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Books by 
 
 MAY SINCLAIR 
 
 The Helpmate 
 
 The Divine Fire 
 
 Two Sides of a Question 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Nevill Tyson 
 
 Etc., etc. 
 
* ' , 
 
" Kitty's face .... pleaded with the other face in the glass." 
 
THE innORTAL HOTCNT 
 
 1 The Story of kilty Tailleur 1 
 
 -By 
 
 HAY SINCLAIR 
 
 ILLU/TCATED AND DEODATED • BY 
 CCOLE/ PHILLIP/: 
 
 NE^v• YORK. 
 
 DOUBLE DAT PACrE <S. CO. 
 t •<) O 6 
 
^•"-'O 
 i' rw 
 

 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " Kitty's face 
 
 pleaded with the 
 
 other face in the class " 
 
 FRONTISPIECE 
 
 *' She stood there, strangely still . . . 
 before the pitiless stare that went up 
 to her appealing face " . . . 10 
 
 *' 'You won't be tied to me a minute 
 
 longer than you like' " . . . 208 
 
 *' 'I want to make you loathe me 
 
 never see me again 
 
 > j> 
 
 , 268 
 
OMEN 
 
 T 
 
• ■> ■# > » • > 
 
 » ' • St • » 
 
 JHE IMMQ^MALMONENJ 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THEY came into the hotel dining-room 
 like young persons making their first 
 entry into life. They carried themselves with 
 an air of subdued audacity, of innocent inquiry. 
 "When the great doors opened to them they 
 stood still on the threshold, charmed, expec- 
 tant. There was the magic of quest, of pure, 
 unspoiled adventure in their very efforts 
 to catch the head-waiter's eye. It was 
 as if thev called from its fantastic dwelling- 
 place the attendant spirit of delight. 
 
 You could never have guessed how old 
 they were. He, at thirty-five, had pre- 
 served, by some miracle, his alert and slender 
 adolescence. In his brown, clean-shaven 
 face, keen with pleasure, you saw the clear, 
 
 3 
 
4. THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 serious eyes and the adorable smile of seven- 
 teen. She, at thirty, had kept the wide 
 eyes and tender mouth of childhood. Her 
 face had a child's immortal, spiritual appeal. 
 
 They were charming with each other. 
 You might have taken them for bride and 
 bridegroom, his absorption in her was so 
 unimpaired. But their names in the visitors' 
 book stood as Mr. Robert Lucy and Miss 
 Jane Lucy. They were brother and sister. 
 You gathered it from something absurdly 
 alike in their faces, something profound and 
 racial and enduring. 
 
 For they combined it all, the youth, the 
 abandonment, the innocence, with an indomit- 
 able distinction. 
 
 They made their way with easy, unem- 
 barrassed movements, and seated themselves 
 at a table by an open window. They bent 
 their brows together over the menu. The 
 head-waiter (who had flown at last to their 
 high summons) made them his peculiar care, 
 and they turned to him with the helpless- 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 5 
 
 ness of children. He told them what things 
 they would like, what things (he seemed to 
 say) would be good for them. And when 
 he went away with their order they looked 
 at each other and laughed, softly and 
 instantaneously. 
 
 They had done the right thing. They 
 both said it at the same moment, smiling 
 triumphantly into each other's face. South- 
 bourne was exquisite in young June, at the 
 dawn of its season. And the Cliff Hotel 
 promised what they wanted, a gay seclusion, 
 a refined publicity. 
 
 If you were grossly rich, you went to the 
 big Hotel Metropole, opposite. If you were 
 a person of fastidious tastes and an attenu- 
 ated income, you felt the superior charm 
 of the Cliff Hotel. The little house, the 
 joy of its proprietor, was hidden in the 
 privacy of its own beautiful grounds, having 
 its back to the high road and its face to the 
 open sea. They had taken stock of it that 
 morning, with its clean walls, white as the 
 
6 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Cliff it stood on; its bay windows, its long, 
 green-roofed veranda, looking south; its 
 sharp, slated roofs and gables, all sheltered by 
 the folding Downs. 
 
 They did not know which of them had 
 first suggested Southbourne. Probably 
 they had both thought of it at the same 
 moment, as they were thinking now. But 
 it was she who had voted for the Cliff Hotel, 
 in preference to lodgings. She thought 
 that in an hotel there would be more scope, 
 more chance of things happening. 
 
 Jane was alwavs on the look-out for 
 things happening. He saw her now, with 
 her happy eyes, and her little, tilted nose, 
 sniffing the air, scanning the horizon. 
 
 He knew Jane and her adventures well. 
 They were purely, pathetically vicarious. 
 Jane was the thrall of her own sympathy. 
 So was he. At a hint she was off, and he 
 after her, on wild paths of inference, on 
 perilous oceans of conjecture. Only he 
 moved more slowly, and he knew the end 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 of it. He had seen, before now, her joyous 
 leap to land, on shores of manifest disaster. 
 He protested against that jumping to con- 
 clusions. He, for his part, took conclusions 
 in his stride. 
 
 But Jane was always listening for a call 
 from some foreign country of the soul. 
 She was always entering surreptitiously into 
 other people's feelings. They never caught 
 her at it, never suspected her soft-footed, 
 innocent intrusions. 
 
 She was wondering now whether they 
 would have to make friends with any of the 
 visitors. She hoped not, because that would 
 spoil it, the adventure. People had a way 
 of telling her their secrets, and Jane pre- 
 ferred not to be told. All she wanted was 
 an inkline:, a clue: the slenderer the better. 
 
 The guests as yet assembled were not 
 conspicuously interesting. 
 
 There was a clergyman dining gloomily 
 at a table by himself. There was a gray 
 group of middle-aged ladies next to him. 
 
8 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 There was Colonel Hankin and his wife. 
 They had arrived with the Lucys in the 
 hotel 'bus, and their names were entered 
 above Robert's in the visitors' book. They 
 marked him with manifest approval as one 
 of themselves, and they looked all pink 
 perfection and silver white propriety. There 
 was the old lady who did nothing but knit. 
 She had arrived in a fly, knitting. She was 
 knitting now, between the courses. When 
 she caught sight of the Lucys she smiled 
 at them over her knitting. They had found 
 her, before dinner, with her feet entangled 
 in a skein of worsted. Jane had shown 
 tenderness in disentangling her. 
 
 It was almost as if they had made friends 
 already. 
 
 Jane's eyes roamed and lighted on a fat, wine- 
 faced man. Lucy saw them. He teased her, 
 challenged her. She did n't think, did she, 
 she could do anything with him ? 
 
 No. Jane thought not. He was n't inter- 
 esting. There was nothing that you could 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 9 
 
 take hold of, except that he seemed to be 
 very fond of ^yine, poor old thing. But 
 then, you had to be fond of something, and 
 perhaps it was his only weakness. What 
 did Robert think ? 
 
 Robert did not hear her. He was bend- 
 ing forward, looking beyond her, across the 
 room toward the great doors. They had 
 swung open again, with a flash of their glass 
 panels, to give passage to a lady. 
 
 She came slowly, with the irresistible 
 motion of creatures that divide and trouble 
 the medium in which they move. The 
 white, painted wainscot behind her showed 
 her small, eager head, its waving rolls and 
 crowning heights of hair, black as her gown. 
 She had a sweet face, curiously foreshortened 
 by a low forehead and the briefest of chins. 
 It was white with the same whiteness as her 
 neck, her shoulders, her arms — a whiteness 
 pure and profound. This face she kept 
 thrust a little forward, while her eyes looked 
 round, steadily, deliberately, for the place 
 
10 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 where she desired to be. She carried on 
 her arm a long tippet of brown fur. It 
 slipped, and her effort to recover it brought 
 her to a standstill. 
 
 The large, white room, half empty at this 
 season, gave her up bodily to what seemed 
 to Lucy the intolerable impudence of the 
 public gaze. 
 
 She was followed by an older lady who 
 had the air of making her way with diffi- 
 culty and vexation through an unpleasantly 
 crowded space. This lady was somewhat 
 oddly attired in a white dress cut high with 
 a Puritan intention, but otherwise indiscreetly 
 youthful. She kept close to the tail of her 
 companion's gown, and tracked its charm- 
 ing evolutions with an irritated eye. Her 
 whole aspect was evidently a protest against 
 the publicity she was compelled to share. 
 
 Lucy was not interested in her. He was 
 watching the lady in black who was now 
 standing in the middle of the room. Her 
 elbow touched the shoulder of a young man 
 
•V PHiitipa. 
 
 '♦ She stood there, strangely still .... before the pitiless 
 stare that went up to her appealing face." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 11 
 
 on her left. The fur tippet slipped again 
 and lay at the young man's feet. He picked 
 it up, and as he handed it to her he stared 
 into her face, and sleeked his little moustache 
 above a furtive, objectionable smile. His 
 companion (Jane's uninteresting man), roused 
 from communion with the spirit of Veuve 
 Cliquot, fixed on the lady a pair of blood- 
 shot eyes in a brutal, wine-dark face. 
 
 She stood there, strangely still, it seemed 
 to Lucy, before the pitiless stare that went 
 up, right and left, to her appealing face. 
 She was looking, it seemed to him, for her 
 refuge. 
 
 She moved forward. The Colonel, pinker 
 than ever in his perfection, lowered his eyes 
 as she approached. She paused again in her 
 progress beside the clergyman on her right. 
 He looked severely at her, as much as to 
 say, "Madam, if you drop that thing in 
 my neighbourhood, I shall not attempt to 
 pick it up." 
 
 An obsequious waiter pointed out a table 
 
12 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 next to the middle-aged ladies. She shook 
 her head at the middle-aged ladies. She 
 turned in her course, and her eyes met 
 Lucy's. He said something to his sister. 
 Jane rose and changed her seat, thus clear- 
 ing the way to a table that stood beside 
 theirs, empty, secluded in the bay of the 
 window. 
 
 The lady in black came swiftly, as if to 
 the place of her desire. The glance that 
 expressed her gratitude went from Lucy to 
 Jane and from Jane to Lucy, and rested on 
 him for a moment. 
 
 As the four grouped themselves at their 
 respective tables, the lady in white, seated 
 with her back to the window, commanded 
 a front and side view of Jane. The lady in 
 black sat facing Lucy. 
 
 She put her elbows on the table and turned 
 her face (her profile was remarkably pretty) 
 to her companion. 
 
 '"Well," said she, "don't you want to sit 
 here ? " 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 13 
 
 *'Oh," said the older woman, "what does 
 it matter where we sit?" 
 
 She spoke in a small, crowing voice, the 
 voice, Lucy said to himself, of a rather 
 terrible person. She shivered. 
 
 "Poor lamb, does it feel a draught down 
 its little back.^" 
 
 The lady rose and put her fur tippet on 
 the shiverino; shoulders. Thev shrank from 
 her, and she drew it closer and fastened it 
 with caressing and cajoling fingers. There 
 was about her something impetuous and 
 perverse, a wilful, ungovernable tenderness. 
 Her hands had the swiftness of things moved 
 by sweet, disastrous impulses. 
 
 The white person (she was quite terrible) 
 undid the fastening and shook her shoulders 
 free of the fur. It slid to the floor for the 
 third time. 
 
 Lucy rose from his place, picked up the 
 fur and restored it to its owner. 
 
 The quite terrible person flushed with 
 vexation. 
 
14 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "You see," said the lady, "the trouble 
 you 've given that nice man." 
 
 "Oh don't! he'll hear you." 
 
 "If he does, he won't mind," said the 
 lady. 
 
 He did hear h«r. It was diflBcult not to 
 hear, not to look at her, not to be interested 
 in every movement that she made. Her 
 charm, however, was powerless over her 
 companion. 
 
 Their voices, to Lucy's relief, sank low. 
 Then suddenly the companion spoke. 
 
 "Of course," said she, "if you want all 
 the men to look at you " 
 
 Lucy looked no more. He heard the 
 lady draw in her breath with a soft, sharp 
 sound, and he felt his blood running scarlet 
 to the roots of his hair. 
 
 "I believe" (the older lady spoke almost 
 vindictively) "you like it." 
 
 The head-waiter, opportune in all his 
 approaches, brought coffee at that moment. 
 Lucy turned his chair slightly, so that he 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 15 
 
 presented his back to the speaker, and to 
 the lady in black his side-face, shaded by 
 his hand, conspicuously penitential. 
 
 Jane tried to set everybody at their ease 
 by talking in a clear, cool voice about the 
 beautiful decorations, the perfect manage- 
 ment of the hotel. The two drank their 
 coffee hastily and left the table. In the 
 doorway Lucy drew the head-waiter aside. 
 
 "Who," said he, "is that lady in the 
 window.?" 
 
 "The lady in the window, sir.^^ Miss 
 Keating, sir." 
 
 "I mean — the other lady." 
 
 The head-waiter looked reproachfully at 
 Lucy and apologetically at Jane. 
 
 "The lady in black, sir.? You want to 
 know her name.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Her name, sir, is Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 His manner intimated respectfully that 
 Lucy would not like Mrs. Tailleur, and that, 
 if he did, she would not be good for him. 
 
16 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 The brother and sister went out into the 
 hotel garden. They strolled up and down 
 the cool, green lawns that overhung the 
 beach. 
 
 Lucy smoked and was silent. 
 
 "Jane," he said presently, "could ijou see 
 what she did.?" 
 
 *'I was just going," said Jane, "to ask 
 you that." 
 
 "Upon my soul, I can't see it," said he. 
 
 "Nor I," said Jane. 
 
 "Could you see what I did.?" 
 
 "What you did.?" 
 
 "Yes, I. Did I look at her.?" 
 
 "Well, yes; certainly you looked at her." 
 
 "And you think she minded.?" 
 
 "No; I don't think she minded very 
 much." 
 
 "Come, she couldn't have liked it, could 
 she.?" 
 
 "I don't know. I don't think she noticed 
 it. You see" (Jane was off on the adventure) 
 "she's in mourning for her husband. He 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 17 
 
 has been dead about two years. He was n't 
 very kind to her, and she does n't know 
 whether to be glad or sorry he 's dead. She 's 
 unhappy and afraid." 
 
 "I say, how do you know ail that.^" 
 *'I know," said Jane, "because I see it in 
 her face; and in her clothes. I always see 
 things." 
 He laughed at that. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THEY talked a long time as they paced 
 the green lawns, linked arm in arm, 
 keeping their own path fastidiously. 
 
 Miss Keating, Mrs. Tailleur's companion, 
 watched them from her seat on the veranda. 
 
 She had made her escape from the great, 
 lighted lounge behind her w^here the men 
 were sitting. She had found a corner out 
 of sight of its wide windows. She knew 
 that Kitty Tailleur was in there somewhere. 
 She could hear her talking to the men. At 
 the other end of the veranda the old lady 
 sat with her knitting. From time to time 
 she looked up over her needles and glanced 
 curiously at Miss Keating. 
 
 On the lawn below, Colonel Hankin 
 walked with his wife. They kept the same 
 line as the Lucys, so that, in rhythmic instants, 
 the couples made one group. There was 
 
 18 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 19 
 
 an affinity, a harmony in their movements 
 as they approached each other. They were 
 all obviously nice people, people who belonged 
 by right to the same group, who might 
 approach each other without any impropriety. 
 
 Miss Keating wondered how long it would 
 be before Kitty Tailleur would approach 
 Mr. Lucy. That afternoon, on her arrival, 
 she had approached the Colonel, and the 
 Colonel had got up and gone away. Kitty 
 had then laughed. Miss Keating suspected 
 her of a similar social intention with regard 
 to the younger man. She knew his name. 
 She had looked it up in the visitors' book. 
 (She was always looking up people's names.) 
 She had made with determination for the 
 table next to him. Miss Keating, in the 
 dawn of their acquaintance, had prayed that 
 Mrs. Tailleur might not elect to sit next 
 anybody who was not nice. Latterly she 
 had found herself hoping that their place 
 might not be in view of anybody who was. 
 
 For three months they had been living 
 
20 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 in hotels, in horrifying publicity. Miss 
 Keating dreaded most the hour they had 
 just passed through. There was something 
 terrible to her in their entry, in their passage 
 down the great, white, palm-shaded, exotic 
 room, their threading of the ways between 
 the tables, with all the men turning round 
 to stare at Kitty Tailleur. It was all very 
 well for Kitty to pretend that she saved her 
 by thus diverting and holding fast the public 
 eye. Miss Keating felt that the tail of it 
 flicked her unpleasantly as she followed in 
 that troubled, luminous wake. 
 
 It had not been quite so unbearable in 
 Brighton, at Easter, when the big hotels 
 were crowded, and Mrs. Tailleur was not 
 so indomitably conspicuous. Or else Miss 
 Keating had not been so painfully alive to 
 her. But Southbourne was half empty in 
 early June, and the Cliff Hotel, small as it 
 was, had room for the perfect exhibition of 
 jVIi-s. Tailleur. It gave her wide, polished 
 spaces and clean, brilliant backgrounds, yards 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 21 
 
 of parquetry for the gliding of her feet, 
 and monstrous mirrors for reflecting her face 
 at unexpected angles. These distances fined 
 her grace still finer, and lent her a certain 
 pathos, the charm of figures vanishing and 
 remote. 
 
 Not that you could think of Kitty Tailleur 
 as in the least remote or vanishing. She 
 seemed to be always approaching, to hover 
 imminently and dangerously near. 
 
 Mr. Lucy looked fairly unapproachable. 
 His niceness, Miss Keating imagined, would 
 keep him linked arm in arm with his sister, 
 maintaining, unconsciously, inoffensively, his 
 distance and distinction. He would manage 
 better than the Colonel. He would not have 
 to get up and go away. So Miss Keating 
 thought. 
 
 From the lounge behind the veranda, 
 Kitty's voice came to her again. Kitty was 
 excited and her voice went winged. It flew 
 upward, touched a perilous height and 
 shook there. It hung, on its delicate, ferni- 
 
22 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 nine wings, dominating the male voices that 
 contended, brutally, below. Now and then 
 it found its lyric mate, a high, adolescent 
 voice that followed it with frenzy, that 
 broke, pitifully, in sharp, abominable laughter, 
 like a cry of pain. 
 
 Miss Keating shut her eyes to keep out 
 her vision of Kitty's face with the look it 
 wore when her voice went high. 
 
 She was roused by the waiter bringing 
 coffee. Kitty Tailleur had come out on to 
 the veranda. She was pouring out Grace 
 Keating's coffee, and talking to her in another 
 voice, the one that she kept for children 
 and for animals, and for all diminutive and 
 helpless things. She was saying that Miss 
 Keating (whom she called Bunny) was a 
 dear little white rabbit, and she wanted to 
 stroke her. 
 
 "You see, you are so very small," said 
 Kitty, as she dropped sugar into Miss Keat- 
 ing's cup. She had ordered cigarettes and 
 a liqueur for herself. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 23 
 
 Miss Keating said nothing. She drank her 
 coffee with a distasteful movement of her Hps. 
 
 Kitty Tailleur stretched herself at full 
 length on a garden chair. She watched her 
 companion with eyes secretly, profoundly 
 intent under lowered lids. 
 
 "Do you mind my smoking.^" she said 
 presently. 
 
 "No," said Miss Keating. 
 
 "Do you mind my drinking Kiimmel.^" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you mind my showing seven inches 
 of stocking.^" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What do you mind, then.?" 
 
 "I mind your making yourself so very 
 conspicuous." 
 
 "I don't make myself conspicuous. I was 
 born so." 
 
 "You make me conspicuous. Goodness 
 knows what all these people take us for!" 
 
 "Holy Innocent! x\s long as you sit tight 
 and do your hair like that, nobody could 
 
24 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 take you for anything but a dear little bunny 
 with its ears laid back. But if you get 
 palpitations in your little nose, and turn up 
 your little white tail at people, and scuttle 
 away when they look at you, you can't 
 blame them if they wonder what 's the matter 
 with you." 
 
 *'\Yith me?'' 
 
 "Yes; it's you who give the show away.'* 
 Kitty smiled into her liqueur glass. "It 
 does n't seem to strike you that your behaviour 
 compromises me." 
 
 Miss Keating's mouth twitched. Her 
 narrow, rather prominent front teeth lifted 
 an instant, and then closed sharply on her 
 lower lip. Her throat trembled as if she 
 were swallowing some bitter thing that had 
 been on the tip of her tongue. 
 
 "If you think that," she said, and her 
 voice crowed no longer, "wouldn't it be 
 better for us not to be together.^" 
 
 Kitty shook her meditative head. "Poor 
 Bunny," said she, "why can't you be honest.^ 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 25 
 
 AVhy don't you say plump out that you 're 
 sick and tired of me? / should be. I 
 could n't stand another woman lugging me 
 about as I lug you." 
 
 "It isn't that. Only — everywhere we go 
 — there 's always some horrible man." 
 
 "Everywhere you go, dear lamb, there 
 always will be." 
 
 "Yes; but one doesn't have anything to 
 do with them." 
 
 "I don't have anything to do with them." 
 
 "You talk to them." 
 
 "Of course I do," said Kitty. "Why 
 not.?" 
 
 "You don't know them." 
 
 "H'm! If you never talk to people you 
 don't know, pray how do you get to know 
 them.?" 
 
 Kitty sat up and began playing w^ith the 
 matches till she held a bunch of them blazing 
 in her hand. She was blowing out the 
 flame as the Hankins came up the steps of 
 the veranda. They had a smile for the 
 
26 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 old lady in her corner, and for Miss Keating 
 a look of wonder and curiosity and pity; 
 but they turned from Mrs. Tailleur with 
 guarded eyes. 
 
 "^Miat do you bet," said Kitty, "that I 
 don't make that long man there come and 
 talk to me ? " 
 
 "If you do ^" 
 
 "I'll do it before you count ten. One, 
 two, three, four. I shall ask him for a 
 
 light - 
 
 "Sh-sh! He's coming." 
 
 Kitty slid her feet to the floor and covered 
 them with her skirt. Then she looked down, 
 fascinated, apparently, by the shining tips 
 of her shoes. You could have drawn a 
 straight line from her feet to the feet of the 
 man coming up the lawn. 
 
 "Five, six, seven." Kitty ht her last 
 match. "T-t-t! The jamfounded thing's 
 gone out." 
 
 The long man's sister came up the steps 
 of the veranda. The long man followed 
 
THE IMMORTAL ]\IO:\IENT 27 
 
 her slowly, with deliberate pauses in his 
 stride. 
 
 "Eight, nine," said Kitty, under her breath. 
 She waited. 
 
 The man's eyes had been upon her; but 
 in the approach he lowered them, and as he 
 passed her he turned away his head. 
 
 "It's no use," said Miss Keating; "you 
 can't have it both ways." 
 
 Kitty was silent. Suddenly she laughed. 
 
 "Bunny," said she, "would you like to 
 marry the long man.^" 
 
 Miss Keating's mouth closed tightly, with 
 an effort, covering her teeth. 
 
 Kitty leaned forward. "Perhaps you can 
 if you want to. Long men sometimes go 
 crazy about little women. And you 'd have 
 such dear little long babies — little babies 
 with long faces. Why not .= You 're just 
 the ri^rht size for him. He could make a 
 memorandum of you and put you in his 
 pocket; or you could hang on his arm like 
 a dear little umbrella. It would be all 
 
28 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 right. You may take it from me that man 
 is entirely moral. He would n't think of 
 going out without his umbrella. And he 'd 
 be so nice when the little umbrellas came. 
 Dear Bunny, face massage would do wonders 
 for you. Why ever not ? He 's heaps nicer 
 than that man at the Hydro, and you 'd have 
 married him, you know you would, if I 
 had n't told you he was a commercial traveller. 
 Never mind, ducky; I dare say he was n't." 
 
 Kitty curled herself up tight on the long 
 chair and smiled dreamily at Miss Keating. 
 
 "Do you remember the way you used to 
 talk at Matlock, just after I found you 
 there .^ You were such a rum little thing. 
 You said it would be very much better if 
 we had n't any bodies, so that people could 
 fall in love in a prettier way, and only be 
 married spiritually. You said God ought 
 to have arranged things on that footing. 
 You looked so miserable when you said it. 
 By the way, I would n't go about saying 
 that sort of thing to people. That's how I 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 29 
 
 spotted you. I know men think it's one of 
 the symptoms." 
 
 "Symptoms of what?" 
 
 *'Of that state of mind. When a woman 
 comes to me and talks about being spiritual, 
 I always know she is n't — at the moment. 
 You asked me, Bunny — the second time I 
 met you — if I believed in spiritual love, and 
 all that. I did n't, and I don't. AVhen 
 you 're gone on a man all you want is to 
 get him, and keep him to yourself. I dare 
 say it feels jolly spiritual — especially, when 
 you 're not sure of the man — but it is n't. If 
 you 're gone on him enough to give him up 
 when you 've got him, there might be some 
 spirituality in that. I shall believe in it 
 when I see it done." 
 
 "Seriously," she continued, "if you 'd 
 been married. Bunny, you would n't have 
 had half such a beastly time. You 're one of 
 those leaning, clinging little women who 
 require a strong, safe man to support them. 
 You ought to be married." 
 
30 THE IMMORTAL :M0MENT 
 
 Miss Keating smiled a little sad, spiritual 
 smile, and said that was the last thing she 
 wanted. 
 
 "Well," said Kitty, "I didn't say it was 
 the first." 
 
 Kitty's smile was neither sad nor spiritual. 
 She uncurled herself, got up, and stood over 
 her companion, stroking her sleek, thin hair. 
 
 Miss Keating purred under the caress. 
 She held up her hand to Kitty who took it 
 and gave it a squeeze before she let it go. 
 
 "Poor Bunnv. Nice Bunnv," she said 
 (as if Miss Keating were an animal). She 
 stretched out her arms, turned, and dis- 
 appeared through the lounge into the billiard- 
 room. 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 T COULD not be denied that Kitty had a 
 charm. Miss Keatinfj was not denvino^ 
 it, even now, when she was saying to herself 
 that Kitty had a way of attracting very 
 disagreeable attention. 
 
 At first she had supposed that this was an 
 effect of Kitty's charm, disagreeable to Kitty. 
 Then, even in the beginning, she had seen 
 that there was something deliberate and 
 perpetual in Kitty's challenge of the public 
 eye. The public eye, so far from pursuing 
 Kitty, was itself pursued, tracked down and 
 captured. Kitty could n't let it go. Publicity 
 was what Kitty coveted. 
 
 She had then supposed that Kitty was 
 used to it; that she was, in some mvsterious 
 way, a personage. There would be tempta- 
 tions, she had imagined, for any one who had 
 a charm that lived thus in the j^ublic eye. 
 
 31 
 
32 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 And Kitty had her good points, too. 
 There was nobody so easy to Uve with as 
 Kitty in her private capacity, if she could 
 be said to have one. She never wanted to 
 be amused, or read to, or sat up with late at 
 night, like the opulent invalids INIiss Keating 
 had been with hitherto. Miss Keating owed 
 everything she had to Kitty, her health (she 
 was constitutionally ansemic), her magnificent 
 salary, the luxurious gaiety in which they 
 lived and moved (moved, perhaps, rather 
 more than lived). The very combs in her 
 hair were Kitty's. So were the gowns she 
 wore on occasions of splendour and display. 
 It struck her as odd that they were all public, 
 these occasions, things they paid to go to. 
 
 It had dawned on her by this time, coldly, 
 disagreeably, that Kitty Tailleur was nobody, 
 nobody, that is to say, in particular. A 
 person of no account in the places where 
 they had stayed. In their three months' 
 wanderings they had never been invited to 
 any private house. Miss Keating could not 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 33 
 
 account for that air of ill-defined celebrity 
 that hung round Kitty like a scent, and marked 
 her trail. 
 
 Not that any social slur seemed to attach 
 to Kitty. The acquaintances she had made 
 in her brief and curious fashion were all, or 
 nearly all, socially immaculate. The friends 
 (they were all men) who came to her of 
 their own intimate accord, belonged, some of 
 them, to an aristocracy higher than that 
 represented by Mr. Lucy or the Colonel. 
 xA.nd they had been by no means impervious 
 to Kitty's charm. 
 
 From the sounds that came from the 
 billiard-room she gathered that Kitty's charm 
 appealed also to her audience in there. 
 Leaning her body forward so as to listen, 
 Miss Keating became aware that Lucy had 
 returned to the lounge, and was strolling 
 about in it, as if he were looking for some- 
 body. He strolled into the veranda. 
 
 The garden was dark now, but a little 
 light fell on the veranda from the open 
 
34 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 windows of the lounge. Lucy looked at 
 Mrs. Tailleur's empty chair. He was about 
 to sit in it when he saw that he was alone 
 with Mrs. Tailleur's companion. He rose 
 again for flight. Miss Keating rose also with 
 the same intention. 
 
 Lucy protested. "Please don't let me 
 disturb you. I am not going to sit here." 
 
 "But I am driving you in." 
 
 "Not at all. I only thought you might 
 object to my smoking." 
 
 "But I don't object." 
 
 "You don't, really.^" 
 
 "If I stay," said she, "will that prove WV 
 
 "Please do," said Lucy. 
 
 INIiss Keating pushed her chair as far as 
 possible from his. She seated herself with a 
 fugitive, sidelong movement; as much as to 
 say she left him to the sanctuary he sought. 
 He would please to observe the perfection of 
 her withdrawal. The table with the match- 
 stand on it stood between them. 
 
 Lucy approached the match-stand tenta- 
 
THE IMMORTAL M0:MENT 35 
 
 lively. Miss Keating, averted and effaced, 
 was yet aware of him. 
 
 "I'm afraid there are no matches," said 
 she. "Mrs. Tailleur has used them all." 
 So effaced and so averted was Miss Keating 
 that there was nothing left of her but a 
 sweet, attenuated, disembodied voice. It was 
 as if spirit spoke to spirit with the consecrated 
 doors between. 
 
 Lucy smiled. He paused at Mrs. Tailleur's 
 chair. 
 
 "Is your friend coming back again .^" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 It might have been an effect of her remote- 
 ness, but Miss Keating's tone conveyed 
 to him ever so slight a repudiation of Mrs. 
 Tailleur. 
 
 He seated himself; and as he did so he 
 searched his coat pockets. There were no 
 matches there. He knew he would find some 
 in the lounge. Perhaps he might find Mrs. 
 Tailleur also. He would get up and look. 
 
36 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Miss Keating (still disembodied) rose and 
 withdrew herself completely, and Lucy thought 
 better of his intention. He lay back and 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 A light tap on the table roused him. It 
 was Miss Keating laying down a match-box. 
 He saw her hand poised yet in the delicacy 
 of its imperceptible approach. 
 
 He stared, stupefied with embarrassment. 
 He stuttered with it. "Really — I — I — I 
 wish you had n't." He did not take up the 
 match-box all at once, lest he should seem 
 prompt in accepting this rather extraordinary 
 service. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur's companion slid back into 
 her seat and sat there smiling; to herself and 
 to the incommunicative night. 
 
 *'I hope,'* she said presently, "you are 
 not refraining from smoking because of 
 me." 
 
 She was very sweet and soft and gentle. 
 But she had not struck him as gentle or soft 
 or sweet when he had seen her with Mrs. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 37 
 
 Tailleur, and he was not prepared to take 
 that view of her now. 
 
 "Thank you," he said. He could not 
 think of anything else to say. He Ht his 
 cigarette, and smoked in an innocent 
 abstraction. 
 
 A clock indoors struck ten. Miss Keating 
 accounted for her continuance. "It is the 
 only quiet place in the hotel," said she. 
 
 He assented, wondering if this were meant 
 for a conversational opening. 
 
 "And the night air is so very sw^eet and 
 pure." 
 
 "I'm afraid you find this smoke of mine 
 anything but " 
 
 a 
 
 If you are so serious about it," said she, "I 
 shall be afraid either to stay out or to go in." 
 If there were any opening there he missed 
 it. He had turned at the sound of a skirt 
 trailing, and he saw that Mrs. Tailleur had 
 come back into the lounge. He w^as thought- 
 ful for a moment. Then he got up quietly 
 and went in. 
 
38 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 He did not speak to her or look at her. 
 He sat very still in a corner of the room 
 where he could see her reflection in a big 
 mirror. It did not occur to him that Mrs. 
 Tailleur could see his, too. 
 
 Outside in the veranda. Miss Keating 
 sat shuddering in the night air. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 LUCY'S mind was like his body. Super- 
 ficial people called it narrow, because 
 the sheer length of it diverted their attention 
 from its breadth. Visionary, yet eager for 
 the sound impact of the visible, it was never 
 more alert than when it, so to speak, sat still, 
 absorbed in its impressions. It was the sport 
 of young and rapid impulses, which it seemed 
 to obey sluggishly, while, all the time, it 
 moved with immense, slow strides to incred- 
 ibly far conclusions. Having reached a con- 
 clusion it was apt to stay there. The very 
 length of its stride made turning awkward 
 for it. 
 
 He had reached a conclusion now, on his 
 third night in Southbourne. He must do 
 something, he did not yet know what, for 
 the protection of Mrs. Tailleur. 
 
 Her face was an appeal to the chivalry 
 
 39 
 
40 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 that sat quiet in Lucy's heart, nursing young 
 dreams of opportunity. 
 
 Lucy's chivalry had been formed by tliree 
 weeks of courtship and three years of 
 wedded incompatibihty. The incompatibility 
 had hardly dawned on him when his wife 
 died. Three years were too short a space 
 for Lucy's mind to turn in; and so he always 
 thought of her tenderly as dear little Amy. 
 She had given him two daughters and paid 
 for the younger with her life. 
 
 Five years of fatherhood finished his train- 
 ing in the school of chivalry. He had been 
 profoundly moved by little Amy's sacrifice 
 to the powers of life, and he was further 
 touched by the heartrending spectacle of 
 Jane. Jane doing all she knew for him; 
 Jane, so engaging in her innocence, hiding 
 her small, childlike charm under dark airs 
 of assumed maternity; Jane, whose skirts 
 fluttered wide to all the winds of dream; 
 Jane with an apron on and two little girls 
 tied to the strings of it; Jane, adorable in 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 41 
 
 disaster, striving to be discreet and comfort- 
 able and competent. 
 
 He had a passionate pity for all creatures 
 troubled and unfortunate. And ]\Irs. Tail- 
 leur's face called aloud to him for pity. For 
 Lucy Mrs. Tailleur's face wore, like a veil, 
 the shadow of the incredible past and of the 
 future; it was reminiscent and prophetic of 
 terrible and tragic things. Across the great 
 spaces of the public rooms his gaze answered 
 her call. Then Mrs. Tailleur's face would 
 become dumb. Like all hurt things, she 
 was manifestly shy of observation and pur- 
 suit. 
 
 Pursuit and observation, perpetual, im- 
 placable, were what she had to bear. The 
 women had driven her from the drawing- 
 room; the men made the smoke-room im- 
 possible. A cold, wet mist came with the 
 evenings. It lay over the sea and drenched 
 the lawns of the hotel garden. Mrs. Tailleur 
 had no refuge but the lounge. 
 
 To-night the wine-faced man and his 
 
42 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 companion had tracked her there. Mrs. 
 Tailleur had removed herself from the corner 
 where they had hemmed her in. She had 
 found an unoccupied sofa near the writing- 
 table. The pursuer was seized instantly with 
 a desire to write letters. Mrs. Tailleur went 
 out and shivered on the veranda. His eyes 
 followed her. In passing she had turned her 
 back on the screened hearth-place where Lucy 
 and his sister sat alone. 
 
 "Did you see that ?" said Lucy. 
 
 "I did indeed," said Jane. 
 
 "It's awful that a woman should be ex- 
 posed to that sort of thing. ^Miat can her 
 people be thinking oi?" 
 
 "Her people?" 
 
 "Yes; to let her go about alone." 
 
 "I go about alone," said Jane pensively. 
 
 "Yes, but she 's so good looking." 
 
 "Am I not.?" 
 
 "You 're all right, Jenny; but you never 
 looked like that. There 's something about 
 her " 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 43 
 
 "Is that what makes those men horrid 
 to her?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so. The brutes!" He 
 paused irritably. "It mustn't happen 
 
 again." 
 
 **" What's the poor lady to do.^" said 
 Jane. 
 
 "She can't do anything. We must." 
 
 "We.?" 
 
 "I must. You must. Go out to her, 
 Janey, and be nice to her." 
 
 "No, you go and say I sent you." 
 
 He strode out on to the veranda. Mrs. 
 Tailleur sat with her hands in her lap, 
 motionless, and, to his senses, unaware. 
 
 "Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 She started and looked up at him. 
 
 " My sister asked me to tell you that there 's 
 a seat for you in there, if you don't mind 
 sitting with us." 
 
 "But won't you mind me.?" 
 
 "Not — not," said Lucy (he positively 
 stammered), "not if you don't mind us." 
 
44 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur looked at him again, wide 
 eyed, with the strange and pitiful candour 
 of distrust. Then she smiled incomprehen- 
 sibly. 
 
 Her eyelids dropped as she slid past him 
 to the seat beside Jane. He noticed that 
 she had the sudden, furtive ways of the 
 wild thing aware of the hunter. 
 
 "May I really.?" said Mrs. Tailleur. 
 
 "Oh, i:)leasej' said Jane. 
 
 As she spoke the man at the writing- 
 table looked up and stared. Not at Mrs. 
 Tailleur this time, but at Jane. He stared 
 with a wonder so spontaneous, so supreme, 
 that it purged him of offence. 
 
 He stared again (with less innocence) 
 at Lucy as the young man gave way, rever- 
 ently, to the sweep of Mrs. Tailleur's gown. 
 Lucy's face intimated to him that he had 
 made a bad mistake. The wretch admitted, 
 by a violent flush, that it was possible. Then 
 his eyes turned again to Mrs. Tailleur. It 
 was as much as to say he had only been 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 45 
 
 relying on the incorruptible evidence of his 
 senses. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur sat down and breathed hard. 
 
 '*How sweet of you!" Her voice rang 
 with the labour of her breast. 
 
 Lucy smiled as he caught the word. He 
 would have condemned the stress of it, but 
 that Mrs. Tailleur's voice pleaded forgiveness 
 for any word she chose to utter. "Even," 
 he said to himself, "if you could forget her 
 face." 
 
 He could n't forget it. As he sat there 
 trying to read, it came between him and his 
 book. It tormented him to find its meaning. 
 Kitty's face was a thing both delicate and 
 crude. When she was gay it showed a 
 blurred edge, a fineness in peril. When she 
 was sad it wore the fixed look of artificial 
 maturity. It was like a young bud opened 
 by inquisitive fingers and forced to be a 
 flower. Some day, the day before it withered, 
 the bruised veins would glow again, and a 
 hectic spot betray, like a bruise, the violation 
 
46 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 of its bloom. At the moment, repose gave 
 back its beauty to Kitty's face. Lucy noticed 
 that the large black pupils of her eyes were 
 ringed with a dark blue iris, spotted with 
 black. There was no colour about her at 
 all except that blue, and the delicate red of 
 her mouth. In her black gown she was a 
 revelation of pure form. Colour would have 
 obscured her, made her ineffectual. 
 
 He sat silent, hardly daring to look at her. 
 So keen was his sense of her that he could 
 almost have heard the beating of her breast 
 against her gown. Once she sighed, and 
 Lucy stirred. Once she stirred slightly, 
 and Lucy, unconsciously responsive, sighed. 
 Then Kitty's glance lit on him. He turned 
 a page of his book ostentatiously, and Kitty's 
 glance slunk home again. She closed her 
 eyes and opened them to find Lucy's eyes 
 looking at her over the top of his book. 
 Poor Lucy was so perturbed at being detected 
 in that particular atrocity that he rose, drew 
 his chair to the hearth, and arranged him- 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 47 
 
 self in an attitude that made these things 
 impossible. 
 
 He was presently aware of Jane launching 
 herself on a gentle tide of conversation, and 
 of Mrs. Tailleur trembling pathetically on 
 the brink of it. 
 
 "Do you like Southbourne .^ " he heard 
 Jane saying. 
 
 Then suddenly Mrs. Tailleur plunged in. 
 
 "No," said she; "I hate it. I hate any 
 place I have to be alone in, if it 's only for 
 five minutes." 
 
 Lucy felt that it was Jane who drew back 
 now, in sheer distress. He tried to think 
 of something to say, and gave it up, stultified 
 by his compassion. 
 
 The silence was broken by Jane. 
 
 "Robert," said she, "have you written to 
 the children.?" 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur's face became suddenly 
 sombre and intent. 
 
 "No; I haven't. I clean forgot it." 
 
 He went off to write his letter. When he 
 
48 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 came back Mrs. Tailleur had risen and 
 was saying good night to Jane. 
 
 He followed her to the portiere and drew 
 it back for her to pass. As she turned to 
 thank him she glanced up at the hand that 
 held the portiere. It trembled violently. 
 Her eyes, a moment ago dark under her bent 
 forehead, darted a sudden light sidelong. 
 
 She paused, interrogative, expectant. Lucy 
 bowed. 
 
 As Mrs. Tailleur passed out she looked 
 back over her shoulder, smiling again her 
 incomprehensible smile. 
 
 The portiere dropped behind her. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 FIVE days passed. The Lucys had now 
 been a week at Southbourne. They 
 knew it well by that time, for bad weather 
 kept them from going very far beyond it. 
 Jane had found, too, that they had to know 
 some of the visitors. The Uttle Cliff Hotel 
 brought its guests together with a geniality 
 unknown to its superb rival, the Metropole. 
 Under its roof, in bad weather, persons not 
 otherwise incompatible became acquainted 
 with extraordinary rapidity. People had 
 begun already to select each other. Even 
 Mr. Soutar, the clergyman, had emerged 
 from his lonely gloom, and dined by pref- 
 erence at the same table with the middle- 
 aged ladies — the table farthest from the bay 
 window. The Hankins, out of pure kind- 
 ness, had taken pity on the old lady, Mrs. 
 Jurd. They had made advances to the 
 
 49 
 
50 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Lucys, perceiving an agreeable social affinity, 
 and had afterward drawn back. For the 
 Lucys were using the opportunity of the 
 weather for cultivating Mrs. Tailleur. 
 
 It was not easy, they told themselves, to 
 get to know her. She did not talk much. 
 But as Jane pointed out to Robert, little 
 things came out, things that proved that 
 she was all right. Her father was a country 
 parson, very strait-laced, they gathered; and 
 she had little sisters, years younger than 
 herself. When she talked at all it was in 
 a pretty, innocent way, like a child's, and all 
 her little legends were, you could see, trans- 
 parently consistent. They had, like a child's, 
 a quite funny reiterance and simplicity. But, 
 like a child, she was easily put off by any 
 sort of interruption. When she thought she 
 had let herself go too far, she would take 
 fright and avoid them for the rest of the 
 day, and they had to begin all over again 
 with her next time. 
 
 The thing, Lucy said, would be for Jane 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 51 
 
 to get her some day all alone. But Jane 
 said, No; Mrs. Tailleur was ten times more 
 afraid of her than of him. Besides, they 
 had only another week, and they did n't 
 want, did they, to see too much of Mrs. 
 Tailleur ? x\t that Lucy got very red, and 
 promised his sister to take her out some- 
 where by themselves the next fine day. 
 
 That was on Wednesday evening, when 
 it was raining hard. 
 
 The weather lifted with the dawn. The 
 heavy smell of the wet earth was pierced by 
 the fine air of heaven and the sea. 
 
 Jane Lucv leaned out of her bedroom 
 window and looked eastward bevond the 
 hotel garden to the Cliff. The sea was full 
 of light. Light rolled on the low waves 
 and broke on their tops like foam. It hung 
 quivering on the white face of the Cliff. 
 It was like a thin spray thrown from the 
 heavins: lio;ht of the sea. 
 
 At breakfast Jane reminded Robert of his 
 promise to take her for a sail on the first 
 
52 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 fine day. They turned their backs on the 
 hotel and went seaward. On their way to 
 the boats they passed Mrs. Tailleur sitting 
 on the beach in the sun. 
 
 Neither of them enjoyed that expedition. 
 It was the first of all the things they had 
 done together that had failed. Jane wondered 
 why. If they were not enjoying themselves 
 on a day like that, when, she argued, would 
 they enjoy themselves ? The day remained 
 as perfect as it had begun. There was 
 nothing wrong, Robert admitted, with the 
 day. They sailed in the sun's path and 
 landed in a divine and solitary cove. Robert 
 was obliged to agree that there was nothing 
 wrong with the cove, and nothing, no nothing 
 in the least wrong with the lunch. There 
 might, yes, of course there might, be some- 
 thing very wrong with him. 
 
 AMiatever it was, it disappeared as they 
 sighted Southbourne. Robert, mounting 
 with uneasy haste the steps that led from the 
 beach to the hotel garden, was unusually gay. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 53 
 
 They were late for dinner, and the table 
 next theirs was empty. Outside, on the great 
 green lawn in front of the windows, he could 
 see Mrs. Tailleur walking up and down, alone. 
 
 He dined with the abstraction of a man 
 pursued by the hour of an appointment. He es- 
 tablished Jane in the lounge, with all the mag- 
 azines he could lay his hands on, and went 
 out by the veranda on to the lawn where Mrs. 
 Tailleur was still walking up and down. 
 
 The Colonel and his wife were in the 
 veranda. They made a low sound of pity 
 as they saw him go. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur seemed more than ever alone. 
 The green space was bare around her as if 
 cleared by the sweep of her gown. She 
 moved quietly, with a long and even un- 
 dulation, a yielding of her whole body to 
 the rhythm of her feet. She had reached 
 the far end of the lawn as Lucy neared her, 
 and he looked for her to turn and face him. 
 
 She did not turn. 
 
 The lawn at this end was bounded by a 
 
54 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 gravel walk. The walk was fenced by a low 
 stone wall built on the edge of the Cliff. Mrs. 
 Tailleur paused there and seated herself side- 
 ways on the wall. Her face was turned from 
 Lucy, and he judged her unaware of his 
 approach. In his eyes she gained a new 
 enchantment from the vast and simple spaces 
 of her background, a sea of dull purple, a 
 sky of violet, divinely clear. Her face had 
 the intense, unsubstantial pallor, the magic 
 and stillness of flowers that stand in the blue 
 dusk before night. 
 
 She turned at the sound of the man's foot- 
 steps on the gravel. She smiled quietly, as 
 if she knew of his coming, and was waiting 
 for it there. He greeted her. A few words 
 of no moment passed between them, and 
 there was a silence. He stood by the low 
 wall with his face set seaward, as if all his 
 sight were fixed on the trail of smoke that 
 marked the far-off passage of a steamer. 
 Mrs. Tailleur's face was fixed on his. He 
 was aware of it. 
 
THE IMMORTAL INIOIMENT 55 
 
 Standing beside her, he was aware, too, of 
 something about her aUen to sea and sky; 
 something secret, impenetrable, that held 
 her, as it were, apart, shut in by her own 
 strange and solitary charm. 
 
 And she sat there in the deep quiet of a 
 woman intent upon her hour. He had no 
 ear for the call of her silence, for the voice 
 of the instincts prisoned in blood and brain. 
 
 Presently she rose, shrugging her shoulders 
 and gathering her furs about her. 
 
 "I want to walk," she said; "will you 
 come :' 
 
 She led the way to the corner where the 
 low wall was joined by a high one, dividing 
 the hotel garden from the open down. There 
 was a gate here; it led to a flight of wooden 
 steps that went zig-zag to the beach below. 
 At the first turn in the flight a narrow path 
 was cut on the Cliff side. To the right it 
 rose inland, following the slope of the down. 
 To the left it ran level under the low wall, 
 then climbed higher yet to the brow of the 
 
56 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 headland. There it ended in a square recess, 
 a small white chamber cut from the chalk 
 and open to the sea and sky. From the 
 floor of the recess the Cliff dropped sheer to 
 the beach two hundred feet below. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur took the path to the left. 
 Lucy followed her. 
 
 The path was stopped by the bend of the 
 great Cliff, the recess roofed by its bulging 
 forehead. There was a wooden seat set well 
 back under this cover. Two persons who 
 found themselves alone there might count 
 on security from interruption. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur and Lucy were alone. 
 
 Lucy looked at the Cliff wall in front of them. 
 
 *'We must go back," said he. 
 
 "Oh no," said she; "don't let 's go back." 
 
 "But if you want to walk " 
 
 "I don't," said she; "do you.^" 
 
 He did n't, and they seated themselves. 
 In the charm of this intimate seclusion Lucy 
 became more than ever dumb. Mrs. Tailleur 
 waited a few minutes in apparent meditation. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 57 
 
 All Lucy said ^Yas "May I smoke?" 
 
 "You may." She meditated again. 
 
 "I was wondering," said she, "whether 
 you were ever going to say anything." 
 
 "I didn't know," said Lucy simply, 
 "whether I might. I thought you were 
 thinking." 
 
 "So I was. I was thinking of what you 
 were going to say next. I never met any- 
 body who said less and took so long a time 
 to say it in." 
 
 "Well," said Lucy, "I was thinking too." 
 
 "I know you were. You needn't be so 
 afraid of me unless you like." 
 
 "I am not," said he stiffly, "in the least 
 afraid of you, I 'm desperately afraid of 
 saying the wrong thing." 
 
 "Tome.'^ Or everybody .P" 
 
 "Not everybody." 
 
 "To me, then. Do you think I might be 
 difficult.?" 
 
 "Difficult.?" 
 
 "To get on with.?" 
 
58 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Not in the least. Possibly, if I may say 
 so, a little difficult to know." 
 
 She smiled. "I don't usually strike people 
 in that light." 
 
 "Well, I think I 'm afraid of boring you." 
 
 "You could n't if vou tried from now to 
 midnight." 
 
 "How do you know what I mightn't 
 do .5^" 
 
 "That 's it. I don't know. I never 
 should know. It 's only the people I 'm 
 sure of that bore me. Don't they you.?" 
 
 He laughed uneasily. 
 
 "The people," she went on, "who are 
 sure of me; who think I 'm so easy to know. 
 They don't know me, and they don't know 
 that I know them. And they 're the only 
 people I've ever, ever met. I can tell what 
 they 're going to say before they 've said it. 
 It 's always the same thing. It 's — if you 
 like — the inevitable thing. If you can't 
 have anything but the same thing, at least 
 you like it put a little differently. You 'd 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 59 
 
 think, among them all, they might find it 
 easy to put it a little differently sometimes; 
 but they never do ; and it 's the brutal mo- 
 notony of it that I cannot stand." 
 
 "I suppose," said Lucy, "people are 
 monotonous." 
 
 "They don't know," said she, evidently 
 ignoring his statement as inadequate, "they 
 don't know how sick I am of it — how in- 
 sufferably it bores me." 
 
 "Ah! there you see — that's what I'm 
 afraid of." 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 "Of saying the wrong thing — the — the 
 same thing." 
 
 "That 's it. You 'd say it differently, and 
 it would n't be the same thing at all. And 
 what 's more, I should never know whether 
 you were going to say it or not." 
 
 "There 's one thing I 'd like to say to you 
 if I knew how — if I knew how you 'd take it. 
 
 You see, though I think I know you " 
 
 he hesitated. 
 
60 THE IMMORTAL IVIOMENT 
 
 "You don't really? You don't know 
 who I am? Or where I come from? Or 
 where I 'm going to ? I don't know my- 
 self." 
 
 "I know," said Lucy, "as much as I've 
 any right to. But unluckily the thing I 
 want to know " 
 
 "Is what you haven't any right to?" 
 
 "I 'm afraid I have n't. The thing I want 
 to know is simply whether I can help you 
 in any way." 
 
 She smiled. "Ah," said she, "you have 
 
 said it." 
 
 "Haven't I said it differently?" 
 "I'm not sure. You looked different 
 when you said it; that 's something." 
 
 "I know I've no right to say it at all. 
 What I mean is that if I could do anything 
 for you without boring you, without forcing 
 myself on your acquaintance, I 'd be most 
 awfully glad. You know you need n't 
 recognise me afterward unless you like. 
 Have I put it differently now ? " 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 61 
 
 "Yes; I don't think I've ever heard it 
 put quite that way before." 
 
 There was a long pause in which Lucy 
 vainly sought for illumination. 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Tailleur, as if to herself; 
 "I should never know what you were going 
 to say or do next." 
 
 "^youldn'tyou.?" 
 
 "No; I didn't know just now whether 
 you were going to speak to me or not. AMien 
 I said I wanted to walk I did n't know 
 whether vou 'd come with me or not." 
 
 "I came." 
 
 "You came; but when I go " 
 
 "You 're not going .^" 
 
 "Yes; to-morrow, perhaps, or the next 
 day. When I go I shall give you my 
 address and ask vou to come and see me; 
 but I shan't know whether you 'U come." 
 
 "Of course I'll come." 
 
 "There's no 'of course' about you; 
 that 's the charm of it. I shan *t know until 
 you 're actually there." 
 
62 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I shall be there all right." 
 
 **What? You'll come?" 
 
 "Yes; and I'll bring my sister." 
 
 "Your sister.-" She drew back slightly. 
 
 "Turn round, please — this way — and let 
 
 me look at you." 
 
 He turned, laughing. Her eyes searched 
 
 his face. 
 
 "Yes; you meant that. AYhy do you 
 
 w^ant to bring your sister.^" 
 
 "Because I want you to know her." 
 "Are you sure — quite — quite sure — 
 
 you want her to know me.-" 
 
 "Quite — quite sure. If you don't mind 
 
 — if she won't bore you." 
 "Oh, she won't bore me." 
 "You 're not afraid of that monotony.-" 
 She turned and looked long at him. "You 
 
 are yery like your sister," she said. 
 "Am 1.5 How .5 In what way .5" 
 "In the way we 'ye been talking about. 
 
 I suppose you know how remarkable you 
 
 are.'' 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 63 
 
 "No; I really don't think I do." 
 
 "Then," said Mrs. Tailleur, "you are all 
 the more remarkable." 
 
 "Don't you think," she added, "we had 
 better go back .?" 
 
 They Avent back. As they mounted the 
 steps to the garden door they saw Miss 
 Keating approaching it from the inside. 
 She moved along the low wall that over- 
 looked the path by which they had just 
 come. There was no crunching of pebbles 
 under her feet. She trod, inaudibly, the 
 soft edge of the lawn. 
 
 Lucy held the door open for Miss Keat- 
 ing when Mrs. Tailleur had passed through; 
 but Miss Keating had turned suddenly. 
 She made the pebbles on the walk scream 
 with the vehemence of her retreat. 
 
 "Dear me," said Lucy, "it must be rather 
 painful to be as shy as that." 
 
 "Mustn't it.?" said Mrs. Tailleur, 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE next day it rained, fitfully at first, 
 at the will of a cold wind that dragged 
 clouds out of heaven. A gleam of sunshine 
 in the afternoon, then wild rain driven 
 slantwise by the gusts; and now, at five 
 o'clock, no wind at all, but a straight, soak- 
 ing downpour. 
 
 The guests at the Cliff Hotel were all 
 indoors. Colonel Hankin and his wife 
 were reading in a corner of the lounge. 
 Mr. Soutar, the clergyman, was dozing over 
 a newspaper by an imaginary fire. The 
 other men drifted continually from the bar 
 to the billiard-room and back again. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur and Lucy were sitting in 
 the veranda, with rugs round them, watch- 
 ing the rain, and watched by Colonel and 
 Mrs. Hankin. 
 
 Jane had gone into the drawing-room to 
 
 64 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT Q5 
 
 write letters. There was nobody there but 
 the old lady who sat in the bay of the window, 
 everlastingly knitting, and Miss Keating 
 isolated on a sofa near the door. 
 
 Everybody in the hotel was happy and 
 occupied, except Miss Keating. Her eyes 
 followed the labour of Miss Lucy's pen, 
 watching for the stroke that should end it. 
 She had made up her mind that she must 
 speak to her. 
 
 Miss Keating was subject to a passion 
 which circumstances were perpetually 
 frustrating. She desired to be interesting, 
 profoundly, personally interesting to people. 
 She disliked publicity partly because it 
 reduced her to mournful insio-nificance and 
 silence. The few moments in her life which 
 counted were those private ones when she 
 found attention surrendered whollv to her 
 service. She hungered for the unworn, 
 unwearied sympathy of strangers. Her 
 fancy had followed and fastened on the 
 Lucys, perceiving this exquisitely \irgin 
 
66 THE IMMORTAL MO:\IENT 
 
 quality in them. And now she was suffering 
 from an oppression of the nerves that urged 
 her to a supreme outpouring. 
 
 Miss Lucy seemed absorbed in her corre- 
 spondence. She felt that Miss Keating's 
 eyes were upon her, and as she wrote she 
 planned a dexterous retreat. It would, 
 she knew, be difficult, owing to Miss 
 Keating's complete occupation of the sofa 
 by the door. 
 
 She had made that lady's acquaintance in 
 the morning, having found her sitting sad 
 and solitary in the lounge. She had then 
 felt that it would be unkind not to say some- 
 thing to her, and she had spent the greater 
 part of the morning saying it. Miss 
 Keating: had tracked the thin thread of 
 conversation carefully, as if in search of 
 an unapparent opportunity. Jane, aware of 
 the watchfulness of her method, had taken 
 fridit and left her. She had had an awful 
 feeling that Miss Keating was about to 
 bestow a confidence on her; somebody 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 67 
 
 else's confidence, which Miss Keating had 
 broken badly, she suspected. 
 
 Jane had finished her letters. She was 
 addressing the envelopes. Now she was 
 stamping them. Now she was crossing the 
 room. Miss Keating lowered her eyes as 
 the moment came which was to bring her 
 into communion w^ith the Lucys. 
 
 Jane had made her way very quietly to 
 the door, and thought to pass through it un- 
 observed, when Miss Keating seemed to leap, 
 up from her sofa as from an ambush. 
 
 "Miss Lucy," she said, and Jane turned 
 at the penetrating sibilants of her name. 
 
 Miss Keating thrust toward her a face of 
 tragic and imminent appeal. A nervous 
 vibration passed through her and communi- 
 cated itself to Jane. 
 
 "What is it.^" Jane paused in the door- 
 way. 
 
 "May I speak to you a moment.?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 But Miss Keating did not speak. She 
 
68 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 stood there, clasping and unclasping her 
 hands. It struck Jane that she was trying 
 to conceal an eagerness of ^yhich she was 
 more than half ashamed. 
 
 "What is it?" she said again. 
 
 Miss Keating sighed. "Will you sit 
 down ? Here — I think." She glanced 
 significantly at the old lady who was 
 betraying unmistakable interest in the scene. 
 There was no place where they could sit 
 bevond her range of vision. But the sofa 
 was on the far side of it, and Miss Keating' s 
 back protested against observation. 
 
 She bent forward, her thin arms stretched 
 out to Jane, her hands locked, as if she still 
 held tight the confidence she offered. 
 
 "Miss Lucy," she said, "you were so kind 
 to me this morning, so kind and helpful." 
 T did n't know it." 
 
 ^No, you did n't know it." Miss Keating 
 looked down, and she smiled as if at some 
 pleasant secret of her own. "I think when 
 we are really helping each other we don't 
 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 69 
 
 know it. You could n't realise what it 
 meant to me, your just coming up and 
 speaking to me that way." 
 
 "I'm very glad," said Jane; and thought 
 she meant it. 
 
 Miss Keating smiled again. "I wonder," 
 she said, "if I might ask you to help me 
 again f 
 
 "If I can." 
 
 "You look as if you could. I'm in a 
 great difficulty, and I would like you — if 
 you w^ould — to give me your advice." 
 
 "That," said Jane, "is a very dangerous 
 thing to give." 
 
 "It wouldn't be in this case. If I misrht 
 only tell you. There 's no one in the hotel 
 whom I can speak to." 
 
 "Surely," said Jane, "there is Mrs. 
 Tailleur, your friend." 
 
 "My friend.^ Yes, she is my friend; 
 that's why I can't say anything to her. 
 She is the difficulty." 
 
 "Indeed," said Jane coldly. Nothing in 
 
70 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Miss Keating appealed to the spirit of 
 adventurous sympathy. 
 
 "I have received so much kindness from 
 her. She is kind." 
 
 "Evidently," said Jane. 
 
 "That makes my position so very delicate 
 — so very disagreeable." 
 
 "I should think it would." 
 
 Miss Keating felt the antipathy in Miss 
 Lucy's tone. "You do think it strange of 
 me to come to you when I don't know 
 you.^" 
 
 "No, no; people are always coming to 
 me. Perhaps because they don't know 
 
 me." 
 
 "All, you see, you make them come." 
 "Indeed I don't. I try to stop them." 
 "Are you trying to stop me.^" 
 "Yes; I think I am." 
 "Don't stop me, please." 
 "But surelv it would be better to consult 
 your own people." 
 
 Miss Keating paused. Miss Lucy had 
 
THE IM:M0RTAL moment 71 
 
 suggested the obvious course, which she had 
 avoided for reasons which were not obvious 
 even to herself. 
 
 "My own people?" she murmured pen- 
 sively. "They are not here." 
 
 It was not her fault if Miss Lucy jumped 
 to the conclusion that they were dead. 
 
 "I wonder," she said, "if you see my 
 difficulty .= " 
 
 "I see it plainly enough. Mrs. Tailleur 
 has been very kind to you, and you want 
 to leave her. AMiy.^" 
 
 "I 'm not sure that I ought to stay." 
 
 "You must be the best judge of your 
 obligations." 
 
 "There are," said Miss Keating, "other 
 things; I don't know that I 'm a good judge 
 of them. You see, I was brought up very 
 carefully." 
 
 "Were you.?" 
 
 "Yes. I 'm not sure that it 's wise to be 
 as careful as all that — to keep young girls 
 in ignorance of things they — things they 
 
72 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 must, sooner or later " she paused 
 
 staring as if at an abyss. 
 
 "AMiat things?" asked Jane bluntly. 
 
 "I don't know what things. I don't 
 know anything. I 'm afraid. I 'm so innocent. 
 Miss Lucy, that I 'm like a child in the dark. 
 I think I want some one to hold my hand 
 and tell me there's nothing there." 
 
 *' Perhaps there isn't." 
 
 *' Yes, but it 's so dark that I can't see 
 whether there is or isn't. I'm just like a 
 little child. Except that it imagines things 
 and I don't." 
 
 "Don't you.? Are you sure you don't 
 let your imagination run away with you 
 sometimes.'^" 
 
 "Not," said Miss Keating, "not on this 
 subject. Even when I 'm brought into 
 contact" — her shoulder-blades obeyed the 
 suggestion of her brain, and shuddered. "I 
 don't know whether it 's good or bad to refuse 
 to face things. I can't help it. All that side 
 of life is so intensely disagreeable to me." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 73 
 
 "It 's not agreeable to me," said Jane. 
 *'And what has it got to do with Mrs. 
 Tailleur.?" 
 
 Miss Keating smiled queerly. "I don't 
 know. I wish I did." 
 
 "If you mean you think she isn't nice, 
 I can tell you I 'm sure you 're mistaken." 
 
 "It 's not what / think. It 's what other 
 people think." 
 
 "What people .5^" 
 
 "The people here." 
 
 Little Jane lifted her head superbly. 
 
 "TFe think the people here have behaved 
 abominably to Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 She lifted her voice too. She did n't care 
 who heard her. She rose, making herself 
 look as tall as possible. 
 
 "And if you 're her friend," said she, "you 
 ought to think so too." 
 
 She walked out of the room, still superbly. 
 Miss Keating was left to a painful meditation 
 on misplaced confidence. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 SHE had had no intention of betraying 
 Edtty. Kitty, she imagined, had 
 sufficiently betrayed herself. And if she 
 had n't, as long as Kitty chose to behave like 
 a dubious person, she could hardly be sur- 
 prised if persons by no means dubious refused 
 to be compromised. She, Miss Keating, was 
 in no way responsible for Kitty Tailleur. 
 Neither was she responsible for what other 
 people thought of her. That was all, in 
 effect, that she had intimated to Miss Lucy. 
 She did not say what she herself precisely 
 thought, nor when she had first felt that 
 uncomfortable sensation of exposure, that 
 little shiver of cold and shame that seized 
 her when in Kitty Tailleur's society. She had 
 no means of measuring the lengths to which 
 Kitty had gone and might yet go. She was 
 simply possessed, driven and lashed by her 
 
 74 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 75 
 
 vision of Ejtty as she had seen her yesterday; 
 Kitty standing at the end of the garden, 
 on the watch for Mr. Lucy; Kitty returning, 
 triumphant, with the young man at her heels. 
 
 She had seen Kitty with other men before, 
 but there was something in this particular 
 combination that she could not bear to think 
 of. All the same, she had lain awake half 
 the night thinking of it. She had Kitty 
 Tailleur and Mr. Lucy on her nerves. 
 
 She had desired a pretext for approaching 
 Miss Lucy, and poor Kitty was a pretext 
 made to her hand. Nothing could be more 
 appealing than the spectacle of helpless 
 innocence struggling with a problem as 
 terrible as Kitty. Miss Keating knew all 
 the time that as far as she was concerned 
 there was no problem. If she disliked being 
 with Kitty she had nothing to do but to pack 
 up and go. Kitty had said in the beginning 
 that if she did n't like her she must go. 
 
 That course was obvious but unattractive. 
 And the most obvious and most unattractive 
 
76 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 thins about it was that it would not have 
 brought her any further with the Lucys, 
 It would, in fact, have removed her alto- 
 gether from their view. 
 
 But she had done for herself now with 
 the Lucys. She should have kept her nerves 
 to herself, rasped, as they were to a treach- 
 erous tenuity. And as the state of her 
 nerves was owing to Kitty, she held Kitty 
 responsible for the crisis. She writhed as 
 she thoudit of it. She writhed as she 
 thought of Mr. Lucy. She writhed as she 
 thought of Kitty; and writhing, she rubbed 
 her own venom into her hurt. 
 
 Of course she would have to leave Kitty 
 now. 
 
 But, if she did, the alternatives were grim. 
 She would have either to go back to her 
 own people, or to look after somebody's 
 children, or an invalid. Her own people 
 were not interested in Miss Keating. Chil- 
 dren and invalids demanded imperatively 
 that she should be interested in them. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 77 
 
 And Miss Keating, unfortunately, was not 
 interested in anybody but herself. 
 
 So interested was she that she had for- 
 gotten the old lady who sat knitting in the 
 window, who, distracted by Miss Lucy's 
 outburst, had let her ball roll on to the floor. 
 It rolled away across the room to Miss 
 Keating's feet, and there was a great tangle 
 in the wool. Miss Keating picked up the 
 ball and brought it to the old lady, winding 
 and disentangling it as she went. 
 
 *' Thank you; my wool is a nuisance to 
 everybody," said the old lady. And she 
 began to talk about her knitting. All the 
 year round she knitted comforters for the 
 deep-sea fishermen, gray and red and blue. 
 When she was tired of one colour she went 
 to another. It would be red's turn next. 
 
 Miss Keating: felt as if she were being; drawn 
 to the old lady by that thin thread of wool. 
 And the old lady kept looking at her all the time. 
 
 "Your face is familiar to me," she 
 said. (Oddly enough, the old lady's face 
 
78 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 was familiar to Miss Keating.) "I have 
 met you somewhere; I cannot think where." 
 
 "I wonder," said Miss Keating, "if it 
 was at Wenden, my father's parish.?" 
 
 The old lady's look was sharper. "Your 
 father is the vicar of Wenden.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I thought so." 
 
 "Do you know him.?" The ball slipped 
 from Miss Keating's nervous fingers and the 
 wool was tangled worse than ever. 
 
 "No, no; but I could tell that you 
 
 were " she hesitated. "It was at Ilkley 
 
 that I met you. It 's coming back to me 
 You were not then with Mrs. Tailleur, I 
 think.? You were with an invalid lady.?" 
 
 "Yes; I was until I broke down." 
 
 "May I ask if you knew Mrs. Tailleur 
 before you came to her.?" 
 
 "No. I knew nothing of her. I know 
 nothing now." 
 
 "Oh," said the old lady. It was as if she 
 had said: that settles it. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 79 
 
 The wool was disentangled. It was 
 winding them nearer and nearer. 
 "Have you been with her long?" 
 "Not more than three months." 
 There were onlv five inches of wool be- 
 tween them now. "Do you mind telling 
 me where you picked her up.^" 
 
 Miss Keating remembered with com- 
 punction that it was Kitty who had picked 
 her up. Picked her up, as it were, in her 
 arms, and carried her awav from the dread- 
 fui northern Hydropathic where she had 
 dropped, forlorn and exhausted, in the trail 
 of her opulent invalid. 
 
 "It was at Matlock, afterward. Why.^" 
 
 "Because, my dear — you must forgive 
 
 me, but I could not help hearing what that 
 
 young lady said. She was so very — so very 
 
 unrestrained." 
 
 "Very ill-bred, I should say." 
 "Well, I should not have said that. 
 You could n't mistake the Lucvs for any- 
 thing but gentlepeople. Evidently I was 
 
80 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 meant to hear. I 've no doubt she thinks us 
 all very unkind. 
 
 "Unkind.? \Miy?" 
 
 "Because we have — have not exactly 
 taken to Mrs. Tailleur; if you '11 forgive my 
 saying so." 
 
 Miss Keating's smile forgave her. "People 
 do not always take to her. She is more a 
 favourite, I think, with men." She gave 
 the ball into the old lady's hands. 
 
 The old lady coughed slightly. "Thank 
 you, my dear. I dare say you have thought 
 it strange. AVe are such a friendly little 
 community here; and if Mrs. Tailleur had 
 been at all possible " 
 
 "I believe," said Miss Keating, "she is 
 very well connected. Lord Matcham is a 
 most intimate friend of hers." 
 
 "That doesn't speak very well for Lord 
 Matcham, I 'm afraid." 
 
 "I wish," said Miss Keating, "you would 
 be frank with me." 
 
 "I should like to be, my dear." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 81 
 
 "Then, please — if there's anything you 
 think I should be told — tell me." 
 
 "I think you ought to be told that we 
 all are wondering a little at your being seen 
 with Mrs. Tailleur. You are too nice, if I 
 may say so, and she is — well, not the sort of 
 person you should be going about with." 
 
 Miss Keating's mouth opened slightly. ] 
 
 "Do you know anything about her.?" 
 
 "I know less than you do. I'm only going 
 by what Colonel Hankin says." 
 
 "Colonel Hankin.?" 
 
 "Mrs. Hankin, I should say; of course 
 I could n't speak about Mrs. Tailleur to 
 him." 
 
 "Has he ever met her.?" 
 
 "Met her.? In society.? My dear! — he 
 has never met her anywhere." 
 
 "Then would he — would he really know .?" 
 
 "It isn't only the Colonel. All the men 
 in the hotel say the same thing. You can 
 see how they stare at her." 
 
 "Oh, those men!" 
 
82 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 *'You may depend upon it, they know 
 more than we do." 
 
 " How can they ? How — how do they tell ?" 
 
 *'I suppose they see something." 
 
 Miss Keating saw it, too. She shuddered 
 involuntarily. Her knees shook under her. 
 She sat down. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know what it is," said 
 the old lady. 
 
 *'Nor I," said Miss Keating faintly. 
 
 *'They say you've only got to look at 
 her " 
 
 A dull flush spread over Miss Keating's 
 face. She was breathing hard. Her mouth 
 opened to speak; a thick sigh came through 
 it, but no words. 
 
 *'I've looked," said the old lady, '*and I 
 can't see anything about her different from 
 other people. She dresses so quietly; but 
 I 'm told they often do. They 're very careful 
 that we should n't know them." 
 
 "They.^ Oh, you don't mean that Mrs. 
 Tailleur — is -" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 83 
 
 "I'm only going by what I 'm told. Mind 
 you, I get it all from Mrs. Hankin." 
 
 Miss Keating, who had been leaning for- 
 ward, sat suddenly bolt upright. Her whole 
 body was shaking now. Her voice was low 
 but violent. 
 
 " Oh — oh — I knew it — I knew. I always 
 felt there was something about her." 
 
 "I'm sure, my dear, you did n't know." 
 
 "I didn't. I didn't think it was 
 that; I only thought she wasn't nice. I 
 thought she was fast, or she 'd been divorced, 
 or something — something terrible of that 
 sort." 
 
 She still sat bolt upright, gazing open- 
 eyed, open-mouthed at the terror. She was 
 filled with a fierce excitement, a sort of 
 exultation. Then doubt came to her. 
 
 "But surely — surely the hotel people 
 would know.^" 
 
 "Hotel people never know anything that 
 is n't their interest to know. If there were 
 any complaint, or if any of the guests were 
 
84 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 to leave on account of her, Mrs. Tailleur 
 would have to go." 
 
 "And has there been any complaint.?" 
 
 "I believe Mr. Soutar — the clergyman — 
 has spoken to the manager." 
 
 "And the manager.?" 
 
 "Well, you see, Mr. Soutar is always 
 complaining. He complained about the food, 
 and about his bedroom. He has the 
 cheapest bedroom in the hotel." 
 
 Miss Keating was thinking hard. Her 
 idea was that Kitty Tailleur should go, and 
 that she should remain. 
 
 "Don't you think if Colonel Hankin spoke 
 to the manao^er — 
 
 5> 
 
 "He wouldn't. He's much too kind. 
 Besides, the manager can't do anything as 
 loner as she behaves herself. And now that 
 
 the Lucys have taken her up . And 
 
 then, there's you. Your being with her is 
 her great protection. As she very well knew 
 when she engaged you." 
 
 "I was engaged for that? 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 85 
 
 "There can be very little doubt of it." 
 
 "Oh! then nobody thinks that I knew 
 it? That I'm like her?" 
 
 "Nobody could think that of you." 
 
 "AMiat am I to do? I'm so helpless, and 
 I 've no one to advise me. And it 's not as if 
 we really knew anything." 
 
 "My dear, I think you should leave her." 
 
 "Of course I shall leave her. I can't 
 stay another day. But I don't know how 
 I ought to do it." 
 
 "Would you like to consult Colonel 
 Hankin?" 
 
 "Oh no; I don't think I could bear to 
 speak about it to him." 
 
 "Well — and perhaps he would not like to 
 be brought into it, either." 
 
 "Then what reason can I give her?" 
 
 "Of course you cannot tell her what 
 you 've heard." 
 
 Miss Keating was silent. 
 
 "Or if you do, you must please not give 
 me as your informant." 
 
86 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 ''I will not do that." 
 
 "Nor — please — Colonel and Mrs. Han- 
 kin. We none of us want to be mixed up with 
 any unpleasant business." 
 
 "You may trust me," said Miss Keating. 
 "I am very discreet." 
 
 She rose. The old lady held her with 
 detaining eyes. 
 
 "What shall you do when you have left 
 her.?" 
 
 "I suppose I shall have to look for another 
 place." 
 
 "You are not going home, then.?" 
 
 Miss Keating's half-smile hinted at re- 
 nunciation. "I have too many younger 
 sisters." 
 
 "Well, let me see. I shall be going back 
 to Surbiton the day after to-morrow. How 
 would it be if you were to come with me .?" 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. — Mrs. " The smile wav- 
 ered, but it held its place. 
 
 "Mrs. Jurd. If we suited each other 
 you might stay with me, at any rate for a 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 87 
 
 week or two. I 've been a long time look- 
 ing out for a companion." 
 
 Miss Keating's smile was now strained 
 with hesitation. Mrs. Jurd was not an 
 invalid, and she was interested in Miss Keat- 
 ing, These were points in her favour. On 
 the other hand, nobody who could do better 
 would choose to live with Mrs. Jurd and 
 wind wool and talk about the deep-sea 
 fishermen. 
 
 "I am living," said Mrs. Jurd, "with my 
 nephew at Surbiton. I have to keep his 
 house for him." 
 
 "Then do you think you would really 
 need any one .^" 
 
 "Indeed I do. My nephew isn't a com- 
 panion for me. He 's in the city all day and 
 out most evenings, or he brings his friends 
 in and they get smoking." 
 
 Miss Keating's smile was now released 
 from its terrible constraint. A slight tremor, 
 born of that deliverance, passed over her 
 face, and left it rosy. But having committed 
 
88 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 herself to the poHcy of hesitation she had a 
 certain dehcacy in departing from it now. 
 
 "Are you quite sure you would care to 
 have me?" 
 
 "My dear, I am quite sure that I don't 
 care to have any one who is not a lady; and 
 I am quite sure that I am talking to a lady. 
 It is very seldom in these days that one can 
 be sure." 
 
 Miss Keating made a little bow and blushed. 
 
 After a great deal of conversation it was 
 settled that she should exchange the Cliff 
 Hotel for the Metropole that night, and 
 that she should stay there until she left 
 Southbourne for Surbiton, with Mrs. Jurd. 
 
 When Colonel and Mrs. Hankin looked 
 in to report upon the weather, this scheme 
 was submitted to them as to supreme judges 
 in a question of propriety. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur was not mentioned. Her 
 name stood for things that decorous persons 
 do not mention, except under certain sanctions 
 and the plea of privilege. The Colonel 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 89 
 
 might mention them to his wife, and his 
 wife might mention them to Mrs. Jurd, 
 who might pass them on with unimpeachable 
 propriety to Miss Keating. But these ladies 
 were unable to discuss Mrs. Tailleur in the 
 presence of the Colonel. Still, as none of 
 them could do without her, she was permitted 
 to appear in a purified form, veiled in obscure 
 references, or diminished to an innocent 
 abstraction. 
 
 Miss Keating, INIrs. Jurd said, was not at all 
 satisfied with her — er — her present situation. 
 
 The Colonel lowered his eyes for one 
 iniquitous instant while Mrs. Tailleur, dis- 
 guised as Miss Keating's present situation, 
 laughed through the veil and trailed before 
 him her unabashed enormity. 
 
 He managed to express, with becoming 
 gravity, his approval of the scheme. He 
 only wondered whether it might not be 
 better for Miss Keating to stay where she 
 was until the morning, that her step might 
 not seem so precipitate, so marked. 
 
90 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Miss Keating replied that she thought she 
 had been sufficiently compromised already. 
 
 "I don't think," said the Colonel, "that 
 I should put it that way." 
 
 He felt that by putting it that way Miss 
 Keating had brought them a little too near 
 what he called the verge, the verge they 
 were all so dexterously avoiding. He would 
 have been glad if he could have been kept 
 out of this somewhat perilous debate, but, 
 since the women had dragged him into it, it 
 was his business to see that it was confined 
 within the limits of comparative safety. 
 Goodness knew where thev would be landed 
 if the women lost their heads. 
 
 He looked gravely at Miss Keating. 
 
 That look unnerved her, and she took a 
 staggering step that brought her within 
 measurable distance of the verge. 
 
 The Colonel might put it any way he 
 liked, she said. There must not be a 
 moment's doubt as to her attitude. 
 
 Now it was not her attitude that the 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 91 
 
 Colonel was thinking of, but his own. It 
 had been an attitude of dignity, of judicial 
 benevolence, of incorruptible reserve. Any 
 sort of unpleasantness was agony to a man 
 who had the habit of perfection. It was 
 dawning on him that unless he exercised 
 considerable caution he would find himself 
 mixed up in an uncommonly disagreeable 
 affair. He might even be held responsible 
 for it, since the dubiousness of the topic 
 need never have emerged if he had not un- 
 veiled it to his wife. So that, when Miss 
 Keating, in her unsteadiness, declared that 
 there must not be a moment's doubt as to 
 her attitude, the Colonel himself was seized 
 with a slight vertigo. He suggested that 
 people (luckily he got no nearer it than that) 
 — people were, after all, entitled to the 
 benefit of any doubt there might be. 
 
 Then, when the danger was sheer in front 
 of them, he drew back. Miss Keating, he 
 said, had nobody but herself to please. He 
 had no more light to throw on the — er — the 
 
92 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 situation. Really, he said to himself, they 
 could n't have hit on a more serviceable 
 word. 
 
 He considered that he had now led the 
 discussion to its close, on lines of irreproach- 
 able symbolism. Nobody had overstepped 
 the verge. Mrs. Tailleur had not once been 
 mentioned. She might have disappeared 
 behind the shelter provided by the merciful, 
 silent decencies. Colonel Hankin had shown 
 his unwillingness to pursue her into the dim 
 and undesirable regions whence she came. 
 
 Then suddenly Miss Keating cried out 
 her name. 
 
 She had felt herself abandoned, left there, 
 all alone on the verge, and before any of 
 them knew where they were she was over 
 it. Happily, she was unaware of the violence 
 with which she went. She seemed to herself 
 to move, downward indeed, but with a sure 
 and slow propulsion. She believed herself 
 challenged to the demonstration by the 
 Colonel's attitude. The high distinction 
 
THE IM:M0RTAL moment 93 
 
 of it, that was remotely akin to Mr. Lucy's, 
 somehow obscured and degraded her. She 
 conceived a disUke to this well-behaved and 
 honourable gentleman, and to his visible 
 perfections, the clean, silver whiteness and 
 the pinkness of him. 
 
 His case was clear to her. He was a man, 
 and he had looked at Kitty Tailleur, and 
 his sympathies, like Mr. Lucy's, had suffered 
 an abominable perversion. His judgment, 
 like Mr. Lucy's, had surrendered to the 
 horrible charm. She said to herself bitterlv, 
 that she could not compete with that. 
 
 She trembled as she faced the Colonel. 
 "Very well, then," said she, "as there is no 
 one to help me I must protect myself. I 
 shall not sleep another night under the same 
 roof as Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 The three winced as if the name had been 
 a blow struck at them. The Colonel's silver 
 eyebrows rose bristling, Mrs. Hankin got 
 up and went out of the room. Mrs. Jurd 
 bent her head over her knitting. None of 
 
94 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 them looked at Miss Keating; not even the 
 Colonel, as he spoke. 
 
 "If you feel like that about it," said he, 
 "there is nothing more to be said/' 
 
 He rose and followed his wife. 
 
 Upstairs, when their bedroom door had 
 closed on them, he reproved her very seriously 
 for her indiscretion. 
 
 "You asked me," said he, "what I thought 
 of Mrs. Tailleur, and I told you; but I never 
 said you were to go and hand it on. What 
 on earth have you been saying to those 
 women ?" 
 
 "I didn't say anything to Miss Keating." 
 
 "No, but you must have done to Mrs. 
 \Miat 's-her-name .^" 
 
 "Not very much. I don't like talking 
 about unpleasant subjects, as you know." 
 
 "Well, somebody's been talking about 
 them. I should n't wonder, after this, if 
 poor Mrs. Tailleur's room were wanted to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Oh, do you think they'll turn her out.?" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 95 
 
 She was a kind woman and she could not 
 bear to think it would come to that. 
 
 The Colonel was silent. He was sitting 
 on the bed, watching his wife as she undid 
 the fastenings of her gown. At that moment 
 a certain brief and sudden sin of his youth 
 rose up before him. It looked at him pitifully, 
 reproachfully, with the eyes of Mrs. Tailleur. 
 
 "I wish," said Mrs. Hankin, "we hadn't 
 said anything at all." 
 
 "So do I," said the Colonel. But for the 
 life of him he could n't help saying something 
 more. "If she goes," he said, "I rather 
 think that young fellow will go, too." 
 
 "And the sister.?" 
 
 "Oh, the sister, I imagine, will remain." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 KITTY was dressed. She was calling out 
 to her companion, "Bunny, hurry up, 
 you '11 be late." No answer came from the 
 adjoining room. She tapped a the door and 
 there was no answer. She tried to open the 
 door. It was locked on the inside. *' Bunny," 
 she cried, "are you there .^" She laid her ear 
 to the panel. There was the sound of a box 
 being dragged across the floor. 
 
 "You are there, are you ? Why don't 
 you answer.^ I can't hear you. Why can't 
 you open the door.'^" 
 
 Miss Keating unlocked the door. She 
 held it ajar and spoke through the aperture. 
 
 "Be good enough," she said, "to leave 
 me alone." 
 
 "All right; but you'll be awfully late 
 for dinner." 
 
 "I am not coming down to dinner." 
 
 9a 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 97 
 
 IVIiss Keating shut the door, but she did 
 not lock it. 
 
 Kitty gave a cry of distress. 
 
 *' Bunny, what is the matter.^ Let me in 
 — do let me in." 
 
 "You can come in if you like." 
 
 Kitty opened the door. But instead of 
 going in, she stood fixed upon the threshold, 
 struck dumb by what she saw. 
 
 The room was in disorder. Clothes littered 
 the bed. More clothes were heaped on 
 the floor around an open trunk. Miss 
 Keating was kneeling on the floor seizing on 
 things and thrusting them into the trunk. 
 Their strangled, tortured forms witnessed to 
 the violence of her mood. 
 
 "What are vou doing .^" 
 
 "You can see what I'm doing. I am 
 packing my things." 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 "Because I am going away." 
 
 " Have you had bad news ? Is — is any- 
 body dead .^" 
 
98 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I wouldn't ask any questions if I were 
 you." 
 
 "I must ask some. You know, people 
 do7i't walk off like this without giving any 
 reason." 
 
 "I am surprised at your asking for my 
 reason." 
 
 *' Sur — prised," said Kitty softly. "Are you 
 going because of me.^" 
 
 Miss Keating did not answer. 
 
 "I see. So you don't like me any more.^" 
 
 "We won't put it that way." 
 
 Kitty came and stood beside INIiss Keating 
 and looked down at her. 
 
 "Bunny, have I been a brute to you.^" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have I ever been a brute to any one.^ 
 Have you ever known me do an unkind 
 thing, or say an unkind word to any one ? 
 
 >>» 
 
 "N— no." 
 
 Then why do you listen when people 
 say unkind things about me.''" 
 
 Miss Keating stooped very low over the 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 99 
 
 trunk. Her attitude no doubt accounted for 
 the redness of her face which Kitty noticed. 
 "I think I know what they've been saying. 
 Did you or did you not hsten?" 
 
 "Listen?" 
 
 "Yes. I don't mean behind doors and 
 things. But you let them talk to you ?" 
 
 "You cannot stop people talking." 
 
 "Can't you.^" I'd have stopped them 
 pretty soon if they 'd talked to me about 
 you. What did they say.^" 
 
 "You 've said just now you knew." 
 
 "Very well. AYho said it.^" 
 
 "You 've no reason to assume that anybody 
 has said anvthins:." 
 
 "Was it Mr. Lucy, or his sister.?" 
 
 Miss Keating became agitated. 
 
 "I have never discussed you with Mr. 
 
 Lucv. Or his sister." There was a little 
 
 click in Miss Keating's throat where the lie 
 
 stuck. 
 
 "I know you haven't. They wouldn't 
 
 let you." 
 
100 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Kitty smiled. Miss Keating saw the 
 smile. She trembled. Tears started to her 
 eyes. She rose and began sorting the pile of 
 clothing on the bed. 
 
 Something in her action inspired Kitty 
 with an intolerable passion of wonder and 
 of pity. She came to her and laid her hand 
 on her hair, lightly and with a certain fear. 
 
 Miss Keating had once purred under 
 Kitty's caresses. Now she jerked back 
 suddenly and beat off the timid hand. 
 
 "I wish you would n't touch me.'* 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because it makes me loathe you." 
 
 Kitty sat down on the bed. She had 
 wrapped her hand in her pocket-handkerchief 
 as if it had been hurt. 
 
 "Poor Bunny," she said; "are you feel- 
 ing as bad as all that.^ You must want 
 dreadfully to marry that long man. But 
 you need n't loathe me. I'm not going to 
 make him marry we." 
 
 "Can you not think of anything but that.^" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 101 
 
 "I can tliinh of all sorts of things. At 
 present I 'm thinking of that. It does seem 
 such an awful pity that you have n't married. 
 A dear little, sweet little, good little thing 
 like you — for you are good. Bunny. It 's a 
 shame that you should have to live in rage 
 and fury, and be very miserable, and — and 
 rather cruel, just because of that." 
 
 *'If every word you said of me w^as true, 
 I 'd rather be myself than you, Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 "That, Miss Keating, is purely a matter 
 of taste. Unhappiness is all that 's the matter 
 with you. You 'd be quite a kind woman 
 if it was n't for that. You see, I do under- 
 stand you. Bunny. So it is n't very wise 
 of you to leave me. Think what an awful 
 time you '11 have if you go and live with 
 somebody who does n't understand and 
 won't make allowances. And you 're not 
 strong. You never will be as long as you 're 
 miserable. You '11 go and live with ill old 
 ladies and get into that state you were in at 
 Matlock. And there won't be anybody to 
 
102 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 look after you. And, Bunny, you '11 never 
 marry — never; and it'll be simply awful. 
 You '11 go getting older and older and nervier 
 and nervier, till you 're so nervy that even the 
 old ladies won't have you any more. Bad as 
 I am, you 'd better stop with me." 
 
 "Stop with you.^ How can I stop with 
 you ? 
 
 "Well, you haven't told me yet why you 
 
 can t. 
 
 "I can't tell you. I — I 've written you a 
 letter. It 's there on the dressing-table." 
 
 Kitty went to the dressing-table. 
 
 "I am returning you my salary for the 
 quarter I have been with you." 
 
 Kitty took up the letter. 
 
 "I 'd rather you did not read it until after 
 I am gone." 
 
 "That 's not fair. Bunny." 
 
 "Please — I 've written what I had to say 
 because I wished to avoid a scene." 
 
 "There won't be any scene. I'm not 
 going to read your beastly letter." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 103 
 
 She opened the envelope and removed the 
 notes and laid them on the dressing-table. 
 Then she tore up the letter and the envelope 
 together and tossed them into the grate. 
 
 "And I 'm not going to take those notes." 
 
 "Nor am I." 
 
 "You'll have to." She found her com- 
 panion's purse and tucked the notes inside 
 it. Miss Keating turned on her. "Mrs. 
 Tailleur, you shall not thrust your money 
 on me. I will not take it." 
 
 "You little fool, you 've got to." 
 
 Miss Keating closed her eyes. It was a 
 way she had. "I can't. And you must 
 please take back the things you 've given 
 me. They are all there; in that heap on 
 the bed." 
 
 Kitty turned and looked at them. They 
 were all there; everything she had ever 
 given to her, the dresses, the combs, the 
 little trinkets. She took some of these and 
 stared at them as she held them in her hand. 
 
 "Won't you keep anything.?" 
 
104 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I won't keep a thing.'* 
 
 "Not even the little chain I gave you? 
 Oh, Bunny, you liked your little chain." 
 
 Miss Keating took the chain from her and 
 laid it with the rest. 
 
 "Please leave me to pack." 
 
 "Presently. Bunny — look at me — straight. 
 Why are you doing this.'*" 
 
 "I wish to be spared the unpleasantness 
 of speaking." 
 
 "But you've got to speak. Out with it. 
 ^Miat have I done.^" 
 
 "You know better than I do what your 
 life has been." 
 
 " My life ? I should think I did. Rather." 
 
 Kitty crossed the room to the bell. 
 
 "What time does your train go.^" 
 
 "My ? I — must leave this at seven- 
 thirty." 
 
 Kitty rang the bell. A housemaid appeared. 
 
 "I want a fly at seven-thirty. Please see 
 that Miss Keating's luggage is downstairs 
 by then. Her room will not be wanted." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 105 
 
 Miss Keating's face was livid. 
 
 "You wish," said she, "the hotel people 
 to think that it is you who have s:iven me 
 notice ?" 
 
 "You poor thing. I only wanted the fly 
 to go down to my account." 
 
 "You expect me to believe that.^" 
 
 "I don't expect anything of you — now. 
 I suppose it 's Colonel Hankin who has 
 been talking about my life ? It was n't 
 INIr. Lucy, though you 'd like to make me 
 think so." 
 
 "There 's no need for anybody to talk. 
 Do you suppose I don't know what you are ? 
 You can't hide what 's in you. You 're — • 
 you 're full of it. And you 've no shame 
 about it. You can stand there, knowincr 
 that I know, and ask me what vou 've done. 
 How do I know what you 've done ? I 
 don't want to know it. It 's bad enough to 
 know what vou are. And to know that 
 I 've been living with it for three months. 
 You got hold of me, an innocent woman. 
 
106 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 and used me as a cover for your evil life. 
 That 's all you wanted me for." 
 
 "\Miatever I've done, I've done nothing 
 to deserve that." 
 
 *'You think not.^ Have you any idea 
 what you 've done — to me.^" 
 
 '*No; I have n't. What have I done.?" 
 
 "I 'm going to tell you. You 've never 
 ceased casting it up to me that I 'm not 
 married, that I have n't your attractions — I 
 thank heaven I have not — I am not the 
 sort of woman you take me for. I never 
 have wanted to be married, but if — if ever I 
 had, I should n't want it now. You 've spoilt 
 all that for me. I shall never see a man 
 without thinking of you. I shall hate every 
 man I meet because of you." 
 
 " Well, hate them, hate them. It 's better 
 than loving them. Let me strap that box. 
 You '11 tear your poor heart out." 
 
 Miss Keating wrenched the strap from 
 Kitty's hands. 
 
 *'Ah, how you hate me! Hate the men. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 107 
 
 dear, that can't do you any harm; but don't 
 hate the other women. At my worst I 
 never did that." 
 
 Miss Keating shrugged her shoulders, for 
 she was putting on her coat. Kitty looked 
 at her and sighed. 
 
 "Bunny," said she, "I want to make it 
 quite clear to you why you 're going. You 
 think it 's because you know something 
 horrible about me. But it is n't. You don't 
 know anything about me. You 've only been 
 listening to some of the people in the hotel. 
 They don't know anything about me either. 
 They 've never met me in their lives before. 
 But they 've been thinking things and saying 
 things, and you 've swallowed it all because 
 you wanted to. You 're so desperately keen 
 on making out there 's something bad about 
 me. Of course, you might have made it 
 out; you might have proved all sorts of 
 things against me. But you have n't. That 's 
 my whole point. You have n't proved a 
 thing, have you ? If you were my husband. 
 
108 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 and wanted to get rid of me, you 'd have to 
 trump up some evidence, would n't you?" 
 
 "There is no need to trump up evidence. 
 I 'm acting on my instinct and belief." 
 
 "Oh, I know vou believe it all right." 
 
 "I can't help what I believe." 
 
 "No, you can't help it. You can't help 
 what vou want. And you would n't have 
 wanted it if you had n't been so furiously 
 unhappy. I was furiously unhappy myself 
 once. That's whv I understand vou." 
 
 "It is five-and-twenty minutes past seven, 
 Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 "And in five minutes you '11 go. And 
 you won't hear a word in my defence ? 
 You won't ? Wiv, if I 'd murdered some- 
 body and they were going to hang me, they 'd 
 let me defend myself before they did it. 
 All I was going to say was — supposing 
 everything you said was true, I think you 
 might have made allowances for me. You 
 can't ? 1 was harder driven than you." 
 
 " No two cases could well be more different." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 109 
 
 *'Once they were the same. Only it was 
 worse for me. All your temptations are 
 bottled up inside you. Mine rushed at me 
 from inside and outside too. I 've had all 
 the thinfjs vou had. I had a strait-laced 
 parson for my father — so had you. I was 
 poked away in a hole in the country — so 
 were you. I had little sisters — so had you. 
 My mother sent me away from home for 
 fear I should harm them." Her voice shook, 
 "I wouldn't have harmed them for the 
 world. I was sent to live with an old lady 
 — so were you. I was shut up with her all 
 day, till I got ill and could n't sleep at night. 
 I never saw a soul but one or two other old 
 ladies. They were quite fond of me — I 
 made them. I should have died of it if it 
 had n't been for that. Then — do listen, 
 Bunny — something happened, and I broke 
 loose, and got away. You never had a 
 chance to get away, so you don't know what 
 it feels like. Perhaps, I think, when it 
 came to the point, you 'd have been afraid, 
 
110 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 or something. I was n't. And I was young. 
 I 'm young still. You can't judge me. Any- 
 how, I know what you 've been through. 
 That 's what made me sorry for you. Can 't 
 you be a little sorry for me ?'' 
 
 Miss Keating said nothing. She was 
 putting on her hat, and her mouth at the 
 moment was closed tight over a long hat- 
 pin. She drew it out slowly between her 
 shut lips. Meeting Kitty's eyes she blinked. 
 
 " You need n't be sorry," said Kitty. " I 've 
 had things that you have n't." 
 
 Miss Keating turned to the looking-glass 
 and put on her veil. Her back was toward 
 Kitty. The two women's faces were in the 
 glass, the young and the middle-aged, each 
 searching for the other. Kitty's face was 
 tearful and piteous; it pleaded with the 
 other face in the glass, a face furtive with 
 hate, that hung between two lifted arms 
 behind a veil. 
 
 Miss Keating's hands struggled with her 
 
 veil. 
 
<<XT, 
 
 THE IMMORTAL MO^^IEXT 111 
 
 I may n't tie it for you?" said Kitty. 
 No, thank you." 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and Miss 
 Keating started. 
 
 "It's the men for your boxes. Come into 
 my room and say good bye." 
 
 "I prefer to say good bye here, if it 's all 
 the same to you. Good bye." 
 
 "You won't even shake hands with me .^ 
 Well, if you won't — why should you.'^" 
 
 "I am holding out my hand. If you 
 won't take it " 
 
 "No, no. I don't want to take it." 
 
 Kitty was crying. 
 
 "I must let those men in," said Miss 
 Keating. "You are not going to make a 
 scene r 
 
 *'l? Oh Lord, no. You needn't mind 
 me. I '11 go." 
 
 She went into her own room and flung 
 herself, face downward, on to her pillow, 
 and slid by the bedside, kneeling, to the 
 floor. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 AT EIGHT o'clock ]\Trs. Tailleiir was not 
 -^ ^ to be found in her room, or in any other 
 part of the hotel. By nine Lucy was out 
 on the Cliff-side looking for her. He was 
 not able to account for the instinct that told 
 him she would be there. 
 
 The rain had ceased earlier in the evening. 
 Now it was falling again in torrents. Pie 
 could see that the path was pitted with 
 small, sharp footprints. They turned and 
 returned, obliterating each other. 
 
 At the end of the path, in the white 
 chamber under the brow of the Cliff, he 
 made out first a queer, irregular, trailing 
 black mass, then the peak of a hood against 
 the wall, and the long train of a woman's 
 gown upon the floor, and then, between the 
 loops of the hood, the edge of Mrs. Tailleur's 
 white face, dim, but discernible. She sat 
 
 11^ 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 113 
 
 sideways, leaninf^ against the wall, in the 
 slack, childlike attitude of exhausted misery. 
 
 He came close. She did not stir at the 
 sound of his feet trampling the slush. Her 
 eyes were shut, her mouth open; she 
 breathed, like a child, the half-suffocated 
 breath that comes after long crying. He 
 stood looking at her, tongue-tied with pity. 
 Every now and then her throat shook like a 
 child's with guileless hiccoughing sobs. 
 
 He stooped over her and called her name. 
 
 "Mrs. TaiUeur." 
 
 She turned from him and sank sidelong 
 into the corner, hiding her face. The long 
 wings of her cloak parted and hung back 
 from her cowering body. Her thin gar- 
 ments, beaten smooth by the rain, clung like 
 one tissue to the long slope above her knees. 
 Lucy laid his hand gently on her gown. 
 She was drenched to the skin. It struck 
 through, cold and shuddering, to his touch. 
 She pushed his hand away and sat up. 
 
 " I think," she said, "you 'd better go away." 
 
114 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Do you want me to go?" 
 
 "I don't want you to see me like this. 
 I 'm — I 'm not pretty to look at." 
 
 "That doesn't matter in the very least. 
 Besides, I can hardly see you in this 
 light." 
 
 He drew her cloak about her and fastened 
 it. He could feel, from the nearness of her 
 flushed mouth, the heat and the taste of 
 grief. She flung her head back to the wall 
 away from him. Her hood slipped, and he 
 put his arm behind her shoulders and raised 
 it, and drew it gently forward to shelter her 
 head from the rough wall. His hand was 
 wet with the rain from her loose hair. 
 
 "How long have you been walking about 
 in the rain before you came here.''" 
 
 She tried to speak, and with the effort 
 her sobs broke out in violence. It struck 
 him again, and with another pang of pity, 
 how like a child she was in the complete- 
 ness of her abandonment! He sat down 
 beside her, leaning forward, his face hidden 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 115 
 
 in his hands. He felt that to hide his own 
 face was somehow to screen her. 
 
 Her sobbing went on, and her hand, 
 stretched toward him unawares, clutched 
 at the top of the wooden seat. 
 
 "Would you like me to go away and 
 come back again?" he said presently. 
 
 "No!" she cried. And at her own cry 
 a terrible convulsion shook her. He could 
 feel her whole body strain and stiffen with 
 the effort to control it. Then she was calm. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she said. "I told 
 you, did n't I, that you 'd better go away .?" 
 
 "Do you suppose that I 'm going to leave 
 you here.'^ Just when I've found you.^" 
 
 " Miss Keating 's left me. Did you know ?" 
 
 "Yes, I heard. Is it — is it a great trouble 
 to you.?" 
 
 "Yes." She shook again. 
 
 "Surely," he began, and hesitated, and 
 grew bold. "Surely it needn't be? She 
 was n't, was she, such a particularly amiable 
 person?" 
 
116 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "She couldn't help it. She was so 
 unhappy." 
 
 His voice softened. "You were very fond 
 of her ?' ' 
 
 "Yes. How did you know she'd gone.^'* 
 
 It was too dark in there for him to see 
 the fear in her eyes as she turned them to 
 him. 
 
 "Oh," he said, "we heard she'd left. I 
 suppose she had to go." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Tailleur, "she had to 
 
 go." 
 
 <-iWT, 
 
 Well, I shouldn't distress myself any 
 more about it. Tell me, have you been 
 walking: about in the rain ever since she left ?'* 
 
 "I — I think so." 
 
 "And my little sister was looking for you 
 everywhere. She^ wanted you to dine with 
 us. We thought you would, perhaps, as 
 you were free." 
 
 "That was very good of you." 
 
 "We couldn't find you anywhere in the 
 hotel. Then I came out here." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 117 
 
 << ' 
 
 "What made you come?'* 
 "I came to look for you." 
 'To look for me?" 
 'Yes. You don't mind, do you?" 
 'How did you know I should be here?" 
 T didn't. It was the last place I tried. 
 Do you know it 's past nine o'clock ? You 
 must come in now." 
 "I — can't." 
 
 "Oh yes," he said, "you can. You're 
 coming back with me." 
 
 He talked as he would to a frightened 
 child, to one of his own children. 
 
 (< 
 
 I 'm afraid to go back." 
 
 <c 
 
 "Why?" 
 Because of Bunny. She told me people 
 were saying dreadful things about me. That 's 
 why she left. She could n't bear it." 
 
 Lucy ground his teeth. '^ She could n't bear 
 it ? That shows what she was, does n't it ? 
 But you — you don't mind what people say ?" 
 
 "No," she said, "I don't mind." 
 
 "Well " 
 
118 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Yes!" she cried passionately. "I do 
 mind. I 've always minded. It 's just the 
 one thing I can't get over." 
 
 "It's the one thing," said Lucy, "we 
 have to learn to get over. AMien you 've 
 lived to be as old as I am, you '11 see how 
 very little it matters what people say of us. 
 Especially when we know what other people 
 think." 
 
 "Other people.^" 
 
 "Friends," he said, "the people who 
 really care." 
 
 "Ah, if we only could know what they 
 think. That 's the most horrible thing of 
 all— what they think." 
 
 "Is that why you don't want to go back.^" 
 
 Lucy's voice was unsteady and very low. 
 
 "Yes," she whispered. 
 
 There was a brief silence. 
 
 "But if you go back with me,'' he said, 
 "it will be all right, won't it .^" 
 
 The look in her eves almost reached him 
 through the darkness, it was so intense. 
 
I THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 119 
 
 "No," she said out loud, "it won't. It 
 will be all wrong." 
 
 "I don't agree with you. Anyhow, I'm 
 going to take you back. Come." 
 
 "No," she said, "not yet. Mayn't we 
 stay here a little longer.?" 
 
 "No, we may n't. You 've got your death 
 of cold as it is." 
 
 "I 'm not cold, now. I 'm warm. Feel 
 my hands." 
 
 She held them out to him. He did not 
 touch them. But he put his arm round her 
 and raised her to her feet. And they went 
 back together along the narrow Cliff-path. 
 It was dangerous in the perishing light. He 
 took her hands in his now, and led her side- 
 long. When her feet slipped in the slimy 
 chalk, he held her up with his arm. 
 
 At the little gate she turned to him. 
 
 "I was kind to Bunny," she said, "I was 
 really." 
 
 "I am sure," he said gently, "you are 
 kind to everybody." 
 
120 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 *'That 's something, is n't it?" 
 "I 'm not sure that it is n't everything." 
 They went up the side of the garden, 
 along the shrubbery, by a path that led to 
 the main entrance of the hotel. A great 
 ring of white light lay on the wet ground 
 before the porch, thrown from the electric 
 lamps within. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur stepped back into the dark- 
 ness by the shrubbery. "Look here," she 
 said, "I'm going in by myself. You are 
 going round another way. You have not 
 seen me. You don't know where I am. 
 You don't know anything about me." 
 
 "I know," said Lucy, "you are coming 
 in with me." 
 
 She drew farther back. "I 'm not think- 
 ing of myself," she said, "I'm thinking of 
 
 you." 
 
 She was no longer like a child. Her 
 voice had suddenly grown older. 
 
 "Are you.?" he said. "Then you'll do 
 what I ask you." He held her with his 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 121 
 
 arm and drew her, resisting and unresisting, 
 close to him. 
 
 "Ah," she cried, "what are you going 
 to do with me ?" 
 
 "I am going," he said, *'to take you to 
 my sister." 
 
 And he went with her, up the steps and 
 into the hghted vestibule, past the hall-porter 
 and the clerk in his bureau and the manager's 
 wife in hers, straight into the lounge, before 
 the Colonel and his wife, and he led her to 
 Jane where she sat in her place beside the 
 hearth. 
 
 "It is n't half such a bad night as it looks," 
 said he in a clear voice. "Is it, Mrs. 
 TaiUeur.?" 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 FIVE minutes later Lucy was talking to 
 Colonel and Mrs. Hankin, with 
 genial unconcern. They never knew that he 
 knew what they had been saying, or how their 
 tongues had scourged Mrs. Tailleur out into 
 the lash of the rain. They never knew that 
 the young man who conversed with them 
 so amiably was longing to take the Colonel 
 by his pink throat and throttle him, nor that 
 it was only a higher chivalry that held him 
 from this disastrous deed. The Colonel 
 merely felt himself in the presence of an 
 incomparable innocence; but whether it was 
 Lucy who was innocent, or Mrs. Tailleur, 
 or the two of them together, he really could 
 not say. 
 
 Upstairs, in Mrs. Tailleur's bedroom, 
 Jane Lucy was talking to Mrs. Tailleur. 
 They were sitting be the hearth while Kitty, 
 
 122 
 
THE I:MM0RTAL moment 123 
 
 clothed in warm garments, shook out her 
 drenched hair before the fire. She had 
 just told Jane how Miss Keating had left 
 her, and she had become tearful again 
 over the telling. 
 
 "Need you mind so much? Is she 
 worth it?" said Jane, very much as Robert 
 had said. 
 
 "I don't mind her leaving. I can get 
 over that. But you don't know the awful 
 things she said." 
 
 "No, I don't; but I dare say she didn't 
 mean half of them." 
 
 "Didn't she though! I'll show you." 
 
 Kitty got up and opened the door into 
 the other room. It was as Miss Keating 
 had left it. 
 
 "Look there," she said, "what she 's done." 
 
 Jane looked. "I 'm not surprised. You 
 did everything for her, so I suppose she 
 expected you to pack and send her things 
 after her." 
 
 "It isn't that. Don't you see? It's — 
 
124 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 it 's the things I gave her. She flung them 
 back in my face. She would n't take one 
 of them. See, that 's the white frock she 
 was wearing, and the fur-lined coal (she 'II 
 be so cold without it), and look, that's the 
 little chain I gave her on her birthday. 
 She would n't even keep the chain." 
 
 "Well, I dare say she would feel rather 
 bad about it after she 's behaved in this 
 way." 
 
 "It isn't that. It's because they were 
 mine — because I wore them." Kitty began 
 to sob. 
 
 "No, no, dear Mrs. Tailleur " 
 
 "Yes, yes. She — she thought they'd 
 c — c — contaminate her." 
 
 Kitty's sobs broke into the shrill laugh 
 of hysteria. Jane led her to the couch 
 and sat beside her. Kitty leaned forward, 
 staring at the floor. Now and then she 
 pressed her handkerchief to her mouth, 
 stifling. Suddenly she looked up into Jane's 
 face. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 125 
 
 "Would you mind wearing a frock I'd 
 worn .^ 
 
 ''Of course I would n't." 
 
 Kitty's handkerchief dropped on to her 
 lap, a soaked ball, an insufficient dam. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "the beast! — the little, 
 little beast!" 
 
 She looked again at Jane, but with a 
 glance half cowed, half candid, like a child 
 that has proved, indubitably, its predestined 
 naughtiness. 
 
 "I didn't mean to use that word." 
 
 "I want to use it myself," said Jane. 
 "It's not a bit too much." 
 
 "I didn't mean it." 
 
 She added softly, reminiscently. "She 
 was such a little thing." 
 
 "Much too little for you to care about." 
 
 "That's why I cared. I know it was. 
 She was just like a little, lonely child; and 
 she clung to me at first." 
 
 "She certainly seems to have clung." 
 
 "That's why it's so awful to think that 
 
126 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 she could n't bear it — could n't bear to live 
 with me." 
 
 "We wondered how you could bear to 
 live with her." 
 
 "Did you.^" 
 
 "Yes. ^Miy did you have her .^ " 
 
 "You see, I had to have some one; and 
 she was nice." 
 
 "I don't think she was nice at all." 
 
 "Oh yes," said Kitty, solemnly, "you 
 could see thai.'' 
 
 "I suppose you mean she was a lady."" 
 
 "Ye — es." Kitty was not by any means 
 certain that that was what she did mean. 
 It was so difficult to find words for what 
 she meant. 
 
 "That," said Jane, "is the least you 
 can be." 
 
 "Anvhow, she was." 
 
 "Well, if vou take a charitable view 
 of her. Her people are probably nicer 
 than she is. Perhaps that 's why she does n't 
 live with them." 
 
THE IM:M0RTAL M0:^IEXT 127 
 
 "Her father," said Kitty, "is the vicar 
 of Wendell. I suppose that 's all right." 
 
 "Probably; but ice don't care what peoples* 
 fathers are like, provided they 're nice them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Do you think I 'm nice.^" 
 
 Jane laughed. "Yes, as it happens, I do." 
 
 "Ah, you — you " 
 
 "We both do," said Jane boldly. 
 
 "You're the first nice woman I've 
 known who has n't been horrid to me. 
 
 And he " Kitty had been playing 
 
 with a button of her dressing-gown. Her 
 fingers now began tearing, passionately, 
 convulsivelv, at the button. "He is the 
 first nice man who — who has n't been what 
 
 men are." 
 
 "You don't mean that," said Jane calmly. 
 She was holding Mrs. Tailleur's hand in 
 hers and caressing it, soothing its pathetic 
 violence. 
 
 "I do. I do. That's why I like you so." 
 
 "I 'm glad you like us." 
 
128 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I 'd give anything to know what you 
 really think of me." 
 
 "May I say what I think?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 **I think you 're too good to be so 
 unhappy." 
 
 "That's a new view of me. Most people 
 think I'm too unhappy to be very good." 
 
 "You are good; but if you 'd been 
 happier you 'd have known that other 
 people are what you call good, too." 
 
 "That's what I said to Bunny. She was 
 unhappy." 
 
 "Never mind her. If you 'd been happier 
 you 'd have known, for instance, that my 
 brother is n't an exception. There are a 
 great many men like him. All the men I 've 
 known have been more or less like Robert." 
 
 "They would be, dear; all the men you 've 
 known. But, you see, something happened. 
 Nothing ever happened to you." 
 
 "No. Nothing very much has happened 
 to me. Nothing very much ever will." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 129 
 
 "You never wanted things to happen, 
 did vou?" 
 
 "I don't know. Perhaps I 'm interested 
 most in the things that happen to other 
 people." 
 
 "You dear! If I'd been hke you " 
 
 "I wish," said Jane, "you 'd known Robert 
 sooner." 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur's Hps parted, but no voice 
 came through them. 
 
 "Then," said Jane, "whatever happened 
 never would have happened, probably." 
 
 "I wonder. What do you suppose 
 happened.^" 
 
 "I don't know. I've no business to 
 know." 
 
 "^^llat do you think.? Tell me — tell 
 me!" 
 
 "I think you 've been very badly handled." 
 
 "Yes. You may think so." 
 
 "When you were young — too young to 
 understand it." 
 
 **Ah, I was never too young to under- 
 
130 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 stand. That 's the difference between you 
 and me." 
 
 "That makes it all the worse, then." 
 
 "All the worse! So that 's what you 
 think .^ How does it make you feel to me.^" 
 
 "It makes me feel that I want to take you 
 away, and warm you and wrap you round, 
 so that nothing could ever touch you and 
 hurt you any more." 
 
 "That's how it makes you feel.^" 
 
 "That's how it makes us both feel." 
 
 ''He takes it that way, too.^" 
 
 " Of course he does. Any nice man would." 
 
 "If 7 were nice " 
 
 lou are nice. 
 
 "You don't know, my child; you don't 
 know." 
 
 "Do you suppose Robert does n't know.^" 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur rose suddenly and turned 
 away. 
 
 "I was nice once," she said, "and at times 
 I can be now." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 COLONEL HANKIN was mistaken. 
 Mrs. Tailleur's room was not wanted 
 the next day. The point had been fiercely 
 disputed in those obscure quarters of the 
 hotel inhabited by the management. The 
 manager's wife was for turning Mrs. Tailleur 
 out on the bare suspicion of her impropriety. 
 The idea in the head of the manager's wife was 
 that there should be no suspicion as to the 
 reputation of the Cliff Hotel. The manager, 
 on his side, contended that the Cliff Hotel 
 must not acquire a reputation for suspicion; 
 that any lady whom Miss Lucy had made 
 visibly her friend was herself in the position 
 so desirable for the Cliff Hotel; that, in any 
 case, unless Mrs. Tailleur's conduct became 
 such as to justify an extreme step, the scandal 
 of the ejection would be more damaging to 
 the Cliff Hotel than her present transparently 
 
 131 
 
132 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 innocent and peaceful occupation of the best 
 room in it. He wished to know how a 
 scandal was to be avoided when the place 
 was swarming with old women. And, after 
 all, what had they got against Mrs. Tailleur 
 except that she was better looking by a long 
 chalk, and better turned-out, than any of 
 'em ? Of course, he could n't undertake to 
 say — offhand — ^^yhether she was or was n't 
 any better than she should be. But, in the 
 absence of complaints, he did n't consider the 
 question a profitable one for a manager to go 
 into in the slack season. 
 
 All the manager's intelligence was con- 
 centrated in the small commercial eye which 
 winked, absurdly, in the solitude of his 
 solemn and enormous face. You must take 
 people as you found them, said he, and 
 for his part he had always found Mrs. 
 Tailleur 
 
 But how the manager had found Mrs. 
 Tailleur was never known to his wife, for at 
 this point she walked out of the private 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 133 
 
 sitting-room and shut herself into her bureau. 
 Her opinion, more private even than that 
 sitting-room, consecrated to intimate dispute, 
 was that where women were concerned the 
 manager was a perfect fool. 
 
 The window of the bureau looked out on 
 
 to the vestibule and the big staircase. And 
 
 full in sight of the window Mrs. Tailleur 
 
 was sitting on a seat set under the stair. She 
 
 had her hat on and carried a sunshade in her 
 
 hand, for the day was fine and warm. She 
 
 was waiting for somebody. And as she 
 
 waited she amused herself by smiling at the 
 
 little four-year-old son of the management 
 
 who played in the vestibule, it being the 
 
 slack season. He was running up and down 
 
 the flagged floor, dragging a little cart after 
 
 him. And as he ran he never took his eyes 
 
 off the pretty lady. They said, every time, 
 
 with the charming vanity of childhood, 
 
 "Look at me!" And Kitty looked at him, 
 
 every time, and made, every time, the right 
 
 sort of smile that says to a little boy, "I 
 
134 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 see you." Just then nobody was there to 
 see Kitty but the manager's wife, who stood 
 at the window of the bureau and saw it all. 
 And as the little boy was not looking in the 
 least where he w^as going, his feet were 
 presently snared in the rug where the pretty 
 lady sat, and he would have tumbled on his 
 little nose if Kitty had not caught him. 
 
 He was going to cry, but Kitty stopped 
 him just in time by lifting him on to her lap 
 and giving him her watch to Ioo-k at. A 
 marvellous watch that was gold and blue and 
 bordered with a ring of little sparkling stones. 
 
 At that moment Robert Lucy came down 
 the stairs. He came very quietly and leaned 
 over the banister behind Kitty's back and 
 w^atched her, while he listened shamelessly 
 to the conversation. The pretty lady looked 
 prettier than ever. 
 
 "My daddy gave my mummy her watch 
 on her birthday," said the little boy. "Who 
 gave you your watch .^" 
 
 "It wasn't your daddy, dear." 
 
(C 
 
 « 
 
 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 135 
 
 "Of course it wasn't my daddy." 
 
 "Of course not." 
 What is your name.^" 
 My name is Mrs. Tailleur." 
 
 " Mrs. Ty-loor. My name is Stanley. 
 That gentleman's name is Mr. Lucy. I like 
 him." 
 
 Lucy came down and seated himself beside 
 her. She made him a sign with her mouth, 
 as much as to say she was under a charm and 
 he was n't to break it. 
 
 "Do you like him, Mrs. Tyloor.?" 
 
 "Well— what do you think.?" 
 
 "I think you like him very much." 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur laughed softly. 
 
 "What makes you laugh .'^" 
 You. You 're so funny." 
 You 're funny. Your eyelashes curl up 
 when you laugh, and your eyes curl, too. 
 And your mouth!" he crowed with the joy 
 of it. "Such a funny mouth." 
 
 The mouth hid itself in the child's soft 
 neck among his hair. The woman in the 
 
 (( ' 
 
 '< V. 
 
136 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 bureau saw that, and her face became curiously 
 contracted. 
 
 "I remember the day you came. My daddy 
 said you was very pretty." 
 
 "And what did your mummy say.^" 
 
 Kitty had caught sight of the fierce face 
 in the window, and a little daring devil had 
 entered into her. 
 
 "Mummy said she couldn't tell if she 
 was n't allowed to look." 
 
 "And why," said Lucy, "wasn't she 
 allowed to look.^" 
 
 "Daddy said she wasn't to." 
 
 " Of course he did," said Lucy. "It 's very 
 rude to look at people." 
 
 "Daddy looked. I saw him." 
 
 The door of the bureau opened and the man- 
 ager's wife came out. She had a slight flush on 
 her face and her mouth was tighter than ever. 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur saw her coming and slipped 
 the child from her lap. The manager's wife 
 put out her hand to take him, but he turned 
 from her and clung to the pretty lady. 
 
THE IMMORTAL M0:MENT 137 
 
 The woman seized him by the arm and 
 tore him from her, and dragged him toward 
 the apartments of the management. The child 
 screamed as he went. 
 
 "Women hke that," said Lucy, "should n't 
 be allowed to have children." 
 
 Mrs. Tailleur turned to him though she 
 had not heard him. 
 
 "AMiat have I done.^ AMiat harm could 
 I do the little thing.-" 
 
 "AMiat have you done.^" It was hard for 
 him to follow the workings of her mind. 
 "You don't mean to say you minded that.^" 
 
 "Yes, I minded. I minded awfully." 
 
 "That dreadful woman .^" 
 
 "Do you think she really was dreadful ?" 
 
 "Quite terrible." 
 
 "I don't know. I suppose," she said, 
 "they're all like that. Yet they can't all 
 be dreadful." 
 
 Lucy laughed. He could n't see her 
 point. "I don't understand who 'they' 
 
 are." 
 
138 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "The women who are — the women who 've 
 got children." 
 
 She stooped down and picked up something 
 from the floor. It was the httle man out of 
 the cart that the child had been playing with, 
 that lay there, smashed, at her feet. The 
 manager's wife had stepped on it. Kitty set 
 the little man upon the seat and smiled at 
 him sadly. And Lucy smiled at her out of 
 a great and sudden tenderness. 
 
 He thought he saw it now. 
 
 *'I think," said he, "you must allow for a 
 little maternal jealousy." 
 
 "Jealousy.^ I can understand jealousy." 
 
 "So can I," said Lucy. 
 
 "And you think that was jealousy.^" 
 
 "Well, you know, that little boy was 
 making barefaced love to you." 
 
 She laughed. "I suppose," she said, "you 
 would feel like that about it." 
 
 She got up and they went out, past the 
 hotel front and down the lawn, in sight of 
 the veranda, where at this hour everybody 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 139 
 
 was there to see them. Lucy meant every- 
 body to see. He had chosen that place, and 
 that hour, also, which wore, appropriately, 
 the innocence of morning. He knew her 
 pitiful belief that he was defying public 
 opinion in being seen with her; but from 
 her ultimate consent, from her continuous 
 trust in him, and from the heartrending way 
 she clung to him, he gathered that she knew 
 him, she knew that defiance, from him, would 
 be a vindication of her. 
 
 He did not yet know how dear she had 
 become to him. Only, as he looked at her 
 moving close beside him, so beautiful and so 
 defenceless, he thanked God that he had kept 
 his manhood clean, so that nothing that he 
 did for her could hurt her. 
 
 And so, holding himself very upright, and 
 with his head in the air, he went slowly 
 past the veranda and the Hankins, and, 
 turning to Mrs. Tailleur, gave them the full 
 spectacle of his gladness and his pride in 
 her. 
 
140 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "How good you are to me," she said. "I 
 know why you did that." 
 
 "Do jou?" 
 
 He smiled, guarding his secret, holding it 
 back a little while longer. 
 
 "AMiere are we going to.?" 
 
 "An}^vhere you choose to take me." 
 
 He took her through the gate that led them 
 to the freedom of the Cliff. 
 
 "Do you see that.^" He pointed to the 
 path which was now baked hard and white 
 by the sun. 
 
 "What is it.?" 
 
 "Your little footprints, and my great 
 hoofmarks beside them. I believe nobody 
 comes this way but you and me." 
 
 "You see, it leads nowhere," said she. 
 
 "Doesn't it.?" said he. 
 
 The little room in the Cliff-side was whiter 
 than ever, burning white, it was, where the 
 sun faced it. But the east side of it was in 
 shadow, and they sat there, under the great 
 forehead of the Cliff. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 141 
 
 They were both silent. Lucy was think- 
 ing of how he had found her there, and of 
 the fear and trouble of last night. He 
 vowed that if he could help it there should 
 be no more fear and no more trouble for 
 her. In their silence, voices thin and sweet 
 with distance, came to them from below, 
 where children played on the beach among 
 the rocks that, washed by water-springs 
 from the Cliff's forehead to its foot, lay heaped 
 where they had fallen. She listened and 
 laughed. 
 
 She was happy now. He watched her 
 as she stretched her adorable feet to the 
 sun. A little wind came from the sea and 
 played with her, taking from her a slight 
 scent of violets for its salt. Every nerve 
 in his body was aware of her nearness. 
 
 Only last night he had seen her crouching 
 just there, in the darkness, convulsed, her face 
 wet with rain and tears. It was good that 
 the place they had chosen should be changed 
 and cleansed for them by sunlight and wind 
 
142 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 from the sea and the sweet voices of chil- 
 dren. 
 
 She did not break the silence. She only 
 looked at him once with eyes whose pupils, 
 black and dilated, narrowed the blue ring of 
 the iris. 
 
 Then he spoke. "I was going to say 
 something to you last night, but I did n't. 
 There was something I wanted to know first, 
 something I was n't quite sure about." 
 
 She turned her face from him. The light 
 struck it, and it quivered and grew white. 
 
 "Well, do you know now.^" 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I know now.'* 
 
 But her lips scarcely moved as she 
 answered him, " Of course you know." 
 
 She faced him with her sad white 
 
 courage. 
 
 "Everybody knows. I 'd rather you knew. 
 I — I meant you to." 
 
 "Oh please" — he protested. "I wonder 
 if I may say what it is .^" 
 
 "It's something about me.^' 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 143 
 
 "Yes. It's something about you. If I 
 may say it." 
 
 "You may say anything you please. 
 You know that." 
 
 "Well, I wanted very much to know 
 whether — whether you were fond of 
 children." 
 
 "Oh " She drew a long breath, as if 
 
 released from torture. Then she laughed 
 the indescribable half-sobbing laugh of a 
 child tormented and suddenly set free. 
 
 "WTiether I were fond of children. Do 
 you honestly mean it.^ Was that what you 
 were n't sure of.?" 
 
 "Well, of course, in a way I knew — but 
 I could n't tell, you know, till I 'd seen you 
 with one." 
 
 "W^ell, and so you can tell now.?" 
 
 "Yes. I can tell now." 
 
 "And if I am fond of children, what 
 difference does that make .?" 
 
 "It makes all the difference. You see, 
 I 've got two little girls " 
 
144 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 " Two little girls." She repeated it after him 
 smiling, as if she played with the vision of them. 
 
 "You see — they've no mother. My 
 wife " 
 
 "I know," she said softly. 
 
 "How did you know.?" 
 
 "I can't tell you." 
 
 "My wife died five years ago when my 
 youngest little girl w^as born." 
 
 "And I thought," she said, "you were so 
 young." 
 
 "I'm thirty-five." 
 
 "Still I was right. You're young. Very 
 young." 
 
 "Oh, well, don't you know, they say a 
 woman 's as young as she looks, and a man 's 
 as young as he feels. I jeel all right." 
 
 "You dear." Her mouth and eyes said 
 it without a sound. 
 
 "Are you quite sure that's all you want 
 to know.?" 
 
 "I had to know it." 
 
 "It was so important.?" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 145 
 
 "Yes. Because of them.'''' 
 
 "And now you know all about me?" 
 
 "Yes. NoYv^ I know all about you." 
 
 "Don't you want to know something 
 about — about Mr. Tailleur.^" 
 
 Lucy's face hardened. "No, 1 don't thmk 
 I want to know anything about him." 
 
 He had made up his mind that Mr. Tailleur 
 had been a brute to her. 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 "Well, yes. I supposed he would be." 
 
 "He died four years ago. I was married 
 very young." 
 
 "I supposed that too." 
 
 "You don't feel that he's important.^" 
 
 "Not in the very least." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "When I said that I knew all about you, 
 I only meant that I knevr — I 'd the sense to 
 see — what you were. You must n't think 
 that I take anything for granted." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Lucy, dear, I'm afraid you're 
 taking everything for granted." 
 
146 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "On my soul I 'm not. I 'm not that sort. 
 There 's one thing about you I don't know 
 yet, and I 'm afraid to ask, and it 's the only 
 thing I really want to know. It 's the only 
 thing that matters." 
 
 "Then ask me, ask me straight, whatever 
 it is, and let 's get it over. Can't you trust 
 me to tell you the truth .^" 
 
 "I trust you — to tell me the truth. I 
 want to know where I am — where we are." 
 
 "Is it for me to say.?" 
 
 "It's for you to say whether you think 
 you can ever care for me." 
 
 "Can 't you see that I care for you.?" 
 
 "No, I 'd give anything to see." 
 
 "iVh, it 's so like you not to. And I 
 thought I'd shown you — everything." 
 
 "You haven't shown me yet whether you 
 care enough to — to " 
 
 He checked himself, while his love for 
 her drew its first breath, as if it had been 
 born but that instant, in an agony of desire 
 and fear. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 147 
 
 *'To do what?" she said. "Wliy won't 
 you tell me?" 
 
 "I'm afraid," he said simply. 
 
 "Afraid of me \Miy should you be?" 
 
 "Because, if you really cared for me, I 
 think you 'd know what I want." 
 
 "It 's because I care so much that I don't 
 know. Unless you tell me." 
 
 She put her small fingers lightly on the 
 sleeve of his coat; they slid till they found 
 his hands that hung clenched before him. 
 
 At her touch he trembled. 
 
 "Don't you know," she said, "that there's 
 nothing I would n't do for you ? Tell me 
 what you want me to do." 
 
 He spoke so low that she strained to hear 
 him. 
 
 "To marry me — to be my wife." 
 
 Her hand still lay on his, but she herself 
 seemed to draw back and pause." 
 
 "Your wife?" she said at last. "My 
 dear, you 've only known me ten days." 
 
 "It makes no difference." 
 
148 THE IMMORTAL MO^IENT 
 
 He took her hand in his and kissed it, 
 bowing his head. 
 
 She twisted herself away from him, and 
 drew back her face from his. They rose. 
 
 "Ah," she said, "you 're cold. You don't 
 know how. Let me look at you. It 's 
 not me you want. You want a mother for 
 your children." 
 
 "Not I. I want you — you — for myself." 
 
 She moved toward him with a low cry, 
 and he took her in his arms and stood still 
 by her without a word. And to his joy, 
 she whom he held (gently, lest he should 
 hurt her) laid her face to his face, and held 
 him with a grip tighter than his own, as if 
 she feared that he would loose himself and 
 leave her. Her eyes closed as he kissed her 
 forehead, and opened as her mouth found 
 his. 
 
 Then she drew herself slowly from him. 
 
 "You love me then.^" she said. 
 
 "Yes, Kitty, I love you.'* 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE awkward thing was telling Jane 
 about it. Jane had been his dead 
 wife's friend before he married her, and she 
 had known her better then than she knew 
 Kitty. Yet he remembered, acutely, how 
 he had gone to her eight years ago, and told 
 her that he was going to marry Amy, and 
 how she had kissed him and said nothing, 
 and how, when he asked her if she had any 
 objection, she had said "No, none. But 
 is n't it a little sudden.^" 
 
 He wondered how Jane would look when he 
 told her he was going to marry Kitty. That 
 was bound to strike her as verv sudden indeed. 
 
 It was wonderful to him that this thing 
 should have happened to him. He was 
 aware that it was a new thing. Nothing in 
 his previous experience had prepared him 
 for it. He had been very young eight years 
 
 149 
 
150 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 ago, and a gayer, lighter-hearted chivalry 
 had gone to his courtship of poor Amy, 
 Poor Amy, though he would not own it, 
 had been a rather ineffectual woman, with a 
 prodigious opinion of her small self and a 
 fretting passion for dominion. She had 
 had a crowd of friends and relations whom 
 she had allowed to come between them. 
 Poor Amy had never understood him. 
 There were heights and depths in him to 
 which she had made no appeal. 
 
 But Kitty — she had brought something 
 out of him that had been hidden and un- 
 known to him before. Something that 
 answered to the fear with which she had 
 drawn back from him and to the tremendous 
 and tragic passion with which she had given 
 herself to him at the last. Poor little Amy 
 had never held him so. She had never 
 loved him like that in all her poor little life. 
 And so his very tenderness for Kitty had ter- 
 ror in it, lest he should fail her, lest he should 
 in any way justify her prescience of disaster. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 151 
 
 Somebody was coming along the Cliff- 
 path, somebody with a telegram for ]Mrs. 
 Tailleiir. She rose, moving away from 
 Lucy as she opened it. 
 
 "There is no answer," she said. And 
 she came to him again and sat beside him, 
 very still, with hands spread over the telegram 
 that lay open in her lap. 
 
 "Has anything happened.^" 
 
 She shook her head. He took the hand 
 that she held out to him by way of 
 reassurance and possession. 
 
 "Then why do you look like that?" 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "Kittv — that was an unconvincino; smile." 
 
 "Was it .^ I'm sorry to say there's a 
 tiresome man coming to see me." 
 
 " Say you can't see him. Send him a wire." 
 
 "I must. He 's coming on business. I 
 don't want to see him." 
 
 "Can't I see him for you, if you feel like 
 that.^" 
 
 "No, dear. He must see me." 
 
152 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "^\^len is he due?" 
 
 "At seven-thirty." 
 
 "Oh — only in the evening. How long 
 do you think he '11 stay.^" 
 
 Kitty hardened her face. "Not a minute 
 longer than I can help." 
 
 " An hour .^ Two hours .^" 
 
 "I shall have to give him dinner. He's 
 — he's that sort of man." 
 
 "Two hours, probably. I think I'll take 
 Janev for a stroll while he 's here. You see, 
 I 've got to tell her, and I shall tell her then." 
 
 She put her hands on his shoulders. 
 "And what will — Janey — say ?" 
 
 "She'll say she's glad I'm going to be 
 happy." 
 
 He became thoughtful. "And there are 
 the children," he said. "I 've got to tell 
 them, too." 
 
 She was silent. She did not ask him as 
 he had half expected, "AMiat will they say.^" 
 
 "I think," he said, "I'd better send for 
 them and let them stay here a bit. Could 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 153 
 
 you stand another week of Southbourne? 
 You said you hated it." 
 
 "Yes. I hated it. I shouldn't have 
 stayed if it had n't been for you." 
 
 "Do you mind staying a httle longer now .?" 
 
 "I don't mind staying anywhere where 
 you are." 
 
 "Well — just a httle longer." 
 
 She saw the workings of his mind. The 
 people here had been saying awful things 
 about her. If he took her away they would 
 continue to say them. He could n't stop 
 them. He could n't for instance, go up to 
 Colonel Hankin before leaving, and tell him 
 that he lied, and that Mrs. Tailleur, though 
 appearances might be against her, was as 
 innocent a lady as Mrs. Hankin. He 
 could n't even announce his engagement to 
 her by way of accounting for their simul- 
 taneous departure. They were not account- 
 able to these people. But, if they stayed 
 on as if nothing had happened, he could 
 demonstrate to everybody's satisfaction that 
 
154 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 he had no other intention with regard to 
 Mrs. Tailleur than to make her his wife and 
 a mother to his children. That was why 
 he was sending for them. Evidently the 
 idea he had — poor lamb — was that he 
 could shelter her innocence with theirs. 
 
 And so she told him that she adored 
 Southbourne now and did n't care how long 
 they stopped there. 
 
 Lucy's idea had really gone more or less 
 on those lines, though they remained rather 
 more obscure to him than they were to Kitty. 
 
 His scheme was so far successful that 
 there were people in the Cliff Hotel who 
 knew about his engagement before Jane did. 
 
 It was clear to the management, at any 
 rate, that some consecrating seal had been 
 set to the very interesting relations of Mrs. 
 Tailleur and Mr. Lucy. The manager was 
 more inclined than ever to take a favourable 
 view of Mrs. Tailleur. To begin with, 
 Mrs. Tailleur had ordered a private sitting- 
 room. Then Mr. Lucy presented himself 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 155 
 
 at the bureau with Mrs. Tailleur and 
 inquired whether he could have a room for 
 his two little girls and their nurse. The 
 manager's wife looked dubious. The best 
 rooms, she said, were taken. And Mrs. 
 Tailleur said, looking; at Mr. Lucv, "How 
 about poor Bunny's room ? The one leading 
 out of mine ?" 
 
 A fine flush appeared on Mr. Lucy's face 
 as he said he would have that room. 
 
 He then announced that he would wire 
 for the little girls to come at once, and that 
 thev would arrive at four o'clock to-morrow. 
 It was further arranged that they were to 
 have their meals in Mrs. Tailleur's private 
 sitting-room. And please, there was to be 
 lots of jam for tea, Mrs. Tailleur said. The 
 manager's wife looked humble before her 
 lord as she booked that order. 
 
 That was at twelve o'clock of the tenth day. 
 
 Seven hours later Mrs. Tailleur was alone in 
 her private sitting-room, preparing with some 
 agitation for the appointment that she had. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HER tense, flushed mind recorded auto- 
 matically, and with acute vividness, 
 every detail of the room; the pattern of the 
 gray French wall-paper, with the watered 
 stripe, and of the hot, velvet upholstery, buff 
 on a crimson ground; the architecture of the 
 stained walnut sideboard and overmantel, 
 with their ridiculous pediments and little 
 shelves and bevelled mirrors; the tapestry 
 curtains, the palms in shining turquoise 
 blue pots, and the engraved picture of Grace 
 Darling over the sideboard. 
 
 It was absolutely necessary that she should 
 have this place to see him in, without Robert 
 seeing him. Beyond that immediate purpose 
 she discerned its use as a play-room for 
 Robert's children. 
 
 To-morrow, at four o clock, she would 
 be waiting there for them. They had settled 
 
 156 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 157 
 
 that, she and Robert. She was to have 
 everything ready, and the table laid for tea, 
 To-morrow they would all be sitting there, 
 round the table. To-morrow she would see 
 Robert's children, and hold them in her 
 arms. 
 
 Her heart gave a sudden leap, as if some- 
 thing had quickened in it. Her brain 
 glowed. Her pulses throbbed with the race 
 of the glad blood in her veins. Her whole 
 being moved, trembling and yearning, 
 toward an incredible joy. Till that moment 
 she had hardly realised Robert's children. 
 A strange unquietness, not yet recognised as 
 fear, had kept her from asking him many 
 questions about them. Even now, their 
 forms were like the forms of children seen 
 in the twilight of dreams, the dreams of 
 women who have never had children; forms 
 that hover and torture and pursue; that 
 hide their faces, half seen; that will not 
 come to the call, nor be held by the hand, 
 nor gathered to the heart. 
 
158 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 That she should really see them, and hear 
 their voices, and hold them in her arms, 
 to-morrow, seemed to her a thing impos- 
 sible, beyond credibility or dream. Then 
 she said to herself that it all depended on 
 what happened between to-morrow and to- 
 day. 
 
 It was not long past seven and she had 
 still a good twenty minutes before her. She 
 spent it in pacing up and down the room, 
 and looking at the clock every time she 
 turned and confronted it. At the half-hour 
 she arrangd herself on the sofa, with a book, 
 in an attitude of carelessness as to the event. 
 As a material appearance the attitude was 
 perfect. 
 
 She rose as the servant announced "Mr. 
 Wilfrid Marston." She stood as she had 
 risen, waiting for her visitor to advance. 
 Her eyes were fixed on her book which she 
 laid down, deliberately marking the page, 
 and yet she was aware of his little pause 
 at the door as it closed behind him, and of 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 159 
 
 his little smile that took her in. She had 
 no need to look at him. 
 
 He was a man of middle size, who held 
 himself so well that he appeared taller and 
 slenderer than he was. You saw that he 
 had been fair and florid and slender enough 
 in his youth, and that all his good points 
 had worn somewhat to hardness. His face 
 was hard and of a fast-hardening, reddish- 
 sallow colour, showing a light network of 
 veins about the cheekbones. Hard, wiry 
 wrinkles were about the outer corners of his 
 eyes. He kept his small reddish-gold mous- 
 tache close clipped, so that it made his 
 mouth look extraordinarily straight and hard. 
 People who did n't know him were apt to 
 mistake him for a soldier. (He was in the 
 War Office, rather high up.) He had several 
 manners, his official manner to persons calling 
 at the War Office ; his social manner, inimitably 
 devout to women whom he respected; and 
 his natural manner, known only in its per- 
 fection to women whom he did not respect. 
 
160 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 And under both of these he conveyed a curious 
 and disagreeable impression of stern sen- 
 suahty, as if the animal in him had worn to 
 hardness, too. 
 
 "Kitty, my dear girl!" His voice, unlike 
 the rest of him, could be thick and soft and 
 fluid. He put his arm round her, and she 
 offered him her mouth, curled forward, 
 obedient but unsmiling. Her hand, sur- 
 rendered to his, lay limp in the hard clasp 
 of it. He raised it as if weighing the power- 
 less, subservient thing. 
 
 "Kitty," he said, "you 're still getting thin. 
 My last orders were, if you remember, that 
 you were to put on another stone before I 
 saw you again." 
 
 He bared her wrist, pressing it slightly, 
 to show how its round curves were sunken. 
 
 " Do you call that putting on another stone .^" 
 
 She drew back her arm. 
 
 ""WTiat have you been doing to yourself .^ " 
 he said. 
 
 "Nothing. There hasn't been anything 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT IGl 
 
 to do. It 's not very amusing being left 
 
 all by yourself for weeks and weeks, you 
 
 know." 
 
 "All by yourself?" 
 
 "Yes. Bunny doesn't count." 
 
 "No, she certainly doesn't. Poor Kitten, 
 
 you must have been very badly bored." 
 He looked round the room. 
 "Do they do you well at this place .'^" 
 "It is n't very comfortable. I think you 'd 
 
 be better off at the Metropole." 
 
 "WTiat possessed you to stay at the place 
 
 if you're not comfortable.^" 
 
 "Well, you see, I didn't expect you for 
 
 another week." 
 
 "^\^lat 's that got to do with it ?" 
 
 "I mean it did well enough for Bunny 
 
 and me." 
 
 "Wliere is that woman.?" 
 
 "She's gone. She left yesterday." 
 
 "^^^ly.?" 
 
 "Well, you know, Wilfrid, Bunny was 
 very respectable." 
 
162 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 He laughed. "It's just as well she went, 
 then, before I came, is n't it ? I say, what 
 have you done to your eyes? They used 
 to be black, now they 're blue. Bright 
 blue." 
 
 There was a look in them he did not 
 understand. 
 
 "I think," she said, "you would be much 
 more comfortable at the Metropole." 
 
 "Oh no; I '11 try this place for one night." 
 She veiled her eyes. 
 
 "We can move on if I can't stand it. 
 When are we going to dine.^" 
 
 "At eight. It's twenty to, now. You'd 
 like it up here, wouldn't you.^" 
 
 "Rather. I say, where 's my room.?" 
 
 She flushed and turned from him with an 
 unaccountable emotion. 
 
 "I — I don't know." 
 
 "Did n't you order one for me .?" 
 
 "No; I don't think I did." 
 
 "I suppose I can get one, can't I?'* 
 
 "I suppose so. But don't you think 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 163 
 
 you *d better go over to the Metropole ? 
 You see, this is a very small hotel." 
 
 He looked at her sharply. 
 
 '*I don't care how small it is." 
 
 He summoned a waiter and inquired 
 irascibly for his room. 
 
 Kitty was relieved when the room was 
 got for him, because he went to it instantly, 
 and that gave her time. She said to herself 
 that it would be all right if she could be alone 
 for a minute or two and could think. She 
 thought continuouslv throuojh the act of 
 dressing, and in the moment of waiting till 
 he appeared again. He would be hungry, 
 and his first thought would be for his dinner. 
 
 It was. But his second thought was for 
 Kitty, who refused to eat. 
 
 "What's the matter with you.^" 
 
 "Nothing. I've got a headache." 
 
 Again he looked sharply at her. 
 
 "A headache, have you.^ It'll be better 
 if you eat something." 
 
 But Kittv shook her head. 
 
164 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "What's the good of my sending you to 
 Matlock and those places if you come back 
 in this state? You know, if you once get 
 really thin, Kitty, you 're done for." 
 
 "Am I?" Her mouth trembled, not 
 grossly, but with a small, fine quiver of the 
 upper lip. The man had trained her well. 
 She knew better than to cry before him. 
 
 The slender sign of emotion touched him, 
 since it was not disfiguring. 
 
 "How long have you been starving your- 
 self.?" he asked more gently. 
 
 "I 've not been starving myself. I 've got 
 a headache." 
 
 He poured out some wine for her. 
 
 "You must either eat or drink." 
 
 "I don't want any." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "I — I can't. I feel sick." 
 
 He raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "Need you mention it.?" 
 
 "I wouldn't if you hadn't teased me so." 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 165 
 
 She began playing with some salted almonds. 
 
 "My dear girl, I would n't eat those things 
 if I were you." 
 
 "I'm not eating them." She pushed the 
 dish from her. "I'm afraid," said she, "it 
 is n't a very nice dinner." 
 
 He was looking at the entree with interest 
 and a slight suspicion. 
 
 "^Yhat is this.?" 
 
 "Curried chicken." 
 
 "Oh." He helped himself fastidiously to 
 curried chicken, tasted it with delicate dehb- 
 eration, and left it on his plate. 
 
 "You are wise," said he. "There is a 
 certain crude, unsatisfying simplicity about 
 
 this repast." 
 
 "Did n't I tell you.?" 
 
 "You did." 
 
 "You see now why I said you 'd better go 
 to the Metropole.?" 
 
 "I do indeed." 
 
 An admirable joint of mutton, cheese, 
 coffee and a liqueur effaced the painful impres- 
 
166 TP]E IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 sion made by the entree. By nine o'clock 
 INIarston declared himself inured to the hard- 
 ships of the Cliff Hotel. 
 
 "How long can you stay?" she asked. 
 The question had been burning in her for 
 two hours. 
 
 "Well, over the w^eek end, I think." 
 
 Her heart, that had fluttered like a bird, 
 sank, as a bird sinks in terror with wings 
 tight shut. 
 
 "Have you got to go up to town to- 
 morrow .^" 
 
 "I have, worse luck. How do the trains 
 go from this godforsaken place.?" 
 
 "About every two hours. What sort of 
 train do you want.? An early one.?" 
 
 "Rather. Got to be at Whitehall by 
 twelve." 
 
 **Will the nine-fifteen do.?" 
 
 "Yes; that's all right." 
 
 The wings of her heart loosened. It rose 
 hght, as if air, not blood, flowed from its 
 chambers. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 167 
 
 The Lucys were never by any chance down 
 before nine. Robert would not ffieet him. 
 
 He sat down in the chair opposite her, 
 with his eyes fixed on her as she leaned back 
 in the corner of the sofa. He settled him- 
 self in comfort, crossing his legs and thrusting 
 out one foot, defined under a delicate silk 
 sock, in an attitude that was almost con- 
 temptuous of Kitty's presence. 
 
 Kitty's face was innocent of any percep- 
 tion of these shades. He drew the long 
 breath of ease and smiled at her again, a 
 smile that intimated how thoroughly he 
 approved of her personal appearance. 
 
 "Ye — es," he said, "you're different, 
 
 but I think you 're almost as pretty as you 
 
 were." 
 
 "Am I.?" she saia. "Wliat did you 
 
 expect.^" 
 
 "I didn't expect anything. I never do. 
 It 's my scheme for avoiding disappointment. 
 Is your head better ? " 
 
 "No; it's aching abominably." 
 
168 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 *' Sorry. But it's rather hard Hnes for 
 me, is n't is ?. I wish you could have chosen 
 some other time to be ill in." 
 
 *'\\liat does it matter whether I'm ill or 
 not, if I 'm not pretty?" 
 
 He smiled again. 
 
 *'I don't mean, child, that you 're ever 
 not pretty." 
 
 "Thank you. I know exactly how pretty 
 I am." 
 
 "Do you .^ How pretty do you think 
 you are now.^" 
 
 "Not half as pretty as Dora Nicholson. 
 You know exactly how pretty she is." 
 
 "I do. And I know exactly how pretty 
 she '11 be in five years' time. That 's the 
 worst of those thin women with little, delicate, 
 pink faces. You know the precise minute 
 when a girl like Dora '11 go off. You know 
 the pinkness will begin to run when she 's 
 once past thirty. You can see the crows' 
 feet coming, and you know exactly how far 
 they '11 have got by the time she's thirty- 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 169 
 
 five. You know that when she 's forty there '11 
 be two little lines like thumb-nail marks 
 beside her ears, just here, and you know 
 that when she 's forty-five the dear little 
 lobes will begin to shrivel up, and that when 
 she 's fifty the corners of her mouth will 
 collapse." 
 
 "And then.?" 
 
 "Then, if you 're a wise man you don't 
 know any more." 
 
 "Poor httle Dora. You are a brute, 
 Wilfrid." 
 
 "I 'm not a brute. I was going to say 
 that the best of you, dear, is that I don't 
 know how you '11 look at fifty. I don't 
 know how you '11 look to-morrow — to-night. 
 You 're never the same for ten minutes 
 together. When you get one of those 
 abominable headaches you look j^erhaps as 
 old as you are. You 're twenty-seven, are n't 
 you.? 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I dare say you '11 look twenty-seven 
 
170 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 when you are fifty. There 's something 
 awfully nice about that sort of prettiness. It 
 leaves things delightfully vague. I can't see 
 you fifty." 
 
 "Perhaps I never shall be." 
 
 "Perhaps not. That 's just it. You leave 
 it open to me to think so. I don't seriously 
 contemplate your ever being forty. In fact 
 your being thirty is one of those melancholy 
 and disastrous events that need not actually 
 occur. It's very tactful of you, Kitty." 
 
 "All the same, I 'm not as pretty as Dora 
 Nicholson." 
 
 "Dora Nicholson!" 
 
 "You can't say she is n't awfully pretty." 
 
 "I don't say it." His voice rose to an 
 excited falsetto. "She is awfully pretty — 
 extravagantly, preposterously pretty. And 
 she '11 have to pay for it." 
 
 " Oh — we all have to pay for it." 
 
 "Sooner or later." 
 
 "Poor Dora " 
 
 "Poor Dora. Perhaps we have been rather 
 
THE IMMORTAL MO:\IENT 171 
 
 brutal to her. She 's good for another 
 
 five years." 
 
 *'Only five years.'' And what will she do 
 
 then.?" 
 
 *'Oh, she'll be all right. She'll rouge a 
 
 bit, and powder a bit, and dress like anything. 
 
 You need n't be unhappy about Dora. I can 
 
 tell you Dora is n't going to be unhappy 
 
 about you. Unhappiness would be extremely 
 
 unbecoming to her, and she knows it. It 
 
 is n't particularly becoming to any woman. 
 
 You would be less damaged by it than most 
 
 perhaps." 
 
 "You 've never seen me unhappy." 
 
 *'I hope to God I never shall." 
 
 "You needn't be afraid, Wilfrid, you 
 
 never will." 
 
 "I wish," she said presently, "I wish you 
 
 hked Dora Nicholson." 
 "I do like her." 
 
 "I wish you liked her as much as me." 
 "That's very noble of you, Kitty. But 
 
 may I ask, why?" 
 
172 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 ** Because it would make things simpler." 
 
 "Simpler? I should have said myself that 
 that was just where complications might 
 occur. Supposing I liked Dolly better than 
 you, what then?" 
 
 "Oh, that would make it simpler still." 
 
 "It certainly would be simpler than the 
 other situation you suggest," 
 
 "It would for both of us." 
 
 "But why this sudden yearning for 
 simplicity? And why Dora Nicholson?" 
 
 "There isn't any why. Anybody else 
 would do, provided you liked them better 
 than me. It 's only a question of time, you 
 know. You 're bound to tire of me sooner 
 or later." 
 
 "Later, Kitty, later. Barring jealousy. If 
 you 're going in for that, I may as well tell 
 you at once that I shall tire of it very 
 soon." 
 
 "You think that 's what 's the matter with 
 me?" 
 
 "Well, something's the matter with you. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 173 
 
 I suppose it 's that. I should drop it, Kitty. 
 It reallv is n't worth while. It only makes 
 you thin, and — and I can't be bored with it, 
 you see .■' 
 
 *'I don't want — to be bored — with it 
 — either." vShe spoke very slowly. "If you 
 wanted to leave me for Dora Nicholson, 
 I should be a fool to try and keep you, 
 should n't I ."" 
 
 "Well — you're not a fool." 
 "You're not a fool either, Wilfrid." 
 "If I am I take some pains to conceal it." 
 "If a woman wanted to leave you for 
 another man, would you try and keep 
 her.^" 
 
 He looked at her attentively. "It depends 
 on the woman, and on some other things 
 besides. For instance, if I were married 
 to her, I might make a considerable effort, 
 not to keep ho-, but — to keep up appear- 
 ances." 
 
 "And if — vou were not married to her.^" 
 "There again it would depend on the 
 
174 THE IMMORTAL M0:MENT 
 
 woman. I might take it that she 'd left me 
 already." 
 
 "Yes, but if you knew she wasn't that 
 sort — if you knew she 'd always been straight 
 with you.'^" 
 
 "Well, then perhaps I might take the 
 trouble* to find out whether there really was 
 another man. Or I might have reason to 
 suppose she was only trying it on. In which 
 case I should say to her ' My dear Kitty, 
 you 're a very clever woman and it 's a bril- 
 liant idea you 've got. But it 's been tried 
 before and it won't work. You can't draw me 
 that way.'" 
 
 "But, Wilfrid — if there was another 
 
 man ?" 
 
 "Well, it's possible that I might not con- 
 sider it worth while to dispute his claim. 
 That would depend altogether on the 
 
 woman." 
 
 "If you cared for her.^" 
 "If I cared enough for her I might be 
 able to convince her that it would at any 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 175 
 
 rate be prudent, from a worldly point of 
 view, to stick to me. But that would depend, 
 would n't it, on the amount of the other 
 fellow's income?'* 
 
 "And if all that did n't matter in the very 
 least to her, if she did n't care a rap about 
 anybody's income, if she cared for the other 
 fellow more than she 'd ever cared for you, 
 if she did n't care for your caring, if she 
 cared for nothing except his caring, and 
 nothing you could do could move her — 
 what would you do then?" 
 
 He paused to light another cigarette 
 before he answered her. "I should probably 
 tell her, first of all, that for all I cared she 
 miffht 2:0 to the devil, I mean to the other 
 fellow, and stay there as long as he wanted 
 her." 
 
 " Well" — she said placably. 
 
 "That's what I should say first. After- 
 ward, when we were both a little calmer — 
 if I cared for her, Kitty — I should ask her 
 to think a moment before she did anything 
 
176 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 rash, to be quite sure that she would really 
 he happier with the other fellow. And I 
 should point out to her very clearly that, in 
 any case, if she once went, it would not be 
 open to her to come back." 
 
 "But you wouldn't try and keep her.^" 
 
 "I couldn't keep her, my dear child, by 
 trying." 
 
 "Xo — you couldn't keep her. Not for 
 yourself. But, if you could keep her from 
 the other man, would you.^" 
 
 "I dare say I should do my best." 
 
 "Would you do your worst .^ No, 
 Wilfrid, you 've been very good to me — I 
 don't believe you 'd do your worst." 
 
 "What do you mean," he said sharply. 
 
 "You wouldn't tell him what she was, 
 what she had been — if he did n't know it. 
 Would vou.^" 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Would you ?" she cried. 
 
 "No, Kitty, I wouldn't do that. I'm not 
 a cad." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 177 
 
 He pondered. 
 
 *'But my dear girl, do you suppose for a 
 moment that he does n't know?" 
 
 "He does n't know a thing." 
 
 "Then what in heaven's name are you 
 talking about .^" 
 
 "I 'm trying to tell you. It is n't what you 
 think. I — I 'm going to be married." 
 
 Marston took his cigarette out of his 
 mouth, and stared at it. There was no 
 expression in his face beyond that concen- 
 trated, attentive stare. 
 
 "Good Lord, ^^^ly," he said, "couldn't 
 you tell me that before I came down.?" 
 
 "I was going to. I was going to write 
 to you and ask you not to come." 
 
 ''Good God." 
 
 He said it softly, and with calm incredulity 
 rather than amazement. 
 
 "Who is it, Kitty.? Do I know him.?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you know him yourself.?" 
 
 She smiled. "Yes I know him." 
 
178 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 ** Well — but how long?" 
 
 "Ten days." 
 
 "You met him here? In this hotel?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That 's why you were so anxious for me 
 to go to the Metropole, was it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Look here. I don't want to be unkind, 
 but it does n't do to blink facts. Are you 
 quite sure he means to marry you?" 
 
 "^Miy shouldn't he?" 
 
 "Well, these marriages do happen, but — 
 I don't want to be unkind again — but you 
 know they are, to say the least of it, a little 
 unusual." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You 've seen some of them?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you know, you know as well as I 
 do, the sort of man who — who " 
 
 "AMio marries the sort of woman I am? 
 Yes, I know him, perfectly well. He 's 
 horrible." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 179 
 
 "There are exceptions, but he 's generally 
 pretty bad. You think he 's horrible. You '11 
 be miserable when you find yourself tied to 
 him for life. You see, however awful he 
 was, you would n't be exactly in a position 
 to get rid of him." 
 
 "Wilfrid," her voice was very low and 
 tender, "he isn't like that. He 's good " 
 
 "Good, is he.?" He laughed. 
 
 "Oh, don't laugh. He is good." 
 
 "Well, I don't say he is n't — only " 
 
 he smiled. 
 
 "You forget," she said. "He doesn't 
 know." 
 
 "Are you quite sure he does n't know.?" 
 
 " Quite — quite sure." 
 
 "And you are not going to enlighten 
 him.?" 
 
 She drew back before his penetrating gaze. 
 "I can't. I could n't bear him to know." 
 
 "How do you propose to prevent his 
 knowing ? Do you think you 're clever 
 enough to keep him in the dark for ever?" 
 
180 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 ""\Miv not? He hasn't seen thing's in 
 the broad daylight, under his very nose. 
 There were plenty of things to see." 
 
 "You mean he 's stupid?" 
 
 "I mean I haven't been clever, if that 's 
 what you think. Once I did nearly tell him." 
 
 "Supposing somebody else tells him?" 
 
 "If they do it'll only be their word 
 against mine. And he 'd take my word 
 against anybody's." 
 
 "Poor devil!" 
 
 He seemed to meditate, dispassionately, 
 on the poor devil's case, and hers. 
 
 "You little fool. It isn't a question of 
 people's words. How are you going to get 
 rid of the facts ?" 
 
 "He needn't know them." 
 
 "You foro-et. I'm one of them. How 
 are you going to get rid of me ?" 
 
 "Oh, Wilfrid — you're not going to tell 
 him? You said you wouldn't." 
 
 "Of course I said I wouldn't — I 'd even 
 be glad to get rid of myself to oblige you, 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 181 
 
 Kitty, but I can't. Here I am. How are 
 you going to account for me?" 
 
 "I've thought of that. He needn't see 
 you. It '11 be all right, Wilfrid, if you '11 go 
 away." 
 
 *' No doubt. But I have n't gone away." 
 
 He emphasised his point by rising and 
 taking up a commanding position on the 
 hearthrug. 
 
 Some one knocked at the door, and she 
 started violently. 
 
 It was only a servant, bringing a note for 
 her. 
 
 She read it and handed it to Marston, 
 looking piteously at him as he stood his 
 ground. 
 
 "Mr. Lucy can come up," she said. "We 
 have finished all we had to say." 
 
 "I think there are one or two points," he 
 replied, "still unsettled." 
 
 She turned to the servant. 
 
 "Will you tell Mr. Lucy I 'm engaged for 
 the present. I will see him later." 
 
182 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 *'No, my dear Mrs. Tailleur, not on 
 my account. There 's no reason why you 
 should n't see Mr. Lucy now. No reason at 
 all." 
 
 She stood tortured with indecision. 
 
 *'Mrs. Tailleur will see Mr. Lucy now." 
 
 *'I will see him in ten minutes.'* 
 
 "Very good, ma'am." 
 
 The servant withdrew. 
 
 Marston shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "There you are. Here we both are. 
 Here we are all three in the same hotel. 
 An uncomfortably small hotel. How are 
 you — or rather, how is he — going to get 
 over that.'^" 
 
 "It would be all right if you 'd only go. 
 I 've told him you w^ere a man coming on 
 business." 
 
 "My dear Kitty, that was quite unworthy 
 of you." 
 
 "Well, what could I do? It 's not as if I 
 was in the habit of telling lies." 
 
 "I won't criticise it if it was a first 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 183 
 
 attempt. But in telling a lie, my child, it 's 
 as well to select one that bears some resem- 
 blance to the truth. Do I look like a man 
 who comes on business.^" 
 
 "You will go before he comes, won't 
 you.?" 
 
 "No, I don't think I will." 
 
 "You have nothing," she said, "to gain 
 by staying." 
 
 "I suppose you think you have everything 
 to gain by my going .^" 
 
 "Oh, Wilfrid, give me my chance." 
 
 "I'm giving you your chance, you little 
 fool. I would n't produce that pocket-hand- 
 kerchief if I were you. It 's quite the most 
 damaging thing about you." 
 
 She gave a hysterical laugh, and put the 
 pocket-handkerchief away. 
 
 "You are utterly unfit," he commented, 
 "to manage your own affairs." 
 
 They sat silent, while the clock ticked 
 out the last minutes of her torture. 
 
 "You'd better make up your mind what 
 
184 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 you 're going to do when he arrives," he said 
 finally. 
 
 *'I don't know," said Kitty, "what I'm 
 going to do." 
 
 "I'll tell you, then. You are going to 
 introduce me as you would any ordinary 
 man of your acquaintance." 
 
 "By your own name.^" 
 
 "By my own name, of course." 
 
 They waited. Lucy's stride was heard 
 along the corridor. She looked up at her 
 tormentor. 
 
 "Is my nose red, AYilfrid?" 
 
 "No," he said, smiling grimly, "my dear 
 IVIrs. Tailleur," he added as Lucy entered. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SHE came to meet him, keeping her back 
 to Marston, her face thrust a little for- 
 ward in the way it had, looking for the protec- 
 tion of Robert's kind eyes. Only when she 
 had his hand in hers she turned. 
 
 **May I introduce Mr. Wilfrid Marston.?" 
 
 The two men bowed, glancing at each 
 other with eyes urbanely innocent of 
 curiosity. 
 
 **I'm sorry to have had to keep you 
 waiting," said Kitty. 
 
 "So am I," said Marston. "Our business 
 took rather longer than we thought." 
 
 "Business generally does," said Lucy. 
 
 "It need not have taken quite so long if 
 I could have persuaded Mrs. Tailleur to 
 think a little of her own advantage." 
 
 "I have," said Kitty, "an admirable 
 adviser in Mr. Marston." 
 
 185 
 
186 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 **You are always kind. Even if you don't 
 always act on my advice." 
 
 "Sometimes you think you know your 
 own affairs best." 
 
 "And sometimes," said Lucy, "it's just 
 possible you do." 
 
 " Sometimes. I 've been telling Mrs. 
 Tailleur that she's incapable of managing 
 her own affairs when it 's a question of her 
 own advantage. If you know anything of 
 Mrs. Tailleur, you will agree with me there." 
 
 *'I certainly agree with you, if Mrs. 
 Tailleur will forgive my saying so. I hope 
 I 've not come too soon." 
 
 "Oh, no. Mr. Marston has missed the 
 last train up." 
 
 "And Mrs. Tailleur has been kind enough 
 to ask me to stop the night." 
 
 "If you don't prefer the Metropole. Mr. 
 
 Lucy is not going. Don't — it 's all right, 
 
 Robert." 
 
 "Are you sure ?" 
 
 "Quite sure. Our business is finished." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 187 
 
 "All except one or two details which we 
 may perhaps arrange later," said Marston, 
 who preserved a perfect suavity. 
 
 "How much later?" said Kitty. "I 'w not 
 going to arrange anything more to-night." 
 
 "To-morrow night." 
 
 "There won't be any to-morrow night — ■ 
 if you 're going up to town." 
 
 "Well, then, perhaps if Mr. Lucy will 
 excuse us, you will give me a moment now. 
 It seems a pity not to put things straight 
 while you 're about it." 
 
 "You can't put things straight at eleven 
 o'clock at night. My poor head 's all 
 muddled and aching abominably." 
 
 "To-morrow morning, then." 
 
 "There will be no time to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Robert, has Jane gone to bed?" 
 
 "No, she 's sitting up. She wants to speak 
 to you." 
 
 "Will you bring her to me, please?" 
 
 He rose. When he had left the room 
 she turned on Marston in a fury. 
 
188 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Wilfrid, you 're a beast, a perfect beast." 
 
 "A man of business, my dear Kitty, very 
 often is. He 's paid, you know, for doing 
 beastly things.'* 
 
 "They come easy to you." 
 
 "Is that all the thanks I get for playing 
 up to you ? I gave you every point, too." 
 
 She raged dumbly. 
 
 "I can't congratulate you on your skill in 
 the game. You 'd have given yourself away 
 ten times over — if I hadn't stopped you." 
 
 "What are you waiting for now, then.^" 
 
 "I have not said good night to your friend 
 Mr. Lucy, nor to you." 
 
 "You can say good night to me now, 
 and good bye. I shall not see you again." 
 
 "Pardon me, you will see me to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 "No. Never again. I 've done with you." 
 
 "My dear girl, you are absurd. Mr. 
 Lucy is not going to marry you to-morrow 
 morning, is he.^" 
 
 "Well.?" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 189 
 
 "And until he marries you, you haven't 
 exactly done with me." 
 
 "I see. You want to remind me that 
 the clothes on my back belong to you." 
 
 He flushed painfully. 
 
 *'I don't want to remind you of anything 
 that may be unpleasant to you. I 'm only sug- 
 gesting that in the circumstances — until you 
 marry him — you can hardly refuse to see me." 
 
 "\Miy should I see you.? It'll make no 
 difference." 
 
 "To me, none. To you it may possibly 
 make a considerable difference. There are 
 some points you have evidently not thought 
 of, which it would be well for us to talk 
 over before you think of marrying." 
 
 She capitulated. 
 
 "If I see you to-morrow, will you go 
 now.?" 
 
 "I will go, my dear Kitty, the precise 
 moment I see fit. If I were you I should 
 wipe that expression from my face before 
 Mr. Lucy comes in. He might not like it. 
 
190 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 The pocket-handkerchief might be used with 
 advantage now — just there." 
 
 In obedience to his indication she passed 
 her hand over the flushed tear-stain. At 
 that moment Lucy entered with his sister. 
 
 Jane, less guarded than her brother, looked 
 candidly, steadily at Marston, whose face 
 instantly composed itself to reverence and 
 devotion before her young half -spiritual 
 presence. 
 
 Kitty's voice was scarcely audible as she 
 murmured the ritual of introduction. 
 
 Lucy was aware of her emotion. 
 
 "I think," said he, "as Mrs. Tailleur has 
 owned to a bad headache, Mr. Marston and 
 I had better say good night." 
 
 Marston said it. There was nothing else 
 left for him to say. And as he went through 
 the door that Lucy opened for him, he cursed 
 him in his heart. 
 
 "Jane," said Kitty. 
 
 But Jane was looking at the door through 
 which Marston and Robert had just gone. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 191 
 
 it 
 
 Robert did that very neatly," said she. 
 
 You wanted to get rid of him, did n't you, 
 Kitty?" 
 
 "I've been trying to get rid of Wilfrid 
 Marston for the last three weeks." 
 
 She had such wisdom, mothered by fierce 
 necessity, as comes to the foolish at their 
 call. She was standing over little Jane as 
 she spoke, looking down into her pure, 
 uplifted eyes. 
 
 "You 've been crying," she said. 
 
 "Yes." Jane's eyes were very bright, new- 
 washed with tears. 
 
 "I know why. It 's because of me." 
 
 "Yes; but it 's all right now, Kitty." 
 
 She did not tell her that ten minutes ago 
 she, too, had been out on the Cliff-side and 
 had had a battle with herself there, and had 
 won it. For little Jane there could n't be a 
 harder thing in the world than to give 
 Robert up. Of course she had to do it, so 
 there could be no virtue in that. The hard 
 thing was to do it gracefully, beautifully. 
 
192 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "WTiat are you going to say to me, 
 Janey? He told you?" 
 
 "Yes; he told me." 
 
 *'Oh, don't look at me like that, dear. 
 Say if you hate it for him." 
 
 "I don't hate it. Only, oh, Kitty, dear, 
 do you really love him.?" 
 
 "Yes; I love him." 
 
 "But — you 've only known him ten days. 
 I don't think I could love a man I 'd only 
 known ten days." 
 
 "It makes no difference," 
 
 "That's what Robert said.'* 
 
 "Yes; he said it to me. Ah, I know 
 what you mean. You think it 's all very 
 well for him, because men are different. 
 It's me you can't understand; you think I 
 must be horrid." 
 
 "Oh no, no. It's only — I think I'm 
 different, that 's all." 
 
 "75 that all, Janey.?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And will you love me a little if I love 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 193 
 
 him a great deal? Or do you hate me for 
 loving him?" 
 
 "Kittv — vou needn't be afraid. The 
 more you love him the more I shall love 
 you." 
 
 "Did — did his wife love him ? Oh, ought 
 I to have asked vou that?" 
 
 Jane shook her head. 
 
 "I 'm not sure that I ought to tell you." 
 
 "She didn't, then?" 
 
 "Oh yes, she did, poor little thing. She 
 loved him all she could." 
 
 "And it wasn't enough?" 
 
 "No, I don't think it was, quite. There 
 was something wanting. But I don't think 
 Robert ever knew it." 
 
 "He knows it now," said Kitty. Her 
 voice lifted with the pride of passion. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 MARSTOX cancelled that appointment 
 at Whitehall. Somebody else's busi- 
 ness would have to wait another day, that was 
 all. He was wont to settle affairs as they arose, 
 methodically, punctually, in the order of 
 their importance. At the moment his own 
 affair and Kitty's was of supreme impor- 
 tance. Until it was settled he could not 
 attend to anybody else. 
 
 He was determined not to let her go. 
 He meant to have her. He did not yet 
 know precisely how he was to achieye this 
 end, but as a first step to it he engaged a 
 room indefinitely at the ]Metropole. There 
 was nothing like being on the spot. He 
 would consider himself defeated when Lucy 
 had actually married her. Meanwhile, he was 
 uplifted by his supreme distrust of the eyent. 
 
 His riyal had made a yery favourable 
 
 194 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 195 
 
 impression on him, with the curious effect 
 of heightening Kitty's vahie in his eyes. 
 Other causes contributed, her passion for 
 Lucy, and the subtle purification it had 
 wrought in her (a charm to which Marston 
 was by no means unsusceptible), the very 
 fact that his own dominion was uncertain 
 and his possession incomplete. 
 
 Up till now he had been unaware of the 
 grip she had on him. He had never allowed 
 for the possibility of permanence in his 
 relations with her sex. The idea of marriage 
 was peculiarly unsupportable to him. Even 
 in his youth he had had no love affairs, 
 avowed and sanctioned. Though Marston 
 professed the utmost devotion to women 
 like Miss Lucy, the women whom his mother 
 and his sisters knew, he had noticed a little 
 sadly that he soon wearied of their society, 
 that he had no power of sustained com- 
 munion with the good. The unfallen were 
 for him the unapproachable. Therefore 
 he had gravitated by taste and tempera- 
 
196 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 ment to the women of the underworld. 
 There his incurable fastidiousness drove 
 him to the pursuit of a possible perfection, 
 distinction within the limits, the inherent 
 frailties of the type. 
 
 In Kittv Tailieur he had found even more 
 than he was looking for. Kitty had certain 
 graces, reminiscent of the upper world; a 
 heritage from presumably irreproachable 
 parents, that marked her from the women 
 of her class. She had, moreover, a way of 
 her own, different from the charm of the 
 unfallen, different, too, from the coarse lures 
 of the underworld. Kitty was never rank, 
 never insipid. She had a few light brains 
 in her body, and knew how to use them, 
 woman-like, for the heightening of her charm. 
 
 There were other good points about 
 Kitty. Marston disliked parting with his 
 money, and he had found Kitty, so far, 
 inexpensive, as women went. 
 
 For these reasons, so many and so plausible 
 that they disguised the true kind and degree 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 197 
 
 of his subjection, he had before now returned 
 to Kitty more than once after he thought 
 that he had tired of her. 
 
 Only three ^yeeks ago, on her return 
 froni Matlock, he judged that he had come 
 to the end of his passion for her; and here 
 he was again at the very beginning of it. 
 Instead of perishing it had thrived on 
 absence. He found himself on the verge 
 of a new and unforeseen adventure, with 
 impulse sharpened by antagonism and frus- 
 tration. Yet his only chance, he knew, 
 was not to be impulsive, but cool rather, 
 calculating and cautious. The fight he was 
 in for would have to be fought with brains; 
 his against hers. 
 
 He sent a note to her early in the morning 
 asking her to see him at nine. At nine she 
 saw him. 
 
 "I thought," she said, '*you were going 
 up to town early." 
 
 "I 'm not going up to town at all, as it 
 happens, to-day." 
 
198 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Isn't it rather a pity to neglect your 
 business?" 
 
 "My business, dear Kitty, is not any 
 business of yours." 
 
 "I 'm only trying to make you see that it 
 is n't worth your while stopping out of town 
 because of me." 
 
 He was a little disconcerted at her divina- 
 tion of his motives, her awareness of her 
 own power. 
 
 "Well, you see, though the affairs of 
 AMiitehall are not your affairs, your affairs, 
 unfortunatelv, are mine; and, since I have 
 to attend to them, I prefer to do it at once 
 and get it over. I had some talk with Lucy 
 last night." 
 
 She turned on him. "Ah, you have given 
 
 me awav." 
 
 "Did you ever know me give any one 
 
 ^ " 
 away .'' 
 
 She did not answer all at once. 
 
 He was shocked at her suspicion; at the 
 
 things she believed it possible for a man to 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 199 
 
 do. In the upper world, in a set that dis- 
 cussed its women freely, he had never used 
 his knowledge of a woman to harm her. 
 He had carried the same scruple into that 
 other world where Kitty lived, where he 
 himself was most at home, where an 
 amused, contemptuous tolerance played 
 the part of chivalry. The women there 
 trusted him; they found him courteous in 
 his very contempt. He had connived at 
 their small deceits, the preposterous hy- 
 pocrisies wherewith they protected them- 
 selves. He accepted urbanely their pitiful 
 imitations of the lost innocence. Kitty, 
 moving reckless and high in her sad circle, 
 had been scornful of her sisters' methods. 
 Her soul was as much above them as 
 her body, in its unique, incongruous beauty, 
 was above their rouge and coloured rai- 
 ment. It was this superiority of hers 
 that had brought her to her present pass; 
 caused her to be mistaken for an honest 
 woman. In her contempt for the under- 
 
200 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 world's deceptions she had achieved the 
 supreme deceit. 
 
 Her deceit — that was his point. 
 
 "Then," she said presently, "what did 
 you say to him.'*'* 
 
 "I said nothing, my dear child, in your 
 disparagement. On the contrary, I con- 
 gratulated him on his engagement. As I 'm 
 supposed to be acting as your agent, or 
 solicitor, or whatever it is I am acting as, 
 I imagine I did right. Is that so.^" 
 
 "Yes; if that's all you said.'* 
 
 "It is not quite all. I sustained my 
 character by giving him a hint, the merest 
 hint, that in the event of your marriage 
 your worldly position would be slightly 
 altered. We must prepare him, you know, 
 for the sudden collapse of your income." 
 
 He rose and went to the mantelpiece, and 
 lingered there over the lighting of a cigarette. 
 
 "You hadn't thought of that.?" he said 
 as he seated himself again. 
 
 "No; I had n't thought of it." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 201 
 
 "Well, he didn't appear to have thought 
 of it either." 
 
 "AMiat did he say, when you told him 
 that?" 
 
 "He said it didn't matter in the very 
 least." 
 
 "I knew he would." 
 
 "He said, in fact, that nothing mattered." 
 
 "Wiat did you say then.^" 
 
 "Nothing. Wiat could I say.^" 
 
 She looked at him, trying to see deep into 
 his design, trusting him no further than she 
 saw. 
 
 "Look here, Kitty, I think you 're making 
 a mistake, even from your own point of 
 view. You ought to tell him." 
 1 — can t. 
 
 "You must. He 's such an awfully decent 
 chap, you can 't let him in for marrying you 
 without telling him." That was his point 
 and he meant to stick to it. "It's what 
 you might call playing it low down on a 
 guileless and confiding man. Isn't it.?" 
 
202 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Yes, but I can't tell him." 
 
 "It's the straight thing, Kitty." 
 
 "I know. But it means giving him up." 
 
 "Not at all. He '11 respect you all the 
 more for it. He ^Yon't go back on you." 
 
 "He wouldn't if he'd only himself to 
 think of." 
 
 "He is n't bound to tell his people. That 's 
 another thing." 
 
 "It is n't his people — it 's — it 's his 
 children." 
 
 Marston became suddenly attentive. "His 
 children.^ He's got children, has he.^" 
 
 "Yes, two; two little girls." 
 
 That strengthened his point. 
 
 "Then, my dear girl, you can't — in 
 common decency — not tell him. Hang it 
 all, you 've got to give the man a chance." 
 
 "A chance to escape.^ You talk as if I 'd 
 set a trap for him." 
 
 "My dear child, you have n't sense enough 
 to set a trap. But, since there are spring- 
 guns in his neighbourhood, I repeat that 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 203 
 
 you ought to inform him of the fact. I 
 dare say he would n't funk a spring-gun on 
 his own account, but he may not want his 
 children to be hurt." 
 
 "I know. He'd be afraid I should con- 
 taminate them. I would n't, ^^ilfrid, I 
 would n't. I would n't hurt them for the 
 world." 
 
 "I'm sure you wouldn't. But he might 
 think you would. The fathers of little girls 
 sometimes have strange prejudices. You see 
 it 's all very well as long as you can keep 
 him in his beautiful innocence. But, if he 
 finds out that you 've deceived him, he — 
 well, he might resent it." 
 
 He never turned his eyes from that livid, 
 vulnerable spot, striking at it with the sword- 
 thrust of his point. 
 
 *'A man can forgive many things in a 
 woman, but not that." 
 
 "I must risk it. He mayn't find out for 
 years and years. If I tell him I shall lose 
 him now." 
 
204 THE i:m:mortal moment 
 
 "Not necessarily. Not if he cares for 
 you as much as I should say he does." 
 
 "It doesn't matter how much he cares. 
 He 'd never marry me." 
 
 "No. He might make another and more 
 sensible arrangement." 
 
 "And then.^" She faced him with it. 
 
 "Then you'll be satisfied. You'll have 
 had your fling." 
 
 "And — when — I 've — had it .^" she said 
 slowly. 
 
 "Then, I suppose, I shall have to take 
 you back." 
 
 "I see. That's where you think you'll 
 come in." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking, at the moment, of 
 myself. The suggestion was thrown out 
 entirely on your behalf, and I may say his. 
 I 'm simply telling you what — knowing you 
 as I do — I consider the wiser course, for 
 both of you." 
 
 "You don't know. And vou don't know 
 him. He would n't do it. He is n't that sort." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 205 
 
 She paused, brooding over it. 
 
 "Besides, I couldn't bear it. I can't go 
 back to that." 
 
 *'And how many years do you think 
 you '11 stand being proper and respectable, 
 which is what you '11 have to be as long as 
 you 're Mrs. Robert Lucy ? It 's a stiffish 
 job, my child, for you to tackle. Just think 
 of the practical difficulties. I 've accounted 
 for the sudden, very singular collapse of your 
 income, but there are all sorts of things that 
 you won't be able to account for. The 
 disappearance, for instance, of the entire 
 circle of your acquaintance." 
 
 She smiled. "It would be much more 
 awkward if it did n't disappear." 
 
 "True. Still, a female friend or two is 
 an indispensable part of a married woman's 
 outfit. The Lucys may n't mind, but their 
 friends may regard the omission as peculiar. 
 Then — you have charming manners, I know 
 — but your speech is apt, at times, to be 
 a little, what shall I say.? Unfettered. 
 
206 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 The other day, when you were annoyed 
 with me, you called me a beast." 
 
 "That's nothing. I might have called 
 you something much worse." 
 
 *' You might. Happily, you did not. I've 
 no objection to the word; it can be used as 
 a delicate endearment, but in your mouth 
 it loses any tender grace it might have 
 had." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Wilfrid." 
 
 "Don't apologise. I didn't mind. But 
 if you call Lucy a beast he won't like it." 
 
 "I couldn't. Besides, I shall be very 
 careful." 
 
 "You will have to be extremely careful. 
 The Lucys live in Hampstead, I believe, and 
 Hampstead enjoys the reputation of being 
 the most respectable suburb of London. 
 You 've no idea of the sort of people you '11 
 have to meet there. You '11 terrify them, and 
 they, my poor Kitten, will exterminate you. 
 You don't know what respectability is like." 
 
 "I don't care. I can stand anything." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 207 
 
 "You think you can. I know that you 
 won't be able to stand it for a fortnight. 
 You '11 find that the air of Hampstead does n't 
 agree with you. And wherever you go 
 it '11 be the same thing. You had very 
 much better stick to me." 
 
 "To you.?" 
 
 "You '11 be safer and happier. If you '11 
 stay with me " 
 
 "I never have — stayed — with you." 
 
 "No, but I'd like you to." 
 
 He was not going to make love to her. 
 He was far too clever for that. He knew 
 that with a woman like Kitty, in Kitty's 
 state of mind, he had nothing to gain by 
 making love. Neither did he propose to 
 pit his will against hers. That course had 
 answered well enough in the time of his 
 possession of her. Passion, which was great 
 in her, greater than her will, made his will 
 powerless over her. His plan was to match 
 the forces of her brain with superior, with 
 overwhelming forces. 
 
208 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 He continued coldly. "I 'm not satisfied 
 with the present arrangement any more than 
 you are. If you '11 stay with me you shall 
 live where you choose; only don't choose 
 Park Lane, for I can't afford it. I '11 give 
 you any mortal thing I can afford." 
 
 "You think you can give me what Robert 
 Lucy 's giving me ?" 
 
 *'I can give you a home, Kitty, as long as 
 you '11 live in it. I can give you the advan- 
 tages of marriage without its drawbacks. 
 You won't be tied to me a minute longer 
 than you like. Whereas you can't leave 
 Lucy without a scandal." 
 
 "You think that a safe arrangement, do 
 you ? I can leave you when I want to." 
 
 "You can leave me any day. So the 
 chances are that you won't want to." 
 
 "And when you 're tired of me.^" 
 
 "That's it. I shan't be tired of you. 
 I 've a different feeling for you from any I 've 
 ever had for any other woman, for the simple 
 reason that you 're a different woman every 
 
1^ 
 
 " 'You won't be tied to me a minute longer than you like. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 209 
 
 time I see you. That 's the secret of your 
 fascination. Didn't you know it.?" 
 
 She shook her head, but she was not 
 attending to him. 
 
 "If you don't know it there 's no harm in 
 telhng you that I 'm very fond of you." 
 
 "What earthly use is it, Wilfrid, being 
 fond of me, as long as I 'm not fond of you ?" 
 
 Ah, that was a mistake. He was on 
 perilous ground. She was strong there. She 
 matched his bloodless, unblushing candour 
 with her throbbing, passionate sincerity. 
 
 "That's all the better," he said. "It 
 would n't pay you, Kitty, to be fond of me. 
 If I thought you were fond of me to-day it 
 would leave me with nothing to look forward 
 to to-morrow. If you were as fond of me 
 as you are of Lucy, it would bore me horribly. 
 What 's more, it would bore you. It would 
 tire you out, and you 'd bolt in a week's time. 
 As, I can tell you, you '11 bolt from him." 
 
 "You think I shall do that. He doesn't. 
 That 's why I 'm fond of him." 
 
210 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I would n't be too fond of him. It never 
 pays. Either you '11 tire of him in a week, 
 or, if you go on being fond of him you '11 
 end by being afraid of him. You need never 
 be afraid of me." 
 
 "I am afraid of you." 
 
 "Not you. I understand you, Kitty, and 
 he does n't." 
 
 "You mean you know the worst of me .^" 
 
 "Precisely. AMiat 's more, I should con- 
 done what you call the worst of you, and 
 he would n't." 
 
 "I know vou would. That 's whv I 'm 
 afraid of you. You only know the worst of 
 me, and he — he knows, he understands, the 
 rest. There 's something; in me that vou 've 
 never seen; vou could n't see it; vou would n't 
 believe in it; you 'd kill it if I stayed with 
 you. It 's no use talking, for I won't." 
 
 "^Miv not.'" he asked as if nothing she 
 had said had been of any moment. 
 
 "I 've told vou whv not. But I don't 
 expect you to understand it." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 211 
 
 "If there 's anything in it I shall under- 
 stand it in the end. I 'm not a fool." 
 
 "No, you 're not a fool. I '11 say that for 
 you." 
 
 "Unless it 's folly to be as fond of you as 
 I am." 
 
 "Oh, no, that 's not follv. You '11 be fond 
 of me just as long as I 'm nice to look at; as 
 long as it does n't bore you to talk to me; as 
 long as I don't give you any trouble." 
 
 "Good God! ^^^ly, look at the trouble 
 you 're giving me now." 
 
 "Yes, the trouble I'm giving you now, 
 when I 'm young and pretty and you can't 
 have me. But when you have had me; 
 when I 'm tired out and ill and — and thin; 
 will you be fool enough to be fond of me 
 then.?" 
 
 "You have been ill, you were ill last 
 night, and — I 've got over it." 
 
 "You never came near me when I was ill 
 at Matlock. You call that giving me what 
 Robert Lucy gives me ? Robert has seen me 
 
212 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 when I 've been as ugly as sin, when my eyes 
 have been bunged up with crying. And it 
 made no difference. He '11 love me when 
 I 'm thin and ill and old. When I 'm dead 
 he'll love me." 
 
 He faced her passion as it flamed up 
 before him, faced it with his cold, meditative 
 smile. 
 
 "That 's just what makes it such a beastly 
 shame." 
 
 *'My not giving him up.^ How can I 
 give him up .^" 
 
 *'I see your point. You think you 're 
 exchanging a temporary affection for a 
 permanent one. You admit that I shall 
 love you as long as you 're nice to look at. 
 Very well. You '11 be nice to look at for 
 some considerable time. I shall therefore 
 love you for some considerable time. Robert 
 Lucy will love you just as long as he believes 
 in you. How long will that be.^" 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "You don't know. Have you calculated 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 213 
 
 the probable effect of gradual enlightenment 
 on our friend's mind?'* 
 
 "I 've calculated nothing." 
 
 "No. You are not a calculating woman. 
 I just ask you to consider this point. I am 
 not, as you know, in the least surprised at 
 any of your charming little aberrations. 
 But our friend Lucy has not had many 
 surprises in his life. He '11 come to you 
 with an infinite capacity for astonishment. 
 It 's quite uncertain how he '11 take — er — 
 anything in the nature of a surprise. And, 
 if you ask me, I should say he 'd take it hard. 
 Are you going to risk that ?"" 
 
 He was returning to his point even when 
 he feigned to have lost sight of it. Tortured 
 and panting she evaded it with pitiful sub- 
 terfuges. He urged her back, pressing her 
 tender breast against the prick of it. 
 
 "I 'm going to risk everything," she said. 
 
 "Risk it, risk it, then. Tie yourself for 
 life to a man vou don't know; who does n't 
 really know you, though you think he does; 
 
214 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 who on your own showing would n't marry 
 you if he did know. You see what a 
 whopping big risk it is, for he 's bound to 
 know in the end." 
 
 She sickened and wearied. *'He is not 
 bound to know. AVliy is he?** 
 
 "Because, my dear girl, you're bound to 
 give yourself away some day. I know you. 
 I know the perverse little devil that is in 
 you. \Vlien you realise what you 've let 
 yourself in for you '11 break loose, suddenly 
 — like that." He threw out his arms as if 
 he burst bonds asunder. "You can't help 
 yourself. You simply can't live the life. 
 You may yearn for it, but you can't 
 
 live it." 
 
 "I don't want to be respectable. It isn't 
 
 that." 
 
 "What is it then.?" 
 
 "Can't you see.?" 
 
 He looked at her closely, as if he saw it 
 for the first time. 
 
 "Are you so awfully gone on him.?" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 215 
 
 *'Yes," she said. "You won't tell him? 
 It '11 kill me if he knows." 
 
 "You think it will, but it won't." 
 
 "I shall kill myself, then." 
 
 "Oh no, you won't. You only think you 
 will. It 's Lucy I 'm sorry for." 
 
 "And it 's me you 're hard on. You were 
 always hard. You say you condone things, 
 but you condone nothing, and you 're not 
 good yourself." 
 
 "No, I'm not good myself. But there is 
 conduct and conduct. I can condone every- 
 thing but the fraud you 're practising on this 
 innocent man." He rose. "It's — well — 
 you see, it 's such a beastly shame." 
 
 It was to be a battle of brains, and she had 
 foiled him with the indomitable stupidity 
 of her passion. But his point — the one 
 point that he stuck to — was a sword point 
 for her passion. 
 
 "You won't tell him.^ You won't .= It 
 would be a blackguardly thing to do." 
 
 "If Lucy was a friend of mine I 'm afraid 
 
216 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 the blackguardly thing would be to hold my 
 tongue." 
 
 "You'd tell him then?" she said. "You 
 would n't think of me .^" 
 
 She came to him. She laid her arms 
 upon his shoulders. Her hands touched him 
 with dispassionate, deliberate, ineffectual 
 caresses, a pitiful return to a discarded 
 manner, an outrageous imitation of the old 
 professional cajoleries. It was so poor a 
 thing that it had no power to move him. 
 AVhat moved him was the look in her eves, 
 the look which his brain told him was the 
 desperate, incredulous appeal of her unhappy 
 soul. 
 
 "I don't know, Kitty," he said. "Thank 
 heaven, he 's not a friend of mine." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IT WAS not from Marston, then, that she 
 had to fear betrayal. Neither was she 
 any more afraid of the rumours of the Chff 
 Hotel. She was aware that her engagement 
 to Robert Lucy, unannounced but accepted 
 for the simple fact it was, had raised her 
 above censure and suspicion. 
 
 It had come just in time to occupy Mrs. 
 Jurd and Miss Keating on their way to 
 Surbiton. 
 
 WTien Kitty thought of Grace Keating 
 she said to herself, "How will Bunny feel 
 now?" But her mortal exultation was 
 checked by her pity for poor Bunny, who 
 would have been so happy if she had been 
 married. 
 
 Then there were the Hankins. She 
 reflected sanely that they could n't be danger- 
 ous, for they knew nothing. Still she did feel 
 
 217 
 
218 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 a little imeasv when she thought of the 
 Hankins. 
 
 She was thinking of them now as she and 
 Robert sat on the Cliff, making the most of 
 their last hour together before the arrival of 
 the little girls. 
 
 "Robert," she said, "the Hankins are 
 probably sitting down there under the Cliff. 
 Supposing they see us.^" 
 
 "Thev can't, we 're over their heads." 
 
 "But if they do what do you suppose 
 thev '11 think?" 
 
 "If they think at all, thev '11 have an 
 inkling of the truth. But it is n't their 
 business. The children will be here soon," 
 he added. 
 
 She looked at him intentlv. Was he 
 trying, she wondered, to reassure her that 
 the presence of his children would protect 
 her.^ Or was he merely preoccupied with 
 the thought of their arrival.^" 
 
 "You don't mind," he said presently, "not 
 coming to the station.^" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 219 
 
 He had said that already twice before. 
 Wiy ask, she said, when he knew perfectly 
 w^ell she did n't mind ? 
 
 Of course she did n't mind. She knew 
 his idea, that they were not to be confronted 
 with her suddenly. He meant to let her 
 dawn on them beautifully, with the tenderest 
 gradations. He would approach them with 
 an incomparable cunning. He would tell 
 them that they were going to see a very 
 pretty lady. And when they were thoroughly 
 inured to the idea of her, he would announce 
 that the pretty lady was coming to stay 
 with them, and that she would never go 
 away. 
 
 She looked at her watch. 
 
 "We 've got another half-hour before they 
 come," 
 
 "Kitty, I believe you 're afraid of them.?" 
 
 "Yes, Robert, I 'm afraid." 
 
 "\Miat? Of two small children.?" 
 
 "'N^liat are they like.? I haven't asked 
 you that." 
 
220 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Well, Janet's a queer, uncanny little 
 person, rather long for her age and very 
 thin " 
 
 "Like you?" 
 
 "Like me. At first you think she's all 
 legs. Then you see a little white face with 
 enormous eyes that look at you as if she was 
 wondering what you are." 
 
 He smiled. His mind had gone off, away 
 from her, to the contemplation of his little 
 daughter. 
 
 "I think she is clever, but one never knows. 
 We have to handle her very carefully. Bar- 
 bara 's all right. You can pitch her about 
 like anything." 
 
 "What is Barbara like.?" 
 
 " Barbara ? She 's round and fat and going 
 to be pretty, like " 
 
 "Like her mother.?" 
 
 "No, like Janey, if Janey was fat. They 're 
 both a little difficult to manage. If you 
 reprove Barbara, she bursts out laughing in 
 your face. If you even hint to Janet that 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 221 
 
 you disapprove of her, she goes away some- 
 where and weeps." 
 
 "Poor little thing. I 'm afraid," said Kitty 
 sadly, "they 're not so very small." 
 
 "Well, Janet, I believe, is seven, and 
 Barbara is five." 
 
 "Barbara is five. And, oh dear me, Janet 
 
 is seven." 
 
 "Is that such a very formidable age.^" 
 
 She laughed uneasily. "Yes. That's the 
 age when they begin to take notice, is n't is .''" 
 
 "Oh, no, they do that when they 're babies. 
 Even Barbara 's grown out of that. I say, 
 Kitty, what a lot you know." 
 
 "Don't, Robert." She looked at him im- 
 ploringly and put her hand in his. 
 
 "I won't, if you '11 only tell me what I 'm 
 not to do." 
 
 "You 're not to tease me about the things 
 you think I don't know. I used to nurse my 
 little sisters, when I was n't very big myself. 
 I can't nurse Janet, or Barbara, can I.^" 
 Why not.?" 
 
 << 
 
222 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "They wouldn't let me. They're too 
 old. It won't be the same thing at all." 
 
 "Well," said Robert, and paused, *hiding 
 from her the thino^ that was in his mind. 
 
 "Oh, Robert, I do wish, I do wish they 
 were reallv small." 
 
 "I 'm sorry, Kitty. But perhaps " 
 
 He could not hide anything from Kitty. 
 
 "No, Robert," she said, "I 'm afraid there 
 won't be any perhaps. That 's one of the 
 things I meant to tell you. But I 'm not 
 bothering about that. I meant — if they were 
 little — little things, I should n't be so dread- 
 fully afraid of them." 
 
 "AMiy.;^ AMiat do you think they'll do 
 to you, Kitty .^" 
 
 "I — don't — know." 
 
 "You needn't be alarmed. I believe 
 they 're very well-behaved. Jane has brought 
 them up quite nicely." 
 
 "^Yhat is Jane going to do.^" 
 
 "Ah — that's what I wanted to ask you 
 about." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MO:\lENT 223 
 
 "You needn't ask me. You want her to 
 stay and look after them just the same?" 
 
 "No, not just the same. I want her to 
 stay and she won't. She says it would n't be 
 fair to you." 
 
 "But — if she only would, that would 
 make it all so easy. You see, I could look 
 after you, and she could look after them." 
 
 "You don't want to be bored with 
 them.^" 
 
 "You know that isn't what I mean. I 
 don't want them to suffer." 
 
 "AMiy should they suffer.^" There was 
 some irritation in his tone. 
 
 "Because I don't think, Robert, I 'm really 
 fit to bring up children." 
 
 "I think YOU are. And I don't mean 
 anybody else to bring them up. If you 're 
 my wife, Kitty, you "re their mother." 
 
 "And they 're to be mine as well as yours .'" 
 
 "As much yours as vou can make them, 
 dear." 
 
 "Oh, how you trust me. That's what 
 
224 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 makes me so afraid. And — do you think 
 they '11 really love me?" 
 
 "Trust them — for that." 
 
 "You asked me if I could care for you, 
 Robert; you never asked me if I could care 
 for them. You trusted me for that!" 
 
 "I could have forgiven you if you could n't 
 care for me." 
 
 "But you couldn't forgive me if I didn't 
 care for them .^ Is that it.'*" 
 
 "No; I simply couldn't understand any 
 woman not caring for them. I think you will 
 like the little things, when you 've seen them." 
 
 "I '11 promise you one thing. I won't be 
 jealous of them." 
 
 " Jealous ? Why on earth should you be .^" 
 
 "Some women are. I was afraid I might 
 be that sort." 
 
 "AMiy.5" 
 
 "Because — oh, because I care for you so 
 awfully. But that 's just it. That 's why I 
 can't be jealous of them. They 're yours, you 
 see. I can't separate them from you." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 225 
 
 "Well, well, let's wait until you've seen 
 them." 
 
 "Don't you believe me, Robert? Women 
 do love their children before they 've seen 
 them. I don't need to see them. I have 
 seen them. I saw them all last night." 
 
 She looked away from him, brooding, as 
 if she still saw them. 
 
 "There's only one person I could be 
 jealous of, and I 'm not jealous of her any 
 more." 
 
 "Poor Uttle Jane." 
 
 "It wasn't Jane. It was their mother. 
 I mean it was your wife." 
 
 He turned and looked at her. There was 
 amazement in his kind, simple face. 
 
 "I suppose you think that 's fiendish of 
 me.?" 
 
 He did not reply. 
 
 "But — Robert — I'm not jealous of her 
 any more. I don't care if she was your 
 wife." 
 
 "Kitty, my dear child " 
 
226 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I don't care if she had ten children and 
 / never had one. It 's got nothing to do 
 with it. She had you for — two years, 
 was n't it.''" 
 
 ''Two years, Kitty." 
 
 "Poor thing; and I shall have you all my 
 life." 
 
 "Yes. And so, if you don't mind, dear, 
 I 'd rather you did n't talk about that again." 
 
 "I 'm sorry. I won't ever again." 
 
 She sat silent for a moment in a sort of 
 penitential shame. Then she burst out — 
 
 "I 'm not jealous. But, Robert, if you 
 were to leave me for another woman it 
 would kill me. I dare n't say that to any 
 other man if I cared for him. It would 
 just make him go and do it. But I believe 
 somehow you 'd think twice before you killed 
 me." 
 
 He only smiled at this, and spoke gently. 
 
 "Yes, Kitty, you're right. I believe I 
 would think twice about it." 
 
 He said to himself that this fierceness, 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 227 
 
 her passionate perversity, all that was most 
 unintelligible in her, was just Ejtty's way — 
 the way of a woman recklessly, adorably in 
 love. It stirred in him the very depths of 
 tenderness. AMien she was married (they must 
 marry very soon) she would be happy; she 
 would understand him; she would settle down. 
 
 He looked at his watch. "I 'm afraid I 
 must be going." 
 
 She glanced at the hands of the watch 
 over his shoulder. "You need n't," she said. 
 "It isn't really time." 
 
 "Well — five minutes." 
 
 The five minutes went. "Time 's up," he 
 said. 
 
 "Oh, no, Robert — not yet." 
 
 "Kitty — don't you want to see them.''" 
 
 "I don't want you to go." 
 
 "I 'm coming back." 
 
 "Yes, but it won't be the same thing. It 
 never will be the same thing as now." 
 
 "Poor Kitty — I say, I must go and meet 
 them." 
 
228 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Very well," She stood up. "Kiss me,'* 
 she said. 
 
 She took his kiss as if it were the last 
 that would be given her. 
 
 They went together to the hotel. Jane 
 had started five minutes ago for the station. 
 
 "It 's all right," he said. 'T '11 catch her 
 up." 
 
 She followed to the gates and looked down 
 the white road where Jane had gone. 
 
 "Let me come with you — just a little 
 way — to the first lamp-post on the station 
 road." 
 
 "Well, to the first lamp-post." 
 
 At the lamp-post she let him go. 
 
 She stood looking after him till he swung 
 round the turn of the road, out of her sight. 
 Then she went back, slowly, sad-eyed, and 
 with a great terror in her heart. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT WAS not the thing she had confessed to 
 him, fear of his httle unseen children, it 
 was terror, unconfessed, uncomprehended, as it 
 were foreknowledge of the very soul of destiny 
 clothed for her in their tender flesh and blood. 
 Up till now she had been careless of her 
 destiny. She had been so joyous, so defiant 
 in her sinning. By that charm of hers, 
 younger than youth, indestructibly childlike, 
 she had carried it through with the audacity 
 of chartered innocence. She had propitiated, 
 ignored, eluded the more feminine amenities 
 of fate. Of course, she had had her bad 
 moments. She had been sorry, sometimes, 
 and she had been sick; but on the whole 
 her powers had been splendidly recuperative. 
 She had shown none of those naked tender 
 spots that provoke destiny to strike. And 
 with it all she had preserved, perhaps too 
 
 229 
 
230 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 scrupulously, the rules laid down for such 
 as she. She had kept her own place. She 
 had never attempted to invade the sanctuaries 
 set apart for other women. 
 
 It was Robert who had tempted her to 
 that transgression. He had opened the 
 door of the sanctuary for her and shut it 
 behind her and put his back against it. He 
 had made her believe that if she stayed in 
 there, with him, it would be all right. She 
 might have known what Avould happen. It 
 was for such a moment, of infatuation made 
 perfect, that destiny was waiting. 
 
 Kitty had no very luminous idea of its 
 intentions. But she bore in her blood fore- 
 bodings, older and obscurer than the flashes 
 of the brain; and her heart had swift 
 immortal instincts, forerunners of the mortal 
 hours. The powers of pain, infallibly wise, 
 implacably just, would choose their moment 
 well, striking at her through the hands of 
 the children she had never borne. 
 
 If Robert found out what she was before 
 
THE IMMORTAL M0:MEXT 231 
 
 he married her, he would have to give her 
 up because of them. She knew better than 
 he did the hold she had over him. She 
 had tried to keep him in ignorance of her 
 power, so great was her terror of what it 
 might do to him, and to her through him. 
 Yet, with all her sad science, she remained 
 uncertain of his ultimate behaviour. That 
 was the charm and the dang-er of him. 
 For fear of some undiscovered, uncalculated 
 quality in him she had held herself back; 
 she had been careful how she touched him, 
 how she looked at him, lest her hands or 
 her eyes should betray her; lest in his heart 
 he should call her by her name, and fling 
 her from him because of them. AMiereas, 
 but for them, she judged that whatever she 
 was he would not give her up. She was 
 not quite sure (you could n't say ichat a man 
 like Robert would or would n't do), but she 
 felt that if she could have had him to her- 
 self, if there had been only he and she, 
 facing the world, then, for sheer chivalry, 
 
232 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 he simply could n't have left her. Even 
 now, once he was married to her it would 
 be all right; he couldn't give her up or 
 leave her; the worst he could do would be 
 to separate her from them. 
 
 There was really no reason then why she 
 should be frightened. He was going to 
 marry her very soon. She knew that, by 
 her science, though he had not said so. She 
 would be all right. She would be very 
 careful. It was n't as if she did n't want to 
 be nice and to do all the proper things. 
 
 And so Kitty cast off care. 
 
 Only, as she waited in the room prepared 
 for the children, she looked at herself in 
 the glass, once, to make sure that there was 
 nothing in her face that could betray her. 
 No; Nature had spared her as yet and her 
 youth was good to her. Her face looked 
 back at her, triumphantly reticent, innocent 
 of memory, holding her charm, a secret 
 beyond the secrets of corruption, as her 
 perfect body held the mystery and the 
 
THE IMMORTAL M0:MENT 233 
 
 prophecy of her power. Besides, her face 
 was different now from what it had been. 
 Vulfrid had intimated to her that it was 
 different. It was the face that Robert 
 loved; it had the look that told him that 
 she loved him, a look it never wore for any 
 other man. Even now as she thought of 
 him it lightened and grew rosy. She saw 
 it herself and wondered and took hope. 
 "That 's how I look when I 'm happy, is it.? 
 I 'm always happy when I 'm with him, so," 
 she reasoned, "he will always see me like 
 that; and it will be all right." 
 
 Anyhow, there would be no unhappiness 
 about his pretty lady when he came back 
 with them. 
 
 She smiled softlv as she went about the 
 room, putting the touches of perfection to 
 the festival. There were roses everywhere; 
 on the table, on the mantelpiece; the room 
 was sweet with the smell of them; there 
 was a rose on each child's plate. The 
 tremulous movements of her hands betrayed 
 
234 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 the immensity and the desperation of her 
 passion to please. The very waiter was 
 touched by her, and smiled secretly in 
 sympathy as he saw her laying her pretty 
 lures. When he had gone she arranged 
 the table all over again and did it better. 
 Then she stood looking at it, hovering round 
 it, thinking. She would sit here, and the 
 children there, Janet between her and 
 Robert, Barbara between her and Jane. 
 
 "Poor little things," she said, "poor 
 little things." She yearned to them even 
 in her fear of them, and when she thought 
 of them sitting there her lips moved in 
 unspoken, pitiful endearments. 
 
 The light from the south-west streamed 
 into the little room and made it golden. 
 Everything in it shimmered and shone. 
 The window, flung wide open to the veranda, 
 framed the green lawn and the shining, 
 shimmering sea. A wind, small and soft, 
 stirred the thin curtains to and fro, fanning the 
 warm air. The sunlight and heat oppressed 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 235 
 
 her. She shut her eyes and put her hands 
 over them to cool them with darkness. It 
 was a trick she had when she was troubled. 
 
 She sat by the window and waited in 
 the strange, throbbing darkness of hot eyes 
 closed in daylight, a darkness smitten by 
 the sun and shot with a fiery fume. 
 
 They were coming now. She heard feet 
 on the gravel outside, round the corner; 
 she heard Robert's voice and Janey's; and 
 then little shuffling footsteps at the door, 
 and two voices shrill and sweet. 
 
 Robert came in first and the children 
 with him. They stood all three on the 
 threshold, looking at her. Robert was 
 smiling, but the little girls (they were very 
 little) were grave. His eyes drew her and 
 she came toward them as she was used to 
 come to the things of her desire, swift and 
 shy, with a trailing, troubling movement; 
 the way that he had seen her come, swayed 
 by the rhythm of impulse. 
 
 The children stood stock still as she 
 
236 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 stooped to them. Her fear of them made 
 her supremely gentle. Little Barbara put 
 up her round rose face with its soft mouth 
 thrust forward in a premature kiss. Janet 
 gave her a tiny hand and gazed at her with 
 brooding, irresponsive eyes. Her little mouth 
 never moved as Kittv's mouth touched it. 
 
 But little Barbara held out her spade and 
 bucket for Kitty to see. "Look, look," 
 said little Barbara, "Daddy gave them me to 
 build castles in the sand." Barbara spoke 
 so fast that she panted, and laughed in a 
 divine superfluity of joy. 
 
 Robert stood looking down from his 
 tremendous height at Barbara, tenderly as 
 one who contemplates a thing at once heart- 
 rending and absurd. Then his eyes turned 
 to Kitty, smiling quietly as if they said, 
 "Didn't I tell vou to wait until vou 'd seen 
 them.^" Kitty's heart contracted with a 
 sharp, abominable pang. 
 
 Then Janey took the little girls to the 
 room upstairs where their nurse was. Bar- 
 
THE IMMORTAL ]\IO:\IENT 237 
 
 bara looked back at Kitty as she went, but 
 Kitty's eyes followed Janet. 
 
 "Robert," she said, "will she always 
 look at me like that? Shall I never know 
 what she is thinking?" 
 
 "None of us know what Janet 's thinking." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 "I told you we had to be very careful of 
 her." 
 
 "Is she delicate?" 
 
 "No. Physically, she's far stronger than 
 Barbara. She 's what you call morally 
 delicate." 
 
 She flushed. " ^Miat do you mean, Robert ? 
 
 "Well — not able to bear things. For in- 
 stance, we 'd a small child staying with us once. 
 It turned out that she was n't a nice child at 
 all. We did n't know it, though. But Janet 
 had a perfect horror of her. It 's as if she had 
 a sort of intuition. She was so unhappy about 
 it that we had to send the child away." 
 
 His forehead was drawn into a frown of 
 worry and perplexity. 
 
238 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I don't see how she's to grow up. It 
 makes me feel so awfully responsible. The 
 world is n't an entirely pretty place, you 
 know, and it seems such a cruel shame to 
 bring a child like that into it. Does n't it.^" 
 
 '*Yes." 
 
 *' Somehow I think you'll understand her, 
 Kitty." 
 
 *'Yes, Robert, I understand." 
 
 She came to him. She laid her hand on 
 the sleeve of his coat, and stood by him. 
 Her eyes were shining through some dew 
 that was not tears. 
 
 *'What is it, Kitty.?" 
 
 *'Will you marry me soon.?" she said. 
 **Very soon.?" she whispered. *'I — I can't 
 wait." She hid her face against his arm. 
 
 He thought it was the motherhood in her 
 that was moved, that pleaded, impatient for 
 its hour. 
 
 "\Miy should we wait.? Do you suppose 
 I want to .?" 
 
 *'Hush!" she said. "They 're coming." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 239 
 
 They came a little solemnly, as beseemed 
 a festival. Janet, in her long white pinafore, 
 looked more than ever the spiritual thing 
 she was. Her long brown hair hung down 
 her cheeks, straight and smooth as a parted 
 veil, sharpening her small face, that flickered 
 as a flame flickers in troubled air. Beside 
 her little Barbara bloomed and glowed, with 
 cheeks full-blown, and cropped head flower- 
 ing into curls that stood on end in brown 
 tufts, and tawny feathers, and little crests of 
 gold. They took their places, pensively, at 
 the table. 
 
 They had beautiful manners, Robert's 
 children; little exquisite, gentle ways of 
 approaching and of handling things. They 
 held themselves very erect, with a secure, 
 diminutive distinction. Kitty's heart sank 
 deeper as she looked at them. Even Barbara, 
 who was so very young, carried her small 
 perfections intact through all the spontaneities 
 of her behaviour. 
 
 All through tea-time little Barbara, pursued 
 
240 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 by her dream, talked incessantly of castles 
 in the sand. And when she was tired of 
 talking she began to sing. 
 
 "Darling," said Jane, "we don't sing at 
 tea-time." 
 
 "7 do," said little Barbara, and laughed. 
 
 Jane laughed too, hysterically. 
 
 Then the spirit of little Barbara entered 
 into Jane, and made her ungovernably gay. 
 It passed into Kitty, and ran riot in her 
 blood and nerves. Whenever Barbara 
 laughed Kitty laughed, and when Kitty 
 laughed Robert laughed too. Even Janet 
 gave a little shriek now and then. The 
 children thought it was all because they 
 had had strawberries and cream for tea, and 
 were going down to the sea to build castles 
 in the sand. 
 
 All afternoon, till dinner-time, Kitty 
 laboured on the sands, building castles as 
 if she had never done anything else in her 
 life. The Hankins watched her from their 
 seat on the rocks in the angle of the Cliff. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 241 
 
 "We were mistaken. She must be all 
 right. How pretty she is, too, poor thing," 
 said Mrs. Hankin to her husband. 
 
 "How pretty she is, how absolutely 
 lovable and good," said Robert to himself 
 as he watched her, while Barbara, a tired 
 little labourer, lay stretched in her lap. She 
 was sitting on a rock under the Cliff, with 
 the great brow of it for a canopy. Her eyes 
 were lowered, and hidden by their deep lids. 
 She was smiling at the child who leaned 
 back in her arms, crushing a soft cheek 
 against her breast. 
 
 He thrcAv himself down beside her. He 
 had just finished a prodigious fortress, with 
 earthworks and trenches extending to the sea. 
 
 "Kitty, Kitty," he said, "you're only a 
 child yourself, like Janey. She 's perfectly 
 happy building castles in the sand — so are 
 you. You 're a perfect baby." 
 
 "We 're all babies, Robert, building castles 
 in the sand. And you 're the biggest baby 
 of the lot." 
 
242 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I don't care. I 've built the biggest 
 castle." 
 
 '*Look at Janet," said Kitty. "She'll be 
 grown up before any of us." 
 
 The child sat on a rock with Jane. But, 
 from the distance that she kept, she looked 
 at her father and Kitty from time to time. 
 All afternoon Janet had clung to Jane. But 
 when bed-time came Robert took her aside 
 and whispered something to her. Going 
 home she walked by Kitty, and put her 
 hand in hers. 
 
 *' Daddy said I 'm to be very kind to you." 
 
 "Did he? That's very kind of daddy." 
 
 " Daddy 's always kind to people. Espe- 
 cially when they 've not been very happy. 
 Really and truly I 'm going to be kind. But 
 you won't mind if I don't love you very soon, 
 will you.?" 
 
 "Of course I won't. Only don't leave it 
 too late, darling." 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Janet thought- 
 fully; "we 've lots of time." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 243 
 
 "Have we?" 
 
 '* Heaps and heaps. You see, I love 
 Auntie Janey, and it might hurt her feehngs." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 **But I'm going to give you something," 
 said Janet presently. 
 
 "I don't want you to give me anything 
 that belongs to Auntie Janey." 
 
 "No," said Janet; "I shall give you 
 something of my own." 
 
 "Oh! And you can't tell me what it's 
 going to be .^" 
 
 "I must think about it." The little girl 
 became lost in thought. "Barbara likes 
 kissing people. I don't." 
 
 "So I see. It won't be kisses, then.?" 
 
 "No; it won't be kisses. It will," she 
 reiterated, "be something of my own." 
 
 She dropped Kitty's hand. 
 
 "You won't mind if I go to Auntie Janey 
 now t 
 
 Kitty told Janey about it afterward, as 
 they sat alone in the lounge before dinner. 
 
244 THE IMIVEORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "You mustn't mind, Kitty dear," said 
 Jane. '*It only means that she 's a faithful 
 little soul. She '11 be just as faithful to you 
 some day." 
 
 "Some day." 
 
 "Don't sigh like that, Kitty." 
 
 "She 's like Robert, is n't she ?'* 
 
 "Very like Robert." 
 
 She brooded. 
 
 "Janey," she said, "let me have him to 
 myself this evening." 
 
 All evening she had him to herself, out 
 on the Cliff, in the place where nobody came 
 but they. 
 
 "Well," he said, "what do you think of 
 them.^" 
 
 "I think they 're adorable." 
 
 "Funny little beggars, aren't they.^ How 
 did you get on with Janet .^" 
 
 She told him. 
 
 "That's Janet's httle way. To give you 
 something: of her own." He smiled in tender 
 satisfaction, repeating the child's phrase. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 245 
 
 "It 's all right, Kitty. She 's only holding 
 herself in. You 're in for a big thing." 
 
 She surveyed it. 
 
 **I know, Robert. I know." 
 
 "You're tired.? Have the children been 
 too much for you .?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You 're not to make yourself a slave to 
 them, you know." 
 
 She looked at him. 
 
 "Was I all right, Robert .?-" 
 
 "You were perfect." 
 
 "You said I was only a child myself." 
 
 "So you are. That 's why I like you." 
 
 She shook her head ao;ain. 
 
 "It 's all very well," she said, "but that 
 is n't what you want, dear — another child." 
 
 "How do you know what I want.?" 
 
 *'You want somebody much nicer than I am." 
 
 He was silent, looking at her as he had 
 looked at Barbara, enjoying her absurdity, 
 letting her play, like the child she was, with 
 her preposterous idea. 
 
246 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Oh, Robert, you do really think I'm 
 nice?" She came nearer to him, crying 
 out hke a child in pain. He put his arm 
 round her, and comforted her as best he could. 
 
 "You child, do you suppose I'd marry 
 you if I did n't think you nice V 
 
 "You mio;ht. You mightn't care." 
 
 "As it happens, I do care, very much. 
 Anyhow, I would n't ask you to be a mother 
 to my children if I did n't think you nice. 
 That's the test." 
 
 "Yes, Robert," she repeated, "that's the 
 test." 
 
 They rose and went back to the hotel. 
 From the lawn they could see the open win- 
 dow of the children's room. They looked up. 
 
 "Would you like to see them, Kitty?" 
 les. 
 
 He took her up to them. They were 
 asleep. Little Barbara lay curled up in the 
 big bed, right in the middle of it where her 
 dreams had tossed her. Janet, in the cot 
 beside her, lay very straight and still. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 247 
 
 Robert signed to Kitty to come near, and 
 they stood together and looked first at the 
 children and then into each other's faces. 
 Edtty was very quiet. 
 
 "Do you like them?" he whispered. 
 
 Her lips quivered, but she made no sign. 
 
 He stooped over each bed, smoothing the 
 long hair from Janet's forehead, folding back 
 the blanket that weighed on Barbara's little 
 body. "\Mien he turned, Kitty had gone. 
 She had slipped into her own room. 
 
 She waited till she heard Robert go away. 
 The children were alone in there. The 
 nurse, she knew, was in Jane's room across 
 the passage. Jane was probably telling her 
 that her master was to be married very soon. 
 
 She looked out. The door of Jane's room 
 was shut; so was the door of the children's 
 room through which Robert had gone out. 
 The other, the door of communication, she 
 had left ajar. She went softly back through 
 it and stood again by the children's beds. 
 Janet was still sound asleep. Her fine limbs 
 
248 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 were still stretched straight and quiet under 
 the blanket. Her hair was as Robert's hand 
 had left it. 
 
 Kitty was afraid of disturbing Janet's 
 sleep. She was afraid of Janet. 
 
 She stooped over little Barbara, and turned 
 back the bedclothes from the bed. She 
 laid herself down, half her length, upon it 
 by Barbara's side, and folded her in arms 
 that scarcely touched her at first, so light 
 they lay on her. Then some perverse and 
 passionate impulse seized her to wake the 
 child. She did it gently, tenderly, holding 
 back her passion, troubling the depths of 
 sleep with fine, feather-like touches, with 
 kisses soft as sleep. 
 
 The child stirred under the caressing 
 arms. She lay in her divine beauty, half 
 asleep, half awake, opening her eyes, and 
 shutting them on the secret of her dream. 
 Then Kitty's troubling hand turned her 
 from her flight down the ways of sleep. 
 She lay on her back, her eyes glimmered in 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 249 
 
 the lifting of their lids; they opened under 
 Kitty's eyes that watched them, luminous, 
 large and clear. Her mouth curled under 
 Kitty's mouth, in drowsy kisses plucked 
 from the annihilated dream. She drew up 
 her rosy knees and held out her arms to 
 Kitty's arms and smiled, half awake and 
 half asleep. 
 
 Kitty rose, lifting the child with her from 
 the bed. She held her close, pressing the 
 tender body close to her own body with 
 quivering hands, stroking the adorable little 
 face with her own face, closing her eyes 
 under the touch of it as she closed them 
 when Robert's face touched hers. She was 
 aware that she had brought some passionate, 
 earthly quality of her love for Robert into 
 her love for Robert's child. 
 
 She said to herself, "I 'm terrible; there 's 
 something wrong with me. This is n't the 
 way to love a child." 
 
 She laid the little thing down again, freed 
 her neck from the drowsy, detaining arms. 
 
250 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 and covered the small body up out of her 
 sight. Barbara, thus abandoned, cried, and 
 the cry cut through her heart. 
 
 She went into her own room, and threw 
 herself on her bed and writhed there, torn 
 by many pangs. The pang of the heart and 
 the pang of the half-born spirit, struggling 
 with the body that held it back from birth; 
 and through it all the pang of the mother- 
 hood she had thwarted and disowned. Out 
 of the very soil of corruption it pierced, 
 sharp and pure, infinitely painful. It was 
 almost indiscernible from the fierce exul- 
 tation of her heart that had found fulfilment, 
 and from the passion of her body that yet 
 waited for its own. 
 
 She undressed herself, and crept into her 
 bed and lay there, tortured, visited by many 
 memories. She gazed with terrified, pitiful 
 eyes into a darkness that was peopled for her 
 with all the faces she had known in the short 
 seasons of her sinning; men, and the women 
 who had been her friends and her com- 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 251 
 
 panions; and the strangers who had passed 
 her by, or who had lingered and looked on. 
 The faces of Robert and his children hung 
 somewhere on the outskirts of her vision, 
 but she could not fix them or hold them; they 
 were trampled out, ol)literated by that phan- 
 tasmal procession of her shames. Some faces, 
 more terrible than all, detached themselves 
 and crovrded round her, the faces of those 
 who had pursued her, and of those whom 
 her own light feet pursued; from the first 
 Avho had found her and left her, to the last 
 whom she herself had held captive and let 
 go. They stood about her bed; they 
 stretched out their hands and touched her; 
 their faces peered into hers; faces that she 
 had forgotten. She thrust them from her 
 into the darkness and they came again. 
 Each bore the same likeness to his fellow; 
 each had the same looks, the same gestures 
 that defied her to forget. She fell asleep; 
 and the dreams, the treacherous, perpetually 
 remembering, delivered her into their hands. 
 
252 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 She waked at dawn, with memory quick- 
 ened by her dreams. She heard voices now, 
 all the voices that had accused her. Her 
 mother's voice spoke first, and it was very 
 sad. It said, "I am sending you away, 
 Kitty, because of the children." Then her 
 father's voice, very stern, "No, I will not have 
 you back. You must stay where you are for 
 your little sisters' sake." And her mother's 
 voice again — afterward — sad and stern, 
 too, this time, "iVs you made your bed, Kitty, 
 you must lie. AVe can't take you back." 
 
 And there was a third voice. It said very 
 softly, "You can't have it both ways." It 
 cried out aloud in a fury, "I've always 
 known it. You can't hide it. You 're full 
 of it." And yet another voice, deep and 
 hard, "You can't 7iot tell him. It 's a shame 
 Kitty; it 's an awful shame." 
 
 She could not sleep again for listening to 
 them. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IT WAS morning. She dragged herself up 
 and tried to dress. But her hands shook 
 and her head ached violently. She stretched 
 herself half-dressed upon her bed and lay 
 there helpless, surrendered to the bodily pain 
 that delivered her mercifully from the anguish 
 of her mind. 
 
 She saw no one, not even Jane Lucy. 
 
 Outside, in the passage, and in the inner 
 room she heard the footsteps of the children 
 and their little shrill voices; each sound 
 accentuated the stabbing pulse of pain. It 
 was impossible to darken the room, and the 
 insufferable sunlight poured in unchecked 
 through the thin yellow blinds and plagued 
 her brain, till the nerves of vision throbbed, 
 beat for beat, with the nerves of torment. 
 At noon she had only one sensation of brilliant 
 surging pain. 
 
 253 
 
254 THE IM:\I0RTAL MOMENT 
 
 She dozed and her headache lifted. ^Yhen 
 she woke her body was weak as if it had 
 had a fever, but her mind closed on reality 
 with the impact of a force delayed. 
 
 There was a thing not yet quite real to 
 her, a thing that seemed to belong to the 
 region of bodily pain, to be born there as a 
 bad dream might be born; a thing that had 
 been there last night among other things, 
 that, as she stared at it, became more promi- 
 nent, more poignant than they. And yet, 
 though its air was so beckoning and so familiar, 
 it was not among the number of things accom- 
 plished and irrevocable. It was simply the 
 thing she had to do. 
 
 It possessed her now; and under its 
 dominion she was uplifted, carried along. 
 Her mind moved toward it with a reckless 
 rocking speed, the perilous certainty of the 
 insane. 
 
 At five o'clock she rang the bell and asked 
 the servant to bring her some tea. She 
 swallowed a little with a jerk of her throat, 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 255 
 
 and put the cup down, shuddering. It brought 
 her a sickening memory of yesterday. 
 
 At five o'clock she got up and dressed 
 herself and sent a messao-e to Robert Lucy 
 to see her downstairs in her sitting-room, 
 alone. As she stood at her glass she said 
 to herself, "How shocking I look. But he 
 won't mind." 
 
 At six he was with her. 
 
 She drew her hand away from his as if 
 his touch had hurt her. Her smile was the 
 still, bloodless smile that comes with pain. 
 She drew her chair back out of the sunlight, 
 in the recess by the fireplace. He stood 
 beside her then, lookin^i: at her with eyes 
 that loved her the more for the sad hurt to 
 her beauty. His manner recalled the shy, 
 adolescent uncertainty of his first approaches. 
 
 "Don't you think," he said, "you ought 
 to have stayed in bed ?" 
 
 She shook her head and struggled to find 
 her voice. It came convulsively. 
 
 "No. I'm better. I'm all right now." 
 
^56 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "It was being out in that beastly hot sun 
 yesterday — with those youngsters. You 're 
 not used to it." 
 
 She laughed. "No. I'm not used to it. 
 Robert — you have n't told them, have you .?" 
 
 "Wiat.?" 
 
 "About you — and me ?" 
 
 "No. Not yet. He smiled. "I say, I 
 shall have to tell them very soon, shan't I ?'* 
 
 "You need n't." 
 
 He made some inarticulate sound that 
 questioned her. 
 
 "I've changed my mind. I can't marry 
 you." 
 
 He had to bend his head to catch her low, 
 indistinct murmur; but he caught it. 
 
 He drew back from her, and leaned against 
 the chimneypiece and looked at her more 
 intently than before. 
 
 "Do you mean," he said quietly, "because 
 oithem?'' 
 
 -Yes." 
 
 He looked down. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 257 
 
 *'Poor Kitty," he said. "You think I'm 
 asking too much of you ?" 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "You 're afraid .5" 
 
 "I told you I was afraid." 
 
 "Yes. But I thought it was all right. I 
 thought you liked them." 
 
 She was silent. Tears rose to her eyes and 
 hung on their unsteady lashes. 
 
 "They like you." 
 
 She bowed her head and the tears fell. 
 
 "Is that what has upset you .^" 
 les. 
 
 "I see. You've been thinking it over 
 and you find you can't stand it. I don't 
 wonder. You 've let those little monkeys tire 
 you out. You 've nearly got a sunstroke and 
 you feel as if you 'd rather die than go through 
 another day like yesterday ? Well, you shan't. 
 There '11 never be another day like yesterday." 
 
 "No. Never," she said; and her sobs 
 choked her. 
 
 Why should there be } They '11 have a 
 
 (( 
 
258 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 governess. You don't suppose I meant you 
 to have them on your hands all the time?" 
 
 She went on crying softly. He sat on the 
 arm of her chair and put his arm round her 
 and dried her eyes. 
 
 "Don't be unhappy about it, Kitty. I 
 understand. You 're not marrying them, dear; 
 you 're marrying me." 
 
 She broke loose from him. 
 
 "I can't marry you," she cried. "I can't 
 give you what you want." 
 
 "Do you mean that you can't care for me.^^ 
 Is that what you 're trying to tell me all the 
 time ?" 
 
 He moved and she cowered back into her 
 chair. 
 
 "I — I cant tell you." 
 
 He had turned from her. He was leaning 
 his arms along the mantelshelf; he had bowed 
 his head on them. 
 
 They remained for some minutes so; she 
 cowering back; he with his face hidden 
 from her. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 259 
 
 n 
 
 " Do you mind telling me," he said presently, 
 
 if there 's anybody else that you " 
 
 "That I care for? No, Robert, there's 
 
 ? J 
 
 no one. 
 
 "Are you quite sure? Quite honest. 
 Think." 
 
 "Do you mean Wilfrid Marston.^" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I certainly do not care for him." 
 He raised his head at that; but he did not 
 look at her. 
 
 "Thank God!" he said. 
 "Do you think as badly of him as all that ?" 
 "Don't ask me what I think of him." 
 "Would you think badly of me if I'd 
 married him .^" 
 
 "I — I could n't have stood it, Kitty." 
 "I am not going to marry him." 
 "You have n't said yet that you don't care 
 for me.^" 
 
 "No. I haven't." 
 
 He turned and stooped over her, com- 
 pelling her to look at him. 
 
260 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Say it then," he said. 
 
 She drew back her face from his and put 
 up her hands between them. He rose and 
 stood before her and looked down at her. 
 The blue of her eyes had narrowed, the 
 pupils stared at him, black and feverish. 
 Her mouth, which had been tight-shut, was 
 open slightly. A thin flush blurred its 
 edges. Her breath came through, short and 
 sharp. 
 
 "You 're ill," he said. You must go back 
 to bed." 
 
 "No," she said. "I've got to tell you 
 something." 
 
 "If you do I shan't believe it." 
 
 "AMiat won't you believe.^" 
 
 "That you don't care for me. I can't 
 believe it." 
 
 "You'd better, Robert." 
 
 "I don't. There's something wrong. 
 You must tell me what it is." 
 
 "There's nothing wrong but that. I — I 
 made a mistake." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 261 
 
 "You only thought you Hked me? Or 
 is it worse than that?" 
 
 "It*s worse, far worse." 
 
 *'I see. You tried to like me, and you 
 could n't?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "Poor child. I 've been a selfish brute. 
 I might have known you could n't. You 've 
 hardly known me ten days. But if I wait, 
 Kitty — if I give you time to think?" 
 
 "If you give me ten years it would do no 
 good." 
 
 "I see," he said; "I see." 
 
 He gripped the edge of the mantelpiece 
 with both his hands; his tense arms trembled 
 from the shoulders to the wrists; his hold 
 relaxed. He straightened himself and hid 
 his shaking hands in his coat pockets. There 
 were tears at the edges of his eyelids, the 
 small, difiicult tears that cut their way through 
 the flesh that abhors them. 
 
 She saw them. 
 
 " Ah, Robert— do you care for me like that ? " 
 
262 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "You know how I care for you." 
 
 He stopped as he swung away from her, 
 remembering that he had failed in courtesy. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, simply, "for telling 
 me the truth." 
 
 He reached the door, and she rose and 
 came after him. He shook his head as a 
 sign to her not to follow him. She saw that 
 he was going from her because he was tortured 
 and dumb with suffering and with shame. 
 
 Then she knew what she must do. She 
 called to him, she entreated. 
 
 "Robert — don't go. Come back — come 
 back. I can't bear it." 
 
 He came back at that cry. 
 
 'T haven't told vou the truth. I lied." 
 
 "When.^" he said sternly. 
 
 "Just now. When I told you that I did n't 
 care for you." 
 
 "\Yell.?" 
 
 "Sit down — here, on the sofa. I'll try 
 and tell you." 
 
 He sat down beside her, but not near. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 263 
 
 She leaned forward with her elbows on her 
 knees, and her head propped on her clenched 
 hands. She did not look at him as she spoke. 
 "I said I didn't care, because I thought 
 that was the easiest way out of it. Easiest 
 for you. So much easier than knowing the 
 truth." 
 
 He smiled ^jrimly. 
 
 "Well, you see how easy it 's been." 
 *'Yes." She paused. "The truth isn't 
 going to be easy either." 
 
 "Let's haye it, all the same, Kitty." 
 "You're going to haye it." She paused 
 again, breathing hard. "Haye you neyer 
 wondered why the people here ayoided me .^ 
 You know they thouo-ht thincjs." 
 
 "As if it mattered what they thought." 
 "They were right. There teas something." 
 She heard him draw a deep breath. He, 
 too, leaned forward now, in the same attitude 
 as she, as if he were the participator of her 
 confession, and the accomplice of her shame. 
 His face was leyel with hers, but his eyes 
 
264 THE IMMORTAL M0:MENT 
 
 looked straight past her, untainted and 
 clear. 
 
 "Wiat if there was?" he said. "It makes 
 no difference." 
 
 She turned her sad face to his. 
 
 *' Don't you know, Robert.^ Don't you 
 know.^" 
 
 He frowned impatiently. 
 
 "No, I don't. I don't want to." 
 
 "You'd rather think I didn't care for 
 you ? " 
 
 His face set again in its tortured, dumb look. 
 
 "You shan't think that of me." 
 
 She leaned back again out of his sight, 
 and he presented to her his shoulder, thrust 
 forward, and his profile, immovable, dogged, 
 and apparently unheeding. 
 
 "It's because I cared for vou that I 
 could n't tell you the truth. I tried and 
 could n't. It was so difficult, and you would nH 
 understand. Then "Wilfrid Marston said I 
 must — I had to tell you." 
 
 He threw himself back and turned on her. 
 
THE IM:M0RTAL :\I0:MEXT 265 
 
 "^Miat had Marston to do with it?" 
 
 Her voice and her eyes dropped. 
 
 "You see, he knew." 
 
 *'I see." 
 
 He waited. 
 
 " I could n't tell you." ' 
 
 His silence conveyed to her that he listened 
 since she desired it, that he left it to her to 
 tell him as much or as little as she would, 
 and that thus he trusted her. 
 
 "I was afraid," she said. 
 
 ' ' What ? Afraid of me, Kitty ? ' 
 
 "I thought it would make you not care 
 for me." 
 
 "I don't think anything you can tell me 
 will make anv difference." 
 
 "You said yourself it would. You said 
 you. would n't marry me if I wasn't nice." 
 
 He looked up impatient and surprised. 
 
 "But we 've been through all that," he said. 
 
 "No, we have n't. When I said I was n't 
 nice I meant there were things I " 
 
 Well ? 
 
 5J 
 
me THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "I — I was n't married to Charley Tailleur." 
 
 He took it in silence; and through the 
 silence she let it sink in. 
 
 "\Miere is the fellow?" he asked presently. 
 
 "He 's dead. I told you that." 
 
 "I'd forgotten," 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 "Did you care for him very much, Kitty .^" 
 
 "I don't know. Yes. No, I don't know. 
 It was n't the same thing." 
 
 "Never mind. It's very good of you to 
 tell me." 
 
 "I didn't mean to." 
 
 "\Miat made vou tell me .?" 
 
 "Seeing the children. I thought I could 
 go on deceiving you; but when I saw them 
 I knew I could n't." 
 
 "I see." His voice softened. "You told 
 me because of them. I 'm glad you told 
 me." He paused on that. 
 
 "Well," he said, "we must make the best 
 of it." 
 
 "That makes no difference?'* 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 267 
 
 *'No. Not now." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 "How long ago was it ?" he asked. 
 
 ''Five years. Charley Tailleur was the 
 first." 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 "The first. There were others; ever so 
 many others. I 'm — that sort." 
 
 "I don't believe you." 
 
 "You 've got to believe me. You can't 
 marry me, and you 've got to see why." 
 
 She also paused. Her silences were terrible 
 to him. 
 
 "I thought you did see once. It did n't 
 seem possible that you could n't. Do you 
 remember the first time I met you.?" 
 
 He remembered. 
 
 "I thought you saw then. And after- 
 ward — don't you remember how you fol- 
 lowed me out of the room — another night .?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I thought you understood, and were too 
 shy to say so. But you did n't. Then — do 
 
268 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 you remember how I waited for you at the 
 end of the garden ? — and how we sat out on 
 the CHff ? I was trying then — the way I 
 always try. I thought I 'd make you — and 
 you — you would n't see it. You only wanted 
 to help me. You were so innocent and dear. 
 That's what made me love you." 
 
 "Oh," he groaned. "Don't." 
 
 But she went on. "And do you remem- 
 ber how you found me — that night — out 
 on the Cliff.?" 
 
 She drew back her voice softly. 
 
 "I was sure then that you knew, and that 
 when you asked me to come back with 
 you " 
 
 "Look here, Kitty, I 've had enough of it." 
 
 "You have n't, for you 're fond of me still. 
 You are, are n't you ?" 
 
 "Oh, my God! how do I know.?" 
 
 "/ know. It 's because you have n't taken 
 it in. What do you think of this ? You 've 
 known me ten days, and ten days before that 
 I was with Wilfrid Marston." 
 
" 'I want to make you loathe me ... . never see me agam. 
 
THE IMMORTAL IMOMEXT 269 
 
 He had taken it in at last. She had made 
 it real to him, clothed it in flesh and blood. 
 
 "If you don't believe me," she said, "ask 
 him. That 's what he came to see me for. 
 He wanted me to go back to him. In fact, 
 I was n't supposed to have left him." 
 
 He put his hand to his forehead as if he 
 were tr;ying to steady his mind to face the 
 thing that stunned it. 
 
 "And you 're telling me all this because 
 " he said dullv. 
 
 "Because I want to make you loathe me, 
 so that you can go away and be glad that 
 you '11 never see me again. And if it hurts 
 you too much to think of me as I am, to 
 think that you cared for me, just say to your- 
 self that I cared for you, and that I could n't 
 have done it if I 'd been quite bad." 
 
 She cried out, "It would have been better 
 for me if I had been. I should n't jeel then. 
 It would n't hurt me to see little children. 
 I should have got over that long ago; and 
 I should n't have cared for vou or them. I 
 
270 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 should n't have been able to. We get like 
 that. And then — I need n't have let you 
 care for me. That was the worst thing I 
 ever did. But I was so happy — so happy." 
 
 He could not look at her; he covered 
 his face with his hands, and she knew that 
 he cared still. 
 
 Then she came and knelt down beside 
 him and whispered. He got up and broke 
 away from her and she followed him. 
 
 "You can't marry me now,'' she said. 
 
 And he answered, "No." 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HE DID not leave her. They sat still, 
 separated by the length of the little 
 room, staring, not at each other, but at some 
 point in the distance, as if each brain had 
 flung and fixed there the same unspeakable 
 symbol of its horror. 
 
 Her face was sharp with pain, was strangely 
 purified, spiritualised by the immortal mo- 
 ment that uplifted her. His face, grown old 
 in a moment, had lost its look of glad and 
 incorruptible innocence. 
 
 Not that he was yet in full possession of 
 reality. His mind was sunk in the stupor 
 that follows after torture. It kept its hold 
 by one sense only, the vague discerning of 
 profound responsibility, and of something 
 profounder still, some tie binding him to 
 Kitty, immaterial, indestructible, born of 
 their communion in pain. 
 
 271 
 
272 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 It kept him by its intangible compul- 
 sion, sitting there in the same small room, 
 divided from her, but still there, still wear- 
 ing that strange air of participation, of 
 complicity. 
 
 And all the time he kept saying to him- 
 self, ''What next?" 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 "It's Jane," he said. "I'll tell her not 
 to come in. His voice sounded hoarse and 
 unlike his own. 
 
 " Oh, may n't I see her .^" 
 
 He looked up with his clouded eyes. "Do 
 you want to ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He considered. He hesitated. 
 
 "Do you mind.''" 
 
 "Mind.^" he repeated. As if, after what 
 they had gone through, there could ever 
 be anything to mind. It seemed to him 
 that things would always henceforth be in- 
 substantial, and events utterly unimportant. 
 He tried with an immense effort to grasp 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 273 
 
 this event of Jane's appearance and of Kitty's 
 attitude to Jane. 
 
 "I thought," he said, "perhaps she would 
 bother you." 
 
 The knock came again. 
 
 "Robert," she said, "I don't want her to 
 know — what I told you." 
 
 "Of course not," he said. "Come in." 
 
 Jane came in and closed the door behind 
 her. She had a letter folded tightly in her 
 hand. She stood there a moment, looking 
 from one to the other. It was Kitty who 
 spoke. 
 
 "Come in, Janey," she said. "I want 
 you." 
 
 Jane came forward and stood between 
 them. She looked at Robert who hardened 
 his face, and at Kitty who was trembling. 
 
 "Has anything happened.?" she said. 
 
 And Kitty answered, "No. Nothing will 
 happen now. I 've just told him that it 
 can't." 
 
 "You 've given him up .?" 
 
274 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Yes. I've — given — him up." 
 
 She drew in her breath on the " Yes," 
 so that it sounded Uke a sob. The other 
 words came slowly from her, one by one, 
 as if she repeated them by rote, without 
 knowing what they meant. 
 
 Jane turned to her brother. "x\nd you've 
 let her do it .^ " 
 
 He was silent, still saying to himself, 
 -What next.?" 
 
 "Of course he's let me. He knows it 
 was the only thing I could do." 
 
 "Kitty — what made you do il?" 
 
 Kitty closed her eyes. Robert saw her and 
 gave a low inarticulate sound of misery. Jane 
 heard it and understood. 
 
 "Kitty," she said, "have you made him 
 believe you don't care for him.?" 
 
 She sat down on the couch beside her 
 and covered her hands w^itli her own. 
 
 "It isn't true, Robert," she said. "She 
 doesn't know what she's doing. Kitty, tell 
 him it isn't true." 
 
THE IMMORTAL INIOMENT 275 
 
 The trembling hands broke loose from 
 her. Kitty sobbed once and was still. At 
 the sound Robert turned on Jane. 
 
 "Leave her alone," he said, "she doesn't 
 want to be bothered about it now." 
 
 Kitty's hand moved back along the couch 
 to Jane. "No," she said, "don't make her 
 leave me. I 'm going away soon." 
 
 He started to that answer to his question, 
 "What next.?" 
 
 "Tell me what made vou do it.?" said 
 
 t/ 
 
 Jane again. 
 
 "Whatever it was," he said, "she's doing 
 perfectly right." 
 
 "I know what she's doing. And I know 
 why she 's doing it. Can't you see why.?" 
 
 Robert, who had stood still looking at her 
 helplessly, turned away at the direct appeal 
 and walked up and down, up and down, the 
 room. He was still saying to himself, "And 
 if she goes, what next.?" 
 
 "She does n't mean it, Robert. It 's these 
 wretched people who have driven her to it 
 
276 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 with the abominable things they 've said and 
 thought. You caiiH let her give you up. 
 Don't you see that it '11 look as if you did n't 
 believe in her,^ And he does believe in you, 
 Kitty dear. He does n't care what anybody 
 says." 
 
 Kitty spoke. "Leave it alone, Janey. 
 You don't know what you 're talking 
 about. You don't even know what it is they 
 say." 
 
 "I do," said Jane. She rose and went to 
 her brother and thrust the letter she held 
 into his hand. "Look there, that came just 
 now." 
 
 He glanced at the letter, lit a match and 
 set fire to it and dropped the ashes into the 
 grate. 
 
 "Look at him, Kitty, look at him," she 
 cried triumphantly. 
 
 "^^^lat was in that letter.^" 
 
 "Nothing that matters" 
 
 "AMio wroteit.5" 
 
 "Nobody who matters in the very least." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 277 
 
 ''Was it Mr. Marston? Tell me." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "He wouldn't," said Kitty thoughtfully. 
 It 's women who write letters. It must 
 have been Grace Keating. She hates me." 
 
 "I know she hates you. Do you see now 
 why Kitty's giving you up.^" 
 
 "She has told me herself, Janey. She 
 may have more reasons than you know." 
 
 "She has none, none that I don't know. 
 They 're all there in that letter which you 've 
 burnt. Can't you see why it was written?" 
 
 "Does it matter why.^" 
 
 "Yes, it does matter. It was written to 
 make you give Kitty up. There 's no reason 
 why I should spare the woman who wrote 
 it. She hates Kitty — because she wanted 
 you for herself. Kitty knows that she 's 
 slandered her. She did it before she went, 
 to her face, and Kitty forgave her. And 
 
 ^ I/O 
 
 now the poor child thinks that she '11 let you 
 go, and just creep away quietly and hide 
 herself — from that. And you 'II let her do 
 
278 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 it ? You believe her when she says she 
 does n't care for vou ? It that is n't carino; — - 
 Why it 's because she cares for you, and cares 
 for your honour more than she does for her 
 own, poor darhng — 
 
 5> 
 
 "I know, Janey. And she knows I know." 
 
 "Then where 's your precious honour if 
 you don't stand up for her ? She 's got 
 nobody but you, and if you don't defend 
 her from that sort of thing " 
 
 She stood before him, flaming, and Kitty 
 rose and put herself between them. 
 
 "He can't defend me, Janey. It's the 
 truth." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 OHE had left them to each other. It was 
 ^ eight o'clock. She had crept back 
 again to the bed that was her refuge, where 
 she had lain for the last hour, weeping to 
 exhaustion. She had raised herself at the 
 touch of a hand on her hot forehead. Jane 
 was standing beside her. 
 
 "Kitty," she said, "will you see Robert 
 for a moment ? He 's waiting for you down- 
 stairs, in your room." 
 
 Kitty dropped back again on her pillow 
 with her arm over her face, warding off Jane's 
 gaze. 
 
 "No," she said, "I can't see him. I 
 can't go through that again." 
 
 "But, Kitty, there 's something he wants 
 to say to you." 
 
 "There 's nothing he can say. Nothing 
 — nothing. Tell him I'm going away." 
 
 279 
 
280 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "You mustn't go without seeing him." 
 
 "I must. It 's the only way." 
 
 *'For you — yes. How about him.?" 
 
 Kitty sighed. She stirred irresolutely on 
 her pillow. 
 
 *'No, no," she said. "I've done it once. 
 I can't do it all over again." 
 
 "I suppose," said Jane, "it is easier — not 
 to see him." 
 
 At that Kitty clenched her hands. 
 
 "Easier .?" she cried. " I 'd give my soul to 
 see him for one minute — one minute, Janey." 
 
 She turned, stifling her sobs on her pillow. 
 They ceased, and the passion that was in 
 her had its way then. She lay on her face, 
 convulsed, biting into the pillow; gripping 
 the sheets, tearing; at them and wring-ino^ 
 them in her hands. Her whole body writhed, 
 shaken and tormented. 
 
 "Oh, go away!" she cried. "Go away. 
 Don't look at me!" 
 
 But Jane did not go. She stood there by 
 the bedside. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 281 
 
 She had come to the end of her adventure. 
 It was as if she had been brought there 
 blindfold, carried past the border into the 
 terrible, alien, unpenetrated lands. Her 
 genius for exploration had never taken her 
 within reasonable distance of them. She 
 had turned back when the frontier was in 
 sight, refusing all knowledge of the things 
 that lay beyond. And here she was, in the 
 very thick of it, at the heart of the unex- 
 plored, with her poor terrified eyes uncovered, 
 her face held close to the thing she feared. 
 And yet she had passed through the initiation 
 without terror; she had held her hand in 
 the strange fire and it had not hurt her. 
 She felt only a great penetrating, compre- 
 hending, incorruptible pity for her sister 
 who writhed there, consumed and tortured 
 in the flame. 
 
 She knelt by the bedside and stretched out 
 her arm and covered her, and Kitty lay still. 
 
 it 
 
 You have n't gone .^" she said. 
 
 No, Kitty. 
 
282 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Kitty moved; she sat up and put her 
 hands to her loosened han\ 
 
 "I '11 see him now," she said. 
 
 Kitty slid her feet to the floor. She stood 
 up, steadying herself by the bedside. 
 
 Jane looked at her, and her heart was 
 wrung with compassion. 
 
 "No," she said, "wait till you're better. 
 I '11 tell him." 
 
 But Kitty w^as before her at the door, 
 leaning against it. 
 
 "I shall never be better," she said. Her 
 smile was ghastly. She turned to Jane on the 
 open threshold. "He has n't got the children 
 with him, has he ? I don't want to see them." 
 
 "You won't see them." 
 
 "Can't he come to me?" 
 
 She peered down the passage and drew 
 back, and Jane knew that she was afraid of 
 being seen. 
 
 "There 's nobody about," she said, "they 're 
 all in the dining-room." 
 
 Still Kitty hesitated. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 283 
 
 '*Will you come with me?" she said. 
 
 Then Jane took her hand and led her to 
 the room where Robert was, and left her with 
 him. 
 
 He stood by the hearth, waiting for her. 
 His head was bowed, but his eyes, as she 
 entered, Ufted and fixed themselves on her. 
 There had gone from him that air of radiant 
 and unconquerable youth, of innocence, ex- 
 pectant and alert. Instead of it he too 
 w^ore the mark of experience, of initiation 
 that had meant torture. 
 
 "I hope," he said, "you are rested." 
 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 She stood there, weak and drooping, lean- 
 ing her weight on one slender hand, spread 
 palm dow^nward on the table. 
 
 He drew out a chair for her, and removed 
 his own to the other side of the table, keeping 
 that barrier between them. In his whole 
 manner there was a terrible constraint. 
 
 "You've eaten nothing," he said. 
 
 Neither had he, she gathered, nor Jane. 
 
284 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 The trouble she had brought on them was 
 jarring, dislocating, like the shock of bereave- 
 ment. They had behaved as if in the presence 
 of the beloved dead. 
 
 And yet, though he held himself apart, 
 she knew that he had not sent for her to 
 cast her off; that he was yet bound to her 
 by the mysterious, infrangible tie; that he 
 seemed to himself, in some way, her partner 
 and accomplice. 
 
 Their silence was a link that bound them, 
 and she broke it. 
 
 "Well," she said, "you have something 
 to say to me .^" 
 
 "Yes" — his hands, spread out on the 
 table between them, trembled — "I have, 
 only it seems so little " 
 
 "Does it.^ Well, of course, there isn't 
 much to be said." 
 
 "Not much. There aren't any words. 
 Only, I don't want you to think that I 
 don't realise what you 've done. It was 
 magnificent." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOIVIENT 285 
 
 
 He answered her look of stupefied in- 
 quiry, 
 
 "Your courage, Kitty, in telling me the 
 
 truth." 
 
 'Oh, that. Don't let's talk about it.'* 
 
 'I am not going to talk about it. But I 
 want you to understand that what you told 
 me has made no difference in my — in my 
 feeling for you." 
 
 "It must." 
 
 "It hasn't. And it never will. And I 
 want to know what we 're going to do next." 
 
 "Next?" she repeated. 
 
 "Yes, next. Now:' 
 
 "I'm going away. There's nothing else 
 left for me to do." 
 
 "And I, Kitty? Do you think I 'm going 
 to let you go, without " 
 
 She stopped him. 
 
 "You can't help yourself." 
 
 "What? You think I'm brute enough 
 to take everything you 've given me, and to 
 — to let you go like this?" 
 
286 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 His hands moved as if they would have 
 taken hers and held them. Then he drew back. 
 
 "There's one thing I can't do for you, 
 Kitty. I can't marry you, because it would n't 
 be fair to my children." 
 
 "I know, Robert, I know." 
 
 "I know you know. I told you nothing 
 would ever make any difference. If it were n't 
 for them I 'd ask you to marry me to-morrow. 
 I 'm only giving you up as you 're giving 
 me up, because of them. But if I can't marry 
 you, I want you to let me make things a little 
 less hard for you." 
 
 "How.?" 
 
 "Well, for one thing, I don't believe 
 you 've anything to live on." 
 
 "What makes you think that .?" 
 
 "Marston told me that if you married you 
 forfeited your income. I suppose that meant 
 that you had nothing of your own." 
 
 "It did." 
 
 "You 've nothing.?" 
 
 "My father would give me fifty pounds 
 
THE IMMORTAL MO:\IENT 287 
 
 a year if I kept straight. But he can't afl'ord 
 it. It means that my little sisters go without 
 dresses." 
 
 "And you 've no home, Kitty .^" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "They can't have me at home, you see." 
 He sighed. 
 
 "If I looked after you, Kitty, do you think 
 you would keep straight ? If I made a 
 home for you, somewhere, where you won't be 
 too unhappy ?'* 
 
 "You mean you 'd take care of me ?" 
 
 "Yes. As far as I can." 
 
 Her face flushed deeply. 
 
 "No." she said. "No. I mustn't let 
 you do that." 
 
 "Why not.? It 's nothing, Kitty. It 's the 
 least that I can do. And you 'd be very 
 lonely." 
 
 "I would. I would be miserable — in 
 between." 
 
 "Between.?" 
 
 " When you were n't there." 
 
288 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 
 "Kitty, dear child, I can't be there." 
 
 She shrank back, the flush died out of her 
 face and left it white. 
 
 "I see. You didn't mean that I was to 
 live with you.^" 
 
 "Poor child— no." 
 
 "I — I didn't understand." 
 No," he said gently, "no." 
 You see how hopeless I am.^" 
 
 "I see what my responsibility would be 
 if I left you to yourself." 
 
 And — ivhat do you want to do .P" 
 T want to provide for you and your 
 future." 
 
 "Dear Robert, you can't possibly provide 
 — for either." 
 
 "I can. I've got a little house in the 
 country, if you '11 take it, and I can spare 
 enough out of my income." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "You can't afford it." 
 
 "If I could afford to marry, I could afford 
 that." 
 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 289 
 
 "I see. It's a beautiful scheme, Robert. 
 And in the Uttie house where I 'm to live, 
 you will come sometimes, and see me .^ " 
 
 "I think it would be better not." 
 
 "And what am I to do, if — if things are 
 too hard for me ? And if you are the only 
 one : 
 
 " Then you 're to send for me." 
 
 "I see. I 've only to send for you and 
 you '11 come.'^" 
 
 "Of course I'll come." 
 
 "When I can't bear it any longer, am I 
 to send for you.'^" 
 
 "You're to send for me when you're 
 in any trouble, or any difficulty — or any 
 danger." 
 
 "And the way out of the trouble — and 
 the difficulty — and the danger ?" 
 
 "Between us we shall find the way." 
 
 "No, Robert. Between us we shall lose 
 it. And we shall never, never find it again." 
 
 "You can't trust me, Kitty .^" 
 
 "I can't trust myself. I know how your 
 
290 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 scheme would work. I let you do this 
 thing; I go away and live in the dear little 
 house you '11 give me; and I let you keep 
 me there, and give me all my clothes and 
 things. x\nd you think that 's the way to 
 stop me thinking about you and caring for 
 you ? I shall be there, eating my heart out. 
 AYhat else can I do, when everything I put 
 on or have about me reminds me of you, 
 every minute of the day ? I 'm to look to 
 you for everything, but never to see you 
 until I can bear it no longer. How long 
 do you think I shall bear it ? A woman 
 made like me ? You know perfectly well 
 what the trouble and the difficulty and the 
 danger is. I shall be in it all the time. And 
 some day I shall send for you and you '11 
 come. Oh yes, you '11 come ; for you '11 
 be in it, too. It won't be a bit easier for 
 you than it is for me." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 *'You '11 come. And you know what the 
 end of that will be." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MO:\IENT 291 
 
 "You think no other end is possible 
 between a man and a woman?" 
 
 "If I do, it's men who have made me 
 think it." 
 
 "Have I, Kitty?" 
 
 "No, not you. I don't say your plan 
 would n't work with some other woman. I 
 say it 's impossible between you — and 
 me. 
 
 "Because you won't believe that I might 
 behave differently from some other men?" 
 
 "You are different. And I mean to keep 
 you so." 
 
 She rose. 
 
 "There's onlv one wav," she said. "We 
 must never see each other again. We must n't 
 even think. I shall go away, and you 're not 
 to come after me." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "To-morrow. Perhaps to-night." 
 
 "And where, Kitty?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "You shan't go," he said. "I'll go. 
 
292 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 You must stay here until we can think of 
 something." 
 
 She closed her eyes and drew a hard sigh, 
 as if exhausted with the discussion. 
 
 "Robert, dear, would you mind not talking 
 any more to me ? I 'm very tired." 
 
 "If I leave you will you go to bed and rest .^" 
 
 "I think so. You can say good night." 
 
 He rose and came toward her. 
 
 "No — don't say it!" she cried. "Don't 
 speak to me!" 
 
 She drew back and put her hands behind 
 her as a sign that he was not to touch her. 
 
 He stood for a moment looking at her. 
 And as he looked at her he was afraid, even 
 as she was. He said to himself that in that 
 moment she was wise and had done well. 
 For his heart hardly knew its pity from its 
 passion, and its passion from its fear. 
 
 And she, seeing that she stood between 
 him and the door, turned aside and made 
 his way clear for him. 
 
 And so he left her. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 OHE stared at her own face in the glass 
 ^ without seeing it. Her brain was filled 
 with the loud, hurried ticking of the clock. 
 It sounded somehow as if it were out of 
 gear. She felt herself swaying slightly as 
 she stood. 
 
 She was not going to faint bodily. It 
 seemed to her rather that the immaterial 
 bonds, the unseen, subtle, intimate con- 
 nections were letting go their hold. Her 
 soul was the heart of the danger. It was 
 there that the travelling powers of dissolu- 
 tion, accelerated, multiplying, had begun 
 their work and would end it. Its moments 
 were not measured by the ticking of the clock. 
 
 She had remained standing as Lucy had 
 left her, with her back to the door he had 
 gone out by. She w^as thus unaware that a 
 servant of the hotel had come in, that he 
 
 293 
 
294 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 had delivered some message and was waiting 
 for her answer. 
 
 She started as the man spoke to her again. 
 With a great effort her brain grasped and 
 repeated what he had said. 
 
 "Mr. Marston." 
 
 No; she was certainly not going to faint. 
 There was no receding of sensation. It was 
 resurgence and invasion, violence shaking 
 the very doors of life. She heard the light, 
 tremulous tread of the little pulses of her 
 body, scattered by the ringing hammer 
 strokes of her heart and brain. She heard 
 the clock ticking out of gear, like the small, 
 irritable pulse of time. 
 
 She steadied her voice to answer. 
 
 "Very well. Show him in." 
 
 Marston's face, as he approached her, was 
 harder and stiff er than ever; his bearing 
 more uncompromisingly upright and cor- 
 rect. He greeted her with that peculiar 
 deference that he showed to women whose 
 acquaintance he had yet to make. Decency 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 295 
 
 required that he should start on a fresh and 
 completely purified footing with the future 
 Mrs. Robert Lucy. 
 
 "It's charming of you," he said, "to let 
 me come in." 
 
 "I wanted to see you, Wilfrid." 
 
 Something in her tone made him glance at 
 her with a look that restored her, for a 
 moment, to her former, place. 
 
 "That is still more charming," he replied. 
 
 "I 've done what you told me. I 've given 
 him up." 
 
 A heavy flush spread over his face and 
 relaxed the hard tension of the muscles. 
 
 "I thought you'd do it." 
 
 "Well, I have done it." She paused. 
 
 "That 's all I had to say to you." 
 
 Her voice struck at him like a blow. 
 But he bore it well, smiling his hard, reticent 
 smile. 
 
 "I knew you'd do it," he repeated; "but 
 I did n't think you 'd do it quite so soon. 
 Why did you ? ' 
 
 i'> 
 
296 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "You know why." 
 
 "I didn't mean to put pressure on you, 
 Kitty. It was your problem. Still, I 'm 
 glad you 've seen it in the right light." 
 
 "You think you made me see it.^" 
 
 "I should hope you 'd see it for yourself. 
 It was obvious." 
 
 "AMiat was obvious?" 
 
 "The unsuitability of the entire arrange- 
 ment. Was it likely you 'd stick to it when 
 you saw what you were in for.'*" 
 
 "You think I tired of him.?" 
 
 "I think you saw possibilities of fatigue; 
 and, like a wise child, you chucked it. It 's 
 as well you did it before instead of after. I 
 say, how did Lucy take it.?" 
 
 She did not answer. His smile flickered 
 and died under the oppression of her silence. 
 
 "Have you done with him altogether.^ 
 He did n't suggest — er — any compromise ? 
 
 "He did not." 
 
 "He wouldn't. Compromise is foreign 
 to his nature." 
 
 
THE IMMORTAL M0:MENT 297 
 
 He sat leaning forward, contemplating, 
 with apparent satisfaction, his own strong- 
 grained, immaculate hands. From time to 
 time he tapped the floor with a nervous 
 movement of his foot. 
 
 "Then," he said presently, "if that's so, 
 there 's no reason, is there, why you should n't 
 come back to me.^" 
 
 "I can't come back to you. I told you 
 so yesterday.'* 
 
 "Since yesterday the situation has altered 
 considerably; or rather, it remains precisely 
 where it was before." 
 
 "No, Wilfrid; things can never be as 
 they were before." 
 
 "^Miy not.- — if I choose to ignore this 
 episode, this little aberration on your part. 
 You must be equally anxious to forget it. 
 In which case we may consider our relations 
 uninterrupted." 
 
 "Do you think I gave Robert Lucy up 
 to go back to you.^" 
 
 "My dear Kitty, if I'm wilhng to take 
 
298 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 you back after you gave me up for him, 
 I think my attitude almost constitutes a 
 claim. 
 
 "A claim?" 4 
 
 "Well, let's say it entitles me to a hear- 
 ing. You don't seem to realise, in the least, 
 my extreme forbearance. I never reproached 
 you. I never interfered between you and 
 Lucy. You can't say I did n't play the 
 game." 
 
 "I'm not saying it. I know you didn't 
 
 betray me." 
 
 "Betray you.- My dear child, I helped 
 you. I never dreamed of standing in 
 your way as long as there was a chance 
 of your marrying. Now that there is 
 none " 
 
 "That has nothing to do with it. I told 
 you that I would n't go back to you in any 
 case." 
 
 "Come, I don't propose to throw you 
 over for any other woman. Surely it would 
 be more decent to come back to me than 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 299 
 
 to go off with some other man, heaven 
 knows whom, which is what you must do — 
 eventually?" 
 
 "It's what I Avon't do. I'm not going 
 back to that. Don't you see that 's why I 
 won't go back to vou ?" 
 
 Her apathy had become exhaustion. The 
 flat, powerless voice, dying of its own utter- 
 ance, gave him a sense of things past and 
 done with, sunk into the ultimate oblivion. 
 No voice of her energy and defiance could 
 have touched him so. Her indifference 
 troubled him like passion; in its complete- 
 ness, its finality, it stirred him to decision, 
 to acceptance of its terms. She was ready 
 to fall from his grasp by her own dead 
 weight. There was only one way in which 
 he could hold her. 
 
 "Kitty," he said, "is that really why you 
 won't come back.^" 
 
 "Yes; that's why. Anything — anything 
 but that." 
 
 "I see. You're tired of it.? And you 
 
300 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 want to give it up ? Well, I 'm not sure 
 that I don't want you to." 
 
 "Then why," she moaned, *'why won't 
 you let me go ?" 
 
 "Simply because I can't. I've tried it, 
 Kitty. I can't." 
 
 He came and sat close to her. He leaned 
 his face to hers and spoke thickly and low. 
 
 "You can't give it up, dear. You 're 
 bound to go back." 
 
 "No — no — no. Don't talk about it." 
 
 "I won't. I won't ask you to go back; 
 but I can't do without you." 
 
 "Oh yes, you can. There are other 
 
 women." 
 
 "I loathe them all. I wouldn't do for 
 one of them what I '11 do for you." 
 
 "What will you do for me.^" 
 
 "I '11 marry you, Kitty." 
 
 She laughed in her tired fashion. "You 
 want to make an honest woman of me, do 
 you?" 
 
 "No. I think I 'm endeavouring to make 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 301 
 
 myself an honest man. If you give Lucy 
 up for me I don't want you to lose by the 
 transaction. You were to have been married; 
 but for me perhaps, you would have been. 
 Very well, I '11 marry you." 
 
 "And that," said she, "will make it all 
 right .5" 
 
 "Well, won't it.^" 
 
 "No, it won't. How could it?" 
 
 "You know how. It will help you to 
 keep straight. That 's what you want, is n't 
 it.?" 
 
 "Oh yes, that's what I want. And you 
 think I'll keep straight by marrying you.?" 
 
 "I won't swear to it. But I know it's 
 ten to one that you '11 go to the devil if you 
 don't marry me. And you say you don't 
 want to do that." 
 
 "I don't want — to marry you." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps not; 
 but even marrying me might be better than 
 the other alternative." 
 
 "It wouldn't," she cried. "It would be 
 
302 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 worse. If I married you I could n't get 
 away from you. I could n't get away from 
 it. You 'd keep me in it. It 's what you 
 like me for — what you 're marrying me for. 
 You have n't married, all these years, because 
 you can't stand living with a decent woman. 
 And you think, if I marry you, it will make 
 it all right. All right!" 
 
 She rose and defied him. " ^Yhy, I'd 
 rather be your mistress. Then I could get 
 away from you. I shall get away now. 
 
 She turned violently, and he leaped up 
 and caught her in his arms. She struggled, 
 beating upon his breast, and crying with a 
 sad, inarticulate cry. She would have sunk 
 to the floor if he had not kept his hold 
 of her. 
 
 He raised her, and she stood still, breath- 
 ing hard, while he still grasped her tightly 
 by the wrists. 
 
 "Let me go," she said faintly. 
 
 "Where are you going to.^" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 303 
 
 "You 've no money. If you 're not going 
 back what are you going to do?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 Her eyelids dropped, and he saw mendacity 
 in her eyes' furtive fleeing under cover. He 
 held her tighter. His arm shook her, not 
 brutally, but with a nervous movement that 
 he was powerless to control. 
 
 "You lie," he said. "You've been lying 
 to me all the time. You are going back. 
 You 're going to that fellow Lucy." 
 
 "No. I 'm going — somewhere — where I 
 shan't see him." 
 
 "TVhere?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Abroad.^" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "Bv vourself.^" 
 
 Her eyelids quivered, and she panted. 
 
 les. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 "Let me go," she said again. 
 
 He let her go. 
 
304 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "You're going to live — by yourself — 
 respectably — abroad ?" 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "And how long do you think that will 
 last?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 Jane Lucy's voice called her from the 
 door. He swore under his breath. 
 
 "Let her come in. I want her." 
 
 He laid his hand upon the door. 
 
 "WTiat are you going to do ?" he reiterated. 
 
 "Oh, let her come to me." 
 
 "You have n't answered my question." 
 
 "Let me see her first. Leave me alone 
 with her. Janey! Janey!" she called. 
 
 "Very well," he said. 
 
 He opened the door and bowed to Jane 
 Lucy as she entered. 
 
 "I shall come back," he said, "for my 
 answer." 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 DID Robert send you?" she asked, when 
 she was alone with Jane. 
 les. 
 
 "It 's no good. I can't do what he wants." 
 
 "AAliat are you going to do, dear.?" 
 
 "I don't know. I don't care. The 
 terrible thing is that I 've had to hurt him. 
 I must go away somewhere." 
 
 "I '11 come with you and see you through." 
 
 Kitty shook her head. 
 
 "Don't think about it now," said Jane. 
 
 "No; I can't think. I'm too tired, and 
 my head 's hot. But if I go away you '11 
 understand why I did it.-" 
 
 " Kitty" — Jane whispered it — "you won't 
 go back.?" 
 
 "No. I won't go back. You won't have 
 to think that of me." 
 
 She had not looked at Jane as they talked. 
 
 305 
 
306 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 Now she turned to her with eyes of anguish 
 and appeal. 
 
 "Janey — think. I've been wicked for 
 years and years. I 've only been good 
 for one moment. One moment — when 
 I gave Robert up. Do you think it '11 
 count .^" 
 
 *'I think that, in the sight of God, such 
 moments last forever." 
 
 "And that's what you'll think of me 
 
 by?" 
 
 She lifted up her face, haggard and white, 
 flame-spotted where her tears had scorched 
 it. Jane kissed it. 
 
 "Do you mind kissing me.-^" 
 
 "My dear, my dear," said Jane, and she 
 drew her closer. 
 
 There was a sound of footsteps in the pas- 
 sage. Kitty drew back and listened. 
 
 "^Mlere's Robert.^" 
 
 "Upstairs with the children." 
 
 "They'll be asleep by this time, won't 
 they.?" 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 307 
 
 *'Fast asleep." 
 
 The footsteps came again, approaching 
 the door. They paused outside it a moment 
 and turned back. 
 
 "Do you hear that.?" said Kitty. "It's 
 Wilfrid Marston walking up and down. 
 He wants to get hold of me. I think he 's 
 mad about me. He asked me to marry 
 him just now, and I would n't. He thinks 
 I did n't mean it, and he 's coming back for 
 his answer. But I '11 tell you what I 'm going 
 to do. I shall go out quietly by the window 
 and slip away, and he won't find me. I 
 want you to be here when he comes, and 
 tell him that he can't see me. Would you 
 mind doing that.?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You '11 stay here all the time, and you 
 won't let him go out and look for me.?" 
 les. 
 
 Kitty listened again for the footsteps. 
 
 "He 's still there," she whispered. 
 
 "And you'll go to bed, Kitty.?" 
 
308 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Yes; of course I will.'* 
 
 She went out through the window on to 
 the veranda, and so on into the garden. 
 
 It was cool out there and unutterably 
 peaceful, with a tender, lucid twilight on 
 the bare grass of the lawn; on the sea be- 
 yond it, and on the white gravel path by the 
 low wall between. She saw it, the world 
 that had held her and Robert, that, holding 
 them, had taken on the ten days' splendour 
 of their passion. It stood, divinely still in 
 the perishing violet light, a world with- 
 drawn and unsubstantial, yet piercingly, in- 
 tolerably near. 
 
 Indoors Jane waited. It was not yet the 
 half-hour. She waited till the clock struck 
 and Marston came for his answer. 
 
 He looked round the room, and his face, 
 under its deference, betrayed his sharp annoy- 
 ance at finding himself alone with Miss Lucy. 
 
 "Pardon me," he said, "I thought that 
 Mrs. Tailleur was here." 
 
 "Mrs. Tailleur asked me to tell you that 
 
THE IMMORTAL ISIOMENT 309 
 
 she cannot see you. She has gone to her 
 
 room." 
 
 "To her room.?" 
 
 He stared at her, and his face loosened in 
 a sudden increduhty and dismay. 
 
 "Did she tell you she was going there.''" 
 
 "Yes. She was very tired." 
 
 "But — she was here not half an hour 
 ago. She could n't have gone without my 
 seeing her." 
 
 "She went out," said Jane faintly, "by 
 the window." 
 
 "She couldn't get to her room without 
 going through the hall. I 've been there all 
 the time on the seat by the stairs." 
 
 They looked at each other The seat by 
 the stairs commanded all ways in and out, the 
 entrance of the passage, and the door of the 
 sitting-room, and the portiere of the lounge. 
 
 "What do you think .5^" he said. 
 
 "I think that she has not gone far. But 
 if she goes, it is you who will have driven 
 her away." 
 
310 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 "Forgive me if I remind you that it is 
 not I who have given her up." 
 
 "It was you," said Jane quietly, "who 
 helped to ruin her." 
 
 His raised eyebrows expressed an urbane 
 surprise at the curious frankness of her 
 charge. And with a delicate gesture of his 
 hand he repudiated it and waved it away. 
 
 "My dear lady, you are alarmed and you 
 are angry, consequently you are unjust. 
 Whatever poor Kitty may have done I am 
 not responsible." 
 
 "You are responsible. It 's you, and men 
 like you, who have dragged her down. You 
 took advantage of her weakness, of her 
 very helplessness. You 've made her so that 
 she can't believe in a man's goodness and 
 trust herself to it." 
 
 He smiled, still with that untroubled ur- 
 banity, on the small flaming thing as she 
 arraigned him. 
 
 "And you consider me responsible for 
 that.^" he said. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 311 
 
 Their eyes met. "My brother is here," 
 said she. "Would you hke to see him.^" 
 
 "It might be as well, perhaps. If you 
 can find him." 
 
 She left him, and he waited five minutes 
 ten minutes, twenty. 
 
 She returned alone. All her defiance had 
 gone from her, and the face that she turned 
 to him was white with fear. 
 
 "She is not here," she said "She went 
 out — bv that window — and she has not 
 come in. We 've searched the hotel, and we 
 can't find her." 
 
 "And you have not found your brother?" 
 
 "He has irone out to look for her." 
 
 She sat down by the table, turning her 
 face away and screening it from him with 
 her hand. 
 
 Marston gave one look at her. He 
 stepped out, and crossed the lawn to the 
 bottom of the garden. The gate at the end 
 of the path there swung open violently, and he 
 found himself face to face with Robert Lucy. 
 
312 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 *'What have you done with Mrs. Tail- 
 leur?" he said. 
 
 Lucy's head was sunk upon his breast. 
 He did not look at him nor answer. The 
 two men walked back in silence up the lawn. 
 
 '*You don't know where she is.^" said 
 Marston presently. 
 
 "No. I thought I did. But — she is 
 not there." 
 
 He paused, steadying his voice to speak 
 again. 
 
 "If I don't find her, I shall go up to town 
 by the midnight train. Can you give me 
 her address there.'*" 
 
 "You think she has gone up to town.^" 
 Marston spoke calmly. He was appeased 
 by Lucy's agitation and his manifest ignor- 
 ance as to Kitty's movements. 
 
 "There 's nothing else she could do. I 've 
 got to find her. Will you be good enough 
 to give me her address.^" 
 
 "My dear Mr. Lucy, there's really no 
 reason why I should. If Mrs. Tailleur has 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 313 
 
 not gone up to town, her address won't 
 help you. If she has gone, your discreetest 
 course by far, if I may say so " 
 
 "Is what?" said Lucy sternly. 
 
 "Wiy, my dear fellow, of course — to let 
 her go." 
 
 Lucy raised his head. "I do not intend," 
 he said, "to let her go." 
 
 "Nor I," said Marston. 
 
 "Then we 've neither of us any time to 
 lose. I won't answer for what she may do, 
 in the state she 's in." 
 
 Marston swung slightly round, so that he 
 faced Lucy with his imperturbable stare. 
 
 "If you 'd known Mrs. Tailleur as long 
 as I have vou 'd have no sort of doubt as to 
 what she '11 do." 
 
 Lucy did not appear to have heard him, 
 so sunk was he in his own thoughts. 
 
 "'NMiat was that.^" said Marston suddenly. 
 
 They listened. The gate of the Cliff path 
 creaked on its hinges and fell back with a 
 sharp click of the latch. Lucy turned and 
 
314 THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 
 
 saw a small woman's figure entering the 
 garden from the Cliff. He strode on toward 
 the house, unwilling to be observed and 
 overtaken by any guests of the hotel. 
 
 Marston followed him slowly, pondering 
 at each step of the way. 
 
 He heard footsteps, quick stumbling foot- 
 steps, and a sound like a hoarse, half-suffocat- 
 ing breath behind him. Then a woman's 
 voice, that sank, stumbling, like the foot- 
 steps, as it spoke. 
 
 "Mr. Lucy," it said, '*is it you.?" 
 
 Marston went on. 
 
 Lucy was in the room with his sister. 
 He was sitting with his back to the open 
 window as Marston came in by it. 
 
 The voice outside was nearer; it whispered, 
 "Wiereis Mr. Lucy.?" 
 
 "Somebody's looking for you, Lucy," 
 said Marston. 
 
 And the three turned round. 
 
 Mrs. Hankin stood in the window, hold- 
 ing on to the frame of it and trembling. 
 
THE IMMORTAL MOMENT 315 
 
 Her face, her perfect face, was gray, like 
 the face of an old woman. It was drawn 
 and disfigured with some terrible emotion. 
 
 Lucy went to her. She clung to his arm. 
 and held him on the threshold. 
 
 "Mrs. Tailleur," she said, "Mrs. 
 Tailleur. We found her — down there. 
 She 's killed. She — she fell from the Cliff." 
 
 The three stood still as she spoke to them. 
 
 Then Jane rushed forward to her brother 
 with a cry, and Mrs. Hankin stretched out 
 her arms and barred the way. 
 
 There were small spots of blood on her 
 hands and on her dress where she had knelt. 
 
 "Go back, child," she said. "They're 
 carrying her in." 
 
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