and 
 
 14 
 
210 A CALL 
 
 loneliness. He imagined her to be quivering 
 with anxiety, to be filled with fear. He kneiv 
 her to be all this. But Sir William, having 
 ceased to impart his social information, turned 
 his brows upon his patient, and Pauline came 
 from the back room to sit down opposite him 
 by the fireplace. And all she had to say was : 
 " These coals really are very poor !" 
 
 Silence and loneliness. In the long grass, 
 engrossed, mere small spots of black, the 
 starlings in a little company went about their 
 task. From beneath the high trees came the 
 call of the blackbirds echoing in true wood- 
 notes, and overhead a wood-pigeon was croon- 
 ing incessantly. The path ran broad down 
 the avenue. The sounds of the wood-cutters 
 at work upon the trees felled that winter were 
 sharp points in the low rumble from a distance, 
 and, over all the grass that could be seen 
 beneath the tree-trunks there hung a light- 
 blue haze. 
 
 Having an unlit cigarette between his fingers 
 Grimshaw felt in his pocket for his matchbox, 
 but for the first time in many years the ex- 
 cellent Jervis had forgotten to fill it. And 
 
A CALL 211 
 
 this in his silence and his lonehness was an 
 additional slight irritant. There was un- 
 doubtedly a nostalgia, a restlessness in his 
 blood, and it was to satisfy this restless desire 
 for change of scene that he had come from his 
 own end of the Park into Kensington Gardens. 
 Peter was roaming unostentatiously upon his 
 private affairs, and upon his seat Grimshaw 
 leaned forward and looked at the ground. He 
 had been sitting like that for a long time quite 
 motionless when he heard the words : " You 
 will not, I think, object to my sharing your seat? 
 I have a slight fit of dizziness." He turned his 
 head to one side and looked up. With a very 
 long, square and carefully tended grey beard, 
 with very long and oiled locks, with a very 
 chiselled nose, high dark brows and complexion 
 as of marble, and upon his head a black 
 cylindrical hat, wearing a long black cassock 
 that showed in its folds the great beads of a 
 wooden rosary, an Orthodox priest was tower- 
 ing over him. Robert Grimshaw murmured : 
 " Assuredly not, Father," in Greek, and silently 
 the priest sat down at the other end of the 
 bench. His face expressed aloofiiess, severity, 
 and a distant pride that separated him from all 
 
 14—2 
 
212 A CALL 
 
 the rest of the world. He, too, sat silent for a 
 very long time, his eyes gazing down through 
 the trees over the Serpentine and into immense 
 distances. Robert Grimshaw looked distaste- 
 fully at the unlit cigarette which he held 
 between his fingers, and then he observed 
 before him a man who might have been fifty, 
 with watery blue eyes and a red nose, his 
 clothes and hat all a mossy green with age and 
 between his lips a misformed cigarette. 
 
 " You haven't got a light ?" Grimshaw said, 
 and the man fumbled in his pocket, producing 
 a greasy, blue box which he pushed open to 
 exhibit its emptiness. 
 
 ** Oh, well, give me a light from your cigar- 
 ette," Grimshaw said. 
 
 A hesitancy came over the man's whole 
 being, but reluctantly he surrendered the 
 feeble vapour tube. Grimshaw took his 
 light. 
 
 " Oh, here," he said, and he drew out his 
 bulky case, " that your last ? Here, take one 
 of mine," and he shook his case over the ex- 
 tended palm. The cigarettes fell into it in a 
 little shower. 
 
 " That '11 keep you going for a bit. Thanks, 
 
A CALL 213 
 
 it's nothing. I'm only obliged to you for the 
 light. I wanted it." 
 
 " Ah, you do want it when you do, guv'nor," 
 the man said. Then he walked off, lifting his 
 feet a little higher, with a httle colour in his 
 cheeks and his back more erect. 
 
 " Poor devil !" Grimshaw said, half to himself 
 
 " Surely," the priest said beside him in fluting 
 and lofty tones, " are we not all poor devils in 
 the sight of the Ruler of Ages ?" 
 
 Robert Grimshaw minutely bowed his head. 
 
 " Your dizziness has left you. Father ?" he 
 asked. " It is the long fasting. I was on the 
 watch for you to fall." 
 
 " You speak Greek," the priest said, " and 
 are acquainted with the practices of the 
 Church ?" It was then just the end of Lent, 
 for Easter fell very late that year. 
 
 " My mother was a Lascarides and I have 
 many interests in Greece," Grimshaw answered. 
 
 " Ah ! the Lascarides were very faithful," 
 the priest said. " It was they in the main who 
 helped us to build the church here." 
 
 " The church can't be much more than a 
 stone's-throw from here. I was wondering 
 what brought you." 
 
214 A CALL 
 
 " I am glad you are Greek," the Father said, 
 " for I think it was a very good charity you 
 did just now, and you spoke to that man like 
 a brother, which is not what the best of these 
 English can do." 
 
 " Oh, come !" Grimshaw said, " the English 
 have their virtues." 
 
 The priest bowed his head in courtesy. 
 
 " It is one of their traditions," Robert Grim- 
 shaw said, " to give tobacco instead of pence 
 to beggars. It is less demoralizing." 
 
 Again the priest bowed. 
 
 " Precisely so," he said. " It is less demoraliz- 
 ing. It gives less pleasure. I imagine that when 
 the English blest spirit descends from heaven 
 once a year to the place of torment, he will 
 bear a drop of water to place upon the sufferer's 
 tongue. It will be less demoralizing than the 
 drop of healing oil that you and 1 wall bear. 
 Also, it will teach the poor soul to know its 
 place. . . . Tell me, my son," he added sud- 
 denly, " do we not, you and I, feel lonely in 
 this place ?" 
 
 " Well, it is a very good place," Robert 
 Grimshaw said. *' I think it is the best place 
 in the world." 
 
A CALL 215 
 
 " Eemeision /" the priest said. '' I do not 
 say that it is not. And in that is shown the 
 truth of the saying : * How evil are the good 
 places of this world !' " 
 
 " Assuredly you have fasted long, Father," 
 Grimshaw said. 
 
 " To a demoralizing degree !" the priest 
 answered ironically. "And let us consider 
 where that leads us. If we have fasted long, 
 we have given ourselves to the angelic hosts. 
 We have given our very substance to these 
 sweet beggars. So we have demoralized the 
 poor of heaven by the alms of our bodies." 
 
 " Surely," Robert Grimshaw said, *' if we 
 overburden our bodies with fasting, we de- 
 moralize the image of our Creator and 
 Saviour ?" 
 
 " Not so !" the priest thundered suddenly, 
 and his eyes blazed far back in his skull. " We 
 have mortified this our body which is from the 
 devil, and in the lowness of the tides of this 
 life we see the truth. For I tell you that 
 when we see this place to be lonely, then, 
 indeed, we see the truth, and when we say that 
 it is pleasant, we lie foully." 
 
 " Then, indeed," Robert Grimshaw said, " we 
 
216 ' A CALL 
 
 — I mean you and I — are to be creatures of 
 two natures. We shall follow our passions — 
 if they be passions of well-doing — till they 
 lead us, as always they must, into evil." 
 
 "And," the priest assented, " we must purge 
 then from us that satisfaction of well-doing 
 and well-being by abstentions and by fastings, 
 and by thinking of the things that are not of 
 this world." 
 
 " It is strange," Robert Grimshaw said, " to 
 hear your conversation. I have heard so little 
 of these things since I was a very young man. 
 But you teach me now as my aunt and foster- 
 mother taught me at her knee. She was 
 Mrs. Peter Lascarides." 
 
 " I knew her," the priest said. " She was a 
 very good woman. You could not have had a 
 better teacher." 
 
 " And yet," Robert Grimshaw said, *' it was 
 from her teaching that I have evolved what 
 has been the guiding phrase of my life : " Do 
 what you want and take what you get for 
 it.'" 
 
 " And God in His mercy pardon the ill we 
 do." The priest crossed himself 
 
 " I had forgotten that," Grimshaw said, and 
 
A CALL 217 
 
 he added gravely : "God in His mercy pardon 
 the ill 1 have done." 
 
 " May it be pardoned to you," the priest 
 said. He stopped for a moment to let the 
 prayer ascend to Heaven. Then he added 
 didactically : " With that addition your motto 
 is a very good one ; for, with a good training, 
 a man should have few evil instincts. And to 
 do what you want, unless obviously it is evil, 
 is to follow the dictates of the instincts that 
 God has placed in you. Thus, if you will 
 feast, feast ; if you will fast, fast ; if you will 
 be charitable to your neighbour, pour out your 
 goods into the outstretched hands of the poor. 
 Then, if you chance to give three scudi into 
 the hands of a robber, and with these three 
 scudi he purchase a knife wherewith he slay 
 his brother, God may well pardon it to you, 
 who hung, omnipotent, upon the Cross, though 
 thereby to Caesar was left power to oppress 
 many of the Churches." 
 
 " So that we should not think too much of 
 the effects of our deeds ?" Robert Grimshaw 
 asked. 
 
 "Not too much," the priest said. "For then 
 we shall lose much Christian charity. I know 
 
218 A CALL 
 
 a lady who resides near our church and is 
 noted for a frosty sort of charity, going with 
 tracts into the poorer regions. I have heard 
 that she said once to her niece : ' My dear, 
 never keep a diary ; it may be used against 
 you !' " The priest pronounced these words 
 with a singular mixture of laughter and con- 
 tempt. "Do you not hear all England speaking 
 in these words ?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 A nurse, tall, pink and white, with a dove- 
 coloured veil and cloak, passed them, with 
 averted face, pushing in a low cart a child, 
 whose blue eyes gazed with contentment upon 
 the tree-tops. 
 
 " Well, hasn't it given us that ?" Grimshaw 
 said. 
 
 " Yes, it has given that to the world," the 
 priest said. " A menial who averts her eyes — 
 a child who is inanimate by force of being kept 
 ' good ' — a ' good ' child. My son, a * good ' 
 child is a thing to make the angels cry ; for is 
 it not recorded of our Comforter that once He 
 struck His mother ?" 
 
 *' But should not the nursemaid avert her 
 eyes ?" Grimshaw said. 
 
A €ALL 219 
 
 " Consider," the black pope answered, '' with 
 what a laughing glance she would have 
 passed you had she been a Cypriote ; or how 
 she would have gazed till her eyes started 
 from her head at an English Bishop. But as 
 for this girl, she averts her gaze. Her aunt 
 has told her that it might be used against 
 her." 
 
 " It might be used against her, you know," 
 Grimshaw said. 
 
 " Oh, my son," the priest said, " for what 
 has God given a maiden eyes, save to use 
 them in innocent glances ? And what use is 
 the teaching of our Church if passer-by may 
 not smile upon passer-by and pass the time of 
 day by well-heads and in the shady groves ? 
 It may be used against them. But tell me 
 this, my son : Are there not four times more 
 fallen women and brothels in one-half of this 
 city than in all Greece and Cyprus and the 
 Isles ?" 
 
 " Yet there there is not one such nursemaid," 
 Grimshaw said. "And it is that that our 
 civilization has bent all its energies to produce. 
 That, without doubt, is why you and I are 
 
220 A CALL 
 
 lonely here." He added : " But is it not wiser 
 to strive to produce nursemaids ?" 
 
 " Son," the priest asked, '* will you not come 
 with me and confess your troubles? For I 
 am very certain that you have troubles. You 
 have, is it not, done what you wanted ; you 
 are now, therefore, taking what you get for it ? 
 I have heard you say, may God pardon the 
 ill you have done ! It is not that you regret 
 having rained your cigarettes upon that poor 
 man ?" 
 
 " Ah, I regret that less than other things," 
 Grimshaw said. 
 
 " Because you asked him first for the service 
 of a light ?" 
 
 " Why," Grimshaw answered, " in this case 
 I had really need of a light. But I confess 
 that quite often I have asked poor men for 
 lights when T had my own, that I might give 
 them a taste of good tobacco." 
 
 "And why did you first ask them for a 
 light ?" the priest asked. " Was it that they 
 might not be demoralized ?" 
 
 " T hardly know," Grimshaw said. " I think 
 it was to get into touch with them — to precede 
 the pleasure of the tobacco with the pleasure 
 
A CALL 221 
 
 of having done me a service. One doesn't 
 inquire so closely into one's motives." 
 
 " Ah," the black pope answered, " from that 
 alone one may perceive that you are not 
 English, for the English do not, like you, 
 seek to come into contact with their fellow- 
 beings or with persons whom they may meet 
 by chance. They are always afraid of entangle- 
 ments — that it may be used against them." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw leaned forward over his 
 stick. It was pleasant to him to come into 
 contact with this representative of an unseen 
 world — to come for a moment out of the ring, 
 very visible and circumscribed, in which he 
 moved. It gave him, as it were, a chance to 
 stand upon a little hill and look down into the 
 misty "affair" in which he was so deeply 
 engaged. 
 
 " Then you don't advise me," he said sud- 
 denly in English, "to pull up my sticks — to 
 wash my hands of things and people and 
 affections ?" 
 
 " Assuredly," the priest said, " I do not 
 advise you to give away your little dog for 
 fear that one day it will die and rend your 
 heart." 
 
222 A CALL 
 
 Grimshaw looked meditatively at Peter, 
 who was flapping through the grass, his nose 
 trackmg some delicious odour beyond the path 
 just opposite them. 
 
 '* I certainly will not give away my little 
 dog," Grimshaw said. 
 
 He meditated for a little longer, then he 
 stood up, straightening himself, with his stick 
 behind his back. 
 
 " I know I may not offer you my arm," he 
 said, " to take you back to your church." 
 
 The priest smiled gently. 
 
 " That is forbidden to you," he said, " for 
 it would militate against the dignity of my 
 appearance ; but all other human contacts lie 
 open to you. Cherish them." The haughty 
 curve of his brows became militant ; his voice 
 took on the tone of a challenger. "Go out 
 into the world ; help all that you may ; induce 
 all that you may to go into the right paths. 
 Bring one unto the other, that mutual com- 
 prehension may result. That is the way of 
 Christian fellowship ; that is the way to bring 
 about the peace of God on earth." 
 
 " And pray God to forgive any ill that 1 
 may do," Grimshaw answered. 
 
A CALL 223 
 
 " That, too," the priest answered ; and, tall, 
 haughty, his brows very arched, his hair curled 
 and his beard tended, he moved slowly away 
 towards the gates, casting looks, apparently of 
 indignation, at the chestnut-blossoms of the 
 avenue. 
 
Ill 
 
 That night Robert Grimshaw dined at the 
 Langhams'. Little Kitty was still at Brighton 
 with Katya, and the room, in the pleasant 
 shade of a hanging-lamp above the table, was 
 tranquil and soothing. Paul Langham, who 
 was the director of a bank doing most of its 
 business with the Orient, was a blond gentle- 
 man with a high nose, able to pass from 
 the soup to the coffee without speaking a 
 word. And having that afternoon purchased 
 at a railway bookstall an engineer's puzzle, by 
 means of which sixteen crescents of orange- 
 coloured cardboard could be made to fit the 
 form of a perfect circle into a square box, 
 Ellida was more engaged with these little 
 coloured objects than with either of her com- 
 panions. 
 
 And suddenly Mr. Held was in the room. 
 He had the air of springing from the dark floor 
 
 224 
 
A CALL 225 
 
 into the little circle of light that the lamp cast. 
 His black hair hung down over his ears, his 
 great black eyes were luminous and very open, 
 and his whole gentle being appeared to be 
 pervaded by some deep excitement. 
 
 " 1 thought if you'd just come round," he 
 said in a deep voice, with extreme embarrass- 
 ment. Robert Grimshaw was already half out 
 of his chair, but to his, *' What is it ?" Mr. 
 Held repKed only, ** I don't know that it's 
 anything, but I should like you just to come 
 round." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw was in the hall and then 
 in the street beside the figure of Mr. Held, 
 who, with his dancing and hurrying step and 
 his swarthy but extreme leanness, had the 
 grotesque appearance of an untried tragic actor. 
 It wasn't that Dudley was any worse, he said, 
 and it wasn't — no, certainly it wasn't, that 
 he'd made any attack upon Pauline. It was 
 simply that he would Hke Mr. Grimshaw just 
 to come round. 
 
 In the drawing-room in Curzon Street 
 Pauline was sitting chafing Dudley Leicester's 
 hands between her own, and Robert Grim- 
 shaw never quite understood what it was that 
 
 15 
 
226 A CALL 
 
 had led the young man to call him in. By 
 cross-questioning him a great deal later he 
 discovered that young Mr. Held had conceived 
 a mournful but enormous tenderness for 
 Pauline. It was, indeed, enough to see how 
 from a distance his enormous eyes pored like a 
 spaniel's over her tiny figure, or to see how, 
 like a sprinter starting to make a record, he 
 would spring from one end of the drawing- 
 room to fetch her a footstool before she could 
 even select a chair upon which to sit down. 
 It couldn't be said that he did not brood over 
 Dudley Leicester with efficiency and attention, 
 for that obviously was one of the services he 
 rendered her. But the whole of his enthusiasm 
 went into his attempts to foresee w^hat in little 
 things Pauline would be wanting. And, as 
 he explained later to Robert Grimshaw, that 
 day he had felt — he had felt it in his bones, in 
 his soul — that Pauline was approaching a crisis, 
 a breakdown of her personality. It wasn't 
 anything she had done ; perhaps it was rather 
 what she hadn't, for she had sat that whole 
 afternoon holding Leicester's hand, rubbing it 
 between her own, without speaking, looking 
 straight in front of iier. And suddenly he had 
 
A CALL 227 
 
 a feeling — he couldn't explain it. Perhaps, he 
 
 said. Christian Science had had something to 
 
 do with it — helped him to be telepathic. 
 
 But, sitting as she always did, perched on 
 
 the arm of the chair where Leicester sprawled, 
 
 Pauline simply turned her head to the door at 
 
 Grimshaw's entry. 
 
 " This doctor's no good," she said, " and the 
 
 man he's called in in consultation's no good. 
 
 What's to be done ?" 
 And then, hke Mr. Held himself, Robert 
 
 Grimshaw had a "feeling." Perhaps it was 
 the coldness of her voice. That day Sir 
 
 Wilham Wells had called in a confrere, a 
 gentleman with red hair and an air of extreme 
 deafness ; and, wagging his glasses at his 
 friend, Sir William had shouted : 
 
 " What d'you say to light baths ? Heh ? 
 What d'you say to zymotic massage ? Heh r 
 whilst his friend had looked at Dudley with a 
 helpless gaze, dropping down once or twice to 
 feel Leicester's pulse, and once to press his 
 eyeball. But he did not utter a word, and to 
 Grimshaw, too, the spectacle of these two men 
 standing over the third — Sir WiUiam well 
 back on his heels, his friend slouched forward 
 
 15—2 
 
228 A CALL 
 
 — had given him a sudden feehng of revulsion. 
 They appeared Hke vultures. He understood 
 now that Pauline, too, had had the same 
 feeling. 
 
 "No, they don't seem much good," he said. 
 
 She uttered, with a sudden fierceness, the 
 words : 
 
 " Then it's up to you to do what's to be 
 done." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw recoiled a minute step. 
 
 *' Oh, I don't mean," she said, '* because it's 
 your fault, but simply — I can't think any 
 more. It's too lonely, yet I can't talk about 
 it. I can't." 
 
 Mr. Held, his mouth wide open with agony, 
 glided out of the room, squeezing his ascetic 
 hands together. 
 
 '' But ..." Robert Grimshaw said. 
 
 " Oh, I know," she answered. " 1 did talk 
 to you about it. But it does not somehow 
 seem to be right any more. Don't you under- 
 stand ? Not only because it isn't delicate or 
 it doesn't seem the right tiling to talk about 
 one's relations with one's husband, but simply 
 ... I can't. 1 can keep things going ; I can 
 run the house and keep it all dark. . . . But 
 
A CALL 229 
 
 is he going to get well, or isn't he ? We know 
 nothing. And I can't face the question alone. 
 I can do things. It drives me mad to have 
 to think about them. And I've no one to 
 talk to, not a relation, not a soul in the 
 world." 
 
 '* You aren't angry with me ?" Grimshaw 
 asked. 
 
 ** Angry !" she answered, with almost a 
 touch of contempt in her voice. " Good 
 heavens ! I'd dust your shoes for all you've 
 done for us, and for all you're doing. But 
 you've got to do more. You've got to 
 do much more. And you have to do it 
 alone." 
 
 " But ..." Robert Grimshaw said. 
 
 Pauline remained silent. She began again 
 to chafe Dudley Leicester's hands between 
 her little palms. Suddenly she looked hard at 
 Grimshaw. 
 
 " Don't you understand ?" she said. " I do, 
 if you don't, see where we're coming to." His 
 face expressed a forced want of comprehension, 
 as if he were afraid. She looked remorselessly 
 into his eyes. 
 
 " It's no use hiding our heads in the sand," 
 
230 A CALL 
 
 she said, and then she added in cold and 
 precise words : 
 
 " You're in love with me and I'm in love 
 with you. We're drifting, drifting. But I'm 
 not the woman to drift. I mean to do what's 
 right, and I mean to make you. There's no 
 more to be said." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw walked to the farthest 
 end of the tall room. He remained for a long 
 time with his face to the corner. He at- 
 tempted no denial. He could not deny, and 
 once again he seemed older. His voice was 
 even a little husky when, looking at her feet, 
 he said : 
 
 " I can't think what's to be done," and, in 
 a very low voice, he added, "unless . . ." 
 She looked at him with her lips parted, and 
 he uttered the one word : " Katya !" Her 
 hand went up over her heart. 
 
 And he remembered how she had said that 
 her mother always looked most characteristic 
 when she sat, with her hand over her heart, 
 erect, listening for the storms in the distance. 
 And suddenly her voice appeared to be one 
 issuing from a figure of stone : 
 
 " Yes, that is it ! She was indicated from 
 
A CALL 231 ' 
 
 the first ; we ought to have asked her from 
 the first. That came into my head this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " We couldn't have done better than we 
 have," he said. " We didn't know how. We 
 haven't been letting time slip." 
 
 She nodded her head slowly. 
 
 "We have been letting time slip. I knew 
 it when I saw these two over Dudley this 
 afternoon. I lost suddenly all faith in Sir 
 William. It went out of me like water out 
 of a glass, and I saw at once that we had been 
 letting time slip." 
 
 Grimshaw said : " Oh /" 
 
 But with her little air of sad obstinacy 
 she continued : 
 
 " If we hadn't, we should have seen from 
 the first that that man was a cold fool. You 
 see it the moment you look for it. Yes, get 
 Miss Lascarides ! That's what you've got 
 to do." 
 
 And when Robert Grimshaw held out his 
 hand to her she raised her own with a little 
 gesture of abstention. 
 
 " Go to-night and ask Ellida if she will lend 
 us her sister, to put us all straight." 
 
232 A CALL 
 
 Eating the end of his meal — which he had 
 begun at the Langhams' — with young Held 
 alone in the dining-room, Robert Grimshaw 
 said : 
 
 " We're going to call Miss Lascarides to the 
 rescue." 
 
 The lean boy's dark eyes lit up with a huge 
 delight. 
 
 " How exactly the right thing !" he ex- 
 claimed. ** I've heard of her. She's a great 
 professional reputation. You wouldn't think 
 there was a whole world of us talking about 
 each other, but there is, and you couldn't do 
 better. How did you come to hear of her ?" 
 And then his face fell. "Of course it means 
 my going out of it," he said 
 
 Robert Grimshaw let his commiserating 
 glance rest on the young man's open counten- 
 ance, over which every emotion passed as 
 openly and as visibly as gusts of wind pass 
 over still waters. Suddenly an expression 
 of timid appeal came into the swarthy face. 
 
 " I should like you to let me say," the boy 
 brought out, " how much I appreciate the way 
 you've all treated me. I mean, you know, 
 exactly as an equal. For instance, you talked 
 
A CALL 233 
 
 to me just as if I were anybody else. And 
 Mrs. Leicester !" 
 
 " Well, you are like anybody else, aren't 
 you ?" Robert Grimshaw said. 
 
 '' Of course, too," Held said, " it '11 be such a 
 tremendous thing for her to have a woman to 
 confide in. She does need it. I can feel that 
 she needs it. Oh, as for me, of course I took 
 a first in classics, but what's the good of that 
 when you aren't any mortal use in the world ? 
 I might be somebody's secretary, but I don't 
 know how those jobs are got. I never had 
 any influence. My father was only Vicar of 
 Melkham. The only thing I could do would 
 be to be a Healer. I've so much faith that I 
 am sure I could do it with good conscience, 
 whereas I don't think I've been doing this 
 quite conscientiously. I mean I don't think 
 that I ever believed I could be much good." 
 
 Robert Grimshaw said : " Ah !" 
 
 " If there'd been anything to report to Sir 
 William, I could have reported it, for I am 
 very observant, but there was nothing. There's 
 been absolutely nothing. Or if there'd been 
 any fear of violence — Sir Wilham always 
 selects me for cases of intermittent violence." 
 
234 A CALL 
 
 Again Robert Grimshaw said : " Ah !" and 
 his eyes went over Mr. Held's form. 
 
 " You see," Held continued, " I'm so 
 immensely strong. I held the amateur belt 
 for wresthng for three years, Grseco-Roman 
 style. I expect I could hold it still if I kept 
 in training. But wasn't I right when 1 said 
 that Mrs. Leicester had some sort of psycho- 
 logical revulsion this afternoon ?" He spoke 
 the words pleadingly, and added in an almost 
 inaudible voice : " You don't mind my asking ? 
 It isn't an impertinence ? It means such an 
 immense amount to me." 
 
 " Yes, I think perhaps you're right," Grim- 
 shaw said. " Something of the sort must have 
 occurred." 
 
 " I felt it," Held continued, speaking very 
 quickly; *' I felt it inwardly. Isn't it wonderful, 
 these waves that come out from people one's 
 keenly sympathetic to ? Quite suddenly it 
 came ; about an hour after Sir William had 
 gone. She was sitting on the arm of Mr. 
 I^eicester's chair and I felt it." 
 
 " But wasn't it because her face fell — 
 something like that ?" Robert Grimshaw 
 asked. 
 
A CALL 235 
 
 " Oh no, oh no," Held said ; " 1 had my 
 back to her. I was looking out of the window. 
 I'o tell the truth, I can't bear to look at 
 her when she sits like that beside him ; it's 
 so . . ." 
 
 A spasm of agony passed over Mr. Held's 
 face and he swallowed painfully. And then 
 he continued, his face lighting up : 
 
 " Why it's such a tremendous thing to me 
 is that it means I can go forward ; I can go 
 on to be a Healer without any conscientious 
 doubts as to my capacities. If I felt this 
 mentality so much, I can feel it in other cases, 
 so that really it means life and death to me ; 
 because this sort of thing, if it's very good 
 study, doesn't mean any more than being a 
 male nurse, so that I've gained immensely, 
 even if I do go out of the house. You don't 
 know what it's meant to me to be in contact 
 with your two natures. My mentality has 
 drawn its strength, light ; I'm a diferent 
 person from what I was six weeks ago." 
 
 " Oh, come !" Robert Grimshaw said. 
 
 " Oh, it's true," Mr. Held answered. " In 
 the last place I was in I had to have meals 
 with the butler, and here you've been good. 
 
236 A CALL 
 
 and I've made this discovery, that my men- 
 tahty will synchronize with another person's if 
 Lm much in sympathy with them." And 
 then he asked anxiously : " Mrs. Leicester 
 wasn't very bad ?" 
 
 " Oh no," Robert Grimshaw answered, '' it 
 was only that she had come to the resolution 
 of calling in Miss Lascarides." l 
 
 "Now, I should have thought it was more 
 than that," Held said. " I was almost certain 
 that it was something very bitter and un- 
 pleasant. One of those thoughts that seem 
 suddenly to wreck one's whole life." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think it was more than that," 
 Robert Grimshaw said ; and Mr. Held went 
 on to declare at ecstatic lengths how splendid 
 it would be for Pauline to have Katya in the 
 house, to have someone to confide in, to 
 unbosom herself to, to strengthen her mentality 
 with, and from whom to receive— he was sure 
 she ^vould receive it, since Miss Lascarides was 
 Mrs. Langham's sister — to receive a deep and 
 clinging affection. Besides, INliss Lascarides 
 having worked in the United States, was 
 certain to have imbibed some of Mrs. Eddy's 
 doctrine, so that, except for Mr. Leicester's 
 
A CALL 237 
 
 state, it was, Mr. Held thought, going to be an 
 atmosphere of pure joy in the house. Mrs. 
 Leicester so needed a sister. 
 
 Robert Grimshaw sipped his coffee in a 
 rather grim silence. " I wish you'd get me 
 the ' ABC,' or look up the trains for Brighton," 
 he said. 
 
IV 
 
 " Here comes mother and the bad man," Kitty 
 said from the top of her donkey, and there sure 
 enough to meet them, as they were returning 
 desultorily to lunch along the clifF-top, came 
 Ellida Langham and Robert Grimshaw. Ellida 
 at the best of times was not much of a pedes- 
 trian, and the donkey, for all it was large and 
 very nearly white, moved with an engrossed 
 stubbornness that, even when she pulled it, 
 Katya found it difficult to change. On this 
 occasion, however, she did not even pull it, and 
 the slowness of their mutual approach across 
 the green grass high up in the air had the effect 
 of the coming together of two combatant but 
 reluctant forces. 
 
 " He's a bad, bad man," little Kitty said. 
 
 " And he's a bad, bad man," Katya answered 
 her. 
 
 At her last parting it had been agreed 
 
 238 
 
A CALL 239 
 
 between them that they parted for good, or at 
 least until Robert Grimshaw would give in to 
 her stipulation. He had said that this would 
 not be until he had grown very, very tired ; and 
 Katya felt it, like Mr. Held, in her bones that 
 Robert Grimshaw had not come now to submit 
 to her. They approached, however, in weather 
 that was very bright, over the short turf beneath 
 dazzling seagulls overhead against the blue sky. 
 And, Katya having stood aside cool and decided 
 in her grey dress, Elhda, dressed as she always 
 was in a loose black, flung herself upon the 
 child. But, having showered as many kisses 
 and endearments as for the moment she needed, 
 she took the donkey by the bridle as a sign 
 that she herself took charge of that particular 
 portion of the enterprise. 
 
 " You've got," she said to her sister, " to go 
 a walk with Toto. I'll take this thing home." 
 
 Katya gave Robert a keen scmtiny whilst 
 she said to Ellida : 
 
 " Youll never get it home. It will pull tlie 
 arms out of your body." 
 
 " Well, I'll admit," Elhda said, a little dis- 
 consolately, "that I never expected to turn 
 into a donkey-boy, but" — and she suddenly 
 
240 A CALL 
 
 grew more brisk — "it's got to be done. You 
 remember that you're only my nursemaid." 
 
 " That doesn't," Katya said amiably, " give 
 you the right to dispose of me when it comes 
 to follow^ers." 
 
 " Oh, get along, you cantankerous cat," 
 EUida laughed at her. '' The gentleman 
 isn't here as a follower. He's heard I've given 
 you notice, and he's taken up your character. 
 He thinks you'll do. He w^ants to employ 
 you." 
 
 Katya uttered " Oh," with minute displeasure, 
 and a little colour came into her clear cheeks. 
 She turned her profile towards them, and against 
 the blue sky it was like an extraordinary cameo, 
 so clear, so pale, the dark eyelashes so exact, 
 the jet-black hair receiving only in its coils the 
 reflection of the large, w^hite, linen hat that 
 Katya w^ore because she was careful of her 
 complexion and her eyes and her w^hole face 
 had that air of distant and inscrutable deter- 
 mination that goes with the aspect of a divinity 
 like Diana. 
 
 *' In fact, it's only a matter of terms," Robert 
 Grimshaw said, looking away down the long 
 slopes of the downs inland. 
 
A CALL 241 
 
 *' Everything is always a matter of terms," 
 Katya said. 
 
 The white donkey was placidly browsing the 
 short grass and the daisy heads. 
 
 " Oh, come up," Ellida said, and eventually 
 the white beast responded to her exertions. It 
 wasn't, however, until the donkey was well out 
 of earshot that Grimshaw broke the silence 
 that Katya seemed determined to maintain. 
 He pointed with his stick to where — a dark 
 patch of trees dominated by a squarish, dark 
 tower, in the very bottom of a fold in the 
 downs — a hamlet occupied the extreme dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " 1 want to walk to there," he said. 
 
 "I'm not at all certain that I want to walk 
 at all," she answered, and he retorted : 
 
 " Oh yes, you do. Look how the weather- 
 cock shines in the sun. You know how, when 
 we were children, we always wanted to walk 
 to where the weathercock shone, and there was 
 always something to prevent it. Now we're 
 grown up, we're going to do it." 
 
 " Ah, it's different now," she answered. 
 " When we were children we expected to find 
 something under the shining weathercocks. 
 
 16 
 
242 A CALL 
 
 Now there's nothing in the world that we can 
 want to find. It seems as if we'd got all that 
 we're ever going to get." 
 
 " Still, you don't know what we mightn't 
 find under there," he said. 
 
 She looked straight into his clear olive- 
 coloured face. She noted that his eyes were 
 dark and tired. 
 
 *' Oh, poor dear !" she said to herself, and 
 then she uttered aloud : " Now, look here, 
 Toto, it's understood once and for all that I'm 
 ready to live with you to-day. But I won't 
 marry you. If I go with you now, there's to 
 be no more talking about that." 
 
 " Oh, that's understood," he said. 
 
 " Well, then," she replied, and she unfolded 
 her white sunshade, "let's go and see what 
 we find beneath the weathercock ;" and she put 
 her hand on his arm. 
 
 They strolled slowly down the turf She 
 was used enough to his method of waiting, as 
 if for the psychological moment, to begin a con- 
 versation of importance, and for quite a long 
 way they talked gaily and pleasantly of the 
 little herbs of which, as they got farther inland, 
 they discovered their carpet to be composed — j 
 
A CALL 243 
 
 the little mints, the little yellow blossoms, the 
 tiny, silvery leaves like ferns — and the quiet 
 and the thrilling of the innumerable larks. 
 The wind seemed to move low down and cool 
 about their feet. 
 
 And she said that he didn't know what 
 it meant to her to be back — just in the 
 quiet. 
 
 " Over there," she said, " it did seem to be 
 rather dreadful — rather comfortless, and even 
 a little useless. It wasn't that they hadn't 
 got the things. Why, there are bits in 
 Philadelphia and bits round Philadelphia — old 
 bits and old families and old people. There 
 are even grass and flowers and shade. But 
 somehow, what was dreadful, what made 
 it so lonely, was that they didn't know what 
 they were there for. It was as if no one knew 
 — what he was there for. I don't know." 
 
 She stopped for a minute. 
 
 " I don't know," she said—" I don't know 
 how to express it. Over here things seem to 
 fit in, if it's only a history that they fit into. 
 They go on. But over there one went on 
 patching up people — we patched them up by 
 the score, by the hundred. And then they 
 
 16—2 
 
244 A CALL 
 
 went and did it all over again, and it seemed 
 as if we only did it for the purpose of letting 
 them go and do it all over again. It was as if 
 instead of preparing them for life we merely 
 prepared them for new breakdowns." 
 
 " Well, I suppose life isnt very well worth 
 living over there ?" Grimshaw asked. 
 
 " Oh, it isn't the life," she said. " The lifes 
 worth living — more worth living than it is 
 here. . . . But there's something more than 
 mere life. There's — you might call it the 
 overtone of life — the something that's more 
 than the mere living. It's the what gives 
 softness to our existence that they haven't got. 
 It's the . . . That's it ! It's knowing one's 
 place : it's feeling that one's part of a tradition, 
 a link in the chain. And oh ... " she burst 
 out, " I didn't want to talk about it. But 
 it used to come over me like a fearful doubt — 
 the thought that I, too, might be growing into 
 a creature without a place. That's why it's 
 heaven to be back/' she ended. She looked 
 down the valley with her eyes half closed, she 
 leant a little on his arm. " It's heaven, heaven !" 
 she repeated in a whisper. 
 
 " You were afraid," he said, '' that we 
 
A CALL 245 
 
 shouldn't keep a place for you — Ellida, and I, 
 and all of us ?" 
 
 " Perhaps that was all it was," she dropped 
 her voice to say. He pressed with his arm 
 her hand against his heart. 
 
 " Oh," he said, " it isn't only the old place 
 we want you to go into. There's a new one. 
 You've heard that I've been taking up your 
 character ?" 
 
 " Ah," she said ; and again she was on the 
 alert in an instant. "I'm to have a situation 
 with you ? Who's the invalid ? Peter ?" 
 The little dog with the flapping ears was 
 running wide on the turf, scenting the un- 
 accustomed grasses. 
 
 " Oh, Peter's as near speaking as he can ever 
 get," Grimshaw said. 
 
 Katya laughed. 
 
 " That would be a solution," she said, " if 
 you took me on as Peter's nurse. But who's 
 your dumb child now ? I suppose it's your 
 friend . . . ah ! . . . Dudley Leicester." 
 
 "You remember," Grimshaw said, " you 
 used always to say he was like Peter." 
 
 " No ; it was you I used to say were like 
 Peter. A^^ell, what's the matter with Dudley 
 
246 A CALL 
 
 Leicester ? ... at least. No. Don't tell me. 
 I've heard a good deal from Ellida. She's gone 
 clean mad about his wife." 
 
 " Yes ; she's mad enough about Pauhne," 
 Grimshaw said, " and so would you be." 
 
 " I dare say," she answered. " She seems 
 brave. That's always a good deal." 
 
 ** Oh, if you want braveness !" Grimshaw 
 said. " But how can you consider his case if 
 you won't hear about him ?" 
 
 " I've had one version," she said. " I don't 
 want two. It would obscure my view. What 
 we know is that he sits about speechless, and 
 that he asks strangers in the street a question 
 about a telephone. That's right, isn't it ?" 
 
 " What an admirable professional manner 
 you've got !" Grimshaw said ; and he disengaged 
 her hand from his arm to look better at her. 
 " It's quite right about poor Dudley." 
 
 "Well," she said, "don't be silly for a 
 moment. This is my work in life — you know 
 you don't look over-well yourself — but answer 
 me one question. I'm content to take EUida's 
 version about him, because she can't influence 
 my views. You might. And one wants to 
 look only from personal observation. But . . ." 
 
A CALL 247 
 
 She stretched out her hand and felt his pulse 
 for a light minute. 
 
 " You aren't well," she said. " No, I don't 
 want to look at your tongue. Here, take off 
 your cap ;" and suddenly she ran her fingers 
 smoothly and firmly over his temples, so that 
 they seemed to explore deep places, cool and 
 restful. " That soothes you, doesn't it ?" she 
 said. " Thafs how I make my bread. But 
 take care, dear thing, or it '11 be you that I shall 
 be nursing next." 
 
 " It lies with you to cure it," he answered. 
 She uttered a painful '* Oh /" and looked 
 down the valley between her gloved fingers. 
 When she took her hands down from her face, 
 she said : 
 
 " Look here ! That's not fair. You 
 promised not to." 
 
 He answered : " But how can I help it ? 
 How can I help it ?" 
 
 She seemed to make her head grow rigid. 
 " One thing at a time, then," she said. " You 
 know everything. What happened to him at 
 the telephone ?" And when he said that 
 someone — when he was in a place where he 
 ought not to have been — had recognized his 
 
248 A CALL 
 
 voice, she said : " Oh !" and then again, " Oh ! 
 that explains." 
 
 Grimshaw looked at her, his dark eyes 
 imploring. 
 
 '' It can be cured ?" he said. 
 
 " It ought to be," she answered. " It 
 depends. I'll look at him." 
 
 " Oh, you must J' he answered. 
 
 "Well, I wiU," she retorted. "But, you 
 understand, I must be paid my fee." 
 
 " Oh," he said, " don't rub it in just now." 
 
 " Well, you rubbed it in just now," she 
 mocked him. " You tried to get round my 
 sympathies. I've got to harden myself to get 
 back to where I was. You know you shook 
 me. But I'm a lonely woman. My work's 
 all I've got." 
 
 " Katya !" he said. " You know your half 
 of your father's money is waiting for you. I've 
 not spent a penny of it." 
 
 "I know you're a dear," she said, "but it 
 doesn't alter matters. I won't take money 
 from a man who won't make a sacrifice for 
 me." 
 
 " EUida took her share," he said. 
 
 "Ellida's Ellida," she answered. "She's a 
 
A CALL 249 
 
 darling, but she's not me. If you'd take the 
 steps you might, you could have me, and I'd 
 have father's money. But that's all there is to 
 it. I'll do all I can for Dudley Leicester. 
 Don't let's talk about the other thing." 
 
 They came down to the hard road over the 
 bank. 
 
 " Now we shall see what's under the weather- 
 cock," she said. 
 
V 
 
 It was as if in the churchyard, amongst the 
 old and slanting tombs, in the sunlight and 
 in the extended fingers of the yews, there was 
 the peace of God. In the highroad, as it 
 passed through the little hamlet, not a single 
 person stirred. The cottage doors stood open, 
 and as they had passed they could hear even 
 the ticking of the clocks. The dust on the 
 highroad was stamped into little patterns by 
 the feet of a flock of sheep that, from the hill 
 above, they had seen progressing slowly at a 
 great distance. 
 
 " The peace of God," Robert Grimshaw said. 
 
 They were sitting in the small plastered 
 porch of the little old church. 
 
 " * The peace of God, which passeth all 
 understanding. . . .' I've always thought that 
 those words, coming where they do, are the 
 most beautiful thing in any rite. It's like . . ." 
 
 250 
 
A CALL 251 
 
 He seemed to be about to enter on a long 
 train of thought, but suddenly he said, " Oh, 
 my dear," and he laid his head on her shoulder, 
 his eyes closed, and the lines of his face droop- 
 ing. They sat silent for a long time, and 
 slowly into hers there came an expression 
 of a deep and restful tenderness, a minute 
 softening of all the lines and angles of his 
 chiselled countenance ; and at last he said, 
 very low : " Oh, you must end it !" and she 
 answered in an echo of his tone : "No, no. 
 Don't ask me. It isn't fair ;" and she knew 
 that if she looked at his tired face again, or 
 if again his voice sounded so weary, that she 
 would surrender to his terms. 
 
 He answered : " Oh, I'm not asking that. 
 I promised that I wouldn't, and I'm not. It's 
 the other thing that you must end. You 
 don't know what it means to me." 
 
 She said : " What ?" with an expression of 
 bewilderment, a queer numb expression, and 
 whilst he brought out in slow and rather 
 broken phrases, " It's an unending strain . . . 
 And I feel I am responsible ... It goes on 
 night and day ... I can't sleep ... I can't eat 
 ... I have got the conviction that suddenly 
 
252 A CALL 
 
 he might grow violent and murder ..." Her 
 face was hardening all the while. It grew 
 whiter and her eyes darkened. 
 
 " You're talking of Dudley Leicester ?" she 
 said, and slowly she removed her arm from 
 beneath his hand. She stood up in front of 
 him, clear and cool in her grey dress, and he 
 recovered his mastery of himself. 
 
 " But, of course," he went on, " that's only 
 a sort of nightmare, and you're going to put 
 an end to it. If we start back now you could 
 see him to-night." 
 
 She put her hands behind her back, and 
 said with a distinct and clear enunciation : " I 
 am not going to." He looked at her without 
 much comprehension. 
 
 " Well, to-morrow, then. Next week. 
 Soon ?" 
 
 " I am not going to at all," she brought out 
 still more hardly. "Not to-day. Not this 
 week. Not ever." And before his bewilder- 
 ment she began to speak with a passionate 
 scorn : " This is what I was to discover 
 beneath the weathercock ! Do you consider 
 what a ridiculous figure you cut ? You bring 
 me here to talk about that man. \A^ hat's he 
 
A CALL 253 
 
 to you, or you to him ? Why should you 
 maunder and moon and worry about him ?" 
 
 " But ..." Robert Grimshaw said, and she 
 burst into a hard laugh. 
 
 " No wonder you can't give in to me if 
 you've got to be thinking of him all the time. 
 Well, put it how you will, I have done with 
 him, and I've done with you. Go your own 
 idiotic ways together. I've done with you." 
 And with her hands stretched down in front 
 of her she snapped the handle of her parasol, 
 her face drawn and white. She looked down 
 at the two pieces contemptuously, and threw 
 them against the iron-bolted, oak church door. 
 " That's an end of it," she said. 
 
 Grimshaw looked up at her, with his jaw 
 dropping in amazement. 
 
 " But you're jealous !" he said. 
 
 She kept herself calm for a minute longer. 
 
 " I'm sorry," she said — " I'm sorry for his 
 poor little wife. I'm sorry for Ellida, who 
 wants him cured, but it's their fault for having 
 to do with such a soft, meddlesome creature 
 as you." And then suddenly she burst out 
 into a full torrent : " Jealous !" she said. 
 *' Yes, I'm jealous. Is that news to you ? It 
 
254 A CALL 
 
 isn't to me. That's the secret of the whole 
 thing, if you come to think of it. Now that 
 it's all over between us there's no reason why 
 you shouldn't know it. All my life you've 
 tortured me. When I was a tiny child it was 
 the same. I wanted you altogether, body and 
 soul, and you had always someone like that, 
 that you took an interest in ; that you were 
 always trying to get me to take an interest in. 
 Just you think the matter out. It '11 make 
 you understand a good many things." She 
 broke off, and then she began again : " Jealous ? 
 Yes, if it 's jealousy to want a woman's right — 
 the whole of a man altogether." She closed 
 her eyes and stood for a moment shuddering. 
 " Good-bye," she said ; and with an extreme 
 stiffness she went down the short path. As 
 she turned to go through the gate she called 
 back : " You'd better try Morley Bishop." 
 
 Grimshaw rose to his feet as if to follow 
 her, but an extreme M^eariness had overcome 
 him. He picked up the pieces of her parasol, 
 and with a slow and halting gait went along 
 the dusty road towards the village inn. 
 
 A little later he took from the nearest 
 
A CALL 255 
 
 station the train up to London, but the in- 
 tolerable solitude of the slow journey, the 
 thought of Pauline's despair, the whole weight 
 of depression, of circumstance, made him, on 
 arriving at London Bridge, get out and cross 
 the platform to the down-train time-tables. 
 He was going to return to Brighton. 
 
 Ellida was sitting in the hotel room about 
 eleven, reading a novel that concerned itself 
 with the Court life of a country called 
 " Nolhynia." She looked up at Robert Grim- 
 shaw, and said : 
 
 " Well, what have you two been up to ?" 
 
 " Hasn't Katya told you ?" 
 
 Ellida, luxuriating at last in the sole posses- 
 sion of her little Kitty, who by now prattled 
 distractingly ; luxuriating, too, in the possession 
 of many solid hours of a night of peace, stolen 
 unexpectedly and unavoidably from the duties 
 of a London career, was really and paganly 
 sprawling in a very deep chair. 
 
 " No," she said. " Katya hasn't told me 
 anything. Where is Katya ? I thought 
 you'd decided to go off together at last, and 
 leave poor little Pauhne to do the best she 
 
256 A CALL 
 
 could ;" and she held out, without moving 
 more than her hand, a pink telegram form 
 which bore the words : 
 
 ** Don't worry about me. Am quite all 
 right. See that Kitty's milk is properly 
 metchnikofFed." 
 
 " It was sent from Victoria," she said, " so 
 of course I thought you'd been and gone and 
 done it. I didn't know^ whether to be glad 
 or sorry, but I think I was mostly glad." She 
 looked up at his anxious face curiously. 
 " Haven't you gone and done it ?" she said. 
 " You don't mean to say you've split again ?" 
 
 " We've split again," he answered. " Worse 
 than ever before." And he added anxiously : 
 " You don't think she'll have been doing any- 
 thing rash ?" 
 
 " Anything rash !" she mocked him pleasantly. 
 " She's never in her life done anything else. 
 But if you mean gone under a motor-bus, I 
 can tell you this, Mr. Toto, she too jolly w^ell 
 means to have you to do anything of that 
 sort. What's the matter now ?" 
 
 He related as carefully as he could, and 
 then she said : " For a couple of darlings you 
 are the most extraordinary creatures on earth. 
 
A CALL 257 
 
 Katya's Katya, of course ; but why in Heaven's 
 name you can't be reasonable it passes me to 
 understand." 
 
 " Reasonable !" Grimshaw exclaimed. 
 
 " Well," EUida answered, " you don't know 
 Katya as I do. You think, I dare say, that 
 she's a cool, manlike sort of chap. As a 
 matter of fact, she's a mere bundle of nerves 
 and insane obstinacies. I don't mean to say 
 that she's not adorable. She's just the most 
 feminine thing in the world, but what you 
 ought to do is perfectly plain. You ought to 
 bring her to her knees. If you won't give 
 in to her — it would be the easiest thing to do 
 — it would be just as easy to bring her to her 
 knees." 
 
 " It would ?" Grimshaw asked. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " easy, but I dare say a bit 
 of a bore. You go off with some other woman, 
 and she'll be after you with hatchets and 
 knives in ten seconds after she hears the news. 
 That's Katya. It's Kitty, too, and I dare say 
 it would be me if I ever had anything in the 
 world to contrarify me." 
 
 " Oh, I'm tired out," he answered. " I told 
 you some time ago that if I grew very, very 
 
 17 
 
258 A CALL 
 
 tired I should give in to her. Well, I've 
 come down to tell her that, if she'll take on 
 Dudley, she can take me on, too, on her own 
 terms." 
 
 EUida looked up at him with her quick and 
 birdlike eyes. 
 
 " Well, look here, Mr. Toto," she said, ** if 
 you're going to do that, you'd better get it 
 told to her quick. If you don't catch her on 
 the hop before she's got time to harden into 
 it as an obstinacy, you'll find that she'll have 
 made it a rule of life never to speak to you 
 again ; and then there'll be nothing for it but 
 you're carrying on with — oh, say Etta Hudson 
 — until Katya gets to the daggers and knives 
 stage." 
 
 "But where is she ?" Grimshaw asked. 
 
 " Oh, well, you're a man who knows every- 
 thing," she answered. " I expect she's gone to 
 one of the six or seven of her patients that are 
 always clamouring for her. You'd better 
 hurry to find her, or she'll be off touring round 
 the world before you know where you are. . . . 
 I've always thought, "she continued, " that you 
 handled her wrongly at the beginning. If the 
 moment she'd begun that nonsense, you'd taken 
 
A CALL 259 
 
 a stick to her, or dragged her off to a registry 
 office, or contrived to pretend to be harsh and 
 brutal, she'd have given in right at once ; but 
 she got the cranky idea into her head, and 
 now it's hardened into sheer pride. I don't 
 beUeve that she really wanted it then, after the 
 first day or two. She only wanted to bring 
 you to your knees. If you had given in then, 
 she'd have backed out of it at the last moment, 
 and you'd have had St. George's and orange- 
 blossoms, and * The Voice that breathed o'er 
 Eden ' all complete." 
 
 " Well, I can't bother about it any longer," 
 Grimshaw said. " I'm done. I give in." 
 
 "Good old Toto," Ellida said. And then 
 she dropped her voice to say : " I don't know 
 that it's the sort of thing that a sister ought to 
 encourage a sister doing, but if you managed 
 not to let anyone know — and that's easy 
 enough, considering how you've set everybody 
 talking about your quarrels. You can just 
 meet her at Athens, and then come back and 
 say you've made it up suddenly, and got 
 married at the Consulate at Scutari or Trebi- 
 zond, or some old place where there isn't a 
 Consulate, and nobody goes to — if nobody 
 
 17—2 
 
260 A CALL 
 
 knows about it, I don't see that I need bother 
 much." She looked up at him and continued : 
 " I suppose you'll think I'm immoral or whatever 
 it is ; but, after all, there was mother, who was 
 really the best woman in the world. Of course 
 I know you think of the future, but when 
 everything's said and done, I'm in the same 
 position that your children will be, and it 
 doesn't worry me very much. It doesn't worry 
 Katya either, though she likes to pretend it 
 does." 
 
 " Oh, I'm not thinking of any tiling at all," 
 Grimshaw answered. " I just give in. I just 
 want the . . . the peace of God." 
 
 She looked up at him with her eyes slightly 
 distended and wondering. 
 
 " Are you," she said, " quite sure that you 
 will get it ? Katya is a dear, of course, but 
 she's the determination of a tiger ; she has 
 been play-acting from the first, and she has 
 meant to have you since you were in your 
 cradles together. But she's meant to have 
 you humbled and submissive, and tied utterly 
 hand and foot. I don't believe she ever meant 
 not to marry you. I don't believe she means it 
 now, but she means to make you give in to 
 
A CALL 261 
 
 her before she marries you. She thinks it will 
 be the final proof of your passion for her." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," Robert Grimshaw 
 answered. " I don't know and I don't care. 
 What I want is to have things settled. What 
 does it matter whether it's for life or death ?" 
 
 " And Pauline Leicester ?" Mrs. Langham 
 asked. 
 
 Robert Grimshaw made a little motion with 
 his thumb and fingers, as if he were crumbling 
 between them a little piece of dried earth. 
 
VI 
 
 In the drawing-room with the blue curtains 
 Mr. Held was saying to Pauline Leicester : 
 " Yes, it's just gone ten. It's too late for a 
 telegram, but I'm sure you'll get a message 
 somehow to say she's coming. After all, he 
 can telephone from Brighton." 
 
 " He mayn't have succeeded," Pauline said. 
 
 "Oh, I'm sure he's succeeded," Mr. Held 
 answered. " I feel it in my bones." 
 
 It was now the thirtieth or fortieth time 
 that since eight o'clock he had uttered some 
 such words, and he was going on to say : " He 
 and she are great friends, aren't they ?" when 
 Saunders opened the door to say that a lady 
 wished to speak to Mrs. Leicester. 
 
 " Oh, they are great friends," Pauline an- 
 swered Mr. Held. " Miss Lascarides is his 
 cousin " ; and then to Saunders : " Who is it ?" 
 
 262 
 
A CALL 263 
 
 Saunders answered that he didn't know the 
 lady, but that she appeared to be a lady. 
 
 " What's she like ?" Pauline said. 
 
 The butler answered that she was very tall, 
 very dark, and, if he might say so, rather 
 imperious. 
 
 Pauline's mouth opened a little. " It's not," 
 she said — " it's not Lady Hudson ?" 
 
 " Oh, it isn't Lady Hudson, mum. I know 
 Lady Hudson very well by sight. She goes 
 past the house every day with a borzoi." 
 
 In the dining-room, lit by a solitary light on 
 the chimneypiece, Pauline saw a lady — very 
 tall, very dark, and very cool and collected. 
 They looked at each other for the shadow of 
 a moment with the odd and veiled hostility 
 that mysterious woman bestows upon her 
 fellow-mystery. 
 
 " You're Pauline Leicester ?" the stranger 
 said. ** You don't know who I am ?" 
 
 " We've never met, I think," Pauline an- 
 swered. 
 
 " And you've never seen a photograph ?" 
 
 " A photograph ?" Pauline said. " No ; I 
 don't think I've seen a photograph." 
 
264 A CALL 
 
 " Ah, you wouldn't have a photograph of 
 me that's not a good many years' old. It was 
 a good deal before your thne/' 
 
 With her head full of the possibilities of her 
 husband's past, for she couldn't tell that there 
 mightn't have been another, Pauline said, with 
 her brave distinctness : 
 
 " Are you, perhaps, the person who rang up 
 4,259 JNlayfair ? If you are ..." 
 
 The stranger's rather regal eyes opened 
 slightly. She was leaning one arm on the 
 chimneypiece and looking over her shoulder, 
 but at that she turned and held out both her 
 hands. 
 
 " Oh, my dear," she said, " it's perfectly true 
 what he said. You're the bravest woman in 
 the world, and I'm Katya Lascarides." 
 
 With the light full upon her face, Pauhne 
 Leicester hardly stirred. 
 
 " You've heard all about me," she said, with 
 a touch of sadness in her voice, " from Robert 
 Grimshaw ?" 
 
 '* No, from Ellida," Katya answered, " and 
 I've seen your photograph. She carries it 
 about with her." 
 
 Pauline Leicester said, " Ah I" very slowly. 
 
A CALL 265 
 
 And then, " Yes ; Ellida's very fond of me. 
 She's very good to me." 
 
 " My dear," Katya said, " Elhda's every- 
 thing in the matter. At any rate, if I'm going 
 to do you any good, it's she that's got me 
 here. I shouldn't have done it for Robert 
 Grimshaw." 
 
 Pauhne turned shghtly pale. 
 
 " You haven't quarrelled with Robert ?" she 
 said. " I should be so sorry." 
 
 " My dear," Katya answered, " never men- 
 tion his name to me again. It's only for you 
 I'm here, because what EUida told me has 
 made me like you ;" and then she asked to 
 see the patient. 
 
 Dudley Leicester, got into evening dress as 
 he was by Saunders and Mr. Held every 
 evening, sat, blond and healthy to all seem- 
 ing, sunk in the eternal arm-chair, his fingers 
 beating an eternal tattoo, his eyes fixed upon 
 vacancy. His appearance was so exactly 
 natural that it was impossible to believe he 
 was in any ^' condition " at all. It was so 
 impossible to believe it that when, with a 
 precision that seemed to add many years to 
 
266 A CALL 
 
 her age, Katya Lascarides approached, and, 
 bending over him, touched with the tips of her 
 fingers httle and definite points on his temples 
 and brows, touching them and retouching 
 them as if she were fingering a rounded wind- 
 instrument, and that, when she asked: "Doesn't 
 that make your head feel better ?" it seemed 
 merely normal that his right hand should come 
 up from the ceaseless drumming on the arm 
 of the chair to touch her wrist, and that plain- 
 tively his voice should say ; " Much better ; 
 oh, much better !" 
 
 And Pauline and Mr. Held said simul- 
 taneously : " He isn't ..." 
 
 " Oh, he isn't cured," Katya said. " This 
 is only a part of the process. It's to get him 
 to like me, to make him have confidence in 
 me, so that I can get to know something 
 about him. Now, go away. 1 can't give you 
 any verdict till I've studied him." 
 
PAR r V 
 
In the intervals of running from hotel to hotel 
 — for Robert Grimshaw had taken it for 
 granted that Ellida was right, and that Katya 
 had gone either to the old hotel where she had 
 stayed with Mrs. Van Husum, and where they 
 knew she had left the heavier part of her 
 belongings — Robert Grimshaw looked in to 
 tell Pauline that he hadn't yet been able to 
 fix things up with Katya Lascarides, but that 
 he was certainly going to do so, and would 
 fetch her along that afternoon. In himself he 
 felt some doubt of how he was going to find 
 Katya. At the Norfolk Street hotel he had 
 heard that she had called in for two or three 
 minutes the night before in order to change 
 her clothes — he remembered that she was 
 wearing her light grey dress and a linen sun- 
 hat — and that then she had gone out, saying 
 
 269 
 
270 A CALL 
 
 that she was going to a patient's, and might or 
 might not come back. 
 
 " This afternoon," he repeated, " I'll bring 
 her along." 
 
 Pauline looked at his face attentively. 
 
 " Don't you know where she is ?" she said 
 incredulously, and then she added, as if with 
 a sudden desolation : " Have you quarrelled as 
 much as all that ?" 
 
 " How did you know I don't know where 
 she is ?" Grimshaw answered swiftly. " She 
 hasn't been attacking you ?" 
 
 Her little hands fell slowly open at her 
 sides ; then she rested one of them upon 
 the white cloth that was just being laid for 
 lunch. 
 
 The horn of an automobile sounded rather 
 gently outside, and the wheels of a butcher's 
 cart rattled past. 
 
 " Oh, Robert," she said suddenly, " it wasn't 
 about me you quarrelled ? Don't you under- 
 stand she's here in the house now ? That was 
 Sir William Wells who just left." 
 
 "She hasnt been attacking you ?" Grimshaw 
 persisted. 
 
 " Oh, she wouldn't, you know," Pauline 
 
A CALL 271 
 
 answered. " She isn't that sort. It's you 
 she would attack if she attacked any- 
 body." 
 
 " Oh, well, yes," Robert Grimshaw answered. 
 " It was about you we quarrelled — about you 
 and Dudley, about the household : it occupies 
 too much of my attention. She wants me 
 altogether." 
 
 " Then what's she here for ?" Pauline 
 said. 
 
 *' I don't know," Grimshaw said. " Perhaps 
 because she's sorry for you." 
 
 " Sorry for me !" Pauline said, " because I 
 care. . . . But then she . . . Oh, where do 
 we stand ?" 
 
 " What has she done ?" Robert Grimshaw 
 said. " What does she say ?" 
 
 " About you ?" Pauline said. 
 
 " No, no — about the case ?" 
 
 " Oh," Pauline said, " she says that if we can 
 only find out who it was rang up that number 
 it would be quite likely that we could cure 
 him." 
 
 Grimshaw suddenly sat down. 
 
 " That means . . ." he said, and then he 
 stopped. 
 
272 A CALL 
 
 Pauline said : " What ? 1 couldn't bear to 
 cause her any unhappiness." 
 
 " Oh," Robert Grimshaw answered, " is that 
 the way to talk in our day and — and — and our 
 class ? We don't take things like that." 
 
 " Oh, my dear," she said painfully, " how 
 are we taking this ?" Then she added : " And 
 in any case Katya isn't of our day or our 
 class." 
 
 She came near, and stood over him, looking 
 down. 
 
 '' Robert," she said gravely, ** who is of our 
 day and our class ? Are you ? Or am 1 ? 
 Why are your hands shaking like that, or why 
 did I just now call you ' my dear ' ? We've 
 got to face the fact that I called you ' my 
 dear.' Then, don't you see, you can't be of 
 our day and our class. And as for me, wasn't 
 it really because Dudley wasn't faithful to me 
 that I've let myself slide near you ? I haven't 
 made a scandal or any outcry about Dudley 
 Leicester. That's our day and that's our class. 
 But look at all the difference it's made in our 
 personal relations ! Look at the misery of it 
 all ! That's it. We can^make a day and a 
 class and rules for them, but we can't keep any 
 
A CALL 273 
 
 of the rules except just the gross ones hke not 
 making scandals." 
 
 " Then, what Katya's here for," Robert 
 Grimshaw said, " is to cure Dudley. She's a 
 most wonderful sense, and she knows that the 
 only way to have me altogether is to cure him." 
 " Oh, don't put it as low down as that," 
 Pauline said. " Just a little time ago you said 
 that it was because she was sorry for me." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Grimshaw answered eagerly ; 
 " that's it ; that's the motive. But it doesn't 
 hinder the result from being that, when 
 Dudley's cured, we all fly as far apart as the 
 poles." 
 
 " Ah," she said slowly, and she looked at 
 him with the straight, remorseless glance and 
 spoke with the little, cold expressionless voice 
 that made him think of her for the rest of his 
 life as if she were the unpitying angel that 
 barred for our first parents the return into 
 Eden, " you see that at least ! That is where 
 we all are — flying as far apart as the poles." 
 
 Grimshaw suddenly extended both his hands 
 in a gesture of mute agony, but she drew back 
 both her own. 
 
 " That again," she said, " is our day and our 
 
 18 
 
274 A CALL 
 
 class. And that's the best that's to be said for 
 us. We haven't learned wisdom : we've only 
 learned how to behave. We cannot avoid 
 tragedies." 
 
 She paused and repeated with a deeper note 
 of passion than he had ever heard her allow 
 herself : 
 
 "Tragedies! Yes, in our day and in our 
 class we don't allow ourselves easy things like 
 daggers and poison-bowls. It's all more diffi- 
 cult. It's all more difficult because it goes 
 on and goes on. We think we've made it 
 easier because we've slackened old ties. You're 
 in and out of the house all day long, and I can 
 go ground with you everywhere. But just 
 because we've slackened the old ties, just 
 because marriage is a weaker thing than it used 
 to be — in our day and in our class " — she 
 repeated the words with deep bitterness and 
 looked unffinchingly into his eyes — " we've 
 strengthened so immensely the other kind of 
 ties. If you'd been married to Miss I^ascarides 
 you'd probably not have been faithful to her. 
 As it is, just because your honour's inv^olved 
 you find yourself tied to her as no monk ever 
 was by his vow." 
 
A CALL 275 
 
 She looked down at her feet and then again 
 at his eyes, and in her glance there was a cold 
 stream of accusation that appeared incredible, 
 coming from a creature so small, so fragile, and 
 so reserved. Grimshaw stood with his head 
 hanging forward upon his chest : the scene 
 seemed to move with an intolerable slowness, 
 and to him her attitude of detachment was 
 unspeakably sad. It was as if she spoke from 
 a great distance — as if she were a ghost fading 
 away into dimness. He could not again raise 
 his hands towards her: he could utter no 
 endearments : her gesture of abnegation had 
 been too absolute and too determined. With 
 her eyes full upon him she said : 
 
 " You do not love Katya Lascarides : you 
 are as cold to her as a stone. You love me, and 
 you have ruined all our lives. But it doesn't 
 end, it goes on. We fly as far asunder as the 
 poles, and it goes on for good." 
 
 She stopped as suddenly as she had begun 
 to speak, and what she had said was so true, 
 and the sudden revelation of what burned 
 beneath the surface of a creature so small and 
 apparently so cold — the touch of fierce hunger 
 in her voice, of pained resentment in her eyes 
 
 18—2 
 
 V 
 
276 A CALL 
 
 — these things so overwhehned Robert Grim- 
 shaw that for a long time still he remained 
 silent. Then suddenly he said : 
 
 " Yes ; by God, it's true what you say ! 1 
 told Ellida long ago that my business in life 
 was to wait for Katya and to see that you had 
 V a good time." He paused, and then added 
 quickly : *' I've lived to see you in hell, and I've 
 waited for Katya till "- -he moved one of 
 his hands in a gesture of despair^ — '' till all the 
 fire's burned out," he added suddenly. 
 
 "So that now," she retorted with a little 
 bitter humour, " what you've got to do is to 
 give Katya a good time and go on waiting for 
 me." 
 
 " Till w^hen ?" he said with a sudden hot 
 eagerness. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " till all the ships that ever 
 sailed come home ; till all the wild-oats that 
 were ever sown are reaped ; till the sun sets in 
 the east and the ice on the poles is all melted 
 away. If you were the only man in all the 
 world, my dear, I would never look at you 
 again." 
 
 Grimshaw looked at the ground and 
 muttered aimlessly : 
 
A CALL 277 
 
 " What's to be done ? What's to be done ?" 
 
 He went on repeating this hke a man stupi- 
 fied beyond the power of speech and thought, 
 until at last it was as if a minute change of 
 light passed across the figure of Pauline 
 Leicester — as if the softness faded out of her 
 face, her colour and her voice, as if, having for 
 that short interval revealed the depths of her 
 being, she had closed in again, finally and 
 irrevocably. So that it was with a sort of 
 ironic and business-like crispness that she 
 said: 
 
 " All that's to be done is the one thing that 
 you've got to do." 
 
 " And that ?" Robert Grimshaw asked. 
 
 " That is to find the man who rang up that 
 number. You've got to do that because you 
 know all about these things." 
 
 " I ?" Robert Grimshaw said desolately. 
 " Oh yes, I know all about these things." 
 
 " You know," Pauline continued, '* she's very 
 forcible, your Katya. You should have seen 
 how she spoke to Sir WilHam Wells, until at 
 last he positively roared with fury, and yet she 
 hadn't said a single word except, in the most 
 respectful manner in the world, ' Wouldn't it 
 
278 A CALL 
 
 have been best the very first to discover who 
 the man on the telephone was V " 
 
 " How did she know about the man on the 
 telephone ?" Grimshaw said. " You didn't. 
 Sir William told me not to tell you." 
 
 *' Oh, Sir William !" she said, with the first 
 contempt that he had ever heard in her voice. 
 *' He didn't want anybody to know anything. 
 And when Katya told him that over there they 
 always attempt to cure a shock of that sort by 
 a shock almost exactly similar, he simply roared 
 out : ' Theories ! theories ! theories !' That 
 was his motor that went just now." 
 
 They were both silent for a long time, and 
 then suddenly Robert Grimshaw said : 
 
 '' It was I that rang up 4,259 Mayfair." 
 ! Pauline only answered ; " Ah ! " 
 
 And looking straight at the carpet in front 
 of him, Robert Grimshaw remembered the 
 March night that had ever since weighed so 
 heavily on them all. He had dined alone at 
 his club. He had sat talking to three elderly 
 men, and, following his custom, at a quarter 
 past eleven he had set out to walk up Piccadilly 
 and round the acute angle of Regent Street, 
 
A CALL 279 
 
 Usually he walked down Oxford Street, down 
 Park Lane ; and so, having taken his breath of 
 air and circumnavigated, as it were, the little 
 island of wealth that those four streets en- 
 compass, he would lay himself tranquilly in his 
 white bed, and with Peter on a chair beside 
 his feet, he would fall asleep. But on that 
 night, whilst he walked slowly, his stick 
 behind his back, he had been almost thrown 
 down by Etta Stackpole, who appeared to fall 
 right under his feet, and she was followed by 
 the tall form of Dudley Leicester, whose face 
 Grimshaw recognized as he looked up to pay 
 the cabman. Having, as one does on the 
 occasion of such encounters, with a military 
 precision and an extreme swiftness turned on 
 his heels — having turned indeed so swiftly that 
 his stick, which was behind his back, swung 
 out centrifugally and lightly struck Etta 
 Stackpole's skirt, he proceeded to walk home 
 in a direction the reverse of his ordinary one. 
 And at first he thought absolutely nothing at 
 all. The night was cold and brilliant, and he 
 peeped, as was his wont, curiously and swiftly 
 into the faces of the passers-by. Just about 
 abreast of Burlington House he ejaculated : 
 
280 A CALL 
 
 " That sly cat ! " as if he were lost in surprised 
 admiration for Dudley Leicester's enterprise. 
 But opposite the Ritz he began to shiver. " I 
 must have taken a chill," he said, but actually 
 there had come into his mind the thought — 
 the thought that Etta Stackpole afterwards 
 so furiously upbraided him for — that Dudley 
 Leicester must have been carrying on a long 
 intrigue with Etta Stackpole. " And I've 
 married Pauline to that scoundrel !" he 
 muttered, for it seemed to him that Dudley 
 Leicester must have been a scoundrel, if he 
 could so play fast and loose, if he could do 
 it so skilfully as to take in himself, whilst 
 appearing so open about it. 
 
 And then Grimshaw shrugged his shoulders : 
 " Well, it's no business of mhie," he said. 
 
 He quickened his pace, and walked home to 
 bed ; but he was utterly unable to sleep. 
 
 Lying in his white bed, the sheets up to his 
 chin, his face dark in the blaze of light from 
 above his head — the only dark object, indeed, 
 in a room that was all monastically white — 
 his tongue was so dry that he was unable to 
 moisten his lips with it. He lay perfectly 
 still, gazing at Peter's silver collar that, taken 
 
A CALL 281 
 
 off for the night, hung from the hook on 
 the back of the white door. His hps mut- 
 tered fragments of words with which his 
 mind had nothing to do. They bubbled up 
 from within him as if from the depths of his 
 soul, and at that moment Robert Grimshaw 
 knew himself He was revealed to himself 
 for the first time by words over which he had 
 no control. In this agony and this prickly 
 sweat the traditions — traditions that are so in- 
 fectious — of his English public- school training, 
 of his all-smooth and suppressed contacts in 
 English social life, all the easy amenities and 
 all the facile sense of honour that is adapted 
 only to the life of no strain, of no passions ; all 
 these habits were gone at this touch of torture. 
 And it was of this intolerably long anguish 
 that he had been thinking when he had said to 
 Etta Stackpole that in actual truth he was only 
 a Dago. For Robert Grimshaw, if he was a 
 man of many knowledges, was a man of no 
 experiences at all, since his connection with 
 Katya Lascarides, her refusal of him, her 
 shudderings at him, had been so out of the 
 ordinary nature of things that he couldn't 
 make any generalizations from them at all. 
 
282 A CALL 
 
 When he had practically forced Dudley- 
 Leicester upon Pauline, he really had believed 
 that you can marry a woman you love to 
 your best friend without enduring all the 
 tortures of jealousy. This sort of marriage of 
 convenience that it was, was, he knew, the sort 
 of thing that in their sort of life was frequent 
 and successful enough, and having been trained 
 in the English code of manners never to express 
 any emotion at all, he had forgotten that 
 he possessed emotions. Now he was up 
 against it. 
 
 He was frightfully up against it. Till 
 now, at least, he had been able to imagine 
 that Dudley Leicester had at least a devouring 
 passion for, a quenchless thirst to protect, his 
 wife. It had been a passion so great and com- 
 mencing so early that Grimshaw could claim 
 really only half the credit of having made the 
 match. Indeed, his efforts had been limited 
 to such influence as he had been able to bring 
 to bear upon Pauline's mother, to rather long 
 conversations in which he had pointed out how 
 precarious, Mrs. Lucas being dead, would be 
 Pauline's lot in life. And he had told her at 
 last that he himself was irretrievably pledged, 
 
A CALL 283 
 
 both by honour and by passion, to Katya 
 Lascarides. It was on the subsequent day 
 that Pauhne had accepted her dogged adorer. 
 His passion for Katya Lascarides ! He 
 hadn't till that moment had any doubt about 
 it. But by then he knew it was gone ; it was 
 dead, and in place of a passion he felt only 
 remorse. And his longing to be perpetually 
 with Pauline Leicester — as he had told EUida 
 Langham — to watch her going through all 
 her life with her perpetual tender smile, 
 dancing, as it were, a gentle and infan- 
 tile measure ; this, too, he couldn't doubt. 
 Acute waves of emotion went through him at 
 the thought of her — waves of emotion so acute 
 that they communicated themselves to his 
 physical being, so that it was as if the thought 
 of Katya Lascarides stabbed his heart, whilst 
 the thought of Pauline Leicester made his 
 hands toss beneath the sheets. For, looking 
 at the matter formally, and, as he thought, 
 dispassionately, it had seemed to him that his 
 plain duty was to wait for Katya Lascarides, 
 and to give Pauline as good a time as he 
 could. That Pauline would have this wdth 
 Dudley Leicester he hadn't had till the 
 
284 A CALL 
 
 moment of the meeting in Regent Street the 
 ghost of a doubt, but now . . . 
 
 He said : '' Good God !" for he was think- 
 ing that only the Deity — if even He — could 
 achieve the impossible, could undo what was 
 done, could let him watch over Pauline, 
 which was the extent of the possession of her 
 that he thought he desired, and wait for Katya, 
 which also was, perhaps, all that he had ever 
 desired to do. The intolerable hours ticked on. 
 The light shone down on him beside the bed. 
 At the foot Peter slept, coiled up and motionless. 
 At the head the telephone instrument, like a 
 gleaming metal flower, with its nickel corolla 
 and black bell, shone with reflected light. He 
 was accustomed on mornings when he felt he 
 needed a rest to talk to his friends from time 
 to time, and suddenly his whole body stirred 
 in bed. The whites of his eyes gleamed below 
 the dark irises, his white teeth showed, and as 
 he clasped the instrument to him he appeared, 
 as it were, a Shylock who clutched to his 
 breast his knife and demanded of the universe 
 his right to the peace of mind that knowledge 
 at least was to give him. 
 
 He must know ; if he was to defend 
 
A CALL 285 
 
 Pauline, to watch over her, to brood over her, 
 to protect her, he must know what was going 
 on. This passionate desire swept over him hke 
 a flood. There remained nothing else in the 
 world. He rang up the hotel which, tall, 
 white, and cold, rises close by where he had 
 seen Etta Stackpole spring from the cab. He 
 rang up several houses known to him, and, 
 finally, with a sort of panic in his eyes he 
 asked for Lady Hudson's number. The little 
 dog, aroused by his motions and his voice, leapt 
 on to the bed, and pattering up, gazed wist- 
 fully at his face. He reached out his tongue 
 to afford what consolation he could to the 
 master, whom he knew to be perturbed, 
 grieved, and in need of consolation, and just 
 before the tinny sound of a voice reached 
 Grimshaw's ears Grimshaw said, his lips close 
 to the mouthpiece, " Get down." And when, 
 after he had uttered the words, " Isn't that 
 Dudley Leicester speaking ?" there was the 
 click of the instrument being rung off, Robert 
 Grimshaw said to himself grimly, "At any rate, 
 they'll know who it was that rung them up." 
 
 But Dudley Leicester hadn't known ; he 
 was too stupid, and the tinny sound of the 
 
286 A CALL 
 
 instrument had destroyed the resemblance of 
 any human voice. 
 
 Thus, sitting before PauUne Leicester in her 
 drawing-room, did Robert Grimshaw review 
 his impressions. And, looking back on the 
 whole affair, it seemed to present himself to 
 him in those terms of strong light, of the un- 
 real sound of voices on the telephone, and of 
 pain, of unceasing pain that had never "let 
 up " at any rate from the moment when, 
 having come up from the country with Katya's 
 kisses still upon his lips, he had found Pauline 
 in his dining-room, and had heard that Dudley 
 Leicester didn't know. 
 
 He remained seated, staring, brooding at 
 the carpet just before Pauline's feet, and 
 suddenly she said : " Oh, Robert, what did 
 you do it for ?" 
 
 He rose up suddenly and stood over her, 
 and when he held both her small hands between 
 his own, " You'd better," he said — " it '11 be 
 better for both you and me — put upon it the 
 construction that shows the deepest concern 
 for you." 
 
A CALL 287 
 
 And suddenly from behind their backs came 
 the voice of Katya Lascarides. 
 
 " Well," she said, " Robert knows every- 
 thing. Who is the man that rang up 4,259 
 Mayfair ?" 
 
 Robert Grimshaw hung his head for a 
 moment, and then : 
 
 " I did," he said. 
 
 Katya only answered, " Ah !" Then, very 
 slowly, she came over and put one hand on 
 Pauline's shoulder. " Oh, you poor dear," she 
 exclaimed, and then to Robert : " Then you'd 
 better come and tell him so. I'll stake my 
 new hat to my professional reputation that 
 it '11 put him on to his legs at once." 
 
 And with an air of taking him finally under 
 her wing, she conducted him down the passage 
 to Dudley Leicester's room. 
 
 In the dining-room Pauline stood for a long 
 time looking down at her fingers that rested 
 upon the tablecloth. The air was full of little 
 noises — the clitter of milk-cans, the mono- 
 tonous sound of water pulsing continuously 
 from the mains, the voices of two nurses as 
 they wheeled their charges home from the 
 
288 A CALL 
 
 Park. The door-bell rang, but no one dis- 
 turbed her. With the light falling on her 
 hair, absolutely motionless, she looked down 
 at her fingers on the white cloth and smiled 
 faintly. 
 
II 
 
 In the long, dark room where Dudley Leices- 
 ter still sprawled in his deep chair, Katya 
 stopped Robert Grimshaw near the door. 
 
 " I'll ask him to ask you his question," she 
 said, " and you'll answer it in as loud a voice 
 as you can. That '11 cure him. You'll see. 
 I don't suppose you expected to see me 
 here." 
 
 " I didn't expect it," he answered, " but I 
 know why you have come." 
 
 " Well," she said, " if he isn't cured, you'll 
 be hanging round him for ever." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I shall be hanging round 
 him for ever," he answered. 
 
 "And more than that, you'll be worrying 
 yourself to death over it. I can't bear you to 
 worry, Toto," she said. She paused for a 
 long minute and then she scrutinized him 
 
 closely. 
 
 289 19 
 
290 A CALL 
 
 "So it was you who rang him up on the 
 telephone ?" she said. " I thought it was, from 
 the beginning." 
 
 " Oh, don't let's talk about that any more,' 
 Grimshaw said ; " I'm very tired ; I'm very 
 lonely. I've discovered that there are things 
 one can't do — that I'm not the man I thought 
 I was. It's you who are strong and get what 
 you want, and I'm only a meddler who muddles 
 and spoils. That's the moral of the whole 
 thing. Take me on your own terms and make 
 what you can of me. I am too lonely to go 
 on alone any more. I've come to give myself 
 up. I went down to Brighton to give myself 
 up to you on condition that you cured Dudley 
 Leicester. Now I just do it without any con- 
 ditions whatever." 
 
 She looked at him a little ironically, a little 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Oh, well, my dear," she said, " we'll talk 
 about that when he's cured. Now come." 
 
 She made him stand just before Leicester's 
 sprawled-out feet, and going round behind 
 the chair, resting her hands already on 
 Leicester's hair in preparation for bending 
 
A CALL 291 
 
 down to make, near his ear, the suggestion 
 that he should put his question, she looked up 
 at Robert Grimshaw. 
 
 " You consent," she said, with hardly a touch 
 of triumph in her voice, " that I should live 
 with you as my mother lived with my father ?" 
 And at Robert Grimshaw's minute gesture of 
 assent : " Oh, well, my dear," she continued 
 quite gently, " it's obvious to me that you're 
 more than touched by this little Pauline 
 of ours. I don't say that I resent it. I don't 
 suggest that it makes you care for me any 
 less than you should or did, but I'm sure, 
 perfectly sure, of the fact such as it is, and 
 I'm sure, still more sure, that she cares 
 extremely for you. So that ..." She had 
 been looking down at Dudley Leicester's 
 forehead, but she looked up again into 
 Robert Grimshaw's eyes. " 1 think, my dear," 
 she said slowly, " as a precaution, I think you 
 cannot have me on those terms ; I think you 
 had better" — she paused for the fraction of 
 a minute — " marry me," and her fingers began 
 to work slowly upon Dudley Leicester's brows. 
 There was the least flush upon her cheeks, 
 
 19—2 
 
292 A CALL 
 
 the least smile round the corners of her lips, 
 she heaved the ghost of a sigh. 
 
 " So that you get me both ways," Kobert 
 Grimshaw said ; and his hands fell desolately 
 open at his side. 
 
 *' Every way and altogether," she answered. 
 
EPISTOLARY EPILOGUE 
 
EPISTOLARY EPILOGUE 
 
 " It was a summer evening four years later 
 when, upon the sands of one of our most 
 fashionable watering-places, a happy family 
 group, consisting of a buxom mother and 
 several charming children, might have been 
 observed to disport itself. Who can this 
 charming matron be, and who these lovely 
 children, designated respectively Robert, 
 Dudley, Katya, and EUida ? 
 
 "And who is this tall and robust gentleman 
 who, wearing across the chest of his white 
 cricketing flannel the broad blue ribbon of His 
 Majesty's Minister for Foreign Affairs, bearing 
 in one hand negligently the Times of the day 
 before yesterday and in the other a pastoral 
 rake, approaches from the hay fields, and, with 
 an indulgent smile, surveys the happy group ? 
 Taking from his mouth his pipe — for in the 
 doke far niente of his summer vacation, when 
 
 %95 
 
296 A CALL 
 
 not called upon by his duties near the Sove- 
 reign at Windsor, he permits himself the 
 relaxation of the soothing weed — he remarks : 
 
 ** ' The Opposition fellows have lost the by- 
 election at Camber.' 
 
 " Oblivious of his pipe, the charming matron 
 casts herself upon his neck, whilst the children 
 dance round him with cries of congratulation, 
 and the trim nurses stand holding buckets and 
 spades with expressions of respectful happi- 
 ness upon their countenances. Who can this 
 be? 
 
 " And who, again, are these two approach- 
 ing along the sands with happy and contented 
 faces — the gentleman erect, olive -skinned, 
 and, since his wife has persuaded him to go 
 clean-shaven, appearing ten years younger 
 than when we last saw him ; the lady dark and 
 tall, with the first signs of matronly plumpness 
 just appearing upon her svelte form ? They 
 approach and hold out their hands to the 
 happy Cabinet Minister with attitudes respec- 
 tively of manly and ladylike congratulation, 
 whilst little Robert and little Katya, uttering 
 joyful cries of * Godmama ' and ' Godpapa !' 
 dive into their pockets for chocolates and the 
 
EPISTOLARY EPILOGUE 297 
 
 other presents that they are accustomed to 
 find there. 
 
 "Who can these be ? Our friend the reader 
 will have already guessed. And so, with a 
 moisture at the contemplation of so much 
 happiness bedewing our eyes, we lay down the 
 pen, pack up the marionettes into their box, 
 ring down the curtain, and return to our happy 
 homes, where the wives of our bosoms await 
 us. That we may meet again, dear reader, is 
 the humble and pious wish of your attached 
 friend, the writer of these pages." 
 
 Thus, my dear , you would have me 
 
 end this book, after I have taken an infinite 
 trouble to end it otherwise. No doubt, also, 
 you would have me record how Etta Hudson, 
 as would be inevitably the case with such a 
 character, eventually became converted to 
 Roman Catholicism, and ended her days under 
 the direction of a fanatical confessor in the 
 practice of acts of the most severe piety and 
 mortification. Jervis, the butler of Mr. Dudley 
 Leicester, you would like to be told, remained 
 a humble and attached dependent in the 
 service of his master ; whilst Saunders, Mr. 
 
xi" 
 
 298 A CALL 
 
 Grimshaw's man, thinking himself unable to 
 cope with the duties of the large establishment 
 in Berkeley Square which INIr. Grimshaw and 
 Katya set up upon their marriage, now keeps 
 a rose-clad hostelry on the road to Brighton. 
 But we have forgotten JVIr. Held ! Under 
 the gentle teaching of Pauline Leicester he 
 became an aspirant for Orders in the Church 
 of England, and is now, owing to the powerful 
 influence of Mr. Dudley Leicester, chaplain 
 to the British Embassy at St. Petersburg. 
 
 But since, my dear , all these things 
 
 appear to me to be sufficiently indicated in the 
 book as I have written it, I must confess that 
 these additions, inspired as they are by you — 
 but how much better they would have been 
 had you actually written them ! these addi- 
 tions appear to me to be ugly, superfluous, and 
 disagreeable. 
 
 The foxes have holes, the birds of the air 
 have nests, and you, together with the great 
 majority of British readers, insist upon having 
 a happy ending, or, if not a happy ending, at 
 least some sort of an ending. This is a desire, 
 like the desire for gin-and-water or any other 
 comforting stimulant, against which I have 
 
EPISTOLARY EPILOGUE 299 
 
 nothing to say. You go to books to be taken 
 out of yourself, I to be shown where I stand. 
 For me, as for you, a book must have a begin- 
 ning and an end. But whereas for you the 
 end is something arbitrarily final, such as the 
 ring of wedding-bells, a funeral service, or the 
 taking of a public-house, for me — since to me 
 a novel is the history of an " affair " — finality 
 is only found at what seems to me to be the 
 end of that " affair." There is in life nothing 
 final. So that even " affairs " never really 
 have an end as far as the lives of the actors 
 are concerned. Thus, although Dudley Lei- 
 cester was, as I have tried to indicate, cured 
 almost immediately by the methods of Katya 
 Lascarides, it would be absurd to imagine that 
 the effects of his short breakdown would not 
 influence the whole of his after-life. These 
 effects may have been to make him more 
 conscientious, more tender, more dogged, less 
 self-centred ; may have been to accentuate 
 him in a great number of directions. For 
 no force is ever lost, and the ripple raised 
 by a stone, striking upon the bank of a 
 pool, goes on communicating its force for ever 
 and ever throughout space and throughout 
 
300 A CALL 
 
 eternity. But for our vision its particular 
 " affair " ends when, striking the bank, it dis- 
 appears. So for me the "affair" of Dudley 
 Leicester's madness ended at the moment 
 when Katya Lascarides laid her hands upon 
 his temple. In the next moment he would be 
 sane, the ripple of madness would have dis- 
 appeared from the pond of his life. To have 
 gone on farther would have been, not to have 
 ended this book, but to have begun another, 
 which — the fates being good — I hope to write. 
 I shall profit, without doubt, by your com- 
 panionship, instruction, and great experience. 
 You have called me again and again an Impres- 
 sionist, and this I have been called so often 
 that I suppose it must be the fact. Not that 
 I know what an Impressionist is. Personally, 
 I use as few words as I may to get any given 
 effect, to render any given conversation. You, 
 I presume, do the same. You don't, I mean, 
 purposely put in more words than you need — 
 more words, that is to say, than seem to you 
 to satisfy your desire for expression. You 
 would probably render a conversation thus : 
 
 " Extending her hand, which was enveloped 
 in creamy tulle, Mrs. Sincue exclaimed, ' Have 
 
EPISTOLARY EPILOGUE 301 
 
 another cup of tea, dear V ' Thanks — two 
 lumps,' her visitor rejoined. * So I hear 
 Colonel Hapgood has eloped with his wife's 
 French maid !' " 
 
 I should probably set it down : 
 
 " After a little desultory conversation, Mrs. 
 Sincue's visitor, dropping his dark eyes to the 
 ground, uttered in a voice that betrayed neither 
 exultation nor grief, * Poor old Hapgood's cut 
 it with Nanette. Don't you remember Nanette, 
 who wore an apron with lace all round it and 
 those pocket things, and curled hair ?' " 
 
 This latter rendering, I suppose, is more 
 vague in places, and in other places more 
 accentuated, but I don't see how it is more 
 impressionist. It is perfectly true you com- 
 plain of me that I have not made it plain 
 with whom Mr. Robert Grimshaw was really 
 in love, or that when he resigned himself to 
 the clutches of Katya Lascarides, whom 
 personally I extremely dislike, an amiable but 
 meddlesome and inwardly conceited fool was, 
 pathetically or even tragically, reaping the 
 harvest of his folly. I omitted to add these 
 comments, because I think that for a writer to 
 intrude himself between his characters and his 
 
302 A CALL 
 
 reader is to destroy to that extent all the 
 illusion of his work. But when I found that 
 yourself and all the moderately quick-minded, 
 moderately sane persons who had read the 
 book in its original form failed entirely to 
 appreciate what to me has appeared as plain 
 as a pikestaff— namely, that Mr. Grimshaw 
 was extremely in love with Pauline Leicester, 
 and that, in the first place, by marrying her to 
 Dudley Leicester, and, in the second place, by 
 succumbing to a disagreeable personality, he 
 was committing the final folly of this particular 
 affair — when I realized that these things were 
 not plain, I hastened to add those passages of 
 explicit conversation, those droppings of the 
 eyehds and tragic motions of the hands, that 
 you have since been good enough to say have 
 made the book. 
 
 Heaven knows, one tries enormously hard 
 to be simple, to be even transparently simple, 
 but one falls so lamentably between two stools. 
 Thus, another reader, whom I had believed to 
 be a person of some intellect, has insisted to 
 me that in caUing this story " A Call '' I must 
 have had in my mind something mysterious, 
 somethmg mystical; but what 1 meant was 
 
EPISTOLARY EPILOGUE 303 
 
 that Mr. Robert Grimshaw, putting the ear- 
 piece to his ear and the mouthpiece to his 
 mouth, exclaimed, after the decent interval that 
 so late at night the gentleman in charge of the 
 exchange needs for awaking from slumber and 
 grunting something intelligible — Mr. Grim- 
 shaw exclaimed, " Give me 4259 Mayfair." 
 This might mean that Lady Hudson was a 
 subscriber to the Post Office telephone system, 
 but it does not mean in the least that Mr. 
 Grimshaw felt religious stirrings within him or 
 " A Call " to do something heroic and chival- 
 rous, such as aiding women to obtain the vote. 
 So that between those two classes of readers 
 — the one who insist upon reading into two 
 words the whole psychology of moral revival- 
 ism, and the others who, without gaining even 
 a glimpse of meaning, will read or *ikip through 
 fifty or sixty thousand words, each one of 
 which is carefully selected to help on a 
 singularly plain tale — between these two classes 
 of readers your poor Impressionist falls lament- 
 ably enough to the ground. He sought to 
 point no moral. His soul would have recoiled 
 within him at the thought of adorning by one 
 single superfluous word his plain tale. His 
 
304 A CALL 
 
 sole ambition was to render a little episode — a 
 small " affair " affecting a little circle of 
 people — exactly as it would have happened. 
 He desired neither to comment nor to explain. 
 Yet here, commenting and explaining, he 
 takes his humble leave, having packed the 
 marionettes into the case, having pulled the 
 curtain down, and wiping from his troubled 
 eyes the sensitive drops of emotion. This 
 may appear to be an end, but it isn't. He is, 
 still, your Impressionist, thinking what the 
 devil — what the very devil — he shall do to make 
 his next story plain to the most mediocre 
 intelligence ! 
 
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