THE 
 
 5ECOND 
 FIDDLE 
 
 PHYLLIS 
 BOTTOME
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 MRS. VIRGINIA B. SPORER

 
 
 "This." Stella thought to herself, "is like a battle"
 
 THE 
 SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 BY 
 
 PHYLLIS BOTTOME 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 THE DARK TOWER, ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 NORMAN PRICE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHE RS
 
 Copyright, 1917, by 
 THE CENTURY Co. 
 
 Published, October, 1917 
 
 Made in U. S. A.
 
 TO 
 MARGUERITE AND LILIAN 
 
 TWO SISTERS WHO, ALIKE IN JOY 
 
 AND SORROW, ARE A LIGHT 
 
 TO THEIR FRIENDS 
 
 2040715
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ON the whole, Stella preferred the Cot- 
 tage Dairy Company to the People's 
 Restaurant. It was a shade more expensive, 
 but if you ate less and liked it more, that was 
 your own affair. You were waited on with 
 more arrogance and less speed, but you made 
 up for that artistically by an evasion of visible 
 grossness. 
 
 Stella had never gone very much further 
 than a ham sandwich in either place. You 
 knew where you were with a ham sandwich, 
 and you could disguise it with mustard. 
 
 On this occasion she took a cup of tea and 
 made her meal an amalgamation. She hoped 
 to leave work early, and she would have no 
 time for tea. She was going to hear Chalia- 
 pine. 
 
 All London all the London, that is, which
 
 4 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 thinks of itself as London was raving about 
 Chaliapine ; but Stella in general neither knew 
 nor cared for the ravings of London. They 
 reached her as vaguely as the sound of break- 
 ing surf reaches the denizens of the deeper 
 seas. 
 
 It was her sister Eurydice who had brought 
 Chaliapine home to her. She had said quite 
 plainly, with that intensity which distinguished 
 both her utterances and her actions, that if 
 she did n't hear Chaliapine she would die. He 
 was like an ache in her bones. 
 
 Eurydice had never discovered that you can- 
 not always do what you want or have what 
 you very ardently wish to have. She believed 
 that disappointment was a coincidence or a 
 lack of fervency, and she set herself before 
 each obstacle to her will like the prophets of 
 Baal before their deaf god. She cut herself 
 with knives till the blood ran. 
 
 Stella hovered anxiously by her side, stanch- 
 ing, whenever she was able, the flowing of 
 Eurydice's blood. On this occasion she had 
 only to provide seven shillings and to make, 
 what cost her considerably more, a request to 
 Mr. Leslie Travers to let her off at five.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 5 
 
 Mr. Leslie Travers had eyed her with the 
 surprise of a man who runs a perfect machine 
 and feels it pause beneath his fingers. He 
 could not remember that Stella Waring had 
 ever made such a request before. 
 
 Her hours were from nine to five daily, but- 
 automatically, with the pressure of her work 
 and the increase of her usefulness, they had 
 stretched to six or seven. 
 
 Mr. Leslie Travers had never intended to 
 have a woman secretary, but during the ill- 
 ness of a competent clerk he had been obliged 
 to take a stop-gap. Miss Waring had ap- 
 peared on a busy morning with excellent testi- 
 monials and a quiet manner. He told her a 
 little shortly that he did not want a woman 
 in his office. Her fine, humorous eyebrows 
 moved upward, and her speculative gray eyes 
 rested curiously upon his irritable brown ones. 
 
 "But I am a worker," she said gently. "If 
 I can do your work, it is my own business 
 whether I am a man or a woman. You shall 
 not notice it." 
 
 Mr. Travers felt confused for a moment and 
 as if he had been impertinent. In the course 
 of a strenuous and successful life he had never
 
 6 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 felt impertinent; he believed it to be a quality 
 found only in underlings. He stared, cleared 
 his throat, read her testimonials, and tempo- 
 rarily engaged her. That was two years ago. 
 
 Miss Waring had kept her promise ; she was 
 a worker and not a woman. She took pleas- 
 ure in keeping her wits about her, and Mr. 
 Travers used them as if they were his own. 
 Sometimes he thought they were. 
 
 She had many agreeable points besides her 
 wits, but they were the only point she gave 
 to Mr. Travers to notice. She deliberately 
 suppressed her charm. She reduced his work 
 by one half; he never had to say, "You ought 
 to have asked me this," or, "You need n't have 
 brought me that." Her initiative matched her 
 judgment. 
 
 It did not occur to Mr. Travers to praise her 
 for this most unusual quality, but he paid her 
 the finest tribute of an efficient worker: he 
 gave her more to do. He woke up to that 
 fact when she tentatively asked him if he could 
 make it convenient for her to leave at five. 
 
 "Five," he said, "is your hour for leaving 
 this office. Of course you may go then. You 
 ought always to do so."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 7 
 
 A vague smile hovered about Stella's lips; 
 she looked at him consideringly for a moment, 
 her eyes seemed to say, "It must be nice for 
 you, then, that I never do what I ought." 
 Then she drew her secretarial manner like a 
 veil over her face. 
 
 "You will find the drainage papers for Staf- 
 ford Street in the second pigeon-hole on your 
 desk," she said sedately, "with the inspector's 
 report. I have put the plumber's estimate 
 with it, and added a few marginal notes where 
 I think their charges might be cut down." 
 
 "You had better see them about it yourself," 
 said Mr. Travers; "then there won't be any 
 unpleasantness." 
 
 He did not mean to be polite to Stella; he 
 merely stated a convenient fact. When Stella 
 saw people on business there was no unpleas- 
 antness. 
 
 Stella bowed, and left him. 
 
 Mr. Travers looked up for a moment after 
 she had gone. "I am not sure," he said to 
 himself, "that there are not some things women 
 can do better than men when they do not know 
 that they are doing them better." He did not 
 like to think that women had any superior
 
 8 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 mental qualities to those of men, but he put 
 them down to mother wit, which does not sound 
 superior. 
 
 Stella went through the outer office on 
 wings. It was full of her friends; her exits 
 and her entrances were the events the lesser 
 clerks liked best during the day. 
 
 Her smile soothed their feelings, and in her 
 eyes reigned always that other Stella who lived 
 behind her wits, a gay, serene, and friendly 
 Stella, who did not know that she was a lady 
 and never forgot that she was a human being. 
 
 Theoretically there is nothing but business in 
 a business office, but practically in every small- 
 est detail there is the pressure of personal in- 
 fluence. What gets done or, even more notice- 
 ably, what is left undone, is poised upon an in- 
 admissible principle, the desire to please. 
 
 The office watched Stella, tested her, judged 
 her, and once and for all made up its mind to 
 please her. 
 
 Stella knew nothing at all about this pro- 
 bation. She only knew all about the office 
 boy's mother, and where the girl typists spent 
 their holidays, and when, if all went well, Mr. 
 Belk would be able to marry his young lady.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 9 
 
 Mistakes and panic, telegrams and telephones, 
 slipped into her hands, and were unraveled 
 with the rapidity with which silk yields to ex- 
 pert fingers. She always made the stupidest 
 clerk feel that mistakes, like the bites of a mos- 
 quito, might happen to any one even while 
 she was making him see how to avoid them in 
 future. She had the touch which takes the 
 sting from small personal defeats. She al- 
 ways saw the person first and the defeat after- 
 ward. 
 
 Her day's work was a game of patience and 
 skill, and she played it as she used to play 
 chess with her father. It was a long game and 
 sometimes it was a tiring one, but hardly a 
 moment of it was not sheer drama; and the 
 moment the town hall door swung behind her 
 she forgot her municipal juggling and started 
 the drama of play. 
 
 On Thursday afternoon she stood for a mo- 
 ment considering her course. There was the 
 Underground, which was always quickest, or 
 there was the drive above the golden summer 
 dust on the swinging height of a motor-bus. 
 She decided upon the second alternative, and 
 slipped into infinity. She was cut off from
 
 10 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 duty, surrounded by strangers, unmoored 
 from her niche in the world. 
 
 This was the moment of her day which Stella 
 liked best ; in it she could lose her own identity. 
 She let her hands rest on her lap and her eyes 
 on the soft green of the new-born leaves. She 
 hung balanced on her wooden seat between 
 earth and sky, on her way to Russian music. 
 
 The brief and tragic youth of London trees 
 was at its loveliest. Kensington Gardens 
 poured past her like a golden flame. The 
 grass was as fresh as the grass of summer 
 fields, swallows flitted over it, and the broad- 
 shouldered elms were wrapped delicately in a 
 mist of green. 
 
 Hyde Park Corner floated beneath her ; the 
 bronze horses of victory, compact and sturdy, 
 trundled out of a cloudless sky. St George's 
 Hospital, sun-baked and brown, glowed like 
 an ancient palace of the Renaissance. The 
 traffic surged down Hamilton Place and along 
 Piccadilly as close packed as migratory birds. 
 The tower of Westminster Cathedral dropped 
 its alien height into an Italian blue sky ; across 
 the vista of the green park and all down Picca- 
 dilly the clubs flashed past her, vast, silver
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 11 
 
 spaces of comfort reserved for men, full of 
 men. Stella did not know very much about 
 men who lived in clubs. Cicely said they were 
 very wicked and danced the tango and did n't 
 want women to have votes ; but Stella thought 
 they looked as if they had attractions which 
 rivaled these disabilities. 
 
 Probably she would see some of them less 
 kaleidoscopically at the opera later. 
 
 Even men who danced the tango went to 
 hear Chaliapine. It was n't only his voice ; he 
 was a rage, a prairie fire. All other conversa- 
 tion became burned stubble at his name. 
 
 Piccadilly Circus shot past her like a bed of 
 flowers. 
 
 The City was very hot, and all the world was 
 in the streets, expansive and genial. It was 
 the hour when work draws to an end and night 
 is still far off. Pleasure had stretched down 
 the scale and included workers. People who 
 did n't dance the tango bought strawberries 
 and flowers off barrows for wonderful prices 
 to take home to their children. 
 
 In the queue extending half-way down 
 Drury Lane, Eurydice, passionate and heavy- 
 eyed, was waiting for Stella.
 
 12 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "If you had n't come soon," she said, draw- 
 ing Stella's arm through her own, "something 
 awful would have happened to me. I got a 
 messenger-boy to stand here for an hour to 
 keep your place. The suspense has been 
 agony, like waiting for the guillotine." 
 
 "But, O Eurydice dear, I do hope you will 
 enjoy it!" Stella pleaded. 
 
 "I shall enjoy it, yes," said Eurydice, gloom- 
 ily, "if I can bear it. I don't suppose you un- 
 derstand, but when you feel things as poign- 
 antly as I do, almost anything is like the 
 guillotine. It is the death of something, even 
 if it 's only suspense. Besides, he may not be 
 what I think him. I expect the opening of 
 heaven." 
 
 Eurydice usually expected heaven to open, 
 and this is sometimes rather hard upon the 
 openings of less grandiose places. 
 
 A stout woman in purple raised an efficient 
 elbow like an oar and dug it sharply into 
 Stella's side. 
 
 "Oh, Stella, would n't it be awful if I fainted 
 before the door opens!" whispered Eurydice. 
 
 "The doors are opening," said Stella. 
 "People have begun to plunge with umbrellas."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 13 
 
 The purple woman renewed her rowing mo- 
 tion; the patient queue expanded like a fan. 
 Stella moved forward in the throng. She was 
 pushed and elbowed, lifted and driven, but she 
 never stopped being aware of delight. She 
 watched the faces sweeping past her like petals 
 on a stream; she flung down her half-crowns 
 and seized her metal disks, dashing on and up 
 the narrow stairs, with Eurydice fiercely strug- 
 gling behind her like a creature in danger of 
 drowning. 
 
 They sprang up and over the back ledges 
 of the gallery on into the first row, breathless, 
 gasping, and victorious. 
 
 "How horrible people are!" gasped Eury- 
 dice. "Dozens of brutal men have stepped on 
 my toe. Your hat 's crooked. Is anything 
 worth this dreadful mingling with a mob?" 
 
 "Does one mingle really?" asked Stella, tak- 
 ing off her hat. "Only one's shoulders. Be- 
 sides, I think I rather like mobs if they are n't 
 purple and don't dig. I Ve just been thinking 
 how dull it must be to walk into a box having 
 done nothing but pay for it, and knowing, too, 
 you are going to get it! The lady beside me 
 has been to every opera this season. She sits
 
 14 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 on a camp-stool from two o'clock till eight 
 with milk chocolate, and knows every one's 
 name and all the motives and most of the 
 scores. She 's going to lend me this one. She 
 says the excitement of not knowing whether 
 she is going to get a front seat or not has never 
 palled." 
 
 The great opera house filled slowly. There 
 was splendor in it the splendor put on for 
 the occasion in the cheaper seats, and every-day 
 splendor taking its place later and more expen- 
 sively because it did not know how to be any- 
 thing else but splendid. 
 
 Women's dresses that summer were made 
 as much as possible to resemble underclothes. 
 From the waist upwards filmy specimens of 
 petticoat bodices appeared ; there were wonder- 
 ful jewels to be seen above them: immemorial 
 family jewels, collars of rubies and pearls. 
 The older the woman, the finer the jewels, and 
 the more they looked like ancient mosaics glim- 
 mering archaically in early Roman churches. 
 
 The safety curtain was lowered reassuringly 
 before a bored audience that was not afraid of 
 danger. 
 
 Some one on the left of Stella remarked that
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 15 
 
 there was a rumor that the Crown Prince and 
 Princess of Austria had been assassinated in 
 Serbia. It did not sound very likely. The 
 Russian music began fiery melancholy music, 
 drunk with sorrow. Then the real curtain 
 rose. 
 
 Eurydice flung herself forward; she hung 
 over the ledge, poised like an exultant Fury. 
 She dared life to disappoint her. 
 
 Stella leaned back in her seat with a little 
 thrill of excitement. Everything felt so safe, 
 and sorrow sounded beautiful, and far away.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE curtain lifted, and civilization swung 
 back. They were in Russia in the 
 twelfth century or any other time. It 
 hardly mattered when; the music was the per- 
 petual music of the Slav, tragic and insecure. 
 The people were a restless barbaric crowd, be- 
 yond or beneath morality; religious, incalcu- 
 lably led by sensation. They could be unim- 
 aginably cruel or sweep magnificently up the 
 paths of holiness. The steep ascent to heaven 
 was in their eyes, and they got drunk to attain 
 it. 
 
 The English audience watched them as if 
 they were looking at a fairy-tale. They were 
 a well-fed, complacent audience. If they got 
 drunk, it was an accident, and none of them 
 had ever been holy. They had never been un- 
 der the heels of tyranny or long without a meal. 
 They took for granted food, water, light, and 
 fuel. They began to live where the Russian 
 
 16
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 17 
 
 peasant planted his dreams of heaven. Death 
 was their only uncertainty, and it was hidden 
 behind the baffling insincerities of doctors and 
 nurses. It did not take them on the raw. 
 
 The crowd upon the stage became suddenly 
 shaken into movement. Fires were lighted, 
 bells rang, food was carried about in proces- 
 sions. Cossacks with long knouts struck back 
 the dazzled, scattering people. A proclama- 
 tion was read by a great person from a bediz- 
 ened balcony. 
 
 Stella knew no Russian ; she had no idea that 
 anything worse could happen to this se- 
 riously broken people ruled by knouts. But 
 there was still something that could happen: 
 this proclamation touched their religion. 
 
 It seemed that they actually had a posses- 
 sion that they were n't prepared to let go. 
 They could let their daughters and sons go, 
 their houses and their lives ; but there was some- 
 thing they held on to and refused to renounce. 
 
 This was enough to irritate any tyrant. 
 The bare existence of anything that is uncon- 
 trollable always annoys a tyrant. There was 
 a power in these people still unsubdued, so the 
 proclamation said that unless they gave up
 
 18 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 their religion and became orthodox they would 
 be killed. Then Chaliapine entered. 
 
 Eurydice gave a long gasp of emotion, and 
 sank silently into her dream; no more could 
 be expected of her as a companion. Stella en- 
 deavored to be more critical. She felt at once 
 that Chaliapine's power was n't his voice. It 
 was a fine, controlled voice, it seemed more res- 
 onant and alive than any other in the company, 
 and vastly easier; but his genius was behind 
 his voice. It was not merely his acting, though 
 immediately every one else on the stage ap- 
 peared to be acting, and Chaliapine alone was 
 real. 
 
 It consisted in that very uncontrollable 
 something that tyrants cannot kill, that cir- 
 cumstances do not touch, that surmounts 
 every stroke of fate, and is the residuum which 
 faces death. There was a little more of it in 
 Chaliapine than there is in most people. 
 
 She tried to follow the score of "Boris 
 Goudonoff"; it was not easy music, and the 
 story hardly seemed to matter. 
 
 Chaliapine was the leader of the religious 
 sect that the Czar was going to stamp out. 
 Everything was against him ; was he going to
 
 A proclamation was read by a great person from a bedizened balcony
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 21 
 
 conquer ? The English audience expected him 
 to conquer. It understood conquests. First, 
 you started all wrong, because you had n't 
 taken the trouble not to, because you had n't 
 measured your antagonist, and because you did 
 not think that preparation was necessary. 
 
 The audience allowed for things going 
 wrong to begin with, and sat cheerfully expect- 
 ing the miracle. 
 
 The opera went on, and it became apparent 
 to Stella that Chaliapine was not going to get 
 his people out of their difficulties. 
 
 They sank deeper and deeper into them. 
 Tyranny was behind and in front of them; 
 they were being steadily hemmed in and beaten 
 down. What they held on to did them no ap- 
 parent good ; it did n't comfort them or relieve 
 their necessities or hold out a helping hand to 
 them. It did nothing against their enemies. 
 It simply burned in them like a flame. It 
 did n't even consume them ; it left them to be 
 consumed by the Czar. 
 
 The English audience listened breathlessly 
 and a little surprised, but not troubled, because 
 they felt quite sure that everything would come 
 out all right in the last act.
 
 22 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Religion would triumph, it always did, even 
 when you took no notice of it. 
 
 You did n't, as a rule, notice the police 
 either, and yet when burglars broke in to steal 
 your plate, they were caught climbing over the 
 back fence by a policeman. Religion was 
 there, like the police, to catch your troubles and 
 restore your spiritual silver plate. 
 
 The melancholy minor Russian music 
 could n't mean that you were n't going to get 
 anything out of it. It would wake up soon 
 and be triumphant. 
 
 In the pauses between the acts Eurydice sat 
 in a trance. Stella amused herself with pick- 
 ing out the kind of people she would have liked 
 to know. One in particular in a box to the 
 right of them, she found herself liking. His 
 frosty-blue eyes had the consciousness of 
 strength in them; the line of his jaw and the 
 ironic, well-chiseled mouth spoke of a will that 
 had felt and surmounted shocks. He was still 
 a young man in the early thirties, but he had 
 made his place in the world. He looked as 
 secure as royalty. With a strange little thrill 
 that was almost resentment Stella realized that 
 she knew the woman beside him. Marian sat
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 23 
 
 there very straight and slim in the guarded 
 radiance of her youth, as intact as some pre- 
 cious ivory in a museum. She was Stella's 
 greatest friend; that is to say, she gave to her 
 the greatest amount of pleasure procurable in 
 her life. 
 
 Stella couldn't have told why her heart 
 sprang to meet Marian Young's. She had 
 nothing in common with her. They had met 
 at a course of lectures on the Renaissance, and 
 out of a casual meeting had grown a singular, 
 unequal, relationship. 
 
 Marian saw Stella very rarely, but she told 
 her everything. She had n't, however, told her 
 of this new man. His strong, clever face had 
 in it something different, something unneces- 
 sarily different, from Marian's other young 
 men. 
 
 He lifted his head, and looked up toward the 
 balconies above him. His eyes did not meet 
 Stella's, but she took from them the strangest 
 sensation of her life. A pang of sheer pity 
 shot through her. There was no reason for 
 pity; he looked aggressively strong and per- 
 fectly sure of himself. He even looked sure 
 of Marian, and not without reason. He was
 
 24 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 all the things Marian liked best in a man, 
 courageous, successful, handsome. Provi- 
 dence had thrown in his brains. That was the 
 unnecessary quality. 
 
 Stella wondered a little wistfully what it 
 must be like to talk to a really clever man. 
 Her father was very clever, but he was not 
 socially pliable, and he did n't exactly talk to 
 Stella; he merely expressed in her presence 
 conclusions at which he had arrived. It clari- 
 fied his ideas, but it didn't do anything par- 
 ticular to Stella's. 
 
 Sir Richard Verny was taking trouble to 
 talk to Marian; he bent his powerful head to- 
 ward the girl and told her about Siberia. He 
 knew Siberia well; he had often started from 
 there upon important Arctic explorations. 
 Marian wondered when he was going to pro- 
 pose. Siberia did as well as anything else till 
 then. She knew he was going to propose ; she 
 didn't know anything at all about Siberia. 
 She did not see Stella; it had not occurred 
 to her that any one she knew could be sitting 
 in the gallery. 
 
 The curtain rose again, and the last act be- 
 gan.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 25 
 
 Chaliapine did not turn defeat into victory; 
 no rabbit rose triumphantly, to satisfy the 
 British public, out of a top-hat. Chaliapine 
 led his people into a fire, and they were burned 
 to death. 
 
 Some of them were frightened, and he had 
 to comfort them, to hold them, and sustain 
 them till the end. He had nothing at all to 
 do it with, but he did sustain them. They all 
 went into the flames, singing their dishearten- 
 ing music till the smoke covered them. Chal- 
 iapine sang longest, but there was nothing vic- 
 torious in his last notes. They were very 
 beautiful and final; then they weakened and 
 were still. 
 
 The stillness went on for some time after- 
 ward. Everybody had been killed, and life 
 had been so unendurable that they had faced 
 death without much effort to avoid it. They 
 could have avoided it if they had given up their 
 faith. Their faith had vanished off the face 
 of the earth, but they had n't given it up. 
 
 Stella gave a long sigh of relief; she felt 
 as if she had been saved from something abom- 
 inable that might have happened. 
 
 Applause broke out all round them, a little
 
 26 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 uncertainly at first, because it was difficult for 
 the audience to realize that the heavens were n't 
 going to shoot open and do something defi- 
 nitely successful about it ; but finally sustained 
 and prolonged applause. Chaliapine had 
 taken them all by storm. It was not the kind 
 of storm that they were used to, but it was a 
 storm. 
 
 "I love Russians," a lady exclaimed to 
 Stella. "Such delightful people, don't you 
 think, so full of color and what d' you call it?" 
 
 Eurydice shook herself impatiently like a 
 dog after a plunge through water. 
 
 "Hurry! Let's get out of this," she said 
 to Stella, "or I shall be rude to somebody. 
 Idiots! Idiots! Don't they see that we've 
 been listening to the defeat of the soul?" 
 
 "No, no," whispered Stella half to herself; 
 "we've been listening to how it can't be de- 
 feated, how nothing touches it, not even death, 
 not even despair, not even flames. The end 
 of something that has never given in is vic- 
 tory." 
 
 They passed behind Marian outside the 
 opera house, but Stella did not speak to her. 
 She heard Sir Julian saying in a determined,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 27 
 
 resonant voice: "Well, of course I'm glad 
 you liked it. Chaliapine is a good workman, 
 but personally I don't think much of Russian 
 music. It has a whine in it like a beggar's, 
 sounds too much as if it had knocked under. 
 My idea, you know, is not to knock under." 
 
 And Stella, slipping into the crowd, was 
 aware again of a sharp pang of pity for him, 
 as if she knew that, after all, his strength would 
 meet and be consumed by fire.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 NOTHING in No. 9 Redcliff Square ever 
 got done; it happened, as leaves drop in 
 autumn, or as dust accumulates, percolating 
 softly and persistently through doors and win- 
 dows. 
 
 The Warings had reached Redcliff Square 
 as accidentally as a tramp takes shelter under 
 a hedge. Professor Waring, whose instinct 
 was to burrow like a mole, blind and silent, 
 into his researches, failed too completely to 
 teach what he had discovered; and as he had 
 never made the discovery that teaching was 
 what he was paid for, his payments gradually 
 ceased. When he found himself faced with 
 an increasing family and a decreasing income, 
 he thought of the South Kensington Museum. 
 He thought of it as an habitual drunkard 
 evicted for not paying his rent, thinks of the 
 public house. 
 
 He brought his family as near to it as he
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 29 
 
 could, dumped them down in a silent and slat- 
 ternly street, and disappeared into the museum 
 regularly every morning at nine. When he 
 came out he wanted only cocoa, a back room, 
 and the postage necessary for his researches. 
 A Peruvian mummy went to his head like 
 gin. 
 
 Mrs. Waring had been a gentle, dreamy 
 girl with a strong religious tendency. She 
 had married Professor Waring because he had 
 wide blue eyes and a stoop and did not look at 
 all coarse. 
 
 Professor Waring had married her because 
 he wanted to get married a little and had 
 noticed her at that time. He was under the 
 impression that women managed households, 
 meals, and children without bothering their 
 husbands. Mrs. Waring tried not to bother 
 her husband. She lost her religion because the 
 professor hadn't any, and she thought at 
 first he was sure to be right. When she ceased 
 to have this magic certainty, she sought out 
 fresh religions that told you you had every- 
 thing you wanted when you knew you had n't. 
 
 She got through maternity in a desultory 
 way, with a great deal of ill health and enor-
 
 30 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 mous household bills. She did not manage 
 anything, and when she was very unhappy she 
 said that she was in tune with the infinite. 
 
 From their earliest years her children fended 
 for themselves, Eurydice with storms of an- 
 guish and through a drastic series of childish 
 epidemics ; Cicely with a stolid, cold efficiency ; 
 and Stella with an intuitive gentleness so great 
 as to hide a certain inner force. 
 
 About two hundred pounds a year trickled 
 in on them from uncertain sources. Mrs. 
 Waring never knew quite when to expect it, 
 and when it came it soaked itself solemnly up 
 on non-essentials. The children never had 
 proper clothes or a suitable education. They 
 were Egyptologists before they could spell, 
 and the Koran was an open book to them when 
 they should have been reading "The Water 
 Babies." 
 
 The professor spent what he considered his 
 share of their income upon hieroglyphics, and 
 Mrs. Waring, never personally extravagant, 
 bought quantities of little books to teach peo- 
 ple how to live, how to develop the will, how to 
 create a memory, and power through repose. 
 They had one servant, who had to have wages
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 31 
 
 and insisted every now and then upon a joint 
 of meat. 
 
 There was no waste-paper basket in the 
 house, and a great deal of linoleum. When 
 Mrs. Waring made up her mind that she must 
 be more economical, she always went out and 
 bought linoleum. She had been told it was a 
 great saving. She never tidied anything up 
 or put anything away. What was lost was 
 never seen again, or seen only when you were 
 hunting for something else. It was like a 
 gambler's system at Monte Carlo : you looked 
 for a bootjack, and were rewarded by black 
 treacle; or you played, as it were, for black 
 treacle, and discovered the bootjack. 
 
 Mrs. Waring never finished anything; even 
 her conversations, which began at breakfast, 
 jogged on throughout the day, and were 
 picked up at much the same spot in the even- 
 ing. She had covered a quantity of ground, 
 but she had invariably escaped her destination. 
 Through long years of perpetual indecision she 
 had nearly succeeded in outwitting time and 
 space. 
 
 Nobody minded this attitude except Cicely. 
 She fought against chaos from her youth up.
 
 32 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 They all dreaded her tongue and clung per- 
 sistently to their habits. The professor fled 
 earlier to the museum, sometimes in carpet 
 slippers. Immediately after breakfast Mrs. 
 Waring retired with a little book to an un- 
 tidied bedroom. 
 
 Eurydice, dropping manuscripts, hair- 
 ribbons, and defiance, escaped to a locked 
 attic; and Stella remained as a gentle adjutant 
 to her severer sister. Cicely did get a few 
 things done. She saw that meals were cooked, 
 windows opened, beds made, and clocks 
 wound; but nothing continuous rewarded her 
 efforts. The power of the human will is a 
 small weapon against consolidated inertia. 
 
 For five years Cicely played upon No. 9 
 Redcliff Square like an intermittent search- 
 light; then she gave it up, and became a 
 student in a w r omen's hospital. The house- 
 hold breathed a sigh of intense relief at her de- 
 parture, and collapsed benevolently into chaos. 
 
 Nobody except Stella regretted it. The 
 professor was openly thankful. 
 
 "She may become a student," he observed 
 coldly when it was explained to him where 
 Cicely had gone, "but she will never become a
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 33 
 
 scholar. She has a superficial hunger for the 
 definite. 
 
 "I really do not think it will be necessary 
 for me to take my supper at a given hour. 
 Stella will know that, whenever I ring my bell, 
 I mean cocoa." 
 
 "Dear Cicely is a pioneer," murmured Mrs. 
 Waring, with a gentle sigh. "I can always 
 imagine her doing wonderful things in a desert 
 with a buffalo." 
 
 "Now I shall be able to have my friends at 
 the house without their being insulted," cried 
 Eurydice, triumphantly. "Last time when 
 Mr. Bolt was in the middle of reading his new 
 poem, 'The Whirl,' a most delicate and diffi- 
 cult poem set to a secret rhythm, Cicely burst 
 in and asked for the slop-pail. It looked so 
 lovely! I had covered it with autumn leaves 
 and placed it half-way up the chimney. It 
 might have been a Grecian urn, but of course 
 she dragged it out. She drags out every- 
 thing." 
 
 Eurydice had a profession, too. She was a 
 suppressed artist. She felt that she could 
 have painted like Van Gogh, only perfectly in- 
 dividually. She saw everything in terms of
 
 B4 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 color and in the shape of cubes. Railway lines 
 reminded her of a flight of asterisks. Flowers 
 subdivided themselves before her like a tartan 
 plaid. She saw human beings in tenuous and 
 disjointed outlines suggestive of a daddy-long- 
 legs. She could not afford paint and canvas, 
 so she had to leave people to think that the 
 world looked much as usual. 
 
 Eurydice had always felt that she could 
 write out her thoughts as soon as she and 
 Stella were alone and able to arrange her room 
 in black and scarlet. When Cicely left, Stella 
 bought black paper and pasted it over the 
 walls, and dyed a white-wool mat, which had 
 long lost its original purity, a sinister scarlet. 
 
 Eurydice did not want very much, either. 
 None of the Warings wanted very much. 
 What as a family they failed to understand 
 was, that not having the money to pay for what 
 they wanted, some more personal contribution 
 of time and effort was necessary in order to at- 
 tain it. 
 
 Stella grasped this fact when she was about 
 eighteen. She said afterward that she never 
 would have thought of it if it had not been 
 made plain to her by Cicely. Still, before
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 35 
 
 Cicely had gone to the hospital Stella was tak- 
 ing cheap lessons in the City in shorthand and 
 type-writing. None of the three girls had 
 what is called any "youth." They were as ig- 
 norant of young men as if they had been 
 brought up in a convent. Neither Professor 
 nor Mrs. Waring had ever supposed that par- 
 ents ought to provide occupations or social re- 
 sources for their children, and the children 
 themselves had been too busy contributing to 
 the family welfare to manage any other life. 
 Cicely had read statistics and mastered physio- 
 logical facts at fifteen. She was under the 
 impression that she knew everything and dis- 
 liked everything except work. Her feeling 
 for men was singularly like that of a medieval 
 and devout monk toward women. She had an 
 uncomfortable knowledge of them as a neces- 
 sary evil, to be evaded only by truculence or 
 flight. When her work forced her into deal- 
 ings with them, she was ferocious and unat- 
 tractive. She was a pretty girl, but nobody 
 had ever dared to mention it to her. 
 
 Even Stella, who in an unaggressive, flitting 
 way dared most questions, had avoided telling 
 Cicely that she herself liked men. Stella of tea
 
 36 THE SECOXD FIDDLE 
 
 felt that if she could meet a man who was ca- 
 pable of doing all kinds of dull things for you, 
 very charmingly, and had a pretty wit, it would 
 add quite enormously to the gaiety of life to 
 put yourself out a little in order to make him 
 laugh. 
 
 The men Stella worked with would n't have 
 done at all. They would n't have cared for 
 the kind of jokes Stella wanted to make, and 
 of course Stella had n't time to meet any other 
 men. Perhaps she wouldn't have believed 
 there were any if it hadn't been for Marian. 
 Marian knew them ; she knew them literally in 
 dozens, and they were generally in love with 
 her, and they always wanted to make her 
 laugh and to do dull things for her. Stella 
 used to be afraid sometimes that Marian, in an 
 embarrassment of riches, might overlook her 
 destiny. But Marian knew what she wanted 
 and was perfectly certain that she would sooner 
 or later get it. Stella had no such knowledge ; 
 she had long ago come to the conclusion that 
 the simplest way of dealing with her life was 
 to like what she had. 
 
 She took a scientific secretaryship at nine- 
 teen, and left it only at twenty-six, when her
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 37 
 
 scientist, who was very stout and nearly sixty, 
 died inconveniently from curried lobster. He 
 left Stella an interesting experience, of which 
 she could make no immediate use, and a testi- 
 monial which won her job at the town hall. 
 It was very short. "This young woman," the 
 learned scientist wrote, "is invaluable. She 
 thinks without knowing it. I have benefited 
 by this blessed process for seven years." 
 
 It did not seem to Stella that she was in- 
 valuable. She always saw herself in the light 
 of the family failure, overlooking the fact that 
 she was their main financial support. 
 
 Cicely was the practical and Eurydice the 
 intellectual genius ; but she was content if she 
 could be the padding on which these jewels oc- 
 casionally shone. 
 
 Sometimes she met Cicely in a tea-shop and 
 had a real talk, but Eurydice was her chief 
 companion. Eurydice shared with Stella 
 nearly every thought that she had. She 
 seized her on the stairs to retail her inspira- 
 tions as Stella went up to take her things off. 
 She sat on her bed late at night, and talked 
 with interminable bitterness about the sharp- 
 ness of life. Even while Stella buttoned up
 
 38 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 her boots and flung things at the last moment 
 into her despatch-case, Eurydice pelted her 
 with epigrams. She sometimes quoted Swin- 
 burne while Stella was jumping on the corner 
 bus, till the bus-conductor told her not to let 
 him catch her at it again. There was only one 
 subject they did not discuss: neither of them 
 voluntarily mentioned Mr. Bolt. Mr. Bolt 
 was the editor of a magazine called "Shocks," 
 to w T hich Eurydice with trembling delight con- 
 tributed weekly. Mr. Bolt had met her at a 
 meeting of protest against Reticence, and he 
 had taken to Eurydice at once; and almost at 
 once he told her that her charm was purely in- 
 tellectual. Emotionally he was appealed to 
 only by fair, calm women with ample figures. 
 Mr. Bolt knew plenty of fair, calm women 
 with ample figures. Eurydice only knew Mr. 
 Bolt. She made an idol of him, and he used 
 her like a door-mat. No early- Victorian 
 woman ever bore from a male tyrant what 
 poor, passionate twentieth-century Eurydice 
 bore from Mr. Bolt, and Stella could not help 
 her. Stella abhorred Mr. Bolt. She would 
 not listen to his Delphic oracle utterances upon 
 style and art and life. She was outraged at
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 39 
 
 his comments upon sex. She was desperately, 
 fiercely angry with a secret maternal anger 
 that Eurydice should have to listen to these ut- 
 terances. It carried her as far as an abortive 
 appeal to her mother. 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Waring, placidly, 
 "these things are outworn. They are stulti- 
 fied thought products; they do not really ex- 
 ist. Sex is like dust upon the house-tops; a 
 cleansing process will shortly remove it. Mr. 
 Bolt is a misconception, a floating microcosm. 
 I really should not bother about Mr. Bolt. He 
 is not nearly so tangible as the butcher, and I 
 have made up my mind never really again to 
 bother about the butcher. Perhaps you will 
 see him for me if he calls about his bill to- 
 morrow. 
 
 "It seems so strange to me that business men 
 should not understand that when there is no 
 money bills cannot be paid. Even the minor 
 regions of fact seem closed to them." 
 
 Stella agreed to dip into the minor regions 
 of fact with the butcher, but she went on 
 bothering about Mr. Bolt. It seemed to. 
 Stella that he was the only real bother that she 
 had.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Darling: 
 
 Do come Sunday to tea. Mama is out of town, and 
 I must have some support. Julian is going to bring 
 his mother to see me for the first time. I believe she' s 
 rather alarming awfully blue and booky; just your 
 sort. I have n't had time to tell you anything. It 's 
 so jolly being engaged; but it takes up all one's spare 
 moments. I didn't mean to marry Julian; he swept 
 me off my feet. I suppose I must be awfully in love 
 with him. You know what explorers are. They go 
 away for years and leave you to entertain alone, and 
 then people say you don't get on; and of course ex- 
 ploring never pays. He has a little place in the coun- 
 try and about 2000 a year. It 's awfully little, really, 
 but it 's wonderful what you can put up with when you 
 really care for a man; besides, he's sure to get on. 
 Don't fail me Sunday. I shall really be rather nerv- 
 ous. Old ladies never have been my forte. Julian is 
 such a dear ! You 're sure to like him. He wants to 
 meet you awfully, but he does n't think women ought to 
 work. He is full of chivalry, and has charming man- 
 ners. It does n't in the least matter what you wear. 
 Heaps of love. MARIAN. 
 
 40
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 41 
 
 It was this last reflection that gave Stella 
 courage to ring the bell. She had never been 
 in the Youngs' house before. She had 
 vaguely known that it was in a very quiet 
 square, with a garden in the middle, quite near 
 everything that mattered, and quite far away 
 from everything that didn't. It was the kind 
 of house that looks as if no one was in it unless 
 they were giving a party. The interior was 
 high, narrow, and box-like. A great deal of 
 money had been unpretentiously spent on it, 
 with a certain amount of good-humored, or- 
 dinary taste. 
 
 The drawing-room ran the whole length of 
 the house, and was pink and gray, because the 
 Youngs knew that pink and gray go well to- 
 gether, just as blue and gold do, only that blue 
 fades. 
 
 The chairs were very comfortable, the little 
 tables had the right kind of ornaments, the pic- 
 tures were a harmless, unenlightening addi- 
 tion to the gray-satin walls. 
 
 The books that lay about were novels. 
 They were often a little improper, but never 
 seriously so, and they always ended in people 
 getting what they wanted legally.
 
 42 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 It was a clean, comfortable, fresh room and 
 nothing was ever out of place in it. 
 
 Marian was sitting under a high vase of pink 
 canterbury-bells; by some happy chance her 
 dress was the same pale pink as the bells. She 
 looked, with her hands in her lap, her throat 
 lifted, and the sun on her hair, like a flower of 
 the same family. Her manner was a charm- 
 ing mixture of ease and diffidence. 
 
 Stella was late, and Lady Verny and Julian 
 had arrived before her. 
 
 Lady Verny was like her son. She was very 
 tall and graceful, and carried herself as if she 
 had never had to stoop. Her eyes had the 
 steady, frosty blueness of Julian's, with lightly 
 chiseled edges ; her lips were ironic, curved, and 
 a little thin. 
 
 She had piles of white hair drawn back over 
 her forehead. When Marian introduced her 
 to Stella, she rose and turned away from the 
 tea-table. 
 
 "I hope you will come and talk to me a lit- 
 tle," she said in a clear, musical voice. "We 
 can leave Julian and Marian to themselves." 
 
 Lady Verny leaned back in the chair she 
 had chosen for herself and regarded Stella
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 43 
 
 with steady, imperturbable eyes. It struck 
 Stella as a little alarming that they should all 
 know where they wanted to sit, and with whom 
 they wanted to talk, without any indecision. 
 She thought that chairs would walk across the 
 room to Lady Verny if she looked at them, and 
 kettles boil the moment Julian thought that it 
 was time for tea. But though she was even 
 more frightened at this calm, unconscious com- 
 petency than she had expected to be, she saw 
 it did n't matter about her clothes. She knew 
 they were all wrong, as cheap clothes always 
 are, particularly cheap clothes that you 've 
 been in a hurry over and not clever enough to 
 match. Her boots and her gloves weren't 
 good, and her hat was horrid and probably on 
 the back of her head. Her blue-serge coat 
 and skirt had indefinite edges. But Stella was 
 aware that Lady Verny, beautifully dressed as 
 she was, was taking no notice whatever of 
 Stella's clothes. They might make an extra 
 point against her if she did n't like her. Stella 
 could hear her saying, "Funny that Marian 
 should make friends with a sloppy little scare- 
 crow." But if she did like her, she would say 
 nothing about Stella's clothes. As far as the
 
 44 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Vernys were concerned, the appearances of 
 things were always subsidiary. 
 
 "Engagements are such interrupted times," 
 Lady Verny observed, with a charming smile. 
 "One likes to poke a little opportunity toward 
 the poor dears when one can." 
 
 "Yes," said Stella, eagerly, with her little, 
 rapid flight of words. "You 're always run- 
 ning away when you're engaged, and never 
 getting there, aren't you? And then, of 
 course, when you 're married, you 're there, and 
 can't run away. It 's such a pity they can't 
 be more mixed up." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Lady Verny, still smiling. 
 "But marriage is like a delicate clock; it has 
 to be wound up very carefully, and the less 
 you take its works to pieces afterward the bet- 
 ter. Have you known Marian a long time?" 
 
 "Three years," said Stella; "but when you 
 say 'know,' I am only an accident. I don't 
 in any real sense belong to Marian's life ; I be- 
 long only to Marian. You see, I work." She 
 thought she ought, in common fairness to Lady 
 Verny, not let her think that she was one of 
 Marian's real friends.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 45 
 
 Lady Verny overlooked this implication. 
 
 "And what is your work, may I ask?" she in- 
 quired, with her grave, solid politeness, which 
 reminded Stella of nothing so much as a pro- 
 cession in a cathedral. 
 
 "I was a secretary to Professor Paulson," 
 Stella explained, "the great naturalist. He 
 was a perfect dear, too, it was n't only beetles 
 and things, and when he died, I went into a 
 town hall, I Ve been there for two years, 
 and that 's more exciting than you can think. 
 It is n't theories and experiments, of course, 
 but it 's like being a part of the hub of the 
 universe. Rates and taxes, sanitary inspec- 
 tors, old-age pensions, and the health of babies 
 run through my hands like water through a 
 sieve. You would n't believe how entertaining 
 civic laws and customs are and such charming 
 people ! Of course I miss the other work, too, 
 it was like having one's ear against nature, 
 but this is more like having one's ear against 
 life." 
 
 "I think you must have very catholic tastes," 
 said Lady Verny, gently. "My son knew 
 Professor Paulson; it will interest him to know
 
 46 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 that you worked for him. And Marian did 
 she take any interest in your scientific experi- 
 ences ?" 
 
 Stella moved warily across this question; 
 she had never spoken to Marian about her work 
 at all. Marian, as she knew, thought it all very 
 tiresome. 
 
 "You see," she explained, "they were n't my 
 experiences; they were Professor Paulson's. 
 Marian could n't very well be thrilled at third 
 hand; the thrill only got as far as me. Be- 
 sides, half of what I do as a secretary is con- 
 fidential, and the other half sounds dull. Of 
 course it is n't really. I 've been so lucky in 
 that way. I Ve never had anything dull to 
 do." 
 
 "I can quite imagine that," said Lady 
 Verny, kindly. "Dullness is in the eye, not 
 in the object. Does Marian like life better 
 than intellect, too?" 
 
 "Ah, Marian's life," said Stella, a little 
 doubtfully, "is so different!" 
 
 They glanced across at the distant tea-table. 
 Julian was leaning toward Marian with eyes 
 that held her with the closeness of a frame to 
 a picture.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 47 
 
 He was laughing at her a little, with the in- 
 dulgent, delighted laughter of a man very 
 deeply in love. She was explaining something 
 to him, simply and gravely, without undue em- 
 phasis. Stella guessed that it was one of the 
 things Marian wanted, and she did not think 
 that Julian could get out of giving it to her by 
 laughter. 
 
 "Marian's life has n't got divisions in it like 
 mine," she explained. "She 's just a beautiful 
 human creature. She is equable and strong 
 and delightful and absolutely honest. She 's 
 as honest as crystal; but she hasn't had to 
 bother about choosing." 
 
 "Ah," said Lady Verny, "you think that, 
 do you? But, my dear Miss Waring, sooner 
 or later we all have to bother about choosing. 
 Beauty and strength don't save us. Absolute 
 honesty often lets us in, and sometimes, when 
 the scales weigh against us, we cease to be 
 equable." 
 
 "But they won't, you see," Stella said 
 eagerly. "They can't weigh against her now, 
 Lady Verny. Don't you see? There 's your 
 son it 's why one 's so delighted. An en- 
 gagement to him is like some thumping insur-
 
 48 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ance which somehow or other prevents one's 
 house being burned." 
 
 Lady Verny laughed. 
 
 "Let us hope your theory is a correct one," 
 she said, rising from her seat. "I am going 
 to talk to her now, and you can talk to the in- 
 surance company." 
 
 Stella gasped. She wanted to run away, to 
 catch Lady Verny's graceful scarf and tell 
 her she could n't really talk to anybody's son. 
 Agreeable, massive beings who explored con- 
 tinents and lived in clubs oughtn't to come 
 her way. But Julian crossed the room to her 
 side with the quickness of a military order. 
 His manners hid his reluctance. He was at 
 her service in a moment. His keen eyes, 
 harder than his mother's and more metallic, 
 met hers once and glanced easily away. They 
 said nothing to Stella except that he was a 
 watchful human being who could n't be taken 
 in, and was sometimes perhaps unduly aware 
 that he could n't be taken in. 
 
 "I 'm very glad indeed," he said cordially, 
 "to meet Marian's greatest friend. You 
 must tell me all about her. You see, I 'm a 
 new-comer; I 've known her only six weeks,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 49 
 
 and I Ve been so busy trying to impress her 
 with my point of view that I quite feel I may 
 have overlooked some of hers. Women al- 
 ways understand women, don't they?" 
 
 He was n't going to be difficult to talk to. 
 That unnecessary ingredient in his composi- 
 tion saved Stella. As long as she had a brain 
 to call to, and was n't only to be awed by 
 splendor of appearance and forms as difficult 
 for her to cross as five-barred gates, she 
 need n't be afraid of him. It never was peo- 
 ple that Stella was afraid of, but the things, 
 generally the silly things, that separated her 
 from them. 
 
 "We do and we don't understand each 
 other," she said swiftly. "I don't think 
 women can tell what another woman will do; 
 but granted she's done it, I dare say most 
 could say why." 
 
 Julian laughed. 
 
 "Then have the kindness to inform me," he 
 said, "why Marian has consented to marry 
 me. Incidentally, your reply will no doubt 
 throw a light for me upon her mental proc- 
 esses." 
 
 Stella saw he did not want any light thrown
 
 50 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 anywhere; he was simply giving his mother 
 time to get to know Marian. Then he was 
 going back to her; that was his light. 
 
 She gave a vague little smile at the sub- 
 limated concentration of lovers. She liked 
 to watch them ; she would never have to be one. 
 
 It was like seeing some beautiful wild crea- 
 ture of the woods. It would n't be like you at 
 all, and yet it would be exceedingly amusing 
 and touching to watch, and sometimes it would 
 make you think of what it would feel like to 
 be wild and in those woods. 
 
 She reminded herself sharply, as her eyes 
 turned back to Julian, that it would n't do to 
 let him think she thought him wild. He was 
 behaving very well, and the least she could do 
 was to let him think so. She gave herself 
 up to his question. 
 
 "You 're very strong," she said con- 
 sideringly. "Marian likes strength. She 's 
 strong herself, you know; probably that 's one 
 of her reasons." 
 
 "Good," he said cheerfully. "Physically 
 strong, d'you mean, or an iron will? Iron 
 wills are quite in my line, I assure you. Any 
 other reason?"
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 51 
 
 "Strong both ways," said Stella; "and 
 you 're secure. I mean, what you 've taken 
 you '11 keep. I think some women like a man 
 they can be sure of." 
 
 "Let us hope they all do," said Sir Julian, 
 laughing. "It would imply a very bad busi- 
 ness instinct if they didn't." 
 
 "I do not think I agree with you," said 
 Stella, firmly. "The best business is often an 
 adventure, a risk. Safe business does not go 
 far ; it goes only as far as safety." 
 
 "Well, I 'm not sure that I want women to 
 go particularly far," said Sir Julian. "I like 
 'em to be safe; let 'em leave the better busi- 
 ness with the risk in it to men. I shall be con- 
 tent if Marian does that." 
 
 "I think Marian will," said Stella. "But 
 there are other things, of course, besides you 
 and Marian : there 's life. You can only take 
 all the risk there is if you take all the life. I 
 see what you would like, Sir Julian : you want 
 a figurehead guaranteed against collisions. 
 Unfortunately there's no guarantee against 
 collisions even for a figure-head. Besides, as 
 I told you before, Marian 's strong. Iron 
 wills don't make good figureheads."
 
 52 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "Ah, you 're one of these new women," said 
 Sir Julian, indulgently. "I don't mind 'em a 
 bit, you know, myself all steel and ginger, 
 and quite on to their jobs. I admit all that. 
 But Marian ain't one of them. Her strength 
 is the other kind the kind you get by sitting 
 still, don't you know; and if I may say so in 
 passing, if I run a ship, I don't collide. But 
 let 's have your third reason. I see you 're 
 keeping something back. She 's going to 
 marry me because I 'm strong and because 
 I 'm sure; I approve of both of them, sound 
 business reasons. Now, Miss Waring, what 's 
 the third?" 
 
 "Ah, the third isn't a reason at all," said 
 Stella ; "but it 's the only one that I thoroughly 
 agree with as a motive : she likes you for your- 
 self." 
 
 Sir Julian's eyes suddenly softened; they 
 softened so much that they looked quite differ- 
 ent eyes, almost as if they belonged to a very 
 pleased little boy. 
 
 "Oh," he said, looking back at Marian. "I 
 should n't in the least mind being guaranteed 
 that, j^ou know." 
 
 Lady Verny rose and walked toward them.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 53 
 
 "I have some other calls to make," she said 
 to her son. "You '11 stay, of course." 
 
 Stella joined her as soon as she had given 
 the happiest of her smiles into Marian's ex- 
 pectant eyes. Lady Verny's face, as they 
 stood together outside the door, was perfectly 
 expressionless. 
 
 Without a word she descended the stairs 
 side by side with Stella. When she reached 
 the front door she held out her hand to Stella 
 and smiled. 
 
 "I hope I shall meet you again some day," 
 she said, with gracious sincerity. "I enjoyed 
 our little talk together very much." 
 
 She said nothing whatever about Marian.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IT was a very hot morning in July, a morn- 
 ing when work begins slowly, continues 
 irritably, and is likely to incite human par- 
 oxysms of forgetfulness and temper. It took 
 the form with Mr. Leslie Travers of his being 
 more definite than usual. He was an ex- 
 tremely intelligent man, and most of his in- 
 telligence consisted in knowing where other 
 people were wrong. The heat lent an almost 
 unbearable edge to these inspirations; the of- 
 fice boy, the mayor's secretary, and two typists 
 withdrew from his sanctum as if they had been 
 in direct contact with a razor. 
 
 Stella wished, as she had often wished be- 
 fore, that the inner office in which she worked 
 could not be invaded by the manner in which 
 Mr. Travers conducted his interviews. She 
 respected him as her chief, she even considered 
 him with a kind of loyal awe augmented by her 
 daily duty. She pleased him, she catered for 
 
 54
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 55 
 
 him, she never in any circumstances let him 
 down or confused him by a miscalculation or 
 a mistake. 
 
 It is impossible to do this for any man for 
 two years and, if he has treated you with fair- 
 ness and respect, not at the end of that time, 
 to regard him with a certain proprietary affec- 
 tion. This was how Stella regarded Mr. 
 Travers. He was a clever man, and he never 
 expected any one under him to work miracles 
 or to give him trouble. He knew what you 
 were worth, and sometimes he let you see it. 
 
 He was handsome in a thin, set, rather dry 
 way, and when he put his finger-tips together 
 and smiled a little ironic smile he had, and 
 leaned forward with his shoulders hunched and 
 his eyes unusually bright, as if they'd been 
 polished like a boot-button, he had an air of 
 intellectual strength which usually brought 
 terror to an opponent. He always knew when 
 his adversary was in the wrong. It some- 
 times seemed to Stella as if he never knew any- 
 thing else. 
 
 He had reduced life to a kind of game in 
 which you caught the other fellow out. She 
 got very tired of hearing him say, "You see,
 
 56 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Miss Waring, the weak point of this case is " 
 or, "I think we may just point out to him that 
 he renders himself liable to " 
 
 He was a master hand at an interview. To 
 begin with, he always let the interviewer state 
 his case completely. He never interrupted; 
 he would sit there smiling a little with his 
 steady, observant eyes fixed on the man before 
 him, saying in a suave, mild voice, "Yes, yes; I 
 quite see. Exactly. Your point is " and 
 Stella, listening, would feel her heart sink at 
 the dangerous volubility of his opponent. She 
 would have liked to spring from behind the 
 screen where she was sorting the correspond- 
 ence and say, "For Heaven's sake! keep that 
 back! You 're letting yourself in!" As soon 
 as the usually verbose and chaotic applicant 
 had drawn his final breath, Mr. Leslie Travers 
 gave him back his case with the points elimi- 
 nated, and the defenseless places laid out be- 
 fore him as invertebrate and unmanageable as 
 a jellyfish. It was hardly necessary for Mr. 
 Leslie Travers to say, with his dry little smile, 
 "I think you see, my dear fellow, don't you, 
 that it would really be advisable in your own 
 interests not to go on any further with the
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 57 
 
 matter? It will be no trouble to us at all if 
 you decide to push it, but if you take my ad- 
 vice, you will simply go home and think no 
 more about it." People usually went home, 
 and if their case had been important to them, 
 they probably thought about it to the end of 
 their lives ; but that did n't affect Mr. Tr avers. 
 It was his business to safeguard the interests 
 of the town hall, and the more cases you could 
 drop, the better. Of course he never dropped 
 a case that could be used against him ; he held 
 on to these until they couldn't. He had to 
 perfection the legal mind. He never touched 
 what wasn't a safe proposition. A peculiar 
 idea seized Stella as she listened to him dismiss- 
 ing a worried rate-payer who had asked for 
 lowered rates, claiming the decreased value of 
 his property, "We shall act immediately," Mr. 
 Travers said benevolently. "We receive 
 proof that your property has decreased in 
 value, but it doesn't do, you know, to come 
 here and tell me the neighborhood is n't what 
 it was. No neighborhood ever is. Good 
 morning." 
 
 What, she asked herself, would Mr. Leslie 
 Travers be without his impeccable tie, his black
 
 58 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 coat, and definitely creased gray trousers, the 
 pob'sh on his boots, the office background, and, 
 above all, the law? Was he really very awe- 
 inspiring. Was n't he just a funny little man ? 
 It was curious how she felt this morning, as if 
 she would have liked to see some one large and 
 lawless face Mr. Travers and show him that 
 his successes were tricks, his interviews mouse- 
 traps, his words delusive little pieces of very 
 stale cheese. He was too careful of his dig- 
 nity, too certain of his top-hat. You could n't 
 imagine him dirty and oily at the north pole, 
 putting grit into half -frozen, starving men. 
 You could n't, that is to say, imagine him at a 
 disadvantage, making the disadvantage play 
 his game. 
 
 His games were always founded on advan- 
 tages. He was n't, in fact, at all like Julian 
 Verny, nor was there any reason why he should 
 be. But yesterday Stella had seen Julian 
 Verny, and to-day she saw, and saw as if for 
 the first time, Mr. Leslie Travers. 
 
 "Now, Miss Waring," Mr. Travers said, 
 looking up from his desk, "the correspondence, 
 please, if you are ready." He always spoke
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 59 
 
 to her, unless he was in a hurry, as if he were 
 speaking to a good, rather bright little girl who 
 knew her place, but must n't be tempted un- 
 duly to forget it. When he was in a hurry he 
 sometimes said, "Look sharp." 
 
 Stella brought the correspondence, and they 
 went through it together with their usual 
 celerity and carefulness, and all the time she 
 was thinking : ' 'We 've worked together every 
 day for two years except Sundays, and he 's 
 afraid to look at me unless we 're discussing a 
 definite question, and he won't risk a joke, and 
 he 'd be shocked if I sneezed. He 's just a 
 very intelligent, cultivated, knowing clerk, and 
 he 'd be awfully upset if I told him he had a 
 smut on his collar." 
 
 Mr. Leslie Travers put to one side the two 
 or three letters he had reserved for himself to 
 answer. Stella gathered hers together into' an 
 elastic band ; but as she turned to leave him he 
 said: 
 
 "Miss Waring, one moment. You came to 
 me on the understanding that your work here 
 was to be purely temporary. Circumstances 
 have prolonged your stay with us until it seems
 
 60 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 to me that we may fairly consider you, unless 
 you have other plans, a permanent member of 
 our staff!" 
 
 "I hope so," said Stella, with a sudden flicker 
 in her eyes, "unless you think women should n't 
 be permanent." 
 
 Mr. Leslie Travers permitted himself a very 
 slight smile. 
 
 "That disability in your case," he said, "we 
 are prepared to overlook in view of your value 
 as a worker. As my permanent secretary I 
 should wish to raise your salary ten pounds 
 yearly. I have put this before our committee, 
 and they have seen their way to consent to it." 
 
 Stella's eyebrows went up. Ten pounds 
 were worth so much to that muddled, penu- 
 rious household standing behind her on the 
 verge of utmost poverty! The man whose 
 place she had taken had been paid three hun- 
 dred a year ; her rise brought up her salary to 
 one third of this amount. 
 
 "It is a disability, Mr. Travers," she said 
 gently, "being a woman. I see that it is 
 going to cost me two hundred a year." 
 
 Mr. Travers looked at her very hard. He 
 knew that she did her work twice as well as the
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 61 
 
 man she had replaced. That is why she had 
 replaced him. He thought of her market 
 value as a worker, and he knew that he was 
 doing a perfectly correct thing. A hundred a 
 year was a fair wage for a woman secretary. 
 He said: 
 
 "You see, Miss Waring, you have not got a 
 family to support." 
 
 Stella flushed. She had a family to sup- 
 port, but she did not intend to admit it to 
 Mr. Travers. She said: 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I had not understood 
 that wages were paid according to a worker's 
 needs. I had thought the value of the work 
 settled the rate of payment." 
 
 Mr. Travers was astonished. He had never 
 dreamed that Miss Waring would argue with 
 him. He had looked forward to telling her of 
 this unexpected windfall; he had expected a 
 flushed and docile gratitude. She was a little 
 flushed, it is true, but she was neither docile 
 nor grateful, and he did not quite see his way 
 to continuing her line of argument. She had, 
 however, put herself in the wrong, and he 
 pointed this out to her. 
 
 "I am afraid I cannot see my way to offer-
 
 62 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ing you more than the increase I have sug- 
 gested," he said; "but as you were apparently 
 satisfied to accept a permanent post at my or- 
 iginal offer, I may hope that an extra ten 
 pounds will prove no obstacle to our continu- 
 ing to work together." 
 
 "I do not suppose," said Stella, quietly, 
 "that it will be any obstacle to you that I do 
 not think it fair." 
 
 "Really, Miss Waring, really," said Mr. 
 Travers, "I do not think you are quite yourself 
 this morning. The heat, the disquieting news 
 in the papers Perhaps you had better go on 
 with the correspondence. These questions are 
 not personal ones, you know they " 
 
 Stella interrupted him. 
 
 "All questions that deal with human beings, 
 Mr. Travers," she said, "are personal ques- 
 tions, and the heat does not affect them." 
 
 For one awful moment Mr. Travers thought 
 that Miss Waring was laughing at him ; there 
 was that strange glint in her eyes that he 
 had noticed before. She had extraordinarily 
 pretty eyes, usually so gentle. It was most 
 upsetting. 
 
 She disappeared with her correspondence be-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 63 
 
 fore he could think of a suitable reply. Le- 
 gally he had been perfectly justified, more than 
 justified, because he was under no obligation 
 to offer her ten pounds more. 
 
 This is what comes of generosity to women. 
 If he had n't offered her that ten pounds she 
 would n't have laughed at him, if she really had 
 laughed at him. 
 
 It was a most disquieting thought ; it haunted 
 him all day long, even more than the possi- 
 bility of a European war. He could n't help 
 the European war if it did come off, but he 
 wished very much that he had been able to 
 prevent Miss Waring's enigmatic laughter.
 
 ^CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHEN anything happened, Julian's first 
 instinct was to happen with it. He 
 had never been in the rear of a situation in his 
 life. The blow of the Austrian ultimatum 
 reached him on a yacht in mid-channel. There 
 was a cabinet minister on board, for whose sake 
 the yacht slewed round to make her way 
 swiftly back to port. Julian went directly to 
 him. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "we 've got to go in. 
 You grasp that, don't you?" 
 
 Julian had one idea in his head, the cabinet 
 minister had a great many; every one but 
 Julian was leaving him alone to sort these 
 ideas out. Julian spent the six hours in which 
 they were flying to port in eradicating one by 
 one every idea except his own. 
 
 The two men stood together, leaning over 
 the ship's side. It was a clear summer even- 
 ing, with a bloom upon the waters. The 
 
 64
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 65 
 
 lights of the boats they passed green and red 
 and gold were like glow-worms in a Southern 
 night. The sea was very easy under them; it 
 had little movement of its own, and parted 
 like riven gauze to let the ship through. 
 
 "We can't let France go under," Julian 
 pleaded. "Look at her, son stripped, after 
 1870. How she 's sprung up! But thin, you 
 know thin, like a gallant boy. 
 
 "Immoral small families? By Gad! how 
 righteous comfortable people are! How 
 could she help it ? Look what she 's had to 
 carry indemnities, cursed war burdens, and 
 now the three-years service ! But she 's car- 
 ried 'em. I know the French. I 've Irish in 
 me, and that helps me to value their lucidity. 
 Lucidity 's sense, you know, it ain't anything 
 dressy or imaginative, it 's horse-sense gone 
 clean as lightning. The French are a civilized 
 people. Go to Paris, not the Paris of our 
 luxury-rotted rich, who have only asked it to 
 be a little private sink of their own, but to 
 a Frenchman's Paris. Well, you '11 find him 
 there, brain and a heart under it. And, good 
 Lord, what nerve ! 
 
 "I tell you we Ve got to get down to our
 
 66 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 own nerve. We 've fatted it on the top, but 
 the French have n't. They 're like live wire, 
 with no cover to it. They 're the most serious 
 people on earth, fire without smoke. It 'u'd 
 be an unspeakable shame to help set that 
 damned Prussian heel on them again. When 
 it comes, it '11 come as solid as the mountain 
 that blotted out Messina, as solid and as sense- 
 less, and you'll let that happen because we 
 are n't 'involved!' Good Heavens, man, 
 don't sop yourself or your conscience with 
 catchwords! If this war comes, and I feel in 
 my bones it 's on us, any man who is n't in- 
 volved is a cur." 
 
 The cabinet minister interrupted him. He 
 cleared his throat, and said that he was hope- 
 ful steps might be taken. 
 
 Julian flung himself upon the phrase. 
 
 "Of course they '11 be taken," he shouted 
 across the quiet, shadowy sea. "They 're be- 
 ing taken every minute. Are we the only fel- 
 lows who Ve got feet? 
 
 "What about strategic railways? Ever 
 studied 'em? What about this spring's hav- 
 ing seen Alsace and Lorraine white with 
 camps? What about Tirpitz slipping his
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 6T 
 
 navy votes through the Reichstag, Socialists 
 and all ? I beg your pardon ; it 's not your 
 department, of course. We Ve let a strip of 
 sea as small as a South American river cut us 
 off from the plain speech of other nations. 
 What speech? My good sir, the plain speech 
 of other nations is their acts. But it 's no use 
 raking up what we Ve slid over. We Ve the 
 national habit of sliding, it 's a gift like any 
 other, and if you Ve a good eye for ice, it 
 does n't let you in. . But what Liberal Govern- 
 ment ever had a good eye for the ice in Eu- 
 rope. I 'm speaking bitterly, but I 'm a Lib- 
 eral myself, and I Ve seen in odd places of the 
 earth that it 's no good going slap through an 
 adverse fact, smiling. You disarm nothing 
 but yourself." 
 
 "We are not," said the cabinet minister, who 
 had a happy disposition and a strong desire 
 not to be shaken out of it, "really tied up to 
 any Balkan outbreak I mean necessarily, of 
 course. Other issues might come in. But 
 I see no reason, my dear Sir Julian, why we 
 should, in this very disagreeable crisis, not re- 
 mind ourselves and I am, like you, one of the 
 greatest admirers of the French that an
 
 68 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 entente is not an alliance. Political sympathy 
 can do a great deal to affect these questions. 
 I can imagine a very strong note " 
 
 "Is an engagement nothing till you Ve got 
 the ring on?" asked Julian, savagely. "Are 
 you going to let down France, who 's not very 
 often, but has just lately, trusted us? If we 
 do, let me tell you this: we shall deserve ex- 
 actly what we shall get. And make no mis- 
 take about it; we shall get it. The channel 
 ports, taken from a vindictive, broken France, 
 used, as they ought to be used, dead against 
 us. A little luck and a dark night, and I 
 would n't give that for England." 
 
 Julian flung his lighted cigarette into the 
 sea; a faint hiss, and the spark beneath them 
 was sucked into darkness. Neither of the two 
 men moved. Julian lit another cigarette, and 
 the cabinet minister gazed down into the light- 
 less sea. After a pause he said in a different 
 voice : 
 
 "Look here, Verny, I Ve been impressed, 
 devilish impressed, by what you Ve said ; but 
 have you considered what kind of force we Ve 
 got? Picked men, I grant you, but, as you 
 say yourself, when the Germans do come on,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 69 
 
 they'll come like half a mountain moving. 
 What 's the use of sending out a handful of 
 grasshoppers to meet half a mountain?" 
 
 Julian laughed. 
 
 "Are you a great man on dog-fights?" he 
 asked. "I Ve seen a bulldog, quite a small 
 chap he was, bring down a Great Dane the 
 size of a calf. The Dane had got a collie by 
 the throat ; friend of my little chap's, I fancy. 
 He could n't get at the Dane's throat, for fear 
 of piling his weight on the collie; so he just 
 stepped forward and took half a leg between 
 his teeth, and buried his head in it. I heard 
 the bone crack. The Dane tried to face it 
 out, he was a plucky fellow and the size of 
 a house, but after a bit he felt held down. 
 So he wheeled round and seized the bull by a 
 piece of back (the collie crawled off, he 'd had 
 enough, poor brute!), but the bull didn't stir. 
 He went on cracking that bone; he gave the 
 Dane all the back he wanted. Devil a bit he 
 turned till the whole leg went like a split match, 
 that hurled the Dane over, and I had to take 
 Chang (that was his name) off, or he 'd have 
 finished him up. He 'd just begun to enjoy 
 the fight, with half his back chawed over!
 
 70 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "We Ve got a navy that '11 do just that to 
 Germany if we hold on long enough. Don't 
 you forget it. It 's pressure that tells against 
 size pressure on the right spot, and per- 
 sistent." 
 
 The cabinet minister tried to say to himself 
 that countries weren't like dogs; but he was 
 a truthful man, and he thought that on the 
 whole they were. 
 
 England rose up suddenly before them out 
 of the darkness. They were coming into Plym- 
 outh Sound. The port lights held them 
 steadily for a minute, and the steam yacht 
 bustled soberly toward the docks. 
 
 "If your little lot sit down under this," said 
 Julian, straightening his shoulders and hold- 
 ing the other man with his insistent eyes, "by 
 God! I '11 cut my throat and say, 'Here died a 
 Briton whose country had lost its soul.' " 
 
 "Bit of Irish in him of course," murmured 
 the cabinet minister as Julian swung away 
 from him. "Still, I suppose what I shall say 
 is that on the whole, taking everything into 
 consideration, I think we should be wiser to 
 support France."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 JULIAN had spent thirty-two years 
 his mother included his first in seeing 
 what he wanted to do and doing it. He had 
 never consulted anybody else, because he had 
 always seen his way clearly, but he had made 
 from time to time reports to his mother. He 
 had been hostile to his father, who had op- 
 posed him weakly and sometimes unfairly till 
 he died. Julian never felt disheartened or 
 found any opposition in himself to what he 
 wanted to do. Opposition in others he liked 
 and overcame. Nothing in him warned him 
 that love demands participation and resents 
 exclusion. 
 
 On landing, he hurried to London, and went 
 at once to see an old friend of his in the War 
 Office. 
 
 "Look here, Burton," he said, "you remem- 
 ber 1911, don't you?" 
 
 Burton drew on the blotting-paper with a 
 71
 
 72 THE SECOXD FIDDLE 
 
 pencil ; he was almost overwhelmingly cautious. 
 If he had not been, many more serious things 
 than caution would have been overwhelmed. 
 
 "I think," he said, "if I remember right, you 
 went abroad." 
 
 Julian chuckled. 
 
 "I was a German navvy for six months," he 
 said. "I ate like a German, I drank thirty 
 bottles of beer at one sitting for a bet, and I 
 lost my head and my temper in German. It 
 seems as if the best thing I can do just now 
 is to repeat the experiment." 
 
 "You did it at your own risk," Burton re- 
 minded him. "It was certainly serviceable, 
 but we limited our communications with you 
 as much as possible. If it should enter into 
 your mind to do such a thing again, we should 
 of course have no communication with you 
 whatever. Also, you would need German pa- 
 pers birth certificates, registrations. I really 
 do not know at a time like this what you might 
 not find necessary. The work, if you came 
 back, would be invaluable." 
 
 Julian nodded. 
 
 "Don't you bother yourself about papers," 
 he said. "I Ve been in a German consular of'
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 73 
 
 fice, and I 've got a German birth-certificate. 
 It 's one of the things I do particularly well. 
 As long as they 're not suspicious they won't 
 ram the papers home, and I don't propose to 
 let them get suspicious. I shall be Caesar's 
 wife. Three years of Heidelberg have oiled 
 my throat to it. My mother tells me I often 
 speak English in a hearty German voice. My 
 idea is to go out as soon as possible, through 
 Belgium. They '11 strike there, I feel pretty 
 sure, and I '11 come back the same way Octo- 
 ber to November, if I can. You can put about 
 that I 'm off to the Arctic Ocean. If I 'm not 
 back by Christmas, don't expect me. I shall 
 have no communication with any one until my 
 return." 
 
 Burton smiled. 
 
 "My dear Julian," he said, "one moment. 
 I have not yet congratulated you upon your 
 engagement. I do so with all my heart. But 
 do you intend to tell Miss Young? She may 
 not like the Arctic Ocean or she may expect 
 you to fight. She will also, no doubt, look for 
 some communication from you; and, as you 
 very rightly assert, there can be no communica- 
 tion whatever with anybody until you return."
 
 74 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Julian hunched up his shoulders and whis- 
 tled. 
 
 "She 's the pick of women," he said softly. 
 "Leave her to me." 
 
 "It 's all going to be left to you," said Bur- 
 ton, gravely. "If you live, you '11 get no ap- 
 parent acknowledgment; if you die, no one 
 will ever know how. I do not say this to dis- 
 suade you, there are too many things we want 
 to know, but when I saw the announcement 
 of your engagement in the paper, I said, 
 'Well, we 've lost him.' " 
 
 Julian rose, and walked to the window. 
 Until that moment he had not given Marian 
 a thought. He was full of a lover's images 
 of her, but he had not connected them with 
 what he was going to do. He remembered 
 what Marian's inconspicuous-looking little 
 friend had said to her, "honest as crystal, equa- 
 ble, strong." 
 
 Then he turned back to his friend. 
 
 "You haven't lost me," he said steadily. 
 "After all, if we 're up against anything at all, 
 Burton, we 're up against a pretty big thing. 
 I must do exactly what is most useful. Of
 
 .THE SECOND FIDDLE 75 
 
 course I 'd rather fight. One likes one's name 
 to go down and all that, and I 'd like to please 
 Marian; but the point, both for her and for 
 me, will be the job." 
 
 "Ah," said Burton. "Then if you '11 just 
 come with me, I '11 take you to a fellow who 
 will let you know what we want particularly 
 just now to find out. You 're quite right as 
 far as we are concerned ; but it 's not fair to 
 rush a man into our kind of fight. It 's not 
 like any other kind. It 's risks without 
 prizes." 
 
 "What you get out of a risk," said Julian, 
 with a certain gravity, "is a prize." 
 
 Burton looked at him curiously; he rested 
 his hand for a moment on his friend's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "That's a jolly good phrase, Julian," he 
 said quietly, "and I think it 's true ; but it 's 
 not necessarily a personal prize. You pay the 
 piper, and he plays the tune ; but you might n't 
 be there to listen to the tune." 
 
 "Don't be a croaking, weather-beaten, moth- 
 eaten old Scotch raven!" laughed Julian. 
 "Take my word for it; you get what you want
 
 76 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 out of life if you put all you Ve got into it. 
 That 's just at this moment what I propose to 
 put." 
 
 "And that," said Burton, without returning 
 his smile, "is what we propose to take, Julian."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A MBERLEY hung upon a cliff of land 
 -I\. above the water meadows. Rising high 
 behind it, fold on fold, were the Sussex Downs, 
 without lines, without rigidity, as soft as drift- 
 ing snow. 
 
 The village had been the seat of a tremen- 
 dous castle, little of these famous ruins were 
 left, but the old, yellow stone walls still 
 girdled Amberley in the shape of a broken 
 crown , 
 
 There was only one street, a sleepy, wind- 
 ing, white down road, which ran between mossy 
 barns and deep-thatched cottages under the 
 Amberley Wall. The castle was older than 
 Amberley House, yet Amberley House was a 
 respectable three hundred years, and had been 
 all that time the home of countless Vernys, It 
 had not retreated into relentless privacy, as 
 most old English homes have done; it stood, 
 with its wide porch, stoutly upon the moss- 
 grown cobbles. 
 
 77
 
 78 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 But it was better than its promises. If it 
 had no park, there lay behind its frontage not 
 a park, but a garden a garden that fitted in 
 with nature, only to excel it. 
 
 Lady Verny loved two things, her garden 
 and her son ; but she had been able to do most 
 with her garden. There were terraces that 
 swung from point to point above the long, blue 
 valley; there was a lawn hemmed in by black 
 yew hedges, over which the downs piled them- 
 selves, bare and high, with only the clouds be- 
 yond them. There was a sunken rose-garden, 
 with rough-tiled pathways leading to a lake 
 with swans. Three hundred years had helped 
 Lady Verny with the lawn, but the herbaceous 
 borders had been her own affair. Julian, 
 crossing the lawn toward her, was the same 
 strange mixture of her hand and time; and 
 she had always known that when she had done 
 all she could for Julian and the garden, she 
 would have to give both up. With all their 
 difficulties, their beauties, and their sullen 
 patches, they would pass into the hands of 
 some young and untried person unchosen by 
 herself. 
 
 The person had been chosen now. Marian
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 79 
 
 was already at Amberley for a week-end, and 
 knowing that Julian was expected, she had 
 left Lady Verny sitting by the tea-table un- 
 der the yew hedge and gone up toward the 
 downs. 
 
 Julian would like this; he would not wish 
 his bride to meet him half-way. He would de- 
 light in Marian's aloofness ; her deliberate and 
 delicate coldness would seem to him like the 
 bloom upon a grape. But the coldness of a 
 future daughter-in-law is not the quality which 
 most endears her to a mother. 
 
 "Julian," Lady Verny said to herself as he 
 approached her, "will make a very trying 
 lover. If he is absorbed in Marian, he will in- 
 terfere with her; and if he is absorbed in any- 
 thing else, he will ignore her. He needs a 
 great deal of judicious teasing. Marian takes 
 herself too seriously to see the fun of Julian ; 
 she only sees the fun of sex. She was quite 
 right to go up to the downs. It '11 amuse him 
 to pursue her now, but it'll bore him later; 
 and in the end he '11 find out that she does n't 
 keep him off because she 's got so much to give, 
 but because she 's so afraid of giving any- 
 thing."
 
 80 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "Where 's Marian?" asked Julian before He 
 kissed her. 
 
 "She went up toward the downs," said Lady 
 Verny. "She left no directions behind her. 
 She 's a will-o'-the-wisp, my dear." 
 
 Julian laughed. 
 
 "She knew I'd follow her," he said; "but 
 I '11 have my tea first, please." 
 
 "She has always been followed, I imagine," 
 said Lady Verny, giving him his tea, "and she 
 has always known it." 
 
 Julian looked pleased; this was the kind of 
 wife he wanted, a woman used to admiration, 
 and who never made the fatal mistake of seek- 
 ing it. He had not much knowledge of 
 women, but he had very strong opinions about 
 them, unshaken by any personal reckoning. 
 One opinion was that nothing too much can be 
 done for a good woman. She must be pro- 
 tected, cared for, and served under every or- 
 deal in life. She must be like a precious jewel ; 
 bars, safes, banks, must be constructed to in- 
 sure her inaccessibility from all the dangers of 
 the open world. 
 
 She must be seen the East receded from 
 him at this point and admired; but she must
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 81 
 
 be immaculate. That is to say, she must at 
 no time in her career personally handle an ex- 
 perience. She must be a wife and mother (un- 
 married women, though often presumably vir- 
 tuous, were only the shabby bankrupts of their 
 sex) , but, once married and a mother, she must 
 be kept as far as possible from all the implica- 
 tions of these tremendous facts. 
 
 Bad women were unsexed. That is to say, 
 no law applied to them; they were as outcast 
 as a man who cheats at cards. The simile was 
 not exact, as the w r omen were occasionally 
 themselves the cheated ; but it was near enough 
 for Julian. There were of course considerably 
 more female outcasts than card-sharpers; but 
 this was fortunate, for inadvertently they pro- 
 tected good women, in a manner in which card- 
 sharpers have not been known to protect good 
 men. But Julian thought men needed no pro- 
 tection, only women who were safe, needed it. 
 
 Julian was kinder to women than his opin- 
 ions promised, because, being strong, he was 
 on the whole gentle toward those who were 
 weak ; but his kindness was a personal idiosyn- 
 crasy, not a principle. 
 
 Lady Verny looked at him a little helplessly.
 
 82 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 There was something she wanted very much 
 to say to him, but she suffered from the disa- 
 bility of being his mother. There is an un- 
 written law that mothers should not touch upon 
 vital matters with their sons. Lady Verny be- 
 lieved that Julian was a victim of passion. 
 She did not think he had understood Marian's 
 nature, and she knew that when passion burns 
 itself out, one of two things is left, comrade- 
 ship or resentment. She had lived with resent- 
 ment for twenty years, and she knew that it 
 was not an easy thing to live with, and that it 
 would have been worth while had she known 
 more about it earlier, to have found out if there 
 was comradeship under the passion before the 
 flames of it had burned her boats. 
 
 "I wonder," she said consideringly, gazing 
 into the bottom of her tea-cup, "if your lovely 
 Marian has a sense of humor?" 
 
 "Humor?" said Julian, taking two savory 
 sandwiches and wrapping them in bread and 
 butter. "What does she want with humor at 
 her age? It 's one of the things people fall 
 back on when they Ve come croppers. Be- 
 sides, I don't believe in comradeship between 
 the sexes. Infernally dull policy ; sort of thing
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 83 
 
 that appeals to a book-worm. What I like is 
 a little friendly scrapping. Honor's easy! 
 I never have cared much for brains in a 
 woman." 
 
 He smiled at the woman he knew best in 
 the world, who had brains, and had given him 
 the fruit of them all her life, with kindly tol- 
 erance. 
 
 Probably she was jealous; but she would n't 
 be tiresome if she was, and he would make 
 things as easy for her as possible. 
 
 Lady Verny saw that Julian thought that 
 she was jealous. She looked away from him 
 to the terrace where he had fallen as a baby 
 and struck his head against the stone cornice 
 of the sun-dial. 
 
 She could never look at the sun-dial without 
 seeing the whole scene happen again and the 
 dreadful pause that followed it when the small, 
 limp figure lay without moving. Julian was 
 the only child she had ever had. She shivered 
 in the hot summer air and gave up the subject 
 of human love. There is generally too much 
 to be said about it to make it a good subject of 
 conversation except for lovers, who only want 
 each other.
 
 84 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 She pointed to the newspaper that lay be- 
 tween them; that also was serious. 
 
 "My dear," she said quietly, "this appears 
 to be a very bad business?'* 
 
 "Yes," Julian acknowledged. "This time 
 there '11 be no ducking ; there 's nothing to duck 
 under." 
 
 "And I dare say," said his mother, without 
 moving the strong, quiet hands that lay on her 
 lap, "you have been thinking what you are 
 going to do in it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I Ve decided," said Julian. "I 
 shall be off in ten days. You '11 guess where, 
 but no one else must know." 
 
 "It was a big risk before, Julian," she said 
 tentatively. 
 
 "This time it'll be a bigger one," he an- 
 swered, meeting her eyes with a flash of his 
 pleased blue ones. "That 's all. It '11 need a 
 jolly lot of thinking out." 
 
 "And you've and Marian has agreed to 
 it?" Lady Verny asked anxiously. 
 
 "I have n't told her yet," said Julian, easily. 
 "It didn't occur to me to mention it to 
 her first any more than to you. I knew you 'd 
 both understand. Obviously it was the one
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 85 
 
 thing I could do. She '11 see that, of course." 
 
 "I 'm different," said Lady Verny, with a 
 twist of her ironic mouth. "I 'm your mother. 
 A mother takes what is given; a wife expects 
 all there is to give." 
 
 Julian looked a little uncomfortable. Bur- 
 ton, who was a man, and might therefore be 
 assumed to know better than a woman what 
 a woman felt, had come to the same conclu- 
 sion. 
 
 Julian was prepared to give everything he 
 had to Marian Amberley and all his money 
 and himself. There was something in the mar- 
 riage service that put it very well, but did n't, 
 as far as he remembered, say anything to in- 
 clude plans. 
 
 "I hope she likes Amberley?" he ventured. 
 
 Lady Verny filled his cup a second time, and 
 answered tranquilly: 
 
 "Marian thinks it a charming little place to 
 run down to for week-ends." Then she added 
 very gently: "This is going to be very hard 
 for Marian, Julian. You '11 remember that, 
 won't you, when you tell her?" 
 
 "Damnably hard," said Julian under his 
 breath. "Of course I '11 remember. I wish to
 
 86 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Heaven she 'd marry me first. By Jove, I '11 
 
 Lady Verny's lips closed tightly. She 
 was n't going to tell Julian anything, because 
 she did not believe in telling things to people 
 who will in the course of time find them out for 
 themselves. She knew that Marian would not 
 marry him at a moment's notice. She knew 
 that he was asking Marian already to stand a 
 very serious burden, and she did not think 
 Marian's was the type of love that cares for 
 very serious and unexpected burdens. She 
 gazed at the bushes of blue anchusa; the gar- 
 dener had planted pink monthly roses a little 
 too thickly among them. She could alter that ; 
 she did not think there was anything else she 
 could alter. 
 
 Julian strode toward the downs full of se- 
 riousness, eagerness, and pride, and in her 
 heart Lady Verny prayed not that God's will 
 might be done, which seemed to her mind super- 
 fluous, but that it might as far as possible be 
 made to square with Julian's. She was a wise 
 and even a just woman, but she thought that 
 Providence might be persuaded to stretch a 
 point or two for Julian.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 JULIAN walked easily and swiftly up the 
 slopes of the downs, whistling as he went. 
 He knew the point from which he would be 
 sure to see his flying nymph. The air was full 
 of the songs of larks ; beneath his feet the short 
 grasses and wild thyme sent up a clean and 
 pungent fragrance. 
 
 The little, comfortable beauties of the sum- 
 mer's day filled his heart with gladness. There 
 was no sound in all the sleepy country-side; 
 the peaceful shining clouds floated over the 
 low green hills as vague as waking dreams. 
 
 The cropping of the sheep upon the downs, 
 the searching, spiral laughter of the larks, were 
 part of the air itself; and the shadows ran an 
 interminable race across the long green mead- 
 ows. 
 
 Julian had had experiences of love before, 
 but he had never been in love as he was now. 
 He compared these earlier efforts in his mind 
 with the light clouds that melted into the sun- 
 
 87
 
 88 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 shine. Marian was the sunshine; she thrilled 
 and warmed his whole being. She was like 
 an adventure to him. He felt very humble in 
 his heart to think the sun had cared to shine 
 upon him, and very strong to meet its shining. 
 
 He noticed little things he had never no- 
 ticed before: the feathery, fine stalks of the 
 harebells, and the blue butterflies that moved 
 among them like traveling flowers. Usually, 
 when he walked, he noticed only the quickest 
 way to reach his goal. He noticed that now, 
 but he tried not to crush the small down flowers 
 on his way. 
 
 He caught sight of Marian from a ridge of 
 down, sitting motionless and erect upon the 
 rim of an old chalk-pit. A long, blue veil 
 hung over her shoulders like the wings of a 
 blue butterfly fluttering before him. She saw 
 his shadow before he reached her, and threw 
 her head back with a little gesture that was 
 half a welcome and half a defiance. 
 
 He came swiftly across the grass toward her, 
 but it was she who was breathless when he 
 took her in his arms. 
 
 "Trying to run away from me, are you?" 
 he asked, smiling down at her. "The world 's
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 89 
 
 too small here, and it 's mine, you know. You 
 should n't have come here if you had wanted 
 to escape me." 
 
 "Let me go, Julian," she murmured. "I 'm 
 sure there 's a shepherd close by. Sit down 
 and be sensible!" 
 
 "Shepherds be hanged!" said Julian, kissing 
 her. "Do you suppose anybody 's ever been 
 more sensible than I feel now? Kissing you 
 is the most sensible thing a man ever did; but 
 don't let anybody else guess it." 
 
 He sat down at her feet and looked up into 
 the beautiful, flushed face above him. It was 
 as lovely as a lifted flower; but unlike the 
 flower, it was not very soft. It was even like 
 a slightly sophisticated hothouse flower; but 
 she had the look of race he loved. Her level, 
 penciled brows, small, straight nose, curved 
 lips, and chin like a firm, round apple, were 
 the heritage of generations of handsome lives. 
 Her coloring was only a stain of pink upon a 
 delicate, clear whiteness ; but the eyes beneath 
 the low, smooth forehead, were disappointing. 
 They were well-cut hazel eyes, without light 
 in them. They lay in her head a little flat, like 
 the pieces of a broken mirror.
 
 90 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Just now they were at their tenderest. Her 
 whole face, bending over him, cool and sweet 
 as the southwest wind and as provocative as 
 the flying clouds, moved his heart almost un- 
 bearably. She was like an English summer 
 day, and he knew now what it would mean to 
 leave her. 
 
 "I couldn't bear to stay down there," she 
 explained. "I was frightened, not of you, you 
 absurd person, but of being glad. I 'm afraid 
 I don't like big feelings very much. I can't 
 explain exactly, but the papers frightened me. 
 I wanted to see you too much. Yes, sir, you 
 may keep that for a prize to your vanity; and 
 I knew that if there should be war " She 
 stopped, her lovely lips trembled a little. "I 
 shall have to let you go so soon!" she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 He bowed his head over her hand and kissed 
 it passionately. 
 
 "If I could spare you this pain," he said, 
 "I 'd take a thousand lives and lose them to 
 doit!" 
 
 "No! no!" she murmured. "Keep one, 
 Julian!" 
 
 He lifted his head and looked at her steadily.
 
 'I'm afraid I don't like big feelings much"
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 93 
 
 "I swear I '11 keep it," he said. "I '11 keep 
 it, and bring it back to you, cost what it 
 may." 
 
 It did not look as if it were going to cost 
 very much, with the light clouds passing over- 
 head, and the soft down grasses under them; 
 and their great citadels of youth and love about 
 them, unmenaced and erect. 
 
 "I 've a piece of work I 've got to do," Julian 
 went on, "and I can't tell you anything about 
 it. It '11 take me three months, I fancy. I 
 can fight afterward." 
 
 She looked at him with eyes in which aston- 
 ishment turned almost hostile. 
 
 "Not fighting?" she said. "But what do 
 you mean, Julian? If we go in, every one 
 must fight. I know you 're not a soldier, but 
 there '11 be volunteers. With all your adven- 
 tures and experiences, they are sure to give 
 you a good post. Everybody knows you. 
 What do you mean a job you can't tell me 
 about unless, of course it 's something naval?" 
 
 Julian turned his face to the wild thyme. 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "No, not that," he said. "Can't you trust 
 me, Marian?"
 
 94 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "Trust you!" she said impatiently. "Of 
 course I can trust you, but why be so myste- 
 rious? Mightn't I equally say, 'Why don't 
 you trust me?' " 
 
 "It 's part of my job," said Julian quietly, 
 "not to trust the ground we 're on or the larks 
 in the sky or the light of my heart, that 's 
 you, Marian, and it does n't happen to be the 
 easiest part of my job." 
 
 He waited for her to make it easier for him, 
 but he waited in vain. Marian expected easy 
 things, but she did not expect to have to make 
 things easy. These two expectations seldom 
 go together. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that you are going 
 to be some kind of spy?" she asked in a tone 
 of frank disgust. "Oh, Julian! I couldn't 
 bear it ! It 's so so un-English !" 
 
 Julian chuckled. He ought not to have 
 chuckled. If a man does not like a woman 
 with brains, he must learn not to laugh at their 
 absence. Marian stiffened under his laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 "England's got to be awfully un-English 
 in some ways if it wants to win this war," he 
 explained. "But you must n't even to your-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 95 
 
 self put a name to what I 'm going to be. I 'm 
 just on a job that '11 take me three months, and 
 I 'm afraid, my darling, I can't send you a 
 word. That cuts me all to bits, but you 're so 
 brave, so brave, you '11 let me go." 
 
 He buried his head in the grass ; he was not 
 brave enough to bear to see the strain he was 
 putting on her courage. Nor was Marian. 
 
 "No, Julian," she said, "you mustn't ask 
 such a thing of me. Not to know where you 
 are, and not to be able to tell any one what 
 you are doing! To let you go out into the 
 dark at a time like this ! It 's too much to ask 
 of me. Promise me you '11 give up all idea 
 of it, and try to get a commission like other 
 people. Surely that 's hard enough for me. 
 But I '11 bear that ; I will never make it diffi- 
 cult for you by a word or a look ; I would n't 
 hold you back a day ! You Ve not settled any- 
 thing of course?" 
 
 He told her that he had settled everything, 
 and that in two days he must go. 
 
 A terrible silence fell between them, a cold 
 silence that was like the pressure of a stone. 
 Neither of them moved or looked at the other. 
 Julian took her hand. She did not withdraw
 
 96 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 it from him, but she left it in his as unrespon- 
 sive as a fallen leaf. 
 
 "Marian," he whispered, "Marian. Love 
 me a little." 
 
 She would not turn her face to him. 
 
 "Why do you talk to me of love," she asked 
 bitterly, "when without consulting me you do 
 something which involves your whole life and 
 mine!" 
 
 He caught her in his arms and held her close 
 to him, kissing her cold lips till they answered 
 him. 
 
 "My darling! my darling!" he whispered, 
 "I love you like this and like this! It 's sheer 
 murder to leave you! I feel as if it would 
 break me. But I 've got to go. Don't you 
 see, don't you understand? It 's work I do 
 well, it 's important, just now it 's more impor- 
 tant than fighting ; it 's not one man's life that 
 hangs on it, but it 's thousands. Believe me, 
 there 's no dishonor in it. Love me or you '11 
 break me, Marian! Don't be against me. I 
 could n't stand it. Say you '11 let me go, for 
 if I go and you don't say it, I '11 go as a broken 
 man."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 97 
 
 She pushed him gently away from her, con- 
 sidering him. She knew her terrible power. 
 She was very angry with him, and she had hurt 
 him as much as she meant to hurt him. She 
 had no intention whatever of breaking him. 
 If he was going to do this kind of work, he 
 must do it well. Perhaps, after all, it was 
 rather important; but important or not, he 
 should have asked her first. She laid her small 
 hand over his big one with a delicate pressure. 
 
 "Never settle such a thing again without 
 telling me," she said gravely. 
 
 Julian promised quickly that he never would. 
 He saw for the first time that love was not 
 liberty, and for the moment he preferred love. 
 He had not felt deeply enough to know that 
 there is a way in which you may widen liberty 
 and yet keep love. 
 
 "I shall let you go," Marian said gently, 
 "and I shall try to bear it as best I can." 
 
 At the thought of how difficult it was going 
 to be to bear, not to be able to tell anybody 
 anything, she cried a little. Her face was un- 
 contorted by her tears. They streamed down 
 her blossom-colored cheeks like drops of pearly
 
 98 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 dew. Julian thought her tears were softness, 
 and he struck at his chance. Now perhaps she 
 would surrender to his hidden hope. 
 
 He pleaded, with her head against his heart, 
 that she would marry him, marry him now 
 at once. He could arrange it all in twenty- 
 four hours. He presented a thousand impet- 
 uous arguments. All his wits and his ardor 
 fought for him against her soft, closed eyes. 
 She was his; she would be his forever. He 
 would go with that great possession in his 
 heart ; he would go like a man crowned to meet 
 his future. 
 
 She opened her eyes at last and moved away 
 from him. At that instant she would have 
 liked to marry him, she would have liked it 
 very much; but besides the fact that she had 
 no things, there loomed the blank uncertainty 
 of the future. Would she be a wife or a 
 widow, and how should she know which she 
 was? There were more immediate difficulties. 
 Her parents were in Scotland; hurried wed- 
 dings were always very awkward ; you could n't 
 have bridesmaids or wedding presents; and a 
 few hours' honeymoon, with an indefinite part- 
 ing ahead of it, would be extremely painful.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 99 
 
 Even if a marriage under all these disabili- 
 ties was legal wouldn't it be worse than 
 illegal wouldn't it be rather funny? 
 
 Julian was sometimes impossible; he had 
 been nearly overwhelming, but he was quite 
 impossible. He might be a dangerous man to 
 marry in a hurry. She would have to train 
 him first. 
 
 "It 's out of the question, Julian," she said 
 firmly. "The whole future is too uncertain. 
 I should love to but I can't do it. It 
 would n't be right for me to do it. We must 
 wait till you come back." 
 
 Julian returned to his study of the short 
 down grasses. He knew that if she had loved 
 to she would have done it. He had a mo- 
 ment that was bitter with doubt and pain ; then 
 his love rose up and swallowed it. He saw 
 the uncertainty for her. 
 
 He wanted her now because he knew that he 
 might never have her. He wanted her with 
 the fierce hunger of a pirate for a prize; but 
 the very sharpness of his desire made him see 
 that it was sheer selfishness to press his point. 
 He overlooked the fact that it would have been 
 perfectly useless. No pressure would have
 
 100 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 changed Marian. Pressure had done what it 
 could for her already: it had moved her to 
 tears. She dried them now, and suggested 
 that they had stayed on the downs long enough.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT sometimes seemed to Stella as if Chalia- 
 pine had brought on the war. Those last 
 long golden summer days were filled with his 
 music, and then suddenly out of them flashed 
 the tents in the park, the processions of sol- 
 diers and bands, the grim stir that swept over 
 London like a squall striking the surface of a 
 summer sea. 
 
 The town hall did not collapse, but it shook. 
 It was a place where, as a rule, the usual things 
 took place, and even unusual things happened 
 usually; but there were several weeks at the 
 beginning of the war when all day long strange 
 things happened strangely. Offices were 
 changed, the routine of years was swept up 
 like dust into a dust-pan, and a new routine, 
 subject to further waves of change, took its 
 place. Workers voluntarily offered to do 
 work that they were unaccustomed to do. 
 The council hall became a recruiting office. 
 No. 8, the peculiar sanctum of the sanitary 
 101
 
 102 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 inspector, was given up to an army surveyor. 
 Tramps asked the cashier questions. It was 
 like the first act of "Boris Goudonoff ." Even 
 food was carried about on trays, and as for 
 proclamations, somebody or other was pro- 
 claiming something all day long. 
 
 There was no religion and no dancing, but 
 there was the same sense of brooding, implac- 
 able fate; it took the place of music, and 
 seemed, without hurry and without pause, to 
 be carrying them all along in a secret rhythm 
 of its own toward an unseen goal. 
 
 Mr. Leslie Travers ruled most of the town 
 hall committees, and he required innumerable 
 statistics to be compiled and ready to be 
 launched intimidatingly at the first sign of any 
 opposition to his ruling. 
 
 Stella, to whom the work of compiling fell, 
 had very little time to consider the war. 
 
 When she got home she usually went to 
 sleep. From time to time she heard Mrs. 
 Waring announcing that there was no such 
 thing as war and Eurydice reciting battle-odes 
 to Belgium. 
 
 For the first time in her life Eurydice shared 
 a common cause. She was inclined to believe
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 103 
 
 that England was fighting for liberty. She 
 knew that France was, partly because France 
 was on the other side of the channel and partly 
 because of the French Revolution. The de- 
 struction of Louvain settled the question of 
 Belgium. To Eurydice, whatever was de- 
 stroyed was holy. Later on she became a vio- 
 lent pacifist because Mr. Bolt said that we our- 
 selves were Prussian; but for the moment no- 
 body, not even Mr. Bolt, had traced this eva- 
 sive parallel. 
 
 Professor Waring wrote several letters to 
 the papers, asking what precautions the Bel- 
 gians were taking about Sanskrit manuscript. 
 He had a feeling that King Albert, though 
 doubtless an estimable young man and useful 
 in the trenches, might, like most kings, have 
 been insufficiently educated to appreciate the 
 importance of Sanskrit. That men should die 
 in large numbers to protect their country was 
 an unfortunate incident frequent in history, 
 but that a Sanskrit manuscript should be de- 
 stroyed was a national calamity, for the manu- 
 script could never be replaced. 
 
 He made an abortive effort to reach Bel- 
 gium and see about it himself, but at the For-
 
 104 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 eign Office he was stopped by a young man 
 with a single eyeglass, from whom the pro- 
 fessor had demanded a passport. The exact 
 expression used by this ignorant young person 
 was, "I 'm awfully sorry, sir, but I 'm afraid 
 just at present Sanskrit manuscript will have 
 to rip." 
 
 Professor Waring promptly addressed let- 
 ters of remonstrance and advice to several Ger- 
 man professors upon the subject. They were 
 returned to him after three weeks, with a brief 
 intimation that he was not to communicate with 
 the enemy. Professor Waring had consid- 
 ered German professors to be his natural ene- 
 mies all his life ; this had been his chief reason 
 for communicating with them. He was fitted, 
 as few officials in the Foreign Office can ever 
 have been fitted, to point out to the German 
 professors the joints in their armor. 
 
 They had a great deal of armor and very 
 few joints, and it discouraged Professor War- 
 ing to leave these unpierced spots to the per- 
 haps less-practised hands of neutrals. 
 
 But it was not until the destruction of Lou- 
 rain that he grasped to the full the reaction 
 of his former antagonists. When Professor
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 105 
 
 Waring read a signed letter from some of the 
 German professors agreeing to the destruction 
 of the famous Belgian library he acquiesced 
 in the war. He stood in front of his wife and 
 woke Stella up in order to make his declara- 
 tion. 
 
 "Henrietta, there is a war," he announced. 
 "It is useless for you to assert that there is 
 not. Not only is there a war, but there should 
 be one; and if I were twenty years younger, 
 though wholly unaccustomed to the noisy 
 mechanisms of physical destruction, I should 
 join in it. As it is, I propose to write a 
 treatise upon the German mind. It is not one 
 of my subjects, and I shall probably have to 
 neglect valuable work in order to undertake 
 it; still, my researches into the rough Stone 
 Age will no doubt greatly assist me. Many 
 just parallels have already occurred to me. I 
 hope that no one in this house will be guilty of 
 so uneducated a frame of mind as to sympa- 
 thize with the Teutonic iconoclasts even to the 
 extent of asserting, as I believe I heard you as- 
 sert just now, Henrietta, that none of them 
 exist." 
 
 Mrs. Waring murmured gently that she
 
 106 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 thought an intense hopefulness might refine 
 degraded natures, but the next day she bought 
 wool and began to knit a muffler. She had 
 capitulated to the fact of the war. While she 
 knitted she patiently asserted that there was 
 no life, truth, intelligence, or force in matter; 
 and Stella, when she came home in the even- 
 ing, picked up the dropped stitches. 
 
 It was strange to Stella that her only per- 
 sonal link with the war was a man whom she 
 had seen only once and might never see again. 
 She thought persistently of Julian. She 
 thought of him for Marian's sake, because 
 Marian was half frozen with misery. She 
 thought of him because unconsciously he stood 
 in her mind for England. He was an adven- 
 turer, half -god, half -child, who had the habit 
 of winning without the application of fear. 
 She thought of him because he was the only 
 young, good-looking man of her own class with 
 whom she had ever talked. 
 
 Marian was afraid that Stella might think 
 she had been unsympathetic to Julian about 
 his mission. She told Stella, with her usual 
 direct honesty, how angry she had been with 
 him.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 107 
 
 "I know I was nasty to him," she said. "I 
 can't bear to have any one involve me first 
 and tell me about it afterward." 
 
 "Of course you can't," agreed Stella, flam- 
 ing up with a gust of annoyance more vivid 
 than Marian's own. "How like him! How 
 exactly like him to be so high-handed ! Fancy 
 whirling you along behind him as if you were 
 a sack of potatoes! Of course you were an- 
 noyed, and I hope you gave him a good sharp 
 quarrel. One only has to look at Julian to 
 see that he ought to be quarreled with at regu- 
 lar intervals in an agreeable way for the rest 
 of his life." 
 
 "I don't like quarrels," Marian said slowly. 
 "They don't seem to me to be at all agreeable; 
 but I don't think Julian will act without con- 
 sulting me again." 
 
 Stella looked at Marian curiously. What 
 was this power that Marian had, which moved 
 with every fold of her dress, and stood at guard 
 behind her quiet eyes? How had she made 
 Julian understand without quarreling that he 
 must never repeat his independences? Stella 
 was sure Marian had made him understand it. 
 It would be of no use to ask Marian how she
 
 108 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 had done it, because Marian would only laugh 
 and say: "Nonsense! It was perfectly 
 easy." She probably did not know herself 
 what was the secret of her power; she would 
 merely in every circumstance in life composedly 
 and effectively use it. Was it perhaps that 
 though Julian had involved her actions, he had 
 never involved Marian? Was love a game in 
 which the weakest lover always wins? 
 
 "Of course I Ve never been in love," Stella 
 said slowly, "and I have n't the slightest idea 
 how it 's done or what happens to you ; but I 
 fancy quarreling might be made very agree- 
 able. Love is so tremendous, isn't it, that 
 there must be room for concealed batteries and 
 cavalry charges; and yet of course you know 
 all the time that you are loving the person 
 more and more outrageously, so that nothing 
 gets wasted or destroyed except the edges you 
 are knocking off for readjustments." 
 
 "I don't think I do love Julian outrage- 
 ously," Marian objected. "I didn't, you see, 
 do what he wanted : he had a mad idea of get- 
 ting a special license and having a whirlwind 
 wedding, leaving me directly afterward. Of 
 course I could n't consent to that."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 109 
 
 "Couldn't you?" asked Stella, wonderingly. 
 "I don't see that it matters much, you know, 
 when you give that kind of thing to a person 
 you love. If you do love them, I suppose it 
 shows you 're willing to marry them, does n't 
 it ? But how, when, or where is like the sound 
 of the dinner-bell. You don't owe your din- 
 ner to the dinner-bell ; it 's simply an arrange- 
 ment for bringing you to the table. Marriage 
 always seems to me just like that. I should 
 have married Julian in a second if I 'd been 
 you; but I should have made him understand 
 that I was n't a sack of potatoes, if I 'd had to 
 box his ears regularly every few minutes for 
 twenty-four hours at a stretch." 
 
 "Surely marriage is sacred," said Marian, 
 gravely. Stella's point of view was so odd that 
 Marian thought it rather coarse. 
 
 "But it needn't be long," objected Stella; 
 "you can be short and sacred simultaneously. 
 In fact, I think I could be more sacred if I was 
 quick about it; I should only get bored if I 
 was long." 
 
 "You have such a funny way of putting 
 things," said Marian, a little impatiently. 
 "Of course I know what you mean, but I don't
 
 110 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 like being hurried. I love Julian dearly, and 
 I will marry him when there is time for us to 
 do it quietly and properly. Meanwhile it 's 
 quite awful not hearing from him. I have 
 never been so miserable in my life." 
 
 Stella sat on the floor at Marian's feet with 
 Marian's misery. She entered into it so 
 deeply that after a time Marian felt surprised 
 as well as comforted. She had not thought 
 grief so pictorial. She felt herself placed on a 
 pinnacle and lifted above the ranks of happier 
 lovers. She thought it was her love for Julian 
 that held her there; she did not know that it 
 was Stella's love for her. Stella for a time 
 saw only Marian Marian frozen in a vast sus- 
 pense, Marian racked with silences and tor- 
 tured with imagined dangers. She did not 
 see Julian until Marian had gone, and then 
 suddenly she put her hands to her throat, as if 
 she could not bear the sharp pulsation of fear 
 that assailed her. If all this time they were 
 only fearing half enough and Julian should be 
 dead? 
 
 She whispered, "Julian dead!" Then she 
 knew that she was not feeling any more for 
 Marian. She was feeling for herself. For-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 111 
 
 tunately, she knew this did n't matter. Feel- 
 ing for oneself was sharp and abominable, but 
 it could be controlled. It did not count; and 
 she could keep this much of Julian the fear 
 that he might be dead. It would not interfere 
 with Marian or with Julian. Hopes interfere : 
 but Stella had no personal hopes ; she did not 
 even envisage them. She claimed only the 
 freedom of her fears.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IT is disconcerting to believe that you are 
 the possessor of one kind of temper a 
 cold, deadly, on-the-spot temper which cuts 
 through the insignificant flurries of other peo- 
 ple like a knife through butter, and then to 
 find a sloppy explosiveness burst from you un- 
 aware. 
 
 Mr. Travers had never dreamed that in the 
 town hall itself he could ever be led to lose a 
 thing he had in such entire control as his tem- 
 per. He did not lose it when the blushing Mr. 
 Belk had the audacity to stop him in mid-ca- 
 reer, on his way to his sanctum through Xo. 7, 
 the outer office of his assistant clerks, though 
 they were, as a body, strictly forbidden to ad- 
 dress him while passing to and fro. Mr. Belk 
 was so ill advised as to say: 
 
 "If you please, sir, it 's four o'clock, and 
 Miss Waring has n't been out to lunch yet." 
 Mr. Travers merely ran his eye over Mr. Belk 
 
 as a fishmonger runs his eyes over vulnerable 
 112
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 113 
 
 portions of cod laid out for cutting, and 
 brought down his chopper at an expert angle. 
 
 "Since when, Mr.Belk,"he asked, with weary 
 irony, "has Miss Waring's lunch been on your 
 list of duties?" 
 
 Then he passed swiftly into his office and 
 faced Stella, closing the door behind him. 
 Temper shook him as a rough wind shakes an 
 insignificant obstacle. He could not hold it; 
 it was gone. It blew inside out like a de- 
 ranged umbrella. He glared at Miss War- 
 ing. There was nothing in her slight, bent fig- 
 ure, with its heavy, brown hair neatly plaited 
 in a crown about her head, which should have 
 roused any town clerk to sudden fury. 
 
 "It 's abominable," Mr. Travers exclaimed, 
 bringing his trembling hand down with a bang 
 upon Stella's table, "how women behave!" 
 
 Stella said out loud, "One hundred pounds, 
 ten shillings, and sixpence," and then looked up 
 at her employer. She asked very quietly who 
 had vexed him. There might have been a fugi- 
 tive gleam of laughter at the back of her eyes, 
 but there were shadows un'der them that made 
 her look too tired for laughter. 
 
 "You, of course," he cried. "How are we
 
 114 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ever to get through with our work if you won't 
 eat? It's so silly! It's so tiresome! It's 
 so uncalled for! Why are you doing these 
 wretched lists now?" 
 
 "Because," said Stella and now the laugh- 
 ter ran out at him unexpectedly and tripped 
 him up "the town clerk has a meeting at five 
 o'clock at which these statistics must be at 
 hand to justify him in having his own way!" 
 
 "Put them down!" said Mr. Tr avers sav- 
 agely. Stella laid down her pen with the ready 
 obedience which can be made so baffling when 
 it proceeds from an unconsenting will. "Xow 
 go out and get something to eat," he went on, 
 "while I do the wretched things. And don't 
 let this occur again. If you have too much to 
 do, and I know the correspondence gets more 
 and more every day, mention it. We must 
 get some help in." 
 
 She was gone before he had finished his sen- 
 tence gone with that absurd dimple in the 
 corner of her cheek and the sliding laughter of 
 her eyes. 
 
 She had left behind her a curious, restless 
 emptiness, as if the very room itself waited 
 impatiently for her return. It was half an
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 115 
 
 hour before she came back. The town clerk 
 had had to answer three telephone messages 
 and four telegrams. If the outer office had 
 not known that he was there and Miss Waring 
 was n't, he would have had more interruptions. 
 Nevertheless, the figures had helped Mr. Trav- 
 ers to recover his temper. 
 
 He was an expert accountant, and you can 
 take figures upon their face-value. They are 
 not like women ; they have no dimples. 
 
 Mr. Travers was prepared to be the stern, 
 but just, employer again. He remained 
 seated, and Stella leaned over his shoulder. 
 He had not expected that she would do this. 
 
 "What have you had to eat?" he asked. It 
 was not at all what he had intended to say to 
 Stella. 
 
 "A cup of tea, two ham sandwiches, and a 
 bun such a magnificent spread for seven- 
 pence!" replied Stella, cheerfully. "You've 
 forgotten to put in what the insurance will be 
 -there at the bottom of the page." 
 
 Mr. Travers rose to his feet. He was taller 
 than Stella, and he considered that he had a 
 commanding presence. Stella slid back into 
 her seat.
 
 116 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "You ought to have had," said Mr. Travers, 
 with labored quietness, "beefsteak and a glass 
 of port." 
 
 "Anybody could tell," said Stella, tranquilly, 
 "that you are an abstemious man, Mr. Travers. 
 Port! Port and steak! You mean porter. 
 All real drinkers know that port is sacred. 
 Bottles of it covered with exquisite cobwebs 
 are kept for choice occasions ; they are brought 
 in softly by stately butlers, walking delicately 
 like Agag. It is drunk in companionable 
 splendor, tenderly ministered to by nothing 
 more solid than a walnut, and it follows the 
 courses of the sun. There, you did quite a 
 lot while I was away, and if you don't mind 
 just looking through those landlords' repair- 
 ing leases on your desk, I dare say I shall have 
 finished this before five." 
 
 Mr. Travers opened his mouth, shut it again, 
 and returned to his repairing leases. He was 
 not an employer any more. He was not an 
 icy, mysterious tyrant ruling over a trembling 
 and docile universe: his own secretary had lit- 
 terally told him to run away and play! 
 
 But it was in the night watches that the
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 117 
 
 worst truth struck him. He had been furious 
 with Miss Waring for not spending more upon 
 her lunch, he had upbraided her for it, and she 
 had never turned round and said, "Look what 
 I earn!" The opportunity was made to her 
 hand. "How can women secretaries earning 
 a hundred a year eat three-and-sixpenny 
 lunches?" That ought to have been her an- 
 swer. Why was n't it? She had n't been too 
 stupid to see it. She had seen it, and she had 
 instantly, before he had had time to see it him- 
 self, covered it up and hidden it under that un- 
 called-for eulogy on port. It was not fear. 
 She had n't been afraid to stand up to him (un- 
 called-for eulogies were standing up to him) ; 
 besides she had previously called him unfair to 
 his face. It was just something that Miss 
 Waring was something that made the color 
 spring into Mr. Traver's face in the dark till 
 his cheeks burned; something that had made 
 Mr. Belk dare his chief's displeasure to get her 
 lunch ; something that was n't business. 
 
 "She wouldn't take an advantage, because 
 I 'd given it to her," he said to himself. "I 
 thought everybody took an advantage when
 
 118 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 they had the sense to see it ; but she does n't, 
 though she has plenty of sense. But the 
 world could n't go on like that." 
 
 This brilliant idea reassured Mr. Travers; 
 he stopped blushing. He was relieved to think 
 that the world could n't go on like Stella ; but 
 there was something in him, a faint contradic- 
 tory something, that made him glad that Stella 
 did n't go on like the world. 
 
 He went to sleep with these two points un- 
 reconciled.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 STELLA had always known that it would 
 come ; she had spent two months far-seeing 
 it. It had usually taken the form of a telegram 
 falling out of Mrs. Waring's wool, or Eury- 
 dice standing upon the steps, Cassandra-like, 
 to greet her with a message from Marian. 
 Marian would come to give her the message, 
 but she would n't wait ; she would drive swiftly 
 away in a motor, and leave the broken uni- 
 verse behind her. But disasters do not come 
 as we have planned their coming. 
 
 It was a dull November day, the streets were 
 full of dying leaves, and at the end of all the 
 cross-roads surrounding the town hall a blue 
 mist hung like a curtain. Marian, in black 
 velvet and furs, with old Spanish ear-rings 
 gleaming from her shell-like ears, stood in dis- 
 gust upon the steps of the town hall. Her 
 small face was frozen with unexpected pain, 
 but she could still feel annoyed with the por- 
 no
 
 120 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ter. She stood in the thronged corridor and 
 asked decisively for Miss Waring. 
 
 The porter told her that Miss Waring 
 worked in No. 7, or, at any rate, No. 7 would 
 know where she was working. 
 
 Marian stared slightly over the porter's 
 head. 
 
 "My good man," she said, "how am I to 
 know where No. 7 is? Go and tell her to 
 rome to me. Here is my card." 
 
 All the way to No. 7 the porter concocted 
 brilliant retorts to this order. He would tell 
 her he was not a footman and that this was n't 
 Buckingham Palace. He would say roughly 
 that, if she had eyes in her head, she could find 
 No. 7 for herself. But he was intimidated by 
 Marian's ear-rings. A secret fear that she 
 might turn out to be the lord mayor's daugh- 
 ter drove him to No. 7. 
 
 Stella was filing letters when he knocked, 
 and when she saw the card she knew the mes- 
 senger had come ; but she did not forget to say 
 as usual, "Oh, thank you, Humphreys." 
 
 She finished filing the letters before she 
 looked for Mr. Tr avers. 
 
 He was coming out of the council chamber
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 121 
 
 at the top of a flight of stairs. She stood 
 there for a moment, holding him with her eyes, 
 her lips parted. She looked like a bird that 
 has been caught in a room and despairs of find- 
 ing the way out. 
 
 Her face was strained and eager, and her 
 sensitive eyebrows were drawn together in a 
 little tortured frown; but she spoke quietly as 
 soon as her breath came back to her. 
 
 "Mr. Travers, a friend of mine is in trouble. 
 May I go to her for the afternoon? There is 
 still a great deal to do, I know I ought not 
 to ask you to let me go, but Mr. Belk and 
 Miss Flint are so kind that I am sure they 
 would help me. I I should be very grateful 
 if you could spare me." 
 
 "Certainly not," said Mr. Travers, sharply. 
 "I mean, of course, you can go; but I won't 
 have Mr. Belk or Miss Flint near me. I will 
 do the work myself." 
 
 "Oh," she cried, aghast at this magnanimous 
 humility on the part of her employer, "please 
 don't! Do let me ask them! I'd so much 
 rather" 
 
 Mr. Travers waved her away. He wanted 
 to do the work himself, and he wanted her to
 
 122 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 be aghast. He descended the stairs rapidly 
 beside her. 
 
 "You may leave immediately, Miss War- 
 ing," he said sternly as they reached No. 7; 
 "and I will make my own arrangements about 
 your work." 
 
 Stella fled. Again he felt the sense of 
 wings, as if he had opened a window, and a 
 bird had flown past him into liberty. 
 
 He did not want her to be grateful, but he 
 thought she might have looked back. She had 
 noticed him only as a barrier unexpectedly 
 fallen. She had not seen how strange it was 
 that a barrier of so stubborn and erect a nature 
 as Mr. Travers should have consented to fall. 
 
 If any one else had asked him for an after- 
 noon with a friend in trouble, Mr. Travers 
 knew that he would have said, "Your friends' 
 troubles must take place outside office-hours." 
 But when he had seen Stella's face he had for- 
 gotten office-hours. 
 
 Marian was sitting on a chair in the corridor. 
 Her expression implied that there was no such 
 thing as a town hall, and that the chair was a 
 mere concession to unnecessary space. She 
 said, as she saw Stella:
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 123 
 
 "Please be quick about putting your things 
 on. Yes, it 's bad news about Julian." 
 
 Stella was quick. Marian said no more un- 
 til they were seated together in the motor; 
 then she gave Stella a letter she had received 
 from Lady Verny. Lady Verny wrote: 
 
 My dear Marian: You must prepare yourself for a 
 great distress. Julian is in England, but he is very 
 much injured. I want you to go to him at once. When- 
 ever he is conscious he asks for you. My dear, if he 
 recovers, and they think that if he has an incentive to 
 live he will live, he will be partially paralyzed. I know 
 that he will want to free you, and it will be right that 
 you should even now feel free; but till then for a 
 month will you give him all you can? All he needs 
 to live ? It is a great deal to ask of you, but I think you 
 are good and kind, and that I shall not ask this of 
 you in vain. His life is valuable, and will still be so, for 
 his brain is not affected. Before he relapsed into un- 
 consciousness he was able to give the Government the 
 information he acquired. I think it is not wrong to help 
 him to live ; but of course I am his mother, and it is diffi- 
 cult for me to judge. All this is very terrible for you, 
 even the deciding of whether you ought to help him to 
 live or not. If I might suggest anything to you, it 
 would be to talk about it with that friend of yours, Miss 
 Waring. 
 
 Come to me when you have seen him. Do not think, 
 whatever your decision is, that I shall not realize what
 
 124 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 it costs you, or fail to do all in my power to help you 
 to carry it out. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 HELEN VERNY. 
 
 'Stella dropped the letter and looked at Ma- 
 rian. Marian sat erect, and her eyes burned. 
 She was tearless and outraged by sorrow. 
 There are people who take joy as a personal 
 virtue and sorrow as a personal insult, and 
 Marian was one of these people. Happiness 
 had softened and uplifted her; pain struck 
 her down and humiliated her solid sense of 
 pride. 
 
 "Why was n't he killed?" she asked bitterly, 
 meeting Stella's questioning eyes. "I could 
 have borne his being killed. Value! What 
 does Lady Verny mean by value ? His career 
 is smashed; his life is to all intents and pur- 
 poses over. And mine with it! It is very 
 kind of her to say he will release me. I do 
 not need his mother to tell me that. She seems 
 to have overlooked the fact that I have given 
 him my word! Is it likely that I should fail 
 him or that I could consent to be released? I 
 do not need any one to tell me my duty. But 
 I hate life! I hate it! I think it all stupid,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 125 
 
 vile, senseless! Why did I ever meet him? 
 What good has love been to me? A few 
 hours' happiness, and then this martyrdom set 
 like a trap to catch us! And I don't like in- 
 valids. I have never seen any one very ill. I 
 sha'n't know what to say to him." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you will, when you see him," said 
 Stella; it was all that for a while she could 
 say. 
 
 She had always believed that Marian had 
 a deep, but close-locked, nature. Love pre- 
 sumably would be the key. 
 
 It was unlocked now. Pain had unlocked 
 it, instead of love, and Stella shivered at the 
 tearless hardness, the sharp, shallow sense of 
 personal privation that occupied Marian's 
 heart. She had not yet thought of Julian. 
 
 Stella told herself that Marian's was only 
 the blindness of the unimaginative. The mo- 
 ment Marian saw Julian it would pass, and 
 yield before the directer illumination of the 
 heart. Marian's nature was perhaps one of 
 those that yields very slowly to pain. When 
 she saw Julian she would forget everything 
 else. She would not think of her losses and 
 sacrifices any more, or her duties.
 
 126 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Stella felt curiously stung and wasted by 
 Marian's use of the word "duty." Was that 
 all there was for the woman whom Julian 
 loved? Was that all there was for Julian! 
 
 But she could deal only with what Marian 
 had; so, when she spoke again, Stella said all 
 she could to comfort Marian. She spoke of 
 Julian's courage; she said no life in Julian 
 could be useless that left his brain free to act. 
 She suggested that he would find a new career 
 for himself, and she pictured his future suc- 
 cesses. Beneath her lips and her quick outer 
 mind she thought only of Julian, broken. 
 
 They stopped in a large, quiet square, at 
 the door of a private hospital. There was no 
 sound but the half-notes of birds stirring at 
 twilight in the small square garden, and far off 
 the muffled murmur of distant streets. 
 
 A nurse opened the door. 
 
 "You are Miss Young?" she said to Marian. 
 "Yes, of course, we were expecting you. Sis- 
 ter would like to see you first." 
 
 They stood for a moment in a small neat 
 office. The sister rose from an old Dutch bu- 
 reau, one of the traces of the house's former 
 occupants, and held out her hand to Marian.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 127 
 
 Her eyes rested with intentness upon the girl's 
 face. 
 
 "Sir Julian is almost certain to know you," 
 she said gently, "but you must n't talk much to 
 him. He has been much weakened by expo- 
 sure. He lay in a wood for three days without 
 food or water. There is every hope of his par- 
 tial recovery, Miss Young; but he needs rest 
 and reassurance. We can give him the rest 
 here, but we must look to you to help us to 
 bring back to him the love of life." 
 
 Marian stood with her beautiful head raised 
 proudly. She waited for a moment to control 
 her voice ; then she asked quietly : 
 
 "Is the paralysis likely to be permanent?" 
 
 The sister moved a chair toward her, but 
 Marian shook her head. 
 
 "It is a state of partial paralysis. He will 
 be able to get about on crutches," the sister re- 
 plied. "Won't you rest for a few moments 
 before going up to him, Miss Young?" 
 
 "No, thank you," said Marian; "I will go 
 up to him at once." 
 
 She turned quickly toward the door, and 
 meeting Stella's eyes, she took and held her 
 arm tightly for a moment, and then, loosing it,
 
 128 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 walked quickly toward the stairs. Stella fol- 
 lowed her as if she had no being. She had 
 lost all consciousness of herself. She was a 
 thought that clung to Julian, an unbodied idea 
 fixed upon the cross of Julian's pain. She did 
 not see the staircase up which she passed; she 
 walked through the wood in which Julian had 
 lain three days. 
 
 He was in a large, airy room with two other 
 men. Stella did not know which was Julian 
 until he opened his eyes. There was no color 
 in his face, and very little substance. The 
 other men were raised in bed and looked alive, 
 but Julian lay like something made of wax 
 and run into a mold. Only his eyes lived 
 lived and flickered, and held on to his drifting 
 consciousness. 
 
 The nurse guided Marian to his bed, and, 
 drawing a chair forward, placed it close to him. 
 Marian leaned down and kissed his forehead. 
 She had determined to do that, whatever he 
 looked like ; and she did it. 
 
 His lips moved. She bent down, and a 
 whisper reached her : "I said I 'd come back 
 to you, and I have." Then he closed his eyes. 
 He had nothing further to say.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 129 
 
 Marian did not cry. After the first mo- 
 ment she did not look at Julian; she looked 
 away from him out of the window. She did 
 not feel that it was Julian who lay there like 
 a broken toy. It was her duty. She had sub- 
 mitted to it; but nothing in her responded to 
 this submission except her iron will. 
 
 The nurse had forgotten to bring a chair for 
 Stella. She leaned against the door until a 
 red-haired boy with a bandaged arm, on the 
 bed nearest to her, exclaimed earnestly: 
 
 "Do take my chair! You look awfully 
 done." 
 
 She was able to take his chair because her 
 hands were less blind than any other part of 
 her, and she smiled at him because she had the 
 habit of smiling when she thanked people. 
 Then her eyes went back to Julian. Her 
 heart had never left him; and she knew now 
 that it never would leave him again. 
 
 She did not know how long or short it was 
 before Marian rose gracefully, and said in her 
 clear, sweet voice, "I shall come again to- 
 morrow, Julian." 
 
 Marian stopped at each of the other bed- 
 sides before she joined Stella. She said little,
 
 130 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 friendly, inclusive words to the other two men, 
 which made them feel as if they would like to 
 sweep the floor under her feet. 
 
 "All the same," the red-haired man explained 
 after the door closed, "it was the untidy little 
 one, piled up against the door, that minded 
 most. I dare say she was his sister." 
 
 He had no need to lower his voice, though 
 he did lower it, for fear of its reaching Julian. 
 
 Julian had been reassured, and now he was 
 resting. Consciousness had altogether re- 
 ceded from him, perhaps that it might give him 
 a better chance of resting.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 JULIAN roused himself with the feeling 
 that he had said only half of what he had 
 intended to say to Marian. It had been in 
 his mind a long time. It was while he was 
 lying out under the pine-trees that he had real- 
 ized what he had got to say to Marian if he ever 
 got back. There was a complicated cipher 
 message for the Government, which he had kept 
 quite clear in his mind, and eventually given to 
 an intelligent doctor to send off; and there was 
 the message to Marian, which he himself would 
 have to say when lie saw her. 
 
 "I Ve come back, as I promised; but I can't 
 marry you now, of course. I 'm a crock." 
 
 The first time he saw Marian he had got 
 through only the first part of the sentence. 
 There was no hurry about the rest of it. The 
 doctor and the sister had both assured him 
 that there was no hurry. They had been very 
 kind, and quite as honest as their profession 
 
 131
 
 132 THE SECOXD FIDDLE 
 
 permitted. They said Marian would come 
 back, and he could tell her then. 
 
 They admitted, when he cross-questioned 
 them with all the sharpness of which he was 
 capable, that he would be a cripple. They did 
 not bother him with futile commiserations. 
 They gave him quietly and kindly the facts 
 he asked for. He would never be able to walk 
 again, but he could get about easily on 
 crutches. 
 
 Julian did not want to live very much, but 
 his mother's eyes hurt him when he tried not 
 to; and then Marian came again, and he got 
 through the rest of his sentence. 
 
 "You see," he explained in a low whisper 
 which sounded in his head like a gong, "mar- 
 riage is quite out of the question." 
 
 Marian was there with smiles and flowers, 
 just as he had so often pictured her; but she 
 sat down with a curious solidity, and her voice 
 sounded clearer than it had sounded in his 
 dreams. 
 
 "Nothing alters our engagement, Julian," 
 she said. "Nothing can." 
 
 She spoke with a finality that stopped his 
 thinking. He had finished his sentence, and
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 133 
 
 it seemed hardly fair to be expected to start 
 another on the spur of the moment. He gave 
 himself up to a feeling of intense relief: he had 
 got off his cipher to the Government and he 
 had released Marian. 
 
 He had known these were going to be diffi- 
 cult things to do. The cipher had been the 
 worst. The French doctor had taken some 
 time to understand that Julian must neither 
 die nor be attended to until he had sent the ci- 
 pher off; and now the business about Marian 
 was over, too. He had only to lie there and 
 look at her day by day coming in with roses. 
 They did not talk much. Julian never spoke 
 of his symptoms, but they were too radical to 
 free him. He lay under them like a creature 
 pinned under the wreckage of a railway acci- 
 dent. 
 
 Slowly, day by day, his strength came back 
 to him; and as it came back, peace receded. 
 His eyes lost their old adoring indulgence; 
 they seemed to be watching Marian covertly, 
 anxious for some gift that she was withhold- 
 ing from him. He did not demand this as a 
 right, as the old Julian would have done, 
 breaking down the barriers of her pride to
 
 134 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 reach it. He pleaded for it with shamed eyes 
 that met hers only to glance away. Some- 
 thing in her that was not cruelty as much as a 
 baffling desire to escape him made her refuse 
 to give him what his eyes asked. 
 
 Julian had loved her for her elusiveness, 
 and the uncaptured does not yield readily to 
 any appeal from the hunter. The prize is to 
 the strong. 
 
 She would not have withstood a spoken wish 
 of his ; but there is something in speechless suf- 
 fering from which light sympathies shrink 
 away. Pity lay in Marian a tepid, quickly 
 roused feeling, blowing neither hot nor cold. 
 She cried easily over sad books, but she had 
 none of the maternal instinct which seizes upon 
 the faintest indication of pain with a com- 
 bative passion for its alleviation. She became 
 antagonistic when she was personally dis- 
 turbed by suffering. 
 
 She was keeping her word to Julian while 
 her heart was drifting away from him ; and he* 
 while he desired her to be free, instinctively 
 tried to hold her back. They had both put 
 their theories before their instincts, and they
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 135 
 
 expected their instincts to stand aside until 
 their theories had been carried out. 
 
 Perhaps if Julian could have told her his ex- 
 periences he might have recaptured her im- 
 agination; but when she asked him to tell her 
 about them, he said quickly, "I can't," and 
 turned away his head. He was afraid to trust 
 himself. He wanted to tell her everything. 
 He was afraid that if he began, his reticence 
 would break down, and he would tell her 
 things which must never pass his lips. He 
 longed for her to know that every day, and 
 nearly every hour, he had fought and con- 
 quered intricate abnormal obstacles. He had 
 slipped across imminent death as a steady 
 climber grips and passes across the face of a 
 precipice. 
 
 He had never faltered. All that he had 
 gone to find he had found, and more. At each 
 step he had seen a fresh opportunity, and 
 taken it. He had been like a bicyclist in 
 heavy traffic assailed on every side by con- 
 verging vehicles, and yet seeing only the one 
 wavering ribbon of his way out. And he had 
 won his way out with knowledge that was
 
 136 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 worth a king's ransom. He could have borne 
 anything if Marian would realize that what he 
 had borne had been worth while. But after 
 her first unanswered question, Marian never 
 referred again to what he had done. She be- 
 haved as if his services had been a regrettable 
 mistake. 
 
 She talked with real feeling about the suffer- 
 ings of those who fought in the war. Her 
 eyes seemed to tell him what her lips refrained 
 from uttering, that she could have been more 
 sorry for him if he had been wounded in a 
 trench, and not shot at and abandoned by a 
 nervous sentry firing in the dark. He could 
 not remember the exact moment when out of 
 the vague turmoil of his weakened mind he 
 gripped this cold truth: Marian was not ten- 
 der. 
 
 When she was not there he could pretend. 
 He could make up all the beautiful, loving lit- 
 tle things she had not said, and sometimes he 
 would not remember that he had made them 
 up. Those were the best moments of all. He 
 believed then that she had given him what 
 his heart hungered for. He was too much 
 ashamed of his ruined strength to feel resent-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 137 
 
 ment at Marian's coldness. It struck him as 
 natural that she should care less for a broken 
 man. 
 
 His mind traveled slowly, knocking against 
 the edges of his old dreams. 
 
 He thought perhaps a nursing home was n't 
 the kind of place in which people could really 
 understand one another, all mixed up with 
 screens and medicine bottles, and nurses bring- 
 ing things in on trays. If he could see Marian 
 once at Amberley for the last time, so that he 
 could keep the picture of her moving about 
 the dark wainscoted rooms, or looking out from 
 the terrace above the water meadows, he would 
 have something precious to remember for the 
 rest of his life ; and she might n't mind him so 
 much there, surrounded by the dignity of the 
 old background of his race. One day he said 
 to her : 
 
 "I want to go to Amberley as soon as I can 
 be moved. I want to see it again with you." 
 
 "In December?" asked Marian, with lifted, 
 disapproving brows. "It would be horribly 
 damp, my dear Julian, all water-meadows and 
 mist. You would be much more comfortable 
 here."
 
 138 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Julian frowned. He hated the word "com- 
 fort" in connection with himself. 
 
 "You don't understand," he said, a little im- 
 patiently. "I know every inch of it, and it 's 
 quite jolly in the winter. We are above the 
 water. I want to see the downs. One gets 
 tired of milk-carts and barrel organs, and the 
 brown tank on the roof across the way. You 
 remember the downs, Marian?" 
 
 His eyes met hers again with that new, curi- 
 ously weak look of his. Marian turned her 
 head away. How could Julian bear to speak 
 of the downs? 
 
 She saw for a moment the old Julian spring- 
 ing up the hillside assured and eager, the fine, 
 strong lover who had taken her heart by storm. 
 She spoke coldly to this weaker Julian. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I am not likely to forget 
 the downs. I spent the last happy hours of 
 my life there ; but I cannot say I ever wish to 
 see them again." 
 
 Julian's eyes fell, so that she could not see 
 if he had even noticed how bitterly she remem- 
 bered Amberley. 
 
 The next day she found him sitting up for 
 the first time. He was propped up by cush-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 139 
 
 ions, but it made him look as if he had gained 
 some of his old incisive strength. 
 
 The other two men had been moved, and 
 they had the large, bare room to themselves. 
 
 No sound came from the square beneath 
 them; in the house itself there were passing 
 footsteps and the occasional persistent buzzing 
 of an electric bell. 
 
 "Look here," said Julian in a queer, dry 
 voice, "I 've got an awful lot to say to you 
 d'you mind drawing your chair nearer? I 
 meant to say it at Amberley. I 'd have liked 
 it better there. I rather hate this kind of dis- 
 infected, sloppy place for talk. You must 
 loathe it, too. But here or there it 's got to be 
 said. You said something or other when I 
 first put it to you about our engagement 
 never being broken. It was awfully good of 
 you, of course. I couldn't see through it at 
 the time. I wanted to let things slide. But 
 it 's all nonsense my dear girl. Women like 
 you can't marry logs of wood." 
 
 He looked at her anxiously. Her eyes were 
 shut to expression. She sat there, just as 
 lovely, just as sphinx-like as some old smiling 
 portrait. There was the same unfluctuating,
 
 140 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 delicate color in her face, and the same un- 
 harassed, straightforward glancing of the eyes. 
 She was not the least perturbed by what he 
 said; she expected him to say it. 
 
 "We should be foolish," she answered 
 quietly, "to try to ignore the terrible difference 
 in our lives, Julian, and I was sure you would 
 want to set me free; but you cannot do it. I 
 took the risk of your accident, unwillingly at 
 first; but, still, eventually I accepted it, and 
 I will not be set free." 
 
 His eyes held hers compellingly, as if he 
 were searching for some inner truth behind 
 her words, and then slowly reluctant tears 
 gathered across the keenness of his vision. He 
 leaned his head back on his pillow and looked 
 away. 
 
 "I don't think," he said slowly, "you 're glad 
 to have me back. I don't want to marry you, 
 I could n't marry you ; but I wish to Heaven 
 you 'd been glad ! O Marian, I 'm a coward 
 and a fool, but if you 'd been glad, I 'd have 
 gone down under it! I 'd have married you 
 then. I ought n't to say this. It 's all non- 
 sense, and you 're quite right. It 's awfully 
 fine of you to want to keep your word; but,
 
 ! 
 
 
 "Women like you can't marry logs of wood"
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 you see, I did n't want your word. It 's your 
 heart I wanted. I used to say out there some- 
 times, when things were a bit thick, 'Never 
 mind. If I get through, she '11 be glad.' " 
 
 Marian drew herself up. This did not seem 
 to her fair of Julian. She had prayed very 
 earnestly to God for his safe return. Neither 
 God nor he had been quite fair about it. This 
 was not a safe return. 
 
 "I don't know what more I can do, Julian," 
 she said steadily, "than offer to share my life 
 with you." 
 
 "That 's just it," said Julian, with that curi- 
 ous look in his eyes which kept fighting her, 
 and yet appealing to her simultaneously. 
 "You can't do more. If you could, I 'm such 
 a weak hound, I 'd lie here and take it. If 
 you wanted me, Marian, wanted a broken 
 fragment of a man fit for a dust-pan, I 'd 
 land you with it. But, 'pon my word, it 's too 
 steep when you don't want it. Out 'of some 
 curious sense of duty toward the dust-pan 
 I 'm afraid I 'm being uncivil to the uni- 
 verse, but I feel a little uncivil to it just now. 
 No ; you 've got to go. I 'm sorry. Don't 
 touch me. Just let me be; but if you could
 
 144 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 say just where you are before you go! But 
 it does n't matter. I should n't believe it. I 
 would n't believe the mother that bore me now. 
 I Ve seen the end of love." 
 
 The tears burned themselves away from his 
 eyes ; they gazed at her as sunken and blue as 
 the sea whipped by an east wind. She turned 
 slowly toward the door. 
 
 "I want you to remember, Julian," she said, 
 "that I meant what I said. I mean it still. 
 I wish to carry out our engagement." 
 
 Julian said something in reply that Marian 
 didn't understand. He was repeating out 
 loud and very slowly the cipher he had sent to 
 the Government. 
 
 After all, it had been easier to send the ci- 
 pher to the Government than to release Ma- 
 rian. His mind had sprung back to the easier 
 task.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IT was not often that Stella took anything 
 for herself, least of all Saturday after- 
 noons. They belonged by a kind of sacred 
 right to Eurydice, and what was left over from 
 Eurydice was used on the weekly accounts. 
 Mrs. Waring found it easier to explain to 
 Stella than to any one else why one and six- 
 pence that was really due to the butcher should 
 have been expended upon "The Will of God," 
 bound in white and gold for eighteenpence, an 
 indisputable spiritual bargain, but a poor 
 equivalent to the butcher. 
 
 But this Saturday afternoon Stella hard- 
 ened her heart against Eurydice and turned 
 her mind away from the vista of the weekly 
 bills. She wanted to think about Julian. 
 
 Marian had left London the day after her 
 interview with him. She belonged to that 
 class of people which invariably follows a dis- 
 agreeable event by a change of address; but 
 
 145
 
 146 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 she had found time before she went to write to 
 Stella. There was something she wanted 
 Stella to send on after her from the Army and 
 Navy stores. She was really too upset and 
 rushed to go there herself. Julian had been 
 so extraordinary; he apparently expected her 
 to be fonder of him now than when he was all 
 right. She had really made tremendous sac- 
 rifices going to that horrid nursing home every 
 day for a month. Both her parents were de- 
 lighted that the engagement was at an end, 
 and of course it was a relief in some ways, 
 though horribly sad and upsetting, especially 
 as Julian behaved as if she were to blame. 
 Marian was afraid he was n't as chivalrous as 
 she had always thought. She had idealized 
 him. One does when one is in love with peo- 
 ple ; but it does n't last. One wakes up and 
 finds everything different. 
 
 Stella wanted to forget Marian's letter. It 
 seemed to her as cursory and callous as a news- 
 paper account of a storm in China. It was 
 all so far off, and drowned Chinamen are so 
 much alike; and yet she had written to tell 
 Stella about Julian and the end of love. 
 "Many waters cannot quench love" ; it had not
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 147 
 
 taken many waters to quench Marian's. It 
 occurred to Stella for the first time that the 
 quality of love depends solely upon the heart 
 that holds it; not even divine fire can burn on 
 an untended hearth. 
 
 It was a mild December day; winter had 
 given itself a few soft hours in which to brood 
 upon the spring. London, the last of places to 
 feel the touch of nature and the first to profit 
 by it, had passed into a golden mist. 
 
 Stella left the town hall at two o'clock, and 
 walked down the busy highway. All the lit- 
 tle, lively shops were awake and doing their 
 noisy business of the week, while farther west 
 all the big, quiet shops, with other habits, 
 closed on the heels of their departing customers. 
 Stella slipped away from the eager friendly 
 crowd, glued together in indissoluble groups 
 upon the pavement. She wanted to be alone 
 and not to have to keep reminding herself not 
 to think of Julian until she had finished what 
 she had to do. 
 
 She turned down a narrow lane with high 
 brick walls. Silence and solitude were at the 
 turn of a corner. London fell away from her 
 like a jangling dream.
 
 148 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 She passed an iron-scrolled gateway which 
 led into an old garden. The low-browed 
 house, with its overhanging eaves, was once the 
 home of a famous poet. Poetry clung about 
 it still; it was in the air, and met her like the 
 touch of a friend's hand. A little farther 
 along the lane she came to an opening in the 
 wall, and saw before her a small, surrounded 
 field of grass. It was a Quaker burial- 
 ground. This unique and quiet people, in 
 their enmity with form, had chosen of all forms 
 the most resilient. They had made in the 
 heart of London a picture, and a place of 
 peace for death. 
 
 There was no sense of desolation in the si- 
 lent field; only the sunshine, the old walls, and 
 the green emptiness. It might have been the 
 grass-grown citadel of Tusculum spread out 
 at Stella's feet, it was a spot so acquainted 
 with the air, with solitude, and with a nameless 
 history. 
 
 Beyond it lay a maze of old and narrow 
 streets, with quaint, lop-sided houses, uneven 
 roofs, and winding causeways. 
 
 At the end of one of these she came sud- 
 denly upon a waste of waters the color of a
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 149 
 
 moonstone. Stella had never been abroad; 
 but she felt as if a wall between her mind and 
 space had broken down and shown her Venice. 
 Drifting slowly down the broad stream were 
 two white swans, and across the river a green 
 bank stood beneath a row of shining towers. 
 
 They were a row of factory chimneys; but 
 rising out of the mist, above the moonstone 
 flood, they looked like ancient towers. Stella 
 sat upon a wooden float ; it made a luxurious 
 seat for her opposite the drifting swans. She 
 felt as if all her thoughts at last were free. 
 There was no one in sight; old and dignified 
 houses leaned toward the water-front : but for 
 all the life that inhabited them, they might 
 have been the ghosts of houses. Nothing 
 stirred, but sometimes up the river a seagull, 
 on level wings, with wary eyes, wandered above 
 the watery highway, challenging the unaccus- 
 tomed small spaces of the sky. 
 
 Stella wished for the first time that Julian 
 were dead. She did not believe in a capricious 
 or an impatient God, moved by well-timed pe- 
 titions ; but all her being absorbed itself into an 
 unconscious prayer for Julian's peace. 
 
 She could not have told how long she had
 
 150 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 been there when she heard the sound of foot- 
 steps, strangely familiar footsteps, direct, 
 regular, and swift. She looked up, to meet 
 the grave, intent gaze of Mr. Leslie Travers. 
 
 Stella rubbed her eyes as if she had been 
 asleep. Surely in a place of whispering si- 
 lences, town clerks did not burst upon you ex- 
 cept in dreams? 
 
 Of course Mr. Travers might live in one of 
 these old, quiet houses, though it did not seem 
 very likely to Stella. She thought he must 
 live in some place where the houses looked as 
 if they knew more what they were about, and 
 did not brood over a deserted waterway 
 
 Seeing all their own mischance 
 With a glassy countenance, 
 
 like that immortal gazer, the Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Mr. Travers did not pass Stella with his 
 usual air of cutting through space like a knife. 
 He crossed the float gingerly, and asked 
 firmly, but with kindness, if he might sit down. 
 
 Stella gave a helpless gesture of assent. 
 She could not stop him, but he was inappropri- 
 ate. The row of factory chimneys ceased to 
 disguise themselves as towers ; the float looked
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 151 
 
 as if it knew suddenly how unsuitable it was 
 for a winter afternoon's repose. The swans, 
 approaching fatally near for the ideal, were 
 very nearly black. 
 
 "Do you not find it damp here?" asked Mr. 
 Travers. 
 
 Stella said: 
 
 "Yes, very"; and then, meeting his sur- 
 prised eyes, she hastily corrected herself. "No, 
 not at all." Then gave a little, helpless 
 laugh. "Forgive me!" she said. "You sur- 
 prised me so. Has anything gone wrong at 
 the town hall?" 
 
 Mr. Travers did not immediately answer 
 her question. He had never sat on a float be- 
 fore. Still, it was not this fact which silenced 
 him. He had not been sure when he ap- 
 proached if Stella was crying or not. There 
 was still something that looked suspiciously 
 like the pathway of a tear upon the cheek next 
 him, and though she was laughing now, it had 
 not the sound of her usual laughter; it stirred 
 in him a sense of tears. 
 
 "I think I shall confess at once," he said 
 finally, "that I followed you. I wanted to 
 talk to you without interruption. I might
 
 152 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 have called upon you at your home, of course, 
 but I have not had the pleasure of meet- 
 ing your family, and in this instance my busi- 
 ness was with you." 
 
 Stella gave a faint sigh of relief. She was 
 glad it was business. She was used to busi- 
 ness with Mr. Travers. She was not used to 
 pleasure with him, and she was not in the 
 mood for new experiences. 
 
 "I shall be glad to talk over anything with 
 you about which I can be of use," she said 
 gently, "and I think this is a beautiful place 
 to do it in." 
 
 "The rents," said Mr. Travers, glancing 
 critically at the silent houses, "must be very 
 low, necessarily low. I hope you do not often 
 come here," he added after a pause. "It is 
 the kind of place in which I should strongly 
 suspect drains. We might mention it to the 
 sanitary inspector and ask him for a report 
 upon it." 
 
 "Oh, must we?" murmured Stella. 
 
 "Not if you would rather not," said Mr. 
 Travers, unexpectedly. "In that case I 
 would waive the question." 
 
 Stella glanced at him in alarm. Was Mr.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 153 
 
 Travers going mad from overstrain at the 
 town hall? He must be very nearly mad to 
 come and sit upon a float with his secretary on 
 Saturday afternoon, and waive a question of 
 drains. 
 
 "But that wouldn't be business," she said 
 gravely. 
 
 "Yes, it would," said Mr. Travers, relent- 
 lessly. "It is my immediate business to please 
 you." 
 
 Stella's alarm deepened ; but it became solely 
 for Mr. Travers. She did not mind if he was 
 sane or not if only he refrained from saying 
 anything that he would ultimately regret. 
 
 "I don't know whether you realize, Miss 
 Waring," Mr. Travers continued, "that I am 
 a very lonely man. I have no contemporary 
 relatives. My father died when I was a young 
 child. I lost my mother two years ago. My 
 work has not entailed many friendships. I be- 
 gan office work very young, and it has to a 
 great extent absorbed me. I think I should 
 be afraid to say it to any one but you, it 
 would sound laughable, but my chief attach- 
 ment of late years has been to a cat." 
 
 It was curious that, though Mr. Travers
 
 154 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 had often been nervous of his secretary's hu- 
 mor, he understood that she would not laugh 
 at him about his cat. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "I hope it loves you as well. 
 They won't sometimes, I know; you can pour 
 devotion out on them, and they won't turn a 
 hair. But when they do, it 's so wonderfully 
 reassuring. Dogs will love almost any one, 
 but cats discriminate. I do hope your cat dis- 
 criminates toward you, Mr. Travers?" 
 
 "I think it was attached to me in its way," 
 said Mr. Travers, clearing his throat. "It was 
 an old cat, and now it is dead. I merely men- 
 tion it in passing." 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Stella, quickly. "But I 'm 
 so sorry ! I hate to think you had to lose what 
 you loved." 
 
 "You would," said Mr. Travers. "But the 
 point I wish to make to you is that a man 
 whose sole dependence is upon the attachment 
 of a cat does not know much about human 
 relationships. I fear I am exceedingly igno- 
 rant upon this subject. Until lately this had 
 not particularly disturbed me. Now I should 
 wish to have given it more consideration." 
 
 "But I think you have," said Stella, eagerly;
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 155 
 
 "I mean I think you 've changed lately about 
 relationships. Now I think of it, I 'm quite 
 sure you have. I have always enjoyed my 
 work with you, and you have never been in- 
 considerate to me. But I used to think people 
 were n't very real to you, as if you wanted to 
 hurry through them and stick them on a neat, 
 tight file, like the letters, according to their 
 alphabetical order. But now I know you 're 
 not like that. Even if you hadn't told me 
 about the cat I should have known it." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mr. Travers. "Thank 
 you very much." 
 
 For a while he said nothing at all, and Stella 
 wondered if that was all he wanted. She 
 hoped it was all he wanted. Then he turned 
 and looked down at her. 
 
 "I have formed an attachment now, Miss 
 Waring," he said, "and I am in a suitable posi- 
 tion to carry it out. You have been the best 
 secretary a man ever had. Could you under- 
 take to become my wife ?" 
 
 Stella bowed her head. She had come here 
 to think about Julian, but she had not been 
 able to think about him for very long. She did 
 not think about him at all now. She thought
 
 156 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 only about Mr. Travers. She was so sorry 
 for him that she could not look at him. What 
 compensation was there for what she had not 
 got to give him, and in what mad directions 
 does not pity sometimes drive? For a mo- 
 ment she felt as if she could not say "No" to 
 him; but to say "Yes" would make nothing 
 any easier, for after she had said "Yes" she 
 would have nothing more to give. 
 
 There is seldom any disastrous situation in 
 which there is not something that can be saved. 
 Stella saw in a flash what she might still save 
 out of it. She could save Mr. Travers's pride 
 at the cost of hers. She w r as a very proud 
 and a very reticent woman ; she would take the 
 deepest thing in her heart and show it to Mr. 
 Travers that he might not feel ashamed at hav- 
 ing shown her his own. 
 
 "I can't," she said quickly, slipping her 
 small, firm hand over his; "not because it is n't 
 beautiful of you. It is, of course ; it 's one of 
 the most beautiful things I 've ever known, 
 because you know nothing about me, and I 'm 
 so glad I 'm not what you would really like if 
 you did know me. Remember that after- 
 ward."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 157 
 
 "Excuse me," interrupted Mr. Travers, 
 dryly; "I am the best judge of what I like." 
 
 "I wonder if you really are," said Stella, 
 with a little gasp, as if she had been running. 
 "I wonder if I really am myself. But we both 
 think we are, don't we? We can't help that 
 and the very same thing has happened to us 
 both : we Ve seen and wanted a little some- 
 thing that would n't do that would n't do at 
 all for either of us ever. If you had to like 
 somebody that would n't do, I think I 'm 
 glad you came to me, because, you see, I know 
 what it feels like. I can be sorry and proud 
 and glad you Ve given it to me, and then we 
 need never talk about it any more." 
 
 Mr. Travers looked straight in front of him. 
 Stella had not withdrawn her hand; but Mr. 
 Travers pressed it, and laid it down reveren- 
 tially between them. He would never forget 
 that he had held it, but to continue to hold 
 it until she had accepted him would have 
 seemed to Mr. Travers a false position. 
 
 "There is another point to which I should 
 like to draw your attention," he said after a 
 slight pause. "Marriage does not necessarily 
 imply any feeling of an intense nature by both
 
 158 ,THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 parties. I wish to offer you security and com- 
 panionship. As I told you before, I am a 
 lonely man; I could be content with very lit- 
 tle. I have noticed that when you come into a 
 room it makes a difference to me." 
 
 "Don't make me cry!" said Stella, suddenly, 
 and then she did cry a little, a nervous flurry 
 of tears that shook her for a brief moment and 
 left her laughing at the consternation in his 
 face. 
 
 "You see how silly I am!" she said. "But 
 however silly, I 'm not a cheat. You offer 
 me everything. I couldn't take it and not 
 offer you everything back. To me marriage 
 means everything. It is n't only is it ? a 
 perpetual companionship, though when you 
 think of it, that 's tremendous, almost all the 
 other companionships of life are intermittent, 
 but it 's the building up of fresh life out of a 
 single love." 
 
 Mr. Travers looked away. He was sur- 
 prised that Stella had not shocked him. The 
 idea of any woman mentioning the existence 
 of a child until she had a child might have 
 shocked him; but Stella failed to move his 
 sense of propriety. It even struck him that
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 159 
 
 marriage would be less inclined to lapse into 
 the sordid and irregular struggles of his ex- 
 perience if it was based upon so plain a foun- 
 dation. He looked away because he felt that 
 now he could not change her. 
 
 Stella wished that they were in a house. It 
 struck her that a room would give more of the 
 advantages of a retreat to Mr. Travers. She 
 was very anxious to make his retreat easy for 
 him. 
 
 "Would you do me a tremendous service?" 
 she asked gently. 
 
 He turned quickly to face her. 
 
 "That is what I should like to do you," he 
 said. But he looked at her a little suspi- 
 ciously, for he was not sure that the service 
 Stella asked would n't, after all, be only some 
 new way of helping him. 
 
 "You said the other day," she said, meeting 
 his eyes with unswerving candor, "that I might 
 have extra help if I wanted it. I do want 
 very much to find some work for my sister, 
 Eurydice. She is very clever; cleverer than I 
 am a great deal, only in a different way. She 
 used to write books, but that did not pay her 
 very well, and when the war came, she went
 
 160 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 into the city and worked for a secretarial di- 
 ploma. I think she would be of use to you, if 
 you would go slowly with her and make allow- 
 ances for her different ways of being clever. 
 Would you like to help her?" 
 
 Mr. Travers hesitated. Then he stood up 
 and held out his hand to her. 
 
 "The sun has begun to go," he said; "I as- 
 sure you it is not healthy for you to linger here. 
 Of course I will engage your sister." 
 
 Stella gave a little sigh of relief. She had 
 found a way out for Mr. Travers.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AFTER the arrival of Eurydice, Mr. 
 Travers saw very little of Stella. At 
 certain moments of the day she came and 
 asked him for orders, but in some mysterious 
 manner she seemed to have withdrawn her- 
 self from personal contact. She had been im- 
 personal before, but only in a businesslike and 
 friendly way. She was impersonal now as if 
 she was not there. 
 
 She could control her attention, but she no 
 longer felt any vitality behind it. She knew 
 where her life had gone, and she was powerless 
 to call it back to her. It hovered restlessly 
 about the spirit of Julian. Stella had never 
 known what it was to repine at her own fate. 
 If there were many things she wanted that she 
 could not have, she had consoled herself with 
 driving her desires into what was left to her. 
 But she could not do this for Julian. 
 
 He had had so much farther to fall. She 
 
 161
 
 162 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 saw his face as she had seen it first, with its 
 look of human strength; his frosty, blue eyes, 
 his heavy sledge-hammer chin, and all the 
 alertness, the controlled activity, of his young 
 figure. She saw him again like something 
 made of wax, emaciated and helpless, with 
 flickering eyes. He had not believed in 
 knocking under, and he had felt defeat in- 
 credible. 
 
 But defeat had met him, a blundering defeat 
 that wrecked his body and left his unprotected 
 heart to face disaster. 
 
 Would he have courage enough for this re- 
 stricted battle against adversity? Courage 
 did strange things with pain. It transformed 
 and utilized it; but courage does not spring 
 readily from a mortally wounded pride. Ma- 
 rian, with a complete lack of intention, had 
 robbed Julian of his first weapon. She had 
 dissipated his resources by undermining his 
 confidence, and left him perilously near to the 
 stultification of personal bitterness. 
 
 Would it be possible for Julian to escape 
 resentment? Or would he pass down that 
 long lane which has no turning, and ends in 
 the bottomless bog of self-pity, in which the
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 163 
 
 finest qualities of the human spirit sink like a 
 stone ? 
 
 Step by step Stella passed with him, by all 
 the hidden and vivid obstacles between his soul 
 and victory, between it and defeat. 
 
 She could do nothing, but she could not stop 
 her ceaseless watchfulness. She was like some 
 one who strains his eyes forever down an empty 
 road. The days began to lengthen into a long 
 cold spring. There were no outward changes 
 in her life : the draf ty town hall, the long bus- 
 rides, the bad news from France, and at home 
 the pinch and ugliness of poverty. She had 
 stopped being afraid that people would notice 
 a difference in her. Nobody noticed any dif- 
 ference. She behaved in the same way and 
 did the same things. She had gone down un- 
 der the waters of life without so much as a 
 splash. 
 
 "I suppose," Stella said to herself, "lots of 
 us see ghosts every day without knowing it." 
 She had a vague feeling that Mr. Travers 
 knew it, but that he kept it in the back of his 
 mind like an important paper in a case, which 
 it was no use producing unless you could act 
 upon it.
 
 164 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 It was an awful day of snow and wind. 
 Everybody but Stella and the porter had gone 
 home. She had been stupid over the munici- 
 pal accounts ; over and over again her flagging 
 mind stuck at the same mistake. At last she 
 finished. She was still sixpence out; but she 
 might see the sixpence in a flash the next morn- 
 ing, and there would be no flash in anything 
 she could see to-night. 
 
 When she reached the door she found the 
 gale had become formidable and chaotic. She 
 staggered out of the town hall into the grip 
 of a fury. All London shook and quivered; 
 trees were torn down and flung across the road 
 like broken twigs ; taxis were blown into lamp- 
 posts ; the icy air tore and raged and screamed 
 as if the elements had set out to match and 
 overwhelm the puny internecine struggles of 
 man. "This," Stella thought to herself, "is 
 like a battle noise, confusion, senselessness. 
 I must hold on to whatever keeps stillest, and 
 get home in rushes." 
 
 But nothing kept very still. She was doubt- 
 ful about trembling lamp-posts, and area-rail- 
 ings twitched and shook under her hands. 
 Her skirts whipped themselves about her like
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 165 
 
 weeds in a river, trying to trip her up or hold 
 her down. The darkness was blown across the 
 sky, lifting in strange pauses, to show a bat- 
 tered moon and the pale silver of the falling 
 snow. She could only breathe, with her head 
 held down, in strange short gasps that seemed 
 compulsory and forced upon her by something 
 outside. Beaten and tremulous, half lost and 
 faint, there was a strange sense of pleasure in 
 her: she was pitting her brain against a mon- 
 ster. Little by little, craftily and with many 
 pauses and precautions, she slipped and stum- 
 bled down the long highway across the bridge 
 and up the narrower street which led toward 
 Redcliff Square. Tiles were tossed about the 
 road like fallen leaves ; from time to time there 
 would be the sharper crash of a broken chim- 
 ney. The street was empty. It stretched 
 through the night, with its half-darkened lamp- 
 posts, like the long-shaken strip of a Futurist 
 drawing. It was a victory to be alive in it. 
 Stella could not believe in her own door-step ; 
 it seemed like some wild rescue out of a dream. 
 She tried to laugh as she began to tell her 
 adventures to her assembled family; but when 
 she laughed, a pain so cruel cut across her
 
 166 JHE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 breath that she collapsed helplessly into an 
 arm-chair. She could not explain anything 
 after that. The household wavered and shook 
 about her. Professor Waring gazed solemnly 
 at her. 
 
 If she had been a mummy he would have 
 known exactly what to do. As it was, he 
 touched her wet clothes and murmured, 
 "Surely there must be some suitable cere- 
 ments?" 
 
 Eurydice spun him aside, and in a fury of 
 panic and anger began giving contradictory 
 orders to the household. 
 
 "This," said the professor, wandering to- 
 ward his wife, "seems to me almost the mo- 
 ment to accept the presence of Cicely." 
 
 "Yes, yes," agreed Mrs. Waring. "I for- 
 get what comes when you can't focus the in- 
 visible. I think Stella ought to rally her life 
 forces, but I hardly like to bother her about 
 them just now. Perhaps brandy would be 
 better ; but I can't quite remember if we have 
 any. There was a flask of something in the 
 biscuit-tin, but it may be empty now. If we 
 all believed that health was holiness " 
 
 "If you want Cicely," said Eurydice, in
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 167 
 
 whom panic was overcoming fury, "why not 
 send for her? Lizzie, here are two shillings; 
 go out and see if you can find a taxi." 
 
 Stella tried to say what might happen to 
 Lizzie in the search for a taxi, but the effort 
 to speak finished her strength. When she 
 could realize what was happening again, Cicely 
 had arrived. She pounced upon the emer- 
 gency as a cat upon a mouse. 
 
 In a few minutes Stella was tucked up warm 
 and dry, poulticed and eased, capable of a 
 little very short breath, propped up by pil- 
 lows. The professor had retired to his study 
 with a cup of cocoa hotter than he had known 
 this cheering vegetable to be since Cicely's de- 
 parture. 
 
 Mrs. Waring was breathing very slowly in 
 her bedroom to restore calm to the household, 
 and Eurydice was crying bitterly into the 
 kitchen sink. She was quite sure that Stella 
 was going to die, and that Cicely would save 
 her. 
 
 The second of these two calamities took 
 place. Stella was very ill with pleurisy, and 
 remained very ill for several days. Cicely in- 
 terfered with death as drastically as she inter-
 
 168 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 fered with everything else. She dragged 
 Stella reluctantly back into a shaky convales- 
 cence. 
 
 "Now you 're going to get well," she an- 
 nounced to her in a tone of abrupt reproach. 
 "But what I don't understand is the appalling 
 state of weakness you 're in. You must have 
 been living under some kind of strain. I don't 
 mean work. Work alone would n't have made 
 such a hash of you. Come, you may as well 
 own up. What was it?" 
 
 Stella blinked her eyes, and looked round 
 her like a dazzled stranger. Usually she was 
 very fond of her room, it was a small back 
 room, over a yard full of London cats, but it 
 struck her now that there were too many things 
 with which she was familiar. It was the same 
 with Cicely. She dearly loved and valued 
 Cicely, but she knew the sight and sound of her 
 extraordinarily well. 
 
 "Nothing," said Stella, deprecatingly. 
 "It 's no use applying gimlets and tweezers to 
 my moral sense, Cicely. Not even the Inquisi- 
 tion could deal with a hole. Heretics were 
 solid. I have a perfect right to be ill from 
 a cold wind. The world seemed made of it
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 169 
 
 that night, and I swallowed half the world. 
 It must be rather a strain for a thin person to 
 swallow half the world on an empty stomach. 
 I 'm quite all right now, thanks to you. I was 
 thinking I ought to get back to the town hall 
 next week. Only, queerly enough, I had an- 
 other offer of work. Still, it 's so sketchy, that 
 I could n't honestly fling up my own job for 
 it, though it sounds rather attractive." 
 
 "Let 's see it," said Cicely, succinctly. 
 "You do conceal things, Stella." 
 
 Stella withdrew an envelop from under her 
 pillow. She looked a little anxious after its 
 surrender. Cicely always made her a little 
 anxious over a tentative idea. She had a way 
 of materializing a stray thought, and flinging 
 it back upon Stella as an incontrovertible fact. 
 Stella was very anxious not to think that 
 what was in the letter she gave to Cicely was 
 really a fact. It was like some strange dream 
 that has n't any right to come true. Cicely 
 read: 
 
 Dear Miss Waring: You will think this a most ex- 
 traordinary request for me to make, and in many ways 
 it is too unformulated to be a request. You will have 
 heard from Marian that six months ago her engagement
 
 170 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 with my son came to an end. This was the natural and 
 right thing to happen, but it has left him in his invalid 
 condition very much without resources. 
 
 You were, I remember your telling me, a secretary to 
 Professor Paulson. I am inclined to think that my son 
 might have his mind directed to some scientific work if 
 he could meet any one who would interest him anew 
 in the subject. Probably you are immersed in other 
 work, but if by any possible chance you should be at 
 liberty and cared to make the experiment, could you come 
 here for a few weeks ? You would be conferring a great 
 favor upon us, and if the secretaryship developed out 
 of your little visit, we would arrange any terms that 
 suited you. I may add that I find my son has no re- 
 membrance of your association with Marian; indeed, he 
 has forgotten the occasion of your meeting. 
 
 He has been so very ill that you will understand and 
 excuse this, I feel sure; and in the circumstances I think 
 we had better not refer to it. I am very anxious to 
 divert his mind from the past, and I have a feeling that 
 if I could count upon your cooperation, we might suc- 
 ceed. Yours sincerely, 
 
 HELEN VERNY. 
 
 "I don't see anything sketchy about it," said 
 Cicely, slowly; "in the circumstances, I mean. 
 You needn't definitely chuck the town hall. 
 You '11 get a couple of weeks' holiday. 
 They '11 give you a fortnight's extension eas- 
 ily, and if the job comes your way, it would be
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 171 
 
 a suitable one. Anyway, you must of course 
 accept it provisionally " 
 
 "I don't see why I must of course accept 
 it," said Stella. "You never see any alterna- 
 tives, Cicely. Your mind is like one of those 
 sign-posts that have only one name on it, with 
 fields all round and heaps of other places to 
 go to. It must be awfully confusing to be as 
 simple as you are. Why could n't I go back 
 to the town hall next week?" 
 
 "Well, I '11 tell you one reason why," said 
 Cicely, grimly. "Simple or not, your heart 's 
 as weak as a toy watch; you very nearly died 
 a week ago, and in my opinion if you went 
 back to the town hall, you 'd be signing your 
 own death-certificate." 
 
 "I could 'nt do that," said Stella, gravely; 
 "it 's not legal. I 'm not the next of kin to 
 myself. I know much more about death-cer- 
 tificates than you do. If I go to Lady Verny 
 at Amberley, what 's to become of Eurydice?" 
 
 "Eurydice will stay where she is," said 
 Cicely. "If you ever saw to the end of your 
 nose, you 'd know that she is as glued to the 
 town hall as she used to be to 'Shocks,' only 
 this time, let us hope, more successfully.
 
 172 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Some women have to be married. They con- 
 tract a fatal desire for it, like the influenza 
 habit every winter. Eurydice is one of them. 
 It takes different forms, of course. This time 
 it 's Mr. Travers ; the Mr. Bolt attachment was 
 far more dangerous. I have made up my mind 
 that she will marry Mr. Travers, if it's hu- 
 manly speaking possible." 
 
 "Oh/' said Stella, "will she? How clever 
 you are, Cicely! You know nearly every- 
 thing. Why do you say 'humanly speaking 
 possible?' " 
 
 "Because you've always made him out as 
 cold as a fish and as hard as iron," said Cicely. 
 "He may be one of the few men who won't 
 yield to vanity or fancy." 
 
 "I see," said Stella. "It 's not very nice of 
 you to want Eurydice to marry an iron fish. 
 But, as a matter of fact, I 'm not quite so 
 certain about Mr. Travers. The iron and the 
 fish are only on the top. I think, humanly 
 speaking, he 's quite possible. I 'm going to 
 sleep now. When you Ve made up your mind 
 about Amberley you can wake me up."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 rTlHERE are two winds in March; one 
 JL comes in like a tight-lipped school-master 
 set on punishment. It is frequently accom- 
 panied by dust, sunshine, and influenza. It 
 has all the cold of winter, and acts as if life 
 could be produced solely by formidable harsh- 
 ness. 
 
 But there is another wind, a mild, sensitive 
 wind which carries the secrets of the spring 
 a wind that wanders and sings on sunless days, 
 penetrating the hard crust of the earth as 
 softly and as inveterately as love, a wind that 
 opens while its forceful brother shuts. 
 
 It was this wind, calling along the railway 
 lines against the swinging train, that brought 
 Stella to Amberley. It lifted her out of her 
 carriage to the small, wayside station, embrac- 
 ing her with its welcome under shaking trees. 
 The air was full of the earth scents of growing 
 fields. The sky was wide and very near and 
 without strangeness. 
 
 173
 
 174 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 A porter, lurching out of the surround- 
 ing darkness, told Stella there was a car from 
 Aniberley House waiting for her. It could 
 only be for her, because no one else was on the 
 platform. 
 
 The station-master himself put her into it. 
 She sank into soft cushions, and shut her eyes 
 to feel the soundless speed. Stella had been 
 on rare occasions in a taxi; but this creature 
 that leaped without friction forward into the 
 darkness, flinging a long road behind it with 
 the ease with which an orange is peeled, was 
 a wholly new experience. When she opened 
 her eyes again they became gradually accus- 
 tomed to the frying darkness, which was not 
 wholly dark ; trees loomed up mysteriously out 
 of it, and the tender shapes of little hills as 
 soft and vague as clouds. 
 
 Stella was sorry when the car stopped; she 
 could not see the doorway of Amberley House, 
 hidden under a mass of ivy. It opened sud- 
 denly before her into a dusky hall lighted by 
 tall candles in silver candle-sticks. 
 
 The hall was full of shadows. There was 
 a fragrance in it of old roses and lavender, and 
 it was quiet. It was so quiet that Stella held
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 175 
 
 her breath. She felt as if for centuries it had 
 been still, and as if no one who had ever lived 
 there had made a noise in it. She was afraid 
 of the sound of her own voice. 
 
 At the farther end of the hall there was a 
 glow of firelight on old oak panels. A door 
 opened, and Lady Verny came toward her, 
 very tall and stately, but with the same kind, 
 steady eyes. 
 
 Lady Verny came all the way across the 
 long, shadowy room to meet Stella, and held 
 out both her hands; but when she came near, 
 Stella saw that only her eyes were the same. 
 Her face was incredibly older. The firm lines 
 were blurred, the delicate color was gone. 
 The woman who looked down at her was at 
 the mercy of the years. Grief had forced her 
 prematurely out of her comfortable upward 
 path. Even her smile had changed ; it carried 
 no serenity. 
 
 "I am very glad you have come," Lady 
 Verny said gently. "We will have tea in my 
 room, I think, and then you must rest. I can 
 see you have been ill." 
 
 She led the way into a room that seemed 
 curiously like her. It was spacious and con-
 
 176 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 venient, with very few small objects in it. 
 Even the pictures on the walls had the same 
 quality: they were very definite, clear-colored 
 French landscapes, graceful and reticent. 
 
 The china, on a low table by the fire, was 
 old and valuable; but it was used every day. 
 Lady Verny had no special occasions, and 
 nothing that she possessed was ever too price- 
 less or too important for use. 
 
 "I hope you did not have a very tiresome 
 journey," she continued. "I do not like a 
 change on so short a run, but we have not been 
 able to arrange to have a train straight through 
 from town. Julian was thinking of doing 
 something about it some time ago, but the mat- 
 ter has dropped." 
 
 Stella noticed that as Lady Verny spoke of 
 Julian her voice hurried a little. It did not 
 shake; but it passed over his name quickly as 
 if she were afraid that it might shake. 
 
 "Since his illness he has taken less interest 
 in local matters," she finished tranquilly. 
 
 Stella did not dare to ask if Julian was bet- 
 ter. She did not like to speak about his in- 
 terests ; it seemed to her as if almost anything
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 177 
 
 would be better than to say something stupid to 
 Lady Verny about Julian. 
 
 "It was a lovely journey," she said quickly, 
 "and I would have hated not to change at 
 Horsham. I was so sorry it was nearly dark. 
 Shelley lived there once, did n't he? I wanted 
 to go and look for the pond where he had sailed 
 five-pound notes because he had n't anything 
 else to make boats with. Amberley came 
 much too soon ; and I could n't see anything 
 but a bundle of dark clouds. I could only feel 
 it, awfully friendly and kind, blowing across 
 the fields!" 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Verny, consideringly, giv- 
 ing Stella her tea; "I think it is a kind little 
 place. There is nothing dreadful about it, not 
 even an ugly chapel, or one of those quite ter- 
 rible little artist's houses, you know the type 
 I mean, as uncomfortable as a three-cornered 
 chair. The kind that clever people live in and 
 call cottages. They 've quite spoiled the coun- 
 try round Pulborough ; but mercifully the sta- 
 tion is inconvenient here, and a good deal of 
 the land is Julian's. I hope you will like it," 
 she met Stella's eyes with a long, question-
 
 178 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ing look, "because I hope you will stay here 
 for a long time." 
 
 "As long as you want me to stay," said 
 Stella, firmly. 
 
 "We must not spoil your other opportuni- 
 ties for work," said Lady Verny; "that would 
 be most unfair. I must confess to you, Miss 
 Waring, that I am leaving the whole question 
 very much in the air. It would be more sat- 
 isfactory to have the arrangement come direct 
 from Julian. If, as I hope, by your presence 
 the old interest and the old questions come 
 back to him, he will ask you to stay himself. 
 For the present I have simply told him that 
 you are my friend and that you have given 
 up your secretarial work to come here for a 
 much-needed holiday; but we must not waste 
 your time or do anything against your inter- 
 ests. I could not allow that." 
 
 "It won't take very long, I expect," Stella 
 answered, "because he would take a dislike 
 so quickly. And if he did that, it wouldn't 
 do, of course. We should see in a week or 
 two. If he doesn't dislike me, I can easily 
 talk to him about Professor Paulson. I re- 
 member they had an argument once about
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 179 
 
 reindeer-moss. Your son said he had discov- 
 ered it where Professor Paulson had said it 
 did n't exist. I could bring that up quite com- 
 fortably. The mere mention of a fellow-la- 
 borer's effort stings a man into the wish to 
 prove something or other about it; and once 
 you start proving, secretaries follow." 
 
 "Make them follow," said Lady Verny, 
 smiling. "I don't think he will dislike you, 
 we usually dislike the same people, only 
 Julian always goes further than I do; he dis- 
 likes them more." Then her smile faded. 
 "You will see him to-night at dinner," she 
 said gravely. She could not smile again after 
 she had said that; but she took Stella herself 
 through the dark oak hall and up the broad, 
 winding staircase to a little, old, square room 
 that looked out over the garden to the flooded 
 water-meadows. 
 
 "I don't know if you like gardens," Lady 
 Verny said a little shyly. "It 's rather a 
 hobby of mine. You '11 see it to-morrow." 
 
 "I like even my own," said Stella, "though 
 it only holds one plane-tree and ten cats. At 
 least it doesn't really hold the cats. They 
 spill in and out of it in showers like the soot,
 
 180 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 only more noisily; and I pretend there's a 
 lilac-bush in the corner." 
 
 Lady Verny stood by the door for a mo- 
 ment as if she were making up her mind for an 
 immense advance, an almost dazzling plunge 
 into confidence. 
 
 "I have a feeling," she said slowly, "as if 
 you would make a good gardener." 
 
 After she had gone, Stella opened the win- 
 dow, and leaned out into the garden. She 
 could see nothing but the soft darkness, some- 
 times massed in the thickness of the yew- 
 hedges, and sometimes tenuous and spread out 
 over the empty spaces of the lawns. 
 
 The air blew fre^h upon her face, full of 
 sweetness and the promise of life. Stella told 
 herself bitterly that nature was cruel; it let 
 strong young things die, and if that did n't 
 matter (and she sometimes thought dying 
 did n't) , nature did worse: it maimed and held 
 youth down. But nothing in her responded 
 to the thought that nature was cruel. A tiny 
 crescent moon shone out between the hurrying 
 clouds, and cast a slim shadow of silver across 
 the dark waters. "Things are cruel," Stella 
 said to herself, "but what is behind them is not
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 181 
 
 cruel, and it must come through. And I 'm 
 little and stupid and shy; but some of it is in 
 me for Julian, and he '11 have to have it. 
 I shan't know how to give it to him. I 
 shall make hideous blunders and muddles, and 
 the more I want to give, the harder it '11 be 
 to do it. Fortunately, it does not depend on 
 me. I can be as stupid as I like if I 'm only 
 thinking of him ^nd only caring for him and 
 only wanting it to come through me. Noth- 
 ing can stop it but minding because I 'm 
 stupid. And as for being in love, the more 
 I 'm in it the better. For that 's what we 're 
 all in really, only we 're none of us in it enough. 
 As long as I 'm not in it for anything I can 
 get out of it, everything will be all right. If 
 I do mind, it does n't matter if only what I 
 want gets through to Julian." 
 
 She lay down on the bed and listened to the 
 wind in the garden playing among the tree- 
 tops. She listened for a long time, until she 
 thought that the garden was upon her side, 
 and then she heard another sound. She knew 
 in a moment what it was; it struck straight 
 against her heart : it was the tap-tap along the 
 passage of wooden crutches.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LADY VERNY and Julian were sitting 
 in the hall when Stella joined them. It 
 wasn't in the least terrible meeting Julian; 
 he had reduced his physical disabilities to the 
 minimum of trouble for other people. He 
 swung himself about on his crutches with an 
 extraordinary ease, and he had taught himself 
 to deal with his straitened powers so that he 
 needed very little assistance ; he had even con- 
 trolled himself sufficiently to bear without ap- 
 parent dislike the occasional help that he was 
 forced to accept. 
 
 It was the Vernys' religion that one 
 shouldn't make a fuss over anything larger 
 than a broken boot-lace. Temper could be let 
 loose over the trivial, but it must be kept if 
 there was any grave cause for it. 
 
 Julian wished to disembarrass the casual eye 
 of pity, partly because it was a nuisance to 
 make people feel uncomfortable, and partly 
 because it infuriated him to be the cause of 
 
 182
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 183 
 
 compassion. Lady Verny had not pointed 
 this out to Stella ; she had left her to draw her 
 own inferences from her own instincts. Lady 
 Verny did not believe in either warnings or 
 corrections after the days of infancy were 
 passed. 
 
 She smiled across at Stella and said quietly: 
 
 "My son Miss Waring." 
 
 Stella was for an instant aware of Julian's 
 eyes dealing sharply and defensively with hers. 
 He wanted to see if she was going to be such 
 a fool as to pity him. She was n't such a fool. 
 Without a protest she let him swing himself 
 heavily to his feet before he held out his hand 
 to her. Her eyes met his without shrinking 
 and without emphasis. She knew she must 
 look rather wooden and stupid, but anything 
 was better than looking too intelligent or too 
 kind. 
 
 She realized that she had n't made any mis- 
 take from the fact that Lady Verny laid down 
 her embroidery. She would have continued 
 it steadily if anything had gone wrong. 
 
 There was no recognition in Julian's eyes ex- 
 cept the recognition that his mother's new 
 friend looked as if she wasn't going to be a
 
 184 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 bother. Stella had n't mattered when he met 
 her before, and she did n't matter now. She 
 had the satisfaction of knowing that she owed 
 his oblivion of her to her own insignificance. 
 
 "I 'm sure it 's awfully good of you," Julian 
 said, "to come down here and enliven my 
 mother when we 've nothing to offer you but 
 some uncommonly bad weather." 
 
 "I find we have one thing," Lady Verny 
 interposed. "Miss Waring is interested in 
 Horsham. You must motor her over there. 
 She wants to see Shelley's pond." 
 
 "Do you?" asked Julian. "I '11 take you 
 with pleasure, but I must admit that I think 
 Shelley was an uncommonly poor specimen; 
 never been able to stand all that shrill, woolly 
 prettiness of his. It sets my teeth on edge. 
 I don't think much of a man, either, who 
 breaks laws, and then wants his conduct to be 
 swallowed like an angel's. Have you ever 
 watched a dog that 's funked a scrap kick up 
 the earth all round him and bark himself into 
 thinking he 's no end of a fine fellow in spite 
 of it?" 
 
 "I don't believe you 've read Shelley," cried 
 Stella, stammering with eagerness. "I mean
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 185 
 
 properly. You 've only skimmed the fanciest 
 bits. And he never saw the sense of laws. 
 They were n't his own; he did n't break them. 
 The laws he broke were only the dreadful, 
 muddled notions of respectable people who 
 did n't want to be inconvenienced by facts. I 
 dare say it did make him a little shrill and 
 frightened flying in the face of the whole 
 world. However stupid a face it has, it 's a 
 massive one ; but he did n't, for all the fright 
 and the defiance, funk his fight." 
 
 "Let us settle Shelley at the dinner-table," 
 said Lady Verny, drawing Stella's arm into 
 hers and leaving Julian to follow. "Person- 
 ally I do not agree with either of you. I do 
 not think Shelley was a coward, and I do not 
 think that as a man he was admirable. He 
 has always seemed to me apart from his species, 
 like his own skylark; 'Bird thou never wert.' 
 He was an 'unpremeditated art/ a 'clear, keen 
 joyance,' anything you like; but he had n't the 
 rudiments of a man in him. He was neither 
 tough nor tender, and he never looked a fact 
 in the face." 
 
 "There are plenty of people to look at facts," 
 objected Stella. "Surely we can spare one to
 
 186 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 live in clouds and light and give us, in return 
 for a few immunities, their elemental spirit." 
 
 "People shouldn't expect to be given im- 
 munities," said Julian. "They should take 
 'em if they want 'em, and then be ready to pay 
 for 'em; nobody is forced to run with the 
 crowd. What I object to is their taking to 
 their heels in the opposite direction, and then 
 complaining of loneliness. Besides, start giv- 
 ing people immunities, and see what it leads to 
 a dozen Shelleys without poems and God 
 knows how many Harriets. What you want 
 in a poet is a man who has something to say 
 and sticks to the path while he 's saying it." 
 
 "Oh, you might be talking about bishops!" 
 cried Stella, indignantly. "How far would 
 you have gone yourself on your Arctic explor- 
 ations if you 'd stuck to paths? Why should 
 a poet run on a given line, like an electric tram- 
 car?" 
 
 "I think Miss Waring has rather got the 
 better of you, Julian," said Lady Verny, smil- 
 ing. "You chose an unfortunate metaphor." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Julian, with a gleam 
 of amusement. "I chose a jolly good one, 
 and she 's improved it. You can go some dis-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 187 
 
 tance with a decent poet, but you can't with 
 your man, Miss Waring. He twiddles up into 
 the sky before you 've got your foot on the 
 step." 
 
 "That's a direct challenge," said Lady 
 Verny. "I think after dinner we must pro- 
 duce something of Shelley's in contradiction. 
 Can you think of anything solid enough to 
 bear Julian?" 
 
 "Yes," said Stella. "All the way here in 
 the train I was thinking of one of Shelley's 
 poems. Have you read it 'The Ode to the 
 West Wind'?" 
 
 "No," said Julian, smiling at her; "but it 
 does n't sound at all substantial. You started 
 your argument on a cloud, and you finish off 
 with wind. The Lord has delivered you into 
 my hand." 
 
 "Not yet, Julian," said Lady Verny. 
 "Wait till you 've heard the poem." 
 
 It did not seem in the least surprisipg to 
 Stella to find herself, half an hour later, sit- 
 ting in a patch of candle-light, on a high-backed 
 oak chair, saying aloud without effort or self- 
 consciousness Shelley's "Ode to the West 
 Wind."
 
 188 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Neither Lady Verny nor Julian ever made 
 a guest feel strange. There was in them both 
 an innate courtesy, which was there to protect 
 the feelings of others. They did not seem to 
 be protecting Stella. They left her alone, but 
 in the act of doing so they set her free from 
 criticism. Lady Verny took up her embroid- 
 ery, and Julian, sitting in the shadow of an 
 old oak settle, contentedly smoked a cigarette. 
 He did not appear to be watching Stella, but 
 neither her movements nor her expressions es- 
 caped him. She was quite different from any 
 one he had seen before. She wore a curious 
 little black dress, too high to be smart, but low 
 enough to set in relief her white, slim throat. 
 She carried her head badly, so that it was diffi- 
 cult to see at first the beauty of the lines from 
 brow to chin. She had a curious, irregular 
 face, like one of the more playful and less at- 
 tentive angels in a group round a Botticelli 
 Madonna. She had no color, and all the life 
 of her face was concentrated in her gray, far- 
 seeing eyes. Julian had never seen a pair of 
 eyes in any face so alert and fiery. They were 
 without hardness, and the fire in them melted 
 easily into laughter. But they changed with
 
 Her voice was unfettered music
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 191 
 
 the tones of her voice, with the rapid words 
 she said, so that to watch them was almost to 
 know before she spoke what her swift spirit 
 meant. Her voice was unfettered music, 
 low, with quick changes of tone and intona- 
 tion. 
 
 Stella was absorbed in her desire to give 
 Julian a sense of Shelley. She wanted to 
 make him see that beyond the world of fact, the 
 ruthless, hampering world of which he was a 
 victim, there was another, finer kingdom where 
 no disabilities existed except those that a free 
 spirit set upon itself. 
 
 She was frightened of the sound of her own 
 voice; but after the first verse, the thought 
 and the wild music steadied her. She lost the 
 sense of herself, and even the flickering fire- 
 light faded ; she felt out once more in the warm, 
 swinging wind, with its call through the senses 
 to the soul. The first two parts of the poem, 
 with their sustained and tremendous imagery, 
 said themselves without effort or restraint. It 
 was while she was in the halcyon third portion 
 of 
 
 "The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
 Dulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,"
 
 192 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 that it shot through Stella's mind how near 
 she was to the tragic unfolding of a fettered 
 spirit which might be the expression of Julian's 
 own. She dared not stop; the color rushed 
 over her face. By an enormous effort she kept 
 her voice steady and flung into it all the uncon- 
 sciousness she could muster. He should not 
 dream she thought of him ; and yet as she said : 
 
 "Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
 
 I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
 
 A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bowed 
 
 One too like thee tameless, and swift, and proud." 
 
 it seemed to her that she was the voice of his 
 inner soul stating his bitter secret to the world. 
 A pulse beat in her throat and struggled with 
 her breath, her knees shook under her ; but the 
 music of her low, grave voice went on unfal- 
 teringly: 
 
 "Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is. 
 What if my leaves are falling, like its own!" 
 
 Lady Verny laid down her embroidery. 
 Julian had not moved. There was no sound 
 left in the world but Stella's voice. 
 
 She moved slowly toward the unconquerable 
 end,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 193 
 
 "Oh, Wind, 
 If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" 
 
 All the force of her heart throbbed through 
 Shelley's words. They were only words, but 
 they had the universe behind them. Nobody 
 spoke when she had finished. 
 
 She herself was the first to move. She gave 
 a quick, impatient sigh, and threw out her 
 hands with a little gesture of despair. 
 
 "I can't give it to you," she said, "but it 's 
 there. Read it for yourself ! It 's worth 
 breaking laws for; I think it's worth being 
 broken for." 
 
 Julian answered her. He spoke carefully 
 and a little stiffly. 
 
 "I don't think I agree with you," he said. 
 "Nothing is worth being broken for." 
 
 Stella bowed her head. She was aware of 
 an absolute and appalling sense of exhaustion 
 and of an inner failure more terrible than any 
 physical collapse. 
 
 It was as if Julian had pushed aside her 
 soul. 
 
 "Still, I think you must admit, Julian," 
 Lady Verny said quietly, "that 'The Ode to 
 the West Wind' is an admirable poem. I 'm
 
 194 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 afraid, my dear, you have tired yourself in 
 saying it for us. I know the poem very well, 
 but I have never either understood or enjoyed 
 it so much before. Do you not think you had 
 better go to bed? Julian will excuse us. I 
 find I am a little tired myself." 
 
 Stella rose to her feet uncertainly. She was 
 afraid that Julian would get up again and 
 light their candles; but for a moment he did 
 not move. He was looking at her reconsider- 
 ingly, as if something in his mind was recog- 
 nizing something in hers ; then he dragged him- 
 self up, as she had feared he would, and punc- 
 tiliously lighted their candles. 
 
 "It 's rather absurd not having electric light 
 here, is n't it?" he observed, handing Stella her 
 candle. "But we can't make up our minds 
 to it. We like candle-light with old oak. 
 I 'm not prepared to give in about your fellow 
 Shelley ; but I confess I like that poem better 
 than the others I have read. You must put 
 me up to some more another time." 
 
 If she had made one of her frightful blun- 
 ders, he was n't going to let her see it. His 
 smile was perfectly kind, perfectly impenetra- 
 ble. She felt as if he were treating her like
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 195 
 
 an intrusive child. Lady Verny said nothing 
 more about the poem; but as she paused out- 
 side Stella's door she leaned over her and very 
 lightly kissed her cheek. 
 
 It was as if she said: "Yes, I know you 
 made a mistake; but go on making them. I 
 can't. I 'm too like him ; so that the only thing 
 for me to do is to leave him alone. But per- 
 haps one day one of your mistakes may reach 
 him; and if they can't, nothing can." 
 
 Stella shivered as she stood alone before the 
 firelight. Everything in the room was beau- 
 tiful, the chintz covers, the thick, warm car- 
 pet, the gleam of the heavy silver candlesticks. 
 The furniture was not chosen because it had 
 been suitable. It was suitable because it had 
 been chosen long ago. It had grown like its 
 surroundings into a complete harmony, and 
 all this beauty, all this warm, old, shining pol- 
 ish of inanimate objects and generations of 
 good manners, covered an ache like a hollow 
 tooth. Nobody could get down to what was 
 wrong because they were too well bred; and 
 was it very likely that they were going to let 
 Stella? She would annoy Julian, she had 
 probably annoyed him to-night ; but would she
 
 196 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ever reach him? In her mind she had been 
 able to think of him as near her ; but now that 
 she was in the same house, she felt as if she 
 were on the other side of unbridged space. He 
 was frightening, too; he was so much hand- 
 somer than she remembered, and so much more 
 alive. It was inconceivable that he should 
 ever want to work with her. 
 
 She sat down before an oval silver mirror 
 and looked at her face. It seemed to her that 
 she was confronted by an empty little slab 
 without light. She gave it a wintry smile be- 
 fore she turned away from it. 
 
 "I don't suppose he '11 ever want anything 
 of you," she said to herself, "except to go 
 away."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 T ATER Stella wrote: 
 
 Eurydice dearest: 
 
 It 's the strangest household, or else, perhaps, every- 
 body else's is. You never see anybody doing anything, 
 and yet everything gets done. It 's all ease and velvet 
 and bells; and yet in spite of nothing being a minute 
 late, you never notice the slightest hurry. It is n't 
 clockwork ; it 's more like the stars in their courses. I 
 always thought being properly waited on made people 
 helpless ; it would me in ten minutes. I can see myself 
 sinking into a cream-fed cushion, but the Vernys sit bolt 
 upright, and no servant they possess can do any given 
 thing as well for them as they can do it for themselves. 
 
 I have breakfast in my room, with a robin, and the 
 window open oh, open on to the sharpest paradise! 
 
 While I lie in bed I can see an old, moss-covered barn 
 which always manages to have a piece of pink sky be- 
 hind it and a black elm bough in front. It 's a wonder- 
 ful barn, as old as any hill, and with all the colors of 
 the rainbow subservient to it. That 's one window ; the 
 other two look over the garden. 
 
 There 's a terrace, and a lawn out of which little glens 
 197
 
 198 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 and valleys wander down the hillside into the water- 
 meadows, and there 's a lake drowned out by the water, 
 with swans more or less kept in it by a hedge of willows. 
 
 The water-meadows are more beautiful than all the 
 little shiny clouds that race across the valley. Some- 
 times they 're like a silver tray, with green islands and 
 wet brown trees on them; and sometimes they are a 
 traveling mist; and then the sun slants out (I haven't 
 seen it full yet), and everything 's blue the frailest, 
 pearliest blue. 
 
 Yesterday was quite empty, with only its own light, 
 and when evening came the water-meadows and the little 
 hills were lost in amethyst. 
 
 I have n't said anything about the downs. I can't. 
 We walk on them in the afternoon. At least we walk 
 along the lane that goes through the village (it 's full of 
 mud; but one gets quite fond of mud), and then when 
 you feel the short turf under you, and the fields drop 
 down, you go up into the sky and float. 
 
 One begins so well, too. At breakfast there 's sucK 
 beautiful china, butter in a lordly dish, always honey, 
 and often mushrooms. Everything tastes as if it came 
 fresh out of the sky. 
 
 I can do exactly as I like all day. Nobody's plans 
 conflict with any one else's. That 's partly being rich 
 and partly being sensible ; it 's quite wonderful how 
 easy life is if you 're both. There 's a special room 
 given to me, with a piano and books ; and if I want Lady 
 Verny, I can find her in the garden. 
 
 I can see her out of my window now; she 's wearing
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 199 
 
 E* garment that 's a cross between a bathing-dress and 
 a dressing-gown, enormous gauntlets, and one of Sir 
 Julian's old caps. There are gardeners, especially one 
 called Potter. (Whenever anything goes wrong Lady 
 Verny shakes her head and says, "Ah, that 's the Pot- 
 ter's thumb!") But you never see them. She's al- 
 ways doing something in the garden. Half the time I 
 can't discover what; but she just smiles at me and says, 
 "Nature 's so untidy," or, "The men need looking after." 
 Both Lady Verny and Sir Julian are very serious over 
 their servants. In a way they 're incredibly nice to 
 them, they seem to have them so much on their minds. 
 They 're always discussing their relatives or their sore 
 throats, and they give very polite, plain orders; but 
 then just when you 're thinking how heavenly it must be 
 to work for them, they say something that chills you to 
 the bone. One of the housemaids broke a china bowl 
 yesterday, and came to Lady Verny, saying: 
 
 "If you please, m' Lady, I did n't mean to do it." 
 "I should hope not," Lady Verny said in a voice like 
 marble. "If you had meant to do it, I should hardly 
 keep you in the house; but your not having criminal 
 tendencies is not an excuse for culpable carelessness." 
 
 Sir Julian 's worse because his eyes are harder ; he 
 must have caught them from one of his icebergs. But the 
 servants stay with them forever, and when one of the 
 grooms had pneumonia in the winter, Sir Julian sat up 
 with him for three nights because the man was afraid 
 of dying, and it quieted him to have his master in the
 
 200 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 J 'm beginning to work in the garden myself, the 
 smells are so nice, and the dogs like it. Lady Verny 
 has a spaniel and two fox-terriers, and Sir Julian a 
 very fierce, unpleasant Arctic monster, with a blunt nose 
 like a Chow, and eyes red with temper and a thirst for 
 blood. 
 
 He 's always locked up when he is n't with Sir Julian. 
 If he was n't, I 'm sure he 'd take the other three dogs 
 as hors-d'oauvre, and follow them up with the gardeners. 
 
 I don't know what he does all day. Sir Julian I 
 mean; the Arctic dog growls. They never turn up till 
 tea-time; then they disappear again, and come back at 
 dinner. At least Sir Julian does. The Arctic dog (his 
 name is Ostrog) is not allowed at meals, because he 
 thinks everything in the room ought to be killed first. 
 
 After dinner I play chess with Sir Julian. He 's 
 been quite different to me since he found I could; be- 
 fore he seemed to think I was something convenient for 
 his mother, like a pocket-handkerchief. He was ready 
 to pick me up and give me back to her if I fell about, 
 but I didn't have a life of my own. 
 
 Now he often speaks to me as if I were really there. 
 They 're both immensely kind and good to everybody 
 in the neighborhood, but they see as little of people as 
 possible. 
 
 They 're not a bit religious, though they always go to 
 church, and Lady Verny reads Montaigne beautifully 
 bound, like Sir Thomas a Kempis during the sermon. 
 A great deal of the land belongs to them, and I suppose 
 they could use a lot of influence if they chose. I al-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 201 
 
 ways dislike people having power over other human be- 
 ings; but the Vernys never use it to their own advan- 
 tage. In nine cases out of ten they don't use it at all. 
 I heard the vicar imploring Sir Julian to turn a drunken 
 tenant out of a cottage, as his example was bad for the 
 village. But Sir Julian would n't even agree to speak 
 to him. "I always believe in letting people go to the 
 devil in their own way/' he said. "If you try to stop 
 'em, they only go to him in yours. Of course I don't 
 mean you, Parson. It 's your profession to give people 
 a lead. But I could n't speak about his morals to a man 
 who owed me three years' rent." 
 
 I expect I shall have to come back next week to the 
 town hall. Thank Mr. Travers so much for saying I 
 may stay on longer, but I really could n't go on taking 
 my salary when I 'm bursting with health and doing 
 nothing. I '11 wait two more days before writing to him, 
 but I must confess I 'd rather have all my teeth extracted 
 than mention Professor Paulson to Sir Julian. 
 
 I have n't seen the slightest desire for work in him ; 
 but, then, I haven't seen any desire in him at all ex- 
 cept a suicidal fancy for driving a dangerous mare in a 
 high dog-cart. He never speaks of himself or of the 
 war, and he is about as personal as a mahogany side- 
 board. 
 
 Lady Verny isn't much easier to know, though she 
 seems to like talking to me. I asked her to call me 
 Stella the other day, and she put down her trowel and 
 looked at me, as if she thought it wasn't my place to 
 make such a suggestion ; then she said, " Well, perhaps
 
 202 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 I will." I wish we 'd been taught whose place things 
 are; it would be so much simpler when you are with 
 people who have places. But Lady Verny does n't dis- 
 like me, because I 've seen her with people she dislikes. 
 She 's much more polite then, and never goes on with 
 anything. Last night when I was playing chess with 
 Sir Julian (it was an awful fight, for he 's rather better 
 than I am, though I can't let him know it) she said to 
 him, "I hope you are not tiring Stella." 
 
 He looked up sharply, as if he was awfully surprised 
 to hear her saying my name, and then he gave me a 
 queer little smile as if he were pleased with me. I be- 
 lieve they 're fond of each other, but I 've never seen 
 them show any sign of affection. 
 
 But, O Eurydice, though they 're awfully charming 
 and interesting and dear, they 're terribly unhappy. You 
 feel it all the time a dumb, blind pain that they can't 
 get over or understand, and that nothing will ever in- 
 duce them to show. They are n't a bit like the Arctic 
 dog, who is always disagreeable unless he has a bone and 
 Sir Julian. You know where you are with the Arctic 
 dog. 
 
 Tell Mr. Travers I '11 write directly I have fixed a 
 date for my return. 
 
 Your ever-loving, disheveled, enthralled, perturbed, 
 unfinished 
 
 STELLA. 
 
 p.s. I suppose as a family we all talk too much ; we over- 
 say things, and that makes them seem shallow. If you
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 203 
 
 say very little, it comes out in chunks and sounds solid. 
 You remember those dreadful old early-Saxon people 
 we read once who never used adjectives? I think we 
 ought to look them up.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 STELLA found Lady Veiny weeding. 
 She drew the weeds up very gracefully 
 and thoroughly, with a little final shake. 
 
 It was a hard, shivering March morning. 
 Next to the bed upon which Lady Verny was 
 working was a sheet of snowdrops under a 
 dark yew-hedge. They trembled and shook 
 in the light air like a drift of wind-blown snow. 
 
 Stella hovered irresolutely above them ; then 
 she said: 
 
 "Lady Verny, I am afraid I must go back 
 to the town hall next week. I haven't been 
 any use." 
 
 Lady Verny elaborately coaxed out a low- 
 growing weed, and then, with a vicious twist, 
 threw it into the basket beside her. 
 
 "Why don't you go and talk to Julian?" 
 she asked. "He can't be expected to jump a 
 five-barred gate if he does n't know it 's 
 there." 
 
 204
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 205 
 
 Stella hesitated before she spoke; then she 
 said with a little rush: 
 
 "What I feel now is that I 'm not the per- 
 son to tell him to tell him it 's there, I mean. 
 I don't know why I ever thought I was. The 
 person to tell him that would be some one he 
 could notice like a light, not a person who be- 
 haves like a candle caught in a draft whenever 
 he speaks to her." 
 
 "My dear," said Lady Verny, ruthlessly ex- 
 posing, and one by one exterminating, a fam- 
 ily of wireworms, "I fear you have no feminine 
 sense. You have a great many other kinds, 
 of the mind, and no doubt of the soul. You 
 should try to please Julian. You don't; you 
 leave him alone, and in consequence he thinks 
 he 's a failure with you. Women with the fem- 
 inine sense please a man without appearing to 
 make the effort. The result is that the man 
 thinks he 's pleasing them, and a man who 
 thinks that he has succeeded in pleasing an 
 agreeable woman is not unaware of her." 
 
 "But I 'm so afraid of him," pleaded Stella. 
 "I don't believe you know how frightening he 
 is." 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Verny; "he has lost his
 
 206 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 inner security. That makes a person very 
 frightening, I know. He has become aggres- 
 sive because he feels that something he has al- 
 ways counted on as a weapon has been with- 
 drawn from him. It 's like living on your 
 wits; people who do that are always hard. I 
 think you can give him the weapon back; but 
 to succeed you must use all your own. You 
 must go into a room as if it belonged to you. 
 It 's astonishing how this place suits you ; but 
 you must hold your head up, and lay claim 
 to your kingdom." 
 
 "But I Ve never had a kingdom," objected 
 Stella, "and I only want him to be interested 
 in the idea of writing a book." 
 
 "Well, that's what I mean," said Lady 
 Verny, decently interring the corpses of the 
 worms. "At least it 's part of what I mean. 
 The only way to get Julian to write a book 
 just now is to charm him. Men whose nerves 
 and hearts are broken don't respond readily to 
 the abstract. You can do what I can't, be- 
 cause I 'm his mother. He 's made all the con- 
 cessions he could or ought to make to me. He 
 promised not to take his life. Sometimes in 
 these last few months I Ve felt like giving
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 207 
 
 him his promise back. Now are you going to 
 be afraid of trying to please Julian?" 
 
 "O Lady Verny," Stella cried, "you make 
 me hate myself ! I '11 do anything in the world 
 to please him ; I 'd play like a brass band, or 
 cover myself with bangles like Cleopatra! 
 Don't, don't think I '11 ever be a coward 
 again!" 
 
 "You needn't go as far as the bangles," 
 said Lady Verny, smiling grimly. "Do it 
 your own way, but don't be afraid to let Ju- 
 lian think you like him. He finds all that kind 
 of thing rather hard to believe just now. 
 
 "He 's been frozen up. Remember, if he 
 is n't nice to you, that thawing is always rather 
 a painful process. Now run along, and leave 
 me in peace with my worms." 
 
 It cannot be said that Stella ran, but she 
 went. She passed through the hall and down 
 a passage; and wondered, if she had been an 
 early-Christian martyr about to step into the 
 arena, whether she would n't on the whole have 
 preferred a tiger to Julian. 
 
 The door opened on a short passage at the 
 end of which was an old oak doorway heavily 
 studded with nails. She knew this must be
 
 208 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Julian's room, because she heard Ostrog growl- 
 ing ominously from inside it. Julian presum- 
 ably threw something at him which hit him, for 
 there was the sound of a short snap, and then 
 silence. 
 
 "Please come in," said Julian in a voice 
 of controlled exasperation. Stella stepped 
 quickly into the room, closing the door behind 
 her. 
 
 It was a long, wide room with a low ceil- 
 ing. There were several polar bear-skins on 
 the floor, and a row of stuffed penguins on a 
 shelf behind Julian's chair. Three of the walls 
 were covered with bookcases; the fourth was 
 bare except for an extraordinarily vivid 
 French painting of a girl seated in a cafe. 
 She had red hair and a desperate, laughing 
 face, and was probably a little drunk. There 
 was a famous artist's signature beneath her fig- 
 ure, but Stella had a feeling that Julian had 
 known the girl and had not bought the pic- 
 ture for the sake of the signature. 
 
 Ostrog stood in front of her, growling, with 
 every separate hair on his back erect. 
 
 "Keep quite still for a moment," said Ju- 
 lian, quickly. "Ostrog, lie down!" The dog
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 209 
 
 very slowly settled himself on his haunches, 
 with his red, savage eyes still fixed on Stella. 
 
 "Now I think you can pass him safely," 
 Julian added. "He has a peculiar dislike to 
 human proximity, especially in this room. 
 You can't write him down as one who loves his 
 fellow-men, and I fear he carries his unsocia- 
 bility even further in respect to his fellow- 
 women." 
 
 "It must be nice for you," said Stella, "to 
 have some one who expresses for you what you 
 are too polite to say for yourself." 
 
 Julian gave her a quick, challenging look. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said. "Why 
 should you suppose any such thing?" 
 
 "I expect because it is true," said Stella, 
 quietly. "Of course you don't growl or show 
 your teeth, and your eyes are n't red ; but no- 
 body could suppose when you said 'Come in' 
 just now that you wanted anybody to come 
 in." 
 
 "The chances were all in favor of its being 
 somebody that I did n't want," explained Ju- 
 lian, politely. "For once they misled me. I 
 apologize." 
 
 Stella smiled; her eyes held his for a mo-
 
 210 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ment. She did not contradict him, but she 
 let him see that she didn't believe him. "If 
 he was ever really sorry," she thought, "he 
 would n't apologize. When he 's polite, it 's 
 because he is n't anything else." 
 
 "I came," she explained, "to ask you to lend 
 me Professor Paulson's book on reindeer-moss. 
 Will you tell me where it is and let me get it 
 for myself, if Ostrog does n't mind?" 
 
 To her surprise, Julian allowed her to find 
 it for herself. Ostrog continued to growl, but 
 without immediate menace. When she had 
 found it, she took it across to Julian. 
 
 "Please don't run away," he said quickly, 
 "unless you want to. Tell me what you in- 
 tend to look up about the moss. I had a little 
 tussle with Paulson over it once. He was an 
 awfully able fellow, but he had n't the health 
 to get at his facts at first hand. That was un- 
 fortunate; second-hand accuracy leaks." 
 
 Stella sat down near him, and in a minute 
 they were launched into an eager discussion. 
 She had typed the book herself, and had its 
 facts at her fingers'-end. She presented a 
 dozen facets to her questions, with a light on 
 them from her dancing mind.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 211 
 
 Julian differed, defended himself, and ex- 
 plained, till he found himself at length in the 
 middle of an account of his last expedition. 
 He pulled himself up abruptly. 
 
 "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "what a dark 
 horse you are! Do tell me how you come to 
 know anything about such a subject. Did you 
 smuggle yourself into an Arctic expedition as 
 a stowaway, or have you been prospecting 
 gold at Klondike with a six-shooter and a 
 sleeping-sack ? It 's amazing what you know 
 about the North." 
 
 "It is not so uncanny as you think," said 
 Stella, quietly. "I was Professor Paulson's 
 secretary. For five years I studied the fauna 
 and flora of arctic regions. I used to help 
 him examine the tests brought back by ex- 
 plorers. He taught me how to understand 
 and check climate and weather charts. All the 
 collected specimens went through my hands. 
 I did the drawings for this book, for instance. 
 You know, a secretary is a kind of second 
 fiddle. Give him a lead, and he catches up 
 the music and carries it through as thoroughly, 
 though not so loudly, as the first violin. I like 
 being a second fiddle and I like the North."
 
 212 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "That's odd," said Julian, drawing his 
 heavy eyebrows together. "I had an idea I 
 had met Professor Paulson's secretary before." 
 
 "You are quite right," said Stella; "you did 
 meet her before." 
 
 Julian stared at her; his eyes hardened. 
 
 "Do you mean that it was you I met at Sir 
 Francis Young's?" he asked her. "You are 
 Miss Young's great friend, then, are you not?" 
 
 Stella turned her eyes away from him. She 
 hated to see him guarding himself against her. 
 
 "I was her friend," she said in a low voice; 
 "but I have not seen her or heard from her 
 for six months, nor have I written." 
 
 Sir Julian still looked at her, but the stern- 
 ness of his eyes decreased. 
 
 She sat meekly beside him, with her droop- 
 ing head, like the snowdrops she had brought 
 in with her from the March morning. She did 
 not look like a woman who could be set, or 
 would set herself, to spy upon him. He ac- 
 quitted her of his worst suspicions, but his 
 pride was up in arms against her knowledge. 
 
 "It 's too stupid for me," he said, "not to have 
 recognized you immediately ; for I have n't in
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 213 
 
 the least forgotten you or our talk. You said 
 some charming things, Miss Waring; but fate, 
 a little unkindly, has proved them not to be 
 true." 
 
 Stella turned her eyes back to his. She no 
 longer felt any fear of him. She was too sorry 
 for him to be afraid. 
 
 "No," she said eagerly, "I was perfectly 
 right. I said you were strong. Things have 
 happened to you, horrible things, but 
 you 're there ; you 're there as well as the 
 things in control of them. Why, look at 
 what you Ve been telling me the story of 
 your last expedition ! It 's so fearfully excit- 
 ing, and it 's all, as you say, first-hand knowl- 
 edge. You brought back with you the fruits 
 of experience. Why don't you select and sort 
 them and give them to the world?" 
 
 He looked at her questioningly. 
 
 "Do you mean these old arctic scraps?" he 
 said slowly. "They might have mattered 
 once, but they 're all ancient history now. The 
 flood and the fire have come on us since then. 
 All that 's as dead as dead and useless as a 
 crippled man. Besides, no one can write a
 
 214 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 book unless it interests him. I 'm not even in- 
 terested." 
 
 Stella's eyes fell ; her breath came quickly. 
 
 "But don't you think," she said, "you could 
 be made a little interested again? You were 
 interested, were n't you, when you were talk- 
 ing to me a few minutes ago?" 
 
 Sir Julian laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "I dare say I was interested talking to you," 
 he said. "You 're such a changeling : you 
 play chess like a wizard and know the North 
 like a witch. I 'm afraid, Miss Waring, that 
 interest in your conversation is n't in itself 
 sufficient to turn a man into an author." 
 
 Stella rose slowly to her feet. She opened 
 her lips as if to speak to Julian, but he was 
 looking past her out of the window, with a 
 little bitter smile that took away her hopeful- 
 ness. Ostrog escorted her, growling less and 
 less menacingly, to the door. Stella did not 
 look back at Julian, and she forgot to hold her 
 head up as she went out of the room. After 
 she had gone Julian discovered that she had 
 dropped two of her snowdrops on the floor. 
 He picked them up carefully and laid them on 
 his desk.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 215 
 
 "A curious, interesting girl," he said to him- 
 self; "an incredible friend for Marian to have 
 had. I wonder what made my mother take 
 her up?"
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 LADY VERNY finished her weeding. It 
 took her an hour and a half to do what 
 she wanted to the bed; then she rose from her 
 cramped position, and went into Julian's li- 
 brary by one of the French windows. She 
 guessed that Stella had failed. 
 
 Julian was lying on a long couch, with his 
 hands behind the back of his head and his eyes 
 fixed on the ceiling. Lady Verny knew that, 
 when he was alone, he was in the habit of lying 
 like this for hours. He had told her that since 
 his accident it amused him more than anything 
 else. 
 
 She came in without speaking, and, drawing 
 off her long gauntlets, folded them neatly to- 
 gether, and sat down, facing him. 
 
 Julian's eyes moved toward her as she en- 
 tered ; but he gave her no further greeting, and 
 after a speculative glance his eyes returned to 
 the ceiling. 
 
 216
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 217 
 
 "It's a pity," said Lady Verny, thought- 
 fully, "that poor child has to go back to the 
 town hall next week, a dreadful, drafty place, 
 and be made love to by a common little town 
 clerk." 
 
 Julian's eyes flickered for a moment, but did 
 not change their position. 
 
 "Town clerks," he observed, "are, I feel 
 sure, distinguished persons who confine their 
 passions to rates and taxes." 
 
 "That must make it all the more trying," 
 said Lady Verny. "But I don't mind the 
 town clerk as much as I mind the drafts. 
 Stella had pleurisy before she came here; and 
 you know what girls who do that kind of work 
 eat ghastly little messes, slopped on to mar- 
 ble tables, and tasting like last week's wash." 
 
 "Well, why the devil does n't she look for 
 another job?" Julian asked irritably. "She 
 has brains enough for twenty. That 's what I 
 dislike about women : they get stuck anywhere. 
 No dash in 'em, no initiative, no judgment." 
 It was not what he disliked about women. 
 
 "She has tried," said Lady Verny. "The 
 man she hoped to get a job from wouldn't 
 have her. She tried this morning."
 
 218 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Julian's eyes moved now; they shot like a 
 hawk's on to his mother's, while his body lay 
 as still as a stone figure on a tomb. 
 
 "Then it was a trap," he said coldly. "I 
 wondered. I thought we 'd settled you were 
 going to leave me alone." 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Verny in a gentle, even 
 voice, "I know we had, Julian; but I can't bear 
 it." 
 
 Julian's eyes changed and softened. He 
 put his hand on her knee and let it rest there 
 for a moment. 
 
 "I can, if it's only you," he said; "but I 
 can't .stand a lot of sympathetic women. 
 One 's a lot." 
 
 "You don't like her, then?" his mother 
 asked. "I 'm sorry ; I always did from the first 
 day I saw her. I don't know why; she has n't 
 any behavior." 
 
 "I don't dislike her," said Julian. "I don't 
 think her behavior matters. She is n't at all 
 a bother. I rather like her being so awfully 
 little a woman ; it 's restful. Half the time I 
 don't notice if she 's in the room or not." 
 
 "And the other half of the time?" Lady 
 Verny asked, with apparent carelessness.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 219 
 
 "Oh, the other half of the time," said Ju- 
 lian, with a little, twisted smile, "I quite appre- 
 ciate the fact that she is. Especially when 
 you Ve taken the trouble to dress her as you 
 flid last night." 
 
 "I had to see what she looked like," Lady 
 Verny explained defensively. 
 
 "I think, if you want her to stay m this 
 house," said Julian, dryly, "you 'd better let 
 her look as little like that again as possible. I 
 might have tolerated a secretary if I had 
 wanted to write a book ; but I 'd tolerate no ap- 
 proach to a picture. She can go and be pic- 
 turesque at the town hall. My artistic sense 
 has already been satisfied up to the brim. 
 How did you get her to take the clothes she 
 had on last night?" 
 
 "I told her," said Lady Verny, blushing, 
 "that I had the materials by me, and could n't 
 possibly use them, as I was too old for light 
 colors, and Girton could make her a simple 
 little dress. And then I stood over Girton. 
 As a matter of fact, I did send for the green 
 jade comb and the shoes and stockings." 
 
 "You seem to me," said Julian, "to have en- 
 tered most light-heartedly upon a career of
 
 220 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 crime and deceit unusual at your age. I don't 
 wonder that you blush for it." 
 
 "It was n't only you, Julian," Lady Verny 
 pleaded. "I did want to help the girl. I 
 can't bear public offices for gentlewomen. 
 It 's so unsuitable!" 
 
 "Most," agreed Julian. "But, my dear 
 mother, this is a world in which the unsuit- 
 able holds an almost perfect sway, a fact 
 which your usual good sense seldom over- 
 looks." 
 
 "You don't know," said Lady Verny, ear- 
 nestly, "how even a bad patch of ground fac- 
 ing north can improve with cultivation." 
 
 "Do what you like with the north side of the 
 garden," replied Julian, "do even what you 
 like with the apparently malleable Miss War- 
 ing; but please don't try the gardening habit 
 any more on me." 
 
 Lady Verny sighed. Julian looked as in- 
 expressive and immovable as a stone crusader. 
 
 Lady Verny was a patient woman, and she 
 knew that, once seed is dropped, you must 
 leave it alone. 
 
 She had learned to abstain from all the little 
 labors of love which are its only consolations.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 221 
 
 From the first she had realized that the things 
 she longed to do for Julian he preferred to 
 have done for him by a servant. 
 
 She had accepted his preferences as the only 
 outlet of her emotions; but when she saw he 
 was fast approaching the place where nothing 
 is left but dislikes, she made an effort to dis- 
 lodge him. She was not sure, but she thought 
 that she had failed. Without speaking again, 
 she went back to the garden and did a little 
 more digging before lunch. The earth was 
 more malleable than Julian; digging altered 
 it. 
 
 If you have never been able to buy any 
 clothes except those which you could afford, 
 none of them having any direct relation to the 
 other, but merely replacing garments incapa- 
 ble of further use, to be dressed exactly as you 
 should be is to obtain a new consciousness. It 
 was not really Stella who looked with curious 
 eyes at herself in a long mirror beneath the 
 skilful hands of Girton. It was some hidden 
 creature of triumphant youth with a curious, 
 heady thirst for admiration. She gazed at 
 herself with alien eyes. 
 
 "It 's like an olive-tree," she said dreamily
 
 222 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 to Girton, "a silvery gray olive-tree growing 
 in the South." 
 
 "I dare say, Miss," said Girton; "but if you 
 was to remember when you sit down just to 
 bring your skirts a trifle forward, it would sit 
 better." 
 
 "Yes, Girton," said Stella, submissively. 
 But the submission was only skin-deep. She 
 knew that whatever she did, she couldn't go 
 far wrong ; her dress would n't let her. It gave 
 her a freedom beyond the range of conduct. 
 People whose clothes fit them, as its sheath of 
 green fits a lily of the valley, become inde- 
 pendent of their souls. 
 
 Julian's eyes had met hers last night with a 
 perfectly different expression in them. He 
 was too polite to look surprised, but he looked 
 as soon as it was convenient, again. 
 
 Usually he looked at Stella as if he wanted 
 to be nice to her, but last night for the first 
 time he had looked as if he wished Stella to 
 think him nice. She had had to hold her head 
 up because of the jade comb. 
 
 It wouldn't matter how either of them 
 looked now, as she was going away so soon; 
 but she was glad that for once he had noticed
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 223 
 
 her, even if his notice was inspired only by the 
 green dress. 
 
 Julian did not appear at dinner; it was the 
 first time since Stella's arrival that this had 
 happened. 
 
 "He 's had a bad day," Lady Verny ex- 
 plained. "He will get about more than he 
 ought. It 's a great strain on him, and then 
 he suffers from fatigue and misery not pain, 
 exactly. I don't think he would mind that so 
 much, but it makes him feel very helpless. 
 He wants his chess though, if you don't mind 
 going into his library and playing with him." 
 
 Julian was sitting up in his arm-chair when 
 Stella joined him. His back was to the light, 
 and the chess-board in front of him. 
 
 His face was gray and haggard, but there 
 was a dogged spark of light in his eyes, as if 
 he was amused at something. 
 
 "Thanks tremendously for coming in to 
 cheer me up," he said quickly. "You see, 
 I Ve dispensed with Ostrog for the evening, to 
 prevent further comparison between us. D' 
 you mind telling me why you didn't let me 
 know this morning that, if I wrote a book, 
 you 'd work for me ?"
 
 224 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Stella flushed, and let her jade comb sink 
 beneath its level. 
 
 "If you did n't want to write the book," she 
 said, "why should you want a secretary?" 
 
 "It did n't occur to you, I suppose," Sir Ju- 
 lian asked, "that if I wanted the secretary, I 
 might wish to write the book?" 
 
 "What has Lady Verny said to you?" 
 Stella demanded, lifting her head suddenly, 
 and looking straight across at him. 
 
 "Nothing that need make you at all fierce," 
 Julian replied, with amusement. "She said 
 you were going back to the town hall next 
 week, and I said I thought it was a pity. You 
 don't seem to me in the least fitted for a town 
 hall. I Ve no doubt you can do incredible 
 things with drains, but I fear I have a selfish 
 preference for your playing chess with me. 
 My mother added that it was my fault; you 
 were prepared, if I wished to write a book, to 
 see me through it." 
 
 "Yes," said Stella, defensively, "I was pre- 
 pared, if I thought you wanted it." 
 
 "I suppose you and my mother thought it 
 would be good for me, did n't you?" asked Ju-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 225 
 
 lian, suavely. "I have an idea that you had 
 concocted a treacherous underground plot." 
 
 "We I well, if you'd liked it, it might 
 have been good for you," Stella admitted. 
 
 "Most immoral," said Julian, dryly, "to try 
 to do good to me behind my back, was n't it? 
 You see, I dislike being done good to; I hap- 
 pen very particularly to dislike it, and above 
 all things I dislike it being done without my 
 knowledge." 
 
 "Yes," said Stella, humbly. "So do I; I 
 see that now. It was silly and interfering. 
 Only, if you had been interested " 
 
 "I was n't in the least interested," said Ju- 
 lian, implacably, "but I 'm glad you agree 
 about your moral obliquity. My mother, of 
 course, was worse; but there is no criminal so 
 deep seated in her career as a woman under 
 the sway of the maternal instinct. One al- 
 lows for that. And now, Miss Waring, since 
 neither of us likes being done good to, and since 
 it 's bad for you to go back to the town hall, 
 and worse for me to remain unemployed, shall 
 we pool this shocking state of things and write 
 the book together?"
 
 226 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "Oh!" cried Stella with a little gasp. "But 
 are you sure you want to?" 
 
 Julian laughed. 
 
 "I may be politer than Ostrog," he said, "but 
 I assure you that, like him, unless reduced by 
 force, I never do what I don't want to." 
 
 *And you haven't been reduced?" Stella 
 asked a little doubtfully. 
 
 "Well," said Julian, beginning to place his 
 chessmen, "I don't think so; do you? Where 
 was the force?" 
 
 Stella could not answer this question, and 
 Lady Verny, who might have been capable of 
 answering it, was up-stairs.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 STELLA found that there were several 
 Julians. The first one she knew quite 
 well; he only wanted to be left alone. She 
 dealt quite simply with him, as if he were Mr. 
 Travers before Mr. Travers was human. 
 
 She came into his library every morning at 
 ten o'clock, and this Julian, looking out of the 
 window or at Ostrog or at the ceiling, dictated 
 to her in a dry voice, slowly and distinctly, the 
 first draft of a chapter. 
 
 Julian had never worked with an efficient 
 woman before, and Stella's promptness and 
 prevision surprised him; but this Julian never 
 showed any surprise. He did the work he had 
 set himself to do from the notes he had pre- 
 pared before she came. If there were any 
 facts of which he was doubtful, he asked her 
 to look them up, telling her where she would 
 be likely to find references to them. Stella 
 went to the right bookcase by a kind of instinct, 
 
 227
 
 228 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 placed a careful hand on the book, and found 
 the index with flying fingers. She never asked 
 this Julian questions or troubled him with her 
 own opinions. She carried off her notes with- 
 out comment, and returned them to him care- 
 fully typed for his final inspection next morn- 
 ing. It was like the town hall, only quieter. 
 
 The second Julian was almost like a friend. 
 He was a mischievous, challenging Julian, who 
 wouldn't at any price have an impersonal, 
 carefully drilled secretary beside him, but who 
 insisted upon Stella's active cooperation. 
 They discussed the chapter from every point 
 before they wrote it. This Julian demanded 
 her opinions ; he dragged out her criticisms and 
 fought them. He made their work together 
 a perilous, inspiriting tug-of-war. The chap- 
 ters that resulted from this cooperation were 
 by far the most interesting in the book. They 
 even interested Julian. 
 
 But these were rare days, and what was 
 most curious to Stella was that Julian, who 
 seemed at least to enjoy them as much as she 
 did, should appear to want to suppress and 
 curtail them. He was obviously reluctant to 
 let the second Julian have his fling.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 229 
 
 Stella saw the third Julian only in the even- 
 ings. He was a polite and courteous host, 
 stranger to Stella than either of the others. 
 He was always on his guard, as if he feared 
 that either of the watchful women who wanted 
 to see him happy might think he was happy 
 or might, more fatally still, treat him as if he 
 were unhappy. 
 
 While Stella and Lady Verny were anx- 
 iously watching the transformations of Julian, 
 spring came to Amberley. It came very 
 quietly, in a cold, green visibility, clothing the 
 chilly, shivering trees in splendor. The 
 hedges shone with a green as light as water, 
 and out of their dried brown grasses the fields 
 sprang into emerald. The streams that ran 
 through the valley fed myriads of primroses. 
 Stella found them everywhere, in lonely 
 copses, in high-shouldered lanes, or growing 
 like pale sunshine underneath the willows. 
 
 The spring was young and fugitive at Am- 
 berley; it fled before its own promises, and hid 
 behind a cloak of winter. Dull gray days, 
 cold showers, and nipping raw down winds de- 
 fied it, and for weeks the earth looked as hard 
 as any stone; but still the green leaves un-
 
 230 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 sheathed themselves, and the birds sang tHeir 
 truculent triumphant songs, certain of vic- 
 tory. 
 
 Lady Verny spent all her time in the gar- 
 den now, watching against dangers, prepar- 
 ing for new births, protecting the helpless, and 
 leaving things alone. The bulbs were up and 
 out already; crocus and daffodil, hyacinth and 
 narcissus, flooded the glades and glens. Cro- 
 cuses ran like a flock of small gold flames un- 
 der the dark yew-hedges; daffodils streamed 
 down the hillside to the lakes, looking as if 
 they meant to overtake the sailing swans. The 
 willows in the valley had apricot and pale-gold 
 stems. They hung shivering over the lake 
 like a race of phantom lovers searching for 
 their lost brides. 
 
 Stella never saw Julian outdoors. He was 
 always interested and polite about the garden, 
 but he was never in it. He did not seem to 
 want to see things grow. She did not know 
 how far he could drag himself upon his 
 crutches, and it gave her a little shock of sur- 
 prise to find him one day in one of her favorite 
 haunts. 
 
 It was outside the garden altogether, behind
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 231 
 
 the village street. A sunk lane under high 
 hedges led to a solitary farm. One of the 
 fields on the way to it overlooked a sheltered 
 copse of silver birches. Julian was stretched 
 at full length under the hedge, looking down 
 into the wood; his crutches lay beside him. 
 Under the silver birches the ground was as 
 blue as if the sky had sprung up out of the 
 earth. There was no space at all for anything 
 but bluebells. Far away in the valley a cuckoo 
 called its first compelling notes. 
 
 Julian's face was set. He looked through 
 the silver-and-blue copse as if it were not 
 there; his eyes held a tortured universe. 
 
 Stella would have slipped away from him 
 unseen, but his voice checked her. 
 
 "Is that you, Stella?" he asked quietly. 
 "Won't you come and sit down here and look 
 at this damned pretty world with me?" 
 
 His voice was startlingly bitter; it was the 
 first time that he had used her name. 
 
 She came to him quickly, and sat down be- 
 side him, motionless and alert. She knew that 
 this was yet another Julian, and an instinct 
 told her that this w T as probably the real one. 
 
 He, too, said nothing for a moment ; then he
 
 232 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 began to speak with little jerks between his 
 sentences. 
 
 "What do you suppose," he said, "is the 
 idea? You know what I mean? You saw 
 the papers this morning? Have you ever seen 
 a man gassed ? I did once, in Wales a mine 
 explosion. We got to the fellows. One of 
 them was dead, and one was mad, and one 
 would have liked to be mad or dead. I rather 
 gather that about two or three thousand 
 Canadians were gassed near Ypres. They 
 stood, you know, stood as long as you can 
 stand, gassed. I always thought that 
 phrase, 'died at their posts,' misleading. 
 There aren't any posts, for one thing, and, 
 then, dying well, you don't die quickly from 
 gas. If you 're fairly strong, it 's a solid per- 
 formance, and takes at the least several hours. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I ought n't to talk to 
 you like that. Please forgive me for being 
 such a brute. On such a lovely morning, too! 
 Are there any new bulbs up? I ought to be 
 ashamed of myself." 
 
 "Julian" said Stella. 
 
 He turned his head quickly and looked at 
 her.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 233 
 
 "Yes," he said; "what is it?" 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed not to talk to 
 me," Stella said, with sudden fierceness. 
 "Does n't it make any difference to you that 
 we 're friends?" 
 
 He put his hand over hers. 
 
 "Yes," he said, smiling; "but I happen to 
 be rather afraid of differences." 
 
 He took his hand away as quickly as he had 
 touched her. 
 
 "Do you know," she asked in a low voice, 
 "what was the saddest thing I ever saw the 
 saddest and the most terrible?" 
 
 "No," he said, turning his eyes carefully 
 back to the silver birches; "but I have an idea 
 that it was something that happened to some- 
 body else." 
 
 "Yes," said Stella; "it happened to a sea- 
 gull. It was the only time I ever went to the 
 sea. Eurydice had been ill, and I went away 
 with her. I think I was fourteen. I had gone 
 out alone after tea on to the cliffs when I saw 
 a motionless sea-gull at the very edge. I 
 walked close up to it. It was as still as a stone, 
 and when I came up, O Julian, one of its 
 wings was broken! It could not fly agaku
 
 234 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Its eyes were searching the sea with such 
 despair in them ; it knew it could not fly again. 
 I picked it up and carried it home. We did 
 everything we could for it, but it died like 
 that, without ever changing the despair in its 
 eyes because it could not fly." 
 
 "Lucky brute to be able to die," said Julian 
 under his breath. Stella said nothing. 
 "Why did you tell me?" he asked after a pause. 
 "Any lesson attached to it?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You 're not crying?" he asked suspiciously. 
 Then he looked at her. She was sitting very 
 still, biting her lips to keep her tears back. 
 
 "You really must n't, Stella!" he urged in a 
 queer, soft voice she had never heard him use 
 before. "I 'm not a sea-gull and I 'm not dy- 
 ing, and I 'm not even a stone." 
 
 "No," she whispered, "but you 're just like 
 the sea-gull: you won't share your pain." 
 
 "Look here," said Julian, "I you 
 Would you mind sitting on that log over 
 there, it's quite dry, just opposite? 
 Thanks. Now I can talk more easily. I want 
 you to remember that I 'm a million times better 
 off than most people. What troubles me is n't
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 235 
 
 what the vicar calls my affliction. I 'm rather 
 proud of what I 'm able to do with a pair of 
 crutches in six months. It 's being out of it ; 
 that 's what set me off on those Canadian 
 chaps. I miss the idea that I might be in that 
 kind of thing, rather. You see, I feel quite 
 well. I '11 settle down to it in time, and I 
 won't shut you out, if you '11 remember not 
 to let me you 're most awfully innocent, 
 aren't you? D' you mind telling me how old 
 you are?" 
 
 "Twenty-eight," said Stella. "But I'm 
 not really innocent. I think I know all the 
 horrible things." 
 
 Julian laughed ruefully. "You wouldn't 
 see them coming though," he said; "and, be- 
 sides, the things that aren't innocent are by 
 no means always horrible. However, that 's 
 not what I was going to say. If we 're to be 
 friends at all, and it 's not particularly easy 
 even for me to live in the same house with you 
 and not be friends, you'll have to help me 
 pretty considerably." 
 
 "How shall I help you?" 'Stella asked 
 eagerly. "I have wanted to, you know. I 
 mean that I did sometimes think you wanted
 
 236 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 to be friends as Mr. Travers did when he 
 tried to become human because his cat died. 
 I have n't told you about that ; it made him see 
 bow important it was. And when you did n't 
 want to be friendly, I tried not to bother you ; 
 I just went on with the work. That was the 
 best way, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes," said Julian, carefully. "You did 
 the work uncommonly well, my dear, and you 
 never bothered me in that way. I 'm afraid 
 I don't quite follow Mr. Travers. I suppose 
 he is the town clerk, is n't he? He may have 
 meant the same thing that I do; but I should 
 have thought it would have been well sim- 
 pler for him. I don't know how to explain to 
 you what I mean. You remember Marian?" 
 Stella nodded. "I came a cropper over 
 Marian," Julian explained. "She behaved 
 extraordinarily well. No one could possi- 
 bly blame her; but she wasn't exactly the 
 kind of woman I 'd banked on, and I had 
 banked on her pretty heavily. When I saw 
 my mistake, I understood that I wasn't fit 
 for marriage, and I became reconciled to it. 
 I mean I accepted the idea thoroughly. It 
 would be tying a woman to a log. But I don't
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 237 
 
 want to start feeling just yet any kind of 
 feeling. Even nice, mild, pitying friendship 
 like yours stings. D' you understand?" 
 
 "I 'm not mild and I 'm not pitying," said 
 Stella, quietly. "And you don't only shut me 
 out; you shut out everybody. Why, you 
 won't even let yourself go over your old polar 
 bears in the book!" 
 
 "I can't afford to let myself go," said Julian, 
 "even to the extent of a polar bear with 
 you." 
 
 "Just because I 'm a woman ?" asked Stella, 
 regretfully. 
 
 "If you like, you may put it that way,'* 
 agreed Julian ; "and as to the rest of the world, 
 it 's very busy just at present fighting Ger- 
 mans. All the men I like are either dead or 
 will be soon. What 's the use of getting 'em 
 down here to look at a broken sign-post? I 'd 
 rather keep to myself till I 've got going. I 
 will get going again, and you '11 help me, if 
 you '11 try to remember what I Ve just told 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, I shall remember it," replied Stella, 
 hurriedly; "only I don't quite know what it is. 
 Still, I dare say, if I think it over, I shall find
 
 238 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 out. At any rate, I 'm very, very glad you 'II 
 let me help you. Of course I think you 're all 
 wrong about the other men. You think too 
 much of the outside of things. I dare say it 's 
 better than thinking too little, as we do in our 
 family. Besides, you have such a lovely house 
 and live so tidily. Still, I think it 's a mistake. 
 The men wouldn't see your crutches half as 
 much as they 'd see you. The things that mat- 
 ter most are always behind what anybody sees. 
 Even all this beauty is n't half as beautiful as 
 what 's behind it the spirit of the life that 
 creates it, and brings it back again." 
 
 "And the ugliness," asked Julian, steadily, 
 "the ugliness we Ve just been talking about 
 over there, that long line of it cutting through 
 France like a mortal wound, drawing the life- 
 blood of Europe, what 's behind that?" 
 
 "Don't you see?" she cried, leaning toward 
 him eagerly. "Exactly the same thing life! 
 All this quietness that reproduces what it takes 
 away, only always more beautifully. Don't 
 you think, while we see here the passing of the 
 great procession of spring, behind in the in- 
 visible, where their poured-out souls have 
 rushed to, is a greater procession still, forming
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 239 
 
 for us to join? That even the ugliness is only 
 an awful way out into untouched beauty, like 
 a winter storm that breaks the ground up for 
 the seed to grow?" 
 
 "I can see that you see it," said Julian, 
 gently. "I can't see anything else just now. 
 You 'd better cut along back to the house ; 
 you '11 be late for lunch. Tell my mother I 'm 
 not coming and and try not to think I 'm 
 horrid if I 'm not always friendly with you. 
 I sha'n't be so unfriendly as I sound." 
 
 "I don't believe you know," said Stella, con- 
 sideringly, "how very nice I always think 
 you " 
 
 "That," said Julian, "happens to be exactly 
 one of the things you 'd better refrain from 
 telling me. Good-by."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 IT is always hard to return in the character 
 of a captive to a scene in which you have 
 played the part of victor, and Julian had told 
 the truth to Stella when he said that what 
 stung him most was his new relation to women. 
 Men knew what he had done; many of them 
 were facing the same odds. They had a com- 
 mon experience and a common language to fall 
 back upon. They were his mates, but they did 
 not come near enough to him to hurt him ; they 
 had no wish to understand or help his suffer- 
 ings. It was sufficient for them to say, "Hard 
 luck !" and leave that side of it alone. Women 
 were different : he had pursued women. 
 
 Julian had a good average reputation. 
 Very few women attracted him beyond a cer- 
 tain point; but all his experiences had been 
 successes. 
 
 He had loved Marian with the best love his 
 heart had known; but it had been the love of 
 
 240
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 241 
 
 Marian as a creature to possess. It had not 
 been an invasion of his personality. He would 
 have given anything to possess Marian ; he had 
 not been for a moment possessed by her. It 
 did not seem to Julian that a woman could ever 
 do more than charm a man. 
 
 She could charm you, if you let her, to dis- 
 traction; but if you had any strength, you re- 
 mained intact. Nothing in you moved to 
 meet her charm. You simply, not to put too 
 fine a point upon it, took what you could get. 
 Naturally, if you could no longer let a woman 
 charm you, she became, if she was n't merely 
 a nuisance, a menace. 
 
 Julian acquiesced in Stella's remaining as 
 his secretary only because he had a theory that 
 she did not charm him. He could not make 
 head or tail of her. He recognized that she 
 had a mind, but it was a perplexing and un- 
 challenging mind, a private enjoyment of her 
 own. She never attempted to attract Julian 
 by it. If he stirred her, she ran off like a poet 
 or a bird, upon her subject. She did not, as 
 Julian supposed all women did, put Julian 
 himself at the other end of her subject. 
 
 She had attractions : sympathy, wit, a charm-
 
 242 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 ing, fugitive smile. She arranged them no 
 better than she arranged her hair; and it was 
 lamentable how she arranged her hair. 
 
 Julian could not have borne her constant 
 presence if she had not effaced herself ; his bit- 
 ter self -consciousness would have been up in 
 arms against an effective personality at his 
 elbow. Nevertheless, he was obscurely an- 
 noyed that Stella made no attempt to impress 
 him. She would sit there morning after 
 morning without looking at him, without no- 
 ticing him, without the lift of an eyelid to make 
 him feel that he was anything to her but the 
 supply of copy for his chapter. She was as 
 inhuman and unpretentious as a piece of moss 
 on a wall. 
 
 But her voice haunted him; he would catch 
 snatches of her talk with Lady Verny in the 
 garden. His mother had no scruple against 
 intimacy with Stella, and Stella was not docile 
 with Lady Verny; she was enchanting. She 
 had a tantalizing voice full of music, with little 
 gusts of mischief and revolt in it. 
 
 Julian told himself that he must put up with 
 Stella for his mother's sake. Lady Verny did 
 not make friends easily, and liked bookworms.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 243 
 
 He dismissed Stella as a bookworm. She had 
 ways that, he told himself, were intensely an- 
 noying. She came punctually to her work, 
 probably the poor town clerk had taught her 
 that much, but she had no other punctualities. 
 Bells, meals, the passage of time, had no land- 
 marks for her. She seemed to drift along the 
 hours like a leaf upon a stream. 
 
 She was disorderly: she left things about; 
 books face downward, scraps of paper, flowers. 
 She was always saying that she had lost her 
 fountain-pen. She did n't say this to Julian, 
 but he heard her say it to Ostrog, whom she ac- 
 cused outrageously of having eaten it, to all 
 the servants, and to his mother. None of them 
 seemed to mind, not even Ostrog. 
 
 Ostrog's growls had ceased. He slept in 
 Stella's presence, uneasily, with half a red eye 
 upon her ; but he slept. 
 
 After a few days he chose a position close 
 to her feet and slept solidly, with snores; 
 finally he took her out for walks. Julian ap- 
 proved of this, since she would go all over the 
 place by herself, hatless, and looking like a 
 tramp, it was as well she should be accom- 
 panied by Ostrog.
 
 244 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Ostrog had never before been known to go 
 for walks with any one except Julian. He 
 took plenty of exercise independently of hu- 
 man control in the direction of rabbits. 
 
 Stella was extremely wasteful with writing- 
 paper. Over and over again Julian saw her 
 throw half a sheet, white and untouched, into 
 the waste-paper basket ; and she cut string. It 
 was curious how little Julian felt annoyed by 
 these depredations, considering how much he 
 wished to be annoyed. He was not by nature 
 economical, but he lashed himself into imag- 
 inary rages with Stella, and told her that she 
 must once for all turn over a new leaf. She 
 was quite meek about it, and next time she lost 
 her fountain-pen she went into the village and 
 bought a new one which would n't write. She 
 paid for it with her own money, and Julian 
 wanted to box her ears. He subsequently 
 found the other one on the rack where he kept 
 his pipes. 
 
 For some time he believed that she was not 
 provocative because she was negligible. She 
 was one of those clever neutral women who 
 have n't the wit to be attractive. 
 
 Then one day it flashed across him that for
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 245 
 
 all her mild agreement with his wishes, her 
 spirit never for one instant surrendered to 
 him. It did not even think of escaping; it was 
 free. 
 
 This startled Julian. He liked evasive 
 women, but he had thought Stella extraor- 
 dinarily the opposite. She was as frank as a 
 boy. But was this frankness merely because 
 she was dealing with what was non-essential to 
 her? He tried to make her talk; he succeeded 
 perfectly. 
 
 Stella would talk about anything he liked. 
 She enjoyed talking. She made Julian en- 
 joy it; and then he found that he had arrived 
 nowhere. She gave him her talk, as she gave 
 him her attention, exactly as she would have 
 got up and handed him a book if he had asked 
 for it. There was no more of herself in it than 
 in the simplest of her services. 
 
 Julian was not sure when it was that he dis- 
 covered that he had a new feeling about her, 
 which was even more disconcerting than her in- 
 dependence ; it was anxiety. 
 
 Perhaps it was during the extremely slow 
 and tiresome week-end on which Stella paid a 
 visit to her family. She went without her um-
 
 246 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 brella, not that it would have done much good 
 if she had taken it, for Julian found, to his ex- 
 treme vexation, that it was full of holes, the 
 weather was atrocious, and she came back with 
 a cold. 
 
 It might have been gathered that no one at 
 .Amberley had ever had a cold before. As far 
 as Julian was concerned nobody ever had. 
 
 Julian possessed a sane imagination, and 
 generally treated the subject of health with a 
 mixture of common sense and indifference. 
 But this cold of Stella's! 
 
 It was no good Stella's saying it was a slight 
 cold; he forced her to take a list of remedies 
 suitable for severe bronchitis. He quarreled 
 with his mother for saying that people had been 
 known to recover from colds, and finally he 
 sent for the doctor. 
 
 The doctor, being a wise man with a poor 
 country practice, agreed with Julian that you 
 could not be too careful about colds, and 
 thought that priceless old port taken with her 
 meals would not do Miss Waring any harm. 
 
 Stella disliked port very much, but she 
 drank it submissively for a week. 
 
 "Nobody can call me fussy," Julian an-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 247 
 
 nounced sternly, "but I will not have a neg- 
 lected cold in the house." 
 
 He was not contradicted, though everybody 
 knew that for weeks the cook and two house- 
 maids had been sneezing about the passages. 
 
 It was a strange feeling, this sharp compul- 
 sion of fear. It taught Julian something. It 
 taught him that what happened to Stella hap- 
 pened to himself. He no longer thought of 
 pursuit in connection with her. He had found 
 her in his heart. 
 
 It was an extremely awkward fact, but he 
 accepted it. After all, he had crushed pas- 
 sions before which had gone against his code. 
 He had iron self-control, and he thought it 
 would be quite possible to stamp out this fancy 
 before it got dangerous, even while he retained 
 her presence. 
 
 He could n't remain friendly to her, but he 
 could be civil enough. He tried this process. 
 For nine days it worked splendidly. Of 
 course Stella did n't like it, but it worked. 
 She had too much sense to ask him what was 
 the matter, but she looked wistful. On the 
 tenth she cut her finger sharpening a pencil, 
 and Julian called her "Darling." Fortu-
 
 248 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 nately she did n't hear him, and he managed to 
 bandage her finger up without losing his head ; 
 but he knew that it had been an uncommonly 
 near shave, and if she hurt herself again, he 
 was n't at all sure how he would stand it. 
 
 Love flooded him like a rising tide; all his 
 landmarks became submerged. He could not 
 tell how far the tide would spread. He clung 
 to Stella's faults with positive vindictiveness 
 despite the fact that he had surprised himself 
 smiling over them. He dared not let himself 
 think about her qualities. The one support 
 left to him was her own unconsciousness. He 
 need n't tell her, and she would n't guess ; and 
 as long as she did n't know, he could keep her. 
 If she did know, she would have to go away; 
 even if she didn't want to go, as she most 
 probably would, he would have to send her 
 away. He became as watchful of himself as 
 he had been when his life depended on every 
 word he said; but he could not help his eyes. 
 When other people were there he did not look 
 at Stella at aU. 
 
 It was the first day Stella had been late for 
 her work, and Julian had prepared to be ex- 
 tremely angry until he saw her face. She
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 249 
 
 came slowly toward the open window out of 
 the garden, looking oddly drawn and white. 
 The pain in her eyes hurt Julian intolerably. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said quickly, "what's wrong?" 
 
 She did not answer at once ; her hands trem- 
 bled. She was holding a letter, face down- 
 ward, as if she hated holding it. 
 
 "Your mother asked me to tell you myself," 
 she began. "I am afraid to tell you; but she 
 seemed to think you would rather 
 
 "Yes," said Julian, quickly. "Are you go- 
 ing away?" 
 
 "Oh, no," whispered Stella. "If it was only 
 that!" 
 
 Julian said, "Ah!" It was an exclamation 
 that sounded like relief. He leaned back in 
 his chair, and did nothing further to help her. 
 
 Stella moved restlessly about the room. 
 She had curious graceful movements like a 
 wild creature ; she became awkward only when 
 she knew she was expected to behave properly. 
 Finally she paused, facing a bookcase, with 
 her back to Julian. 
 
 "Well?" asked Julian, encouragingly. 
 "Better get it over, had n't we? World come 
 to pieces worse than usual this morning?"
 
 250 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I don't know how to tell you," she said 
 wretchedly. "For you perhaps it has I have 
 heard from Marian." 
 
 Julian picked up his pipe, which he had al- 
 lowed to go out when Stella came in, relit it, 
 and smiled at the back of her head. He looked 
 extraordinarily amused and cheerful. 
 
 "She had n't written to me," Stella went on 
 without turning round, "for ages and ages, 
 you remember I told you? and now she has." 
 
 "She was always an uncertain correspond- 
 ent," said Julian, smoothly. "Am I to see 
 this letter? Message for me, perhaps? Or 
 does n't she know you 're here?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" cried Stella, quickly. "I mean 
 there 's nothing in it you could n't see, of 
 course. There is a kind of message; still, she 
 did n't mean you actually to see it. She heard 
 somehow that I was here, and she wanted me 
 to tell you " Stella's voice broke, but she 
 picked herself up and went on, jerking out 
 the cruel words that shook her to the heart, 
 "she wanted me to tell you that she 's she 's 
 going to be married." 
 
 Stella heard a curious sound from Julian in-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 251 
 
 credibly like a chuckle. She flinched, and 
 held herself away from him. He would not 
 want her to see how he suffered. There was a 
 long silence. 
 
 "Stella," said Julian at last in that singular, 
 soft, new voice of his that he occasionally used 
 when they were alone together, "the ravages of 
 pain are now hidden. You can turn round." 
 
 She came back to him uncertainly, and sat 
 down by the window at his feet. He had a 
 tender teasing look that she could not quite 
 understand. His eyes themselves never wa- 
 vered as they met hers, but the eagerness in 
 them wavered; his tenderness seemed to hold 
 it back. 
 
 She thought that Julian's eyes had grown 
 curiously friendly lately. Despite his pain, 
 they were very friendly now. 
 
 "Any details?" Julian asked. "Don' t be 
 afraid to tell me. I 'm not I mean I 'm 
 quite prepared for it." 
 
 "It 's to be next month," she said hurriedly. 
 "She didn't want you to see it first in the pa- 
 pers." 
 
 "Awfully considerate of her, was n't it?" in-
 
 252 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 terrupted Julian. "By the by, tell her when 
 you write that she could n't have chosen any- 
 body better to break it to me than you." 
 
 "O Julian," Stella pleaded, "please don't 
 laugh at me! Do if it makes you any easier, 
 of course; only I I mind so horribly!" 
 
 "Do you?" asked Julian, carefully. "I 
 think I 'm rather glad you mind, but you 
 mustn't mind horribly; only as much as a 
 friend should mind for another friend." 
 
 "That is the way I mind," said Stella. 
 
 She had a large interpretation of friendship. 
 
 "Oh, all right," said Julian, rather crossly. 
 "Goon!" 
 
 "She says it 's a Captain Edmund Stanley, 
 and he 's a D.S.O. They 're to be married 
 very quietly while he 's on leave." 
 
 "Lucky man !" said Julian. "Any money ?" 
 
 "Oh, I think so," murmured Stella, anx- 
 iously skipping the letter in her lap. "She 
 says he 's fairly well off." 
 
 "I think," observed Julian, "that we may 
 take it that if Marian says Captain Stanley is 
 fairly well off, his means need give us no anx- 
 iety. What?" 
 
 "Julian, must you talk like that?" Stella
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 253 
 
 pleaded. "You '11 make it so hard for your- 
 self if you 're bitter." 
 
 "On the whole, I think I must," replied Ju- 
 lian, reflectively. "If I talked differently, you 
 might n't like it ; and, anyhow, I dare n't run 
 the risk. I might break down, you know, and 
 you would n't like that, would you? Shall we 
 get to work?" 
 
 "Oh, not this morning!" Stella cried. "I 'm 
 going out ; I knew you would n't want me." 
 
 "Did you though?" asked Julian. "But I 
 happen to want you most particularly. What 
 are you going to do about it?" 
 
 She looked at him in surprise. He had a 
 peculiarly teasing expression which did not 
 seem appropriate to extreme grief. 
 
 "I '11 stay, of course, if you want me," she 
 said quietly. 
 
 "You 're a very kind little elf," said Julian, 
 "but I don't think you must make a precedent 
 of my wanting you, or else look here, d' you 
 mind telling me a few things about your your 
 friendship with Marian?" 
 
 Stella's face cleared. She saw now why he 
 wanted her to stay. She turned her eyes back 
 to the garden.
 
 254 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I '11 tell you anything you like to know," 
 she answered. 
 
 "You liked her?" asked Julian. 
 
 "She was so different from everybody else 
 in my world," Stella explained. "I don't 
 think I judged her; I just admired her. She 
 was awfully good to me. I didn't see her 
 very often, but it was all the brightness of my 
 life." 
 
 "Stella, you Ve never told me about your 
 life," Julian said irrelevantly. "Will you 
 some day? I want to know about the town 
 hall and that town clerk fellow." 
 
 "There isn't anything to tell you," said 
 Stella. "I mean about that, and Marian was 
 never in my life. She could n't have been, you 
 know; but she was my special dream. I used 
 to love to hear about all her experiences and her 
 friends ; and then do you remember the night 
 of Chaliapine's opera? It was the only opera 
 I ever went to, so of course I remember; but 
 perhaps you don't. You were there with Ma- 
 rian. I think I knew then " 
 
 "Knew what?" asked Julian, leaning for- 
 ward a little. "You seem awfully interested 
 in that gravel path, Stella?"
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 255 
 
 "Knew," she said, without turning her head, 
 "what you meant to her." 
 
 "Where were you?" Julian inquired. 
 "Looking down from the ceiling or up from a 
 hole in the ground, where the good people come 
 from? I never saw you." 
 
 "Ah, you wouldn't," said Stella. "I was 
 in the gallery. Do you remember the music?" 
 
 "Russian stuff," Julian said. "Pack of peo- 
 ple going into a fire, yes. Funnily enough, 
 I 've thought of it since, more than once, too ; 
 but I did n't know you were there." 
 
 "And then when you were hurt," Stella went 
 on in a low voice, "Marian told me. Julian, 
 she did mind frightfully. I always wanted 
 you to know that she did mind." 
 
 "It altered her plans, didn't it," said Ju- 
 lian, "quite considerably?" 
 
 "You 've no business to talk like that!" said 
 Stella, angrily. "It 's not fair or kind." 
 
 "And does it matter to you whether I 'm 
 fair or kind?" Julian asked, with deadly cool- 
 ness. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Stella, quickly. 
 "Of course it has nothing to do with me. I 
 have no right to to mind what you say."
 
 256 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I 'm glad you recognize that," said Ju- 
 lian, quietly. "It facilitates our future inter- 
 course. And you agreed with Marian that she 
 only did her duty in painstakingly adhering to 
 her given word? Perhaps you encouraged her 
 to do it? The inspiration sounds quite like 
 yours." 
 
 She looked at him now. 
 
 "Julian," she said, "am I all wrong? Would 
 you rather that we weren't friends at all? 
 You are speaking as if you hated me." 
 
 "No, I 'm not," he said quickly, "you little 
 goose ! How could I keep you here if I hated 
 you? Have a little sense. No, don't put your 
 hand there, because, if you do, I shall take it, 
 and I 'm rather anxious just now not to. You 
 shall go directly you 've answered me this. 
 Did you agree with Marian's point of view 
 about me ? You know what it was, don't you ? 
 She didn't love me any more; she wished I 
 had been killed, and she decided to stick to me. 
 She thought I 'd be grateful. Do you think I 
 ought to have been grateful?" 
 
 "You know I don't! You know I don't!" 
 cried Stella. "But why do you make me say 
 it? I simply hated it hated her not seeing,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 257 
 
 not caring enough to see, not caring enough to 
 make you see. There! Is that all you 
 wanted me to say?" 
 
 "Practically," said Julian, "but I don't see 
 why you should fly into a rage over it. In 
 your case, then, if it had heen your case, you 
 would simply have broken off the engagement 
 at once, like a sensible girl?" 
 
 "I can't imagine myself in such a situation," 
 said Stella, getting up indignantly. 
 
 "Naturally," interposed Julian smoothly. 
 "But, still, if you had happened, by some 
 dreadful mischance, to find yourself engaged 
 to me" 
 
 "I should have broken it off directly," said 
 Stella, turning to go "directly I found out " 
 
 "Found out what?" asked Julian. 
 
 "That you were nothing but a cold-blooded 
 tease !" cried Stella over her shoulder. 
 
 "You perfect darling!" said Julian under 
 his breath. "By Jove! that was a narrow 
 squeak!"
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 IT puzzled Stella extremely that she found 
 herself unable to say, "What is it that you 
 want, Julian?" She knew that there was 
 something that he wanted, and there was noth- 
 ing that she would dream of denying him. 
 What, therefore, could be simpler than asking 
 him? And yet she did not want to ask him. 
 
 She began by trying hard to understand 
 what it was that he had told her above the 
 bluebell wood, because she thought if she dis- 
 covered what he wanted then, the rest would 
 follow. He had wanted a particular kind of 
 help from her; that was plain. It had some- 
 thing to do with her being a woman ; that was 
 plainer. But was it to his advantage or to his 
 disadvantage that she was a woman? Ought 
 she to suppress the fact or build on it? And 
 how could she build on it or suppress it when 
 she never felt in the least like anything else but 
 a woman? 
 
 258
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 259 
 
 Cicely used to say that the only safe way 
 with men was never to be nice to them; but 
 Stella had always thought any risk was bet- 
 ter than such a surly plan. Besides, Julian 
 could n't mean that. He liked her to be nice 
 to him. She saw quite plainly that he liked 
 her to be nice to him. 
 
 Unfortunately, Julian had taken for 
 granted in Stella a certain experience of life, 
 and Stella had never had any such experience. 
 She had never once recognized fancy in the 
 eyes of any man. As for love, it belonged 
 solely to her dreams; and the dreams of a 
 woman of twenty-eight, unharassed by fact, 
 are singularly unreliable. She thought of Mr. 
 Travers, but he did not count. She had never 
 been able to realize what he had felt for her. 
 Her relation to him was as formal, despite his 
 one singular lapse, as that of a passenger to a 
 ticket-collector. She had nothing to go on but 
 her dreams. 
 
 In her very early youth she had selected for 
 heroes two or three characters from real life. 
 They were Cardinal Newman, Shelley, and 
 General Gordon. Later, on account of a dif- 
 ference in her religious opinions, she had re-
 
 260 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 placed the Cardinal by Charles Lamb. None 
 of these characters was in the least like Ju- 
 lian. 
 
 One had apparently no experience of 
 women, the other two had sisters, and Shelley's 
 expression of love was vague and might be said 
 to be misleading. 
 
 She met me, robed in such exceeding glory, 
 That I beheld her not. 
 
 Life had unfortunately refused to meet 
 Shelley on the same terms, and difficulties had 
 ensued, but it was this impracticable side of 
 him that Stella had accepted. She had 
 skipped Harriet, and landed on "Epipsychid- 
 ion." Love was to her "a green and golden 
 immortality." She was not disturbed by it, 
 because the deepest experiences of life do not 
 disturb us. What disturbs us is that which 
 calls us away from them. 
 
 It made it easier to wait to find out what 
 Julian wanted that he was happier with her. 
 He was hardly ever impersonal or cold now, 
 and he sometimes made reasons to be with her 
 that had nothing to do with their work. 
 
 It was June, and the daffodils had gone, but
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 261 
 
 there were harebells and blue butterflies upon 
 the downs, and in the hedges wild roses and 
 Star of Bethlehem. Lady Verny spent all her 
 time in the garden. She said the slugs alone 
 took hours. They were supposed by the un- 
 initiated to be slow, but express trains could 
 hardly do more damage in less time. So Stella 
 and Ostrog took their walks alone, and were 
 frequently intercepted by Julian on their re- 
 turn. 
 
 Julian, who ought to have known better, 
 thought that the situation might go on indefi- 
 nitely, and Stella did not know that there was 
 any situation ; she knew only that she was in a 
 new world. There was sorrow outside it, there 
 was sorrow even in her heart for those outside 
 it; but through all sorrow was this unswerv- 
 ing, direct experience of joy. She would have 
 liked to share it with Julian, but she thought 
 it was all her own, and that what he liked about 
 her since he liked something was her ability 
 to live beyond the margin of her personal de- 
 light. The color of it was in her eyes, and the 
 strength of it at her heart ; but she never let it 
 interfere with Julian. She was simply a com- 
 panion with a hidden treasure. She some-
 
 262 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 times thought that having it made her a better 
 companion ; but even of this she was not sure. 
 
 It made her a little nervous taking Ostrog 
 out alone, but she always took the lead with 
 him, and slipped it on him if a living creature 
 appeared on the horizon. There were some 
 living creatures he didn't mind, but you 
 could n't be sure which. 
 
 One evening she was tired and forgot him. 
 There was a wonderful sunset. She stood to 
 watch it in a hollow of the downs where she 
 was waiting for Julian. The soft, gray lines 
 rose up on each side of her, immemorial, inal- 
 terable lines, of gentle land. The air was as 
 transparently clear as water, and hushed with 
 evening. Far below her, where the small 
 church steeple sprang, she saw the swallows 
 cutting V-shaped figures to and fro above the 
 shining elms. 
 
 For a long time she heard no sound, and 
 then, out of the stillness, came a faint and hol- 
 low boom. Far away across the placid shapes 
 of little hills, over the threatened seas, the guns 
 sounded from France the dim, intolerable 
 ghosts of war. 
 
 Ostrog, impatient of her stillness, bounded
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 263 
 
 to the edge of the hollow and challenged the 
 strange murmur to the echo. He was an- 
 swered immediately. A sheep-dog shot up 
 over the curve of the down. Ostrog was at his 
 throat in an instant. 
 
 There was a momentary recoil for a fresh 
 onslaught, and then the shrieks of the prelim- 
 inary tussle changed into the full-throated 
 growl of combat. There was every prospect 
 that one or other of them would be dead be- 
 fore their jaws unlocked. 
 
 Stella hovered above them in frantic uncer- 
 tainty. She was helpless till she saw that there 
 was no other help. The sheep-dog had had 
 enough; a sudden scream of pain stung her 
 into action. She seized Ostrog's hind leg and 
 twisted it sharply from under him. 
 
 At the moment she did so she heard Julian's 
 voice : 
 
 "Wait! For God's sake, let go!" 
 
 But she could not wait; the sheep-dog was 
 having the life squeezed out of him. She 
 tugged and twisted again. Ostrog's grip 
 slackened, he flung a snap at her across his 
 shoulder, and then, losing his balance, turned 
 on her in a flash. She guarded her head, but
 
 264 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 his teeth struck at her shoulder. She felt her- 
 self thrust back by his weight, saw his red jaws 
 open for a fresh spring, and then Julian's 
 crutch descended sharply on Ostrog's head. 
 Ostrog dropped like a stone, the bob-tailed 
 sheep-dog crawled safely away, and Stella 
 found herself in Julian's arms. 
 
 "Dearest, sure you're not hurt? Sure?" 
 he implored breathlessly, and then she knew 
 what his eyes asked her, they were so near her 
 own and so intent; and while her lips said, 
 "Sure, Julian," she knew her own eyes an- 
 swered them. 
 
 He drew her close to his heart and kissed 
 her again and again. 
 
 The idea of making any resistance to him 
 never occurred to Stella. Nothing that Ju- 
 lian asked of her could seem strange. She 
 only wondered, if that was what he wanted, 
 why he had not done it before. 
 
 He put her away from him almost roughly. 
 
 "There," he said, "I swore I 'd never touch 
 you! And I have! I 'm a brute and a black- 
 guard. Try and believe I '11 never do it again. 
 Promise you won't leave me? Promise you '11 
 forgive me? I was scared out of my wits, and
 
 She tugged and twisted again
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 267 
 
 that 's a fact. D' you think you can forgive 
 me, Stella?" 
 
 "But what have I to forgive?" Stella asked. 
 "I let you kiss me." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed Julian, half laugh- 
 ing, "you are an honest woman! Well, if you 
 did, you must n't 'let me' again, that 's all. 
 Ostrog, you wretch, lie down! You ought to 
 have a sound thrashing. I 'd have shot you if 
 you 'd hurt her ; but as I 've rather scored over 
 the transaction, I '11 let you off." 
 
 Stella looked at Julian thoughtfully. 
 
 "Why mustn't I let you again?" she in- 
 quired, "if that is what you want?" 
 
 Julian, still laughing, but half vexed, looked 
 at her. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "didn't I tell you 
 you 'd got to help me? I can't very well keep 
 you here and behave to you like that, can I?" 
 
 Stella considered for a moment, then she 
 said quietly, "Were you flirting with me, Ju- 
 lian?" 
 
 "I wish to God I was!" said Julian, sav- 
 agely. "If I could get out of it as easily as 
 that, d' you suppose I should have been such a 
 fool as not to have tried?"
 
 268 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I don't think you would have liked me to 
 despise you," said Stella, gently. "You see, 
 if you had given me nothing when I was giving 
 you all I had, I should have despised you." 
 
 Julian stared at her. She was obviously 
 speaking the truth, but in his heart he knew 
 that if she had loved him and he had flirted 
 with Iier, he would have expected her to be the 
 one to be despised. 
 
 He put out his hand to her and then drew it 
 back sharply. 
 
 "No, I 'm hanged if I '11 touch you," he said 
 under his breath. "I love you all right, you 
 need n't despise me for that, but telling you 
 of it 's different. I was deadly afraid you 'd 
 see ; any other woman would have seen. I Ve 
 held on to myself for all I was worth, but it 
 has n't been the least good, really. I suppose 
 I 've got to be honest about it : I can't keep you 
 with me, darling; you '11 have to go. It makes 
 it a million times worse your caring, but it 
 makes it better, too." 
 
 "I don't see why it should be worse at all," 
 said Stella, calmly. "If we both care, and 
 care really, I don't see that anything can be 
 even bad."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 269 
 
 Julian pulled up pieces of the turf with his 
 hand. He frowned at her sternly. 
 
 "You mustn't tempt me," he said; "I told 
 you once I can't marry." 
 
 "You told me once, when you did n't know I 
 cared," agreed Stella. "I understand your 
 feeling that about a woman who did n't care or 
 who only cared a little, but not about a woman 
 who really cares." 
 
 "But, my dear child," said Julian, "that 's 
 what just makes it utterly impossible. I can't 
 understand how I ever was such a selfish brute 
 as to dream of taking Marian. I was ill at 
 the time, and had n't sized it up ; but if you 
 ttiink I 'm going to let you make such a sacri- 
 fice, you 're mistaken. I 'd see you dead be- 
 fore I married you!" 
 
 Stella's eyebrows lifted, but she did not seem 
 impressed. 
 
 "I think," she said gently, "you talk far too 
 much as if it had only got to do with you. 
 Suppose I don't wish to see myself dead?" 
 
 "Well, you must try to see the sense of it," 
 Julian urged. "You 're young and strong; 
 you ought to have a life. I 'm sure you love 
 children. You like to be with me, and all that ;
 
 270 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 you 're the dearest companion a man ever had. 
 It is n't easy, Stella, to say I won't keep you ; 
 don't make it any harder for me. I 've looked 
 at this thing steadily for months. I don't mind 
 owning that I thought you might get to care 
 if I tried hard enough to make you ; but, dar- 
 ling, I honestly didn't try. You can't say I 
 wasn't awfully disagreeable and cross. I 
 knew I was done for long ago, but I thought 
 you were all right. You weren't like a girl 
 in love, you were so quiet and and sisterly 
 and all that. If I 'd once felt you were be- 
 ginning to care in that way, I 'd have made 
 some excuse; I wouldn't have let it come to 
 this. I 'd rather die than hurt you." 
 
 "Well, but you need n't hurt me," said 
 Stella, "and neither of us need die. It 's not 
 your love that wants to get rid of me, Julian ; 
 it 's your pride. But I have n't any pride in 
 that sense, and I 'm not going to let you do 
 it." 
 
 "By Jove! you won't!" cried Julian. His 
 eyes shot a gleam of amusement at her. It 
 struck him that the still little figure by his side 
 was extraordinarily formidable. He had 
 never thought her formidable before. He had
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 271 
 
 thought her brilliant, intelligent, and enchant- 
 ing, not formidable; but he had no intention 
 of giving way to her. Formidable or not, he 
 felt quite sure of himself. He couldn't let 
 her down. 
 
 "The sacrifice is all the other way," Stella 
 went on. "You would be sacrificing me hope- 
 lessly to your pride if you refused to marry 
 me simply because some one of all the things 
 you want to give me you can't give me. Do 
 you suppose I don't mind, mind for you, I 
 mean, hideously, mind so much that if I were 
 sure marrying you would make you feel the 
 loss more, I 'd go away from you this minute 
 and never come near you again? But I do not 
 think it will make it worse for you. You will 
 have me ; you will have my love and companion- 
 ship, and they are valuable to you, aren't 
 they, Julian?" 
 
 Julian's eyes softened and filled. 
 
 "Yes," he muttered, turning his head away 
 from her ; "they 're valuable." 
 
 "Then," she said, "if you are like that to me, 
 if I want you always, and never anybody else, 
 have you a right to rob me of yourself, Ju- 
 lian?"
 
 272 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "If I could believe," he said, his voice shak- 
 ing, "that you 'd never be sorry, never say to 
 yourself, 'Why did I do it?' But, oh, my dear, 
 you know so little about the ordinary kind of 
 love! You don't realize a bit, and I do. It 
 must make it all so confoundedly hard for you, 
 and I 'm such an impatient chap. I might n't 
 be able to help you. And you 're right : I 'm 
 proud. If I once thought you cared less or 
 regretted marrying me, it would clean put 
 the finish on it. But you 're not right 
 about not loving you, Stella, that 's worse 
 than pride; loving you makes it impossible. 
 I can't take the risk for you. I '11 do 
 any other mortal thing you want, but not 
 that!" 
 
 "Julian," asked Stella in a low voice, "do you 
 think I am a human being?" 
 
 "Well, no!" said Julian. "Since you ask 
 me, more like a fairy or an elf or something. 
 Why?" 
 
 "Because you're not treating me as if I 
 were," said Stella, steadily. "Human beings 
 have a right to their own risks. They know 
 their own minds, they share the dangers of 
 love."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 273 
 
 "Then one of 'em mustn't take them all," 
 said Julian, quickly. 
 
 "How could one take them all?" said Stella. 
 "I have to risk your pride, and you have to 
 risk my regret. As a matter of fact, your 
 pride is more of a certainty than a risk, and my 
 regret is a wholly imaginary idea, founded 
 upon your ignorance of my character. Still, 
 I 'm willing to put it like that to please you. 
 You have every right to sacrifice yourself to 
 your own theories, but what about sacrificing 
 me? I give you no such right." 
 
 For the first time Julian saw what loving 
 Stella would be like ; he would never be able to 
 get to the end of it. Marriage would be only 
 the beginning. She had given him her heart 
 without an effort, and he found that she was 
 as inaccessible as ever. His soul leaped to- 
 ward this new, unconquerable citadel. He 
 held himself in hand with a great effort. 
 
 "What you don't realize," he said, "is that 
 our knowledge of life is not equal. If I take 
 you at your word, you will make discoveries 
 which it will be too late for you to act upon. 
 You cannot wish me to do what is not fair 
 to you."
 
 274 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I want my life to be with you," said Stella. 
 "Whatever discoveries I make, I shall not want 
 them to be anywhere else. You do not under- 
 stand, but if you send me away, you will take 
 from me the future which we might have used 
 together. You will not be giving me anything 
 in its place but disappointment and utter use- 
 lessness. You '11 make me morally a crip- 
 ple. Do you still wish me to go away from 
 you?" 
 
 Julian winced as if she had struck him. 
 
 "No, I '11 marry you," he said ; "but you Ve 
 made me furiously angry. Please go home by 
 yourself. I wonder you dare use such an illus- 
 tration to me." 
 
 Stella slipped over the verge of the hollow. 
 She, too, wondered how she had dared ; but she 
 knew quite well that if she had n't dared, Ju- 
 lian would have sent her away.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 STELLA was afraid that when she went 
 down to dinner it would be like slipping 
 into another life a life to which she was at- 
 tached by her love for Julian, but to which she 
 did not belong. It did not seem possible to 
 her that Lady Verny would be able to bear 
 her as a daughter-in-law. As a secretary it 
 had not mattered in the least that she was 
 shabby and socially ineffective. And she 
 could n't be different ; they 'd have to take her 
 like that if they took her at all. She ranged 
 them together in her fear of their stateliness; 
 she almost wished that they would n't take her 
 at all, but let her slink back to Redcliffe Square 
 and bury herself in her own insignificance. 
 
 But when she went down-stairs she found 
 herself caught in a swift embrace by Lady 
 Verny, and meeting without any barrier the 
 adoration of Julian's eyes. 
 
 "My dear, my dear," said Lady Verny, "I 
 always felt that you belonged to me." 
 
 275
 
 276 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "But are you pleased?" whispered Stella in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Pleased!" cried Lady Verny, with a little 
 shaken laugh. "I 'm satisfied; a thing that at 
 my age I hardly had the right to expect." 
 
 "Mother thinks it 's all her doing," Julian 
 explained. "It 's her theory that we Ve 
 shown no more initiative than a couple of guar- 
 anteed Dutch bulbs. Shall I tell you what 
 she was saying before you came down-stairs?" 
 
 "Dear Julian," said Lady Verny, blushing 
 like a girl, "you 're so dreadfully modern, you 
 will frighten Stella if you say things to her so 
 quickly before she has got used to the idea of 
 you." 
 
 "She 's perfectly used to the idea of me," 
 laughed Julian, "and I Ve tried frightening 
 her already without the slightest success. Be- 
 sides, there 's nothing modern about a ma- 
 donna lily, which is what we were discussing. 
 My mother said, Stella, that she didn't care 
 very much for madonna lilies in the garden. 
 They 're too ecclesiastical for the other flowers, 
 but very suitable in church for weddings. And 
 out in ten days' time, did n't you say, Mother?
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 277 
 
 I hope they haven't any of Stella's procras- 
 tinating habits." 
 
 "You mustn't mind his teasing, dear," 
 Lady Verny said, smiling. "We will go in to 
 dinner now. You 're a Little late, but no won- 
 der. I am delighted to feel that now I have 
 a right to scold you." 
 
 "The thing that pleases me most," said 
 Julian, "is that I shall be able to remove 
 Stella's apples and pears forcibly from her 
 plate and peel them myself. I forget how 
 long she has been here, but the anguish I have 
 suffered meal by meal as I saw her plod her 
 unreflecting way over their delicate surfaces, 
 beginning at the stalk and slashing upward 
 without consideration for any of the laws of 
 nature, nothing but the self-control of a host 
 could have compelled me to endure. I offered 
 to peel them for her once, but she said she liked 
 peeling them ; and I was far too polite to say, 
 'Darling, you Ve got to hand them over to 
 me.' I 'm going to say it now, though, every 
 time." 
 
 "Hush, dear," said Lady Verny, nervously. 
 "Thompson has barely shut the door. I
 
 278 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 really don't know what has happened to your 
 behavior." 
 
 "I have n't any," said Julian. "I 'm like 
 the old lady in the earthquake who found her- 
 self in the street with no clothes on. She 
 bowed gravely to a gentleman she had met the 
 day before and said, 'I should be happy to give 
 you my card, Mr. Jones, but I have lost the 
 receptacle.' Things like that happen in earth- 
 quakes. I have lost my receptacle." He 
 met Stella's eyes and took the consent of her 
 laughter. He was as happy with her as a boy 
 set loose from school. 
 
 Lady Verny, watching him, was almost 
 frightened at his lack of self-restraint. "He 
 has never trusted any one like this before," 
 she thought. "He is keeping nothing back." 
 It was like seeing the released waters of a 
 frozen stream. 
 
 While they sat in the hall before Julian re- 
 joined them, Lady Verny showed Stella all 
 the photographs of Julian taken since he was 
 a baby. 
 
 There was a singularly truculent one of 
 him, at three years old, with a menacingly 
 poised cricket-bat, which Stella liked best of
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 279 
 
 all. Lady Verny had no copy of it, but she 
 pressed Stella to take it. 
 
 "Julian will give you so many things," she 
 said; "but I want to give you something that 
 you will value, and which is quite my own." 
 So Stella took the truculent baby, which was 
 Lady Verny's own. 
 
 "You look very comfortable sitting there to- 
 gether; I won't disturb you for chess," Julian 
 observed when he came in shortly afterward. 
 "I was wondering if you would like to hear 
 what I did in Germany. It 's a year old now 
 and as safe with you as with me, but it 
 must n't go any further." 
 
 Julian told his story very quietly, leaning 
 back against the cushions of a couch by the 
 open window. Above his head, Stella could 
 see the dark shapes of the black yew hedges 
 and the wheeling of the bats as they scurried 
 to and fro upon their secret errands. 
 
 Neither Lady Verny nor Stella moved un- 
 til Julian had finished speaking. It was the 
 most thrilling of detective stories ; but it is not 
 often that the roots of our being are involved 
 in "detective stories. 
 
 They could not believe that he lay there be-
 
 280 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 fore them, tranquilly smoking a cigarette and 
 breathed on by the soft June air. As they 
 watched his face comfort and security van- 
 ished. They were in a ruthless world where a 
 false step meant death. Julian had been in 
 danger, but it was never the danger which he 
 had been in that he described; it was the work 
 he had set out to do and the way he had done 
 it. He noticed danger only when it ob- 
 structed him. Then he put his wits to meet 
 it. They were, as Stella realized, very excep- 
 tional wits for meeting things. Julian com- 
 bined imagination with strict adherence to 
 fact. He had the courage which never broods 
 over an essential risk and the caution which 
 avoids all unnecessary ones. 
 
 "Of course," he broke off for a moment, 
 "you felt all the time rather like a flea under 
 a microscope. Don't underrate the Germans. 
 As a microscope there 's nothing to beat them ; 
 where the microscope leaves off is where their 
 miscalculations begin. A microscope can tell 
 everything about a flea except where it is go- 
 ing to hop. 
 
 "I had a lively time over my hopping; but 
 the odd part of it was the sense of security I
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 281 
 
 often had, as if some one back of me was giv- 
 ing me a straight tip. I don't understand 
 concentration. You 'd say it is your own do- 
 ing, of course, and yet behind your power of 
 holding on to things, it seems as if Some- 
 thing Else was holding on much harder. It 's 
 as if you set a ball rolling, and some one else 
 kicked it in the right direction. 
 
 "After I 'd been in Germany for a month I 
 began to believe in an Invisible Kicker-Off. 
 It was company for me, for I was lonely. I 
 had to calculate every word I said, and there 's 
 no sense of companionship where one has to 
 calculate. The feeling that there was some- 
 thing back of me was quite a help. I 'd get to 
 the end of my job, and then something fresh 
 would be pushed toward me. 
 
 "For instance, I met a couple of naval of- 
 ficers by chance, I wasn't out for anything 
 naval, and they poured submarine facts into 
 me as you pour milk into a jug facts that we 
 needed more than the points I 'd come to find 
 out. 
 
 "I 'm not at all sure," Julian finished re- 
 flectively, "that if you grip hard enough un- 
 der pressure, you don't tap facts.
 
 282 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "Have you ever watched a crane work? 
 You shift a lever, and it comes down as easily 
 as a parrot picks up a pencil ; it '11 lift a weight 
 that a hundred men can't move an inch, and 
 swing it up as if it were packing feathers. 
 Funny idea, if there 's a law that works like 
 that. 
 
 "I came back through Alsace and Lorraine, 
 meaning to slip through the French lines. A 
 sentry winged me in the woods. Pure funk 
 on his part; he never even came to hunt up 
 what he 'd let fly at. But it finished my job." 
 
 Lady Verny folded up her embroidery. 
 
 "It was worth the finish, Julian," she said 
 quickly. "I am glad you told me, because I 
 had not thought so before." Then she left 
 them. 
 
 "It isn't finished, Julian," murmured 
 Stella in a low voice. "It never can be when 
 it 's you." 
 
 "Well," said Julian, "it 's all I Ve got to 
 give you ; so I 'm rather glad you like it, 
 Stella." 
 
 They talked till half the long summer night 
 was gone. She sat near him, and sometimes 
 Julian let his hand touch her shoulder or her
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 283 
 
 hair while he unpacked his heart to her. The 
 bitterness of his reserve was gone. 
 
 "I think perhaps I could have stood it de- 
 cently if it hadn't been for Marian," he ex- 
 plained. "I was damned weak about her, and 
 that 's a fact. You see, I thought she had the 
 kind of feeling for me that women sometimes 
 have and which some men deserve ; but I 'm 
 bound to admit I was n't one of them. When 
 I saw that Marian took things rather the way 
 I should have taken them myself, I went down 
 under it. I said, 'That 's the end of love.' It 
 was the end of the kind I was fit for, the kind 
 that has an end. 
 
 "Now I 'm going to tell you something. I 
 never shall again, so you must make the most 
 of it, and keep it to hold on to when I behave 
 badly. You Ve put the fear of God into me, 
 Stella. Nothing else would have made me 
 give in to you ; and you know I have given in 
 to you, don't you?" 
 
 "You 've given me everything in the world 
 I want," said Stella, gently, "if that 's what 
 you call giving in to me." 
 
 "I Ve done more than that," said Julian, 
 quietly. "I Ve let you take my will and turn
 
 284 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 it with that steady little hand of yours; and 
 it 's the first time and I don't say it won't be 
 the last that I 've let any man or woman 
 change my will for me. 
 
 "Now I 'm going to send you to bed. I 
 ought n't to have you kept you up like this ; 
 but if I Ve got to let you go back to your people 
 to-morrow, we had to know each other a little 
 better first, had n't we? I 've been trying not 
 to know you all these months. 
 
 "Before you go, would you mind telling me 
 about Mr. Travers and the cat?" 
 
 "No," said Stella, with a startled look; "any- 
 thing else in the world, Julian, but not Mr. 
 Travers and the cat." 
 
 "Ostrog and I are frightfully jealous by na- 
 ture," Julian pleaded. "He wouldn't be at 
 all nice to that cat if he met it without knowing 
 its history." 
 
 "He can't be unkind to the poor cat," said 
 Stella; "it 's dead." 
 
 "And is Mr. Travers dead, too?" asked 
 Julian. 
 
 "I should think," said Stella, "that he was 
 about as dead as the red-haired girl in the li- 
 brary."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 285 
 
 "What red-haired girl?" cried Julian, 
 sharply. "Who 's been telling you I mean 
 what made you think I knew her ? It 's a re- 
 markably fine bit of painting." 
 
 "But you did know her," said Stella; "only 
 don't tell me anything about her unless you 
 want to." 
 
 "I won't refuse to answer any questions you 
 ask," said Julian after a pause, "but I 'd much 
 rather wait until we 're married. I am a little 
 afraid of hurting you ; you would n't be hurt, 
 you see, if you were used to me and knew 
 more about men. You 're an awfully clever 
 woman, Stella, but the silliest little girl I ever 
 knew." 
 
 "I '11 give up the red-haired girl if you '11 
 give up Mr. Travers," said Stella. She rose, 
 and stood by his side, looking out of the win- 
 dow. 
 
 "Do you want to say good night, or would 
 you rather go to bed without?" he asked her. 
 
 "Of course I '11 say good night," said Stella. 
 "But, Julian, there are some things I so 
 awfully hate your doing. Saying good night 
 does n't happen to be one of them. It 's light- 
 ing my candle unless I 'm sure you want to.
 
 286 THE SECOXD FIDDLE 
 
 I want to be quite certain you don't mind me 
 in little things like that." 
 
 Julian put his arms round her and kissed 
 Her as gently as he would have kissed a child. 
 "Of course you shall light your candle," he 
 said tenderly, "just to show I don't mind you. 
 But it is n't my pride now. I don't a bit ob- 
 ject to your seeing I can't. I 'm quite sure 
 of you, you see; unless you meant to hurt me, 
 you simply could n't do it. And if you meant 
 to hurt me, it would be because you wanted to 
 stop me hurting myself, like this afternoon, 
 wouldn't it?" 
 
 Stella nodded. She wanted to tell him that 
 she had always loved him, long before he re- 
 membered that she existed. All the while he 
 had felt himself alone, she was as near him as 
 the air that touched his cheek. But she could 
 not find words in which to tell him of her se- 
 cret companionship. The instinct that would 
 have saved them only brushed her heart in 
 passing. 
 
 Julian was alarmed at her continued si- 
 lence. 
 
 "You 're not frightened or worried or any- 
 thing, are you?" he asked anxiously. "Sure
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 287 
 
 you did n't mind saying good night ? It 's not 
 compulsory, you know, even if we are engaged. 
 I 'd hate to bother you." 
 
 "I'm not bothered," Stella whispered; "I 
 only love you. I was saying it to you in my 
 own way." 
 
 "I '11 wait three days for you," said Julian, 
 firmly. "Not an hour more. You quite un- 
 derstand, don't you, that I 'm coming up at 
 the end of three days to bring you home for 
 good?" 
 
 Stella shivered as she thought of Redcliffe 
 Square. Julian wouldn't like Redcliffe 
 Square, and she would n't be able to make him 
 like it; and yet she wouldn't be able not to 
 mind his not liking it. 
 
 Julian knew nothing about Redcliffe 
 Square, but he noticed that Stella shivered 
 when he told her that he was going to bring 
 her home for good.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 IT would be too strong an expression to say 
 that after Stella's departure Julian suf- 
 fered from reaction. He himself could n't 
 have defined what he suffered from, but he 
 was uneasy. 
 
 He had given himself away to Stella as he 
 had never in his wildest dreams supposed that 
 one could give oneself away to a woman. But 
 he was n't worrying about that ; he had n't 
 minded giving himself away to Stella. 
 
 Samson was the character in the Old Testa- 
 ment whom Julian most despised, because he 
 had let Delilah get things out of him. What 
 Samson had got back hadn't been worth it, 
 and could probably have been acquired with- 
 out the sacrifice of his hair. He had simply 
 given in to Delilah because he had a soft spot 
 for her; and Delilah quite blamelessly (from 
 Julian's point of view) had retaliated by cry- 
 ing out, "The Philistines be upon thee, Sam- 
 son!" 
 
 288
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 289 
 
 Julian had always felt perfectly safe with 
 women of this type ; they could n't have en- 
 trapped him. But there wasn't an inch of 
 Delilah in Stella. She had no Philistines up 
 her sleeve for any of the contingencies of life 
 and she had not tried to get anything out of 
 Julian. 
 
 That was where his uneasiness began. He 
 understood her sufficiently to trust her, but he 
 was aware that beyond his confidence she was 
 a mapless country ; he did not even know which 
 was water and which was land. His uncer- 
 tainty had made him shrink from telling Stella 
 about Eugenie Matisse. 
 
 If Marian had been sharp enough she 
 probably wouldn't have been to guess that 
 Julian knew the girl in the picture, she would 
 have known, too, precisely what kind of girl 
 she was, and she would have thought none the 
 worse of Julian. 
 
 But he did n't know what Stella expected. 
 He was n't afraid that she would cast him off 
 for that or any other of his experiences; then 
 he would have told her. She would have for- 
 given him as naturally as she loved him; but 
 what if her forgiveness had involved her pain?
 
 290 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 He had spoken the truth when he told Stella 
 that she had "put the fear of God into him." 
 Julian had not known much about God before 
 or anything about fear; but he was convinced 
 now that the fear of God was not that God 
 might let you down, but that you might let 
 down God. He wanted to be as careful of 
 Stella as if she had been a government secret. 
 
 Did she know in the least what she was in 
 for. Or was she like an unconscious Iphi- 
 genia vowed off to mortal peril by an an inad- 
 vertent parent? 
 
 He had done his best to make her realize the 
 future, but there are certain situations in life 
 when doing one's best to make a person aware 
 of a fact is equivalent to throwing dust in his 
 eyes. And Stella herself might by a species 
 of divine fooling, have outwitted both himself 
 and her. She might be marrying Julian for 
 pity under the mask of love. 
 
 Her pity was divine, and he could stand it 
 for himself perfectly; but he could n't stand it 
 for her. Why had she shivered when he had 
 said he was going to bring her home? He 
 cursed his helplessness. If he had not been 
 crippled he would have taken her by surprise,
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 291 
 
 and let his instincts judge for him; but he had 
 had to lie there like a log, knowing that if he 
 asked her to come to him, she would have 
 blinded him by her swift, prepared responsive- 
 ness. 
 
 The moment on the downs hardly counted. 
 She had been so frightened that it had been 
 like taking advantage of her to take her in 
 his arms. 
 
 The one comfort he clung to was her fierce 
 thrust at his pride. He repeated it over and 
 over to himself for reassurance. She had said, 
 if he would n't marry her, he would make her 
 morally a cripple. That really sounded like 
 love, for only love dares to strike direct at the 
 heart. If he could see her, he knew it would 
 be all right; if even she had written (she had 
 written, of course, but had missed the midnight 
 post), he would have been swept back into the 
 safety of their shared companionship. But in 
 his sudden loneliness he mistrusted fortune. 
 When a man has had the conceit knocked out 
 of him, he is not immediately the stronger for 
 it ; and he is the more vulnerable to doubt not 
 only of himself, but of others. The saddest 
 part of self -distrust is that it breeds suspicion.
 
 292 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 It would be useless to speak to his mother 
 about it, for, though a just woman, she was 
 predominantly his mother; she wanted Stella 
 too much for Julian to admit a doubt of 
 Stella's wanting him for herself. She would 
 have tried to close all his questions with facts. 
 This method of discussion appealed to Julian 
 as a rule, but he had begun to discover that 
 there are deeper things than facts. 
 
 Lady Verny was in London at a flower show, 
 and Julian was sitting in the summer-house, 
 which he was planning to turn into a room 
 for Stella. His misgivings had not yet begun 
 to interfere with his plans. He had just de- 
 cided to have one of the walls above the water 
 meadows replaced by glass when his attention 
 was attracted by the most extraordinary figure 
 he had ever seen. 
 
 She was advancing rapidly down a grass 
 path, between Lady Verny's favorite her- 
 baceous borders, pursued by the butler. At 
 times Thompson, stout and breathless, suc- 
 ceeded in reaching her side, evidently for the 
 purpose of expostulation, only to be swept 
 backward by the impetuosity of her speed. 
 Eurydice was upon a secret mission. She had
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 293 
 
 borrowed a pound from Stella with which to 
 carry it out ; and she was not going to be im- 
 peded by a butler. 
 
 She no longer followed the theories of Mr. 
 Bolt, but she still had to wear out the kind of 
 clothes that went with Mr. Bolt's theories. 
 He liked scarlet hats. Eurydice's hat was 
 scarlet, and her dress was a long purple robe 
 that hung straight from her shoulders. 
 
 It was cut low in the neck, with a system of 
 small scarlet tabloids let in around the shoul- 
 ders. Golden balls, which were intended to 
 represent pomegranates, dangled from her 
 waist. 
 
 Eurydice's hair was thick and very dark; 
 there was no doing anything with it. Her eye- 
 brows couched menacingly above her stormy 
 eyes. Her features were heavy and color- 
 less, except her mouth, which was unnaturally 
 (and a little unevenly) red. 
 
 She wore no gloves, she had left them be- 
 hind in the train, and she carried a scarlet 
 parasol with a broken rib. 
 
 "I wish you 'd send this man away," she 
 said as she approached Julian. "He keeps 
 getting under my feet, and I dislike menials.
 
 294 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 I saw where you were for myself. I nearly 
 got bitten by a brute of a dog on the terrace. 
 You have no right to keep a creature that 's 
 a menace to the public." 
 
 "I regret that you have been inconven- 
 ienced," said Julian, politely; "but I must 
 point out to you that the public are not ex- 
 pected upon the terrace of a private garden." 
 
 "As far as that goes," said Eurydice, frown- 
 ing at a big bed of blue Delphiniums, "nobody 
 has a right to have a private garden." 
 
 Thompson, with an enormous effort, physi- 
 cal as well as spiritual, cut off the end of the 
 border by a flying leap, and reached the young 
 woman's elbow. 
 
 "If you please, Sir Julian," he gasped, "this 
 lady says she 'd rather not give her name. She 
 did n't wish to wait in the hall, nor in the draw- 
 ing-room, sir, and I Ve left James sitting on 
 Ostrog's 'ead, or I 'd have been here before. 
 What with one thing and another, Sir Julian, 
 I came as quickly as I could." 
 
 "I saw you did, Thompson," said Julian, 
 with a gleam of laughter; "and now you may 
 go. Tell James to get off Ostrog's head." 
 He turned his eyes on his visitor. "I am Miss
 
 The most extraordinary figure we had ever seen
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 297 
 
 Waring," she said as the butler vanished. 
 
 "This is extraordinarily kind of you," Ju- 
 lian said, steadying himself with one hand, and 
 holding out his other to Eurydice. "I think 
 you must be Miss Eurydice, aren't you? I 
 was looking forward to meeting you to-mor- 
 row. I hope nothing is wrong with Stella?" 
 
 "Everthing is wrong with her," flashed 
 Eurydice, ignoring his outstretched hand; 
 "but she does n't know I Ve come to talk to 
 you about it. She 'd never forgive me if she 
 did. So if I say anything you don't like, you 
 can revenge yourself on me by telling her. I 
 have n't come to be kind, as you call it. I care 
 far too much for the truth." 
 
 "Still, you may as well sit down," said Ju- 
 lian, drawing a chair toward her with his free 
 hand. "The truth is quite compatible with a 
 wicker arm-chair. You need n't lean back in 
 it if you 're afraid of relaxing your moral 
 fiber. 
 
 "As to revenge, I always choose my own, 
 and even if you make it necessary, I don't sup- 
 pose it will include your sister. What you 
 suggest would have the disadvantage of doing 
 that, wouldn't it? I mean the disadvantage
 
 298 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 to me. It has n't struck you apparently as a 
 disadvantage that you are acting disloyally to- 
 ward your sister in doing what you know she 
 would dislike." 
 
 Eurydice flung back her head and stared at 
 him. She accepted the edge of the wicker 
 arm-chair provisionally. Her eyes traveled 
 relentlessly over Julian. She took in, and let 
 him see that she took in, the full extent of his 
 injury; but she spared him pity. She looked 
 as if she were annoyed with him for having in- 
 juries. 
 
 "What I 'm doing," she said, "is my busi- 
 ness, not yours. It might n't please Stella, 
 I must take the risk of that, but if it saves 
 her from you, it will be worth it." 
 
 Julian bowed; his eyes sparkled. An 
 enemy struck him as preferable to a secret 
 doubt. 
 
 "I didn't know," she said after a slight 
 pause which Julian did nothing to relieve, 
 "that you were as badly hurt as you appear to 
 be. It makes it harder for me to talk to you 
 as freely as I had intended." 
 
 "I assure you," said Julian, smiling, "that 
 you need have no such scruples. My incapaci-
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 299 
 
 ties are local, and I can stand a long tongue as 
 well as most men, even if I like it as little." 
 
 "I thought you would be insolent, and you 
 are insolent," said Eurydice, with gloomy sat- 
 isfaction. "That was one of the things I said 
 to Stella." 
 
 Julian leaned forward, and for a moment his 
 frosty, blue eyes softened as he looked at her. 
 
 "I admit I 'm not very civil if I 'm wrongly 
 handled," he said in a more conciliatory tone. 
 "Your manner was just a trifle unfortunate, 
 Miss Eurydice ; but I 'd really like to be 
 friends with you. I Ve not forgotten that 
 Stella told me you were her 'special' sister. 
 Shall we start quite afresh, and you just tell me 
 as nicely as you know how what wrong you 
 think I 'm doing Stella?" 
 
 "I couldn't possibly be friends with you," 
 Eurydice said coldly. "The sight of you dis- 
 gusts me." 
 
 Julian lowered his eyes for a moment ; when 
 he raised them again the friendliness had 
 gone. They were as hard as wind-swept seas. 
 
 "I suppose," he suggested quietly, "that 
 you have some point to make. Isn't that a 
 little off it?"
 
 300 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I don't mean physically," said Eurydice, 
 with a wave of her hand which included his 
 crutches. "You can't help being a cripple. 
 It is morally I am sick to think of you. Here 
 you are, surrounded by luxury, waited on hand 
 and foot by menials, and yet you can't face 
 your hardships alone you are so parasitic by 
 nature that you have to drag down a girl like 
 Stella by trading on her pity." 
 
 "It would," said Julian in a level voice, hold- 
 ing his temper down by an effort, "be rather 
 difficult for even the cleverest parasite to drag 
 your sister down in the sense of degrading her. 
 Possibly you merely refer to her having con- 
 sented to marry me?" 
 
 "No, I don't," said Eurydice, obstinately. 
 "I call it dragging a person down if you make 
 them sacrifice their integrity. Stella and I al- 
 ways agreed about that before. She cared 
 more for the truth than anything. Now she 
 does n't ; she cares more about hurting your 
 feelings. I faced her with it last night, and 
 she never even attempted to answer me. She 
 only said, 'Oh, don't!' and covered her face 
 with her hands." 
 
 "What unspeakable thing did you say to
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 301 
 
 her?" asked Julian, savagely, "to make her do 
 that?" 
 
 Ostrog, released from James, rejoined them, 
 cowering down at his master's feet; he was 
 aware that he was in the presence of an anger 
 fiercer than his own. 
 
 "I did n't come here to mince matters," said 
 Eurydice, defiantly. "If you want to know 
 what I said to Stella, I asked her why she 
 was going to marry a tyrannical, sterile crip- 
 ple?" 
 
 For a moment Julian did not answer her; 
 when he did, he had regained an even quieter 
 manner than before. 
 
 "Very forcibly put," he said in a low voice; 
 "and your sister covered her face with her hands 
 and said, 'Oh, don't !' you must have felt very 
 proud of yourself." 
 
 "If you think I like hurting Stella, you 're 
 wrong," said Eurydice. "But I 'd rather hurt 
 her now than see her whole life twisted out of 
 shape by giving way to a feeling that is n't the 
 strongest feeling in her, or I wouldn't have 
 come down here. But she did n't deny it." 
 
 "What didn't she deny?" asked Julian. 
 
 "What I came to tell you," said Eurydice.
 
 302 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "The strongest feeling in Stella's life is her 
 love for Mr. Travers, and she gave him up be- 
 cause she discovered that it was also the strong- 
 est thing in mine." 
 
 Julian flung back his head. 
 
 "Seriously, Miss Eurydice," he asked, "are 
 you asking me to believe that your sister 's in 
 love with a town clerk?" 
 
 Eurydice flushed crimson under the undis- 
 guised amusement in Julian's eyes. He was 
 amused, even though he had suddenly remem- 
 bered that Mr. Travers was the name of the 
 town clerk. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Eurydice, fiercely. 
 "He 's wonderful. He is n't like you he 
 works. He 's like Napoleon, only he 's al- 
 ways right, and he has n't asked her to be his 
 permanent trained nurse !" 
 
 Julian had a theory that you cannot swear 
 at women ; so he caught the words back, and 
 wondered what would happen if Eurydice said 
 anything worse. 
 
 "Don't you think," he said after a pause, 
 "that if you insulted me once every five min- 
 utes, and then took a little rest, we might finish 
 quicker? I will admit that there is no reason
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 303 
 
 why Stella shouldn't be in love with Mr. 
 Travers except the reason that I have for 
 thinking she 's in love with me." 
 
 "Well, she is n't," asserted Eurydice. 
 "She 's awfully fond of you, but it all started 
 with her finding out that you were unhappier 
 than she was. She came to you to get over 
 what she felt about Mr. Travers, and to free 
 him to care for me ; but he does n't. That 's 
 how I found out; I asked him." 
 
 "The deuce you did!" exclaimed Julian. 
 "Poor old Travers!" 
 
 Eurydice ignored this flagrant impertinence. 
 She repeated Mr. Travers's exact words: "I 
 cared for your sister, Miss Waring; I am not 
 a changeable man." 
 
 "But I notice," said Julian, politely, "that 
 this profession of Mr. Travers's feelings which 
 you succeeded in wringing from him does not 
 include your sister's. I had already inferred 
 from my slight knowledge of your sister that 
 Mr. Travers was attached to her. The in- 
 ference was easy." 
 
 "I hoped that myself," said Eurydice "I 
 mean, that she did n't care. I wrote and asked 
 Cicely. She 's my other sister ; she hates me,
 
 304 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 but she 's just. She does n't know about you, 
 of course. Would you like to see her letter?" 
 "It seems a fairly caddish thing to do, 
 does n't it?" asked Julian, pleasantly. "How- 
 ever, perhaps this is hardly the moment for be- 
 ing too particular. Yes, you can hand me over 
 the letter." Julian read: 
 
 My dear Eurydice: 
 
 You ask if I think Stella cared for Mr. Travers. I 
 dislike this kind of question very much. However, as 
 you seem to have some qualms of conscience at last, you 
 may as well know that I think she did. She 's never 
 had anything for herself. You 've always taken all 
 there was to take, and I dare say she thought Mr. Trav- 
 ers ought to be included. She never told me that she 
 cared for him, but of course even you must know that 
 Stella would n't do such a thing as that. She spoke 
 during her illness of him once in a way that made me 
 suspect what she was feeling, added to which I was sure 
 that she was struggling against great mental pain, as 
 well as physical. She evidently wanted to get away 
 from the town hall and leave Mr. Travers to you. You 
 can draw your own inferences from these facts. Stella 
 would rather be dragged to pieces by wild horses than 
 tell you any more; so, if I were you, I would avoid ask- 
 ing her. 
 
 Your affectionate sister, 
 
 CICELY.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 305 
 
 "You did ask her, of course," said Julian, 
 handing Eurydice the letter; ''and as we are 
 both acting in a thoroughly underhand way, 
 perhaps you will not mind repeating to me 
 Stella's reply." 
 
 "At first she did n't answer at all," said 
 Eurydice, slowly, "and then when I asked her 
 again she said ; 'I 'm not going to tell you any- 
 thing at all about Mr. Travers. I came here 
 to tell you about Julian, only you won't listen 
 to me.' Then," said Eurydice, "she cried." 
 
 "Please don't tell me any more," said Ju- 
 lian, quickly, shading his eyes with his hand. 
 "I should be awfully obliged if you 'd go. I 
 think you Ve said enough." 
 
 Eurydice also thought that she had said 
 enough; so she returned with the satisfaction 
 of one who has accomplished a mission, on the 
 rest of Stella's pound.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 This is going to be my last love-letter to you, Stella. 
 I wonder if you will know it is a love-letter. It won't 
 sound particularly like one. It 's to tell you that I 
 can't go through with our marriage. I can't give you 
 my reasons, and I can't face you without giving them 
 to you. You must try to take my word for it that I am 
 doing what I think best for both of us. 
 
 You see, I trust you to do what I want, though I 
 know I am acting in a way that you '11 despise. If ypu 
 will think of what it,means for me to act in such a way, 
 you '11 realize that I am pretty certain that I am right. 
 
 You are the best friend I ever had, man or woman, 
 and I know you value my friendship, so that it seems 
 uncommonly mean to take it away from you; and yet 
 I 'm afraid I can't be satisfied with your friendship. 
 
 It would honestly make me happier to hear that you 
 were married; but I couldn't meet you afterward, and 
 if you don't marry, I could n't let you alone. 
 
 You see, I tried that plan when I did n't know you 'd 
 let me do anything else, and it can't be said to have 
 worked very well, can it? It would be quite impossible 
 now. There are two things I 'd like you to remember. 
 One is, if you set out, as I think you did, to heal a 
 306
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 307 
 
 broken man, you 've succeeded, and nothing can take 
 away from your success. You put in a new mainspring. 
 I am going to work now. Some day I '11 finish the 
 book, but not yet. The second thing is something I 
 want you to do for me. I know I have no right to ask 
 you ! I 'm only appealing to your mercy. Will you let 
 my mother help you a little? I know you won't let 
 me, but you would have let me, Stella. Think what 
 that means to me to know that you would have taken 
 my help, and that by freeing you I am also, in a sense, 
 deserting you. If you still want to make a man happier 
 who has only been a nuisance to you, you can't say I 
 have n't shown you the way. 
 
 "I should like to give you Ostrog, but I suppose he 'd 
 be out of place in a town hall. 
 
 "I 'm not going to ask you to forgive me ; for I 'm 
 not really sorry for anything except that there was n't 
 more of it and I 'm never going to forget anything. 
 
 Good-by. Your lover, 
 
 JULIAN. 
 
 Stella was in the middle of ironing the cur- 
 tains when she received Julian's letter. 
 Everything else was ready for his visit except 
 the curtains. 
 
 Mrs. Waring was dressed. It had taken 
 several hours, a needle and cotton, and all the 
 pins in the house, and now she was sitting in a 
 drawing-room which was tidier than any she
 
 308 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 had sat in since her early married life. She 
 thought that it looked a little bare. 
 
 Professor Waring was in the Museum. He 
 had become so restless after breakfast that it 
 had seemed best to despatch him there, and re- 
 trieve him after Julian arrived. 
 
 Eurydice had not asked Mr. Travers for a 
 morning off ; she had merely conceded that she 
 would allow Stella to arrange a subsequent 
 meeting with Julian on Sunday, if it was really 
 necessary. 
 
 Eurydice kissed Stella tenderly before she 
 left the house to go to the town hall. She 
 knew that she had saved her sister, but she 
 foresaw for the victim of salvation a few pain- 
 ful moments. Even a kindly Providence may 
 have its twinges of remorse. 
 
 Stella let the iron get cold while she was 
 reading Julian's letter; but when she had fin- 
 ished it, she heated the iron again and went on 
 with the curtains. They could not be hung up 
 rough dried. 
 
 Mrs. Waring was relieved to hear that Ju- 
 lian was not coming. Stella told her at once, 
 while she was slipping the rings on the cur- 
 tains, which she had brought up-stairs. She
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 309 
 
 added a little quickly, but in her ordinary 
 voice : 
 
 "And we are n't going to be married, after 
 all." 
 
 "Dear me!" said Mrs. Waring, trying not 
 to appear more relieved still. "Then there 
 won't have to be any new arrangements. 
 Marriage is very unreliable, too it turns out 
 so curiously unlike what it begins, and it even 
 begins unlike what one had expected. I often 
 wish there could be more mystical unions. I 
 can't agree with dear Eurydice about the draw- 
 back of Julian's being rich. We are told that 
 money is the root of all evil, but there is no 
 doubt that it is more peaceful and refreshing 
 to have it, as it were, growing under one's 
 hand; and, after all, evil is only seeming. I 
 think I '11 just go up- stairs and take off these 
 constricting clothes, unless, dear, you 'd like 
 me to help you in any way. You '11 remem- 
 ber, won't you, that sensation is but the petal 
 of a flower?" 
 
 Stella said that she thought, if she had the 
 step-ladder, she would be all right. 
 
 The only moment of the day (it was cu- 
 riously made up of moments prolonged to
 
 310 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 seem like years) when Stella was n't sure 
 whether she was really all right or not was 
 when she heard Lady Verny's voice in the hall. 
 Lady Verny's voice was singularly like Ju- 
 lian's. 
 
 Something happened to Stella's heart when 
 she heard it; it had an impulse to get outside 
 of her. She had to sit down on the top of the 
 stairs until her heart had gone back where it 
 belonged. 
 
 The drawing-room had gone to pieces again. 
 The kitten's saucer was in the middle of the 
 floor, and the plate-basket came half in and 
 half out of the sofa-cover. Lady Yerny was 
 looking at it with fascinated eyes. She had 
 never seen a plate-basket under a sofa-cover 
 before. Mrs. Waring, exhausted by her hours 
 of dressing, had gone to lie down. So there 
 was only Stella. She came in a little waver- 
 ingly, and looked at Lady Verny without 
 speaking. 
 
 Lady Verny shot a quick, penetrating glance 
 at her, and then held out her arms. 
 
 "My dear! what has he done? What has he 
 done?" she murmured. 
 
 Stella led Lady Verny carefully away from
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 311 
 
 the saucer of milk into the only safe arm-chair ; 
 then she sat down on a footstool at her feet. 
 
 "I thought," she said in a very quiet voice, 
 "that you 'd come, but I did n't think you 'd 
 come so soon. I don't know what he 's done." 
 
 "It 's all so extravagant and absurd," said 
 Lady Verny, quickly, "and so utterly un- 
 like Julian ! I have never known him to alter 
 an arrangement in his life, and as to breaking 
 his word ! I left him happier than I have ever 
 seen him. He 'd been telling me that you in- 
 sisted on my staying with you after your mar- 
 riage. I told him that I had always thought 
 it a most out-of -place and unsuitable plan, and 
 that he could n't have two women in our re- 
 spective positions in his house, and he laughed 
 and said: 'Oh, yes, I can. Stella has in- 
 formed me that marrying me is n't a position ; 
 it 's to be looked on in the light of an intellec- 
 tual convenience. You 're to run the house, 
 and she 's to run me. I Ve quite fallen in with 
 it.' I think that was the last thing he said, 
 and when I came back, there was his astound- 
 ing letter to say that your marriage was im- 
 possible, and that I was on no account to send 
 him on your letters or to refer to you in mine.
 
 312 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "He gave me his banker's address, and said 
 that he 'd see me later on, and had started 
 some intelligence work for the War Office. 
 He was good enough to add that I might go 
 and see you if I liked. I really think he must 
 be mad, unless you can throw some light on the 
 subject. A letter came from you after he had 
 gone." 
 
 Stella, who had been without any color at 
 all, suddenly flushed. 
 
 "Ah," she said, "I 'm glad he did n't read 
 that before he went! I mean, if he'd gone 
 after reading it, I should have felt " She 
 put out her hands with a curious little helpless 
 gesture, but she did not say what she would 
 have felt. 
 
 "Can't you explain?" Lady Verny asked 
 gravely. "Can't you explain anything? You 
 'were perfectly happy, weren't you? I 
 have n't been a blind, meddling, incompetent 
 old idiot, have I?" 
 
 Stella shook her head. 
 
 "When he left me," she said, "he gave me 
 this." She took it out of her belt and handed 
 it to Lady Verny ; it was a check for two hun- 
 dred pounds inclosed in a piece of paper, on
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 313 
 
 which was written, "Dearest, please !" "I took 
 it," said Stella. 
 
 Lady Verny was silent for a moment ; then 
 she said more gravely still: 
 
 "My dear, I think I ought to tell you some- 
 thing, it is not fair not to let you have every 
 possible indication that there is, but the day 
 after you left, while I was away, I hear from 
 Thompson, who seemed to be extremely upset 
 by her, that a lady did call to see Julian and she 
 would not give her name. Thompson says he 
 thinks she was a foreigner. 
 
 "I do not know what Julian may have told 
 you about his life, but I myself am quite posi- 
 tive he would have asked no woman to marry 
 him unless he felt himself free from any possi- 
 ble entanglement. Still, there it is: he went 
 away after this person's visit." 
 
 For a moment it seemed to Stella that some 
 inner citadel of security within her had col- 
 lapsed. She knew so little about men ; she had 
 nothing but her instincts to guide her, and the 
 memory of Eugenie Matisse's evil, laughing 
 eyes. She covered her face with her hands 
 and shut out every thought but Julian. It 
 seemed to her as if she had never been so alone
 
 314 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 with him before, as if in some strange, hidden 
 way she was plunging into the depths of his 
 soul. 
 
 When she looked up she had regained her 
 calm. 
 
 "No," she said; "I am quite sure of Ju- 
 lian. Perhaps some woman could make him 
 feel shaken shaken about its being right to 
 marry me. I can believe that, if she was very 
 cruel and clever and knew how to hurt him 
 most ; but there is nothing else, or Julian would 
 have told me." 
 
 Lady Verny gave a long sigh of relief. 
 
 "That is what I think myself," she said; 
 "but I could n't have tried to persuade you of 
 it. My dear, did Julian know that you had 
 always loved him?" 
 
 Stella shook her head. 
 
 "I thought he knew all that mattered," she 
 explained. "I didn't tell him anything else. 
 You see, there was so very little time, and I 
 was rather cowardly, perhaps. I did n't want 
 him just at once to know that I had loved him 
 before he even knew that I existed." 
 
 "I see, I see," said Lady Verny. "But 
 would you mind his knowing now? He can't
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 315 
 
 be allowed to behave in this extraordinary way, 
 popping off like a conjurer without so much as 
 leaving a decent address behind him. I intend 
 to tell him precisely what I think of his be- 
 havior, and I hope that you will do the 
 same." 
 
 Stella turned round to face Lady Verny. 
 
 "No," she said firmly ; "neither of us must do 
 that. I don't know why Julian has done this 
 at all, but it is quite plain that he does not want 
 to be interfered with. He wishes to act alone, 
 and I think he must act alone. I shall not 
 write to him or try to see him." 
 
 "But, my dear child," exclaimed Lady 
 Verny, "how, if we enter into this dreadful con- 
 spiracy of silence, can anything come right?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Stella, quietly; "but 
 Julian let it go wrong quite by himself, and I 
 think it must come right, if it comes right at 
 all, in the same way. If it did n't, he would 
 distrust it. I shouldn't I should be per- 
 fectly happy just to see him; but, then, you 
 see, I tynow it 's all right. Julian does n't. 
 Seeing me would n't make it so ; it would sim- 
 ply make him give in, and go on distrusting. 
 We could n't live like that. You see, I don't
 
 316 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 know what has happened ; but I do know what 
 he wants, so I think I must do it." 
 
 "But you don't think this state of things is 
 what he wants, do you?" Lady Verny de- 
 manded. "I may of course he mistaken, but 
 up till now I have been able to judge fairly well 
 what a man wanted of a woman when he 
 could n't take his eyes off her face." 
 
 "He wants me more than that," said Stella, 
 proudly. "I think he wants me very nearly 
 not quite as much as I want him. That 's 
 why I couldn't make him take less than he 
 wanted. To take me and not trust me would 
 be to take less. If we leave him quite alone 
 for six months or a year, perhaps, he '11 have 
 stopped shutting his mind up against his feel- 
 ings. It might be safer then to make an ap- 
 peal to him ; but I should n't like to appeal to 
 him. Still, I don't say I won't do anything 
 you think right, dear Lady Verny, if you want 
 me to, to make him happier; only I must be 
 sure that it will make him happier first. I 
 know now that it wouldn't." 
 
 "You're the most extraordinary creature!" 
 said Lady Verny. "Of course I always knew 
 you were, but it 's something to be so justified
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 317 
 
 of one's instincts. I 'm not sure that I sha'n't 
 do precisely what you say for quite different 
 reasons. Julian will count on one of us dis- 
 obeying his injunctions, and he '11 be perfectly 
 exasperated not to have news of you. Well, 
 exasperation is n't going to do any man any 
 harm; it '11 end by jerking him into some com- 
 mon-sense question, if nothing else will." 
 
 Stella smiled, but she shook her head. 
 
 "Please don't hope," she said under her 
 breath. 
 
 "There 's one thing," Lady Verny said after 
 a short pause, "that I do ask you to be sensi- 
 ble about. I can't take you abroad, as there 
 hardly seems at the present time any abroad to 
 take you to, but I want you to come and live 
 with me. I think, after all this, I really rather 
 need a companion." 
 
 Stella hid her face in Lady Verny's lap. 
 
 "I can't," she whispered. "You 're too like 
 him." 
 
 Lady Verny said nothing at all for a mo- 
 ment; she looked about the room. It was 
 clean; for a London room it was quite clean, 
 and Stella thought she had hidden all the holes 
 in the carpet. Lady Verny's ruthless, prac-
 
 318 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 tised eye took the faded, shabby little room to 
 pieces and reconstructed the rest of the dingy 
 makeshift home from it. She knew that 
 Stella's room would be the worst of all. 
 
 "My dear," she said at last, "you are so very 
 nearly a member of my family that I think I 
 may appeal to you about its honor. Are you 
 going to live like this and not let me help you? 
 You are not strong enough to work, and this 
 folly of poor Julian's won't make you any 
 stronger. Since you can't live with me, won't 
 you accept a little of what is really yours?" 
 
 "Money?" asked Stella, looking up into 
 Lady Verny's face. "I would if you were n't 
 his mother, because I love you ; but I can't now. 
 You see, Julian 's taken his honor away from 
 me ; he 's left me only my own. I know he '11 
 think me cruel, and I '11 never return what I 
 did take. He '11 think perhaps I would use 
 it, if I needed it, and that may make him hap- 
 pier ; but I must n't take any more. I must be 
 cruel." 
 
 "Yes, you 're very cruel," said Lady Verny, 
 kissing her. "Well, I sha'n't bully you, for I 
 would n't do it myself. It '11 only make my 
 heart ache in a new way, and really, I 'm so
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 319 
 
 used to its aching that I ought n't to grumble 
 at any fresh manifestation. As to Julian's 
 heart, he's been so extraordinarily silly that 
 only the fact that folly is a sign of love induces 
 me to believe he 's got one." She rose to her 
 feet, with her arms still about Stella. "I 'm 
 simply not to mention you at all?" she asked. 
 
 Stella shook her head. She clung to Lady 
 Verny speechlessly, but without tears. 
 
 "And when I see him next," Lady Verny 
 asked a little dryly, "and, presumably, he '11 
 send for me in about a fortnight, he '11 say, 
 'Well, did she take the money'? What am I 
 to answer to that?" 
 
 "Say," whispered Stella, "that she would 
 have liked to take it, but she could n't." 
 
 "I could make up something a great deal 
 crueller to say than that," said Lady Verny, 
 grimly. "However, I dare say you 're right; 
 it sounds so precisely like you that it 's bound 
 to hurt him more than any gibe." 
 
 Stella burst into tears. 
 
 "Oh, don't ! don't !" she sobbed. "You must 
 you must be kind to him ! I don't want any- 
 thing in the world to hurt him." 
 
 "I know you don't," said Lady Verny,
 
 320 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 gently. "You little silly, I only wanted to 
 make you cry. It '11 be easier if you cry a 
 little." 
 
 Stella cried more than ever then, because 
 Lady Verny was so terribly like Julian.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IT was the hour of the day that Julian liked 
 least. Until four o'clock in the afternoon 
 his mind was protected by blinkers ; he saw the 
 road ahead of him, but the unmerciful vastness 
 of the world was hidden from him. He was 
 thankful that he could not see it, because it 
 was possessed by Stella. 
 
 He could keep her out of his work; but 
 there was no other subject she left untouched, 
 no prospect that was not penetrated with her 
 presence, no moment of his consciousness that 
 she did not ruthlessly share. 
 
 He knew when he left her that he must be 
 prepared for a sharp wrench and an unforget- 
 able loss; what he had not foreseen was that 
 the wrench would be continuous, and that he 
 would be confronted by her presence at every 
 turn. 
 
 Women's faces had haunted him before, and 
 he had known what it was to be maddened by 
 
 321
 
 322 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 the sudden cessation of an intense relationship ; 
 but that was different. He could not remem- 
 ber Stella's face; he had no visual impression 
 of her physical presence; he had simply lost 
 the center of his thoughts. He felt as if he 
 were living in a nightmare in which one tries 
 to cross the ocean without a ticket. 
 
 He was perpetually starting lines of thought 
 which were not destined to arrive. For the 
 first few weeks it was almost easier; he felt 
 the immediate relief which comes from all de- 
 cisive action, and he was able to believe that he 
 was angry with Stella. She had obeyed him 
 implicitly by not writing, and his mother never 
 mentioned her except for that worst moment 
 of all when she gave him Stella's words, with- 
 out comment. "She would like to take the 
 money, but she cannot do it." This fed his 
 anger. 
 
 "If I 'd been that fellow Travers, I suppose 
 she 'd have taken it right enough," he said to 
 himself, bitterly, and without the slightest con- 
 viction. He said nothing at all to his mother. 
 Julian knew why Stella had not taken the 
 money. It was because she had not consented 
 to what he had done; he had forced her will.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 323 
 
 Of all her remembered words, the ones that 
 remained most steadily in his mind were: 
 "You are not only sacrificing yourself; you are 
 sacrificing me. I give you no such right." 
 
 That was her infernal woman's casuistry. 
 He had a perfect right to save her. He was 
 doing what a man of honor ought to do, free- 
 ing a woman he loved from an incalculable 
 burden. It was no use Stella's saying she 
 ought to have a choice, pity had loaded her 
 dice, and it was sheer nonsense to accuse him 
 of pride. He had n't any. He 'd consented 
 to take her till he found she had a decent mar- 
 riage at her feet. He could n't have done any- 
 thing else then but give her up. The greatest 
 scoundrel unhung wouldn't have done any- 
 thing else. It relieved Julian to compare him- 
 self to this illusory and self-righteous person- 
 age. 
 
 As to facing Stella with it, which he sup- 
 posed was her fantastic claim, it only showed 
 what a child she was and how little Stella knew 
 about the world or men. There were things 
 you couldn't tell a woman. Stella was too 
 confoundedly innocent. 
 
 Why should he put them both to a scene of
 
 324 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 absolute torture? Surely he had endured 
 enough. He was n't a coward, but to meet 
 her eyes and go against her was rather more 
 than he could undertake, knocked about as he 
 was by every kind of beastly helplessness. He 
 fell back upon self-pity as upon an ally; it 
 helped him to obscure Stella's point of view. 
 She ought to have realized what it would make 
 him suffer ; and she did n't, or she would have 
 taken the money. He did well, he assured 
 himself, to be angry; everything in life had 
 failed him. Stella had failed him. But at 
 this point his prevailing sanity shook him into 
 laughter. He could still laugh at the idea of 
 Stella's having failed him. 
 
 You do not fail people because you refuse 
 to release them from acting up to the standard 
 you had expected of them ; you fail them when 
 you expect less of them than they can give 
 you. When Julian had faced this fact 
 squarely he ceased to beat about the bush of 
 his vanity. He confessed to himself that he 
 was a coward not to have had it out with Stella. 
 But he acquiesced in this spiritual defeat; he 
 assured himself that there were situations in 
 life when for the sake of what you loved you
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 325 
 
 had to be a coward. Of course it was for 
 Stella's sake ; a man, he argued, does n't lie 
 down on a rack because he likes it. 
 
 He wished he could have gone on being 
 angry with Stella, because when he stopped 
 being angry he became frightened. 
 
 He was haunted by the fear of Stella's pov- 
 erty. He didn't know anything about pov- 
 erty except that it was disagreeable and a long 
 way off. He had a general theory that people 
 who were very poor were either used to it or 
 might have helped it; but this general theory 
 broke like a bubble at the touch of a special in- 
 stance. 
 
 The worst of it was that Stella had not really 
 told him anything about her life. He knew 
 that her father was a well-known Egyptolo- 
 gist, that her mother had various odd ethical 
 beliefs, and he knew all that he wanted to know 
 about Eurydice. But of Stella's actual life, of 
 its burdens and its cares, what had she told 
 him? That there weren't any bells in the 
 house and that the clocks did n't go. 
 
 This showed bad management and explained 
 her unpunctuality, but it explained nothing 
 more. It did not tell Julian how poor she
 
 326 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 was, or if she was properly looked after when 
 she came home from work. 
 
 If she married Travers, she would have 
 about nine hundred a year. Julian had made 
 investigations into the income of metropolitan 
 town clerks. 
 
 He supposed that people could just man- 
 age on this restricted sum, with economy; 
 but there seemed no reliable statistics about 
 the incomes of famous Egyptologists. Why 
 had n't he asked Stella? She ought to have 
 told him without being asked. He tried be- 
 ing angry with her for her secretiveness, but 
 it hurt him, so he gave it up. He knew she 
 would have told him if he had asked her. 
 
 Julian made himself a nuisance at the office 
 for which he worked on the subject of pay for 
 woman clerks. It relieved him a little, but 
 not much. 
 
 Logically he ought to have felt only his own 
 pain, which he could have stood; he had made 
 Stella safe by it. But he had deserted her; 
 he could n't get this out of his head. He kept 
 saying to himself, "If she 's in any trouble, why 
 does n't she go to Travers?" But he could n't 
 believe that Stella would ever go to Travers.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 327 
 
 The lighting restrictions it was November, 
 and the evening thoroughfares were as dark as 
 tunnels unnerved him. Stella might get run 
 over; she was certain to be hopelessly absent- 
 minded in traffic, and would always be the last 
 person to get on to a crowded bus. 
 
 It was six months since he had broken off 
 their engagement. Julian did not think it 
 could possibly remind Stella of him if he sent 
 her, addressed by a shop assistant, a flash-light 
 lamp for carrying about the streets. She 
 would n't send back a thing as small as a torch- 
 lamp, even if she did dislike anonymous pres- 
 ents. He was justified in this conjecture. 
 Stella kept the lamp, but she never had a mo- 
 ment's doubt as to whom it came from; if it 
 had had "Julian" engraved on it she could n't 
 have been surer. 
 
 Julian always drove to his club at four 
 o'clock, so that he did n't have to take his tea 
 alone. He did n't wish to talk to anybody, but 
 he liked being disturbed. Then he played 
 bridge till dinner, dined at the club, and went 
 back to his rooms, where he worked till mid- 
 night. This made everything quite possible 
 except when he could n't sleep.
 
 328 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 He sat in an alcove, by a large, polished win- 
 dow of the club. It was still light enough to 
 see the faces of the passers-by, to watch the 
 motor-buses lurching through the traffic like 
 steam tugs on a river, and the shadows creep- 
 ing up from Westminster till they filled the 
 green park with the chill gravity of evening. 
 
 A taxi drew up opposite to the club, and a 
 man got out of it. There was nothing par- 
 ticularly noticeable about the man except that 
 he was very neatly dressed. Julian took an in- 
 stant and most unreasonable dislike to him. 
 He said under his breath, "Why is n't the fel- 
 low in khaki?" 
 
 The man paid the driver what was presum- 
 ably, from the scowl he received in return, his 
 exact fare. Then he prepared to enter the 
 club. He did not look in the least like any of 
 the men who belonged to Julian's club. A mo- 
 ment later the waiter brought to Julian a card 
 with "Mr. Leslie Travers" engraved upon it. 
 
 "Confound his impudence," was Julian's im- 
 mediate thought. "Why on earth should I see 
 the fellow?" Then he realized that he was be- 
 ing angry simply because Mr. Travers had 
 probably seen Stella.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 329 
 
 Julian instantly rejected the idea that Stella 
 had sent Mr. Travers to see him ; she would n't 
 have done that. He was n't in any way 
 obliged to receive him; still, there was just the 
 off chance that he might hear something about 
 Stella if he did. Julian would rather have 
 heard something about Stella from a con- 
 demned murderer; but as Providence had not 
 provided him with this source of information, 
 he decided to see the town clerk instead. You 
 could say what you liked to a man if he hap- 
 pened to annoy you, and Julian rather hoped 
 that Mr. Travers would give him this oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 Mr. Travers entered briskly and without em- 
 barrassment. His official position had caused 
 him to feel on rather more than an equality 
 with the people he was likely to meet. He did 
 not think that Sir Julian Verny was his equal. 
 
 Mr. Travers considered all members of the 
 aristocracy loafers. Even when they worked, 
 they did it, as it were, on their luck. They had 
 had none of the inconveniences and resulting 
 competence of having climbed from the bottom 
 of the ladder to the top by their own unaided 
 efforts.
 
 330 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 There were three or four other men in the 
 room when he entered it, but Mr. Travers 
 picked out Julian in an instant. Their eyes 
 met, and neither of them looked away from the 
 other. Julian said stiffly: "Sit down, won't 
 you? What will you take a whisky and 
 soda?" 
 
 "Thanks," said Mr. Travers, drawing up a 
 chair opposite Julian and placing his hat and 
 gloves carefully on the floor beside him. "I 
 do not drink alcohol in between meals, but I 
 should like a little aerated water." 
 
 Julian stared at him fixedly. This was the 
 man Eurydice had compared with Napoleon, 
 to the latter's disadvantage. 
 
 Mr. Travers refused a cigar, and sat in 
 an arm-chair as if there were a desk in front 
 of him. It annoyed Julian even to look at 
 him. 
 
 "I have no doubt," said Mr. Travers, "that 
 you are wondering why I ventured to ask you 
 for this interview." 
 
 "I 'm afraid I am, rather," Julian observed, 
 with hostile politeness. "I know your name, 
 of course." 
 
 "Exactly," said Mr. Travers, as if Julian
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 had presented him with a valuable concession 
 greatly to his advantage. "I had counted 
 upon that fact to approach you directly and 
 without correspondence. One should avoid 
 black and white, I think, when it is possible, in 
 dealing with personal matters." 
 
 "I am not aware," said Julian, coldly, "that 
 there are any personal matters between us to 
 discuss." 
 
 "I dare say not," replied Mr. Travers, 
 blandly, placing the tips of his fingers slowly 
 together. "You may have observed, Sir Ju- 
 lian, that coincidences bring very unlikely peo- 
 ple together at times. I admit that they have 
 done so in this instance." 
 
 "What for?" asked Julian, succinctly. He 
 found that he disliked Mr. Travers quite as 
 much as he intended to dislike him, and he de- 
 spised him more. 
 
 "An injustice has been brought to my no- 
 tice," said Mr. Travers, slowly and impres- 
 sively. He was not in the least flurried by Ju- 
 lian's hostile manner, which he considered was 
 due to an insufficient business education; it 
 only made him more careful as to his own. "I 
 could not overlook it, and as it directly con-
 
 332 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 cerns you, Sir Julian, I am prepared to make 
 a statement to you on the subject." 
 
 "I 'm sure I 'm much obliged to you," said 
 Julian; "but I trust you will make the state- 
 ment as short and as little personal as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 "Speed," Mr. Travers said reprovingly, "is 
 by no means an assistance in elucidating per- 
 sonal problems; and I may add, Sir Julian, 
 that it is at least as painful for me as for 
 you, to touch upon personal matters with a 
 stranger." 
 
 "The fact remains," said Julian, impa- 
 tiently, "that you 're doing it, and I 'm not. 
 Go on!" 
 
 Mr. Travers frowned. Town clerks are not 
 as a rule ordered to go on. Even their 
 mayors treat them with municipal hesitancy. 
 Still, he went on. Julian's eyes held him as in 
 a vice. 
 
 "You have probably heard my name," Mr. 
 Travers began, "from the elder Miss Waring." 
 Julian nodded. "She was for two years and 
 a half my secretary. I may say that she was 
 the most efficient secretary I have ever had. 
 There have been, I think, few instances in any
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 333 
 
 office where the work between a man and 
 woman was more impersonal or more satisfac- 
 tory. It is due to the elder Miss Waring that 
 I should tell you this. It was in fact entirely 
 due to her, for I found myself unable to con- 
 tinue it. There was a lapse on my part. Miss 
 Waring was consideration itself in her way of 
 meeting this er lapse; but she uncondi- 
 tionally refused me." 
 
 Julian drew a quick breath, and turned his 
 eyes away from Mr. Travers. 
 
 "At the same time," Mr. Travers continued, 
 "she gave me to understand, in order, I fancy, 
 to palliate my error of judgment, that her af- 
 fections were engaged elsewhere." 
 
 Julian could not speak. His pride had him 
 by the throat. He could not tell Mr. Travers 
 to go on now, although he felt as if his life de- 
 pended on it. 
 
 "There are one or two points which I put to- 
 gether, at a later date," Mr. Travers continued, 
 after a slight pause, "and by which I was able 
 to connect Miss Waring's statement with her 
 subsequent actions. She is, if I may say so, a 
 woman who acts logically. "You were the 
 man upon whom her affections were placed, Sir
 
 334 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Julian, and that was her only reason for ac- 
 cepting your proposal of marriage." 
 
 Julian stared straight in front of him. It 
 seemed to him as if he heard again the music 
 of Chaliapine the unconquerable music of 
 souls that have outlasted their defeat. He lost 
 the sound of Mr. Travers's punctilious, care- 
 fully lowered voice. When he heard it again, 
 Mr. Travers was saying: 
 
 "It came to my knowledge through an inter- 
 view with the younger Miss Waring, who has 
 also become one of our staff, that she had re- 
 grettably misinformed you as to her sister's 
 point of view. The younger Miss Waring 
 acts at times impetuously and without judg- 
 ment, but she had no intention whatever of 
 harming her sister. She has been deeply anx- 
 ious about her for the last few months, and she 
 at length communicated her anxiety to me." 
 
 "Anxious," exclaimed Julian, sharply. 
 "What the devil 's she anxious about?" 
 
 "Her sister's state of health is not at all 
 what it should be," Mr. Travers said gravely. 
 "She looks weak and thin, and she occasionally 
 forgets things. This is a most unusual and se- 
 rious sign in a woman of her capacity."
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 335 
 
 "Damn her capacity I" said Julian savagely. 
 "Why on earth couldn't you stop her work- 
 ing?" 
 
 "It is not in my province to stop people earn- 
 ing their daily bread," said Mr. Travers, 
 coldly, "and I have never discussed this or any 
 other private question with the elder Miss 
 Waring since her return. When she came 
 back to the town hall she refused to displace 
 her sister, who had undertaken her former 
 work and went into the surveyor's office." 
 
 "All right, all right," said Julian, hastily. 
 "I dare say you couldn't have helped it; 
 but how on earth did you find out if you Ve 
 never talked to Miss Waring, what had hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 "I investigated the matter," said Mr. Trav- 
 ers, "with the younger Miss Waring. She 
 confessed to me, under some slight pressure on 
 my part, her very mistaken conclusions, and 
 the action she had based upon them. I sent 
 her at once, without mentioning what course of 
 action I had decided to take myself, to her sis- 
 ter." 
 
 "You shouldn't have done that," said Ju- 
 lian, with the singular injustice Mr. Travers
 
 336 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 had previously noted and disliked in members 
 of the upper classes. "There was n't any need 
 to give Eurydice away to her; I could have 
 managed without that." 
 
 "You forget," said Mr. Travers, steadily, 
 "the younger Miss Waring had forfeited her 
 sister's confidence ; it would have been impossi- 
 ble to avoid clearing up the situation by bring- 
 ing all the facts to light. It will not, I feel 
 sure, cause permanent ill feeling between the 
 two sisters." 
 
 Julian gave a long, curious sigh. His re- 
 lief was so intense that he could hardly believe 
 in it; but he could believe, not without reluc- 
 tance, in the hand that had set him free. It 
 had taken a town clerk to show him where he 
 stood. 
 
 "It would be difficult," he began "By 
 Jove ! it 's impossible to express thanks for this 
 kind of thing 1 You won't expect it, perhaps, 
 and I know of course, you did n't do it for me. 
 For all that, I 'm not ungrateful. I well I 
 think you 're more of a man than I am, 
 Travers." 
 
 "Not at all, Sir Julian," said Mr. Travers, 
 who privately felt surprised that there should
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 337 
 
 be any doubt upon the matter. ''Any one 
 would have done precisely the same who had 
 the good fortune to know the elder Miss War- 
 ing." 
 
 "Perhaps they would," said Julian, smiling, 
 "or, you might add, the misfortune to come 
 across the erratic proceedings of the younger 
 one." 
 
 Mr. Travers looked graver still. 
 
 "There I cannot agree with you," he said 
 quietly. "Perhaps I should have mentioned 
 the matter before, but it scarcely seemed ger- 
 mane to the occasion; I am about to marry 
 Miss Eurydice." 
 
 A vivid memory of Eurydice shot through 
 Julian's mind. He saw her advancing down 
 the grass path arrayed in the purple garment, 
 with the scarlet hat and the dangling pome- 
 granates; and the thought of her in conjunc- 
 tion with the town clerk was too much for him. 
 Laughter seized him uncontrollably and shook 
 him. He flung back his head and roared with 
 laughter, and the graver and more disapprov- 
 ing Mr. Travers looked, the more helplessly 
 and shamelessly Julian laughed. 
 
 "I 'm most frightfully sorry," he gasped,
 
 338 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 " but I can't help it. Are you sure you 're go- 
 ing to marry her? I mean, must you? " 
 
 Mr. Travers took his hat and gloves care- 
 fully in his hand. 
 
 " This is not a subject I care to discuss with 
 you, Sir Julian," he said, with dignity, " nor 
 is your tone a suitable one in which to refer to 
 a lady. A man of my type does not shilly- 
 shally on the question of matrimony ; either he 
 is affianced or he is not. I have already told 
 you that I am. You may have some excuse 
 for misjudging the younger Miss Waring; but 
 there can be no excuse whatever for your flip- 
 pant manner of referring to our marriage. It 
 is most uncalled for. I might say offensive." 
 
 A spasm of returning laughter threatened 
 Julian again, but he succeeded in controlling 
 it. 
 
 " My dear Travers," he said, holding out his 
 hand, " please don't go away with a grievance. 
 I am thoroughly ashamed of myself as it is, 
 and more grateful to you than I can possibly 
 express. You '11 forgive me for not getting 
 up, won't you? And try to overlook my bad 
 manners." 
 
 It was the first time during the interview
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 339 
 
 that Mr. Travers realized Julian's disabilities, 
 but they did not make him feel more lenient. 
 
 Mr. Travers liked an invalid to behave as if 
 he were an invalid, and he thought that a man 
 in Julian's position should not indulge in un- 
 seemly mirth. 
 
 "Pray don't get up," he said coldly. "I am 
 bound to accept your apology, of course, 
 though I must confess I think your laughter 
 very ill timed." 
 
 Julian took this rebuke with extraordinary 
 humility. He insisted on giving Mr. Travers 
 an unnecessarily cordial hand-shake, and in- 
 vited him to drop in again at some hour when 
 he would have a drink. 
 
 Mr. Travers waived aside this suggestion, he 
 did not wish to continue Julian's acquaintance 
 and he disapproved of Julian's club. The 
 large luxurious lounges, the silent obsequious 
 servants and the sprinkling of indolent men 
 swallowed up in soft arm-chairs, bore out Mr. 
 Travers's opinion of the higher classes. They 
 were drones whether they were in khaki or 
 not. 
 
 Mr. Travers sighed heavily as he crossed the 
 threshold. "She was a perfect business
 
 340 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 woman," he said to himself bitterly, "nipped in 
 the bud." 
 
 For the first time since Mr. Travers had 
 known her, he found himself doubting the 
 judgment of the elder Miss Waring.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 JULIAN'S first impulse was to drive to the 
 town hall and carry Stella off. He was 
 debarred from doing so only by a secret fear 
 that she might refuse to come. He was a lit- 
 tle afraid of this first meeting with Stella. She 
 might haul him over the coals as much as she 
 liked ; but he wanted to stage-manage the posi- 
 tion of the coals. 
 
 He decided after a few moments of reflec- 
 tion to ring her up on the telephone. The por- 
 ter at the other end said that Miss Waring 
 was still at work, and seemed to think that this 
 settled the question of any further effort on 
 his part. Julian speedily undeceived him. 
 He used language to the town hall porter 
 which would have lifted every separate hair 
 from Mr. Travers's head. It did not have 
 this effect upon the porter. He was a man 
 who appreciated language, and he understood 
 
 341
 
 342 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 that there was an expert at the other end of 
 the line. It even spurred him into a success- 
 ful search for Stella. 
 
 "That you, Stella?" Julian asked, "Do you 
 know who 's speaking to you?" 
 
 There was a pause before she answered a 
 little unsteadily: 
 
 "Yes, Julian." 
 
 "Well," said Julian, with an anxiety he 
 could hardly keep out of his voice, "I want to 
 see you for a few minutes if you can spare the 
 time. Will you come to the Carlton to tea? 
 I suppose I must n't ask you to my rooms." 
 
 "I can't do either," replied Stella. "I 'm 
 too busy. Can't you wait till Saturday?" 
 
 "Impossible," Julian replied firmly. "May 
 I come and fetch you in a taxi? I suppose you 
 don't dine and sleep at the town hall, do you?" 
 
 "No, you mustn't do that," said Stella, 
 quickly; "but you can come to the Cottage 
 Dairy Company, which is just opposite here, 
 if you like. I shall go there for a cup of tea 
 at five o'clock. I can spare you half an hour, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "Oh, you will, will you?" said Julian, grimly. 
 "I suppose I must be thankful for what I can
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 343 
 
 get. Five sharp, then, at the what-you-may- 
 call-'em." 
 
 Stella put up the receiver, but he thought 
 before she did so that he heard her laugh. 
 
 Julian had never been to the Cottage Dairy 
 Company before. It was a very nice, clean, 
 useful little shop, and there was no necessity 
 for him to take such an intense dislike to it. 
 The rooms are usually full, and for reasons of 
 space the tables are placed close together. The 
 tables are marble-topped and generally clean. 
 There is not more smell of inferior food than 
 is customary in the cheaper restaurants of Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Julian arrived at five minutes to the hour, 
 and he turned the place literally upside down. 
 It did no good, because Cottage Dairy Com- 
 panies are democratic, and do not turn upside 
 down to advantage. 
 
 He only succeeded in upsetting a manager- 
 ess and several waitresses, and terrifying an 
 unfortunate shop-girl who was occupying the 
 only table in the room at which Julian could 
 consent to sit by standing over her until she 
 had finished her tea, half of which she left in 
 consequence.
 
 344 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Stella was ten minutes late ; by the time she 
 arrived Julian had driven away the shop-girl, 
 had the table cleared, and frozen every one in 
 the neighborhood who cast longing glances at 
 the empty place in front of him. He was con- 
 sumed with fury at the thought that in all 
 probability Stella had had two meals a day for 
 six months in what he most unfairly charac- 
 terized as a "loathsome, stinking hole." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Stella had not been able 
 to afford the Cottage Dairy Company. She 
 had had her meals at the People's Restaurant, 
 which is a little cheaper and not quite so nice. 
 
 Julian's anger failed him when he saw Stel- 
 la's face. She looked ill. He could not speak 
 at first, and Stella made no attempt whatever 
 to help him. She merely dropped her um- 
 brella at his feet, sat down opposite him, and 
 trembled. 
 
 "How dare you come to this infernal 
 place?" Julian asked her at last, with re- 
 adjusted annoyance, "and why did n't you tell 
 me you were ill?" Then he ordered tea from 
 a hovering waitress. "If you have anything 
 decent to eat, you can bring it," he said sav- 
 agely.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 345 
 
 Stella smiled deprecatingly at the outraged 
 waitress before she answered Julian. 
 
 "I 'm not ill," she said gently, "and I 
 could n't very well tell you anything, could 
 I, when I didn't know where you were?" 
 
 "Of course, if you make a point of eating 
 and drinking poison," said Julian, bitterly, 
 "you are n't likely to be very well. I suppose 
 you could have told my mother, but no doubt 
 that didn't occur to you. You simply 
 wished " He stopped abruptly at the ap- 
 proach of the waitress. 
 
 Stella did not try to pour out the tea; she 
 showed no proper spirit under Julian's unjust 
 remarks. She only put her elbows on the 
 table and looked at him. 
 
 "There, drink that," he said, "if you can. 
 It 's the last chance you '11 get of this particular 
 brand. They call it China, and it looks like 
 dust out of a rubbish-heap., I don't know 
 what you call that thing on the plate in front 
 of you, but I suppose it 's meant to eat. So 
 you may as well try to eat it." 
 
 "Food," said Stella, with the ghost of her 
 sold fugitive smile, "is n't everything, Julian." 
 
 "It 's all you '11 get me to talk about in a
 
 346 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 place like this," said Julian, firmly. "I won- 
 der you did n't suggest our meeting in one of 
 those shelters on the Strand! Do you realize 
 that there 's a Hindu two yards to your right, 
 a family of Belgian refugees behind us, and the 
 most indescribable women hemming us in on 
 every side? How can you expect us to talk 
 here?" 
 
 "But you and I are here," said Stella, 
 quietly. "Julian, how could you believe what 
 Eurydice told you?" 
 
 Julian lowered his eyes. 
 
 "Must I tell you now?" he asked gravely. 
 "I 'd rather not." 
 
 "Yes, I think you must," said Stella, relent- 
 lessly, "You need n't tell me much, but you 
 must say enough for me to go on with. If 
 you don't, I can't talk at all; I can only be 
 afraid." 
 
 Julian kept his eyes on a tea-stained spot of 
 marble. There was no confidence in his voice 
 now; it was not even very steady as he an- 
 swered her. 
 
 "I made a mistake," he said. "You were n't 
 there. I wanted you to have everything there 
 was. I can't explain. I ought to have let you
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 347 
 
 choose, but if you 'd chosen wrong I should 
 have felt such a cur. I can't say any more 
 here. Please, Stella!" 
 
 She was quick to let him off. 
 
 "I ought n't to have left you so soon," she 
 said penitently; "that was quite my fault." 
 
 Julian made no answer. He drew an im- 
 aginary pattern on the table with a fork; he 
 could n't think why they 'd given him a fork 
 unless it was a prevision that he would need 
 something to fidget with. It helped him to 
 recover his assurance. 
 
 "I suppose you know," he said reflectively, 
 contemplating the unsuspicious Hindu on his 
 right, "that I 'm never going to let you out of 
 my sight again?" 
 
 "I dare say I shall like being alone some- 
 times," replied Stella; "but I don't want you 
 to go calmly off and arrange things that break 
 us both to pieces. I 'd never see you again 
 rather than stand that !" 
 
 "Now," said Julian, "you 've roused the 
 Belgians; they're awfully interested. I'll 
 never go off again, though you 're not very ac- 
 curate; it was you that went off first. I only 
 arranged things, badly I admit, when I was
 
 348 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 left alone. I was n't so awfully calm. As far 
 as that goes, I Ve been calmer than I am now. 
 Have you had enough tea?" 
 
 "You know it 's you I mind about," said 
 Stella, under her breath. 
 
 "You mustn't say that kind of thing in a 
 tea-shop," said Julian, severely. "You 're 
 very nearly crying, and though I 'd simply love 
 to have you cry, I believe it 's against the regu- 
 lations. And there 's a fat lady oozing par- 
 cels to my left who thinks it 's all my fault, 
 and wants to tell me so." 
 
 "I 'm not crying," said Stella, fiercely. 
 "I 'm going back to work. I don't believe you 
 care about anything but teasing." 
 
 "I don't believe I do," agreed Julian, with 
 twinkling eyes; "but I haven't teased any one 
 for six months, you know, Stella. How much 
 may I tip the waitress? Let 's make it some- 
 thing handsome; I Ve enjoyed my tea. I 'II 
 take you across to the town hall." 
 
 "It 's only just the other side of the road," 
 Stella objected. 
 
 "Still, I 'd like you to get into this taxi," 
 said Julian, hailing one from the door. 
 
 Stella looked at him searchingly. "I should
 
 'Not very clever of you," he murmured, "not to guess why 
 I wanted a taxi "
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 351 
 
 be really angry if you tried to carry me off," 
 she warned him. 
 
 "My dear Stella," said Julian, meeting her 
 eyes imperturbably, "I haven't the nerve to 
 try such an experiment. I 'm far too much 
 afraid of you. Get in, won't you? The 
 man '11 give me a hand." He turned to the 
 driver. "Drive wherever you like for a quar- 
 ter of an hour," he explained, "and then stop 
 at the town hall." 
 
 The taxi swung into the darkened thorough- 
 fare, and Julian caught Stella in his arms and 
 kissed her as if he could never let her go. 
 
 "Not very clever of you," he murmured, 
 "not to guess why I wanted a taxi." 
 
 Stella clung to him speechlessly. She did 
 not know what to say; she only knew that he 
 was there and that the desperate loneliness of 
 the empty world was gone. 
 
 She wanted to speak of the things that she 
 believed in, she wanted not to forget to reassure 
 him, in this great subdual of her heart ; but she 
 did not have to make the effort. It was Julian 
 who spoke of these things first. 
 
 He spoke hurriedly, with little pauses for 
 breath, as if he were running.
 
 352 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "I know now," he said, "I Ve been a fool 
 and worse. I saw it as soon as I looked at 
 you; it broke me all up. How could I tell 
 you 'd mind losing a man like me ? I 'm glad 
 it 's dark ; I 'm glad you can't see me. I 'm 
 ashamed. Stella, the fact is, I gave you up 
 because I couldn't stick it; my nerve gave 
 way." 
 
 "I shouldn't have left you so soon; it was 
 all my fault for leaving you," Stella mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "That rather gives the show away, does n't 
 it," asked Julian "not to be able to stand being 
 left?" 
 
 "You weren't thinking only of yourself," 
 Stella urged defensively. 
 
 "Wasn't I?" said Julian. "I kept telling 
 myself I was behaving decently when I was 
 only being grand. Is n't that thinking of 
 yourself?" 
 
 "But on the downs," urged Stella, "you 
 were n't like that, darling." 
 
 "You were on the downs, remember," said 
 Julian. "I got your point of view then to 
 give in, anyhow, to love. It was n't easy, but 
 it made it more possible that if I did n't marry
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 353 
 
 you, you only had hard work and a dull life. 
 It seemed different when I heard about that 
 fellow Travers. You see, that cut me like a 
 knife. I kept thinking well, you know what 
 a man like me keeps thinking at least I don't 
 know that you do. It was my business to fight 
 it through alone." 
 
 "No it is n't," Stella protested quickly. "We 
 have n't businesses that are n't each other's." 
 
 "Well," admitted Julian, "I could n't bear 
 thinking I 'd cheated you out of my own 
 values ; so I let yours slide. I knew, if I gave 
 you the choice, you'd stick to me; but I 
 could n't trust you not to make a mistake. 
 That 's where my nerve broke down." 
 
 "Ah, but I didn't know," whispered Stella; 
 "I didn't know enough how to show you I 
 loved you. If you 'd seen, you would n't have 
 broken down. I was afraid to try. Now 
 I can. All these six months have eaten up 
 my not knowing how." She put her arms 
 around his neck and kissed him. "You see, I 
 do know how!" 
 
 He held her close, without speaking ; then he 
 murmured: "And knowing how doesn't 
 make you afraid?"
 
 354 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 "It 's the only thing that does n't," said 
 Stella, lifting her eyes to his. 
 
 The taxi stopped before the door of the town 
 hall. 
 
 "And have I got to let you go now?" Julian 
 asked gently. 
 
 "I shall never really go," Stella explained; 
 "but you can let me get out and tidy up the sur- 
 veyor's papers, and then be free for you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Julian opened the door for her. She stood 
 for a moment under the arc of light beneath 
 the lamp-post looking back at him. 
 
 The love between them held them like a cord. 
 Julian had never felt so little aware of his help- 
 lessness; but he wondered, as he gazed into 
 her eyes, if Stella realized the bitterness of all 
 that they had lost. 
 
 She neither stirred nor spoke. She held his 
 eyes without faltering; she gave him back 
 knowledge for knowledge, love for love; and 
 still there was no bitterness. At last he knew 
 that she had seen all that was in his heart; and 
 then for a moment, if but for a moment, Julian 
 forgot what they had lost ; he remembered only 
 what they had found.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 WHEN Stella reentered the town haU the 
 porter was still sitting at his desk near 
 the door, but every one else had gone. 
 
 "Oh, I hope I have not kept you, Humph- 
 reys," Stella said apologetically. "I had no 
 idea it was so late. I '11 be as quick as I can." 
 
 "Mr. Tr avers is still in 'is room," Humph- 
 reys admitted gloomily; " 'e came back an hour 
 ago. Gawd knows how long 'e '11 be at it. 
 There 's been a tri-bunal and wot not this 
 afternoon. Talk abaht mud in the trenches! 
 'Alf the gutters of Lunnon 'as been dribbling 
 through this 'ere 'all. I Ve asked for an extra 
 char, an', what 's more, I mean ter 'ave 'er. 
 War or no war, I '11 'ave a woman under me." 
 
 The surveyor's office was empty. Stella's 
 papers were just as she had left them, but her 
 whole life lay in between. 
 
 She would never copy the surveyor's plans 
 again or do the office accounts or look through 
 the correspondence. She would not hover in 
 
 355
 
 356 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 the drafty passages and listen to the grumbling 
 Humphreys nor stand outside glass doors and 
 help bewildered fellow-clerks over their blun- 
 ders before they went in to face a merciless 
 authority. 
 
 She would probably never see green baize 
 again. She tried to fix her mind on the ac- 
 counts, but through the columns of figures ran 
 the wind from the downs. The half-darkened, 
 empty room filled itself with Amberley. 
 
 She tried to imagine her life with Julian. 
 It would be unlike anything she had lived be- 
 fore ; it would require of her all she had to give. 
 The town hall had not done this. It had taken 
 the outer surfaces of her mind, her time, and 
 much of her youth : but her inner self had been 
 free. 
 
 It was not free now; it had entered that dual 
 fommunion of love. It was one with Julian, 
 and yet not one ; because she knew that though 
 he filled every entrance to her heart, though her 
 mind companioned his mind, and her life 
 rested on him, yet she was still herself. She 
 would be for Julian the Stella of Amberley, 
 but she would not cease to be the Stella of the 
 town hall.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 357 
 
 She would not part with her experiences; 
 poverty, drudgery, the endless petty readjust- 
 ments to the ways of others should belong to 
 her as much as joy. Privilege should neither 
 hold nor enchain her, and she would never let 
 anything go. 
 
 She would keep her people, her old interests, 
 Mr. Travers, even the surveyor, if he wished to 
 be kept. Stella mightn't be able to impart 
 them to Julian, but she could give him all he 
 wanted and still have something to spare. 
 Julian himself would profit by her alien inter- 
 ests; he would get tired of a woman who 
 hadn't anything to spare. Stella was per- 
 fectly happy, but she could still see over the 
 verge of her happiness. Joy had come to her 
 with a shock of surprise which would have puz- 
 zled Julian. He had the strength of attack, 
 which is always startled when it cannot over- 
 come opposition. Julian never cooperated 
 with destiny, he always fought it. Sometimes 
 he overcame it; but when it overcame him, he 
 could not resign himself to defeat. Stella 
 took unhappiness more easily; in her heart, 
 even now, she believed in it. She believed that 
 the balance of life is against joy, that destiny
 
 358 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 and fate prey upon it, overcloud it, and some- 
 times destroy it; and she believed that human 
 beings can readjust this balance. She be- 
 lieved in a success which is independent of life, 
 an invisible and permanent success. 
 
 She did not think of this for herself, it never 
 occurred to her that she possessed it; but she 
 believed in its existence, and she wanted it, and 
 sought for it, in every soul she knew. She 
 wanted it most for Julian, but she did not think 
 it could be got for him to-morrow. She did 
 not expect to get it for him, though she would 
 have given all she possessed to help him to ob- 
 tain it. 
 
 She only hoped that he would win it for 
 himself, and that she would not be a hindrance 
 to his winning it; that was as far as Stella's 
 hopes carried her before she returned to the ac- 
 counts. 
 
 When she had finished the accounts, she took 
 them to the town clerk's room. 
 
 Mr. Travers was sitting as usual at his desk, 
 but he did not appear to be writing. Perhaps 
 he was also doing his accounts. 
 
 "I 'm afraid," Stella said apologetically, 
 "I 'm very late with these papers, Mr. Travers.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 359 
 
 I was detained longer than I had intended." 
 
 "I expected you to be late," said Mr. Trav- 
 ers, quietly. "In fact, I should not have been 
 surprised if you had not returned at all. It oc- 
 curred to me that you might not come back to 
 the town hall again." 
 
 "I had to finish my work," said Stella, 
 gently, "and I wanted to see you; but after 
 this, if you and Mr. Upjohn can find some one 
 else to take my place, I shall not return. I 
 know I ought not to leave you in the lurch like 
 this without proper notice ; I should have liked 
 to have given you at least another week to find 
 some one to take my place, but I am afraid I 
 must leave at once." 
 
 "I think I can make a temporary arrange- 
 ment to tide us over," Mr. Travers replied 
 thoughtfully. "Your leaving us was bound 
 to be a loss in any case." 
 
 They were silent for a moment. Mr. Trav^ 
 ers still sat at his desk, and Stella stood beside 
 him with the papers in her hand. 
 
 "I hope you will not think I took too much 
 upon myself, Miss Waring," said Mr. Trav- 
 ers at last, "in going to see Sir Julian Verny 
 this afternoon. It seemed to me a man's job,
 
 360 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 if I may say so, and not a woman's. I thought 
 your sister had done enough in letting you 
 know herself how gravely she had misunder- 
 stood us all ; and if I had notified you of my in- 
 tention, I feared that you might not have seen 
 your way to ratify it." 
 
 "I am very glad indeed you spared Eury- 
 dice," said Stella; "I would not have let her go 
 to Julian. I would have gone myself; but I 
 am glad I did not have to do it. You spared 
 us both." 
 
 "That," said Mr. Travers, "was what I had 
 intended." 
 
 Stella put the papers on the desk; then she 
 said hesitatingly: 
 
 "Mr. Travers, may I ask you something?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Waring; I am always at your 
 disposal," replied Mr. Travers, clearing his 
 throat. "You are not an exacting questioner." 
 
 "I hope you will not think me so," said 
 Stella, gently; "but are you sure will you be 
 quite happy with Eurydice?" 
 
 Mr. Travers met her eyes. She did not 
 think she had ever seen him look as he looked 
 now; his eyes were off their guard. It was 
 perhaps the only time in his life when Mr.
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 361 
 
 Travers wished any one to know exactly what 
 he felt. 
 
 "You will remember, Miss Waring," he 
 said, "that I told you once before that I am a 
 lonely man. I have not won affection from 
 people. I think I have obtained your sister's 
 regard, and I am proud to have done so. I 
 suppose, too, that all men have the desire to 
 protect some one. I do not know much about 
 feelings in general, but I should suppose that 
 the desire for protection is a masculine in- 
 stinct?" 
 
 Stella nodded. She wished to give Mr. 
 Travers all the instincts that he wanted, and if 
 he preferred to think them solely masculine, 
 she had not the least objection. 
 
 "I see that you agree with me," said Mr. 
 Travers, with satisfaction, "and you will there- 
 fore be able to understand my point of view. I 
 have a very real regard for Miss Eurydice. 
 Her work is of great, though unequal, value, 
 and I should like to see her happy and com- 
 fortable and, if I may say so, safe. I do not 
 think that the life of women who work in pub- 
 lice offices, unless they are peculiarly gifted by 
 nature, is safe. I may be old-fashioned, Miss
 
 362 THE SECOND FIDDLE 
 
 Waring, but I still maintain that woman's 
 sphere is the home." 
 
 "I am glad you feel like that about Eury- 
 diee," said Stella, softly. 
 
 She paused for a moment. She wanted to 
 thank him, but she knew that she must thank 
 him only for some little thing. The greater 
 things she must leave entirely alone. He 
 trusted her to do this ; he was trusting her with 
 all he had. She must protect him from her 
 gratitude. 
 
 "Before I leave the town hall, Mr. Travers," 
 she said, "I want to thank you for what I have 
 learned here. That is really one of the rea- 
 sons I came back to-night. You have been 
 such a help to me as a business woman. I am 
 not going to give it up. I shall keep all that 
 you have taught me, and take it into my new 
 life with me. It has been an education to work 
 in your office under your rule." 
 
 "I am glad you have felt it to be so, Miss 
 Waring," said Mr. Travers, with grave satis- 
 faction. "I have devoted what talents I pos- 
 sess to the running of this town hall, under the 
 auspices of the mayor, of course. I am very 
 much gratified if my methods have been of any
 
 THE SECOND FIDDLE 363 
 
 service to you. Our relationship has certainly 
 not been a one-sided benefit. I took occasion 
 to say to Sir Julian this afternoon that I had 
 never had a more efficient secretary." 
 
 "I am so glad you told Julian that," said 
 Stella, smiling. "My work with him was only 
 make-believe." 
 
 "There is a leniency about your dealings 
 with people," Mr. Travers continued, ignoring 
 her reference to Julian, "which sometimes 
 needs restraint, Miss Waring. The world, I 
 fear, cannot be run upon lenient principles. 
 Nevertheless, in some cases I am not prepared 
 to say that your system has not got merits of 
 its own. I recognize that personal leniency 
 modifies certain problems even of business life. 
 I should be apprehensive of seeing it carried 
 too far; but up to a certain point," said Mr. 
 Travers, rising to his feet and holding out his 
 hand to Stella to close the interview, "I am 
 prepared to accept your theory." 
 
 THE END
 
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