THE THUNDERBOLT
 
 THE 
 
 THUNDERBOLT 
 
 BY 
 G. COLMORE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS SELTZER 
 
 1920
 
 Copyright, 1920, by 
 THOMAS SELTZER, IMC. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN THE TUTTED STATES Or AMERICA
 
 TO 
 A. W. L. 
 
 WITH WHOM I HAVE OFTEN DISCUSSED 
 THE PLACE OF FACT IN FICTION. I 
 DEDICATE A PIECE OF FICTION 
 WHICH OWES BOTH ITS CON- 
 CEPTION AND ITS CLIMAX 
 TO FACT 
 
 2134832
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 NURSE 
 
 ... 1 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 
 
 ... 75 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 
 MlSS KlMMIDGE 
 
 . . .143 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 
 
 . . .193 
 
 BOOK V 
 
 
 LEN AND DORRIB 
 
 ... 223 
 
 BOOK VI 
 
 
 GERMANY 
 
 ... 245 
 
 BOOK VII 
 
 
 AUGUSTINE 
 
 ... 281 
 
 BOOK VIII 
 
 
 
 ... 315
 
 BOOK I 
 NURSE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GEORGINA Bonham was devoted to her little 
 girl; so everybody said, and said, too, that 
 the devotion was not surprising. 
 
 For Dorrie Doris was her name was a most 
 attractive child; fair-haired, blue-eyed, soft- 
 cheeked, kissable, and with no objection to being 
 kissed. Moreover she was the sole legacy left to 
 Georgina by her dead husband and his very image, 
 said everybody again the limited everybody who 
 had known him. He too had been fair-haired, 
 blue-eyed and smooth of skin ; rumour had it that 
 he also had been receptive in regard to kisses, and 
 not only receptive but prone to initiative. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham herself was somewhat sallow, dark 
 of eye and with smooth dark abundant hair. Her 
 features were rounded and calm, and so was her 
 bosom. She conveyed an impression of ampli- 
 tude and stability. In the town in which she lived, 
 a moderate-sized market town, she was one of the 
 pillars in society's highest storey. Her name was 
 on all committees ; her hand, at every tea-meeting, 
 held a teapot or manipulated an urn; her figure 
 was never absent from the corner seat of her pew 
 
 i
 
 2 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 in the parish church, save on the score of indispo- 
 sition. And this was rare, since except for an 
 occasional headache she had good health. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham lived in a nice house on the out- 
 skirts of the town, and at the back of the house was 
 a fair-sized garden, nicely kept. Everything 
 about her was nice; the house linen, her clothes, 
 the white-tiled bathroom, the trim casement cur- 
 tains. People liked to go to tea with Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, because, they said, she had such nice teas, and 
 they liked talking to her because she had such nice 
 ideas. Both her teas and her ideas were pleasant 
 in the sense that they were never disturbing 
 save only in so far as disturbance may arise from 
 plethora; and as Georgina's friends were rarely 
 indiscreet in appetite and not too avid of conver- 
 sation, surfeit in regard to her admirable fare was 
 next door to unknown and in regard to her opti- 
 mism non-existent. 
 
 For Mrs. Bonham was an optimist; assuming 
 that God was in His heaven, she assumed also that 
 all was right with the world. In this, as in every- 
 thing else, experience her own experience was 
 her guide. God, in church, was represented by the 
 vicar, a sound and fluent preacher; outside the 
 church by the mayor, the police and the doctor; 
 and none of these, in the discharge of their several 
 offices, had she ever found occasion to criticize. 
 
 She had many friends, for she was kind, and also 
 circumspectly generous ; she gave sometimes hand- 
 some and never trashy presents, helped deserving 
 cases, and subscribed to well-established charities.
 
 NURSE 3 
 
 Friends she had and acquaintances; also distant 
 admirers whom she spoke to at meetings and phil- 
 anthropic gatherings, but who were not sufficiently 
 high in the social scale to be admitted to her set; 
 and besides these, one particular friend, who was 
 also her philosopher and guide. 
 
 This was a retired physician, a native of the 
 town, who had practised in London, but had re- 
 turned to Stottleham to live at ease on the proceeds 
 of his own savings and his father's small fortune. 
 He was a man interested in botany and the collect- 
 ing of prints; considerably older than Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, and representative to her of what was essen- 
 tial in humanity and civilization. His beard, close 
 cut, was perfectly trimmed, his linen was spotless, 
 his hands and nails were scrupulously clean. His 
 clothes were as well cut as his beard ; his house was 
 well appointed; he lived in comfort, but without 
 ostensible luxury. To be sure he never went to 
 church except on Christmas Day and at Easter, but 
 then he was a man, so it did not matter : had he had 
 a wife, he would, Georgina felt assured, have in- 
 sisted upon her regular attendance. His manner 
 pleased her ; in it was that mixture of deference to 
 her sex and sense of superiority in his own which 
 connoted the, to her, typically correct male atti- 
 tude. It goes without saying that he had no obvi- 
 ous vices. 
 
 Besides these indispensable qualifications, posi- 
 tive and negative, he possessed a wisdom which 
 always perceived not only on which side Geor- 
 gina 's bread was buttered her own common sense
 
 4 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 was sufficient guide for that but on which portions 
 of loaves, as yet uncut, butter would probably be 
 spread. It was as to the uncut loaves that she 
 invariably consulted him. 
 
 He consulted her when he wanted fresh chintz 
 for his drawing-room, or new linoleum for the hall. 
 Georgina knew by instinct when a colour was 
 "fast": she also knew the kind of pattern suitable 
 for the house of a bachelor who occasionally asked 
 ladies to tea. 
 
 In 1898 Mrs. Bonham was thirty-three, Carter 
 Eayke was forty-eight, and Doris was six. 
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 Doris being six, it seemed to Georgina that she 
 was getting, if not beyond the nursery, , yet cer- 
 tainly beyond Nurse. Not in the sense that Nurse 
 could not manage her, for Nurse had managed 
 her without any appearance of management 
 with obvious ease ever since she was six weeks 
 old. But Nurse did not speak grammatically, she 
 had an accent not free from Cockney twang, and 
 she mismanaged her aitches with the same thor- 
 oughness with which she managed Dorrie. When 
 Mrs. Bonham decided that Dorrie was getting be- 
 yond Nurse, what she meant was that Nurse's man- 
 ners and deportment were not of a kind upon which 
 the imitative Dorrie could be permitted to model 
 herself. 
 
 There were, however, two obstacles against tak-
 
 NUESE 5 
 
 ing Dorrie out of the hands of Nurse: one was 
 Nurse 's devotion to Dorrie ; the other was Dorrie 's 
 devotion to Nurse. The latter was the more diffi- 
 cult to deal with. It would of course be painful to 
 send Nurse away, inasmuch as the parting would 
 be painful to Nurse. But nurses must expect to 
 part from their nurslings ; partings were included 
 in their calling; a woman of any pretensions to 
 common sense would be prepared for dismissal 
 any day after the child she had brought up had 
 reached the age of five; and Dorrie was six. 
 Nurse therefore, though grieved, as was natural 
 and indeed proper, would accept the situation. 
 
 The real difficulty was in regard to Dorrie. Her 
 mother had every reason to fear that not only 
 would she not accept the situation, but that she 
 would kick against it. Not in a literal sense and 
 not with violence, for Dorrie was extraordinarily 
 un-disagreeable, but in the disconcerting fashion 
 of making herself ill. Every time that Nurse had 
 a holiday, Dorrie refused to go to sleep until 
 Nurse had returned, had tucked the clothes round 
 her with no difference in the tucking from the 
 tucking performed by Georgina herself and had 
 kissed her good-night. And once a dreadful 
 once, when Nurse had perforce gone home for a 
 week to tend a sick mother Dorrie had fretted 
 till she was sick. It was absurd, of course, all of 
 it, the lying awake, the falling asleep the instant 
 Nurse had proved her presence, the fretting and 
 the pining; absurd and annoying. But there it 
 was.
 
 6 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 The question was, in face of the facts, how to 
 make the necessary change; and the more Mrs. 
 Bonham thought about it the more necessary it 
 seemed to be; the very exaggeration of Dome's 
 devotion emphasized the necessity. Georgina 
 turned over the situation in her own mind, and 
 having decided that it must be dealt with, took, in 
 regard to methods of dealing, her usual course; 
 that is to say she wrote to Dr. Eayke and asked 
 him to come to tea. 
 
 DOCTOB, 
 
 "I am in a difficulty and should be so glad of 
 your kind advice. Can you find time to take tea 
 with me to-morrow afternoon? Any time after 
 four o 'clock would suit me. Please send word by 
 bearer, and if to-morrow is not convenient, kindly 
 fix some other day. On hearing from you, I will 
 arrange accordingly. 
 
 "Always yours sincerely, 
 
 "GEORGINA BONHAM." 
 
 The note was dispatched at twelve o'clock on 
 Tuesday, and by half -past twelve bearer, who was, 
 indeed, the unconscious Nurse, had brought back a 
 reply. 
 
 ' ' DEAR MBS. BONHAM, 
 
 "I am, as always, at your service. I shall be 
 delighted to wait upon you to-morrow afternoon at 
 4.15, and add to your feminine intuition such prac- 
 tical counsel as I am capable of. 
 
 "Yours very sincerely, 
 
 "CARTER EAYKE."
 
 NURSE 7 
 
 Mrs. Bonham read the note with satisfaction, 
 and began to " arrange accordingly." There was, 
 as a matter of fact, only one arrangement she 
 could make on that same day, and she made it 
 forthwith. She went into the kitchen and ordered 
 the cook to make, as early in the afternoon as pos- 
 sible, a currant and sultana cake. It was the kind 
 of cake the Doctor liked best, and he liked his cake 
 to be a day old, or, as Georgina phrased it, made 
 the day before. 
 
 On this, the day before, there was nothing fur- 
 ther to be done, and after lunch, having rested for 
 half an hour and changed her dress, she set out for 
 the Needlework Guild Meeting with a compara- 
 tively quiet mind. 
 
 CHAPTEE III 
 
 The Needlework Guild was conducted under the 
 combined dictatorship of Georgina Bonham and 
 Mrs. Vearing, the Vicar's wife. Its object was to 
 provide underclothes for the poor of a London 
 East End parish, and the minimum of its activi- 
 ties was to finish a hundred articles as the result 
 of weekly meetings between the October of one 
 year and Easter of the next. Members who failed 
 in attendance were required to supply completed 
 articles, varying in number according to the num- 
 ber of attendances missed, and in kind according 
 to the tables to which severally they belonged. 
 
 For the work was systematically divided.
 
 8 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 There was a petticoat table, a nightgown table, a 
 chemise table, and a table for what the wearers 
 of the articles called drawers, and the ladies who 
 made them knickerbockers. In command of each 
 of these tables was a lady, distinguished not only 
 by the fact that her seat was at the head of it, 
 but by a badge worn over the left breast; and in 
 supreme authority, supervising the tables, cutting 
 out, folding up, scrutinizing the work and passing 
 or rejecting it, were Mrs. Vearing and Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. They sat or more often stood at a table 
 apart, and while their judgment was sometimes 
 inwardly or whisperingly questioned, it was never 
 openly defied. Custom and social standing alike 
 supported them ; they were foremost amongst the 
 leaders, perhaps the leaders of Stottleham society, 
 and it was better to have a chemise turned back 
 than to be left out of a social function. 
 
 Greorgina to-day was a little late. She had 
 paused at the greengrocer and fruiterer's to buy 
 a bunch of violets for Mrs. Vearing. There were 
 usually cut flowers mingled with the fruit and vege- 
 tables in this, the principal shop of its kind, and 
 glancing at the window as she passed, Georgina 
 saw violets as well as cabbages and oranges. She 
 had had no intention of presenting Mrs. Vearing 
 with flowers when she set out from home; but 
 after a period of uncertainty and perturbation, 
 she was feeling relieved by the prospect of to- 
 morrow's conference, and the relief found expres- 
 sion in buying a bunch of violets and giving them 
 to Mrs. Vearing.
 
 NURSE 9 
 
 "What a delicious smell of spring!" said Mrs. 
 Vearing, as Georgina entered the Parish Boom. 
 "Oh, it's violets. How sweet!" 
 
 Georgina, with a smile, said : ' l They 're for you. 
 I know you like them. They caught my eye as I 
 came past Merriman's." 
 
 "How lovely of you! I adore them. But it's 
 just like you, dear Mrs. Bonham." 
 
 Through the room went a murmuring echo to 
 the effect that it was just like Mrs. Bonham to 
 buy violets and give them to somebody who adored 
 them. Only Miss Truefitt sniffed : her sniff meant : 
 "Who wouldn't buy violets if threepence meant 
 no more to them than it does to Mrs. Bonham ?" 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, however, heard only the murmur 
 and not the sniff. She took off her coat and re- 
 joined Mrs. Vearing, feeling as if she had done 
 something rather nice, and trying to look as if she 
 thought she hadn't. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing presented her with an enormous 
 pair of scissors. 
 
 "They're running short at the chemise table," 
 she said, "and I've kept the fresh roll of calico 
 for you. You cut them so much better than I 
 do." In a lower voice she added: "When they've 
 all got talking again, there's something I want to 
 speak to you about." 
 
 "I'm sure I don't." Georgina spoke more 
 loudly than was her wont. Then she too dropped 
 her voice, murmuring: "All right." 
 
 The two conspirators proceeded to discuss chem- 
 ises, and their measurements, Mrs. Vearing help-
 
 10 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ing to undo the fresh roll of unbleached calico, 
 and Georgina busy with the scissors: then, when 
 presently the tongues at the tables were busy, they 
 again became low-voiced and confidential. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" Georgina asked. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing gave a cautious glance at the near- 
 est table; it was the knickerbocker table. 
 
 "You know Mrs. Robinson is leaving Stottle- 
 ham, I suppose?" 
 
 Georgina nodded, partly from caution, partly be- 
 cause she had a pin in her mouth. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing gave a glance round the tables. 
 Scraps of conversation emerged from the blurred 
 hum of the voices. 
 
 " a gold band round the two that stick out, 
 and I was to take her back in three months." 
 " quite good enough ninepence three-farthings 
 and washes like a rag." "I couldn't put up with 
 it any longer and told her so, and she said ..." 
 " jellies beautifully. I had the receipt from a 
 friend in Yorkshire." 
 
 "I don't know," said Mrs. Vearing, "whom to 
 put in her place." 
 
 It was Georgina 's turn to glance round the 
 tables : her glance was one not so much of caution 
 as of scrutiny: it paused momentarily here and 
 there in its survey. 
 
 "There are one or two, aren't there?" she asked. 
 "Mrs. Dicks and Miss " 
 
 "That's just it; I don't know which to choose. 
 If I take one, the other '11 be offended." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham paused in her cutting. "Let me
 
 NURSE 11 
 
 see ! Mrs. Robinson's on the committee, isn't she, 
 as well as head of the knickerbockers?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, couldn't we put Mrs. Dicks on the com- 
 mittee and make Miss Debenham head? No one 
 can expect at least it's absurd if they do " 
 
 "It would be all right as far as it goes, but 
 there's Mrs. Markham. I know she thought she 
 ought to have been put at the head of the night- 
 gowns instead of Miss Pottlebury." 
 
 "I shouldn't have thought Mrs. Markham al- 
 ways seems so pleasant " 
 
 "Oh, but I know. It came round to me 
 through Mrs. Ansell. She complained to Mrs. 
 Pitt, and Mrs. Pitt told Mrs. Ansell, and Mrs. 
 Ansell told me in confidence of course." 
 
 "What a worry they are!" 
 
 ' ' She said she didn 't know what Miss Pottlebury 
 had done more than she'd done," Mrs. Vearing 
 went on in a rush of whispers. "She didn't know 
 why she, a married woman, should be lorded over 
 by Miss Pottlebury. You know the way they 
 talk." 
 
 "Miss Pottlebury is rather domineering," ob- 
 served Georgina judiciously. 
 
 "Well, we can't change her; that would make 
 more bother than ever. Once head they 've got to 
 
 stay head. And so few " Mrs. Vearing 
 
 sighed. " so few resign." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham continued to cut for about half a 
 minute in reflective silence ; then she stopped short 
 and put down the scissors.
 
 12 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "Why not change the system altogether!" she 
 said. "Why not appoint them just for one ses- 
 sion, and give them all a turn! all that could be 
 heads, I mean of course." 
 
 The boldness of the suggested reform struck 
 Mrs. Vearing dumb. When she spoke it was in 
 gasps. 
 
 "But," she said, "it's never been like that 
 all these years." 
 
 "I don't see any other way," Mrs. Bonham said, 
 1 ' of not giving offence at least not to so many. ' ' 
 
 "I believe you're right," Mrs. Vearing said, "I 
 believe you are. Dear Mrs. Bonham, you always 
 have such good ideas." 
 
 In her excitement her voice had risen; the last 
 sentence was in a high key and a loud tone; and 
 all over the room inquiring heads were turned, 
 wondering what was Mrs. Bonham 's latest idea. 
 Did it outdo the violets? 
 
 Curiosity, however, remained unsatisfied. 
 
 "We will discuss it some other time," Mrs. 
 Vearing said with a sudden drop of her voice to a 
 whisper. 
 
 She left her seat to make a tour of inspection. 
 Mrs. Bonham took measurements for another 
 chemise. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Mrs. Bonham and Mrs. Vearing walked a little 
 bit of the way home together, to the point at which 
 Bear Street, in which was the Parish Room, joined
 
 NURSE 13 
 
 the High Street. Mrs. Vearing had said: "Do 
 come back to tea with me and let us talk the tables 
 out!" but Mrs. Bonham was obdurate; she had 
 promised Dorrie to be home by half -past four, and 
 she never disappointed Dorrie. 
 
 "Another day," Georgina said, "Thursday or 
 Friday if you like. To-morrow I am engaged." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing, disappointed but subdued, for she 
 felt that against Mrs. Bonham 's decision there was 
 no appeal, grasped at Thursday, and turned down 
 the High Street, somewhat consoled, to unbosom 
 herself to the Vicar and to put her violets in water. 
 They were -already beginning to flag. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, taking her way up the street, was 
 calmly content in the consciousness of a satisfac- 
 tory afternoon. She had been kind to Mrs. Vear- 
 ing and pleasant to the many members of the Guild 
 who had clustered round her after the meeting and 
 offered to help her on with her coat : she had given 
 good advice and had shown herself to be top dog 
 in general capability. Mrs. Bonham did not make 
 use of the term top dog, nor did she analyse the 
 various small tributaries which composed the 
 stream of her content ; but a general sense of top- 
 doggishness inspired her mood and gave a brisk- 
 ness to her mental demeanour. 
 
 She walked slowly, for the High Street sloped 
 upwards, and the spring air, sweet and soft, was 
 a little exhausting. Moreover she had plenty of 
 time. Half -past four she had said to Dorrie, and 
 it was not much past the quarter. Otherwise she 
 would have hurried in spite of the spring languor ;
 
 14 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 she would have reached home panting rather than 
 disappoint Dorrie. 
 
 Dorrie came first with her, before everything 
 and everybody. Her strongest desire was to be 
 first with Dorrie. She thought she was first 
 she was sure of it. Nevertheless there was a 
 little secret unadmitted doubt which, inadmissible, 
 was also better untested, a little tiny shadow of a 
 doubt lest Dorrie, should Georgina be a few min- 
 utes late, might not be so dreadfully disappointed 
 after all. Not that she questioned Dorrie 's devo- 
 tion to her, or the warmth of Dorrie 's welcome; 
 but Dorrie was always happy when Nurse was 
 there, and Nurse of course was there Nurse was 
 always there. It was a distinctly agreeable 
 thought that Dr. Rayke was coming on the mor- 
 row to arrange the paving of the way for Nurse's 
 abdication. 
 
 Arrived at home Dorrie, in answer to Georgina 's 
 call, came rushing to greet her. Dome's cheeks 
 were flushed and her eyes sparkled. 
 
 "Had a nice afternoon, darling?" 
 
 " 'Lightful." 
 
 "What have you been doing?" 
 
 "Playing with Nurse." 
 
 "You're getting rather big now to play with 
 Nurse." 
 
 They went hand in hand to the drawing-room, 
 where there was a mingled smell of hyacinths and 
 polished floor. It was "turning out" day for the 
 drawing-room, and everything was at high-water 
 mark of cleanliness and order.
 
 NURSE 15 
 
 "Bather too big. Don't you think so?" said 
 Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 1 'I'm not 'normous," Dorrie said with a little 
 pucker of the brows. 
 
 "Not enormous, no, I know." Mrs. Bonham 
 smiled. "But too big to play with Nurse. It's 
 only babies who play with nurses. You don't 
 want to stay a baby, do you, Dorrie?" 
 
 Dorrie did not answer the question : she changed 
 the subject. 
 
 "Cook gave me currants," she said. 
 
 The kitchen was out of bounds according to Mrs. 
 Bonham 's code, but diplomacy demanded compro- 
 mises. So all she said was: "How kind of 
 Cook!" 
 
 "She was making a cake for Uncle Bayke." 
 
 "How ever did she why should she suppose it 
 was for Uncle Bayke ? ' ' 
 
 "Is it?" asked Dorrie. 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 Mrs. Bonham stopped, partly because it was im- 
 possible to explain to Dorrie why, though the cake 
 actually was for the entertainment of Dr. Bayke, 
 it was outrageous of Cook to have taken the fact 
 for granted, and partly because Janet, the parlour- 
 maid, came in with the tea-tray. 
 
 * * Cook 's real name is Gladys, ' ' said Dorrie. ' * I 
 know because she said so. Did you know, 
 Mummy?" 
 
 "I'm not sure I don't remember." 
 
 As a matter of fact Georgina did not know. 
 When she had applied for Cook's character, she
 
 16 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 had presented her compliments to Cook's former 
 employer and stated that she would be obliged by 
 information as to whether G. Jawkins was honest, 
 sober, etc., and she had never got the length of 
 inquiring whether G. stood for Gladys, Gertrude 
 or Grace. But at the moment her thoughts were 
 unconcerned with Cook's name and intent upon 
 her subtlety. It had not occurred to Mrs. Bon- 
 ham that a currant and sultana cake made "the 
 day before" was inevitably associated in the mind 
 of the kitchen with the advent of Dr. Eayke on the 
 day after. Accustomed herself to put two and 
 two together, she was disposed to regard it as im- 
 pertinence on the part of Cook to make the same 
 simple calculation, and especially to bring out the 
 result as four: if Cook did presume to tackle nu- 
 merical problems, she should at least have the 
 grace to abstain from correct solutions. Of course 
 there was no reason why every inmate of the 
 kitchen should not know that Dr. Rayke was com- 
 ing to tea ; it was a quite ordinary and fairly fre- 
 quent occurrence; nevertheless it somehow an- 
 noyed Mrs. Bonham that what was by her unstated 
 should, by her household, be taken for granted. 
 
 "I think Gladys is a pretty name," Dorrie went 
 on. * ' Don 't you, Mummy ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, very," said Georgina absently. 
 
 "It's almost prettier than Cook is. But Cook's 
 rather pretty the top part of her. She sings too 
 nice long songs. ' ' 
 
 Janet had left the room and Mrs. Bonham 
 poured herself out a cup of tea, considering in her
 
 NURSE 17 
 
 mind how to escape from the Scylla of Nurse with- 
 out foundering on the Charybdis of Cook. Dorrie, 
 unanswered, proceeded to criticize Charybdis. 
 
 "Only she's too fat. She comes out like you, 
 Mummy, but she doesn't go in again. It looks 
 nicer to go in again, don't you think so, Mummy?" 
 
 Georgina answered at last. "Darling," she 
 said, "I think you've talked enough about Cook." 
 
 Dorrie accepted the suggestion: she at once 
 abandoned Cook. 
 
 "Me and Nurse " she began, but Georgina 
 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "I'll give you a piece of cake if you sit down 
 quietly and don't make crumbs on the carpet, and 
 then I'll read to you." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham did not approve of eating between 
 meals and Dorrie had already had her tea ; more- 
 over Mrs. Bonham had a letter to write which she 
 had intended to dispatch by the evening post. But 
 what was she to do? What could anybody do? 
 The child was incorrigible. Would Dr. Bayke be 
 able to do anything? Georgina clung to to-mor- 
 row. It was safe to cling ; he never failed her, had 
 never failed yet, in the keeping of an appointment. 
 All the same it was absurd of Cook . . . really life 
 was very trying, and it was difficult to steer one 's 
 way. . . . 
 
 "The story I like best," said Dorrie, "is 'The 
 Mermaid.' So does Nurse."
 
 18 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 To-morrow came ; and also Dr. Rayke. 
 
 He came, almost to the minute, at four-fifteen, 
 and his punctuality was a blessing inasmuch as it 
 spared Mrs. Bonham the fussiness of waiting and 
 of listening for the bell. Not that his presence or 
 the expectation of his presence excited her ; it was 
 a presence she had never found other than tran- 
 quillizing; it was not the man, but the subject she 
 was to discuss with the man, which gave her the 
 fidgets or would have given her the fidgets, had 
 he been more than two minutes after the appointed 
 hour. 
 
 Would he understand after all? This was the 
 half-formulated doubt that disturbed her. A 
 man's judgment was sounder than a woman's, 
 his counsel generally speaking more reliable. 
 Still, there were things that men somehow didn't 
 seem to get the ins and outs of : Georgina was not 
 sure that her present perplexity was not one of 
 them. And if he didn't understand of his own 
 accord, spontaneously it might be difficult to 
 make him see the point. If 
 
 Oh, there was the bell and here he was ! 
 
 He came in with the kind smile she was accus- 
 tomed to and the kindest look in his eyes. He 
 brought her a small bunch of orchids. He grew 
 orchids for the purpose of studying them. 
 
 How kind of him! said Mrs. Bonham. Would 
 Janet bring a vase, please the opal glass one.
 
 NURSE 19 
 
 Orchids were such wonderful things. And how 
 about the window? Should they leave it open or 
 would he feel the draught? His throat she knew 
 it was delicate. 
 
 "Oh, leave it open, please," said Rayke. "My 
 throat's as right as rain, and it's a real spring 
 day what one imagines at least as spring. For 
 we very seldom get it, do we?" 
 
 "Very seldom," said Georgina, "very seldom 
 indeed." 
 
 She told herself that it was absurd to be nervous, 
 but was nervous nevertheless. Supposing he 
 didn't understand? thought her difficulty trivial, 
 and Georgina trivial for troubling over it? sup- 
 posing he didn't see, with his man's vision, that 
 there was a difficulty? She fiddled with the or- 
 chids, arranging them this way and that. She did 
 not quite know how to begin. 
 
 "How's Dorrie?" asked Rayke. 
 
 She could not take the lead he gave her, for 
 Janet, in a minute or two now, would be coming 
 in with the tea; and to begin and then be inter- 
 rupted . . . no, she must wait. 
 
 So she said Dorrie was all right, and then once 
 more what wonderful things orchids were. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing, could she have seen her now, 
 would have marvelled. This was not the dear Mrs. 
 Bonham she knew, of calm and assured demeanour, 
 not the Mrs. Bonham admired of Stottleham. Nor 
 was this, for the matter of that, Dr. Rayke 's Mrs. 
 Bonham, nor indeed Georgina 's own Mrs. Bon- 
 ham : it was, so to speak, a spurious Mrs. Bonham,
 
 20 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 
 
 the product of a concatenation of circumstances, 
 unexampled hitherto, and, presumably, never to 
 occur again. And in all the concatenation, the one 
 item which made Georgina nervous was the doubt, 
 arising just before his ring at the bell, as to 
 whether Dr. Rayke would could understand. 
 
 How absurd of her to doubt ! how foolish ! how 
 when you came to think of it how unworthy! 
 For of course he understood. It really had been 
 positively disloyal of her, a lack of understanding 
 on her own part, ever to have questioned the ca- 
 pacity of his comprehension. This was the sub- 
 stance of the mood, of the tide of reaction which 
 followed close upon the period of nervous doubt. 
 
 For over his first cup of tea, at the scone stage, 
 before ever the cake was even cut, Dr. Eayke mas- 
 tered the situation, with all its complexities and its 
 resulting problem. Munching cake and the cake 
 was excellent, one of Cook's triumphs he ex- 
 pressed his sympathy, recapitulated the position, 
 and emphasized the salient points. Finally, smok- 
 ing a cigarette by the open window (Georgina did 
 not like smoke in the drawing-room, but the situa- 
 tion was unusual and important, and the window 
 was open ; she begged the Doctor to smoke and not 
 to retire to the dining-room to do it), smoking by 
 the open window, looking out on the green spring 
 lawn, on the crocuses in the neat beds dying off and 
 the daffodils coming on, Dr. Rayke propounded his 
 solution of the difficulty. 
 
 It was at this point that Georgina 's mood 
 changed once again, that the tide of her relief and
 
 NURSE 21 
 
 confidence received a check. She was not nerv- 
 ous any more, but the elation provided by her 
 friend 's comprehending friendliness was damped : 
 frankly, she did not like his solution. At first 
 sight, at first hearing, all that was contumacious in 
 her kicked against his solution. She was half in- 
 clined to break in upon his calm elaboration of the 
 solution with "Oh, if that's all you've got to sug- 
 gest, you may as well let it alone. I could do as 
 well as that without you.'* 
 
 But she did not break in ; her conception of Dr. 
 Kayke's conception of her stood between her an- 
 noyance and its manifestation, supported by her 
 conception of herself, a conception strongly im- 
 bued with the dear Mrs. Bonham of Mrs. Vearing. 
 So, having in contemplation a wholesale measure 
 of reform, she listened, downcast but discreet, to a 
 scheme of compromise. For Dr. Bayke's solu- 
 tion was a compromise. In the event she per- 
 ceived and acknowledged that he was justified, but 
 in the suggestion she found him tiresome, in- 
 efficient, disappointing. 
 
 This was at the first blush, and a little at the 
 second; but as he rounded up his plan and 
 elaborated its tactics, as he crossed his t's with 
 caution, and carefully dotted his i's, Mrs. Bon- 
 ham too became gradually rounded up : gradually 
 the vexation was subtracted from her disappoint- 
 ment and the disappointment itself merged in re- 
 luctant appreciation. 
 
 For the Doctor's scheme, if not ideally drastic, 
 was at any rate practically compassable; if com-
 
 22 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 pleteness was lacking, success was probable. It 
 excluded the idea of casting out the bondwoman 
 and giving sole dominion to the freewoman; the 
 risk of sending Nurse right out into the wilder- 
 ness was too great in view of the attitude of 
 Nurse's charge. But Nurse was no longer to be 
 Nurse : if she might not be Hagar, she might and 
 could and should and must be Hannah. Hannah 
 was her Christian name, and Hannah hencefor- 
 ward she was to be; her sphere no longer the 
 nursery, but the range of the house, the kitchen 
 premises excepted. She was, in a word, to be 
 housemaid and not nurse, unchanged as regarded 
 space, but changed enormously in function. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, as Bayke elaborated the salient 
 points of the scheme, first admitted and then ap- 
 plauded its diplomacy. There was no occasion for 
 fretting on the part of Dorrie, for Nurse in per- 
 son would still be there; and when Dorrie had 
 grown accustomed to the nursery-governess who, 
 if not all at once yet bit by bit was to take over 
 Nurse's duties of washing, dressing and the like, 
 in addition to her own special duty of teaching, 
 then Nurse, now to supersede the housemaid of the 
 present, would, in her turn, be superseded by a 
 housemaid of the future. And in addition to all 
 this Mrs. Bonham would be spared the thankless 
 and uncomfortable task of bundling or appearing 
 to bundle Nurse out of the house. 
 
 Before Dr. Rayke went away she had regained 
 all her respect for the masculine mind. 
 
 "You have indeed helped me," she said as he
 
 NURSE 23 
 
 bade her goodbye; and on the doorstep: "How 
 can I thank you!" 
 
 "By not thanking me at all. A word or two 
 of advice! What's that? Why, nothing at all." 
 
 "On the contrary, it's very much everything," 
 murmured Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 "Besides, you know it's a pleasure to serve 
 you. ' ' 
 
 He went down the approach, to the gate, turned 
 there, took off his hat and waved to her. 
 
 What a friend he was ! what a kind and helpful 
 friend! Georgina, relieved in her mind, and 
 elated in her mood, went back into the house to 
 reflect on the opening of the campaign. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Dr. Rayke returned home, if not exactly elated, 
 yet well content. He had told Mrs. Bonham that 
 it was a pleasure to him to serve her, and he had 
 spoken the truth. He did not mind giving advice ; 
 he rather liked it ; and advice was what she usually 
 asked of him. Moreover, in addition to the satis- 
 faction of giving it, he had the satisfaction of 
 knowing it would be taken. She was a sensible 
 woman, a woman who, if like most of her sex 
 she had not the capacity for constructive reason- 
 ing, had at any rate the capacity for following 
 sequential argument when the sequence was 
 pointed out to her. 
 
 He was used to speak of Mrs. Bonham as a
 
 24 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 capable woman, and was not unwilling to be recog- 
 nized as her guide, philosopher and friend. There 
 were those in Stottleham who said he would not 
 have been unwilling to add to these parts, so suc- 
 cessfully played, the part of husband. But they 
 were wrong. 
 
 There had indeed been a time, three years ago 
 now, about fifteen months after he had come to 
 settle down in Stottleham, when he had climbed 
 up on to the fence enclosing the estate of matri- 
 mony and considered the attractions of that estate. 
 There had been a period when he had wobbled, 
 when, indeed, the angle of his predilection had in- 
 clined towards the enclosure; but finally he had 
 pulled himself upright and descended on the single 
 side. 
 
 The past spoke to him and he listened to its 
 voice. For he had a past; not lurid or guilty or 
 disgraceful, but flat with the flatness of the com- 
 monplace. When Mrs. Eayke died, he had said to 
 himself: "Never again"; and the utterance was 
 not a vow of constancy but of caution, inspired 
 not by sentiment but satiety. Mrs. Eayke had 
 been insufferably dull: it was her only fault, but 
 a fault which had saturated married life with 
 cheerlessness. And yet before marriage Rayke 
 had thought her charming; pretty to look at 
 which she was; docile, which she also was; in- 
 teresting, which she was not. Her intelligence 
 had been swamped by her docility, and the Doctor, 
 to whom the clinging and the docile aspects of 
 womanhood were ideally the most desirable, had in
 
 NUBSE 25 
 
 practice been hoist with his own petard. For 
 Mrs. Eayke had clung persistently, and with per- 
 sistence had been docile; so docile that a master 
 mind had no means of manifestation, and there 
 was never an occasion on which it was possible 
 to prove by argument superiority of judgment 
 or opinion. She was, in fact, in respect of 
 feminine virtues not only all his fancy had painted 
 her, but immensely more. It was the remem- 
 brance of this immensity which had helped to 
 bring him down on the solitary side of the fence. 
 
 Georgina Bonham appeared to be an eminently 
 sensible woman; but then so had Marian Rayke 
 before the name of Eayke had followed that of 
 Marian. It was pleasant to go to tea with Mrs. 
 Bonham and very pleasant to persuade her to his 
 own way of thinking. It was pleasant to enter- 
 tain Mrs. Bonham at tea at his own house, with 
 one or two other friends to satisfy convention. 
 But how would it be to have Mrs. Bonham, not 
 coming occasionally to tea, not mingled with other 
 company, but always there, undiluted, ready, wait- 
 ing, for tea? and needing, perhaps, no persuasion 
 of argument to bring her to his way of thinking, 
 but uniformly ready to agree with anything and 
 everything he might say? To experiment, with 
 experience behind him, would be rash. Eayke, in 
 short, was too much afraid of his own dominance 
 to risk the result of its daily influence. 
 
 He need not have been afraid. Georgina was 
 a woman whom marriage made less, not more 
 amenable. Daily companionship with the Doctor
 
 26 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 would daily have diminished his domination so far 
 as she was concerned: a certain distance was es- 
 sential to any enchantment in her view. Dome's 
 father, now that he was dead, was by her revered; 
 while he was alive, he had annoyed her by con- 
 tinually getting into debt and expecting her to get 
 him out. She was wont to speak, in all good faith, 
 of her loss as a blighting sorrow, whereas the 
 independence of widowhood had braced her; and 
 to say, believing it, that her life with dear Theo- 
 dore had been one of unbroken harmony, for- 
 getting the many rifts within the lute which had 
 not only made the music of marriage frequently 
 mute, but sometimes discordant. 
 
 But, unconscious of any discrepancy between 
 facts and the glass-case atmosphere in which re- 
 membrance stored them, she yet, in vague un- 
 acknowledged fashion, was conscious of her own 
 tendencies. With the halo of living in a separate 
 house about him, Rayke's presence was stimulat- 
 ing, his opinion impressive, his advice illuminat- 
 ing. But in the same house? every day? always 
 advising! 
 
 Georgina, too, had had her period of considera- 
 tion. It had slightly preceded Rayke's, for she, 
 sooner than he, had perceived whither he was tend- 
 ing: before he climbed up on to the fence, she 
 had seen him looking through the palings. And 
 she, as he, had considered the pros and cons of an 
 amalgamated household. And she, in fact, it was 
 who had settled the question. For there had been 
 a moment in which, by the gentlest movement, an
 
 NURSE 27 
 
 imperceptible tug, Georgina could have precipi- 
 tated Rayke on to the matrimony side of the fence. 
 She had seen the moment coming and was mistress 
 of its emotions: Rayke, on the other hand, 
 blundered into it and was at the moment's and 
 Georgina 's mercy. 
 
 He never knew that she had tacitly refused him, 
 he never knew that, had she decided to accept him, 
 he would have provided the opportunity for ac- 
 ceptance. Mrs. Bonham knew, and the knowledge 
 flattered her self-esteem ; knew too that, the crisis 
 past, it would not recur; and the certainty fortified 
 her confidence in the stability and comfort of their 
 relations. She was not used to considering sex 
 problems, was not interested in them, and did not 
 think out the sequence of past phases or the 
 course of the future. She only felt that every- 
 thing was satisfactory and that she could rely upon 
 Rayke for friendship, sympathy and advice, to- 
 gether with a suggestion of gallantry in his atti- 
 tude, not displeasing. And this was the state of 
 affairs which she found entirely comfortable. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Rayke, contented in his independence, never 
 dreamed that he owed it to Mrs. Bonham; nor 
 dreamed, unconscious as he was of her decision, 
 that the root cause of the decision was Dorrie. 
 
 Possibly Mrs. Bonham did not dream of it her- 
 self, since she was not given to defining the mo-
 
 28 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 tives of her actions or seeking for the origins of 
 her ideas; she was not the least interested in 
 plumbing her own depths. There were, perhaps, 
 no very great depths to plumb; but, profound or 
 shallow, her devotion to Dome went down to the 
 nethermost part of her, and was the unrecognized 
 but determining agent in the main course of her 
 plans and conduct. 
 
 Georgina had not said to herself in so many 
 words that she remained a widow in order that 
 there should be nobody to interfere between her 
 and Dorrie, but such was the fact. She was will- 
 ing, anxious, sometimes almost eager for Dr. 
 Eayke 's advice, and had invariably been disposed 
 to follow it; but the advice of a friend, offered 
 with the courtesy and deference with which 
 Bayke's demeanour was infused, was a very dif- 
 ferent thing from the advice which, in the mouth 
 of a husband, might take on a tone of authority. 
 In her heart, instinctively, she knew that if Eayke 
 made suggestions which to her seemed adverse 
 to Dorrie 's advantage, she would throw him and 
 his suggestions to the wind ; a comparatively easy 
 matter in their present position, but bristling with 
 controversies and inconveniences, were Eayke not 
 only an inmate of her house, but legally its master. 
 In her heart was the determination that Dorrie 's 
 interests should come before all else : in her heart 
 was the conviction that the only certain way to 
 safeguard them was to share her authority with 
 none. Consciously she had not admitted all this 
 into her consideration of the offer which Eayke
 
 NURSE 29 
 
 would have made her had she deemed it expedient 
 that the offer should be made; but all this was 
 present nevertheless in her emotional, if not in her 
 mental view and formed the deciding factor. It 
 loomed enormously larger than the sentimental 
 element which gave colour and interest to her 
 friendship with Rayke. 
 
 That element, never impulsively disturbing, had 
 become in the last three years ever more comfort- 
 ably calm: the liquid warmth of sentiment had 
 jellied into a firm mould of friendship. Rayke 's 
 presence did not make Georgina 's heart beat faster 
 than did the presence of Mrs. Vearing, though it 
 beat more pleasurably. She did not forget nor 
 want to forget nor want Rayke to forget that he 
 was a man and she a woman, but she had no more 
 desire to arouse adoration than she had to render 
 it. 
 
 She had told Mrs. Vearing that she should never 
 marry again because of dear Theodore, and Mrs. 
 Vearing was impressed by dear Mrs. Bonham's 
 constancy as fully as was Mrs. Bonham herself. 
 Neither of them knew at least Mrs. Vearing did 
 not know, and Georgina did not recognize that 
 it was not dear Theodore, but Dorrie, who had held 
 Dr. Rayke and his contingencies at arm's length. 
 
 It was part of Mrs. Vearing 's success as a friend 
 that she never did know anything about Georgina 
 that Georgina did not herself recognize: it made 
 her what Georgina called sympathetic, and it had 
 the result of causing Georgina to confide in her. 
 She consulted Rayke, but confided in Mrs. Vear-
 
 30 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ing. And as Rayke to Mrs. Bonham, so was Mrs. 
 Bonham to Mrs. Vearing, while as Mrs. Vearing 
 to Mrs. Bonham, so was the Vicar to his wife. 
 Mrs. Vearing consulted Mrs. Bonham and confided 
 in her husband, who looked upon her as a model 
 of feminine intuition. He, in his turn, consulted 
 her, drinking in her ideas as to parish activities, 
 and, needing a confidant on subjects purely 
 masculine, confided in Rayke. 
 
 So that these four people, if they did not square 
 the circle, circled a square; and of the square 
 Rayke was the vital point, the alpha and omega. 
 From him wisdom, natural to his manhood and 
 developed and increased by his London experience, 
 was transmitted to Mrs. Bonham; from Mrs. Bon- 
 ham it was passed on to Mrs. Vearing, from Mrs. 
 Vearing to the Vicar ; and through the Vicar was 
 returned, unrecognized and unrecognizable, in the 
 form of questions or remarks, to Rayke. And 
 as the four friends were on the crest of the wave 
 of Stottleham society, Rayke may be said to have 
 coloured the ideas of Stottleham. 
 
 It was in accordance with custom, with the un- 
 written laws and the unnoted traditions of the 
 four, that on the day after Rayke had been to tea 
 with Mrs. Bonham, Mrs. Bonham should go to tea 
 with Mrs. Vearing.
 
 NUKSE 31 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, after the Guild meeting, had sug- 
 gested Thursday for going to tea with Mrs. Vear- 
 ing and talking over the problems of the Commit- 
 tees and the heads of tables. In the forefront of 
 her mind was the knowledge that it was her first 
 free afternoon, and in the background was the con- 
 sciousness that she would want to tell Mrs. Vear- 
 ing the result of her consultation with Dr. Bayke. 
 As to that consultation, she had as yet made no 
 communication to Mrs. Vearing; her confidences 
 were almost always after the event. It was this 
 partial reserve which gave her, in Mrs. Vearing 's 
 eyes, a certain inscrutability, and which added to 
 Mrs. Vearing 's admiration and esteem: the 
 breaches in Mrs. Bonham 's confidence made her 
 feel the more honoured in its observance. 
 
 Georgina set out for the Vicarage pervaded by 
 pleasurable emotions, in a frame of mind comfort- 
 ably calm. The nervousness of yesterday had en- 
 tirely gone. She was never nervous with Mrs. 
 Vearing, for Mrs. Vearing always understood her 
 point of view and her difficulties, or at any rate 
 never showed that she did not understand. She 
 had moreover a great deal to decide as well as to 
 confide, and was too full of a sense of authority to 
 feel nervous. 
 
 The confidence would come first, for Dorrie and 
 Nurse and the nursery governess that was soon to 
 be far outweighed in importance the susceptibili-
 
 32 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ties of Mrs. Markham and Miss Pottlebury and the 
 intricacies of the Needlework Guild. Until Mrs. 
 Bonham had disburdened herself of her designs 
 on Nurse, she felt she could not give proper at- 
 tention to the Guild workers. It was only design 
 as yet; full-blown and determined and therefore 
 meet for confidence, but not yet consolidated in 
 action. 
 
 After Rayke had gone on the previous evening, 
 Georgina had not felt herself prepared to tackle 
 Nurse, and Nurse must be tackled before any- 
 thing was said to Dorrie. She wanted to think 
 things over, to map out plainly the plan of the 
 contemplated campaign. That same evening was 
 too soon to take proceedings; and the next morn- 
 ing well, the morning was not a good time. 
 Evening was the time ; you went to bed after cross- 
 ing the Eubicon, and got up the next morning 
 on the other side. That evening, after leaving the 
 Vicarage no, after Dorrie had gone to bed, she 
 would tackle Nurse. And before the evening was 
 the afternoon, with confidences, discussion, deci- 
 sions. The day was big with importance. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was waiting for her friend in a 
 drawing-room, the general effect of which was pink 
 chintz and white muslin curtains. The frills on 
 the curtains betokened an aspect if not the main 
 aspect of Mrs. Vearing. She was a soft, fair 
 and slender woman, inclined to dainty tastes and 
 with a love of prettiness. Sprigged muslin would 
 have expressed her, and though she did not often 
 wear it on her physical frame because of the
 
 NURSE 33 
 
 washing the astral woman of her was constantly 
 garmented in its inner significance. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Bonham," she said when Georgina 
 came in, "I have been waiting and expecting you 
 since half -past three." It was now ten minutes 
 to four. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Vearing," said Georgina, "you 
 know I always lie down after lunch, and then 
 except on Guild days have Dorrie with me for an 
 hour." 
 
 * * I know you are a model mother, but I thought 
 the fact is I was so terribly afraid of something 
 happening to prevent your coming." 
 
 "What should happen?" Mrs. Bonham asked. 
 "Besides, I should have sent you a note." 
 
 "Yes, I know of course. It's only my stupid 
 anxiety. . . . Now, would you rather stay here 
 or sit in the arbour? It's sweet outside to-day." 
 
 "You don't think the arbour is damp?" ques- 
 tioned Georgina. 
 
 "Oh no; the sun's been on it all the morning. 
 But if you feel the least afraid, dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham " 
 
 The friends, though they had been friends for 
 years, still addresed each other as ' * Mrs. ' ' It was 
 part of Georgina 's reserve, of what Mrs. Vearing 
 called her dignity. Often Mrs. Vearing had 
 longed to say, ' * Oh, do call me Alicia ! ' ' but always 
 the thought that the request carried with it a sug- 
 gestion that she on her side should call Mrs. Bon- 
 ham Georgina had caused her to refrain from 
 uttering it. If Mrs. Bonham were willing to be
 
 34 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Georgina, the intimation of her willingness must 
 come from Mrs. Bonham; it could not be forced 
 or even invited by Mrs. Vearing, who, longing for 
 the outer sign of intimacy, consoled herself a little 
 for its absence by the frequent prefix to the formal 
 Mrs. of "dear." 
 
 Dear Mrs. Bonham, after a moment's reflection, 
 agreed to the arbour. The term arbour was 
 characteristic of Mrs. Vearing and not at all of 
 the retreat to which she proposed to take her 
 friend : it was, in fact, a substantial seat, protected 
 by a wooden back and sides from all the winds 
 of heaven save those of the south, from rain and 
 sun by a roof, from damp underfoot by a sub- 
 stantial brick floor. The Vicar was subject to 
 chills, and when his wife had insisted upon an 
 arbour, this was what he had provided her with, 
 knowing that he would be expected, when the sun 
 was bright but the wind not free from frigidity, 
 frequently to take his tea in it. It was far from 
 the arbour which Mrs. Vearing had built in the 
 air, of uncertain angles, of trailing plants and 
 climbing roses; it was not an arbour at all; but 
 she clung to the name, finding in it a reflection of 
 the might have been. 
 
 To the arbour the two ladies went. The sun 
 shone full in their faces, so that Mrs. Bonham 
 had to pull over her eyes the hat which was meant 
 to be worn "off" her forehead. Mrs. Bonham 
 did not like doing this ; it appeared to her slightly 
 indecorous ; but it was warm in the arbour, warmer 
 than in the drawing-room where Mrs. Vearing
 
 NURSE 35 
 
 had dispensed with a fire, and she objected to 
 chilliness. She had her reward, for Mrs. Vearing, 
 while Georgina was still fiddling with her hatpins, 
 insisted upon fetching the holland flap, destined to 
 hang from hooks on the arbour's front beam in 
 summer time; and thus was dear Mrs. Bonham 
 enabled to restore her hat to its proper place, and 
 her mental attitude to its normal equilibrium. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Thus comfortably seated, Mrs. Vearing made a 
 plunge into the subject of the Guild. 
 
 "I've been thinking it all over," she said; "in 
 fact, it kept me awake for ever so long on Tues- 
 day night " 
 
 Here Georgina interrupted her. "I have a 
 great deal to say about the Guild, and we'll dis- 
 cuss it fully but presently, if you don't mind. 
 Before we go into that, there's something I want 
 to tell you." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was all eager agreement. In a 
 trice she had switched herself off from the Guild 
 and on to the something else. Dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham was about to confide in her, and of all things 
 in the Stottleham world she delighted in the con- 
 fidences of dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 This one seemed to her particularly interest- 
 ing, particularly intimate. Hanging on dear Mrs. 
 Bonham 's words, she seized upon and realized 
 the subtleties and difficulties of the situation ; more
 
 36 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 completely than had Rayke ; more completely per- 
 haps than Georgina herself. She was quicker in 
 feeling than either, and involuntarily appreciated 
 the position of Nurse while she sympathized with 
 Mrs. Bonham. She was indeed within measurable 
 distance of getting herself into hot water on the 
 point of Nurse. 
 
 "Poor woman!" she remarked; "I'm afraid 
 she'll feel it dreadfully." 
 
 "Poor?" There was a trace of hot water in 
 Georgina 's tone. "She ought to be deeply thank- 
 ful that I am not turning her away. Most people 
 would. ' ' 
 
 "Of course, of course. I know, dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, there are few who would be so considerate 
 as you " 
 
 "Especially," Georgina went on, "as I cannot 
 help feeling that Nurse is careless." 
 
 "Careless!" exclaimed Mrs. Vearing. "Why, 
 I thought " 
 
 Again Mrs. Bonham interrupted her. "You re- 
 member, a week or two ago, Dorrie getting hold 
 of that bottle the stuff the doctor gave Hannah 
 for toothache poison. I forgot what was in 
 it " 
 
 "Aconite and iodine," broke in Mrs. Vearing. 
 "You told me at the time. I remembered the 
 iodine because my glands were painted with it 
 when I was a child ; and aconite stuck in my mind 
 because of the dear little flowers in the garden." 
 
 "I daresay," said Mrs. Bonham coldly: she ob- 
 jected to being pulled up in the middle of a sen-
 
 NURSE 37 
 
 tence. "I don't pretend to be learned in drugs. 
 But I know it was poison. Dr. Eayke said it would 
 have stopped the heart's action. Most careless, 
 I considered it, of Nurse." 
 
 "But I thought you said that Dorrie climbed up 
 on a chair and opened the cupboard. And the 
 night nursery cupboard is so high up that I sup- 
 pose Nurse thought " 
 
 "She had no business to think," said Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, who, objecting to being broken in upon, made 
 no bones about breaking in on those less intelli- 
 gent than herself, and Mrs. Vearing was less in- 
 telligent. "She had no business to think of any- 
 thing except locking it up. Why, if Dorrie had 
 drunk it and you know what children are it 
 might have been her death. I told Nurse so." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "Nothing except that she was sorry or some- 
 thing of the kind. She has a way of saying noth- 
 ing, or almost nothing, which is very aggravating. 
 But it helped to make me feel that a change was 
 imperative." 
 
 "No doubt you are right, dear Mrs. Bonham; 
 you always are. But I am afraid Nurse cannot 
 but suffer in giving up the care of so sweet a child 
 as Dorrie." 
 
 ' ' She will see her every day see her, you may 
 say, as much as I do. And you know what Dorrie 
 is. The difficulty will be to make her, in a sort of 
 way, give up Nurse I mean Hannah to induce 
 her to keep away from her." 
 
 "Yes indeed; that will be the difficulty; les
 
 38 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 defauts de ses qualites, as the French say. But 
 you couldn't wish her to be less clinging, less af- 
 fectionate." 
 
 Greorgina could and did wish that Dorrie were 
 distinctly less affectionate and clinging in the di- 
 rection of Nurse, but she did not say so to Mrs. 
 Vearing. She had to pay the penalty of being put 
 on a pedestal by remaining on the pedestal at 
 moments when it would have been much more con- 
 genial to her to jump down and flaunt or stamp 
 about upon the lower earth. She did not exactly 
 wish to stamp at this moment, but she decidedly 
 did not want sympathy expended on Nurse; the 
 full sum of Mrs. Vearing 's sympathy, she felt, was 
 due to herself. 
 
 She answered in a non-committal way: "How 
 could I wish Dorrie to be different from what she 
 is?" 
 
 And Mrs. Vearing responded : ' ' How indeed ! ' ' 
 
 "Nurse, as you say," she went on, "is so much 
 better off than most people in her position. And 
 she can stay on as housemaid and become an old 
 family servant. Perhaps," said Mrs. Vearing 
 with the beaming countenance of a happy inspira- 
 tion, "perhaps become Dorrie 's maid when she is 
 grown up." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, in her confidence, had not confided 
 the temporary character of Nurse's transforma- 
 tion; the time for that part of the project was 
 not yet ripe. So all she said was : 
 
 "Time enough to think what will happen when 
 Dorrie is grown up. The child is only six."
 
 NURSE 39 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Vearing. She sighed. 
 "My own little dears would have been seven and 
 eight." 
 
 Georgina echoed the sigh; it was her way of 
 showing sympathy. She was sorry for Mrs. Vear- 
 ing, but at the same time she did not want to en- 
 courage her to talk of her dead babies. In Mrs. 
 Bonham's opinion infants who had died, one be- 
 fore birth and the other immediately after, should 
 not be perpetually mourned ; it was a little morbid 
 of Mrs. Vearing to become tearful when she talked 
 of them, especially considering that it was 
 seven years since the last baby had looked into 
 and departed from the world; and that Mrs. 
 Vearing would become tearful, Mrs. Bonham 
 knew. 
 
 It was a welcome relief when the Vicar came 
 out to say that tea was ready. 
 
 "I've had the fire lighted," he said as they 
 entered the house. * * The drawing-room struck me 
 as a bit chilly." 
 
 "Oh, Adam," said Mrs. Vearing, "I thought it 
 looked so sweet and summerlike with only the 
 flowers and the clean curtains." 
 
 "Clean curtains don't keep one warm. Do they, 
 Mrs. Bonham?" 
 
 "I think one needs a fire towards evening," said 
 Georgina, ' ' though really these last few days have 
 been almost as warm as June." 
 
 "June isn't always warm." 
 
 Mr. Vearing went on to recall Junes of capri- 
 cious character, and the weather, gardens and
 
 40 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 farming prospects kept conversation going 
 throughout tea. 
 
 When tea was over Mrs. Vearing exchanged 
 glances with Mrs. Bonham and then said : ' l Adam 
 dear, I suppose you're going to have a smoke. 
 There is a fire in the study, I know, for I told 
 Bessie to be sure and light it." 
 
 "I suppose that means that you want to get rid 
 of me." Mr. Vearing got up. ''Secrets con- 
 fidences? Eh?" 
 
 "Business," said Georgina with a touch of tart- 
 ness. She liked to be taken seriously. 
 
 "And not my business, obviously." Mr. Vear- 
 ing held out his hand. "In case I don't see you 
 again. ' ' 
 
 He turned to his wife. "I suppose you won't 
 be wanting me for a time. I think I'll go round 
 and have my smoke with Rayke." 
 
 "Secrets, confidences, eh?" said Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 The Vicar looked at her with a smile which 
 meant: "What a bright, amusing woman you 
 are!" shook his head as much as to say: "There's 
 no getting over you," and went out of the room, 
 shutting the door with a bang. 
 
 "Adam will bang the door," remarked Mrs. 
 Vearing apologetically, "except when he remem- 
 bers, which is hardly ever, unless I have a head- 
 ache. It 's one of the things I Ve never been able 
 to break him of. I suppose his mother didn't 
 when he was a child, and unless you're broken as 
 
 a child I hope it didn 't startle you, dear Mrs. 
 
 Bonham?"
 
 NUKSE 41 
 
 "Oh no, thank you. I'm not nervy, I'm glad to 
 say. Besides it isn 't the first time I 've heard your 
 husband close a door." 
 
 "You have so much self-control," said Mrs. 
 Vearing. "I wish I was like you." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham smiled affectionately: she pre- 
 ferred Mrs. Vearing 's aspirations to her reminis- 
 cences. 
 
 "And now to business," she said. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Mrs. Vearing, more than willing to take up the 
 subject of Guild diplomacy, entered upon it 
 eagerly. She had been thinking about it, she said, 
 ever since she and Mrs. Bonham had parted; at 
 night when she should have been asleep; by day 
 when her thoughts should have been with the 
 housekeeping or the parish ; and she was sure, per- 
 fectly, absolutely sure that dear Mrs. Bonham 's 
 plan was the right one. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham became judicial. Tentative with 
 Rayke, she was weighty with Mrs. Vearing: feel- 
 ing her femininity as moonlight to the sunlight of 
 Rayke 's masculine mind, she considered Mrs. 
 Vearing to be in regard to herself as water unto 
 wine the water being aerated: and it was with 
 the calmness of claret that she considered the bub- 
 bling effervescence of Mrs. Vearing 's conclusions. 
 Calm was necessary, and comprehensiveness, since
 
 42 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 there were so many intricacies in Guild politics 
 and so many troubled elements. 
 
 "I quite agree with you," Georgina said, ''that 
 my plan of annual elections is the best one, but 
 the question is, will some of the ladies who have 
 been heads for years like giving way to others?" 
 
 "It would be ever so much fairer " began 
 
 Mrs. Vearing, but Georgina interrupted her. 
 
 "It isn't fairness that matters so much," she 
 said, "as peace." 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Bonham," Mrs. Vearing exclaimed 
 admiringly, "you always hit the nail on the head. 
 Of course it is. Though at the same time, I should 
 like to be fair, if I could." 
 
 "Of course. But it's no good breaking up the 
 Guild. Now Mrs. Charles Marsden, for instance. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Vearing at once saw the importance of not 
 upsetting Mrs. Charles Marsden. Mrs. Charles 
 Marsden was one of the leading ladies of Stottle- 
 ham and of a disposition likely to feel and show 
 resentment if cast for a walking-on part. It 
 would be difficult to dislodge her without imperill- 
 ing the welfare both of the Guild and society. 
 
 Miss Pottlebury was not in the highest set, but 
 she taught in the Sunday School; if shelved in 
 favour of Mrs. Markham, she might retaliate by 
 giving up her class. Teachers were not too nu- 
 merous, and the Vicar, Mrs. Vearing intimated, 
 cared more about the Sunday School than the 
 Guild. Mrs. Markham on the other hand could not 
 be passed over. She, no more than Miss Pottle- 
 bury, was socially considerable, but then she sub-
 
 NURSE 43 
 
 scribed liberally to church charities and was a 
 strong financial supporter of the Guild: she was 
 substantial if undistinguished. 
 
 Besides these ladies there were many others, 
 either in or wishful to be in positions of authority; 
 and as there were only six tables and therefore 
 but six prominent positions, the problem Mrs. 
 Bonham and Mrs. Vearing had met to discuss 
 seemed, as they discussed it, wellnigh insoluble. 
 Yet Mrs. Bonham found a solution. 
 
 ' ' So brilliant ! ' ' Mrs. Vearing said. 
 
 The solution was a compromise; one which 
 maintained the autocrats, yet pandered to the 
 democracy. Three tables were to be permanent 
 posts; the headship of the others was to be only 
 for a session, the heads being elected. Thus those 
 members whom it would not be safe to unseat were 
 left in possession, while the rivalries of Mrs. Mark- 
 ham, Miss Pottlebury and the rest would be rele- 
 gated to the ballot. The only doubt in Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's mind was in regard to the balloting; the 
 ballot-box was vaguely connected in her mind with 
 revolutionary ideas. But then, as Mrs. Vear- 
 ing remarked, "we could do it without a box.'* 
 
 "Ye yes," said Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 Anyhow, revolution in the vague was better 
 than ructions concretely definite : moreover it was 
 she herself who had started the idea of the ballot, 
 and she could not go back on it. So the ballot 
 was passed. 
 
 "What will Adam say?" said Mrs. Vearing. 
 ' * He will think it clever of you. ' '
 
 44 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 What Adam actually did say, when his wife told 
 him that the Guild problem was settled, was 
 ''Thank the Lord!"; but when the Vicar was ex- 
 clamatory Mrs. Vearing did not always repeat his 
 words to dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 As Georgina neared the Beeches so her house 
 was styled the Guild, the ballot, Mrs. Vearing 
 and Stottleham as 'a whole receded further and 
 further into the background of her consciousness, 
 and at last, as she .reached the gate, disappeared 
 entirely, giving' place to one only figure which filled 
 it altogether. 
 
 It would have been absurd for Georgina to feel 
 any trace of nervousness in regard to the ap- 
 proaching interview, so absurd that she refused 
 to admit even the possibility of such a sensation. 
 She had been a little nervous before discussing the 
 subject with Rayke: with Rayke, all things con- 
 sidered, it had been excusable. But Nurse! 
 
 Mrs. Bonham was a woman who was accustomed 
 to consider her servants from her own standpoint 
 and not at all from theirs. Even-tempered and 
 not too exacting, a not unkindly mistress, she had 
 never had any hesitation in finding fault with a 
 servant who did not please her, or in dismissing 
 one who needed no fault-finding to suit her own 
 convenience. Emma, the present housemaid, was 
 admirably efficient, but Georgina had no compunc-
 
 NURSE 45 
 
 tion in shifting her to make room for Nurse. She 
 was making different arrangements ; that was what 
 she would say to Emma. It was equally simple 
 to say the same thing, in effect, to Nurse; even 
 simpler, if greater simplicity were possible, since 
 Nurse, she was persuaded, would agree to any 
 terms which permitted her to remain in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Dorrie. If she didn't, so much the 
 worse for Nurse, and so much the better for 
 Georgina. It was therefore all perfectly plain 
 sailing. 
 
 Nevertheless Mrs. Bonham funked the inter- 
 view. She would not have used the word, but it 
 exactly denotes the state of mind which she de- 
 clined to admit. To say that she funked the inter- 
 view is another way of saying that she funked 
 Nurse. A quite ordinary woman was Nurse, 
 quiet, respectful, conscientious; more sparing of 
 words perhaps than was quite ordinary, and more 
 than ordinarily tender at any rate where Dorrie 
 was concerned. Georgina, who had watched her 
 carefully and closely when she first took charge 
 of Dorrie, knew her through and through or 
 thought she did. In the part of Georgina to which 
 thought did not penetrate there was a secret doubt 
 whether she did know Nurse. Something there 
 was in Nurse that baffled her, something she did 
 not understand. She resented that something and 
 a little feared it. Georgina herself, devoted to 
 Dorrie, constant in her affection, faithful in friend- 
 ship, was without the capacity for passion. 
 Nurse, it may be, had it and it was the presence
 
 46 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 of this uncomprehended quality, perhaps, the 
 sense that in Nurse 's make-up was a factor absent 
 from her own, that caused her disquietude. 
 Whatever the cause, the disquietude was there. 
 Mrs. Bonham told herself that she was uneasy be- 
 cause she was afraid of hurting Nurse : in truth, 
 she was not completely certain that Nurse would 
 not hurt her. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham 's cutlet was not as well fried 
 that evening as Cook generally fried it ; the soup 
 was a trifle greasy, the omelette a little overdone : 
 so she told herself, failing to enjoy her dinner 
 as much as usual. She dispensed with dessert, 
 but having drunk her customary glass of claret, 
 poured herself out an extra half -glass. 
 
 "When Janet brought her cup of coffee to the 
 drawing-room, she said: 
 
 "Please ask Nurse to come and speak to me 
 as soon as she's finished putting Miss Dorrie to 
 bed." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham was still sipping the coffee when 
 Nurse came into the room. 
 
 "Janet says you wanted to see me, ma'am." 
 
 "Yes, Nurse. Please sit down!" 
 
 Nurse at once sat down; a woman of thirty- 
 eight, with brown smooth hair, a homely ordinary 
 face and unusually steady eyes. Georgina wished 
 the eyes were a little less steady, for Nurse was 
 looking at her. 
 
 "I wanted to speak to you, to have a little 
 talk with you, about Miss Dorrie. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Bonham 's manner was a touch more lofty
 
 NURSE 47 
 
 than usual, more distant and lofty than it usually 
 was with Nurse, who was on a different, a more 
 familiar footing than the rest of the staff. 
 
 Nurse answered quickly: "Nothing ails the 
 child." It was as though a doubt had been sug- 
 gested to her and she cast it from her. 
 
 "It isn't her health I want to talk to you about 
 she's as healthy as a child could well be. It's 
 her age." 
 
 Again Mrs. Bonham paused, but this time Nurse 
 said nothing. 
 
 "She's getting," Georgina went on, "less and 
 less of a baby every day." 
 
 Still Nurse did not speak, but into her eyes came 
 a look that is indescribable. At least there is only 
 one way of describing it. If you go to a dog- 
 mother with puppies a few days old and take 
 from her one of the puppies, you will see in 
 her eyes the look that came into Nurse's eyes; 
 only that in the dog's eyes the look is, as it 
 were', full grown, whereas in Nurse's it was ten- 
 tative. 
 
 As Nurse did not speak, Georgina had to go on 
 speaking. 
 
 "She is six," she said. 
 
 "The twenty-third of last September," said 
 Nurse. 
 
 "Not so very far from seven," Georgina con- 
 tinued. 
 
 It was because the inference was so obvious per- 
 haps, the present month being April, that Nurse 
 considered assent unnecessary.
 
 48 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "She ought to have more regular sort of lessons 
 than I can give her. ' ' 
 
 Into Nurse's face, which had been winter, came 
 a swift ripple of spring. 
 
 "A governess ?" she hazarded, the words 
 
 coming less as a question than as though she 
 guessed the answer to a riddle. 
 
 "A nursery governess," said Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 Winter was back again, bleak and desolate, in 
 Nurse's face: her eyes, fortunately, no longer 
 looked at Georgina, but on the floor. They were 
 still on the floor when she stood up, stiff and rigid, 
 but giving Georgina the uncomfortable impression 
 that at any moment she might fall down. 
 
 * * Am I to go, ma 'am ? ' ' asked Nurse. She spoke 
 under her breath, not in a whisper, but as though 
 she had lost her voice from cold. 
 
 "No," said Georgina. She added: "Please 
 sit down ! ' ' 
 
 Nurse obeyed ; she was no longer rigid, but trem- 
 bling. 
 
 And then Mrs. Bonham explained. It was easy 
 enough, now that the ice was broken and that 
 Nurse, having faced and feared the worst, would 
 look upon anything short of it, if not as the best, 
 still as very good. Mrs. Bonham took up again 
 with confidence her usual tone of authority, and 
 Nurse returned to her accustomed deference; a 
 deference which had been not so much waived as 
 swamped by a sentiment of larger import. Nurse, 
 then, withdrew to her ordinary limits as Mrs. 
 Bonham enlarged her borders.
 
 NURSE 49 
 
 Nurse agreed to everything: to the housework, 
 to which she was not used, to the laying out and 
 putting away of Mrs. Bonham's "things," to the 
 giving up after a time and gradually of the 
 dressing and undressing, the general care of 
 Dorrie. It was little, ever so little, to give up the 
 dressing, compared with giving up, altogether and 
 completely, the child she had been used to dress. 
 The bondwoman gave willing, almost eager assent 
 to the conditions of the freewoman. What choice 
 had she? Cast out, she would have been childless 
 in the wilderness, since the child of her heart was 
 the child of the freewoman 's body. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 When Nurse had gone, Mrs. Bonham poured 
 herself out another cup of coif ee. It was cold, but 
 she enjoyed it. She had a delicious sense of hav- 
 ing come through a bad patch and arrived unin- 
 jured on the safe side. 
 
 Resting on her laurels, she felt at peace with all 
 the world; nay, beneficent towards humanity. 
 She was disposed towards conviviality : had Rayke 
 come in, or Mrs. Vearing, or, still better, both, 
 she would have given vent to her satisfaction in 
 an unwonted exuberance of spirits. But Rayke 
 never called in the evening, nor did Alicia leave 
 Adam after the evening meal; and it never even 
 occurred to Georgina to go and visit either of 
 them. So there was only the coffee.
 
 50 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 The coffee, the extra amount of it superimposed 
 upon the additional half -glass of claret, acted as 
 a stimulant and increased the desire for expansion, 
 for intercourse; to the extent that, when Janet 
 came to take away the tray, Georgina enquired 
 after her mother. Fortunately Janet had a 
 mother, but she was so surprised at the un- 
 precedented interest displayed in her that she was, 
 as she reported later in the kitchen, struck dumb. 
 Recovering herself, she replied with nervous 
 volubility, imparting details as to the state of 
 veins in her mother's legs, from which Georgina 
 shrank. Anything in the way of medical details 
 seemed to her indecent. 
 
 The incident, however, sobered her excitement, 
 and when Janet had gone, she was able to take up 
 her work (she was embroidering a frock for 
 Dorrie) and think calmly over the details of her 
 conquest. For she had conquered all along the 
 line. Nurse had collapsed, capitulated upon every 
 point; as Mrs. Bonham had foreseen. Foresee- 
 ing, why then had she dreaded the interview ? She 
 did not in the least dread giving Emma notice on 
 the morrow. But she did not waste time or 
 thought upon the point; the interview being over 
 successfully, there was no occasion to dwell upon 
 anything but its success; save only the working 
 out of the altered conditions. And this was a 
 pleasant task. 
 
 For another month Nurse would still be Nurse ; 
 she could not well be Hannah till Emma had gone. 
 But certain changes Georgina would make at once.
 
 NURSE 51 
 
 Dome's bed should be removed on the morrow 
 from the night nursery to the room communicat- 
 ing with Georgina's own bedroom; a dressing- 
 room, but large enough to serve permanently as 
 Dorrie 's bedroom. The change would remove her 
 in one fell swoop from a large measure of Nurse's 
 domination. Night-time now would shut out 
 Nurse, and no longer, as heretofore, Georgina. 
 She would feel, as she put it to herself, that the 
 child really belonged to her. On this point, too, 
 Nurse had capitulated, with eyes thank good- 
 ness! which did not insist upon meeting Geor- 
 gina's eyes, and with no semblance of showing 
 fight. "Very well, ma'am," she had said, when 
 Mrs. Bonham had mentioned the arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 With completeness she had accepted it, and not 
 only accepted it, but undertaken to make it work. 
 For when Mrs. Bonham, with a suggestion of em- 
 barrassment, had hinted at the possibility of rebel- 
 lion on Dorrie 's part, Nurse had said: "You'd 
 better leave Miss Dorrie to me, ma'am." 
 
 Nothing could have been nicer on the part of 
 Nurse; but just here, in those words of hers, lay 
 the tiny sting at the tail end of Georgina's satis- 
 faction. It was Nurse who would persuade the 
 child to adoption of the new conditions, not her- 
 self. But the point was a minor one; negligible, 
 inasmuch as it did not affect the issue. Practi- 
 cally Mrs. Bonham was in the position of boss: 
 she could afford to wag the tail in spite of the 
 sting.
 
 52 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 She finished Dome's dress and went upstairs 
 to bed, putting out the lights on the way. 
 
 Outside the night nursery she paused, listening. 
 It would be absurd if Nurse were to make a fuss 
 and very annoying, disturbing the child. Geor- 
 gina could not have told why the thought occurred 
 to her that Nurse might be crying, but the thought 
 did occur. If Nurse, however, were being absurd, 
 she was being absurd silently. Not a sound came 
 forth from the night nursery. Georgina, stand- 
 ing with her head bent towards the door, heard the 
 church clock strike eleven. She was later than 
 usual, by half an hour. She put out the last light 
 and went tranquilly to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XIH 
 
 On the following afternoon Mrs. Bonham had 
 tea with Dr. Rayke. She had not been invited: 
 she was never invited save when the Doctor gave 
 a tea-party, generally small and always select: it 
 would have been slightly unseemly, a little com- 
 promising, to have invited her to tea tete-d-tete. 
 Both Mrs. Bonham and Dr. Rayke felt this, and 
 the fact that an invitation to Mrs. Bonham neces- 
 sitated an invitation to two or three other ladies 
 was one of the unwritten laws which regulated 
 their intercourse. 
 
 But occasionally, when Georgina was beset with 
 uncertainty or big with tidings, she went to see 
 Rayke, "on business"; and on such occasions she
 
 NURSE 53 
 
 sometimes stayed to tea. And this was perfectly 
 proper. The propriety was demonstrated by the 
 fact that he received her in his study. To have 
 waited for her in the drawing-room, to have said 
 to the maid: "I expect Mrs. Bonham to tea this 
 afternoon," would have denoted familiarity of a 
 kind likely to lead to gossip: but Mrs. Bonham 
 calling unexpectedly, enquiring if the Doctor was 
 at home and not too much engaged to see her for a 
 few minutes on business, was a proceeding of so 
 formal and unsentimental a character as to war- 
 rant no false conclusions. That she should stay 
 on to tea was merely proof of her host's hospital- 
 ity, not of the state of his affections. 
 
 Eayke, when Mrs. Bonham arrived, was busy 
 with botanical specimens ; so busy, indeed, that he 
 was not overjoyed at being interrupted. Never- 
 theless he arose with an expression of welcome: 
 there are few friendships quite free of duty, and 
 Mrs. Bonham was not exacting; the duty payable 
 on the pleasure of being her confidential adviser 
 was seldom more than about a farthing in the 
 pound. 
 
 "And what can I do for you?" Rayke asked 
 when Georgina was seated in the armchair by the 
 window. " Nothing gone wrong with our little 
 plans, I hope!" 
 
 "Oh no, they have turned out most successful. 
 It's because of the success that I ventured to break 
 in upon you, that in fact I was longing to tell you 
 about it. And I knew you would be anxious to 
 hear."
 
 54 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "Most anxious. Of course," said Rayke. 
 
 As a matter of fact he had beej. so much engaged 
 with his own interests that he had not given a 
 thought to Mrs. Bonham and her affairs all day; 
 but, his advice recalled to him, he was desirous of 
 knowing how it had worked out. 
 
 "So all went well?" he enquired. 
 
 "Perfectly. Your plan was even more more 
 Georgina's vocabulary was not very wide, 
 and she did not shine in expressing herself. 
 
 Bayke helped her out. "Judicious," he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "That's it. More judicious even than I thought 
 it was. ' ' 
 
 "A good deal of the success was due to the way 
 you carried it out. You mustn't give me all the 
 praise." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Georgina; but she 
 thought she had done rather well. 
 
 "Oh, but 1 know," Rayke went on. "The fact 
 is, Mrs. Bonham, the combination you and I 
 working together, pretty well ensured success. 
 The constructive masculine mind and the feminine 
 tact to interpret it it's ideal." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham was gratified; to be the instru- 
 ment of the masculine mind was in her estimation 
 to scale the summit of feminine attainment. 
 Rayke occasionally raised her to this height, and 
 constantly conveyed to her the impression that, 
 if not on the highest peak, she was at any rate 
 perambulating the lower slopes. It was this ap-
 
 NURSE 55 
 
 preciation of superiority on Mrs. Bonham's part, 
 the sense of being appreciated on Bayke's, of look- 
 ing up on the one hand and down on the other, 
 which gave zest to their friendship; and it was a 
 shrewdness common to both which suggested that 
 marriage might shatter their mutual satisfaction. 
 
 Georgina, gratified, responded: "At any rate 
 the result was most satisfactory." 
 
 Eayke had been standing by the mantelpiece : he 
 now sat down. 
 
 "Tell me about it," he said. 
 
 Georgina began to tell him; with considerable 
 amplification ; acknowledging to him what she had 
 not acknowledged on the previous evening to her- 
 self. 
 
 "I don't know why, but I really felt almost nerv- 
 ous about telling Nurse." 
 
 "It was very natural." 
 
 ' * Well, I don 't know. I 'm not given to nerves. ' ' 
 
 "Certainly not. I never knew anyone no 
 woman, at any rate, more free from anything of 
 the kind. But you forget one thing." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "That you have a tender heart." 
 
 "Nobody," said Mrs. Bonham, "would willingly 
 give pain." 
 
 Eayke shook his head, saying with a smile: 
 "You mustn't judge everybody by yourself, you 
 know. ' ' 
 
 He got up and went over to the bell. 
 
 "You'll stay to tea, I hope?"
 
 56 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ''Well really," Georgina began, "I " 
 
 Eayke, pressing the knob, interrupted her hesi- 
 tations. 
 
 "You can't refuse after what you've just said. 
 If you didn't want to hurt Nurse's feelings, you 
 can't deliberately hurt mine." 
 
 "What delightful manners he has!" Georgina 
 thought. She replied: "Of course if you put it 
 in that way " 
 
 "There isn't any other way of putting it," said 
 Eayke. "Maud" (to the maid who just then ap- 
 peared) , * * Mrs. Bonham will remain to tea. We '11 
 have it in the drawing-room, and please light the 
 fire." 
 
 "Oh, please," said Georgina, "not for me! It 
 seems such a pity " 
 
 "It's for me," smiled Eayke. "I don't like 
 taking my tea in a chilly atmosphere. ' ' 
 
 "But if it were not for me "began Georgina 
 
 once more. 
 
 "If it were not for you," again interrupted 
 Eayke, "I should have a dull lonely tea, in a dull 
 working-room. Whereas I intend to enjoy my- 
 self." 
 
 "Then," said Georgina, "I give in. I can't do 
 anything else."
 
 NUBSE 57 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 The drawing-room was, to Mrs. Bonham, rather 
 a depressing apartment: secretly she much pre- 
 ferred the dullness, as Bayke termed it, of the 
 study to the liveliness of the drawing-room. Its 
 only recommendations were that it was exceed- 
 ingly clean and that it had a bow-window which 
 looked out upon the garden. It was its cheerful- 
 ness which depressed her. The cheerfulness was 
 spasmodic. From a carpet of heavy green with a 
 black pattern on it, and from chairs and couches 
 covered with what Dorrie called creepy-crawlies 
 on a black background for the chintzes of Geor- 
 gina's choice were only put on in summer it 
 leapt up into curtains of bright pink damask; it 
 broke into a table-cloth of the same colour, and 
 burst out here and there in cushions of blue and 
 green. An artistic friend had once told Rayke 
 that the perfect room was a dark foundation with 
 dashes of colour, and the drawing-room was his 
 conception of carrying out the idea. It was one 
 which jarred upon Mrs. Bonham: she was not 
 without taste in the matter of furniture, and had 
 an inborn capacity for making a room look com- 
 fortable. The one sure satisfaction she would 
 have had in marrying Rayke would have been the 
 transformation of his drawing-room. In connec- 
 tion with drawing-rooms, she privately thought 
 the masculine mind was best in abeyance. But, 
 having avoided marriage, she avoided criticism.
 
 58 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Bayke seldom entered the room ; when he did enter 
 it, it was obviously with pleasure. 
 
 Entering it now he rubbed his hands. 
 
 "More cheerful than the study, isn't it!" he 
 said. 
 
 "But I always think the study very cosy," Geor- 
 gina answered. 
 
 She was wishing that Bayke 's housemaid were a 
 little or rather a great deal less conscientious. 
 For the housemaid guarded Bayke 's curtains as if 
 they were her own. There being no mistress, as 
 she expressed it, she was obliged to look after 
 the poor gentleman's things for him, and she 
 looked after them to the extent of keeping the 
 room, for the most part, in semi-darkness, so that 
 the sun had little chance of softening the brilliance 
 of curtains, table-cover and sofa-cushions. To- 
 day, irradiated by the spring sunshine, all these 
 seemed to Mrs. Bonham specially resplendent. 
 
 Bayke looked round him with a smile. 
 
 "Nothing like touches of colour," he said, "for 
 making a room look bright." 
 
 " Or a garden, ' ' answered Georgina, whose eyes 
 were directed towards the bow- window. "How 
 splendid your hyacinths look ! ' ' 
 
 "Not bad, are they? Ah, here comes the tea. 
 Would you like the table near the fire or by the 
 window ? ' ' 
 
 "The window, please. It's not cold enough to 
 sit over the fire." 
 
 It was customary, when Mrs. Bonham took tea 
 with Bayke, for her to pour out the tea, and she
 
 NURSE 59 
 
 took her place in front of the tea-tray as a matter 
 of course. 
 
 "And now," said Rayke, when both were sup- 
 plied with tea and buttered toast, "let's hear how 
 you managed Nurse." 
 
 "Well, she came in," said Georgina, "looking 
 quite like herself, as if she thought I was going 
 to talk to her about Dome's clothes. I'm sure she 
 didn't expect in the least there was going to be 
 anything unusual. I don't know that the idea of 
 leaving had ever entered her head." 
 
 Rayke said: "Probably not. Though you 
 would have thought that such an idea might have 
 occurred to her." 
 
 1 ' Yes, you would, wouldn 't you ? Anyhow, 
 when I asked her to sit down, she sat down as if 
 well, as cool as a cucumber; though generally 
 she stands when I send for her." 
 
 "It made it," Rayke remarked, "rather diffi- 
 cult for you to begin." 
 
 "It did; of course; and you see, I don't sup- 
 pose those kind of people have much imagination. 
 Even when I spoke of Dorrie getting bigger and all 
 that, she didn't seem to realize." 
 
 "No doubt she thought herself a fixture. 
 That's what I thought she'd think." 
 
 Rayke spoke with the complacency of the 
 prophet whose prophecies have come to pass. 
 
 "And even when I said that Dorrie required 
 more regular lessons, she only thought of a gov- 
 erness as well as herself." 
 
 "It was very dull of her."
 
 60 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 1 ' It was very disconcerting. If a person doesn 't 
 give you a lead it's so so " 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Rayke. 
 
 "But she did give me a sort of lead when she 
 
 asked if Dorrie was to have a governess No, 
 
 not cake, thank you. May I go on with the toast ? ' ' 
 
 "I know my cakes can't compare with yours, but 
 this one, by the way it cuts " 
 
 "Oh, but they're excellent," said Georgina. 
 "It's only that the toast's so good. I'll have a 
 piece presently if you won't be shocked at my 
 appetite. ' ' 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Bonham!" Rayke shook his 
 head at her across the table : the shake said : "Now, 
 can you imagine my so misunderstanding you?" 
 
 Mrs. Bonham responded with an answering 
 shake, and a smile. Archness was not in her 
 nature, but very occasionally there was a hint 
 of archness in her manner to Rayke. 
 
 "Well?" Rayke said. 
 
 "Where was I?" asked Georgina. 
 
 "Where Nurse had asked about a governess." 
 
 "Oh yes. Well, that gave me an idea. I said, 
 'a nursery governess.' " 
 
 "I presume that did make her think you might 
 contemplate a change?" 
 
 "Yes. All of a sudden. I think it must have 
 come like a sort of thunderbolt. She stood up 
 she almost frightened me." 
 
 "So long as she didn't fall down," said Rayke. 
 
 "That was the funny part; I felt as if she 
 might. ' '
 
 NUESE 61 
 
 "But she didn't?" 
 
 "No, she didn't. But I asked her to sit down 
 again, in case. I had the feeling she might, and 
 it would have been so very awkwaid." 
 
 * ' Yes indeed. And then ? ' ' 
 
 "Well then, you see, the ice was broken." 
 
 "I suppose," said Rayke, "she burst into 
 tears." 
 
 "No, she didn't." 
 
 "No?" Rayke pondered. "I rather expected 
 tears," he said. He was almost disappointed. 
 Here was a forecast which had not come off. 
 
 "So did I," agreed Georgina, "but I'm glad to 
 say there weren't any. She looked rather upset, 
 something like she does when she has toothache. 
 By the way I wish she'd have her teeth out; it 
 would be much more satisfactory." 
 
 "And much more healthy." 
 
 "But she won't: she only says that no dentist's 
 teeth are as good as your own. Which is ridicu- 
 lous." 
 
 "It depends," said Rayke, his eyes on Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's mouth. 
 
 Georgina smiled slightly. "Oh, as long as 
 they're sound of course. . . . Well, what was I 
 saying? Oh, about the crying. Oh no, she was 
 no more crying than you are. ' ' 
 
 "Very extraordinary. Perhaps she didn't care 
 so much after all not nearly as much as you 
 thought she would." 
 
 "I I don't know," said Georgina with hesita- 
 tion. She had the feeling that Nurse had cared,
 
 62 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 did care, but she had no reason for the feeling 
 which she could formulate to Rayke or indeed to 
 herself. "The point is," she added, "that Dorrie 
 cares." 
 
 "Of course, of course. That was the point all 
 the way through." 
 
 "The thing will be to get a nursery governess 
 she can really take to, somebody who will sort 
 
 of " Mrs. Bonham came to a standstill: 
 
 neither her vocabulary nor her mind permitted 
 subtlety of expression. Nor, to any large extent, 
 did Rayke 's, but he had less compunction than 
 Georgina in being flat-footed. 
 
 "Put Nurse's nose out of joint," he suggested. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham coloured slightly. A flush im- 
 proved her, relieving her sallowness. Rayke 
 agreed with Mrs. Vearing that dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham always looked her best when she was a little 
 confused, and thought she looked very nice now 
 with her pink cheeks. He thought too that she 
 was pleasantly disingenuous and feminine when 
 she said: 
 
 "I don't want to hurt Nurse." 
 
 "I know you don't," replied Rayke, and it did 
 not occur to him that the insincerity he discerned 
 in Mrs. Bonham 's disavowal was present in his 
 own. 
 
 "I only want to break this exaggerated sort of 
 clinging to her on the part of Dorrie, so that later 
 on, when she has to go, there will be no disturb- 
 ance." 
 
 "If the tie were really broken," said Rayke,
 
 NURSE 63 
 
 with a flash of inspiration, " there would be no 
 need for her to go. I mean if she turns out a good 
 housemaid." 
 
 "Per perhaps not," said Georgina. Again 
 she had an instinctive feeling that though it might 
 be possible to break Dorrie from clinging to Nurse, 
 it would never be possible to prevent Nurse from 
 clinging to Dorrie; but again the feeling did not 
 shape itself into an idea that she could express. 
 She got up from the tea-table. 
 "I mustn't trespass any longer on your time." 
 
 "Trespass? My dear Mrs. " 
 
 "And besides, Dorrie will be expecting me." 
 "I thought," Georgina said as she put her 
 gloves on, "that you would be interested like to 
 
 know " 
 
 "More than interested." 
 
 "And then it's always a relief to tell things." 
 "Well, I congratulate you," Eayke said on the 
 way to the front door. "You pulled it off with 
 admirable tact." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham smiled : she was inclined to agree 
 with him. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 "Mummy," said Dorrie, "you're very late." 
 "Have you been waiting for me, darling?" It 
 
 was pleasant to Georgina to think that Dorrie had 
 
 wanted her. 
 
 "Of course, ' ' Dorrie answered. ' 'If you wasn 't 
 , I had to wait."
 
 64 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I had tea with Uncle Eayke, and I had a great 
 deal to talk to him about." 
 
 To this statement Dorrie made no reply : it was 
 of so obvious a nature as to call for none. That 
 Mummy should have much to tell Uncle Eayke 
 was part of the natural order of things; the 
 miracle, the extraordinary occurrence, would have 
 been if Mummy had announced that she and the 
 Doctor had had nothing to say to each other. 
 Leaving the commonplace on one side, Dorrie went 
 straight for the subject which was filling her own 
 mind. 
 
 "Nurse says " she began; but Georgina in- 
 terrupted her. 
 
 1 ' Come into the garden with me, darling. I want 
 to have a little talk with you." 
 
 To be sure she had left it to Nurse, as Nurse had 
 suggested and her own wisdom had dictated, to 
 convey to Dorrie the first intimation of the changes 
 about to take place; in Nurse's language lan- 
 guage which a little jarred upon Georgina to 
 "break it to her": but in discussing these changes 
 she was anxious to disabuse Dome's mind of any 
 idea that Nurse was the potentate, and she, 
 Dorrie 's mother, the pawn. The child, having re- 
 ceived the information by means expedient but re- 
 grettable, must be induced to consider that infor- 
 mation from a correct and wholesome point of 
 view: Georgina, if argument were necessary, pre- 
 ferred to plead as plaintiff rather than defendant. 
 
 She desired, therefore, to lead the conversation, 
 giving prominence to what in the situation ought
 
 NUESE 65 
 
 to be prominent. But it was not easy, as she 
 found when she wanted to begin; she did not, in 
 fact, know how to begin at all. So long was she in 
 beginning that Dorrie, holding her hand, pulled it 
 with some impatience. 
 
 "Mummy, you said you was going to talk. 
 Why don 't you talk, Mummy 1 ' ' 
 
 "Look at the daffodils/' said Georgina, "how 
 beautifully they're coming out." 
 
 1 i I don 't want daffodils ; I want Nurse said " 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Georgina hurriedly, "I know 
 what Nurse said. Just wait a minute, Dorrie. ' ' 
 
 There was a little seat at the end of the walk. 
 
 " We'll sit down for a bit," said Georgina. 
 She seated herself, and Dorrie sat beside her, kick- 
 ing her feet, which did not reach the ground, back- 
 wards and forwards. 
 
 ' * You 're getting quite a big girl, ' ' Georgina be- 
 gan. "Everybody thinks so, Uncle Eayke and 
 all." 
 
 "Only not big enough to reach down when I sit," 
 said Dorrie. "Flora's bigger than me," she went 
 on, "and so's Sylvia, only Sylvia's older." 
 
 "Flora's unusually tall for her age. We go by 
 how old people are more than by their height. ' ' 
 
 "Is Uncle Eayke older than you, Mummy?" 
 
 Georgina felt that she was being drawn away 
 from her main subject : she returned to it. 
 
 "Never mind about Uncle Eayke and me. What 
 I want to talk to you about is that you are six 
 years old ; more than six, six and a half, getting on 
 for seven ; and when people get to that age, they're
 
 66 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 no longer babies and mustn't behave like babies." 
 
 "Mrs. Jarvis's baby sucks its food out of a bot- 
 tle," said Dorrie. "I saw it. And Mrs. Allen's 
 baby sucks its food out of Mrs. Allen." 
 
 "My dear Dorrie !" began Georgina. 
 
 "But I saw it, Mummy, I saw it doing it. You 
 see, Mrs. Allen's its mother, and Nurse says " 
 
 "I wish Nurse would be more careful," ex- 
 claimed Georgina, exasperated. 
 
 "So I know I'm not a baby," Dorrie went on, 
 "because I eat off a plate. You see, don't you, 
 Mummy!" 
 
 Mummy's mind was a network of annoyance. 
 That Nurse should have allowed Mrs. Allen . . . 
 not have removed Dorrie if Mrs. Allen . . . that 
 to try to explain to Dorrie the impropriety of Na- 
 ture's crudities was hopeless . . . children were 
 so impossible . . . that she was not getting on 
 with her talk, or saying anything she wanted to 
 say; all this was producing in Mrs. Bonham a 
 sense of impotent vexation. Clinging to her self- 
 control, she clung to the sole plank flung out by 
 Dorrie upon a sea of perplexities. 
 
 She replied: "You are certainly not a baby. 
 But there are other ways of not being a baby be- 
 sides eating. Babies sleep in cradles." 
 
 ' ' I don 't, ' ' Dorrie put in. "I sleep in a cot. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, because you're not a baby. And babies 
 sleep in nurseries " 
 
 "And little girls," Dorrie said eagerly. "Syl- 
 via does, and Flora, and so does Eileen; and me 
 too. Don't I, Mummy?"
 
 NURSE 67 
 
 "Yes," Georgina agreed. "But you're getting 
 too big for the nursery. That's just what I want 
 to talk to you about. You are big enough now to 
 have a room of your own." 
 
 "Sylvia hasn't," Dorrie began. 
 
 "Never mind Sylvia, Very likely there isn't a 
 room she can have. But you are to have a room 
 all to your own self, the dear little room that opens 
 out of mine. Won't that be grown up and 
 lovely?" 
 
 "Nurse says," Dorrie said wistfully, "it will be 
 great fun." 
 
 "And so it will." Georgina, impatient of the 
 quoted authority, was compelled to back it up. 
 "You will be proud to have a room of your very, 
 very own, won't you, darling?" 
 
 "Will Nurse tuck me up?" asked Dorrie. 
 
 The feeling in Georgina 's mind would have been 
 accurately expressed by the words, "Damn 
 Nurse!" but all she said was: "Perhaps to 
 begin with." 
 
 "I'm afraid I shan't be able to hear Nurse 
 breathe," Dorrie said. 
 
 "Breathe? What do you mean? Does Nurse 
 snore?" 
 
 "No, I don't think so; not like when you go to 
 sleep on Sunday afternoon. She breathes like 
 
 this " Dorrie illustrated her statement. 
 
 "And when I wake up in the night and want a 
 drink, I know there's somebody there." 
 
 "God is there," said Georgina. "You know 
 that, darling that God is everywhere."
 
 68 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I want somebody who's only in one place," 
 protested Dorrie. 
 
 "Besides, 7 shall be there." Mrs. Bonham felt 
 that it would be worse than useless to discuss the 
 adequacy of the Divine Presence. "I'll leave the 
 door open," she said. 
 
 "If I want a drink, I shall have to call dreadful 
 loud. And if you don't hear, I shall be fright- 
 ened." 
 
 "Frightened? Oh no. Big girls are not fright- 
 ened." 
 
 "Girls as big as me are," Dorrie affirmed. 
 
 "There's nothing to be frightened of. What- 
 ever are you frightened of?" 
 
 "I don't know zackly, but I am." 
 
 "If you're frightened, you shall come into my 
 bed. You'd like that, wouldn't you? to come into 
 Mummy's bed?" 
 
 "I should have to get there," said Dorrie uncer- 
 tainly, * * across the dark. ' ' 
 
 "My treasure, if you call, I'm sure to hear you. 
 And if you're frightened ever so little, I'll come 
 and fetch you." 
 
 "Really and truly?" 
 
 "Really and truly. Darling, Mummy's some- 
 times lonely and wants you very badly. Won't 
 you like to come and keep Mummy company?" 
 
 "I'll come," said Dorrie, "especially as 
 Nurse " 
 
 Georgina seized the child and stilled her words 
 with kisses.
 
 NURSE 69 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The night, to which Georgina had looked for- 
 ward, was not so agreeable in fact as in anticipa- 
 tion. Dorrie, in spite of her acceptance of the 
 change of bedroom, and of the roseate hues in 
 which Nurse had pictured the change, behaved tire- 
 somely, though of the full extent of her tiresome- 
 ness Mrs. Bonham was not aware. 
 
 She knew that when Dorrie was brought to her 
 cot in the dressing-room, she insisted upon Nurse 
 tucking her in, knew it because, at the time, she 
 was dressing for dinner. She did not know that 
 a little bell placed on a table by the side of the 
 cot, in case Dorrie should call and nobody should 
 hear her, was repeatedly rung while Georgina was 
 dining; nor that Nurse was finally obliged to re- 
 main by Dorrie, holding the child's hand till it re- 
 laxed in sleep. 
 
 But she knew, later on, what it was to have a 
 disturbed night. 
 
 Coming up to bed she found no cause for any- 
 thing but self -congratulation. For Dorrie at this 
 time was sleeping peacefully. She looked what 
 Georgina called a cherub, and gazing down at the 
 little quiet rosy face, and the plump hand lying 
 outside the bedclothes, Georgina 's heart swelled 
 with the joy of full possession. At last the child 
 was her own, her very own ; at last she, the mother, 
 had sole charge of her ; at last she had got her out 
 of the hands of that woman. She found herself
 
 70 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 thinking of the discomfited Nurse as "that 
 woman." 
 
 That Nurse was discomfited Georgina had no 
 doubt ; she took the discomfiture for granted ; but 
 expended upon it no sympathy. For Nurse had 
 no right to Dorrie 's affection, no just claim on her 
 presence: if she suffered, her suffering resulted 
 from the deprivation of an encroachment, at best, 
 of a privilege : her grievance, if grievance she had, 
 was not legitimate, and, being illegitimate, de- 
 manded no commiseration. She would miss 
 Dorrie, of course. Who could help missing her? 
 But not to the same extent, or anything like it, to 
 which Georgina had missed her, since this was 
 Georgina 's reasoning Georgina was Dorrie 's 
 mother and Nurse wasn't. Moreover she was 
 fortified in her denial of pity by the sense that she 
 had been generous. She might have sent Nurse 
 away, and she had kept her : that she had kept her, 
 not for Nurse's sake but for Dome's, was a con- 
 sideration which, interred in her sub-conscious- 
 ness, was allowed no resurrection in the sphere of 
 avowed motives. 
 
 There was therefore no fly in the ointment of her 
 maternal satisfaction. The fly came later. It re- 
 vealed its presence soon after Georgina had sunk 
 into her first sleep, a sleep, with her, always pro- 
 found ; and important, inasmuch as upon its being 
 undisturbed depended her night's rest as a whole. 
 From this sleep she was aroused by the buzzing of 
 the fly; in other words by plaintive cries. At first,
 
 NURSE 71 
 
 in the confused half-waking consciousness, she 
 wondered what the sound was, what on earth it 
 meant; then recollection rushed in. She had 
 fallen asleep thinking of the delight of Dorrie's 
 near neighbourhood : this was part of the delight. 
 Georgina, whose instinctive impulse was to run in 
 the rut of right sentiment, at once told herself 
 how charming it was to be able to minister to her 
 child's necessities. 
 
 "Dorrie!" she called. " Darling, is that you?" 
 
 1 l Yes, it 's me. Why didn 't you answer ? ' ' 
 
 "I was I What is it?" 
 
 "Oh, do come!" Dorrie cried. "Come at 
 once ! ' ' 
 
 Georgina, fumbling for the matches, could not at 
 first find the box; then, having found it, fumbled 
 in getting out a match; and the head of the first 
 match came off when she tried to strike it. And 
 all the time from the neighbouring room the call 
 came: " Oh, do come, Mummy ! Come quick!" 
 
 Everything was against Georgina. Before put- 
 ting out the candle, she had knocked off a too tall 
 wick; the portion left was so infinitesimal as to 
 make the task of igniting it one of tremulous sus- 
 pense; when it was ignited, she could move only 
 with slow caution, lest the tiny flame should col- 
 lapse. Shading it with one hand from the 
 draught, she arrived at last beside Dorrie's cot. 
 
 "Oh, Mummy!" said Dorrie, "how funny you 
 look with your hair down!" 
 
 "Whatever is the matter?" Georgina asked.
 
 72 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I woke up and there was nobody there.'* 
 
 "But, darling, you knew I was there, in the next 
 room, close to you." 
 
 "No, I didn't, because I didn't know where I 
 was. I couldn't in the dark, could I, Mummy?" 
 
 "You could remember, darling, surely, just as 
 well in the dark as in the light." 
 
 "I didn't remember, I forgot. And I called 
 Nurse, and I wanted a drink, and I thought I was 
 in my very own nursery. And Nurse didn't an- 
 swer." 
 
 "But, darling, you remember? you must have 
 remembered that you were in your very own new 
 room all to yourself, next to Mummy, and that 
 Mummy was quite close?" 
 
 "Afterwards I remembered, and the more I re- 
 membered, the more darker it was and the more I 
 called and called." 
 
 "I'm so sorry," Georgina began. 
 
 "And you never answered, Mummy, not for ever 
 and ever so long, and you said you would. 
 Nurse " 
 
 "Did you say you wanted a drink of water?" 
 Georgina asked hastily. "Shall I get you one?" 
 
 "I'm not thirsty now," Dome answered. "I 
 was only thirsty before I was frightened." 
 
 "You're not frightened now, though, not any 
 more?" 
 
 Dorrie's courage, present in the presence of her 
 mother and the candle, threatened however to de- 
 part with the departure of these two custodians of 
 it. Georgina was obliged to fetch a dressing-gown
 
 NURSE 73 
 
 and soothe Dorrie into slumber, as Nurse in the 
 evening had soothed her. 
 
 The nights were still cold, and Mrs. Bonham, 
 sitting by the cot, felt herself, in spite of the dress- 
 ing-gown, getting colder and colder. She was 
 truly thankful when Dorrie 's closed eyes and regu- 
 lar breathing allowed her to go back to bed. 
 
 In bed she grew warm again, but hardly sleepy ; 
 sleep, banished in its first delicious completeness, 
 refused to return; she turned from side to side, 
 growing ever more restless with the unsatisfied 
 desire to rest. She did not realize that she had at 
 last reached the condition of dimmed conscious- 
 ness which precedes sleep till she was roused from 
 it by a sound from the next room. 
 
 1 1 Mummy, ' ' a voice was calling. * ' Mummy ! ' ' 
 Georgina answered at once. "Yes, what is it?" 
 It was Dorrie, of course, and she wanted a drink. 
 The drink administered, Dorrie was seized with 
 an attack of sleeplessness; the extinguishing of 
 the candle seemed to be the signal for her to wake 
 up. Georgina, in the end, was constrained to take 
 the child into her own bed, of the larger part of 
 which, the bed being a single one, Dorrie took pos- 
 session, sleeping at last profoundly; while Geor- 
 gina, lying on the bed's extreme edge, was haunted 
 by the possibility, should she be so fortunate as to 
 fall asleep, of being precipitated on to the floor. 
 Lying there, unable to stretch her limbs at ease, 
 and afraid to hazard the waking up of Dorrie by 
 any but the slightest changes of position, she was 
 half tempted to seek relief in the rejected services
 
 74 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 of "that woman," and, handing Dome over to her 
 care, to return to the state of irresponsible inde- 
 pendence which seemed to her now to have been 
 entirely unappreciated. The joy of being able to 
 turn over ! to stretch herself out and curl herself 
 up! the comfort of being able to sink into the 
 peaceful sleep which she felt was waiting, as it 
 were, round the corner, and would turn the corner 
 speedily if it were given half a chance ! Maternity 
 was a privilege and a pleasure . . . and the abso- 
 lute possession of one's own child undeniably 
 sweet . . . but . . . but . . . Fitfully dozing Geor- 
 gina was haunted by the "but," and was more than 
 once inclined to let it govern the situation. But 
 pride, and an underlying consciousness of the hu- 
 miliation that would come with the morning, pre- 
 vailed, and in spite of discomfort and fatigue she 
 stuck to her chosen post. 
 
 Dorrie, waking in the morning, was first sur- 
 prised and then, in the daylight, comfortingly 
 pleased to find herself in Mummy's bed. Nurse 
 had said it would be great fun sleeping next to 
 Mummy, and it was rather. Reminded of her 
 vagaries of the night, with representations of poor 
 Mummy's broken rest, she was sweetly penitent, 
 showering pity and caresses on poor Mummy, and 
 excusing herself in words to which Georgina found 
 no answer. 
 
 "You see, Mummy, I didn't know where I was; 
 and when you don 't know where you are, you don 't 
 know what to do, do you, Mummy!"
 
 BOOK II 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MRS. Bonham's nursery governesses were a 
 source of interest, of speculation, of con- 
 versation to all Stottleham. 
 
 There was quite a series of them. 
 
 The first was regarded as a fixture, for Mrs. 
 Bonham's arrangements were usually stable, and 
 Stottleham suffered a shock of surprise at her 
 abrupt departure. With regard to the second and 
 third of the series, the question was : Will she do? 
 As to the rest, speculation was busied with the en- 
 quiry : How long will she stay ? ' * She ' ' changed, 
 not indeed with the rapidity of forms upon a bio- 
 graph, but with a frequency combining elements 
 of bewilderment and piquancy. For hardly was 
 curiosity centred on the problem of how Miss 
 Jones was getting on, when it was diverted to a 
 channel of expectancy as to the arrival of Miss 
 Brown ; and hardly had the outer circles of Stottle- 
 ham received the information that Dorrie had 
 ''taken to" Miss Brown, when already rumours 
 were afloat concerning the advent of Miss Robin- 
 son. 
 
 Dorrie took to them all, except to Mrs. Flores, 
 who described herself as the widow of a profes- 
 sional man. Mrs. Flores slapped Dome's kitten 
 
 75
 
 76 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 and then slapped Dorrie for siding with the kitten, 
 with the result that dear Mrs. Bonham came near 
 to slapping that dreadful Mrs. Flores, who left 
 after the shortest of probations and almost, as you 
 might say, without unpacking her boxes. 
 
 Dome's friendliness towards the many aspir- 
 ants to the task of teaching her was almost unfor- 
 tunate, inasmuch as it deprived the changing situ- 
 ation of one element of change and narrowed the 
 range of discussion. If only she had disliked Miss 
 Grey for one reason and shrunk from Miss Green 
 for another, the boundaries of conjecture and com- 
 ment would have been appreciably enlarged. But 
 she was disposed to like them all; and they all 
 liked Dorrie, always excepting the ill-natured Mrs. 
 Flores. As it was, discussion, conjecture, asser- 
 tion or hearsay were restricted to the experiences, 
 opinions and remarks of poor dear Mrs. Bonham; 
 for after the exodus of number four, "poor" was 
 frequently prefixed to the "dear," and sometimes 
 substituted for it. 
 
 Poor dear Mrs. Bonham really had, for a time, 
 rather a trying time. Her success in wresting the 
 reins of responsibility from the hands of Nurse 
 had been followed by her entry upon a bad patch. 
 The first night of parental responsibility was but a 
 foretaste of worse worries that were to follow. 
 Not that Dorrie persisted in being restless at night 
 or that Georgina's sleep was unfailingly broken: 
 Dorrie settled down gradually to the new order of 
 things, and Georgina learned how, having been 
 roused to assuage the child's thirst or soothe her
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 77 
 
 fears, to fall asleep again. It was the nightmare 
 of the nursery governesses which disturbed her at 
 night and harried her in the day. 
 
 The establishing of a nursery governess had 
 seemed a task supremely simple; the article was 
 so plentiful, the supply apparently unlimited. 
 The answers to her application came in shoals ; she 
 had but to pick and choose; and in picking and 
 choosing she had accounted herself an expert. 
 Was she not an expert? or was it that there did not 
 exist, in the ranks of nursery governesses, a breast 
 in which her ideas and opinions upon the educa- 
 tion of children could find an echo? Georgina, 
 fresh from the conquest of the nursery, had 
 marched and at the double towards success in 
 the schoolroom, and had been pulled up short in the 
 initial encounter with schoolroom forces. Nurse, 
 had she been given to laughing with the gods at 
 the futile efforts of mortals, might, from the cita- 
 del of the housework, have laughed at her mis- 
 tress's efforts; might have, meeting her on the 
 stairs, betrayed by smile or glance a hardly veiled 
 triumph; might, when directed once again to 
 change the sheets on the nursery governess's bed, 
 have said, if not in so many words, at any rate in 
 so many innuendoes: "Ah, now you see!" But 
 Nurse said nothing. She had never been voluble 
 in expressing her opinions ; now, as far as domestic 
 politics were concerned, she expressed no opinions 
 at all. She did not even purse her lips when Geor- 
 gina perforce alluded to the going of Miss This and 
 the coming of Miss That.
 
 78 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 There were moments when Georgina almost 
 wished she would, moments when discussion of the 
 situation on any terms would have been a relief, 
 moments when even a gibe on the part of Nurse 
 would have been in effect less unsympathetic than 
 Nurse's inscrutability. But the gibe never came, 
 nor even tempered disapproval. For if Georgina 
 said and after a time she was obliged to say it : 
 "What do you think of Miss So and So?" Nurse's 
 unvarying reply was : ' ' She seems a nice sort of 
 person, ma'am, so far as I come acrost her." 
 
 Only once was Nurse's composure upset, and 
 that was in the case of Mrs. Flores. Then her 
 crimson cheeks and angry eyes drew Mrs. Bonham 
 towards her as she had never before been drawn ; 
 she was in fact tempted to confide to Nurse her 
 perplexities and disappointment; had Nurse ex- 
 pressed her feelings, Georgina might have given 
 vent to hers. But Nurse expressed nothing, save 
 by means of inflamed features ; and Georgina, hav- 
 ing trembled on the brink of expansion, resumed 
 the mistress's reserve, while Nurse, who had been 
 for a brief space very Nurse, again became 
 Hannah. 
 
 As Hannah she was excellent, thorough in her 
 work, careful, conscientious. There were times 
 when Georgina asked herself: "What excuse can 
 I make when I want to get rid of her?" 
 
 As yet the time of wanting to get rid of her had 
 not arrived. Georgina in fact looked upon Han- 
 nah as a sort of reservist; debarring her from 
 active service lest she should take too high a com-
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 79 
 
 mand, there was yet in Georgina's consciousness 
 the shadow, as it were, of contingencies in which 
 Hannah might have to be called up. The contin- 
 gencies, however, were not yet actual. Through 
 the ranks of registry offices and the flood of adver- 
 tisements in the " Times" Georgina would go be- 
 fore she called up Hannah, and she was as yet only 
 at the beginning of the resources offered through 
 these two avenues of experiment. In the mean- 
 time, though comfort, condolence and a confidante 
 were lacking within the walls of her home, all Stot- 
 tleham, or most of it, was longing to condole with 
 and to receive the confidences of dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. 
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 Of all the sympathizers, Mrs. Vearing was the 
 most tenderly and delicately sympathetic. Dr. 
 Eayke was full of commiseration, but his pity was 
 in excess of his understanding. He was sincerely 
 sorry for Mrs. Bonham; it was hard luck on her; 
 and he wished devoutly (a little for his own sake, 
 as well as for hers) that she could find a suitable 
 person to look after Dorrie. But he did not fully 
 appreciate the difficulties ; looking upon the finding 
 of a nursery governess as woman's work, he failed 
 in appraising the obstacles to success, the vexa- 
 tions and disappointments in the path of the seek- 
 ing woman. In his mind was just a tinge of sus- 
 picion that if Mrs. Bonham was not suited, the fact 
 was due, a little tiny bit, to Mrs. Bonham, or rather
 
 80 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 to an inherent unsoundness in feminine capacity, 
 even within an entirely feminine sphere. 
 
 Georgina can hardly be said to have been con- 
 scious of the flaw in Rayke's attitude, but she felt 
 vaguely that the bad patch on which she found 
 herself was the kind of patch somewhat outside the 
 comprehension of the masculine mind. Her tend- 
 ency to confide in Mrs. Vearing received therefore 
 at this time an added impulse towards outpouring, 
 while her habit of consulting Bayke was checked. 
 She imagined that she did not want to trouble him : 
 what she really did not want was discussion with 
 anyone whose sympathy did not combine unques- 
 tioning commendation with whole-hearted condo- 
 lence. 
 
 At the Needlework Guild the sympathy ex- 
 pressed was permeated by both these elements, and 
 at the Needlework Guild, in consequence, Georgina 
 a little bit let herself go. The spirit of criticism, 
 to be sure, was not altogether absent. Miss True- 
 fitt, for instance, who had sniffed slightly over the 
 violets, sniffed more definitely over the immaculate 
 Mrs. Bonham's misadventures ; and Mrs. Markham 
 had a secret conviction that she could have handled 
 the situation better than did Mrs. Bonham, for all 
 the latter 's social superiority. 
 
 But Mrs. Markham 's conviction remained secret 
 and Miss Truefitt's sniffs were inaudible, and the 
 sentiments of those who had any leanings towards 
 the views of these two ladies remained at least 
 during Guild hours unuttered. Their glances, 
 their gestures and their spoken words revealed
 
 81 
 
 during those hours no jot or tittle of dissension 
 from the prevailing attitude ; and thus Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, scenting nothing but sympathy, relaxed her 
 habitual reserve of bearing, and let herself to some 
 extent go in describing the trials which beset her. 
 Thus it came about that the ins and outs of Mrs. 
 Bonham 's new arrangements were known and dis- 
 cussed throughout Stottleham. The Needlework 
 Guild formed, as it were, the reservoir into which 
 was poured information from the fountain head, 
 and thence, by as many channels as there were 
 members, was the information distributed in the 
 outer world. 
 
 The channels varied in respect of accuracy since 
 within the reservoir were reservations; for Mrs. 
 Bonham did not talk to everybody. But she ex- 
 tended the circle of those to whom she did talk. 
 And she also raised her voice. So that those mem- 
 bers who were not directly addressed, either over- 
 heard much of what was confided to the elect, or 
 had portions of Mrs. Bonham 's utterances passed 
 on to them. The result was that the reports circu- 
 lated in Stottleham were sometimes conflicting; 
 and there were arguments as to whether it was 
 number four or five who had been guilty of a par- 
 ticular delinquency, and as to whether number 
 three had really refused to hear Dorrie say her 
 prayers. 
 
 As a matter of fact it was Dorrie who had re- 
 fused to pray at the knee, not of number three 
 alone, but of all the numbers. If she was a big 
 girl, she was going to say her prayers at a chair,
 
 82 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 she had declared, and it was the attempt of the un- 
 fortunate number three to abrogate a newly ac- 
 quired privilege, by trying to take the place of the 
 chair, that had caused the trouble. But, except in 
 this instance, Dorrie had hardly been a factor in 
 the difficulties : it was Georgina's anxiety to secure 
 exactly the right person, with exactly the right 
 accent, manner, views, principles, appearance and 
 influence, which caused every fresh broom to fail 
 in complete cleanliness of sweeping at an early 
 date, and sometimes when brand new. 
 
 Her carefulness, indeed, was considered by some 
 of her friends to approach to carping. The Vicar, 
 for instance, who was somewhat given to mild 
 joking, remarked to his wife that the odd numbers 
 in Mrs. Bonham's procession of nursery govern- 
 esses were all odd, but the even numbers were 
 "even" odder: but Mrs. Vearing was so vexed by 
 the hint of a reflection on dear Mrs. Bonham, that 
 the Vicar was obliged to stop laughing almost be- 
 fore he had begun to smile. He consoled himself 
 by repeating his joke (which he privately thought 
 rather good) to Dr. Rayke over a pipe ; and Rayke 
 sniggered. 
 
 Georgina, had she heard the snigger, would prob- 
 ably never have consulted him again ; but she did 
 not, of course, hear it, nor did she conceive the 
 possibility of such an enormity on the part of her 
 friend ; and it must be stated that Rayke 's sense of 
 loyalty caused him to curtail the sniggering. Cur- 
 tailing it, he excused himself and Mrs. Bonham in 
 a breath, conveying to the Vicar that, though he
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 83 
 
 was such a funny dog that one couldn't help laugh- 
 ing at his witticisms, Mrs. Bonham, nevertheless, 
 must not be made a target for ridicule. She was a 
 woman, they must remember, and alone. She con- 
 sulted him a good deal and he helped her all he 
 could, but he couldn't of course look after every- 
 thing, and women . . . "Yes, yes," agreed the 
 Vicar, ' * quite so. ' ' He had the sense of being ever 
 so slightly snubbed, but he did not mind. He had 
 no desire to ridicule Mrs. Bonham; all he wanted 
 was that his joke should be appreciated, and Eayke 
 had appreciated it. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 It did not enter into Georgina's head that any- 
 body could laugh at her. In the first place she was 
 Mrs. Bonham, and in the second place it would 
 have been too unkind. For she was genuinely dis- 
 tressed. Ardently desiring to do the best for 
 Dorrie, she seemed to have happened upon an im- 
 possible way of doing it. She began to think that 
 she must abandon that way the way of nursery 
 governesses so many were the Miss Wrongs who 
 darkened her door before the coming of Miss Com- 
 paratively Eight. 
 
 The many who tried and failed were divided into 
 two main classes, the negatively incompetent and 
 the positively deplorable; and of the latter some 
 were made impossible by their vices and others by 
 their views. Georgina hardly knew which were
 
 84 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 the worse, judging them always from the stand- 
 point of their effect upon Dorrie. 
 
 Amongst the vicious was Miss Snell, who smoked 
 in her bedroom. Georgina smelt the smoke, in 
 spite of Miss Snell's cunning precaution of open- 
 ing the window. She announced her discovery at 
 the Guild, and at once the news went forth to 
 Stottleham ; poor dear Mrs. Bonham had smelt the 
 smoke in Miss Snell's bedroom. What an exam- 
 ple! Stottleham was rather anxious to see Miss 
 Snell. Women who smoked in their bedrooms 
 were unknown in any society in that town that 
 called itself respectable. What did such a woman 
 look like? It must be confessed that even the 
 Vicar was desirous of seeing Miss Snell. Eayke 
 alone made any attempt to diminish the darkness 
 of her reputation ; but then Eayke had lived many 
 years in London and was accounted something of 
 a dog. 
 
 Then there was Miss Parkins, who bit her nails. 
 This in itself was a lesser crime than smoking, but 
 as a habit likely to be adopted by an imitative child 
 was perhaps more dangerous. That this was Mrs. 
 Bonham 's view was made known to Stottleham 
 through the usual channels, and Stottleham in the 
 main agreed: though there were those who main- 
 tained that, from the point of view of morality, 
 Miss Parkins 's nails were as chalk to the cheese of 
 Miss Snell's cigarettes. 
 
 It was somewhat hotly debated whether Miss 
 Grey's habit of eating peppermints in church did 
 or did not come within the category of vices. The
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 85 
 
 church set as a whole condemned the practice, 
 whereas the nonconformists were disposed to a 
 view lenient if not sympathetic. But even within 
 the church set there were varying degrees of con- 
 demnation, amounting almost to difference of opin- 
 ion; for Miss Slade, who was "low," declared the 
 peppermints to be merely a weakness, while Mrs. 
 Puckeridge, who was "high," regarded them as a 
 blasphemy. Mrs. Ansell, who was inclined to be 
 "broad," considered it was a matter for Miss 
 Grey's individual conscience. Georgina, however, 
 to whom the smell of peppermint was obnoxious, 
 classed the practice as a vice, and Miss Grey fol- 
 lowed in the wake of Miss Parkins and Miss Snell. 
 
 In the end Georgina came to look upon the vices 
 as nothing in comparison with the views. For the 
 vices were patent; you knew what a person was 
 doing; but who could tell what strange and unor- 
 thodox, what peculiar and terrible ideas the per- 
 sons with views might instil into the mind of 
 Dorrie? 
 
 The first peculiar person was more a trial than 
 a danger : she was only a teetotaller, and therefore 
 harmless. Georgina did not in the least mind her 
 being a teetotaller ; she had no desire to ply Miss 
 Sweedham with the contents of her cellar, and was 
 affable in regard to her preference for water over 
 wine at the one-o'clock meal which was Georgina 's 
 lunch and the dinner of Miss Sweedham and Dor- 
 rie. What she objected to was not Miss Sweed- 
 ham 's practice but her preaching, her stories and 
 strictures of intemperance; for Georgina had an
 
 86 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 uncomfortable consciousness that they were lev- 
 elled against her own harmless glass of claret. 
 Such talk was unsuitable for the ears of a child, 
 and was also ridiculous in connection with Geor- 
 gina. As if, said Stottleham, dear Mrs. Bonham 
 could exceed! 
 
 Dear Mrs. Bonham was naturally annoyed and 
 hurt, and so was Stottleham through and because 
 of her. Impossible to keep such a person! So 
 Miss Sweedham had to go, and Hannah was di- 
 rected to prepare the nursery-governess's room for 
 a fresh aspirant to the task of educating Dorrie. 
 
 On a level with Miss Sweedham was Miss 
 Swayne. Her views no more than Miss Sweed- 
 ham 's could be called pernicious, but they were 
 tiresome, and, like Miss Sweedham, she was a 
 propagandist. Her enthusiasm was in the direc- 
 tion of dress reform, and Mrs. Bonham who had 
 chafed at implied condemnation of her claret was 
 even more irritated by indirect criticism of her 
 corsets. Miss Swayne disdained corsets, with 
 what, in Mrs. Bonham 's eyes, were deplorable re- 
 sults. It was not long before all Stottleham knew 
 that Miss Swayne had no waist. Lake a pillow she 
 was, with no, without a string round the middle. 
 So different from dear Mrs. Bonham 's rounded 
 lines ! Moreover she wore Jaeger nightgowns and 
 had brought with her Jaeger sheets, which were 
 or were to be so rumour had it, rarely washed. 
 Perhaps, Miss Pottlebury suggested, Miss Swayne 
 suffered from rheumatism; and Miss Truefitt re- 
 marked that she didn't see that it mattered what
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 87 
 
 Miss Swayne wore when she was in bed. But the 
 rheumatism was authoritatively denied; and Mrs. 
 Bonham, it was asserted, did attach importance to 
 her nursery-governess's ideas as to underclothing. 
 Supposing Dorrie were to develop a craze for 
 Jaeger, or refuse the support of corsets to her 
 spine ? If there was one thing Dorrie was not to 
 be, it was peculiar. So the fiat went forth, and 
 Miss Swayne added one more to the failures. 
 
 But in the ranks of the view holders, both Miss 
 Sweedham and Miss Swayne were as nothing to 
 Miss Bootham. Miss Sweedham was only provok- 
 ing and Miss Swayne 's views could hardly be 
 called pernicious; but Miss Bootham was odd. 
 Teetotalism, uncomfortably supererogatory in the 
 domain of respectability, was established and ac- 
 cepted ; heaps of quite nice people, even in the best 
 set in Stottleham, drank no wine Mrs. Vearing 
 for instance. And Jaeger underclothing, though 
 ridiculous and unnecessary, was after all only an 
 exaggeration of the quite respectable axiom that 
 it was well to wear flannel next the skin. But Miss 
 Bootham was an anti-vivisectionist. 
 
 She arrived just after the Guild had again met 
 in the autumn, and she provided it with a fresh 
 fund of conversation. Members of the Guild vied 
 with each other in repeating what Miss Bootham 
 had said; how she had asserted that animals had 
 rights, which was almost as dangerous as saying 
 that women had, and even more absurd; how she 
 had declared to be true things which everybody 
 knew to be false ; and how she had even said that
 
 88 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 experiments on animals led to experiments on 
 human beings. 
 
 Miss Bootham had said these things to Mrs. 
 Bonham. Mrs. Bonham, while denying Miss Boot- 
 ham's statements, had said, at the same time, that 
 she should make enquiries. Stottleham declared 
 that it was just like dear Mrs. Bonham to make en- 
 quiries : she was always so open-minded. 
 
 So Mrs. Bonham enquired of the Vicar and of 
 Dr. Bayke. 
 
 The Vicar said he had never heard of any of the 
 things that Miss Bootham had declared to be facts, 
 and Rayke said that Miss Bootham didn't know 
 what she was talking about, and that the subject 
 was one about which the lay public could have 
 neither knowledge nor understanding. Everybody 
 was pleased except Miss Bootham, for every- 
 body, again excepting Miss Bootham, had been 
 quite sure all along what the result of Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's enquiries would be. 
 
 The outcome of it all was that Miss Bootham 
 disappeared both from the Beeches and from dis- 
 cussion, and that another aspirant entered the 
 lists. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The aspirant who followed Miss Bootham was, 
 unfortunately, Mrs. Flores, and in the disturbance 
 which originated with the kitten Greorgina almost 
 wished for the return of the anti-vivisectionist.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 89 
 
 But she could not go back, and her only alternative 
 was to go forward ; she must try again. 
 
 Mrs. Flores's summary departure created a 
 thrill throughout the town; which thrill was suc- 
 ceeded by a positive sensation when the news 
 spread that Mrs. Bonham's latest importation 
 from the advertisement columns of the "Times" 
 turned out to be a suffragist, who had walked in a 
 procession. It was rumoured that she had carried 
 a banner, but the rumour was never substantiated : 
 what was certain was that she had walked. 
 
 It seemed the culminating point of poor Mrs. 
 Bonham's misfortunes, for here was a combination 
 of distressing views with unseemly action. It was 
 worse than Miss Snell, even as regarded conduct, 
 for Miss Snell, a smoker, had at least smoked only 
 in her bedroom, whereas Miss Bell had walked in 
 the public streets, with crowds looking on. Miss 
 Truefitt, at the Guild meeting, remarked that you 
 couldn't very well walk in a procession in your 
 bedroom ; but Miss Truefitt was speedily flattened 
 out ; that was a reason for not walking at all. 
 
 Miss Bell of course could not be tolerated; she 
 too, as far as Stottleham was concerned, slept with 
 her sister; and Mrs. Cray, who proved to be the 
 penultimate candidate, reigned in her stead. And 
 this penultimate was the worst of all almost un- 
 speakably so because of the things she spoke of. 
 She spoke of physiological facts, and Stottleham 
 had always lived and moved and had its being, 
 physiologically speaking, in fiction. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham lowered her voice in speaking of
 
 90 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Mrs. Cray's indelicacies, and it was only when 
 indignation overpowered reserve that the Guild 
 Meeting was enabled to be shocked without cran- 
 ing its neck and straining its ears. For Mrs. Cray 
 had conveyed to her charge information of a most 
 undesirable kind, such as that there was sex in 
 plants and that female plants brought forth their 
 young in the form of seeds. But that was not the 
 worst. 
 
 "She actually told the child," said Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, "that sheep carry their lambs!" 
 
 "And when I remonstrated with her," Georgina 
 went on, when the highest at the tables had ex- 
 claimed "You don't say so," and the humblest "I 
 never!" "when I remonstrated with her for of 
 course Dorrie repeated it all she said was that it 
 was true. * True, ' I said ; * that is the whole point. 
 If it hadn't been true, it wouldn't have mat- 
 tered.' " 
 
 1 ' But is it ? " asked Miss Pottlebury. ' ' How do 
 they I never saw a sheep carrying " 
 
 Georgina, exasperated, cut short her bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "Before they're born, my dear Miss Pottle- 
 bury, ' ' she said. She wanted to say * * you ninny, ' ' 
 but convention forbade, and she was obliged to 
 restrict herself to "my dear Miss Pottlebury," 
 concentrating her annoyance in an emphatic 
 "dear." 
 
 Miss Pottlebury retired into a pink silence, while 
 the other members proceeded to enquire what Mrs.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 91 
 
 Bonham had replied when Dorrie had asked if 
 Mummy was like a sheep. 
 
 "I said," answered Mrs. Bonham, "that I had 
 carried her in my arms. And when she asked me 
 how she got there, I said she dropped from a star, 
 that all new-born things did." 
 
 The readiness, the poetical fancy and the dis- 
 cretion displayed by Mrs. Bonham evoked sympa- 
 thetic enthusiasm; for Mrs. Charles Marsden said 
 she had never got beyond a cabbage, and Mrs. 
 Ansell had taken refuge in Santa Glaus, which was 
 so awkward, she remarked, when a birthday oc- 
 curred at midsummer. How could Mrs. Bonham 
 think of such a beautiful idea? and on the spur of 
 the moment I 
 
 "I don't know," said Georgina sublimely. "It 
 seemed to come to me." 
 
 It was in connection with the beautiful idea that 
 had come to dear Mrs. Bonham that the dreadful- 
 ness of Mrs. Cray was whispered throughout Stot- 
 tleham. But before it reached the outskirts of 
 Society, Mrs. Cray had gone, and the ultimate, 
 permanent, long-looked-f or nursery governess had 
 arrived. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Her name was Miss Kimmidge Patricia she 
 had been christened, and in her family was called 
 Pat. But Mrs. Bonham knew nothing of her 
 names save the surname or knew them unknow-
 
 92 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ingly ; Miss Kimmidge was to her always and only 
 Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 Dorrie knew them though: Dorrie was im- 
 mensely interested in them. She had never before 
 heard the name of Patricia and thought it beauti- 
 ful ; and Pat . . . Pat she had thought was a boy 's 
 name; there was a Pat in Stottleham, the son of 
 Mrs. Saunders-Parr, a splendid grown-up sort of 
 boy who was at Eugby. It was a name associated 
 with big boyhood, and it was most amusing to find 
 it cropping up in a governess. 
 
 And Hannah knew that Miss Kimmidge was Pa- 
 tricia, and also, familiarly, Pat. Hannah had 
 found it all out on the very first evening, when 
 she went to Miss Kimmidge 's room and said in her 
 usual way: "Can I do anything for you, Miss?" 
 
 Her usual way; for to each one of the nursery 
 governesses had Hannah gone, knocked at the bed- 
 room door, and, entering, asked, with the same 
 respectful manner, the same question of the candi- 
 date. Some she had liked and some she had dis- 
 liked, but to all she had presented the same oblig- 
 ing demeanour; as of all, save Mrs. Flores, who 
 speedily had shown her hand, and that a brutal 
 one, she had said, in reply to Georgina's enquiries : 
 "She seems a nice sort of person." 
 
 For how was Hannah to know? Each candidate 
 was a possible permanency, the elected trustee of 
 her treasure; her only chance of communication 
 with the treasure was to stand well with the trus- 
 tee. Jealous she may have been of the transfer of 
 guardianship, but jealousy, if it were there, was
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 93 
 
 submerged in the devotion which would bear all 
 things, believe all things, hope all things, endure 
 all things, for the privilege of proximity, for the 
 sake of a sight of Dorrie. Well she knew that her 
 position was perilous, and fully aware was she that 
 her best chance of maintaining it was to lie low, to 
 be unobtrusive, to be quietly useful to any power 
 that was or might be. In the twinkling of an eye 
 she had been changed from Nurse, the nurse, to 
 Hannah the housemaid ; as housemaid she was de- 
 termined to endure for ever, or at any rate till 
 Dorrie was married to a duke. For this cause she 
 had, in a sense, welcomed nursery governess after 
 nursery governess, never knowing but that each 
 fresh arrival might not be the power elect, on 
 whom it was necessary from the very first to make 
 a favourable impression. For this cause she was 
 willing to remain in the background, the only al- 
 ternative, as it seemed, to no ground at all. For 
 this cause she had not encouraged Mrs. Bonham, 
 in the moment of expansive emotion created by 
 Mrs. Flores, to give way and confide in her. For 
 Hannah, who did not reason much, had, where Dor- 
 rie was concerned, an intuition alert as a watch- 
 dog, and it was this intuition which had warned her 
 against allowing Georgina to break down. Geor- 
 gina, for the moment, would have overleapt the 
 several considerations which had caused her to 
 transform Nurse into Hannah; but Hannah's in- 
 tuition told her that, the emotion past, she would 
 never forgive herself for the leap, or rather that 
 she would never forgive Hannah : a confession of
 
 94 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 failure to the dethroned Nurse would have resulted 
 in the forced abdication of the reigning housemaid. 
 So in that emotional crisis Hannah had held her 
 peace, and held back the indignation which clam- 
 oured to burst forth and join forces with her mis- 
 tress's indignation, sensing dimly but surely that, 
 though Mrs. Flores was the primary cause of Mrs. 
 Bonham's wrathful suffering, she herself, as the 
 witness of a momentary weakness, might become 
 its vicarious victim. 
 
 Thus it was that Hannah, when Miss Kimmidge 
 had been barely ten minutes in her room, presented 
 herself, and, with the respect which was all that a 
 housemaid could be permitted to exhibit in the way 
 of ingratiation, asked: "Can I do anything for 
 you, Miss?" 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Some of the nursery governesses had been civil, 
 some disagreeable, some had declined Hannah's 
 offer, others had presumed upon it : none had re- 
 plied to it in the way taken by Miss Kimmidge. 
 Miss Kimmidge was on her knees beside her trunk ; 
 she looked up with half a sigh and half a smile and 
 said : * * Oh, if you would 
 
 Hannah looked down at her, waiting for a more 
 explicit request, but as only Miss Kimmidge 's eyes 
 addressed her, she said enquiringly: "Yes, 
 Miss?" 
 
 "I'm dying for -a -cup of tea," said Miss Kim- 
 midge.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 95 
 
 "I'll ," began Hannah, but Miss Kimmidge 
 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "I know the schoolroom tea's over, for Mrs. 
 Bonham said so." 
 
 "It is, Miss, but " 
 
 "And it's only half -past five," Miss Kimmidge 
 broke in again, "and I don't suppose supper or 
 whatever I have will be till for ever so long. ' ' 
 
 She got up from her knees and sat down on the 
 couch. The room was very comfortably furnished, 
 partly because Mrs. Bonham was careful as to the 
 comfort of her dependents, and partly because she 
 had wished to emphasize the superiority of a nurs- 
 ery governess to a nurse. 
 
 "A quarter to eight Mrs. Bonham dines, Miss," 
 said Hannah, "and it's sent up to you when it 
 comes out." 
 
 "Mrs. Bonham asked me if I'd like some tea, 
 and I was so stupid shy, you know, that I said I 
 wouldn't. But now !" 
 
 "I'll get you a cup, Miss, at once." 
 
 * ' You are shy, you know, ' ' said Miss Kimmidge, 
 "if you've never been away from home before." 
 
 "It's only natural," replied Hannah, and went 
 for the tea. 
 
 When she returned, the greater part of Miss 
 Kimmidge 's clothes were either on the bed or on 
 the floor, and the wardrobe doors were open and all 
 the drawers pulled out. Hannah had to tread 
 warily with the tray. 
 
 "I'll put it here, on this little table," she said. 
 
 ' ' Cake ! ' ' said Miss Kimmidge. * ' Oh, how kind
 
 96 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 of you. And bread-and-butter you can bite." 
 She had a way of stressing words which was en- 
 gagingly different from Mrs. Bonham's even utter- 
 ances. 
 
 " There 's no starch about her anyhow," was 
 Hannah's inward comment. 
 
 1 'Don't go!" said Miss Kimmidge. "Sit down 
 a minute ! There isn 't anything on that corner of 
 the couch." 
 
 Hannah sat down and looked at Miss Kimmidge 
 as she ate and drank. Something un-authoritative 
 about the latest of the nursery governesses encour- 
 aged Hannah to the point of initiating conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "You've never been away from home before, 
 Miss, I think you said?" 
 
 "No." Miss Kimmidge shook her head as she 
 spoke. "At least, I mean not like this. To the 
 seaside, and paying visits and that sort of thing, 
 but never to a post." 
 
 "You'll likely feel a bit lonely, Miss." 
 
 "It almost makes you feel lonely to be where 
 you're called Miss Kimmidge after being used to 
 be just Pat." 
 
 "I thought Pat "began Hannah. 
 
 1 ' Short for Patricia. ' ' Miss Kimmidge had fin- 
 ished the bread-and-butter and now began upon the 
 cake. "Delicious!" she said. 
 
 "It's a lovely name, Miss," said Hannah. "I 
 don't know as I ever heard it before." 
 
 "Rather nice. But I don't think it goes well 
 with Kimmidge. Do you?"
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 97 
 
 "I couldn't really say, Miss," Hannah an- 
 swered. 
 
 "That's why I so much prefer Pat. Pat Kim- 
 midge sounds as if you were a good sort. Don't 
 you think so ? By the way, what 's your name ? ' ' 
 
 " Hannah, Miss." Hannah hesitated. "I used 
 to be called Nurse. I was Miss Dome's nurse 
 till ' She stopped short. 
 
 1 'What are you now?" 
 
 " Housemaid." 
 
 Miss Kimmidge looked at her with a look gravely 
 penetrating: then she said: 
 
 1 'You just hated giving her up, didn't you?" 
 
 Hannah did not answer, but turned her head 
 away, so that she looked out of the window instead 
 of at Miss Kimmidge. Then she advanced to the 
 tray and carried it towards the door. Miss Kim- 
 midge followed her. 
 
 1 'Look here, Hannah," she said, "I shan't inter- 
 fere." 
 
 "No, Miss." Hannah paused. "Only you'll 
 have to." She paused again. "Such being Mrs. 
 Bonham's wish." She stopped in the doorway. 
 "But I shall be pleased to wait upon you, Miss." 
 
 "You shall wait upon me. Thank you," said 
 Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 Left alone, she sat down on the corner of the 
 couch that Hannah had vacated, and drew in her 
 lips. 
 
 "It looks as if it were going to be rather diffi- 
 cult," she was thinking . . . "round holes and 
 square people."
 
 98 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The fitting of people of one shape into holes of 
 another shape was a thing which Miss Kimmidge 
 somehow managed to accomplish ; not because she 
 was clever, but, in a great measure, because she 
 was not. She had no settled plan of action, 
 thought out no subtle scheme, but just, as she ex- 
 pressed it, felt her way. The way, in one sense, 
 was not perhaps very difficult to feel, since the 
 obstacles which impeded it were so obvious, or, 
 again as Miss Kimmidge expressed it, they stared 
 you in the face ; the real problem was to discover 
 the best method of steering through them, as they 
 were certainly too solid to be removed and too 
 high to be surmounted. Hannah had given her a 
 hint of them, and Mrs. Bonham, that same evening, 
 solidified the hint. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, having dined and had her coffee, 
 sent a message to the schoolroom. She would be 
 glad, when Miss Kimmidge had finished her sup- 
 per, if she would come down to the drawing-room 
 for half an hour. Miss Kimmidge had already 
 finished her supper, and, arrayed in a new white 
 silk shirt and a blue skirt, which she had put on 
 after unpacking, at once went downstairs in obedi- 
 ence to Mrs. Bonham 's request. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, as she entered, eyed her with 
 approval. She was nicely dressed, but not too 
 nicely. Mrs. Bonham did not make use of the
 
 99 
 
 words "neat but not gaudy," but they would have 
 exactly expressed her verdict upon Miss Kim- 
 midge's appearance; Miss Kimmidge had, in fact, 
 hit the happy mean in the matter of dress which, 
 according to Mrs. Bonham, was appropriate to a 
 nursery governess in the evening. Moreover her 
 hair was tidy, and what Mrs. Bonham disliked 
 more than anything else was untidy hair espe- 
 cially in a dependent. Mrs. Vearing's hair was 
 not very tidy according to Mrs. Bonham 's code, 
 for Mrs. Vearing went in for the picturesque in 
 hair-dressing ; yet, though Georgina did not admire 
 the picturesque as expressed in front hair ar- 
 ranged a coup de vent, she passed it in Mrs. Vear- 
 ing because Mrs. Vearing was a vicar's wife and a 
 baronet's daughter. But what was permissible in 
 a somebody would have been unpardonable in a no- 
 body, such as a servant, and objectionable in a 
 mongrel, such as a nursery governess. Miss Kim- 
 midge 's hair, however, was tidy (indeed she wore 
 a fringe net for the purpose of keeping it so), and, 
 her costume being nice, but not too nice, Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's eyes rested upon her with an approving 
 smile. 
 
 "Please sit down, Miss Kimmidge," she said. 
 "I suppose you are too young to care for a chair 
 with arms." But for the tidy hair, Miss Kim- 
 midge would not have been favoured with even a 
 suggestion of arms. 
 
 "Thank you," said Miss Kimmidge, "what I 
 like best is a straight back and not too high." She 
 was about to add "My legs are not very long"
 
 100 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 (Miss Kimmidge was not tall, being under five feet 
 three), but something in Mrs. Bonham's carriage 
 suggested that the mention of a nursery-govern- 
 ess's legs would not be well received. So she 
 stopped short and sat down on a chair which was 
 both low and armless. 
 
 1 'You find your room comfortable?" Mrs. Bon- 
 ham enquired graciously. 
 
 "Very," returned Miss Kimmidge. "It's 
 really sweet." 
 
 "The housemaid," Mrs. Bonham went on, "will 
 do such waiting as you require. I hope she has 
 shown herself obliging. ' ' 
 
 * ' Oh yes, ' ' said Miss Kimmidge. ' * I think she 's 
 a dear old thing." 
 
 Hannah was thirty-eight, but to Miss Kimmidge 
 everybody over thirty was a dear old thing or a 
 horrid old thing or a something-else old thing. 
 Dr. Kayke, when later on she met him, she desig- 
 nated a funny old thing, but that was an offence of 
 which Mrs. Bonham never knew. 
 
 "Hannah," Mrs. Bonham went on, "is a good 
 servant if kept in her place." 
 
 "Yes?" said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "She was, you know, Dome's nurse." 
 
 "Ah," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "But after six, I don't consider it advisable to 
 leave a child under the sole charge of a person of 
 that class." 
 
 "I see," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "She was very naturally devoted to 
 Dome."
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 101 
 
 "Most naturally," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 "Dorrie is a duck." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham smiled faintly. The smile was in 
 approval of Miss Kimmidge 's appreciation of her 
 pupil ; the f aintness of it indicated that Miss Kim- 
 midge was a trifle too familiar in her attitude to- 
 wards that pupil, or perhaps towards the pupil's 
 mother. Anyhow Miss Kimmidge was impressed 
 with the feeling that she ought to have said darling 
 instead of duck, and that she should have spoken, 
 if not with bated breath, at any rate with a flavour 
 of respect. 
 
 "So I didn't wish I couldn't bring myself to 
 send her away. ' ' 
 
 "How kind of you!" said Miss Kimmidge, this 
 time with the flavour of respect. 
 
 "I felt for her," said Mrs. Bonham. "So I 
 gave her the chance of staying on as housemaid." 
 
 "How delighted she must have been!" 
 
 ' ' She was pleased, I think. And I must confess 
 she makes a good housemaid." 
 
 "Very fortunate," murmured Miss Kimmidge. 
 She was not given to murmuring, but she was find- 
 ing, as the Needlework Guild had found, that there 
 was something about Mrs. Bonham which induced 
 murmurs. 
 
 "It is fortunate," Mrs. Bonham agreed, "for 
 both of us ; for I should indeed be sorry if I were 
 obliged to send her away, knowing, as I do, how 
 devoted she is to Dorrie. At the same time, hav- 
 ing removed Dorrie from her care, I don't want 
 the child to be too much, or indeed much at all, in
 
 102 THE THUNDEKBOLT 
 
 her company. I took her from her care, in fact, to 
 remove her from her company. ' ' 
 
 "I see," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "She speaks commonly. And of course thinks 
 commonly. And Dorrie, in fact, is getting too old 
 to associate with servants." 
 
 "So that's where I come in." Miss Kimmidge 
 had almost said it, but she stopped herself in time 
 and substituted : * * She '& nearly seven, isn 't she ? ' ' 
 
 "She is seven ; she was seven in September. So 
 you see the importance. ' ' 
 
 Miss Kimmidge bent her head. 
 
 "I look to you," Mrs. Bonham went on, "to 
 counteract Hannah's influence, to gradually wean 
 her away from her, and to see that Hannah doesn't 
 come fussing about her." 
 
 "Is Dorrie very devoted to her?" 
 
 "Devoted," said Mrs. Bonham with a smile 
 touched with vexation, "is hardly what I should 
 call her." Miss Kimmidge was conscious that she 
 should have said "fond of" instead of "devoted 
 to." "You know what children are with nurses 
 they've had all their lives. It's habit more than 
 anything else, and Dorrie, like other children, has 
 got to get out of the way of depending on her 
 nurse." 
 
 "I see," said Miss Kimmidge. "Have I got to 
 begin it?" she asked. "I mean, am I the first 
 nursery governess? or have there been others?" 
 
 4 ' There have been others, but they have not had 
 much influence in the way I require. Which," 
 added Mrs. Bonham with emphasis, "is one of the
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 103 
 
 reasons why you must be firm. And at the same 
 time sympathetic. Dorrie must be kept happy and 
 amused, as well as being instructed." 
 
 "I'll do my best," said Miss Kimmidge meekly. 
 
 She felt rather depressed, and the "post" which 
 had seemed, on her arrival and before it, cheer- 
 fully simple, grew formidable. As she went up- 
 stairs, she classed Mrs. Bonham as rather a trying 
 old thing. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 By the next morning, however, Miss Kimmidge 
 had recovered. For one thing, the sun was shin- 
 ing, and as one of the windows in her bedroom 
 looked east, it came streaming in upon her; and 
 for another she had slept beautifully and felt fresh 
 and energetic. Then her bath was deliciously hot, 
 and she was so hungry for her breakfast as to lose 
 all nervousness while she ate it. She and Dorrie 
 breakfasted downstairs with Mrs. Bonham, and 
 breakfast, when Miss Kimmidge went to bed, had 
 loomed before her as an ordeal. When she got up, 
 the ordeal looked less alarming, and when she ac- 
 tually faced it, it proved to be no ordeal at all. 
 She began to think that Mrs. Bonham was rather a 
 nice old thing after all. 
 
 Georgina was, indeed, very gracious. She had 
 been pleased with Miss Kimmidge on the previous 
 evening, in spite of the one or two little indiscre- 
 tions of which she had been guilty. She felt that 
 Miss Kimmidge "meant well," and also was likely
 
 104 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 to be tractable. Other candidates had, to be sure, 
 meant well, but they had had drawbacks of manner, 
 appearance, accent or capacity. Of Miss Kim- 
 midge's capacity she could not yet judge, but her 
 appearance pleased her, her manner was simple 
 and her accent was satisfactory. Georgina de- 
 cided that she was sufficiently eligible to be sub- 
 mitted to the judgment of Bayke; or rather, she 
 decided, that if Miss Kimmidge went on well be- 
 tween now Tuesday and Thursday, she would 
 ask Eayke to come and inspect her on Friday. 
 Miss Kimmidge, unconscious of Mrs. Bonham's 
 deliberations and decision, continued to enjoy the 
 coffee, which was always excellent at the Beeches, 
 and had been very poor in the Kimmidge house- 
 hold, and finished up her breakfast with rolls and 
 marmalade. 
 
 "I don't want Dorrie to work more than three 
 hours a day," said Georgina ; "two in the morning 
 and one in the afternoon." 
 
 "It's quite enough for her age," agreed Miss 
 Kimmidge. 
 
 "Do you like lessons?" she asked of Dorrie. 
 
 " No, " said Dorrie. " Do you ? ' ' 
 
 Miss Kimmidge found the question difficult. 
 She really did not like either learning or teaching, 
 but how could a governess say so? 
 
 "Some," she answered. "Geography, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 "I don't know it," said Dorrie doubtfully. 
 
 "You learn it with maps." 
 
 "Like what's in the hall?"
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 105 
 
 "She means the county map," explained Geor- 
 gina. ' * Yes, darling, something like that. ' ' 
 
 "Oh," was all Dorrie said. 
 
 She was not so communicative as she had been 
 a year ago : she had become, since completing her 
 seventh year, shyer and more self-conscious, the 
 least little bit more difficult to manage. Georgina 
 noticed the change and wondered secretly if it had 
 anything to do with the cessation of Nurse. Miss 
 Kimmidge naturally observed no change, since 
 she had not known Dorrie before, but she knew, as 
 the eldest of a large family, that children were apt 
 to change after seven and that the eighth and ninth 
 years were sometimes difficult ones. That Dorrie 
 would not be hard to manage she felt sure; the 
 child could not, she told herself, be anything but a 
 duck; but she was prepared to find in the duck 
 patches of reserve and possibly caprices. One 
 child, however, was a mere nothing after the seven 
 brothers and sisters she had had to deal with, and 
 she started off to the schoolroom with a light heart. 
 
 It grew no heavier as the day went on. Dorrie 
 was charming; she became red in the face and 
 damp in the hand with the excitement of drawing 
 a map of England, and laughed over the multipli- 
 cation table. The map was taken down at lunch- 
 time to show Mrs. Bonham, and although Mrs. 
 Bonham had no idea it was meant for England, 
 she was delighted with it. For the smoking gov- 
 erness had wearied Dorrie with sums, and the anti- 
 vivisectionist had bored her with verbs, and each 
 and all had given her the idea that lessons were
 
 106 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 horrid. Georgina suspended judgment till tea- 
 time, but having entered the schoolroom while the 
 schoolroom tea was going on, having assured her- 
 self that Dorrie was still happy, that Miss Kim- 
 midge's hair was still tidy and that Hannah was 
 not in surreptitious attendance, she waited no 
 longer. She wrote to Rayke immediately her own 
 tea was over and asked him to come on Friday 
 afternoon. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 On Thursday Cook made a currant and sultana 
 cake, and on Friday Rayke came to tea. Geor- 
 gina had felt a little self-conscious vexation in 
 ordering the cake ; she had a sense that Cook would 
 know for whom it was ordered. Cook did know, 
 but she also, besides anticipating Rayke 's visit, 
 guessed at its purport. 
 
 1 'She '11 be 'aving 'im," said Cook, "to see what 
 'e thinks of this 'ere Miss Gummidge. ' ' 
 
 It was thus that Miss Kimmidge''S name was 
 rendered in the kitchen, and Miss Gummidge she 
 continued to be as long as to Mrs. Bonham she was 
 Miss Kimmidge, to Dorrie except on state occa- 
 sions Kimmy or Pat-a-cake, to Hannah Miss 
 Patricia. For Hannah had been much taken with 
 Miss Kimmidge 's Christian name ; she thought it 
 lovely; and when she added anything to the 
 "Miss" by which she usually addressed Miss Kim- 
 midge, it was Patricia* that she added. She hoped 
 very ardently that Miss Patricia would "do," and
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 107 
 
 this long before she arrived at the use of the 
 Christian name ; for without spoken words Hannah 
 and Miss Kimmidge understood one another, with- 
 out definite compact they speedily made a work- 
 ing agreement. 
 
 Dorrie, for instance, was often in Miss Kim- 
 midge's room when Miss Kimmidge changed her 
 dress, looking at and playing with various posses- 
 sions of Miss Kimmidge 's which were chiefly in- 
 teresting because they did not belong to Dorrie, 
 so that the handling of them was in the nature of 
 a privilege and a treat ; and when Hannah brought 
 in hot water, she was apt to stay for a few minutes, 
 beginning by answering questions or remarks ad- 
 dressed to her by Miss Kimmidge and ending by 
 talking to Dorrie. It did not come within the 
 scope of what Mrs. Bonham considered necessary 
 attendance that Miss Kimmidge should be sup- 
 plied with hot water, save in the morning and 
 perhaps at night; there was the hot-water tap 
 in the housemaid's cupboard at the end of the 
 passage, and Miss Kimmidge could fetch hot water 
 if she required it. But Hannah had begun by 
 bringing hot water on any and every occasion 
 when hot water might be acceptable, and Miss 
 Kimmidge had begun by allowing an illicit, though 
 limited intercourse between Hannah and Dorrie: 
 and as they had begun they went on. 
 
 It cannot be said that Miss Kimmidge en- 
 couraged the intercourse ; rather, she winked at it ; 
 and even while she to some extent restricted it, 
 her attitude towards the intercourse and towards
 
 108 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Hannah was, as Hannah was aware, sympathetic. 
 She never said to Hannah: "I know how you 
 feel and I'll do what I can for you, but you see 
 I've got to do my job for Mrs. Bonham"; nor did 
 Hannah reply in words: "All right, Miss, and 
 thank you kindly"; but unspoken such a dialogue 
 may be said to have passed between them; and 
 while Miss Kimmidge on her side did what she 
 could, Hannah on her side never urged her to do 
 what she couldn't. 
 
 Georgina enjoying a sweetbread and claret in 
 the dining-room, did not know that Hannah, each 
 evening, added to Miss Kimmidge 's tucking up of 
 Dorrie, a tucking up of her own ; and why should 
 Miss Kimmidge mention it? Hannah had tucked 
 up Dorrie before Miss Kimmidge 's arrival, and 
 Miss Kimmidge simply let it go on. If it was to 
 be mentioned at all Dorrie was the one to mention 
 it, but Dorrie, from some instinctive sense of 
 prudence, never spoke to her mother of Hannah's 
 evening visits and good-night kiss. 
 
 At the time of Miss Kimmidge 's inspection by 
 Dr. Eayke, the tacit understanding between her 
 and Hannah was only tentative, not established: 
 it found expression in Miss Kimmidge 's enquiries 
 on the subject of Hannah's attacks of toothache 
 and Hannah's answers to the effect that her teeth 
 were quite easy, or that she had had to have "an- 
 other bottle": but that an understanding as to an 
 ache far worse than that of any tooth would ulti- 
 mately be established Hannah was inclined to 
 hope, if only Miss Kimmidge "did"! Hannah
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 109 
 
 therefore awaited Eayke 's visit with trepidation, 
 for she, as well as Cook, divined its main purpose. 
 
 CHAPTEE X 
 
 Dr. Eayke arrived with his customary punctual- 
 ity. He came at twenty minutes past four, and 
 tea, as everybody knew who knew Mrs. Bonham, 
 was at four-thirty. So that Janet was able to let 
 him in and announce him before setting out the 
 tea-table, and could concentrate her mind upon the 
 tray and its contents without the disturbing con- 
 sideration that she might not hear Dr. Eayke 's 
 ring. 
 
 Always while Janet went in and out of the draw- 
 ing-room, Georgina and Eayke enquired after each 
 other's health and let off the remarks about the 
 weather which were an essential preliminary to 
 conversation. Then came tea, leisurely partaken 
 of ; about halfway through, the introduction of the 
 matter specially to be considered, if such matter 
 there were ; and after tea the serious consultation, 
 the asking for and giving of advice. But if no 
 knotty point was to be debated and this was 
 frequently the case Mrs. Bonham and Dr. Eayke 
 discussed, not the problems peculiar to Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, but the problems of their neighbours. They 
 did not gossip ; that would have been beneath the 
 dignity of both; and they prefaced report or 
 criticism with qualifying remarks, such as: "I
 
 110 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 hear, but of course there may be no truth in it 
 . . ." "I don't want to judge, but I cannot help 
 thinking. ..." Nevertheless, they did, in a 
 devious and restrained way, arrive at repeating to 
 each other most of the scandal of the neighbour- 
 hood ; not indeed with maliciousness, but with that 
 vicarious enjoyment of others' failings which is all 
 that is permitted to the respectable. They could 
 not themselves do the things they deprecated, but 
 in regard to certain of them it was rather exciting 
 to know that they were done. 
 
 But on this occasion, the occasion awaited in 
 anxiety by Hannah, the proceedings were not as 
 the proceedings of ordinary days. Miss Kim- 
 midge and Dorrie were bidden to tea in the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 They were not there when Rayke arrived, and 
 the usual interchange of enquiries and remarks 
 had free play. But when all the shining silver 
 was on the table, and the hot scones and the cur- 
 rant buns, the thin bread-and-butter and the sul- 
 tana cake, Mrs. Bonham said to Janet: "Will 
 you tell them in the schoolroom that tea is ready." 
 
 To Rayke, who had been enlightened as to the 
 object of the visit in the note of invitation, she 
 said, waiting of course till Janet had gone: "I 
 thought it would be the best way for you to judge 
 what she is like. If she came down afterwards, 
 or you went up to the schoolroom, it wouldn't be 
 the same thing." 
 
 "Quite so," said Rayke. "You have hit, as 
 usual, upon the best way of doing the thing."
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 111 
 
 They smiled at each other. Bayke was think- 
 ing that women in their place were very satis- 
 factory: Georgina was thinking what a delight- 
 ful friend Bayke was and how often she agreed 
 with him. 
 
 Meanwhile the unconscious Miss Kimmidge had 
 put on her blue skirt and the white silk blouse, 
 which was still perfectly fresh, and, waiting in the 
 schoolroom, was very glad of the summons to the 
 drawing-room. For Miss Kimmidge was hungry, 
 and her chief feeling as she and Dorrie went down- 
 stairs was satisfaction at the prospect of having 
 her tea. She had not, unlike Hannah and the cook, 
 discerned the tea-party's esoteric significance; and 
 her sole doubt as she entered the drawing-room 
 was the doubt whether she would be able to eat 
 as much as she wanted. The schoolroom bread- 
 and-butter was substantially thick ; here ( she cast 
 an eye on it ere she was introduced to Bayke) 
 it was genteelly thin. 
 
 "Dr. Bayke Miss Kimmidge. Miss Kimmidge 
 has come to take charge of Dorrie. Dr. Bayke, " 
 said Mrs. Bonham to Miss Kimmidge, in impres- 
 sive tones, "is my valued adviser and friend." 
 
 Miss Kimmidge bowed; comment from a 
 nursery governess upon the pleasure of meeting 
 Mrs. Bonham 's valued friend was impossible. 
 
 She sat down upon the chair indicated by Geor- 
 gina, while Dorrie was kissed by Dr. Bayke. Dor- 
 rie did not much like Bayke 's embraces because 
 he had a beard which tickled her face, but she sub- 
 mitted to them, since, as she had already told Miss
 
 112 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Kimmidge, "I have to. Mummy says it would 
 hurt his feelings if I didn't, and it doesn't exactly 
 hurt my face, only makes me want to rub it." 
 
 She gave it now a little surreptitious rub on 
 the way to her seat by Miss Kimmidge. She 
 hoped Uncle Eayke didn't notice, and he didn't. 
 If he had, it would not have occurred to him to 
 connect the rubbing with his kiss. But he was, in 
 fact, engaged in observing Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 She struck him as being what he described to 
 himself as likely. She was evidently not nervous 
 or highly strung: Eayke did not like extra-sensi- 
 tive people. No signs of hysteria : he was inclined 
 to think most women hysterical. Nor did she look 
 clever : he objected to clever women. Intelligence 
 was all very well, and capability, but anything 
 more was tiresome. Georgina Bonham was his 
 idea of a capable, intelligent woman. 
 
 Having formed a preliminary impression he 
 turned his attention to Georgina and the tea-table. 
 Presently he would engage Miss Kimmidge in con- 
 versation. 
 
 Miss Kimmidge, meanwhile, having noted his 
 courtesy to herself and his evident affection for 
 Dorrie, classed him provisionally as a decent old 
 thing. Then she also switched off her attention. 
 Miss Kimmidge 's attention was given to Dorrie 's 
 tea and her own. 
 
 They began with bread-and-butter, and it was, 
 as she had already noted, distressingly thin. A 
 slice was nowhere; if you took a real bite it was 
 gone in two twos, and if you tried to make it last
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 113 
 
 you just had to nibble. Miss Kimmidge could not 
 voice these drawbacks, but Dorrie did. 
 
 4 'In this bread-and-butter, the bread isn't any 
 thicker than the butter, is it, Mummy?" she said. 
 "I like best when it is thicker. Don't you, Miss 
 Kimmidge? like we have upstairs." 
 
 "The schoolroom bread-and-butter is best for 
 hungry people like you and me, I think," returned 
 Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "Certainly not hysterical," commented Eayke to 
 himself. 
 
 "Perhaps the scones would suit you better," 
 said Mrs. Bonham. "Dr. Bayke, would you be so 
 kind as to put the scones near Dorrie and Miss 
 Kimmidge?" 
 
 Dr. Rayke did so, "with pleasure," as he said. 
 Miss Kimmidge, with greater pleasure, took ad- 
 vantage of their proximity, and got on much better 
 than, from the bread-and-butter beginning, she 
 had dared to hope. She finished up with a slice 
 of the sultana cake. Rayke cut it for her, and it 
 was a large slice. She was confirmed in her 
 opinion that he was a decent old thing. 
 
 And then, while she ate the final mouthfuls, 
 Rayke began the testing of her character and at- 
 tainments by what he called engaging her in con- 
 versation.
 
 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 "I suppose," said Rayke, "you have a bent for 
 teaching a sort of natural inclination that way." 
 
 Miss Kimmidge shook her head. 
 
 "I doubt it," she replied. 
 
 1 ' Ah f ' ' said Rayke. ' * But er, then er, why- 
 er?" 
 
 "I had to do something," Miss Kimmidge said. 
 * ' And what else can you do f if you 're a woman. ' ' 
 
 "Very true." Rayke nodded his head slowly. 
 He thought the reply, if not altogether satisfac- 
 tory, implied a becoming sense of limitation. 
 
 "There's the post office," suggested Georgina 
 lamely, "and the telegraph service and er, all 
 that, for girls who have no leaning towards domes- 
 ticity." 
 
 "Oh, but for all those things you have to pass 
 an examination, and I couldn't, I know. You 
 can't," said Miss Kimmidge, turning to Rayke, 
 "pass examinations unless you're specially trained 
 or coached, can you?" 
 
 ' ' Certainly not, ' ' agreed Rayke. The simplicity 
 of her attitude appealed to him. "No votes or 
 anything of that sort about her," he reflected. 
 
 "But teachers, governesses," he went on, 
 "nowadays, if they want to rise in the profession, 
 are expected " 
 
 Miss Kimmidge made bold to interrupt him. 
 ' ' Oh yes, I know, degrees and things. But I never 
 could. That's why I go in for being a nursery
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 115 
 
 governess. You don't have to be a B.A. or any- 
 thing for that." 
 
 "A love of children," said Georgina, "is the 
 essential or an essential." 
 
 "Yes," agreed Miss Kimmidge, "but fortu- 
 nately you don't have to pass examinations in 
 order to like children." Again she turned to 
 Bayke. ' ' Do you ! ' ' she said with a smile. 
 
 "Bather not; it's part of the nature of women 
 old-fashioned women at any rate. All the 
 same" Bayke addressed Georgina "love of 
 children is not sufficient in itself to make a 
 teacher." 
 
 "I said an essential," corrected Georgina. 
 1 1 Of course nobody can teach without having been 
 educated." 
 
 "And Miss Kimmidge of course has been edu- 
 cated," said Bayke. He answered Georgina, but 
 he looked at Miss Kimmidge : the look was an en- 
 quiry. 
 
 "Oh, I know the usual things, of course," she 
 answered. 
 
 "I wonder what you mean by the usual things? " 
 
 Georgina beckoned to Dorrie. 
 
 "Fetch the animal book from the table, darling, 
 and we'll look at the pictures." 
 
 When Dorrie came back with the book, Georgina, 
 opening it, looked across at Bayke. 
 
 * ' Have your cigarette, Doctor, pray. Miss Kim- 
 midge won't mind, I'm sure." 
 
 "What could I say if I did?" thought Miss Kim- 
 midge. What she actually did say was : " Oh no. "
 
 116 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "You're sure?" Bayke paused, with cigarette 
 poised in air. 
 
 "Quite," Miss Kimmidge smiled. 
 
 Dr. Bayke lighted the cigarette and took a puff 
 or two at it; then: 
 
 "Let me see," he said, "you were saying that 
 er you " 
 
 . . 
 
 E I was saying I had been taught the usual 
 things, and you were saying you wondered what I 
 meant by the usual things." 
 
 "Yes, that was it, yes. Well, what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Oh, arithmetic; no algebra or Euclid or any- 
 thing of that kind, you know, but just the rules 
 and some fractions. And then geography and 
 composition and music but I'm not musical. 
 And French but I can't speak it. I know the 
 grammar though, the conjugations and all that." 
 
 "I see," said Bayke. He nodded his head 
 slowly, as much as to say, "That's good enough." 
 "History," he went on, "is a very wide subject." 
 His look questioned: "How much do you know 
 of that?" 
 
 "Very," said Miss Kimmidge, "and rather con- 
 fusing I mean remembering what was going on 
 in all the different countries at the same time." 
 She lowered her voice a trifle. "I confess, too, 
 I never quite got the hang of the Holy Boman 
 Empire." 
 
 Nor had Bayke, and he felt that the Holy Boman 
 Empire did not very much matter. What did 
 matter was that Miss Kimmidge should say "got
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 117 
 
 the hang of." Rayke felt that it would not do, 
 or rather that Mrs. Bonham would feel it would 
 not do. Personally he passed the expression 
 under the gaze of Miss Kimmidge ; but Mrs. Bon- 
 ham ! Miss Kimmidge 's trusting gaze, not to 
 
 speak of the confidential lowering of her voice, 
 would have no effect upon Mrs. Bonham. And 
 Mrs. Bonham disapproved of slang. So did the 
 doctor in a young woman. But this young 
 woman so he was convinced meant no harm, and 
 the slang, if it actually was slang, was of a mild 
 kind. Only Mrs. Bonham . . . 
 
 He glanced at her. Had she overheard? No, 
 the lowered voice and the animal book had pre- 
 vented that. But he must give Miss Kimmidge a 
 hint. 
 
 "And composition? I think you said composi- 
 tion. English, chiefly, I suppose?" 
 
 "English, altogether. I couldn't compose in 
 French. Could you?" 
 
 * * No, I never learnt French ; no, I couldn 't. But 
 then you see I'm not not " 
 
 "Not a nursery governess," said Miss Kim- 
 midge, and laughed. 
 
 It was hardly a laugh, just a smile with a sound 
 in it; nevertheless Georgina heard it and looked 
 up from the animal book ; first at Miss Kimmidge, 
 who continued to smile, and then at Rayke, who 
 slightly nodded. The nod told her that he was 
 successfully testing Miss Kimmidge, and Geor- 
 gina turned her attention again to Dorrie and a 
 giraffe.
 
 118 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "English composition is most important," said 
 Bayke. "It helps people not only to write but to 
 speak their own language properly." 
 
 "I suppose so," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "It discourages" Eayke blew out a puff of 
 smoke "or ought to discourage, the use of 
 slang. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Kimmidge: it was rather a 
 doubtful yes. 
 
 "And slang is one of the deformities of modern 
 speech. ' ' 
 
 "I see," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "It doesn't matter so much," Bayke went on, 
 "in a man. But in a woman it's er " 
 
 He hesitated, seeking an adequate adjective, 
 while Miss Kimmidge thought: "Have I said 
 . . . What have I said?" 
 
 "Deplorable," ended Bayke, and Miss Kim- 
 midge thought: "I must have." 
 
 Georgina closed the book. 
 
 "There, darling, that's the end. And now, per- 
 haps you and Miss Kimmidge would like to go up- 
 stairs again." 
 
 Bayke opened the door for them; Bayke shook 
 hands with Miss Kimmidge and kissed Dorrie; 
 and on the way upstairs Dorrie rubbed her face 
 furtively, and Miss Kimmidge tried to remember 
 everything she had said while in the drawing- 
 room. She had not said very much at all. What 
 could it be? Near the top she exclaimed: "I 
 have it." 
 
 "What?" asked Dorrie.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 119 
 
 "Something I was trying to remember." To 
 herself she added: "It must have been that the 
 hang of it. What a funny old thing!" 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Meanwhile, in the drawing-room, Georgina, as 
 Eayke came towards her from the door, said: 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I think," said Rayke with a slow air of de- 
 liberation, "that she'll do." 
 
 "She seems er sensible?" 
 
 "I think so. No fads or views or hysterical 
 fancies." 
 
 ' ' And she looks nice neat, I mean. I don 't call 
 her pretty." 
 
 "Not exactly so, no. But not the reverse. 
 Quite nice-looking enough." 
 
 "For her position, yes. And she keeps her hair 
 tidy. I confess I do like well-dressed hair." 
 
 Rayke glanced at Georgina's smooth coils. He 
 gave the slightest of bows. 
 
 "Obviously," he said. 
 
 Georgina smiled. "I always think it's a sign of 
 character; orderliness and and sense," she pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 "I'm sure it is," said Rayke. 
 
 Georgina paused. 
 
 "You don't think " she began; and then 
 
 Janet came in to clear away the tea, and conver- 
 sation became concerned with the garden.
 
 120 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 When all traces of tea had gone and the door 
 was shut, the garden was suddenly abandoned. 
 
 11 You were saying?" said Rayke. 
 
 "I was saying what was I saying?" asked 
 Georgina; but she knew quite well. "Oh yes, I 
 was going to ask you whether you thought Miss 
 Kimmidge was the least little bit I don't know 
 how to put it forward familiar a trifle too 
 much at her ease 1 ' ' 
 
 Rayke appeared to consider the matter judi- 
 cially. 
 
 "I know what you mean," he said; and he did; 
 it was the laugh. Rayke had not objected to the 
 laugh, and Miss Kimmidge had nice white even 
 teeth and looked almost well, quite pretty when 
 she laughed. But Georgina, he knew, just and 
 often liberal in her methods, had strict views on 
 the deportment of dependents. He would serve 
 both her and Miss Kimmidge best by a judicial 
 indifference. 
 
 "Yes, I know what you mean," he repeated after 
 a pondering pause, "but I don't think it means 
 anything. I think you told me it was her first 
 situation " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' l And she 's young ' ' 
 
 "Twenty." 
 
 "And I think it's just well, what you might call 
 amateurishness. She hasn't quite got the hang" 
 (Rayke realized suddenly that he was using the 
 expression he had rebuked Miss Kimmidge for 
 using) "of the position."
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 121 
 
 Georgina did not even wince at the expression 
 when employed by Rayke. 
 
 "You think that's all!" she said. 
 
 "I think so, I don't think you'll find much to 
 complain of in that direction. I fancy," Rayke 
 added with an air of detachment, "that she has 
 been well brought up." 
 
 "Her references said so, and I'm glad your ob- 
 servation bears them out. But is there any other 
 direction in which you think she might not be satis- 
 factory?" 
 
 Rayke paused, then shook his head. 
 
 "No, I think on the whole Her scholastic 
 
 attainments I don't suppose are specially high, 
 but then you didn't want that." 
 
 ' * No. What I want is a superior, refined person 
 to look after Dorrie and teach her the beginnings ; 
 somebody who speaks properly, with a good accent 
 and ladylike expressions." 
 
 "Miss Kimmidge seems to speak all right. But 
 that you could tell of course as soon as she ar- 
 rived." 
 
 "Yes, at once. Oh yes, her way of speaking's 
 all right. And I don't think she's slangy." 
 
 "I hope not," said Rayke. To himself he 
 added : "I don 't think she will be after my hint. ' ' 
 
 "You know how I dislike slang." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "In a woman. A slang expression by a man 
 now and again is well, different." 
 
 "You always discriminate," said Rayke. 
 
 He got up and held out his hand.
 
 122 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 1 'Well, you'll let me know how she goes on." 
 
 "Of course. But I hope, after what you've told 
 me, that she'll do. Your opinion rather jumps 
 with mine." 
 
 "It very often does," said Bayke, smiling. 
 
 "And thank you so much." 
 
 "I don't know what for. The thanks should 
 be " 
 
 "You know what a help your opinion is to me," 
 Greorgina interrupted. 
 
 She went with Eayke to the front door and let 
 him out. She was full of graciousness because 
 she was full of hope. It really seemed as if Miss 
 Kimmidge would do! And if she did! Oh, the 
 relief ! 
 
 Cook in the kitchen said : "I wonder what his 
 verdick is?" 
 
 Hannah in the housemaid's cupboard, drawing 
 hot water for Miss Kimmidge, hoped fervently 
 that "he'd took to her." 
 
 Arriving with the hot water in Miss Kimmidge 's 
 room, she ventured an enquiry as to whether Miss 
 Kimmidge had got on well with the Doctor. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Miss Kimmidge carelessly. 
 "He seems a kindly old gentleman." 
 
 Kindly! He hadn't been stand-off then. It 
 looked well. Hannah hoped for the best.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 123 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 Miss Kimmidge spoke carelessly to Hannah ; but 
 she was aware that she had 'been weighed and 
 judged. Going down to tea in the drawing-room, 
 she had had no expectation of being put into a 
 scale, but when Mrs. Bonham asked for the animal 
 book, and she was left practically tete-a-tete with 
 Dr. Eayke, she became conscious that Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's valued adviser and friend was there for the 
 purpose of valuing and advising on her. She was 
 not, as the Doctor had perceived, particularly sen- 
 sitive or highly strung, neither was she specially 
 endowed with intuition; but she had shrewdness 
 and observation, as well as high spirits and a 
 healthy vitality; moreover, it did not require un- 
 usual capacity to realize that Bayke was, as she 
 termed it, pumping her. 
 
 She thought, reflecting in her own room, that the 
 scales had dipped on the right side. To be sure 
 she had made a slip, but she had carried the bal- 
 ance nevertheless; and, having shrewdness and 
 observation, she had also the tact which proceeds 
 from the combination of those qualities, and the 
 capacity to profit by Bayke 's not too subtle hint. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham did not like slang, even of the 
 mildest brew. Well, she would guard the door of 
 her lips so that no slang came forth either when 
 she was talking to Mrs. Bonham or to Dorrie. 
 Alone with Hannah sometimes she might, per- 
 haps, permit herself the relief of expressions not
 
 124 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 recognized in the Rayke-Bonham code; for 
 Hannah, being a dear old thing, and subject more- 
 over to lapses in grammar and aitches, presumably 
 would not mind. Otherwise, as far as in her lay, 
 she would fall in with Mrs. Bonham's wishes and 
 prejudices. She ought to, seeing that she was 
 paid money for that purpose, and also she wanted 
 to stay on. Dorrie was a dear, and if you had to 
 go out and take a situation, she didn't suppose 
 you would easily find a pleasanter one. The bed- 
 room was most comfortable; more comfortable a 
 good deal than her bedroom at home ; not that that 
 was important; still, it counted. Then Hannah 
 was a dear old thing ; Mrs. Bonham, she was begin- 
 ning to think, was quite a nice old thing; and 
 Dorrie Miss Kimmidge quite understood why 
 Hannah had not wanted to give up Dorrie. So 
 she did her best to do, and it came about that she 
 did do ; aided by the deficiencies of her precursors, 
 by Rayke's approval and by Dorrie 's decidedly 
 taking to her. 
 
 The news of Miss Kimmidge 's arrival and prob- 
 able success was soon made known to the Needle- 
 work Guild, and thence was spread throughout the 
 town. Dear Mrs. Bonham had at last got a nur- 
 sery governess who seemed as if she would do. 
 Dear Mrs. Bonham's nursery governess was do- 
 ing. Dear Mrs. Bonham's nursery governess did. 
 How wise of Mrs. Bonham to make the change! 
 She was no longer "poor," nor was her wisdom 
 questioned. Miss Kimmidge had saved her repu- 
 tation.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 125 
 
 Miss Truefitt, when it was definitely established 
 that Mrs. Bonham was suited, remarked that she 
 had been a precious long time about it; but that 
 was Miss Truefitt all over; and who was she to 
 criticize? The critics who had at one time been 
 inclined to side with her, now joined in the popu- 
 lar approval of Mrs. Bonham 's policy. For Mrs. 
 Bonham had sailed successfully into harbour, and 
 Miss Truefitt 's suggestions of submarine disasters 
 and eventual torpedoing had come to nought. 
 Mrs. Bonham 's sagacity was vindicated and Miss 
 Truefitt 's was squashed by the failure of her own 
 prognostications. 
 
 Meanwhile Miss Kimmidge, her appearance, her 
 attainments, her past, her present and her future, 
 were freely discussed. 
 
 She had never been ''out" before. 
 
 Yes, she had: she had been two years with a 
 friend of Mrs. Bonham 's. That was how Mrs. 
 Bonham heard of her. Mrs. Ansell knew it for 
 a fact. 
 
 But Miss Pitt knew, also as a fact, that she had 
 come straight from home. 
 
 Miss Pottlebury had been informed that Miss 
 Kimmidge had taught in a High School for 
 eighteen months and that her forte was mathemat- 
 ics: whereas Mrs. Markham had it, on the best 
 authority, that her one deficiency was in the direc- 
 tion of figures. 
 
 Miss Pottlebury gave way. She had never quite 
 recovered from the sheep and was disposed to 
 allow that she might have been misinformed.
 
 126 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Mrs. Ansell remarked that she did not pretend 
 to know anything about Miss Kimmidge as a 
 teacher; she went by what she saw; and she 
 thought Miss Kimmidge had nice blue eyes. 
 
 Blue? Miss Truefitt was amazed that anybody 
 should say that Miss Kimmidge 's eyes were blue. 
 They were brown. 
 
 Miss Truefitt, on this point, received popular 
 support; it was carried that Miss Kimmidge 's 
 eyes were brown; but not, as Miss Truefitt also 
 averred, that she had a snub nose. The nose was, 
 some declared, aquiline, others said straight. 
 
 ''Grecian," suggested Miss Truefitt with a sniff. 
 
 Then Miss Kimmidge was tall, she was short, 
 she was fat, she was thin, she was sallow of skin, 
 she had a radiant complexion. 
 
 "But I saw her in church." 
 
 * ' I, also, can see when I am in church. ' ' 
 
 "I saw her coming out and was quite close to 
 her." 
 
 "But 7 was just behind her coming in, and the 
 top of her hat came no higher than my nose." 
 
 Miss Kimmidge was to stay a year. 
 
 No, two. 
 
 No, five. 
 
 Miss Kimmidge was to prepare her pupil for a 
 High School. 
 
 No, she wasn't; she was to take her abroad to 
 learn French and German. 
 
 Not at all; Dorrie was never to leave home. 
 That Mrs. Ansell knew for a fact. 
 
 "Well, 7 heard " began Miss Pitt,
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 127 
 
 And then came a chorus of contradictory facts, 
 all of which could be vouched for. 
 
 Interest reached its apex when Mrs. Bonham 
 announced at one Guild Meeting that Miss Kim- 
 midge would attend the next. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Miss Kimmidge, putting on her hat preparatory 
 to attending the Guild Meeting, tilted it ever so 
 little on one side. It was a concession to a sense 
 of revolt against impending propriety, for Miss 
 Kimmidge had an idea that in the matter of 
 propriety the Needlework Guild would be some- 
 thing in the nature of an apotheosis. She had not 
 wanted to go to the Needlework Guild, and she 
 might have got out of it ; her going was really an 
 act of self-sacrifice, and the swing of the pendu- 
 lum incited in her a desire for self-assertion. 
 Ever since her arrival in Stottleham she had worn 
 her hat perfectly straight ; a straightly placed hat 
 seemed to be demanded by the spirit of the place. 
 To-day she tilted it; not sufficiently to appear 
 rakish, but to the point of being slightly provoca- 
 tive. 
 
 Miss Kimmidge, standing, as it were, on the 
 brink of the Needlework Guild, had had in her 
 own hands the alternatives of drawing back or of 
 plunging in. Because of Hannah she had chosen 
 to plunge in. For on that afternoon Dorrie had 
 been asked to tea at the Saunders-Parrs', and
 
 128 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Dorrie of course had to be taken to Layfield Lodge 
 and brought back again. As to the fetching there 
 was no difficulty ; Miss Kimmidge could call for her 
 after the Guild Meeting; it was as to the going 
 that the rub arose. For if Miss Kimmidge went 
 to the Guild Meeting, it would devolve upon 
 Hannah to take Dorrie to Layfield Lodge, and 
 would it be too much encouragement . . .1 
 Georgina was divided between her unwillingness 
 to encourage the relations between Hannah and 
 Dorrie and her need of Miss Kammidge 's services, 
 for the Guild season was nearly at an end and work 
 was rather in arrears owing to the marriage of 
 one member and the illness of another. More- 
 over, there was in the back of her mind a half- 
 avowed desire to present to a section of Stottle- 
 ham her presentable nursery governess with the 
 tidy hair. In this dilemma she had consulted Miss 
 Kimmidge. 
 
 "We badly need help at the Knickerbockers; 
 but if you come . . . There's Dorrie, you see. 
 She 's not asked till a quarter to four. ' ' 
 
 It was then that Hannah, with a hot-water can 
 and hungry eyes, arose on the surface of Miss 
 Kimmidge 's inner vision. 
 
 "Couldn't Hannah . . .?" she said tentatively. 
 
 " I 'd thought of that. But you know what I told 
 you. I don't want to encourage her, or indeed 
 Dorrie, to be together." 
 
 "No, of course not." Now was Miss Kim- 
 midge's chance to get out of the Guild Meeting: 
 she had but to put a spoke in Hannah's wheel
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 129 
 
 and smash it went and the Guild Meeting with 
 it. On the other hand Hannah . . . really a dear 
 old thing and rather a pitiful old thing, turned 
 for half an hour into a delighted old thing ! 
 
 "But still," she added, "once in a way ..." 
 and shook her head wisely, as though to say, 
 "That could do no harm." 
 
 And Mrs. Bonham succumbed to the suggestion ; 
 it jumped with her own wishes, and she decided 
 in favour of the Guild Meeting, the extra hands 
 and the tidy head. 
 
 So now Miss Kimmidge, having put on her hat 
 and buttoned her gloves, awaited Mrs. Bonham in 
 the hall. And presently Mrs. Bonham rustled 
 down. She usually rustled as she moved, but in 
 the rustlings a discriminating ear could detect 
 differences in degree and kind. There was the 
 domestic rustle, prominent especially in summer 
 and more especially in the morning, suggestive of 
 starch. There was the smart silken rustle of 
 society functions. And there was the subdued 
 rustle of church meetings and the Needlework 
 Guild. To-day the rustle came softly down the 
 stairs, and Mrs. Bonham, in clothes of tempered 
 elegance, arrived in the hall. She cast at Miss 
 Kimmidge a critical glance. 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss Kimmidge," she said. 
 "Your hat's a little crooked." 
 
 "Oh!" said Miss Kimmidge. She added: 
 " I 'm sorry. ' ' 
 
 And she had been so glad! 
 
 She went to the glass over the umbrella stand,
 
 130 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 and arranged her hat a la Stottleham, then turned 
 to Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 "Is that all right?" 
 
 "Perfectly. I have never seen your hat the 
 least bit crooked before," said Mrs. Bonham as 
 they set out. 
 
 "No?" said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 Side by side they walked down the High Street, 
 each with a perfectly straight hat. In Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's hat was a waving plume; in Miss Kim- 
 midge's a cock's feather. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 The members of the Needlework Guild were on 
 the tiptoe of expectation. They were almost on 
 tiptoe of their several feet, as Mrs. Bonham, fol- 
 lowed by Miss Kimmidge, entered the room. 
 Every neck was craned, every eye f ocussed. How 
 tall was she really? Supposing her eyes should be 
 blue after all? And what about her complexion? 
 
 She was not tall, barely middle height. Miss 
 Pitt had been right then; she would about come 
 up to the bridge of Miss Pitt's nose. When she 
 came near, you saw that there was no more blue 
 in her eyes than there was in an acorn, that they 
 were brown, of course. As to her complexion, 
 everybody was disappointed. It was not sallow 
 nor was it radiant; it was just an ordinary, 
 healthy, quite nice complexion, such as you might 
 see any day in Stottleham. 
 
 On the whole Miss Kimmidge was rather dis-
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 131 
 
 appointing; she was a trifle 'too ordinary; there 
 was nothing to rave about, for or against. Never- 
 theless the Petticoats, the Nightgowns and the 
 Chemises were somewhat envious of the Knicker- 
 bockers, for to the Knickerbocker table it was that 
 Miss Kimmidge was destined, and you cannot 
 really tell what a person is like unless you enter 
 into conversation with that person. 
 
 The Knickerbockers, however, did not gather 
 very much from Miss Kimmidge 's conversation. 
 Miss Kimmidge was demure; she was sparing of 
 remark and concentrated her attention on her 
 work. In truth she found it dull, quite as dull as 
 she had expected ; the straightening of her hat had 
 damped down the little feeling of insubordination 
 and she felt herself altogether subordinate; nay, 
 worse, a subordinate, wholly and completely a 
 nursery governess. It was not exhilarating. 
 
 Then, bye and bye, as she gave no indication of 
 horrifying vices or extraordinary views, the 
 Knickerbockers began to look upon her as what 
 she herself felt herself to be Mrs. Bonham's 
 nursery governess, who suited Mrs. Bonham. 
 Such an aspect diminished the interest in her. 
 The interest, indeed, had been immensely height- 
 ened 'by her predecessors. Had the first nursery 
 governess "done," she would soon have been done 
 with as far as the curiosity of the various layers 
 of Stottleham society was concerned; it was the 
 number, the variety, the vices and the views of the 
 procession which had passed through Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's schoolroom that had raised a cumulative in-
 
 132 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 terest in nursery governesses as a species. If 
 Miss Kimmidge proved neither violent nor vicious, 
 peculiar nor perverse, there would be nothing to 
 differentiate her from the known inhabitants of 
 the known world, and her position would have to 
 be determined, not by her capacity for evoking 
 horror, but by her social status. And they all, 
 from the highest to the lowest, knew what that 
 was. Mrs. Bonham was a social pillar, and stood 
 majestic on a base as broad as that of society it- 
 self. But Mrs. Bonham 's nursery governess had 
 next to no base ; she was, as it were, but a ballet 
 dancer on the social stage, with no wider or more 
 solid social standing than was to be gained by 
 pirouetting on the toes of a single foot. 
 
 Nevertheless, they observed Miss Kimmidge 
 with lurking expectation ; for who could tell what 
 dramatic surprise might not leap forth from her 
 lips, or issue in unwonted action? They ques- 
 tioned her, one by one, and all listened to her an- 
 swers, longing with a longing to themselves un- 
 confessed for anarchic utterances which never 
 came. Miss Kimmidge appeared to go regularly 
 to church ; she smoked no cigarettes, walked in no 
 processions, stood up for no rights, animal or 
 feminine, and seemed convinced that Britannia 
 should rule the waves. 
 
 The nearest thing to a thrill came when Miss 
 Pottlebury questioned her upon the subject of 
 working-parties. Had she been accustomed to at- 
 tend them? 
 
 No, she had never been to one before.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 133 
 
 This looked more promising. 
 
 "How was that!" Mrs. Markham made haste 
 to enquire. 
 
 "I had no time for any sewing when I lived at 
 home, except the mending," answered Miss Kim- 
 midge. "You see there were all the boys' socks 
 and pants and breeches." 
 
 Was it quite seemly to mention such articles? 
 Pants? and especially breeches? The Knicker- 
 bockers pricked up their ears : so did the workers 
 at the other tables, for Miss Kimmidge, when she 
 got as far as breeches, was on the verge of a 
 sneeze, and the word came out with a gasp on a 
 rather high note. 
 
 Breeches! What could the nursery governess 
 be talking about? Perhaps, after all, she was 
 fast. The Chemises, the Nightgowns and the 
 Petticoats harboured a secret excitement: good- 
 ness only knew what Rabelaisian tendencies were 
 hidden beneath a respectable exterior : there was a 
 possibility that Miss Kimmidge might shock them 
 after all. 
 
 At Miss Kimmidge 's own table, however, such 
 an illusion did not persist. It was obvious that 
 she spoke in innocence, not in indecency. If the 
 breeches even had been men's breeches. But they 
 were only boys', and those boys her brothers. It 
 might be that she was not fastidious, but there was 
 .nothing wrong. It only amounted to this that 
 dear Mrs. Bonham's nursery governess was not, 
 in refinement, altogether on the level of dear Mrs. 
 Bonham. But, then, what could you expect?
 
 134 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 If Miss Kimmidge had known what was expected 
 of her, she might have been tempted to rise to the 
 occasion. But she did not know, and it did not 
 occur to her imagination that the sober atmosphere 
 of the Needlework Guild would have been agree- 
 ably stirred by a breath of scandal. She had been 
 brought to do her bit and she did it. When it was 
 done, she awaited further orders from Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. 
 
 Now the Guild Meeting was over at four-thirty, 
 and Dorrie was to be fetched at five-thirty; there 
 was therefore an hour before Miss Kimmidge 
 could fetch her. She had supposed that she would 
 return to the Beeches and have tea before setting 
 out for Layfield Lodge; but here came in a little 
 plot arranged by Mrs. Vearing with her dear 
 Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 Dr. Rayke having passed judgment on Miss 
 Kimmidge, it was arranged that Mrs. Vearing 
 should now take stock of her; and what occasion 
 could be more opportune than the one now pre- 
 sented? So when the work was over and Miss 
 Kimmidge came to await further directions, Mrs. 
 Bonham introduced her to Mrs. Vearing and Mrs. 
 Vearing said: 
 
 ( 'I am hoping you will come with me to the 
 Vicarage. It is nearer the Lodge than the 
 Beeches, and I should be so pleased to give you a 
 cup of tea and have a chat till it is time for you to 
 go for darling Dorrie. ' '
 
 THE .SUBSTITUTES 135 
 
 Miss Kimmidge looked at Mrs. Bonham, and 
 Mrs. Bonham smiled and murmured: "Most 
 kind, I'm sure": upon which Miss Kimmidge re- 
 plied that she should be delighted. 
 
 So when the work was all put away, she accom- 
 panied Mrs. Vearing. She had taken rather a 
 fancy to Mrs. Vearing, and Mrs. Vearing, on her 
 side, was favourably impressed by Miss Kim- 
 midge. 
 
 "A little too stiff about the hair and hat," she 
 was thinking, "to be quite artistic, but dear Mrs. 
 Bonham, I know, puts neatness before aestheti- 
 cism." 
 
 Did Miss Kimmidge divine her thoughts! or 
 was it the effect of Mrs. Vearing 's front hair ar- 
 ranged a coup de vent? Anyhow, this is what hap- 
 pened. Arrived in the Vicarage drawing-room, 
 Mrs. Vearing threw off her hat and veil, display- 
 ing the careless waves which surmounted her fore- 
 head. 
 
 "Would you like to take off Oh, you 
 
 haven't a veil, I see," she said to Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "No," said Miss Kimmidge, "but I will just 
 see if my hat's all right, if you'll allow me." 
 
 "Of course." Mrs. Vearing waved her hand 
 towards the mantelpiece. "There's a mir- 
 ror. ..." 
 
 Miss Kimmidge went over to the mirror, and, 
 raising her hands to her head, tilted the straight- 
 setting hat a little to one side a little more to 
 one side than she had originally placed it at the 
 Beeches.
 
 136 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Mrs. Vearing noticed the change ; her glance as 
 Miss Kimmidge returned to her chair was a note of 
 interrogation; and Miss Kimmidge was conscious 
 of the glance. 
 
 "Some people's hats," she said, "are meant to 
 be worn straight and go -crooked, and some are 
 meant to be a little on one side and go straight." 
 
 There was a touch of apology in her voice, a 
 touch of deprecation in her eyes. 
 
 "Mrs. Bonham, I think," said Mrs. Vearing, 
 "likes rather a a formal way of wearing hats." 
 
 "Of course," said Miss Kimmidge, still with the 
 deprecating eyes, "I should always wear my hat 
 as Mrs. Bonham wished when with Mrs. Bon- 
 ham; or indeed with Dorrie." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing smiled ; the reply pleased her. It 
 betokened, she thought, a becoming deference to 
 the opinions of dear Mrs. Bonham, with, at the 
 same time, a leaning towards her own artistic pro- 
 clivities. The smile encouraged Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "When I'm on my own ..." she proceeded, 
 and stopped, partly because it was difficult to put 
 into words what she had in her mind, and partly 
 because she was fearful that she had, in her own 
 parlance, "said a slang." 
 
 But Mrs. Vearing was so little versed in slang 
 that she did not even recognize it when she met 
 it, and she had a secret sympathy with the angle 
 of Miss Kimmidge 's hat. 
 
 "It looks very nice as it is, my dear," she said; 
 and Miss Kimmidge instantly denned her as a 
 sweet old thing.
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 137 
 
 "I think," Mrs. Vearing went on, "that you 
 have never been away from home before?" 
 
 "Never," said Miss Kimmidge. She added, 
 Mrs. Vearing being a sweet, sympathetic old thing : 
 "It was rather a wrench." 
 
 "I am sure it must have been." Mrs. Vear- 
 ing 's tone was condoling, but she went on with 
 cheerful utterance : * * But you could not be more 
 delightfully placed, could not have a happier home 
 than with dear Mrs. Bonham." 
 
 "I suppose not. And Dorrie is a duck." 
 
 It seemed safe to say duck to Mrs. Vearing, and 
 it proved to be saf a 
 
 Mrs. Vearing responded: "A duck of ducks." 
 
 "You know Hannah, of course," said Miss Kim- 
 midge. 
 
 "Oh yes, poor Hannah!" Mrs. Vearing's tone 
 was that of the gravedigger apostrophizing poor 
 Yorick; then again she was uplifted on the wings 
 of cheerfulness. "But Mrs. Bonham has been 
 charmingly kind to her. Instead of sending her 
 away, as she might have done ' 
 
 Mrs. Vearing paused, and Miss Kimmidge said : 
 "Quite so." 
 
 "As she might have done, as most people would 
 have done, she offered to keep her on as house- 
 maid." 
 
 "Very kind," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "Generous. I was very glad about it, for poor 
 Hannah is devoted to Dorrie ; it would have broken 
 her heart to leave her. And between ourselves I 
 think Dorrie . ."
 
 138 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Mrs. Vearing suddenly pulled up : she felt that 
 she was treading on delicate, not to say dangerous, 
 possibly even disloyal ground. 
 
 "How do you like my chintz?" she asked. 
 
 "I think it's sweet. I wanted to say so as soon 
 as I came in, but didn't like to." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing smiled, and this time it was not a 
 limited smile, as when she had smiled over the 
 hat, but full and broad a cafe complet as com- 
 pared with a cafe simple. For Miss Kimmidge 
 had assailed her sympathy at a vulnerable point. 
 Stottleham, if it did not drslike, did not appreciate 
 Mrs. Vearing 's chintzes, and Mrs. Vearing, in the 
 matter of chintzes, fancied herself. Even dear 
 Mrs. Bonham's opinion in respect of chair-covers 
 she did not regard as equal to her own. 
 
 Georgina certainly had a soberer taste, and she 
 was more orderly than enterprising; her chair- 
 covers were better made and of a more ordinary 
 pattern than Mrs. Vearing 's. She eyed Mrs. 
 Vearing 's exuberances, not exactly askance, but 
 with an eye unlighted by admiration. But Miss 
 Kimmidge Mrs. Vearing had hopes of Miss Kim- 
 midge. She would probably appreciate the effect 
 of white muslin curtains against the glowing 
 colours of the chintz, and the additional daintiness 
 of the frills : she would probably, also, really like 
 sitting in the arbour and enjoy having tea in it. 
 Mrs. Vearing made up her mind that later on, 
 when the weather was a little warmer, she would 
 invite Miss Kimmidge to spend the afternoon and 
 they would have tea in the garden.
 
 THE -SUBSTITUTES 139 
 
 The Vicar, coming in at tea-time, received the 
 impression that Miss Kimmidge was rather a 
 jaunty young person; and as a matter of fact 
 she was, that afternoon, with the Vicar, just a 
 thought jaunty. The hat was really at the bottom 
 of it, but the Vicar did not know this ; neither did 
 Miss Kimmidge. Mr. Vearing was incapable of 
 noting the angle at which a hat was poised, and 
 had it been pointed out to him, he would not 
 have realized the angle's significance; and Miss 
 Kimmidge, on her side, was unaware how far the 
 altering of the angle had altered her mood. But 
 it had, in fact, removed the sense of repression, 
 and Mrs. Vearing 's words and smiles had assisted 
 in raising the little reactionary wave of elation on 
 which she was now lifted. She felt more like Pat 
 and less like Miss Kimmidge than she had felt 
 since her arrival at Stottleham. 
 
 Therefore she smiled at the Vicar; then, when 
 the Vicar said that he wanted somehow to call 
 her Miss Cribbage instead of Miss Kimmidge, she 
 laughed; and, as Dr. Rayke had observed, she 
 looked her best when she laughed. The mere 
 laugh, apart from what she looked like, appealed 
 to the Vicar, for most people did not like jokes 
 about their names. Mr. Vearing had an awful 
 memory of a pun in which Bone- 'em occurred, and 
 upon which he had ventured in the expectation of 
 amusing Alicia's dearest friend. The amusement
 
 140 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 had not come off, and afterwards Alicia . . . 
 Since that day he had refrained from witticisms 
 of the kind, but there was something about Miss 
 Kimmidge that aroused what he himself called 
 and surely one may joke about one's own name 
 the old Adam. 
 
 So that when Miss Kimmidge laughed because 
 her name reminded Mr. Vearing of cribbage, Mr. 
 Vearing was agreeably impressed by her capacity 
 for seeing a joke. He did not, of course, know 
 that it was the very poorness of the joke which 
 was the chief cause of her laughter, did not know 
 that she thought it so funny of him to think it 
 funny. 
 
 So the tea-party was a great success; so^great 
 that Mrs. Vearing was impelled to sit down and 
 write a testimonial to Miss Kimmidge 's satisfac- 
 toriness for Miss Kimmidge to take 'back to Mrs. 
 Bonham. 
 
 "You will excuse me," she said, "if I write a 
 note. There is a little matter about which I have 
 to send information to Mrs. Bonham, and if you 
 will take it by hand, it will save time and postage. ' ' 
 
 This was Mrs. Vearing 's artfulness, for Miss 
 Kimmidge was not to dream that the note was 
 about herself, and Mrs. Vearing as she went to her 
 bureau plumed herself on her diplomacy; for she 
 had not even prevaricated, and yet Miss Kimmidge 
 nobody, could possibly guess what was the pur- 
 port of the note. 
 
 Miss Kimmidge certainly did not; she did not 
 even try; she went on talking to the Vicar and
 
 THE SUBSTITUTES 141 
 
 listening to him and laughing, while Mrs. Vearing 
 wrote her note. 
 
 1 ' MY DEAR MRS. BONHAM, 
 
 "I am sending you a hasty line to tell you that 
 Adam and I are both most favourably impressed 
 by Miss Kimmidge, and feel sure that she will do. 
 Not over intellectual, I should say, but with " 
 
 She was about to write " artistic leanings," but 
 paused and substituted ' * a simple straightforward 
 nature." 
 
 "a simple straightforward nature, the kind 
 of person you would desire and we would all de- 
 sire to be the companion of darling Dome. De- 
 tails I will keep till we meet, but I cannot refrain 
 from giving you at once this outline of our first 
 impressions. 
 
 "As always, dear Mrs. Bonham, 
 
 "Your affectionate friend, 
 
 "A. V." 
 
 Miss Kimmidge took the note and departed for 
 Layfield Lodge. She paused on her way thither 
 before a shop window and once more altered the 
 angle of her hat; no longer jaunty, she was able 
 immediately upon her arrival at the Beeches to 
 take Mrs. Vearing 's note to Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 Georgina read the note with satisfaction. She 
 had more respect for Mrs. Vearing 's first impres- 
 sions than for her maturer judgment; and the 
 Vicar, though she did not attach much weight to
 
 142 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 his opinion except on religious subjects did not 
 as a rule take to people who were not nice. 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant visit at the Vicar- 
 age?" Georgina asked, refolding the note. 
 
 "Oh, very. They were both charming to me." 
 
 "Mrs. Vearing is most kind and gentle, and the 
 Vicar is so thoroughly conscientious." 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 "And most earnest in the pulpit." 
 
 Georgina preferred the Vicar in the pulpit to 
 the Vicar at large : she would have liked though 
 had the idea been put into words she would have 
 scouted it with horror but she would really have 
 liked to keep him there, only letting him out, as it 
 were, for air and exercise. She regarded him, to 
 some extent, as a horse, admirable in harness and 
 quiet in the stable, but not wholly subject to con- 
 trol when put out to grass. At large she never 
 quite knew where to have him, whereas in his 
 proper place he was all that her fancy, as a pillar 
 of society, painted a pillar of the church.
 
 BOOK III 
 MI88 KIMMIDGE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 FOE the next seven years all went well at the 
 Beeches and in Stottleham. To be sure there 
 were minor misfortunes, such as domestic difficul- 
 ties with unprofitable servants, from which few 
 households were exempt ; and there were bereave- 
 ments. 
 
 Of these Georgina Bonham had her share, in the 
 death of a brother-in-law in India and of an aunt 
 at Cheltenham. She bore the losses with a calm 
 fortitude which Stottleham designated Christian. 
 Miss Kimmidge had a fleeting, secret notion that 
 the calmness and the fortitude might be partly 
 due to the facts that Mrs. Bonham had not seen 
 the brother-in-law for fifteen years and that the 
 aunt left her five thousand pounds ; but she hardly 
 breathed it to herself, much less to Stottleham. 
 Georgina herself, in agreement with Stottleham, 
 ascribed her composure to Christianity. 
 
 In the case of the aunt she put off a garden 
 party without even a murmur at the expense and 
 inconvenience incurred ; and her mourning on both 
 occasions was, as all Stottleham agreed, in the 
 best of taste ; not overdone, but with no grudging 
 in outlay ; just like dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 143
 
 144 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 By the time of the second death, that of the 
 aunt, which occurred four years after Miss Kim- 
 midge's arrival, Miss Kimmidge had become a 
 Stottleham institution. She was firmly estab- 
 lished at the Beeches, and therefore established in 
 Stottleham. And she was no longer Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's nursery governess who might possibly do, 
 who did positively do; she was that nice Miss 
 Kimmidge ; and that nice Miss Kimmidge was as 
 fully accepted though of course in a different 
 way as was dear Mrs. Bonham herself. 
 
 Her success was owing partly to her tact, and 
 partly to her simplicity. Tactful she was and 
 shrewd, but with no capacity for double-dealing; 
 the fact that she wore her hat straight when in the 
 company of Dorrie and her mother and tilted it 
 when she went out to tea without them was the 
 extent of her duplicity ; and while she did not act 
 the dragon to Hannah, neither did she fail towards 
 Mrs. Bonham in the character of watch-dog. So 
 that those who at first were disposed to designate 
 her deep eventually termed her transparent; and 
 perhaps she was no more one than the other. 
 
 But in the rearing of her reputation she had had 
 perilous moments, and one of these it lasted 
 between a fortnight and three weeks occurred not 
 long after her arrival. 
 
 The peril was in the form of Dr. Rayke. 
 
 Rayke had thought that Miss Kimmidge looked 
 nice when she laughed, and it occurred to him that 
 he would like to see her laugh again. Experience 
 confirmed his first impression, and, on the pretext
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 145 
 
 to himself and Georgina that it was desirable to 
 test Miss Kimmidge by dropping in upon her un- 
 awares, he paid frequent visits to the schoolroom, 
 and found as a result that Miss Kimmidge, who 
 certainly did look very nice when she laughed, 
 looked also rather nice when she didn't. 
 
 It cannot be said that Rayke ever seriously con- 
 templated the idea of installing Miss Kimmidge 
 in the place which Mrs. Bonham, unknown to him- 
 self, had already declined. It may be that dreams 
 may have arisen within him and that he recog- 
 nized them as merely dreams; it may be that he 
 did not dream at all, but that, finding Miss Kim- 
 midge pleasant to look upon, he just let himself 
 drift; such things have been known, even in 
 methodically minded gentlemen of fifty. Anyhow, 
 it came to pass that one day, finding Miss Kim- 
 midge alone in the garden, Rayke made eyes at 
 her. 
 
 There could be no doubt as to what he was mak- 
 ing. Miss Kimmidge had no doubt, and her 
 shrewdness at once perceived the salient points 
 in the situation. The most obvious one was that 
 Rayke was a silly old thing; the most important 
 was that Mrs. Bonham would be deeply annoyed 
 chiefly with Miss Kimmidge; the one that de- 
 manded immediate attention was the putting out 
 of the eyes that Rayke was making. 
 
 So when Rayke, languishing, said: "I suppose 
 you look upon me as quite old," Miss Kimmidge, 
 instead of responding with the denial he expected, 
 replied: "Oh, but I don't mind people being old,
 
 146 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 you know, so long as they have their faculties ; and 
 you still have." 
 
 It put an end to the peril. Eayke, though Miss 
 Kimmidge laughed as she spoke, did not think she 
 looked nice as she did it; he thought indeed she 
 looked horrid. 
 
 From that moment he ceased to test her; Mrs. 
 Bonham, he told himself, must look after her own 
 governess. For Miss Kimmidge had re-become 
 no more and no less than the nursery governess 
 at the Beeches, and very soon he forgot that he 
 had ever looked upon her as anything else. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The garden party which had been put off in 
 June took place in September, and the day chosen 
 for it was Dome's birthday. Because it was 
 Dome's birthday, there was a children's party 
 which went on side by side with the grown-up 
 party, and a special bit of the garden, with a 
 special tea-table, was set apart for Dorrie and her 
 friends. 
 
 People liked Mrs. Bonham 's parties, because 
 everything was so nicely done. Georgina, when 
 she entertained, was not obtrusively lavish, but she 
 was generously adequate. There was plenty of 
 champagne cup and claret cup, and both were ex- 
 cellently brewed. That was Rayke's department. 
 Georgina and Rayke both considered that any- 
 thing to do with alcohol was man's province and
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 147 
 
 beyond the discrimination of woman's palate; and 
 although Georgina really had a correct taste in 
 the matter of claret, hock, champagne and port, 
 and a subtle appreciation of liqueurs, she always 
 consulted Rayke on the contents of her cellar, and 
 handed over to him the whole responsibility of 
 garden-party beverages; those, that is to say, in 
 which alcohol played a part. 
 
 The lemonade, the tea, and the coffee, both iced 
 and hot, were, she considered, entirely within the 
 sphere of feminine capacity, as also the whole 
 of the food, and there could be no doubt that 
 achievement supported her theory. Everybody 
 said that there was no hostess in the town, or in- 
 deed the neighbourhood, who provided such nice 
 teas as dear Mrs. Bonham; such delicious fruit, 
 such dainty cakes, such a variety of sandwiches. 
 
 The everybody who came to the garden party 
 did not of course mean the everybody of Stottle- 
 ham at large. Miss Pottlebury, for instance, and 
 Mrs. Markham and many others were only invited 
 to the Beeches when the entertainment had a phil- 
 anthropic, a religious or a political flavour: but 
 at every entertainment, however mixed, the food 
 and drink were excellent, and most people of re- 
 spectability in Stottleham had had an opportunity 
 of testing not only Mrs. Bonham 's cakes, tea and 
 coffee, but also her ices, even her claret cup. The 
 champagne cup was purely social. 
 
 At Dorrie 's table under the beech tree, there was 
 no cup of any kind, but there were peaches and 
 grapes and there were also ices. Miss Kim-
 
 148 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 midge had been told to keep an eye on the ices, 
 lest the guests should too flagrantly court indiges- 
 tion; but the eye that Miss Kimmidge kept 
 winked even as it winked at the tenderness of 
 Hannah. She did exercise a certain controlling 
 supervision, but she could not be a dragon all the 
 time; intermittently she was next door to a con- 
 federate, and the amount of strawberry-cream ice 
 which disappeared under the beech tree was out 
 of all proportion to the number of the guests. 
 But then, as Miss Kimmidge explained afterwards 
 to Mrs. Bonham, there were many guests who did 
 not properly belong to Dorrie's party and yet 
 partook of refreshments under Dorrie's tree. 
 There was, for instance, Pat Saunders-Parr, who 
 was twenty-one, and his sister, who was eighteen ; 
 whereas Dorrie's only real guest in the family was 
 Gwendolen, who was twelve. And besides the 
 Saunders-Parrs there was their cousin, Len For- 
 tescue, a boy of sixteen, and various other people 
 who had no business to eat ices at Dorrie's table. 
 
 Dorrie, at the party, had long black legs and 
 short white skirts and a Panama hat, and Len 
 Fortescue said she was the prettiest kid he had 
 seen for a long time. She enjoyed herself im- 
 mensely except when Len pretended to choke 
 over a peach and made her almost sick with fear ; 
 and everybody complimented dear Mrs. Bonham 
 upon her charming little girl. 
 
 Georgina herself was radiant. She knew that 
 in her carefully selected black and white and her 
 new London hat she was looking her best, and she
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 149 
 
 knew that Eayke eyed her with approval. She had 
 not realized Rayke's lapse in the direction of Miss 
 Kimmidge; it had been too short-lived and too 
 little encouraged by Miss Kimmidge to be overt 
 to Georgina's perception: but she did realize that 
 on this afternoon Rayke was subject to a re- 
 crudescence of the livelier phase of his devotion 
 to herself; and the realization was pleasant. It 
 was agreeable to be considered desirable even 
 though the desire were unpractical: agreeable too 
 that the confidential friend should behold the ad- 
 miration and deference accorded to her by friends 
 not confidential. It showed him how many others 
 there were who would be glad to step into his 
 shoes and how careful he should be not to with- 
 draw his feet. So Georgina, with a flush upon her 
 face which was very becoming, and conscious that 
 she was an all-round success, out-Bonhamed Mrs. 
 Bonham in dearness, and thoroughly enjoyed her- 
 self. 
 
 Yet her chief satisfaction was not in her own 
 success, but in the success of Dorrie : the position 
 of Dorrie 's mother meant more to her than even 
 the position of Mrs. Bonham, who was in the best 
 set in Stottleham, and not only that, but branched 
 out in acquaintances beyond Stottleham into the 
 surrounding county. And indeed the crown of 
 Georgina's enjoyment of the party was that the 
 enthusiasm of the county vied with the enthusiasm 
 of Stottleham in admiration of Dorrie. 
 
 "What a charming child! Such a sweet little 
 face. Aren 't you proud of her ! ' '
 
 150 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "She is pretty, I think." Georgina tried to 
 make her voice judicial. "But then, you see . . . 
 a mother's eyes ..." 
 
 "But I assure you that no eyes could think her 
 anything else. She's quite a picture." 
 
 Then a little further on it was: 
 
 "Your Dorrie is the belle of the party. Such 
 a darling to look at and the dearest little 
 manners." 
 
 Georgina went beaming on her way. She had 
 a moment when she would have liked to take 
 Dorrie in her arms and hug her, but she did 
 not of course do anything of the kind; such an 
 exhibition of affection would have been un- 
 seemly. 
 
 Under the beech tree, Hannah, serving out re- 
 freshments, also beamed. To feast her eyes upon 
 Dorrie and to hear the comments made upon her 
 was quite enough to transport Hannah to the sev- 
 enth heaven; and in the seventh heaven she re- 
 mained most of the afternoon, sacrificing an ice- 
 plate and a teacup to the loftiness of her position. 
 A duke in a few years certainly nothing less. 
 But would even a duke . . .? Eoyalty itself 
 would hardly . . . 
 
 "Please will you give me another ice the 
 cream for Miss Bonham ! ' ' 
 
 Down came Hannah from the seventh heaven to 
 the ice-pail. 
 
 "She's had four, sir, and I don't know " 
 
 "But she wants it awfully, and they don't keep, 
 you know. She can 't have any to-morrow. : 
 
 > ?
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 151 
 
 It was Len Fortescue who pleaded, and Len had 
 pleading eyes as well as a pleading voice. 
 
 Hannah hesitated, and cast a beseeching glance 
 at Dorrie. Dorrie understood the glance and came 
 over to her. 
 
 "I'm not a bit sick, and they're lovely Nurse. " 
 
 She hardly ever called Hannah Nurse now, only 
 on special occasions, if Hannah had a headache or 
 a toothache or Dorrie a supreme desire. How 
 could Hannah do anything but give in to her ? 
 
 "You'll have one too," Dorrie said to Len. 
 
 "I don't know that I can." 
 
 1 1 Oh, you must ! A water one at any rate. ' ' 
 
 "All right, a water one." 
 
 "Cherry or lemon, sir?" 
 
 "Oh, cherry, won't you?" said Dome. "It's 
 more delicious." 
 
 "Cherry, please." 
 
 The two retired, Len carrying both the plates, 
 and sat down on a rug that was laid at the foot of 
 the beech tree. 
 
 "If he'd have been a prince," thought Hannah, 
 "I don't know but what . . ." 
 
 Something gripped her, inside, and strangled the 
 thought. She did not want a concrete prince, and 
 Len Fortescue was concrete: what she really 
 wanted was that Dorrie should never grow up.
 
 152 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTEE III 
 
 If Miss Kimmidge had been on the spot it is 
 doubtful whether Dorrie would have eaten her fifth 
 ice, but Miss Kimmidge, through no fault of her 
 own, was not anywhere near the spot when Dorrie 
 and Len began upon the strawberry cream and 
 cherry water. She had been commissioned by 
 Mrs. Bonham to fetch smelling salts for a lady 
 a county lady who felt faint, and she did not re- 
 turn to the 'beech tree till the ices had disappeared, 
 and the plates had gone into the tub behind Han- 
 nah's table. Nevertheless upon Miss Kimmidge 's 
 shoulders fell the blame of the indisposition which 
 resulted from the ices. 
 
 "I told you to look after her," said Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. "You know what children are." 
 
 "I did look after her as much as I could," Miss 
 Kimmidge answered deprecatingly. * * But I think 
 it's partly the excitement." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham pondered. "Perhaps," she said. 
 "Dorrie, of course, is very sensitive." 
 
 Dorrie, as a matter of fact, was neither more nor 
 less sensitive than most children; in her nervous 
 organization she was pretty well normal; but it 
 was more in accord with Georgina's idea of her 
 that she should suffer from emotional rather than 
 stomachic disturbances. Even Rayke considered 
 that what would have been hysterical in Miss Kim- 
 midge was permissible and even interesting in 
 Mrs. Bonham's only child; and when Mrs. Bonham 
 consulted him as a friend, for Rayke no longer
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 153 
 
 practised he adopted Miss Kimmidge's sugges- 
 tion, put forward to him by Georgina as her own. 
 
 Rayke came, as so often he came to the Beeches, 
 in answer to a note sent by hand. The note on this 
 occasion was not welcome. Eayke was busy with 
 his botany, and was not at all eager to go and state 
 the very obvious reason why Dorrie had been sick. 
 He was inclined to swear and did in fact relieve his 
 feelings by swearing: but he sent back a polite 
 message to the effect that he would be at the 
 Beeches in half an hour. On his way his annoy- 
 ance dissolved. He had a greater tenderness of 
 feeling for Dorrie than he had ever had for any- 
 body, save for the late Mrs. Eayke before he had 
 married her ; and the glamour of the garden party 
 still hovered about the figure of Georgina. So 
 that he arrived at the Beeches in a mood befitting 
 the confidential and devoted friend. 
 
 Miss Kimmidge received him. Miss Kimmidge, 
 who at the time of the eye-making had been care- 
 fully demure, was now deferentially casual. 
 Rayke for her had become definitely and perma- 
 nently a funny old thing; while he, on his side, had 
 forgotten that he had ever looked at her through 
 anything less prosaic than an eyeglass. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, Miss Kimmidge informed him, 
 was in Dorrie 's room. Would he be so kind as to 
 go up f Rayke went up. 
 
 Georgina, the flush of yesterday departed, was 
 still illumined by the afterglow of success : she did 
 not appear so attractive as she had appeared in the 
 midst of her guests, but still, Rayke thought, she
 
 154 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 looked rather nice. Dorrie, in the whitest of white 
 night-dresses and a little pale blue bed-jacket, was 
 rather enjoying herself. All sorts of toys and 
 books were gathered around her, and Kimmy and 
 Mummy were her devoted slaves : Hannah, more- 
 over, while Mummy was at breakfast, had crept 
 in and revelled in a quarter of an hour of slavery. 
 
 Rayke, having tested tongue and pulse, pro- 
 nounced further doctoring unnecessary. Yes, no 
 doubt she had been over-excited, and the excite- 
 ment had helped to upset her digestion. Let her 
 be kept quiet to-day and on a light diet, and she 
 would be all right to-morrow. She could get up 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 Georgina's chief care, after the verdict was to 
 know whether the diet should be confined to liquid 
 food, or should it include chicken? Dorrie 's 
 anxiety was to know whether she might have 
 lemonade. Mummy had only given her plain 
 water, and when she had the measles she had had 
 lemonade. And she knew there was a lot over 
 from the party. 
 
 "I thought it might upset her again," said Geor- 
 gina. "I thought probably she had too much 
 yesterday." 
 
 "But I didn't, Mummy; lemonade was what I 
 didn't have." 
 
 Rayke pronounced in favour of the lemonade, 
 thereby earning a fervent kiss from Dorrie, and 
 also approval from Georgina, who always pre- 
 ferred that Dorrie 's desires should be gratified 
 rather than thwarted.
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 155 
 
 His visit completely did away with Georgina's 
 slight anxiety and left her free to recall the many 
 flattering incidents of the day before. It also 
 completely restored to favour the censured Miss 
 Kimmidge, who, initiating the theory of Dome's 
 sensitiveness, had been proved a correct diagnosti- 
 cian. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Miss Kimmidge was delighted to feel once more 
 the sunshine of Mrs. Bonham's approval. Ac- 
 cepted by Stottleham, she had accepted, to a large 
 extent, the Stottleham attitude and outlook; she 
 too was disposed to regard Georgina as dear Mrs. 
 Bonham. To be sure she still suffered from some 
 of dear Mrs. Bonham's limitations the very 
 limitations which endeared Mrs. Bonham to 
 Stottleham ; but Georgina's kindness and the 
 generous comfort which pervaded her household 
 appealed to Miss Kimmidge and built up in her 
 loyalty and even affection. 
 
 As for the limitations, so long as you respected 
 and did not attempt to combat them, everything 
 was all right; so why not respect them? If Mrs. 
 Bonham in regard to Hannah, was not so gener- 
 ous in feeling as in food, it was better to attempt 
 in no way to alter the feeling, but to make 
 Hannah's path as smooth as might be. If, in con- 
 nection with nursery governesses, Mrs. Bonham 
 had ideas which could not be classed as broad, it 
 was better in no wise to rebel against a narrow-
 
 156 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ness which, as far as Miss Kimmidge was con- 
 cerned, manifested itself only in ways which did 
 not matter. If some of Mrs. Bonham's views were 
 first cousins to prejudice, it was better to accept 
 the relationship than to make any effort to sever 
 it. Miss Kimmidge 's ultimate conviction was that 
 Mrs. Bonham was a kind and really a dear old 
 thing, and in the depths of that conviction she 
 buried all that was not wholly pleasant to contem- 
 plate. 
 
 It may be, too, that Mrs. Bonham came within 
 the influence of the spell which now for Miss Kim- 
 midge beautified and beatified all Stottleham. 
 Miss Pottlebury, innocent and ambitious, had from 
 the beginning taken a fancy to Miss Kimmidge, 
 had shown her little attentions, and on the first 
 opportunity had asked her to tea. Miss Kim- 
 midge, appreciating the kindness shown her, can 
 hardly be said to have reciprocated the fancy ; and 
 certainly Miss Pottlebury 's society was not of a 
 nature to invest all Stottleham with charm. But 
 Miss Pottlebury had a brother. 
 
 The brother did not appear at the first tea- 
 party, nor the second, nor the third, nor indeed 
 at all till Miss Kimmidge had been three years 
 in Stottleham. Then he was transferred from the 
 American branch of a business in New York to the 
 English house in London, and then he came down 
 to spend a week with Myra. Miss Pottlebury 's 
 name was Myra. 
 
 Miss Pottlebury 's brother was not the least like 
 Miss Pottlebury, except in a general, indeterminate
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 157 
 
 way. He was tall, as was also Miss Pottlebury, 
 and fair, and had eyes which, like hers, were more 
 blue than anything else. But whereas Miss Pot- 
 tlebury, whose clothes were of such good material 
 that they always outlasted the fashions, looked un- 
 deniably dowdy, Ludovic looked definitely smart. 
 His trousers had a crease down each leg and he 
 had a predilection for spotless linen. 
 
 "He puts on a clean shirt every day," Miss 
 Pottlebury confided to Miss Kimmidge. "Two, 
 sometimes, if it's very hot." 
 
 "I like clean shirts," responded Miss Kim- 
 midge. "It makes all the difference." 
 
 This was some time after Ludovic 's advent, 
 when Miss Kimmidge 's interest in him had begun 
 to be lively. Previous to his appearance, she had 
 been a little bored by Miss Pottlebury 's tales of 
 the brother who was twelve years younger than 
 herself, and "the flower of the Pottlebury flock": 
 but the tales ceased to pall when she became 
 acquainted with the flower. 
 
 The first meeting took place on a Sunday after- 
 noon. 
 
 "Dear Ludovic is coming on Saturday," Miss 
 Pottlebury had said, "and you simply must come 
 and meet him. ' ' 
 
 Miss Pottlebury, planning the introduction of 
 friend to brother, was thrilled with excited expec- 
 tation: Miss Kimmidge, expecting to meet a male 
 Myra, was unthrilled and disposed towards bore- 
 dom. Yet, having no reason for refusing the in- 
 vitation, she accepted it.
 
 158 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Miss Kimmidge, setting out for Miss Pottle- 
 bury 's on Sunday afternoon, had on her best coat 
 and skirt; not because she had any intention or 
 desire to impress Miss Pottlebury's brother, but 
 because it was Sunday; and she stole out of the 
 Beeches with her hat well down over her right ear 
 simply and solely because Miss Pottlebury's was 
 a house in which she could throw off what she 
 called the Stottleham mask. 
 
 And when she got to Miss Pottlebury's, there 
 to repeat a joke of the Vicar's instead of a male 
 Myra, was an ad-mirer. 
 
 The joke was made long after, when Miss Kim- 
 midge confided to the Vicar an account of her first 
 interview with Ludovic, and when even Mrs. Vear- 
 ing was able to laugh at it. At the beginning of 
 Miss Kimmidge 's interest in Ludovic, Mrs. Vear- 
 ing viewed Ludovic with antagonism, it being her 
 pet plan at that time to bring about a romantic 
 attachment between Miss Kimmidge and the 
 curate of a neighbouring parish. The drawback 
 to the plan was that neither the curate nor Miss 
 Kimmidge, though on friendly terms, were stirred 
 by feelings at all romantic ; but nevertheless Mrs. 
 Vearing resented the intrusion of Miss Pottle- 
 bury's brother, and for some time ignored the fact 
 of his existence. 
 
 The result of Mrs. Vearing 's lack of sympathy 
 was that Miss Kimmidge, during the uncertain and 
 exciting days of a courtship necessarily inter-
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 159 
 
 mittent, since it could only be conducted during 
 Ludovic's visits to Miss Pottlebury, avoided the 
 Vicarage, where she had become Mrs. Vearing's 
 nice little friend and laughter-in-ordinary to the 
 Vicar; and in the ups and downs of these days 
 she found her only confidante in Hannah. 
 
 1 'Hannah," Miss Kimmidge would say, "he's 
 coming Saturday for the week-end." 
 
 "You don't say so, Miss Patricia. I hope it'll 
 be fine." 
 
 "I shall go, fine or not fine. Miss Pottlebury 
 has invited me." 
 
 "It's your hat I'm thinking of, Miss." 
 
 "I shall wear the best, wet or fine, because he 
 likes it. I know he does by the way he looked at it ; 
 you can tell, you know. ' ' 
 
 "I daresay, Miss Patricia." 
 
 Another time it was: "Hannah, he saw me 
 home." 
 
 "Never, Miss." 
 
 "Yes, and what do you think!" 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know, Miss." 
 
 "He asked me to call him Ludovic." 
 
 Hannah, lively in interest but laconic in expres- 
 sion, could only repeat : "I never, Miss Patricia !" 
 
 "He did; and so of course what else could I 
 do? I asked him to call me Pat." 
 
 "And did he, Miss?" 
 
 "He wanted me to make it Patty, but I said I 
 couldn't stand that, it reminded me too much of 
 oysters. I always think of oysters and patties to- 
 gether, don't you?"
 
 160 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I don't know that I do, Miss Patricia." 
 
 * ' And what do you think he said 1 ' ' 
 
 ''I'm sure I don't know, Miss Patricia. Per- 
 haps that he'd like to eat you up." 
 
 ' ' Oh no, Hannah, it was something about oysters 
 and pearls too silly really to tell you. ' ' 
 
 ' ' They will talk silly, Miss, at times. My young 
 man that died was just the same." 
 
 Sometimes Miss Kimmidge expressed herself 
 in generalities. Hannah, with the hot-water can, 
 would pause by the washstand while Miss Kim- 
 midge voiced her views, and even when Hannah 
 had toothache, she was ready to listen to Miss Kim- 
 midge. 
 
 " Hannah, if I ever marry, it won't be satin." 
 
 "Not satin, Miss Patricia? But satin and a 
 veil go lovely together," 
 
 "Yes, I know; but it's too rich and shiny for 
 my style. I should like to be married in the 
 summer and have something thin and floating, and 
 a wreath of white roses." 
 
 "Not orange blossoms, Miss Patricia?" 
 
 "No. It's correct, I know, but I always see my- 
 self in roses." 
 
 "I see Miss Dorrie in orange blossoms, Miss, 
 and a lace veil and satin so shiny you could see 
 your face in it." 
 
 "Miss Dorrie 's different, of course. She'd 
 carry it off." 
 
 But Miss Kimmidge had her hours of depres- 
 sion, and then it would be: 
 
 "Hannah, I shall never marry."
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 161 
 
 "Oh, come, Miss," Hannah would say. 
 
 "I don't believe he really cares. He may just 
 be flirting." 
 
 1 1 Oh, no, Miss, from what you tell me of how he 
 carries on." 
 
 "Think of all the girls he must see in London, 
 Hannah. ' ' 
 
 "I shouldn't think nothing about 'em if I was 
 you, Miss." 
 
 "I feel sure I shall die an old maid." 
 
 "Not you, Miss." 
 
 "You don't really think so?" 
 
 "I do, Miss Patricia. I always seem to see you 
 in a 'ome of your own." 
 
 No wonder that Miss Kimmidge in her hours of 
 depression found Hannah not only a dear but also 
 a comforting old thing. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Miss Kimmidge 's courtship had gone on for 
 some time before its existence became known to 
 Georgina. Her enlightenment came finally not 
 through her own observation but through Mrs. 
 Vearing. 
 
 Many people, to be sure, had hinted to dear Mrs. 
 Bonham that that nice Miss Kimmidge was a great 
 deal at Miss Pottlebury's when Mr. Ludovic 
 Pottlebury was at home; but Mrs. Bonham had 
 not heeded the hints. She had not met Mr. Pottle- 
 bury ; she did not frequent the society in which he
 
 162 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 was to be met ; and it seemed to her highly improb- 
 able that the brother of a person so little attrac- 
 tive as Miss Pottlebury could have any attractions 
 for Miss Kimmidge. Miss Kimmidge, perhaps, 
 was amusing herself a little, and for a girl to 
 amuse herself was, Georgina held, pardonably per- 
 missible, provided always that the amusement was 
 moderate and conducted with discretion. And 
 with Miss Pottlebury as chaperone . . .! Geor- 
 gina felt she could comfortably leave Miss Kim- 
 midge to her amusement, especially as it evidently 
 served to keep her bright, and it was desirable that 
 Dome's nursery governess should not fail in 
 brightness. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing, who, as the Vicar's wife, had met 
 Mr. Pottlebury, had noted with jealous distress 
 that his attractions, at any rate for Patricia (Mrs. 
 Vearing had called Miss Kimmidge by her 
 Christian name after a month's acquaintance- 
 ship), far outweighed the attractions of the curate ; 
 but for a long time she said nothing to Georgina. 
 At first she did no.t wish to expose her own designs 
 with regard to the curate ; and then, resigning her- 
 self at last to their failure, she espoused what she 
 called the cause of the lovers. Having espoused 
 it, Mrs. Vearing was a little afraid lest dear Mrs. 
 Bonham might not approve of the espousal. She 
 felt herself to be something of a conspirator, and 
 to conspire against dear Mrs. Bonham was almost 
 an iniquity. 
 
 Nevertheless the position held a charm which 
 she could not resist, and she continued to further
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 163 
 
 the courtship in all sorts of ways. Often did her 
 conscience prick her, often in the presence of her 
 friend did confusion arising from a sense of dis- 
 loyalty overtake her; many a sleepless hour did 
 she pass at night, wondering what dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham would say if she knew ; many a time did she, 
 as it were, confess herself to Adam and invite 
 absolution. 
 
 Adam gave the absolution with.careless prompti- 
 tude, but with a tendency at the same time to 
 present the case in a manner which Alicia felt to 
 be almost brutal in its frankness. 
 
 "My dear Alicia, you can't possibly hunt both 
 with the hare and the hounds. And the hound is 
 quite able to look after herself, so don't bother." 
 
 It was rather dreadful to Mrs. Vearing to hear 
 Mrs. Bonham called a hound, even in metaphor; 
 but she would never be able to make Adam under- 
 stand why it was dreadful, so she replied to the 
 effect that what upset her was that she felt she 
 had failed dear Mrs. Bonham in loyalty. 
 
 "Where in the name of fortune is the dis- 
 loyalty to Mrs. Bonham in asking that nice little 
 girl to meet her young man at tea? 'Tisn't as if 
 Mrs. Bonham wanted him herself." 
 
 "Really, Adam, how can you even think . . . 
 in connection with Mrs. Bonham ..." 
 
 "You make one think all sorts of absurdities, 
 my dear, by being so absurd yourself. Besides, 
 you know you could never keep your finger out of 
 a match-making pie." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing knew she could not, and subsided
 
 164 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 for a time, calmed by Adam's breezy indifference 
 if not by his arguments; then, once more, con- 
 science would urge her to discussion. 
 
 But at last there came a day when, to her in- 
 expressible relief, she found her conduct not only 
 condoned but justified, and more than justified, in 
 the eyes of dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 CHAPTEE VII 
 
 Miss Kimmidge, who had supplanted Nurse, ac- 
 quired, in the course of time, Nurse's disabilities. 
 Not that she had assumed the supremacy in Dor- 
 rie 's world which had, though unadmitted by Geor- 
 gina, been nevertheless the head and front of 
 Nurse's offending: Miss Kimmidge, with Hannah 
 constantly before her, was wise enough to run no 
 risk of playing too prominent a part in her pupil's 
 interest. 
 
 But there was one direction, in respect of which 
 no amount of tact, discretion and niceness could 
 prevent Miss Kimmidge 's position from outgrow- 
 ing Miss Kimmidge. Her accent, unlike Han- 
 nah's, was unassailable, her influence, unlike 
 Hannah's, was limited; but her knowledge was 
 limited as well as her influence, and her capacity 
 as a teacher did not increase with what Mrs. Bon- 
 ham called Dorrie's requirements. Mrs. Bonham, 
 with some reluctance, acknowledged the fact; 
 Eayke, with greater reluctance, and with the 
 search which had preceded Miss Kimmidge vivid
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 165 
 
 in his recollection, confirmed it. Dorrie, to be 
 sure, was not particularly clever, not, indeed, 
 clever at all, and neither Bayke nor Georgina 
 wished her to be more than usually intelligent 
 or more than usually well educated ; their standard 
 of usualness being the standard of Stottleham. 
 But Miss Kimmidge was not even up to Stottle- 
 ham. 
 
 "You couldn't expect it," said Georgina at a 
 consultation tea, "in a nursery governess." 
 
 "You engaged her, if you remember," Eayke 
 replied, "to take the place of Hannah. And to 
 supplant Hannah well, you didn't need so very 
 much. ' ' 
 
 "She can't speak French at all, and the 
 grammar isn't much good alone." 
 
 French was the one subject in regard to which 
 Georgina 's ambition outsoared the complacency 
 of Stottleham. She wished Dorrie to be able to 
 speak French because it would be so useful when 
 she and her mother went abroad. Georgina, 
 travelling with Dorrie 's father, had realized that it 
 was "nice" to be able to speak French. 
 
 "I can't speak French myself, and I have got 
 on very well without it," Rayke said. "But it's 
 different for a woman quite a good thing." 
 
 1 1 Her father spoke fluently. ' ' 
 
 There was that rare thing in Georgina 's voice 
 rare when she spoke to Rayke a touch of acer- 
 bity. Rayke hastened to offer an indirect 
 apology. 
 
 "Ah, but he was exceptional in that way," he
 
 166 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 said. To himself he thought: "A philandering 
 fellow like that would speak French." 
 
 "And I think a woman ought to be able to keep 
 accounts," Georgina went on. " Household ac- 
 counts, I mean to be able to add up her books and 
 all that sort of thing/' 
 
 "Double entry?" laughed Bayke. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham ignored the laugh and the sugges- 
 tion : she was not in a mood to be amused. 
 
 "Miss Kimmidge has an extraordinary way, in 
 keeping her own accounts," she said, "of putting 
 the credit and debit on the same page. I can't 
 think how she ever keeps them straight." 
 
 "I couldn't," said Bayke, "attempt to follow 
 the evolutions of the ordinary feminine mind. 
 But it 's quite evident, my dear Mrs. Bonham, that 
 you must make a change." 
 
 "I'm afraid so." Georgina sighed. "But it's 
 most trying. It was bad enough with Hannah, but 
 nothing to this." 
 
 "In some ways it seems not quite so difficult." 
 
 "In almost every way it's more difficult. You 
 see I wanted to get rid of Nurse, but I don 't want 
 to get rid of Miss Kimmidge." 
 
 "Yes; of course." 
 
 "And I shall find it most unpleasant to tell her 
 to go. ' ' 
 
 "You couldn't might you not get Mrs. Vearing 
 to break it to her? put the idea into her head?" 
 
 Georgina reflected. "I I wonder." 
 
 ' ' She goes a good deal to the Vicarage. Bather 
 intimate there, isn't she?"
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 167 
 
 "Mrs. Vearing has been most kind, but I don't 
 know that one could exactly call it an intimacy. 
 Miss Kammidge's real intimacy seems to be with 
 Miss Pottlebury which is extraordinary. What 
 they can have in common . . . However, it's not 
 my business." 
 
 1 l Miss Pottlebury has a brother." 
 
 "I believe she has. I've never seen him; he 
 doesn't live at home, I think." 
 
 "No, but . . ." 
 
 Eayke stopped. He knew nothing about the 
 Ludovic and Patricia romance, and his implied 
 suggestion was based on general principles. If 
 Georgina was unaware that there was anything 
 more than an acquaintance between Miss Kim- 
 midge and Mr. Pottlebury, there probably was not 
 anything; and it was evident that Georgina knew 
 nothing. 
 
 "In any case," she said, "I couldn't take Miss 
 Pottlebury into my confidence, or her brother. As 
 for Mrs. Vearing ..." Again she reflected. 
 
 "Well, think it over," Eayke said, getting up. 
 "She might be able to oil the wheels." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Georgina, thinking over Rayke's suggestion, 
 came to the conclusion that it was a good one ; be- 
 sides, it was in the natural sequence of things that, 
 having consulted Dr. Eayke, she should proceed to
 
 168 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 unbosom herself to Mrs. Vearing; consultation 
 with the one almost necessitated confidential con- 
 versation with the other. It was usual, too, that 
 whereas the consultation took place at the Beeches 
 the confidence was made at the Vicarage; and ac- 
 cordingly Mrs. Bonham wrote to Mrs. Vearing and 
 11 proposed herself" for tea and a talk. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing welcomed the proposal. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Bonham," she wrote, "you know 
 how delighted I always am to see you, and how 
 charmed I am if my sympathy can give you any 
 little aid in the many problems you have, as darling 
 Dome's mother, to consider." 
 
 Georgina, in her note, had hinted that a difficulty 
 in regard to Dorrie loomed on the horizon, and 
 Mrs. Vearing was all agog to know what the diffi- 
 culty could be. Could it, inquired intuition or a 
 guilty conscience be anything to do with Patricia 
 and Ludovic? Had dear, dearest Mrs. Bonham 
 found out that there was something between them 
 and become troubled at the idea of losing Patricia ? 
 And did she suspect the part that Mrs. Vearing 
 had played? Was she coming to reproach her? 
 
 Alicia was so torn and rent by the possibilities 
 contingent upon Mrs. Bonham 's visit, and so 
 wrought upon Adam by her conjectures, that 
 Adam did the rarest thing in their world and 
 turned upon her. He turned in a most unclergy- 
 manlike way and said why the dickens should Mrs. 
 Bonham mind if little Patricia did marry? Mrs. 
 Bonham wasn't the only person in the world. For 
 all he cared and for all Alicia should care if she
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 169 
 
 had an ounce of sense, Mrs. Bonham might go 
 to ... He pulled himself up and ended with 
 "Nova Scotia." 
 
 It was dreadful to Mrs. Vearing to hear him, 
 because she knew that Nova Scotia was a synonym 
 and a concession to his cloth; and the idea of a 
 breach between dear Mrs. Bonham and darling 
 Adam was worse even than bearing the brunt of 
 Mrs. Bonham 's anger. The result was that she 
 did her best to stroke down Adam, and that in the 
 interval which elapsed between Adam's outburst 
 and Mrs. Bonham 's arrival she kept her fears to 
 herself. 
 
 She strove to fortify her courage by telling her- 
 self that Adam was right. Why shouldn't Pa- 
 tricia marry? After all, she couldn't be Dome's 
 nursery governess all her life ; and men well, she 
 who will not when she may . . . 
 
 But Mrs. Vearing was very nervous all the same 
 as she sat and waited for dear Mrs. Bonham. Her 
 cheeks were flushed, and the coup de vent part of 
 her hair seemed to have an extra coup. Adam, 
 looking in upon his way to smoke a pipe in his 
 study, thought she looked quite pretty and knew 
 she was quite frightened, and went on his way 
 with his heart full of Nova Scotia. 
 
 And as he banged the door of his study, Mrs. 
 Bonham rang the front-door bell, and Mrs. Vear- 
 ing, hearing both the bang and the bell, started 
 from her chair and said : " Oh dear ! ' '
 
 170 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Mrs. Bonham sailed in smiling and gracious. 
 She had quite decided that Rayke's way was the 
 best way out of her difficulty, and that to Mrs. 
 Vearing should be entrusted the disagreeable task 
 of preparing Miss Kimmidge's mind for dismis- 
 sal. Consequently she was as near to a supplica- 
 tory attitude as it was possible for Mrs. Bonham 
 ever to be, and had Mrs. Vearing known of her 
 friend's inner mood she would have breathed not 
 only freely, but with gasps of joy and thankful- 
 ness. But Mrs. Vearing did not know, and read- 
 ing into Mrs. Bonham 's demeanour a condemna- 
 tion of her own misdemeanour, she construed the 
 ingratiating smile as one of triumphant detection. 
 
 "So pleased to see you," said Mrs. Vearing. 
 "Will you take off anything your coat? I dare- 
 say you've got warm walking: it's rather mild, 
 isn't it, for October? But I had a fire because I 
 know you are susceptible and don 't like the damp. 
 No more does Adam. And it is rather damp, 
 though mild, as I said, for the time of year. 
 Though walking, I daresay ..." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing stumbled on in repetition till 
 Georgina interrupted her. 
 
 "Thank you, I am not at all warm and should 
 like to sit near the fire. How kind of you to have 
 one ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, not at all. This chair I think you like."
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 171 
 
 * ' Any chair, ' ' said Georgina. * ' All your chairs 
 are comfortable.*' 
 
 "If she does it in a heaping coals of fire sort of 
 way," thought Mrs. Vearing, "I shall cry, I know 
 I shall." 
 
 She sat down opposite the fire and at right 
 angles to Mrs. Bonham : it was better than meeting 
 her gaze full face. She began nervously to talk 
 about local topics. Had dear Mrs. Bonham heard 
 that Mrs. Charles Marsden was laid up with 
 bronchitis? Or of the quarrel between Miss Pitt 
 and Mrs. Markham? Or that Miss Truefitt was 
 going to have an aunt to live with her during the 
 winter? She kept carefully away from Miss 
 Pottlebury. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham knew about the bronchitis but not 
 about the quarrel: she was obviously quite unin- 
 terested in Miss Truefitt 's aunt. She was, in 
 truth, somewhat irritated by Mrs. Vearing 's 
 prattle: she had come on a definite mission and 
 it was tiresome to be confronted with the aunts 
 and quarrels of inferior persons. She wanted to 
 be as pleasant as possible, but she was not nervous 
 as was Mrs. Vearing, and could not understand 
 Mrs. Vearing 's deprecating volubility. For one 
 thing she was naturally more courageous than 
 Alicia, and for another, it is less embarrassing to 
 ask a person a favour than to be convicted of a 
 crime; and to Alicia, face to face with Mrs. Bon- 
 ham, the backing of Miss Kimmidge's romance 
 appeared in the light of a crime.
 
 172 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I have come," said Georgina, when lack of 
 breath and news brought Mrs. Vearing to a pause, 
 "to speak to you about something which is giving 
 me a good deal of trouble." 
 
 "Yes?" said Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 "Which has been troubling me for some time 
 past." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "The anxieties which weigh heaviest with me 
 are, as you know, always connected with Dorrie. ' ' 
 
 "I do indeed," said Mrs. Vearing, "yes, in- 
 deed. ' ' To herself she said : "It is that. ' ' 
 
 "It's about Miss Kimmidge," Georgina went 
 on. 
 
 "Oh, dear Mrs. Bonham," said Mrs. Vearing, 
 tremulously, "I knew it was." 
 
 Georgina smiled. "I am hardly surprised at 
 your guessing." 
 
 "No, no," murmured Mrs. Vearing, "of course 
 not." 
 
 "And it makes what I have come to say the 
 easier." 
 
 "Pray say anything everything all you feel. 
 I I deserve it," Mrs. Vearing said in little gasps. 
 
 Georgina 's glance held a certain disapproval. 
 "I do wish she wouldn't be so emotional," she 
 was thinking. 
 
 "You certainly do," she said aloud. 
 
 "I assure you ..." Mrs. Vearing began, but 
 Georgina went calmly on. 
 
 "You deserve my full confidence," she said, 
 "and you shall have it as always."
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 173 
 
 "Oh!" said Mrs. Vearing. "It is going to be 
 coals of fire, ' ' she thought. 
 
 "I've been a good deal worried about Miss Kim- 
 midge. Of course I like her very much; she is 
 generally liked, I believe, in Stottleham." 
 
 ' l Oh yes ; very much liked. ' ' 
 
 "She has proved a most suitable person," Geor- 
 gina paused. ' * Hitherto, ' ' she added. 
 
 "She's young . . . you must remember . . . 
 it's only natural ..." said Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 "I am hardly surprised at your standing up 
 for her; but I hope you will consider my posi- 
 tion." 
 
 "Of course, of course, dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 You know I would do that. ' ' 
 
 "I know she's young and I have made every 
 allowance. But Dorrie, you see, is getting older 
 every day." 
 
 "Dorrie?" said Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 "Yes, of course, Dorrie; you know she comes 
 first. And of course she needs more." 
 
 "More?" said Mrs. Vearing, still in bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "More, yes," said Georgina with impatience. 
 "Of course she needs more. A nursery governess 
 suitable for a child of seven is hardly up to a child 
 of twelve. Surely you see that ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh yes, I yes, of course I see. You mean 
 then, dear Mrs. Bonham" a sudden sunshine 
 flooded the horizon of Mrs. Vearing 's inner vision 
 * ' do you mean that you consider that Dorrie has 
 outgrown Miss Kimmidge?"
 
 174 THE THUNDEEBOLT 
 
 1 1 Certainly that is what I mean ; just as she out- 
 grew Nurse. And certainly I thought you would 
 agree with me." 
 
 "Oh, I do," said Mrs. Vearing, "most sincerely 
 I do." 
 
 "And that is what I came to talk to you about, 
 to consult confide to indeed to ask your help. ' ' 
 
 "Anything I can do . . ." said Mrs. Vearing. 
 The sunshine was almost dazzling. 
 
 "I am in a very trying position," Georgina 
 went on. "The difficulty of getting rid of Miss 
 Kimmidge, of telling her to go . . . " 
 
 "I don't know that you need find it so very 
 difficult." 
 
 "You don't think she ought to be so very much 
 upset? Of course if she were reasonable. . . . 
 But you remember when Hannah had to stop being 
 nurse . . . and really to hear people talk, you 
 would think Miss Kimmidge was a fixture. 
 Which is absurd. ' ' 
 
 "Quite absurd. But I doubt if Miss Kimmidge 
 thinks so." 
 
 1 ' Thinks it absurd ? No, of course she wouldn't. 
 That's what's so " 
 
 "No, I mean that I doubt whether Miss Kim- 
 midge considers herself a fixture. ' ' 
 
 "Really? You don't think Of course she 
 
 has a good deal of common sense, but ..." 
 
 Georgina paused, and Mrs. Vearing said noth- 
 ing. She was longing to tell her news, but felt 
 that she must not be too sudden : dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham did not like suddenness.
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 175 
 
 "You know her in a way better than I do," 
 Georgina said presently, "more unofficially. You 
 have been so very kind in having her here." 
 
 "Oh no. And she has been less here than at 
 Miss Pottlebury 's." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Pottlebury!" Georgina's tone 
 waved Miss Pottlebury aside. "What I was go- 
 ing to say, to ask you indeed, as a personal favour, 
 was whether you could manage to give Miss Kim- 
 midge a hint break it to her, before I say any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Quite easily," said Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 "You really don't mind?" Georgina spoke in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Not at all. You see the Pottlebury situa- 
 tion . . ." 
 
 "Pottlebury? Whatever has Miss Pottlebury 
 got to do with it? She has no children to edu- 
 cate. ' ' 
 
 "No, but she has a brother." 
 
 Kayke had made the same statement, but Geor- 
 gina had passed it by: she could not pass it by as 
 made by Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 "A brother! But Miss Pottlebury ... a 
 brother of Miss Pottlebury 's must be a a ' 
 
 "He is not," said Mrs. Vearing, "the least like 
 Miss Pottlebury." 
 
 "You don't mean . . .?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 ' But a brother of Miss Pottlebury 's ! He must 
 be a ... he can't be a . . ." 
 
 "I assure you he is quite presentable."
 
 176 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "You've seen him then?" 
 
 "Oh yes often." 
 
 "/ never have; I barely knew of his existence." 
 
 "As the Vicar's wife ..." said Mrs. Year- 
 ing. 
 
 ' ' Oh yes, of course. But I supposed he lived in 
 London. ' ' 
 
 "He does, but he comes down pretty fre- 
 quently. ' ' 
 
 "So that is the attraction at Miss Pottlebury's. 
 And you say he 's really presentable ? ' ' 
 
 "Quite; and very nice. I quite enjoy a chat 
 with him, and so does Adam." 
 
 "Very odd that you never spoke of him be- 
 fore." ' 
 
 Mrs. Vearing coloured. "You see he met Miss 
 Kimmidge here, and I didn't know wasn't sure, 
 dear Mrs. Bonham, whether you would approve." 
 
 "Approve? I? Whatever had it got to do 
 with me ? ' ' 
 
 "I " Mrs. Vearing 's smile was tremulous. 
 
 "I wasn't sure I thought Miss Kimmidge suited 
 you so well, and that you would be might be an- 
 noyed if she deserted you." 
 
 4 ' Annoyed ? I am delighted. ' ' Georgina's face 
 and voice testified to the genuineness of her 
 speech. 
 
 ' * Oh, what a relief ! ' ' Mrs. Vearing 's voice was 
 shaky ; she almost wept after all, though the cause 
 of her emotion was far from what she had antici- 
 pated. "I was afraid you would think, in en-
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 177 
 
 couraging the courtship, I had played the part 
 had been disloyal to you.'* 
 
 "My dear friend!" said Mrs. Bonham, "you 
 have done me one of the best turns you have ever 
 done. I am most grateful to you." 
 
 During tea it was explained to Georgina that 
 there was as yet no positive engagement ; an under- 
 standing of that Mrs. Vearing was sure, but 
 nothing was settled. But that it soon would be 
 settled she had no doubt. 
 
 "And now," she said, as Georgina rose to go, 
 "I shall hurry it on." 
 
 "Do!" said Georgina. 
 
 At the door Mrs. Vearing, pressing Georgina 's 
 hand, said: "Dear Mrs. Bonham, you have made 
 me so happy." 
 
 But Mrs. Bonham was to make her happier still. 
 Smiling her most gracious smile she said : 
 
 "Ours has been a long and close friendship. 
 Will you not call me Georgina?" 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "Oh, Adam!" 
 
 Mrs. Vearing burst into the Vicar's study, 
 flushed and tearful. The Vicar, struggling with 
 the parable of the unjust steward, looked up from 
 a manuscript chiefly consisting of deletions. 
 
 "My dear Alicia, what on earth is the matter?" 
 
 "Oh, Adam, she she ..."
 
 178 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "You didn't come to blows, I hope. Your 
 hair . . ." 
 
 "Oh no," said Mrs. Vearing. "It's all right 
 perfectly right more than right. And she dear 
 Mrs. Bonham has asked me to call her Geor- 
 gina." 
 
 ' * My word ! ' ' said the Vicar. 
 
 "Isn't it sweet of her?" 
 
 1 ' As sugar, ' ' agreed the Vicar. 
 
 "Oh, Adam, don't laugh at me! You 
 know ..." 
 
 "Better laugh than cry which you seem on the 
 brink of doing." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was indeed at that point of nerv- 
 ous tension where tears and laughter meet ; it was 
 touch and go which would triumph. She swal- 
 lowed a sob and laughed. 
 
 " It 's the reaction, ' ' she said, ' ' the relief. ' ' She 
 sat down by the Vicar's side. "To think we need 
 never have worried at all ! " 
 
 "I don't know that I did an immense amount 
 of worrying as regards Mrs. Bonham." 
 
 "Dear Georgina is delighted simply delighted 
 about Miss Kimmidge and Ludovic Pottlebury." 
 
 "So much the better for dear Georgina." 
 
 ' ' And for me ; and for Patricia. It 's all worked 
 out too delightfully well. If you would only stop 
 being sarcastic and show a little sympathy, I would 
 tell you all about it." 
 
 "I'm full of sympathy; only my sermon . . . 
 To-day's Friday, and I haven't a bit got the hang 
 of it."
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 179 
 
 "Oh, preach an old one; nobody will remember. 
 There's a fire in the drawing-room a lovely fire.'* 
 
 The Vicar looked at his manuscript. There was 
 little of what he had written that he had not 
 scratched out, and the unjust steward bristled with 
 difficulties. 
 
 "Any tea left?" he asked. 
 
 "Heaps no, I don't know that there is, but 
 I'll have some fresh made." 
 
 "May I smoke in the drawing-room?" 
 
 "Ye-yes." Adam was always nicer to talk to 
 when he was smoking, Mrs. Vearing reflected. 
 "Oh yes, certainly," she said. 
 
 So Adam, cosy by the drawing-room fire, stimu- 
 lated by tea and soothed by his pipe, listened with 
 full attention to Alicia 's account of the turn things 
 had taken. It was really much more interesting 
 than his sermon, and he was moreover truly de- 
 lighted that the course of Miss Kimmidge's love 
 should cause no hitch between his wife and Mrs. 
 Bonham. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, meanwhile, had gone on her way 
 rejoicing. She had always thought Miss Kim- 
 midge nice ; she thought her now nicer than ever. 
 She did not say to herself in so many words that 
 Miss Kimmidge had shown a becoming considera- 
 tion by falling in love in the nick of time, but 
 that was what she felt; and she arrived at the 
 Beeches in a frame of mind which radiated peace 
 to all men, and especially to Miss Kimmidge and 
 Mr. Pottlebury. She was disposed to take Mr. 
 Pottlebury at Mrs. Vearing 's valuation. Miss
 
 180 THE THUNDEEBOLT 
 
 Kimmidge was so sensible that she would not be 
 likely to make an unwise choice : and though Miss 
 Pottlebury's brother was probably not attractive, 
 no doubt he had solid qualities, and Miss Kim- 
 midge was wise enough to base her affections on 
 esteem rather than romance. 
 
 Meeting Miss Kimmidge in the hall, Mrs. Bon- 
 ham smiled at her with supreme approbation. 
 She had not smiled much at Miss Kimmidge for 
 some time past. Disliking the task of dismissing 
 her, disliking still more -the task of telling Dorrie 
 of the dismissal, she had vented her dislike in cold- 
 ness to Miss Kimmidge. But now that it was Miss 
 Kimmidge who was to take the initiative, "now," 
 she might have said, 
 
 "is the winter of our discontent 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of" Pottlebury. 
 
 Georgina's only part was to be gracious; she 
 began at once to play it. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Miss Kimmidge was pleased at her return to 
 favour, but was not lifted by it to the apex of con- 
 tent. She had noted Mrs. Bonham's coldness, 
 had been puzzled by it and a little disconcerted; 
 but it had not positively depressed her. It had 
 not occurred to her that Mrs. Bonham might be 
 annoyed at her marrying, and had such an idea 
 presented itself, she, unlike Mrs. Vearing, would 
 not have been seriously disturbed. She liked Mrs.
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 181 
 
 Bonham very much ; but not to the point of being 
 upset by her disapproval where Ludovic was con- 
 cerned. Only Ludovic, in that connection, could 
 upset her, only Ludovic could raise her to the 
 heaven of happiness or depress her to the verge 
 of despair: she was indeed so much absorbed by 
 the thought of Ludovic, so rapt by hope or dulled 
 by doubt, that she could not be deeply affected 
 by a mere Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 And Ludovic, as she confided to Hannah, "had 
 not spoken": the hub of her universe consisted 
 in the question: Would he speak? 
 
 Hannah was still Miss Kimmidge's only con- 
 fidante ; the only one, that is to say, to whom her 
 confidences were explicit. In Mrs. Vearing she 
 confided only by hints, by unspoken admissions; 
 in Miss Pottlebury, in intention, though not always 
 in effect, not at all. But Hannah had always -been 
 a dear old thing, a simple old thing and a safe old 
 thing ; one who listened without giving advice, and 
 whose sympathy was invariably tinctured with 
 hope; and to Hannah, accordingly, Miss Kim- 
 midge betrayed her doubts as well as her desires. 
 
 Hannah, deeply impressed by the trust reposed 
 in her, and thrilled by the romance of the situa- 
 tion, preserved an unswerving loyalty and an un- 
 failing interest. What she called true love was 
 for Hannah a preponderating factor in life. Her 
 own young man had died ; but he had risen again 
 to a certain extent in Miss Kimmidge 's ; and next 
 to the romance she had dreamed of for Dorrie 
 a far-off next, but the only one allowed within
 
 182 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 measurable approach her sympathy and hopes 
 were centred on the romance of Miss Kimmidge. 
 
 So it was a great day for Hannah when, taking 
 hot water as usual to Miss .Patricia, she found 
 Miss Patricia in a pink dressing-gown with cheeks 
 to match, and eyes to quote Hannah flashing 
 like diamonds. 
 
 ' ' Oh, Hannah, what do you think I ' ' 
 
 What Hannah thought was that he had spoken ; 
 but she was not going to say so. Supposing he 
 hadn't? It was too great a risk. So pausing, 
 can in hand, she said: "I'm sure I don't know, 
 Miss." 
 
 "But guess, Hannah, guess!" 
 
 "I couldn't, Miss Patricia. I never was a hand 
 at guessing." 
 
 "At last, at last you know what I've been -wait- 
 ing for hoping for. Oh, Hannah, surely ..." 
 
 "You don't mean- . . .?" Hannah paused. 
 
 "I do, of course I do. What else? He's 
 spoken. ' ' 
 
 Hannah put down the can. "Never, Miss." 
 
 "I began to think," said Miss Kimmidge, laugh- 
 ing, "that it was going to be never. But it isn't; 
 it 's for ever and ever ; and I 'm so I don 't know 
 whether to laugh or cry." 
 
 "I should laugh, Miss, if I was you." 
 
 "It was this afternoon. He's down, you know, 
 for the week-end. He asked to see me home, and 
 on the way he he ..." 
 
 "He told his love, I suppose, Miss Patricia."
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 183 
 
 "Yes, he did. And such love!" 
 
 "I never," said Hannah. 
 
 "I'm not worthy of it. I can't think- 
 
 Miss Kimmidge turned and looked in the glass. 
 "I'm sure I can't think, what he sees in me." 
 
 "He sees his own true love, Miss, that's what he 
 sees." 
 
 "But he thinks me beautiful, Hannah; and I 
 know I'm not." 
 
 "Lovers carries beauty in their eyes, Miss 
 Patricia. My young man was just the same, and 
 Mother drilled it into me from a child that I wasn't 
 nothing to look at." 
 
 "I don't care what I am, so long as he admires 
 me." 
 
 "That's right, Miss." 
 
 "You haven't congratulated me, Hannah." 
 
 "I congratulate- you, Miss Patricia, that I do." 
 
 ' ' Thank you ever so much. You 've always been 
 perfectly sweet, and helped me no end. I don't 
 really know what I should have done without you. ' ' 
 
 "And Miss Dorrie, Miss? That's the only 
 thing. She ..." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right. I was to go in any case. 
 Mrs. Vearing gave me the tip. Mrs. Bonham 
 thinks she's getting beyond me." 
 
 "I suppose she'll keep on getting beyond till 
 
 her young " Hannah paused, arrested by the 
 
 limitations of language. Young man was an in- 
 sult as applied to Dorrie 's prince; gentleman was 
 inadequate. "Till her fate comes along," she
 
 184 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 said. "It's the only one she won't get be- 
 yond. ' ' 
 
 As Hannah approached the door, Miss Kim- 
 midge went after her. 
 
 * ' Do you know why he didn 't speak before 1 A 
 most extraordinary reason, but it shows his 
 humility. ' ' 
 
 "I couldn't say, Mi&s." 
 
 "He was afraid of me afraid I didn't care." 
 
 "I never!" said Hannah. 
 
 She went out of the room and upstairs to her 
 bedroom. She felt an attack of toothache begin- 
 ning, and she wanted to apply some of the mixture 
 which, years ago, had provided Mrs. Bonham with 
 an additional excuse for changing her from Nurse 
 to Hannah. But chiefly she wanted to be alone 
 and think. Was there any further transformation 
 in store for her? The ache in her tooth was as 
 nothing to the ache at her heart, caused by such a 
 possibility. 
 
 She felt she could not go downstairs again just 
 yet. She was very glad for Miss Kimmidge, but 
 she was miserable at the idea of further changes 
 at the Beeches. What might it not mean? Yet, 
 her thought ran on, so discreet had she been, 
 so strictly had she schooled herself to be, out- 
 wardly at any rate, entirely housemaid and desti- 
 tute of any trace of nurse, that she could not really 
 believe there was any- risk of her being sent away 
 in the wake of Miss Kimmidge. Thus she com- 
 forted herself. Miss Dorrie might be sent to 
 school; that was the worst that would happen.
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 185 
 
 Bad; but not the worst that might happen; and 
 there would be the holidays. 
 
 Her thoughts returned to Miss Patricia, and 
 she was glad ; then travelled back to her own young 
 man, and she was sad; and then leapt forward to 
 Dorrie's wooing and wedding. Toothache was 
 forgotten as she saw Dorrie in the whitest and 
 shiniest of satins, half covered with diamonds and 
 with pearls, wreathed with flowers, dim behind the 
 magnificence of her lace veil. She saw her with 
 a prince at her feet, a palace as her home, a throne 
 as her seat. And she saw herself in the palace 
 with a feather brush and a duster, removing the 
 last speck of dust from Dorrie's throne. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, everybody agreed, behaved with 
 the utmost munificence in the matter of Miss Kim- 
 midge's wedding present. 
 
 She gave her a silver tea service. Not plated, 
 but silver, solid, real. 
 
 It was just like dear Mrs. Bonham, of course, 
 to be so generous, so lavish, yet Stottleham almost 
 gasped at this latest demonstration of Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's likeness to herself. Even Miss Truefitt was 
 impressed, and received the news without a sniff. 
 Who could sniff at a silver tea service? It was 
 outside the category of things sniff able; it was 
 a proof of dear Mrs. Bonham 's dearness, costly, 
 handsome, indisputable ; Mrss Truefitt bowed her
 
 186 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 head and added an appreciative murmur to the 
 chorus of praise. 
 
 Miss Kimmidge herself was overwhelmed, or, 
 as she expressed it to Hannah, dumbfounded. 
 She had expected, when Mrs. Bonham had asked 
 her if she would like some silver, perhaps a cream- 
 jug or a pair of salt-cellars, at most a teapot, 
 and that a small one. And the teapot was large 
 the Queen Anne pattern and there was a cream- 
 jug big enough for milk, and a sugar-basin; and 
 a kettle ! 
 
 "Adam," said Mrs. Vearing, " there 's a kettle 
 as well. Just fancy!" 
 
 "Isn't it usual," asked Adam, "to have a 
 kettle!" 
 
 "Not unusual, but they're often given without. 
 What I mean is, isn't it handsome of dear Geor- 
 gina?" 
 
 "I suppose so," said Adam, and Mrs. Vearing 
 called him cold. 
 
 "I hear," said Mrs. Markham to Miss Ansell, 
 "that there's a kettle." 
 
 "Really? As weU! " 
 
 "Yes. Wonderfully generous, isn't it!" 
 
 "It comes, I am informed the tea service, I 
 mean from Bond Street, ' ' said Mrs. Pitt. * ' Mrs. 
 Bonham went up to London for the day to choose 
 it." 
 
 "Not for the day; she stayed all night," cor- 
 rected Miss Ansell. 
 
 "Well, I was told that she came back by the 
 5.20."
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 187 
 
 "It was Regent Street, not Bond Street," said 
 Mrs. Markham. 
 
 "I heard the Haymarket," said Miss Ansell. 
 
 "My informant," said Mrs. Pitt, "was Miss 
 Pottlebury." 
 
 Miss Pottlebury, since the engagement, had gone 
 up top of the second class in Stottleham; and 
 Miss Pottlebury immensely enjoyed the position. 
 She had always craved prominence, and now, as 
 the sister of the man who was engaged to Mrs. 
 Bonham's governess, she had a vogue which 
 verged on notoriety. She stood, moreover, on the 
 fringe of Mrs. Bonham's set. She had actually 
 been to tea at the Beeches, not in connection with 
 anything religious, but in company with her 
 brother in a fashion purely social. She had not 
 stood in the dining-room, cup in hand and jostled 
 by co-workers of philanthropic intent : she had sat 
 in the drawing-room, one of a circle so select as to 
 include only herself, Ludovic, Patricia, dear Mrs. 
 Bonham and her sweet little girl. 
 
 Miss Pottlebury referred casually but constantly 
 to the episode. 
 
 "At Mrs. Bbnham's the other day, we had a 
 choice of China or Indian tea." 
 
 "When I was at Mrs. Bonham's lately ..." 
 
 "We were discussing when I was at Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's . . ." 
 
 And so on. 
 
 The rest of the class were filled with awe and 
 envy, combined with a tendency to consider that 
 Miss Pottlebury was putting on really too much
 
 188 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 side. Miss Truefitt, who had not found it in her- 
 self to sniff at the tea service, sniffed openly at 
 the tea. 
 
 * * What 's a cup of tea ? ' ' she demanded. * ' It 's 
 not life everlasting after all, and that's what any- 
 one would suppose, to hear Miss Pottlebury." 
 
 The second class was not quite pleased with 
 the tone of Miss Truefitt 's criticism, but the con- 
 demnation of Miss Pottlebury 's attitude found an 
 echo in almost every heart. Besides, who knew? 
 It was all very well to bridge the gulf which 
 divided Mrs. Bonham's set from Miss Pottle- 
 bury 's. The question was, was the bridge a fixed 
 one or a drawbridge? If a drawbridge, would 
 Mrs. Bonham, after the wedding, draw it ? And if 
 it were drawn, on which side of the gulf would 
 Miss Pottlebury find herself? 
 
 "It doesn't do to crow before you've hatched 
 your eggs," said Miss Ansell with acrimonious 
 disregard of fowl-yard facts ; but the personal ap- 
 plication of her remark was accepted in the spirit 
 in which it was offered. Miss Pottlebury, for the 
 purposes of the argument, was accredited with bi- 
 sexual behaviour, and it was agreed that she had 
 crowed like a cock before she had hatched her eggs 
 like a hen.
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 189 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 It was unfortunate that Miss Kimmidge's wed- 
 ding could not take place in Stottleham, and 
 Stottleham indeed was almost persuaded that it 
 had, on that account, a grievance. Yet, on the 
 other hand, Stottleham would have been shocked 
 had the marriage been from any house but the 
 house of Miss Kimmidge's mother. If only Mrs. 
 Kimmidge could have removed from Brixbury to 
 Stottleham and satisfied both domestic convention 
 and neighbourly interest, Stottleham would have 
 touched the ideal. But the ideal was imprac- 
 ticable; Stottleham, with its usual good sense, 
 recognized that fact, and contented itself with the 
 knowledge that Miss Kimmidge would be married 
 in a fashion consonant with custom. 
 
 Georgina, for her part, had never even the ink- 
 ling of a desire that Miss Kimmidge should be 
 married anywhere but at Brixbury. She had no 
 intention of going to Miss Kimmidge's wedding, 
 and a hint, timorous and tentative on the part of 
 Miss Kimmidge, as to Dorrie being a bridesmaid, 
 was crushed before it could develop into a re- 
 quest. Mrs. Bonham was quite willing to give 
 Miss Kimmidge a silver tea service, but that was 
 a very different thing from going to her wed- 
 ding; nor did Mrs. Bonham wish it to be said later 
 on when Dorrie was grown up, that Miss Bonham 
 had been bridesmaid to Mrs. Ludovic Pottlebury. 
 
 The distance from Brixbury was therefore con-
 
 190 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 venient; it precluded the idea not only of Mrs. 
 Bonham 's presence at the wedding, but even of her 
 being invited to it. Now Miss Kimmidge, em- 
 boldened by the tea service, had thought of invit- 
 ing her ; but when Mrs. Bonham put her foot down 
 on the hint as to the bridesmaid and Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's foot was fairly flat Miss Kimmidge was 
 not slow to perceive that her gratitude for the 
 wedding gift was expected to be diffident as well 
 as effusive. So diffident she was; not flagrantly, 
 but with the tact which had characterized her con- 
 duct ever since she had come to the Beeches. She 
 let it be understood in Stottleham that she should 
 not dream of inviting Mrs. Bonham. Of course 
 she couldn't come such a distance! It would be 
 ridiculous. And Stottleham agreed. Such a 
 favour could not, in the circumstances, be expected 
 of dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 But the Vearings went to the wedding. That, 
 Georgina said, was all right ; Mr. Vearing was a 
 clergyman, so it didn't matter, and Mrs. Vear- 
 ing, of course, was a clergyman's wife. It was 
 different. Mr. Vearing took part in the wedding 
 service; and Mrs. Vearing in mauve wiped her 
 eyes with a lace handkerchief. She always wept 
 at a wedding and always explained that her tears 
 were tears of joy. 
 
 It was satin after all. When it came to the 
 point, Patricia confessed to the triumphant 
 Hannah that she could not resist it. And Ludo- 
 vic's bridal present was a pearl pendant, so it was 
 also pearls. She went away in blue, a soft blue
 
 MISS KIMMIDGE 191 
 
 and deep: Stottleham not of course the leading 
 set, but the rest of it was shown a pattern of 
 the cloth, and approved : and it was so sensible of 
 that nice Miss Kimmidge to choose a colour and 
 material which would be serviceable as a best dress 
 all winter. Stottleham was not shown the white 
 satin, because Mrs. Kimmidge could only afford 
 one that was rather thin; but it looked lovely in 
 the church, so Mrs. Vearing reported; and in the 
 photograph of the bride and bridegroom which 
 went the round, nobody could tell how thick were 
 the folds of the bride's gown. 
 
 There were two bridesmaids, little Kimmidge 
 sisters, dressed in white and pink. Mrs. Kim- 
 midge wore black and white because she was a 
 widow; and Miss Pottlebury was in dove colour. 
 
 All this was known and discussed in Stottleham, 
 and generally approved; and it was considered 
 very sensible, the month being November, that the 
 bridesmaids ' dresses were of serge and not muslin, 
 especially as Eileen, the youngest child so Mrs. 
 Markham had heard was subject to swollen 
 glands. Miss Truefitt, to be sure, could not forego 
 criticism : she said how anybody with Miss Pottle- 
 bury 's complexion could go in for dove colour 
 passed her. But Mrs. Vearing stated at the 
 Needlework Guild that Miss Pottlebury looked 
 very nice; and there was an anti-Truefitt faction 
 which maintained that dove colour and Miss 
 Pottlebury went quite well together. 
 
 The one blot on Miss Kimmidge 's happiness was 
 that her name was to be Pottlebury. She could
 
 192 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 not of course speak of it either to Ludovic or to 
 Miss Pottlebury; and Hannah, to the last, re- 
 mained her only confidante. 
 
 "I always thought that Patricia sounded rather 
 absurd when it was followed even by Kimmidge. 
 But Patricia Pottlebury! Don't you think, 
 Hannah, that it's awful?" 
 
 "I'd be called Pottle, without the bury, Miss 
 Patricia, if I loved 'im," said Hannah. 
 
 "Oh, of course. I'd be called anything. But if 
 only they'd christened me Emma or Kate, or 
 well, any sensible ordinary name." 
 
 "I wouldn't carry on about a name, Miss, if I 
 was you. Patricia's a lovely name to my way of 
 thinking. Besides," Hannah went on, "you can't 
 have the man without the name." 
 
 "I know," -said Miss Kimmidge, and sighed. 
 
 Nevertheless, when, immediately after the mar- 
 riage ceremony, someone addressed her as Mrs. 
 Pottlebury, Patricia smiled.
 
 BOOK IV 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DORRIE stood in a garden and looked at the 
 flowers. A young man stood beside her and 
 looked at Dorrie. He thought her very delightful 
 to look at; and she was. She was seventeen now, 
 and quite as pretty at seventeen as she had been 
 at seven. But she had been pretty all her short 
 life long ; without any lapses or transition periods 
 of plainness. She had been neither lanky nor 
 lumpy, neither bony nor bulgy; but always slim, 
 rounded, and properly proportioned; with a skin 
 soft and smooth and white, and eyes as blue and 
 innocent as forget-me-nots. 
 
 The garden she was in was not the garden of the 
 Beeches, but an older, larger garden belonging 
 to a house called Holt Hall. Dorrie was stay- 
 ing at Holt Hall with the Fortescues, and her 
 friend, Gwendolen Saunders-Parr, who was the 
 late Mr. Fortescue's niece, was staying there too. 
 Gwendolen, indeed, had been the bridge which 
 spanned the space between Holt Hall and the 
 Beeches : it was as Gwendolen's friend that Dorrie 
 had been invited. Not, however, at Gwendolen's 
 suggestion. The suggestion had come from Len 
 Fortescue, and his mother had acted on it be- 
 
 103
 
 194 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 cause she acted on most suggestions made by Len. 
 
 Len, paying periodic visits to Stottleham, had 
 seen the long black legs of the pretty kid gradu- 
 ally obscured by a longer length of petticoats, and 
 at his last visit had found that the child Dorrie had 
 become an almost young lady. Not quite, for she 
 was not yet ' ' out, ' ' and was not to be out for an- 
 other year at the very least; but her hair was 
 up, and her skirts were down and she wore high 
 heels to her shoes. 
 
 It was after this last visit that Len made the 
 suggestion that Dorrie should be asked to stay at 
 Holt Hall; and his mother accordingly sat down 
 and wrote a polite note to Mrs. Bonham ; and be- 
 cause his mother was Lady Clementina, Mrs. Bon- 
 ham accepted the invitation. 
 
 Years before, when Lady Clementina had paid 
 a visit to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Saunders-Parr, 
 she and Georgina had met. Mrs. Bonham had a 
 lively recollection of Lady Clementina, but Lady 
 Clementina had no recollection at all of Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. This, however, did not matter, since Geor- 
 gina was unconscious that she had been forgotten ; 
 and the fact that she and Lady Clementina had 
 met, made it quite correct for Dorrie to accept 
 the invitation. 
 
 Georgina, indeed, was extremely pleased about 
 the visit: Lady Clementina, on the other hand, 
 was not pleased at all. She had not been nearly 
 so much impressed by the Stottleham best set as 
 the best set was impressed by itself, and she was 
 not eager to entertain the girl whom Len described
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 195 
 
 as ripping. But she was one of the mothers who 
 never thwart their sons for fear of the conse- 
 quences. If a young man does not have his way, 
 he is sure to persist in getting it, whereas if you 
 let him have it he will probably cease to want it. 
 Such was Lady Clementina's philosophy. 
 
 As Len was the only son and his father had 
 been a rich man, it was most important that he 
 should marry the right sort of wife ; and the way 
 to ensure his marrying the wrong one was to re- 
 fuse to ask her to stay when he suggested it. 
 Lady Clementina was prepared to receive every 
 wrong one that Len fancied he fancied ; especially 
 as it was much easier to damn them with faint 
 praise when they were at Holt Hall than when 
 they were in provincial towns or in choruses at 
 the theatres. 
 
 Accordingly she wrote the polite invitation 
 which Georgina politely accepted ; and accordingly, 
 when Gwendolen Saunders-Parr arrived at Holt 
 Hall, Dorrie arrived too. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Lady Clementina, when she saw Dorrie, was 
 dreadfully disappointed. From Len's description 
 she had expected to see a pretty girl, but of a 
 prettiness not the least like Dome's; and when 
 Dorrie followed Gwendolen into the hall, Lady 
 Clementina's heart suffered severe 'contortions; 
 for it sank deep down, and at the same time it 
 went out to Dorrie.
 
 196 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 She had meant not to like her, and she was 
 terribly afraid that she would be obliged to like 
 her ; she had expected not to think her more than 
 ordinarily pretty, and she saw at a glance that her 
 prettiness was out of the ordinary. It was im- 
 possible not to admit that she was perfect of her 
 type; and the worst of it was that her type was 
 the type which Lady Clementina most admired. 
 Dorrie 's beauty was neither very subtle nor too 
 intelligent nor markedly spiritual nor at all 
 statuesque. She was just full of life and grace 
 and colour and sweetness ; and was not a bit bounc- 
 ing, which Lady Clementina had thought she 
 might be, nor at all awkward, which Lady Clemen- 
 tina had hoped she might appear. She was in 
 fact everything which Lady Clementina did not 
 want her to be. 
 
 So on the May morning when Dorrie was look- 
 ing at the flowers and Len was looking at Dorrie, 
 Lady Clementina, looking at both of them from a 
 window, could not but admit that it would be ex- 
 cusable if Len did fall truly in love with her ; nay, 
 that it would be almost inexcusable if he didn't. 
 Of course she hoped it would not be anything per- 
 manent or serious; if it were, if Len's fancy 
 proved to be something he could not be laughed 
 or cajoled out of, Lady Clementina felt that she 
 would be obliged to oppose it tooth and nail. She 
 wanted a daughter-in-law belonging to Society, not 
 to Stottleham, and Len must be preserved from 
 the snare of a heedless attachment. 
 
 But she did not want to fight ; it would be hate-
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 197 
 
 ful to oppose Len; and besides the hatefulness of 
 opposition, she was conscious that she would be 
 handicapped in the encounter. She had a weak- 
 ness and she knew it for a pretty face; good 
 looks in man or woman appealed to her with a 
 special appeal; and Dorrie, she well knew, would 
 be a disconcerting foe. It was horribly difficult 
 to cold-shoulder a girl when what you really 
 wanted to do was to hug her. 
 
 It was positively annoying that the two looked 
 so well together. And they did: it was no use 
 denying it. Len was hardly as good-looking in 
 his way as Dorrie was in hers, but good-looking 
 he most decidedly was; in the kind of way too 
 which just fitted in with Dorrie 's. He was 
 slender as she was, and admirably made; brown, 
 compared with her fairness; and with dark eyes 
 that his mother thought fascinating and of 
 course Dorrie would. 
 
 Dorrie! Yes, there Lady Clementina had 
 already stumbled. She had determined that she 
 would most frigidly Miss Bonham Len's fancy, 
 and before the girl had been twenty-four hours in 
 the house she had called her Dorrie. She had 
 tried to retrieve her mistake by affecting to look 
 upon Dorrie as a mere child; but child or not, it 
 was an idiotic thing to have done ; and the exasper- 
 ating Len was obviously delighted. 
 
 What was he saying to the girl now? She was 
 half turned away from him. "No doubt she 
 knows," thought Lady Clementina, "that her pro- 
 file is charming." Ah, now she looks round; and
 
 198 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 now they both laugh. What at! Young people 
 laugh at such silly things. Better than senti- 
 ment anyhow. But they laugh sometimes on the 
 very verge 'of sentiment out of pure nervousness. 
 Lady Clementina sighed. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "I suppose I must go on calling you Miss Bon- 
 ham," Len said. 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 "I don't like it, but now your hair's up." 
 
 "Then I must go on with Mr. Fortescue." 
 
 " My hair isn't up," said Len. 
 
 "Well, it isn't down," said Dorrie. 
 
 This is what they laughed at. It was quite as 
 silly as Lady Clementina supposed ; and also it was 
 not as far away from sentiment as she would have 
 desired. 
 
 "I don't see why we should," Len went on. 
 
 "You began it," said Dorrie. 
 
 "Did I? Well, I you looked so awfully grown 
 up you know, that I ... Shall we drop it?" 
 
 "Yes, if you like." 
 
 "Say 'Yes, Len.' " 
 
 "Yes, Len." 
 
 "I wish you'd look at me when you speak to 
 me." 
 
 "It's so difficult to look at people when they're 
 standing beside you. You 've got to keep on twist- 
 ing your neck."
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 199 
 
 "I'll stand where you don't have to twist your 
 neck." 
 
 Len moved and stood straight in front of Dorrie. 
 
 ''Now, look, Dorrie!'* 
 
 Dorrie looked. Len of course looked too, and 
 they continued to look at one another for what, 
 from an onlooker 's point of view, was quite a long 
 time. 
 
 "Whatever are they up to now?" said Lady 
 Clementina to herself. * * I almost think I 'd better 
 go out." 
 
 She went out, but it was really not much use. 
 She could not stay out not all the morning; and 
 she knew quite well that as soon as she went in, 
 they would begin again; and if she did not go in, 
 Len would think her a bore. It was most difficult, 
 especially as they made such an ideal couple. If 
 only Lady Clementina could have hated Dorrie in- 
 stead of finding her delightful ! If only she could 
 have thought her vulgar or bad style or provincial 
 or anything but charming ! She did say to herself 
 that Dorrie was a minx; but she knew it was not 
 true; and as for trying to get anything to Dome's 
 disadvantage out of Gwendolen . . . ! Gwendolen 
 would say nothing but that Dorrie was a dear. 
 
 Lady Clementina, when she went in after talking 
 inanely for a few minutes to Len and Dorrie, sug- 
 gested to Gwendolen that she and Captain Le 
 Marchant should go out and play tennis with her 
 cousin and her friend. Gwendolen said "Cer- 
 tainly," and she and Captain Le Marchant went 
 out as suggested and stood laughing and talking
 
 200 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 with Dorrie and Len. Then they wandered off 
 and disappeared in the shrubbery, while Len and 
 Dorrie strolled away and were lost to sight in the 
 rose walk; and neither of the couples came into 
 view again till lunch time. 
 
 By lunch time, however, Lady Clementina felt a 
 little better. Not that the situation had improved ; 
 it had if anything grown worse, since tete-a-tete 
 conversations in rose walks do not tend to diminish 
 imprudence; but in the interval between the win- 
 dow and the lunch table she had, as she said to her- 
 self, done something, and was somewhat soothed 
 by the calming effect of action. 
 
 What she had done was to write a letter to her 
 sister-in-law and make enquiries. It was better in 
 any case to know the ins and outs of what you had 
 to deal with. For aught Len knew, Dorrie 's 
 grandmother might have been a charwoman both 
 her grandmothers might have been charwomen or 
 something of the kind, and one of them, perhaps, 
 a drunkard; and her grandfathers non-existent; 
 and surely that sort of thing would put Len off. 
 If on the other hand . . . there were of course the 
 Bonshire Bonhams . . . and looks counted for 
 something . . . and there might be money. . . . 
 For as Len would have enough money to support 
 half a dozen wives, it was of course imperative that 
 his one wife should possess a fortune.
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 201 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Lady Clementina was not the only person at 
 Holt Hall who observed Len and Dorrie from 
 a window. There were many windows at the Hall, 
 some quite high up, for the house had three 
 storeys, and it was from one of the uppermost 
 windows that another pair of eyes looked down 
 upon Dorrie and Len. 
 
 And with what a different aim, from what a dif- 
 ferent standpoint, -with what different doubts ! 
 
 Lady Clementina looked upon Dorrie as decid- 
 edly beneath her son: these other eyes saw her 
 as miles above him. Miles? Perhaps leagues. 
 Therein, as to whether it was miles or leagues, 
 lay the doubt. For of course she was miles above 
 all men and leagues above most. None could quite 
 reach her level, not even a prince; but the one 
 must be at least within measurable distance of her. 
 
 It was Hannah of course who looked from the 
 upper window; nobody else would have seen as 
 Hannah saw; Georgina herself could not have 
 taken up such an attitude. 
 
 Hannah, in many ways, was having the time of 
 her life. For there she was, at Holt Hall, waiting 
 upon Dorrie ; without any need for discretion, any 
 fear of offence, any interference or regulations. 
 She had Miss Dorrie all to herself whenever Miss 
 Dorrie was within the four walls of her bedroom : 
 getting up, going to bed, doing her hair, changing 
 her frock, putting her hat on, taking it off, dress- 
 ing for dinner. On all these occasions, there was
 
 202 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Hannah feeding up her starved heart with the joy 
 of devoted service: on all these occasions it was 
 as though Dorrie were once more in the nursery, 
 and Hannah had re-become Nurse. And the 
 beauty, the exquisite delight of it was, that Dorrie 
 was as pleased as Hannah ; that she loved Hannah 
 to brush her hair for twenty minutes at a time; 
 that she insisted upon Hannah tucking her up in 
 bed; and that she never allowed Hannah to leave 
 her bedside until she had kissed her good-night. 
 
 And it had all come about because Holt Hall was 
 such a very big house. The beneficence of big 
 houses ! 
 
 Mrs. Saunders-Parr, going to tea with Mrs. 
 Bonham when the visit was first planned, had men- 
 tioned that Gwendolen would take a maid. 
 
 "I don't say that it's necessary, especially in 
 her aunt's house. But in these big houses you 
 can't always depend upon housemaids. They're 
 accustomed to people bringing their own at- 
 tendants, and are apt not to care about waiting on 
 visitors." 
 
 "Quite so," Mrs. Bonham had replied; "I am 
 glad to hear there will be no difficulty about Dorrie 
 taking her own maid, for I should much prefer it. ' ' 
 
 Dorrie, as a matter of fact, had no own maid. 
 The parlourmaid did what waiting she required, 
 and Hannah attended on Mrs. Bonham. But if 
 Gwendolen took a maid, Dorrie must take one too ; 
 and Georgina, moreover, could not tolerate the 
 idea of the Holt Hall housemaids condescending 
 to her daughter because she was maidless.
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 203 
 
 This being so, there really was nobody to play 
 the part of maid, save Hannah. Since the depar- 
 ture of Miss Kimmidge, Georgina had started an 
 under parlourmaid; but the under parlourmaid 
 was both fat and flighty and neither looked the 
 part, nor would have played it with any distinction. 
 Hannah on the other hand was free from flighti- 
 ness and embonpoint and looked the respectable 
 family servant if she looked anything at all. 
 
 Georgina did have a vision of engaging a smart 
 French maid for the occasion; but could she get 
 smartness and Frenchness and reliability all in 
 one ? Moreover, a maid engaged for the occasion 
 would probably have confided to the servants' hall 
 that she was occasional. Georgina 's customary 
 good sense speedily banished the vision, and she 
 decided in favour of Hannah. The absurd tie 
 between nurse and nursling was now, she con- 
 sidered, broken ; and even were it not wholly dis- 
 solved, a week's confiding of Dorrie to Hannah 
 could do no harm. Having decided what she 
 was going to do, she communicated her decision 
 to Mrs. Vearing, and Mrs. Vearing wholeheartedly 
 commended the wisdom of her course. 
 
 Thus it was that Hannah, from an upper win- 
 dow, was able to contemplate what Lady Clemen- 
 tina observed from a lower one. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Hannah was quite pleased with Holt Hall. 
 It was not a royal palace, but it was a prince- 
 ly home or so it seemed to Hannah. She
 
 204 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 passed the home: her only doubt was as to its 
 owner. Was he in any true sense, in any ap- 
 preciable degree, a prince ? Plain Mister he was ; 
 not His Highness nor My Lord nor His Worship ; 
 and he ought to have possessed all these titles. 
 But Hannah, though she had vaguely dreamed 
 of the son of a reigning royalty, had, in her imag- 
 inings, rather the conception of a prince in a fairy 
 tale than of an heir to a throne. He must look 
 like one anyhow; and whatever his lineage or 
 his prospects, had he failed to pass her criterion 
 of appearance, Hannah would have disdained 
 him. Now Len, to look at, was rather like what 
 she thought a prince ought to look like. To be 
 sure, having no title at all, Hannah would never 
 have admitted his claims, his looks notwithstand- 
 ing, save for one all-powerful consideration; the 
 consideration, namely, that Miss Dorrie evidently 
 admitted them; that she admitted them was obvi- 
 ous to anyone who took observations from a win- 
 dow. 
 
 The question in Hannah's mind was not, was 
 he worthy? for he could not be that; but was he 
 as near to being worthy as it was possible for 
 mortal man to be? While Lady Clementina at 
 one window was debating whether it were possible 
 to disentangle Len from Dorrie, Hannah at an- 
 other was wondering if it would be advisable to 
 try to lure Dorrie from Len. Both had qualms; 
 Lady Clementina because she could not help see- 
 ing that they made an ideal couple; Hannah be- 
 cause she could not help feeling that Dorrie was
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 205 
 
 already bound up in Len, that it would be almost 
 cruel as well as futile to try to turn her away 
 from him. 
 
 Len and Dorrie meanwhile went on their way 
 rejoicing. 
 
 It never occurred to Dorrie to do anything but 
 rejoice. The world was perfectly delightful; ev- 
 erybody and everything was charming and she was 
 as happy as the day was long; happier; since she 
 went on being happy after the day was done. She 
 had none of Miss Kimmidge's misgivings, be- 
 cause she was devoid of Miss Kimmidge's realiza- 
 tion. She did not question if Len were in love 
 with her, because she did not know that she was 
 in love with Len. Lady Clementina knew in 
 her astute mind ; and Hannah knew in her heart 
 of hearts ; but Dorrie had no idea what had hap- 
 pened to her. She only knew that everything was 
 delicious ; and she wrote home to darling Mummy 
 that she was enjoying herself immensely. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Mrs. Saunders-Parr replied almost immedi- 
 ately to Lady Clementina's letter of enquiry. 
 She assured dearest Clemmy that dear Mrs. 
 Bonham was a delightful woman and was 
 considered quite an acquisition to Stottleham so- 
 ciety. ("What do I care," thought Lady Clem- 
 entina, * * for Stottleham society ? ") She had been
 
 206 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 a Miss Smythe; and Mrs. Saunders-Parr didn't 
 know which Smythe or if it was any of the 
 Smythes ; but the father had made a fortune coal 
 or beer; she wasn't sure which, but at any rate 
 something quite respectable. As for Mr. Bon- 
 ham, he had been a charming man, though rather 
 a spendthrift. Mrs. Saunders-Parr could not say 
 for certain whether he was Bonshire, but she be- 
 lieved the family was county, and there was a 
 baronet, she thought, somewhere about in it, 
 though it might be only a knight. 
 
 Lady Clementina, reading the letter, first turned 
 up her nose and then turned down the corners of 
 her mouth. It was just about as tiresome as it 
 could be. She wanted family for Len, and there 
 was nothing you could call family there; and on 
 the other hand, there was no drunken charwoman 
 to hurl at Len's head. Money? There was a 
 little money. Muriel wrote that Mrs. Bonham 
 was quite well off comfortable, and of course 
 Dorrie would have it all. But well off in 
 Stottleham! It would be nothing to make a dif- 
 ference. It might serve Dorrie as pin-money, but 
 Lady Clementina set her mental teeth "but as 
 the wife of some other man than my son," she said 
 to herself. 
 
 With her mental teeth set very tight, Lady 
 Clementina went downstairs. She went into her 
 boudoir, from the window of which she had a few 
 days ago observed Len and Dorrie in the garden. 
 She sat down by that same window and began to 
 think out how she could save Len from the blan-
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 207 
 
 dishments of that minx ; for she had made up her 
 mind now that Dorrie was a minx ; it was easier to 
 be horrid to a minx. 
 
 She had not been sitting thinking very long, 
 when the door opened and in marched Len, holding 
 Dorrie by the hand. 
 
 Both of them were radiant, and Len said, as if 
 he were imparting the most delightful news: 
 
 "Mother, I've brought you my future wife." 
 
 Lady Clementina gasped. 
 
 "My dear Len," she said. 
 
 "I knew you would be awfully surprised," Len 
 went on. ' ' I kept it all dark because I didn 't want 
 anybody to guess till I'd made sure of Tier." 
 
 "I I " said Lady Clementina. 
 
 "So dark," laughed Len, "that even she was 
 surprised." 
 
 They both stood there smiling at Lady Clemen- 
 tina, and Lady Clementina looked back at them 
 with her mouth open, but not in a smile. 
 
 1 ' May I kiss you ? ' ' said Dorrie. 
 
 And Lady Clementina, who meant to say all 
 sorts of unpleasant things and was wondering how 
 best to begin, somehow said, before she knew what 
 she was doing: "Yes." 
 
 "I'm so glad," said Dorrie after the kiss, and 
 beaming at Lady Clementina, "that Len's got such 
 a lovely mother. ' ' 
 
 "As if," thought Lady Clementina, "sfee was 
 the one who had to accept me." 
 
 She thought this as much as she could think any- 
 thing, but she could not think properly at all : she
 
 208 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 was giddy with bewilderment. She wanted to say 
 that she would not give her consent, that nothing 
 would induce her to give her consent ; but she could 
 not get the words out. If only they had asked for 
 her consent, it would have been easier; but they 
 did not ask ; they took it for granted. 
 
 Then, when Dorrie had kissed her, Len kissed 
 her, and they both hovered about her, asking her 
 if she wasn't surprised and if she was pleased. 
 Lady Clementina, of course, was neither the one 
 nor the other, but she found herself implying that 
 she was both ; she even found herself, as they went 
 on talking, laughing at the ridiculous things they 
 said. At last Dorrie said she must go and write 
 to Mummy. 
 
 "I hope she'll be pleased; I think she will. But 
 of course," she said to Lady Clementina, "she 
 doesn't know Len nearly as well as you know me." 
 
 "So my satisfaction is taken for granted, while 
 Mrs. Bonham ... Oh Lord!" thought Lady 
 Clementina. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Dorrie went up to her bedroom to write to Mrs. 
 Bonham, and in her bedroom she found Hannah. 
 
 "Oh, Hannah," said Dorrie, "what do you 
 think?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Hannah. It was what 
 she had said to Miss Kimmidge when Miss Kim- 
 midge had asked her the same question in approxi- 
 mately the same circumstances.
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 209 
 
 ''Nurse," said Dorrie, "I'm engaged to be mar- 
 ried." 
 
 Hannah, when Miss Kimmidge had made a simi- 
 lar announcement, had said: "I never"; but she 
 did not say it now; she said nothing at all. In- 
 stead of saying anything, Hannah burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "Nurse dear," said Dorrie, "are you aren't 
 you . . .!" 
 
 "Oh, Miss Dorrie!" 
 
 ' ' Have you got toothache f ' ' 
 
 "No, Miss Dorrie, oh no." 
 
 "Then ... Oh, I wish you wouldn't." 
 
 "To think of it, Miss Dorrie!" 
 
 "But don't you like to think of it?" 
 
 If only Dorrie, distressed and taken aback, had 
 looked downstairs as she looked now, Lady Clem- 
 entina would have put her foot down and stamped 
 on both her and Len. 
 
 "Oh yes, Miss, but ..." 
 
 "Is it tears of joy?" asked Dorrie, cheering up. 
 
 "I daresay, Miss Dorrie." Hannah dried her 
 eyes. "To think of you, that I used to get up in 
 the night to give a drink to only yesterday as it 
 seems." 
 
 "It wasn't yesterday, you silly thing, but ever 
 so long ago ; I hardly remember it. But do make 
 haste and congratulate me." 
 
 "I do, Miss Dorrie, and many of them. Only 
 
 
 "Only what? Oh, Nurse, you are a wet blan- 
 ket."
 
 210 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "Miss Dorrie," said Hannah solemnly, "is he 
 good enough?" 
 
 Dorrie laughed. "Miles too good. Why, he's 
 perfect." 
 
 "Not so perfect as you, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 ' ' That shows how much you know about it. But 
 it's only because you brought me up. If you'd 
 given us both drinks in the night, you 'd have liked 
 him ever so much the best." 
 
 "No, nor I shouldn't, Miss." 
 
 "Yes, Nurse dear, you would. But I'm far 
 too happy to argue." 
 
 "He ain't got anything before his name, Miss 
 Dorrie." 
 
 "Anything before . . . What do you mean?" 
 
 "You ought to have somebody with the kind of 
 name that I could say My Lord or Eoyal 'Ighness 
 or something of that to him." 
 
 "Oh, Nurse, you are a snob." 
 
 "I ain't, Miss Dorrie, but I always looked for 
 you to have a prince, or anyhow a duke." 
 
 "Well, his grandfather's an earl." 
 
 "That may be, but you ain't going to marry his 
 grandfather. ' ' 
 
 "Thank heaven, no." 
 
 "Is he an old gentleman?" 
 
 "Oh, ever so old I suppose." 
 
 "P'raps when he dies, your ..." Hannah 
 paused, arrested by the prose of an everyday vo- 
 cabulary. "Your lover," Hannah went on, "will 
 come into the title. ' ' 
 
 "Oh no. It's on his mother's side, you see."
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 211 
 
 ''What does that matter, Miss Dorrie? Father 
 or mother, what's the difference? Why shouldn't 
 it come through his mother ? " 
 
 "Oh, because I don't know, but it never does. 
 It's the law or something." 
 
 "If he marries you, Miss Dorrie, it ought to be 
 arranged so as he gets it." 
 
 "Whatever does it matter what he's calledl 
 Anyhow, if you wanted me to marry a prince, 
 you've got your wish, for he is a prince." 
 
 "Is he, Miss Dorrie?" Hannah was a little 
 wistful. " It 's what I wondered. ' ' 
 
 "Of course he is. Why, you've only got to look 
 at him. ' ' 
 
 "He's sort of like one." 
 
 "Don't you think him very handsome ?" 
 
 " 'Andsome he is. And I expect he's rich. My 
 sister, whose fate was pore but beautiful, used to 
 say, when Mother was against it, 'If I've nothing 
 to eat,' she says, 'I'll have something to look at.' 
 But it's better t6 be rich as well. He is rich, Miss 
 Dorrie, I suppose?" 
 
 "I don't know, I " 
 
 Dorrie paused, looked round the room and out of 
 the window across the garden and park. "I I 
 suppose he must be," she said. 
 
 "No doubt this house belongs to him," said 
 Hannah. 
 
 "I suppose it must. It seems enormous, doesn't 
 it? after the Beeches." 
 
 "It's just the sort of 'ouse, Miss Dorrie, you 
 ought to have."
 
 212 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 " Nurse," said Dome, "I want you to do me a 
 favour. ' ' 
 
 "You know, Miss Dorrie, when you put your 
 arms round my neck, I can 't never say no. ' ' 
 
 "I want you, Nurse, to like him and think him 
 just as nice as if you used to give him drinks in 
 the night. ' ' 
 
 "I'll try and pretend, Miss Dorrie, as I did so." 
 
 "That's a good Nurse. And now I must write 
 to Mummy. I wonder what she '11 say ! ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 What Georgina said it would be impossible 
 to reproduce. She was quite as much upset as 
 was Lady Clementina, but in a different way; 
 and a great deal more surprised. Faint hopes 
 that such a result might ultimately be brought 
 about through the visit to Holt Hall had stirred 
 within her ; but so soon ... so suddenly . . . And 
 Dorrie was still so young too young . . . 
 
 Georgina 's bacon was cold before she turned to 
 eat it, and then she could not eat it. She break- 
 fasted off two mouthf uls of toast and a cup of cof- 
 fee, and immediately, without even waiting to or- 
 der the dinner, set out for Mrs. Vearing's. She 
 somehow never thought of Dr. Rayke; Alicia in- 
 stinctively was her goal; perhaps because there 
 was nothing to consult about and a supreme some- 
 thing to confide.
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 213 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was in the garden, nailing creepers 
 to the arbour. 
 
 ' ' My dear Georgina ! So early t I hope there 's 
 nothing . . . Dorrie . . .?" 
 
 "It's Dorrie; but nothing bad. Do let's go in! 
 The damp and the excitement together . . ." 
 
 "But of course," said Mrs. Vearing. 
 
 They went in to the drawing-room, Mrs. Vear- 
 ing putting her head into the study on the way, to 
 tell Adam she was not to be disturbed. And then, 
 in the drawing-room, Georgina told her news. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was fully as much impressed as 
 Mrs. Bonham hoped she would be, and fully as 
 much excited and delighted. 
 
 "My dear Georgina, I do congratulate you. 
 And Len Fortescue is such a charming young fel- 
 low." 
 
 * ' He is, I think ; and I believe him to be steady 
 and all that, as well. I could not let Dorrie marry 
 anyone who wasn't nice, however rich or influen- 
 tial." 
 
 ' ' I know you couldn 't, ' ' said Mrs. Vearing ; and 
 she was right ; for Georgina was worldly wise and 
 not worldly foolish. If Len had been a drunkard 
 or a gambler, Georgina would not have allowed 
 Dorrie to marry him, in spite of his mother being 
 Lady Clementina and Holt Hall his heritage. 
 
 "I shan't say a word about it," Georgina said, 
 "till it's absolutely settled." 
 
 "I shouldn't," agreed Alicia. 
 
 "I don't know that I could allow a regular en- 
 gagement she's so young "
 
 214 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "Oh, you couldn't stand in their way! Such a 
 darling young couple ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, we'll see. But as for marriage of 
 course it's out of the question for another year or 
 two." 
 
 "I don't like long engagements," said Mrs. 
 Vearing. 
 
 "No, but you must remember that she isn't even 
 out." 
 
 "Being out doesn't make you either older or 
 younger. ' ' 
 
 "That's true. But she is only seventeen. I 
 couldn 't think of her marrying till nineteen. ' ' 
 
 1 ' She '11 be eighteen in September. ' ' Mrs. Vear- 
 ing counted on her fingers. "June, July, August, 
 September. Only a year and tour months till 
 she's nineteen." 
 
 "Why should you be so anxious ..." said 
 Georgina. 
 
 "I can't help," said Alicia deprecatingly, "sym- 
 pathizing with love 's young dream. ' ' 
 
 "You are so sentimental," said Georgina, but 
 with a smile. 
 
 "We can't be all like you, dear Georgina, so 
 wise and sensible." 
 
 "Just as well," answered Georgina, but se- 
 cretly she thought that the world would be a more 
 comfortable and well-ordered place if everybody 
 all women at any rate were like her. 
 
 "How excited Mrs. Pottlebury will be!" This 
 was Mrs. Vearing 's next remark. 
 
 "Yes, won 't she ! But I shan 't tell her yet. ' '
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 215 
 
 "N-no?" said Mrs. Vearing, who was longing 
 to talk over Dome's love story with Patricia. 
 
 Mrs. Ludovic Pottlebury lived in Stottleham 
 now. The first three years of her married life had 
 been passed in London : then her husband had been 
 offered the post of Manager of the Stottleham 
 Branch of Messrs. Currie and Co.'s Bank, and he 
 and Patricia and two little Pottleburys had come 
 to settle in Stottleham. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing saw a good deal of Mrs. Pottle- 
 bury: Mrs. Bonham was friendly, but distant. 
 Patricia was not in her set, and she could not ask 
 her to meet any of her set. So Mrs. Pottlebury 
 was occasionally invited to lunch to meet nobody, 
 and Mrs. Bonham, as very much somebody, oc- 
 casionally took tea over the Bank and asked the 
 little Pottleburys how old they were. She was 
 thankful, when the Pottleburys dumped themselves 
 down in the High Street, that she had not allowed 
 Dorrie to be bridesmaid to Mrs. Pottlebury; and 
 now that Dorrie was engaged to an earl's grand- 
 son she was more thankful than ever. 
 
 Patricia accepted the quantity and quality of 
 friendship meted out to her with the same easy 
 philosophy with which she had always accepted 
 dear Mrs. Bonham 's generosities and shortcom- 
 ings. She did not very much care what set she 
 was in; her real set consisted of Ludovic and the 
 little Pottleburys; and anything interesting that 
 occurred in the best set was reported to her by 
 Mrs. Vearing. She had longed to call her second 
 little girl, born in Stottleham, Doris ; but the mem-
 
 216 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 ory of the crushed bridesmaid dictated the substi- 
 tution of Dorothy; Mrs. Bonham of the Beeches 
 would have resented the presence of a second 
 Dorrie at number three, High Street. 
 
 "No," said Georgina, "I shall not tell Mrs. 
 Pottlebury till the engagement is officially an- 
 nounced. She might tell Miss Pottlebury, and 
 then you know what it would be. I shall tell no- 
 body but yourself and, of course, Dr. Rayke." 
 
 "Mrs. Pottlebury is so devoted to darling Dor- 
 rie. I almost think she might be hurt if she did 
 not hear a little bit before the general public." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham mused. 
 
 "Dorrie shall write her a note," she said, "the 
 day before the announcement appears in the 
 'Times.' " 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 What was Lady Clementina to do! There 
 was, or so it seemed to her, absolutely noth- 
 ing to be done. She had begun by behaving 
 as if she approved, or at any rate as if she did not 
 disapprove; and having accepted a daughter-in- 
 law-that-is-to-be kiss from Dorrie (and Lady Clem- 
 entina was terribly afraid that she had returned 
 the kiss), how could she stand forth in the light of 
 day and declare that she was opposed to the mar- 
 riage? 
 
 She couldn't; she felt she couldn't. She imag- 
 ined how Len would look at her, and how Dorrie
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 217 
 
 ... If only Dorrie had been vulgarly pretty, or 
 less ingenuous, or a trifle even a trifle afraid of 
 her, she might possibly have screwed herself up 
 into appearing the tyrant she felt like. But 
 Dorrie was delightful, and, far from being afraid 
 of Lady Clementina, evidently thought Lady 
 Clementina delightful ; and if a person was delight- 
 ful and thought you delightful, how could you sud- 
 denly reveal that you were not delightful and 
 didn 't think she was especially if you did ! Lady 
 Clementina became so confused in trying to catch 
 the tail of her argument in the mouth of her con- 
 duct, and so mixed up in the riddles she pro- 
 pounded to herself, that she gave up trying to for- 
 mulate excuses or a plan of campaign, and lay to 
 use her own despairing metaphor like putty in 
 the hands of fate. 
 
 The result of being like putty was that she found 
 herself moulded into the form which seemed to Len 
 and Dorrie appropriate to a pleased parent. If 
 they wanted anything, a picnic or fireworks or 
 whatever it might be, Len asked for it for Dome's 
 sake, not for his own; and Dorrie asked for it " be- 
 cause of our engagement." And they had their 
 picnics and they had their fireworks, and Lady 
 Clementina was acclaimed as an angel while in- 
 wardly she felt like a ravening wolf. 
 
 And it was not only picnics : she had to do bind- 
 ing, irrevocable things, things that could not be 
 disclaimed or explained away. She found herself 
 writing to "Dear Mrs. Bonham," and expressing 
 all sorts of sentiments befitting not her feelings
 
 218 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 but the occasion : she found herself announcing the 
 engagement to her father and to various friends 
 and relations: she found herself espousing Dor- 
 rie 's cause in the face of family enquiries. She 
 had, of course, to do that ; for if Lady Clementina 
 chose to accept Dorrie (and nobody knew that she 
 had not chosen), what business was it of anybody 
 else's! It was absurd of relations to suggest that 
 they were turning up their noses, when they did 
 not know what they were turning them up at. 
 
 "You had better come and be introduced," was 
 Lady Clementina's rejoinder to doubts more or 
 less politely expressed. "For my part I am per- 
 fectly satisfied. Len has family and money, and 
 what I put before everything is beauty of person 
 and charm of character." Lady Clementina was 
 so much pleased with this phrase that she put it 
 into every letter. 
 
 In answer to the letters, several family fiends, 
 as Lady Clementina was accustomed to describe 
 certain of her relations, did come to be introduced ; 
 and all were conquered ; with the exception of one 
 cousin whom Lady Clementina designated the 
 Horror, and the Horror, Lady Clementina de- 
 clared, was jealous, because she had always wanted 
 to bring about a marriage between Len and her 
 hated offspring. To think of the offspring and to 
 look at Dorrie was a joy; and Lady Clementina 
 found it impossible to maintain the co-existence of 
 the joy thus generated and of the ravening wolf. 
 
 Georgina, meanwhile, was much sought after at 
 Stottleham. Longing for Dorrie 's return, which
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 219 
 
 was put off owing to the picnics and the fireworks 
 and Len's devotion and the family curiosity, she 
 was able nevertheless fully to enjoy the renown 
 of Dome's engagement; and after the announce- 
 ment of it had appeared in the "Times" and the 
 "Morning Post," she went the round of the best 
 set tea-tables, receiving congratulations and talk- 
 ing lightly of Lady Clementina and Holt Hall. 
 Georgina did not take sugar in her tea, but every 
 cup she drank was sweetened with the name of 
 Lady Clementina or Lady Clementina's home. As 
 Miss Pottlebury at the time of Ludovic's engage- 
 ment had referred to dear Mrs. Bonham, so dear 
 Mrs. Bonham referred to Lady Clementina. Only 
 Mrs. Bonham was much more casual in her ref- 
 erences than Miss Pottlebury had been, and Stot- 
 tleham, much impressed by Dome's engagement, 
 was most impressed by the fact that dear Mrs. 
 Bonham did not seem impressed at all. As for 
 Len's grandfather, the earl, Mrs. Bonham made 
 very light of him. What was an earl? her manner 
 seemed to say. Georgina, indeed, adopted the 
 tone of having been brought up on earls; and 
 Stottleham began to wonder if it had ever hith- 
 erto properly appreciated dear Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Dorrie was engaged, but she was not to be 
 married for a year at least Her marriage and 
 her coming out would practically take place at
 
 220 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 the same time; for she was to be presented at 
 Court immediately after her marriage by Lady 
 Clementina. In the meantime she was to have the 
 finishing touch put to her education by spending 
 some months abroad with her mother. Georgina 
 had already planned to take her to France and 
 Germany, and the plan was to be carried out. 
 
 It meant some weeping and wailing on the part 
 of Dorrie and Len. To be parted for months! 
 When it was impossible to live without seeing each 
 other every day! It was cruel of Mummy, and 
 hateful of Mother; and to put the lovers off with 
 letters, was to show that neither parent had ever 
 been in love. 
 
 They might have been, Dorrie hazarded, and for- 
 gotten, because it must have been so long ago. 
 But Len negatived the suggestion. 
 
 " Shall we ever forget?" he asked. 
 
 And Dorrie immediately recognized the folly of 
 her excuse. 
 
 But it was of no use to weep or to wail or to 
 coax or to storm. Georgina was firm, and Lady 
 Clementina, who had thrown away her initial 
 chances of opposition, seized upon this one and 
 was obdurate. 
 
 The only one who was heart and soul with Len 
 and Dorrie was Hannah, whose standard of what 
 was fitting for Dorrie was what Dorrie happened 
 to want. But who was Hannah? Her opinion 
 was not even asked except by Dorrie. And how 
 could Hannah approve of Dorrie going away, 
 since Hannah was to be left at home?
 
 LADY CLEMENTINA 221 
 
 It had occurred to Georgina to take Hannah; 
 because she was trustworthy and handy and did 
 not mind what you asked her to do. But Hannah 
 could not speak French, and the vision of the 
 smart French maid, which had dangled itself be- 
 fore Georgina 's mind when Dorrie was invited to 
 Holt Hall, returned, and so forcibly as entirely to 
 outweigh the advantage of Hannah's trustworthi- 
 ness. 
 
 So Georgina went up to London and interviewed 
 maids who were accustomed to travel and who 
 could speak in tongues unknown to Georgina, and 
 she engaged a maid who was French, who was not 
 young enough to be flighty and not too old to be 
 smart, and who spoke, so she said, both English 
 and German as well as her own language. 
 
 The English was not masterly. 
 
 1 'But we don't want her to speak English," said 
 Georgina. 
 
 4 'Except to us, Mummy," said Dorrie. 
 
 * ' Oh, she understands all right, and that is what 
 matters. ' ' 
 
 So it was all arranged. Len spent a few days at 
 the Beeches before the travellers started, and he 
 and Dorrie exchanged all sorts of presents and 
 vows. 
 
 "You won't forget me?" Dorrie asked on the 
 last evening. 
 
 "Oh, Dorrie, how can you?" 
 
 "Supposing I was to come back 
 
 1 ' How silly ! As if you could ! ' ' 
 
 "But supposing?"
 
 222 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I should love yon," said Len, "if you were as 
 ugly as sin. ' ' 
 
 1 ' So should I you, ' ' said Dorrie. 
 
 That was the sort of way they talked ; and they 
 were sometimes, Lady Clementina said, quite silly 
 even before people. Lady Clementina thought 
 them silly, but not so silly as Georgina thought 
 them. But both Lady Clementina and Georgina, 
 when they talked of their silliness, smiled.
 
 BOOK V 
 LEN AND DORRIE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GEORGINA, when she had planned to take 
 Dorrie abroad, had not done so with the idea 
 that Dorrie should be amused or even that she 
 should become acquainted with foreign countries, 
 but with the sole intention that she should learn 
 French and perhaps a little German. The six or 
 eight months on the Continent were to prepare her 
 for future travelling and perhaps for a winter 
 abroad. 
 
 And Georgina saw no reason for altering her ar- 
 rangements. She considered, and Rayke consid- 
 ered, that the classes which had been started in 
 Stottleham after Miss Kimmidge 's departure, had 
 provided Dorrie with all the education and accom- 
 plishments necessary for a woman ; but Dorrie had 
 very little knowledge of foreign languages, and 
 this was a knowledge which Georgina was deter- 
 mined she should possess. 
 
 Rayke was doubtful as to the advantage of 
 knowing French and quite sure that nothing was 
 to be gained by knowing German; but Georgina 
 held to her own opinion, Rayke notwithstanding; 
 and now that Dorrie was going to be an earl's 
 grand-daughter-in-law, she felt it to be more nec- 
 
 223
 
 224 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 essary than ever that she should be able to speak 
 tongues other than her own. Who could tell what 
 circles Dorrie would move in? Diplomatic per- 
 haps, and it would never do for her not to be able 
 to talk to foreign ambassadors. 
 
 So Dorrie was informed that though she might 
 write to Len as often as she liked and receive as 
 many letters from him as the international post 
 could convey, she must give a portion of her time 
 and a proportion of her attention to the study of 
 the French language. For French was to come 
 first ; French, as Georgina said to Mrs. Vearing at 
 her farewell tea, was essential. As for German 
 well, Georgina would see how much time there was 
 after Dorrie had got a grip of French. 
 
 "I quite agree," said Mrs. Vearing, "about the 
 French. Besides, it's the language of diploma- 
 tists, as you say, and if darling Dorrie should have 
 to meet such bewildering people. ... As to the 
 German " 
 
 "Yes?" said Mrs. Bonham. "Pray speak out, 
 Alicia, if you have any suggestion to make. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Vearing spoke, but with hesitating diffi- 
 dence. No, she had no suggestion; she only 
 rather felt, with Rayke, that German was hardly 
 necessary. 
 
 "Necessary I never said," Georgina corrected; 
 "but it's an advantage. Besides, I believe that 
 Lady Clementina has German relations, and you 
 never know . . . in the future ..." 
 
 "You are so far-seeing, dear Georgina, and you 
 always have a good reason for everything."
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 225 
 
 "If a woman doesn't know how to do the best for 
 her own child, she can't be good for much," 
 Georgina said graciously. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing at this last tea was inclined to be 
 tearful, and when Mrs. Bonham got up and began 
 to say good-bye, she actually was tearful. 
 
 "What shall I do without you all these months? 
 The Guild . . . the parish . . . and our pi ... 
 pleasant intercourse . . ." 
 
 "My dear Alicia, you have the Vicar." 
 
 "Dear Adam! yes, but I ... I have so appre- 
 ciated our friendship." 
 
 "And I, I assure you ; and to leave my home . . . 
 Nothing but a sense of duty ..." 
 
 ' ' I know, I know. You have it so strong. ' ' 
 
 "And after all, Alicia, it's for comparatively 
 speaking a very short time. In June at latest, I 
 hope " 
 
 "Promise me," Mrs. Vearing broke in, "that 
 you will come to the Vicarage as soon as ever . . . 
 the very first possible moment after you get back ! " 
 
 "How absurd!" said Georgina, but she prom- 
 ised ; and she kept the promise. 
 
 Because of the French it was of no use going to 
 hotels. A family was the right thing; and the 
 right thing in families had been found and ar- 
 ranged with long before Georgina, Dorrie, and 
 Augustine, the maid, left England. 
 
 The family lived on the outskirts of Paris, near 
 the Bois de Boulogne, because, as it was summer, it 
 was necessary to be where the air was fresh and 
 where Dorrie was not confined for walks to the
 
 226 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Paris streets. It was not a poor family. Geor- 
 gina eschewed poverty; it was so uncomfortable, 
 she said, when people had nothing to live on but 
 their boarders. She insisted upon a family well 
 enough off not to be dependent on its paying guests, 
 yet willing to receive guests for payment; and 
 when dear Mrs. Bonham insisted, she usually got 
 what she insisted upon. She did in this case. 
 
 The family consisted of Monsieur, Madame and 
 Mademoiselle. Georgina, looking out for a fam- 
 ily, had insisted not only on no poverty, but on no 
 sons. As things had turned out, a son, or even 
 two or three sons, would not have mattered; but 
 when Georgina had started on the quest, there had 
 been no Len to guard Dorrie against the fascina- 
 tions of fortune-seeking Frenchmen. So there 
 was only Mademoiselle. Dorrie very soon called 
 her Clothilde, and she called Dorrie Cherie. Ma- 
 dame, after a time, called her Cherie too, and 
 Monsieur called her Mademoiselle Charmante ; and 
 before she went away he had dropped the Made- 
 moiselle and substituted "ma." They were all 
 what Dorrie called "awfully nice" to her, and they 
 were all very respectful to Georgina, who, finding 
 herself treated with deferential consideration, and 
 Dorrie regarded with enthusiastic admiration, was 
 quite satisfied with the family and resigned to the 
 life she was leading. She wrote to Mrs. Vearing 
 that it was quite a change, and though of course 
 many things were very different from what she 
 had been accustomed to at Stottleham, she could 
 manage for a time to put up with it. Especially
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 227 
 
 as dearest Dorrie was getting on so well with her 
 French. 
 
 The French was certainly a success ; owing in a 
 great measure to the fact that Mademoiselle was 
 the only one of the family who knew English and 
 that she made a point of never speaking it when 
 she was speaking to Dorrie. All this was very 
 excellent for Dorrie, but rather dull for Georgina. 
 Monsieur and Madame knew no English but " yes" 
 and "all right," and that did not carry them far 
 in conversation. This inability to speak English 
 was, indeed, one of the ways and they were many 
 in which Georgina found the people of Paris 
 inferior to the people of Stottleham. She, herself, 
 as it was quite impossible to talk to Mademoiselle 
 all day, and especially when Mademoiselle was 
 giving Dorrie French lessons, found herself 
 obliged to pick up a little French ; and was able to 
 ask for pain and beurre, and sucre and eau chaud 
 for Georgina would not realize that eau be- 
 longed to the eternal feminine. As for the 
 French maid, Georgina never called Augustine 
 what Augustine called herself, but pronounced 
 her name as is pronounced in English the name 
 of the saint. 
 
 The French maid was one of the few people 
 with whom Georgina at this time could have any 
 conversation ; but the conversation was restricted, 
 partly because Augustine was a maid, and Geor- 
 gina considered it unseemly to talk much to serv- 
 ants, and partly because Augustine's English, 
 though unlimited as compared with Georgina 's
 
 228 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 French, was conspicuously limited as compared 
 with Georgina's English. Georgina constantly 
 failed to follow the meaning in the amazing gram- 
 mar and construction of Augustine's sentences, 
 and Augustine as frequently failed to follow the 
 meaning in Georgina's correctly worded com- 
 mands and observations. 
 
 Augustine was undoubtedly very useful in shop- 
 ping if once she could be made to understand what 
 Georgina wanted ; but it was rather annoying when 
 Mrs. Bonham Required shoes, and had repeated 
 carefully to Augustine: "Shoe, shoe, shoe. Do 
 you understand?" to be conveyed to a green- 
 grocer's and find that Augustine was purchasing 
 cabbages. Yet this sort of thing occurred fre- 
 quently; and it was no compensation to Georgina 
 or soon ceased to be one that Augustine re- 
 pented even unto tears, exclaiming: "My God! 
 how I am beast ! ' ' 
 
 "I do wish, Augustine," Mrs. Bonham would 
 remonstrate, "that you would not say you under- 
 stand if you do not understand. " 
 
 "But I thought to understand, and ordinaire- 
 ment I understand all Madame say. But shoe 
 chou so words in so tongues, so many different, 
 
 confusing, the same, that the head sometimes 
 >> 
 
 This was the sort of English that Mrs. Bonham 
 found almost as difficult to understand as French, 
 and when Augustine became explanatory, her chief 
 desire was to put an end to the conversation. 
 
 Nevertheless Augustine, as Georgina wrote to
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 229 
 
 Mrs. Vearing, was on the whole satisfactory. She 
 was neat and smart-looking and punctual and 
 good-tempered ; and as Dorrie was soon able to tell 
 her in French what Madame wanted, Georgina 
 ceased to suffer to any great extent from the in- 
 sufficiency of her English. 
 
 ''What I am doubtful about," Georgina wrote 
 to Mrs. Vearing, "is whether her German is any 
 better than her English. And if we go to Ger- 
 many, it will be very awkward if she cannot speak 
 the language properly. ' ' 
 
 But Augustine on this point was emphatic. 
 
 "My German vare much better than my Eng- 
 lish," she asserted with vigour, when Mrs. Bon- 
 ham managed to convey to her her doubts. "My 
 German like my proper tongue." 
 
 And Georgina could not test her. Only time and 
 Germany could show. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Dorrie was miserable at being parted from 
 Len, but her misery did not bring about the 
 continual depression which she felt it ought to have 
 occasioned. The youth in her was frequently 
 cheerful, and she told herself it was horrid of her 
 and disloyal to Len, not realizing that the youth in 
 Len was frequently cheerful too. But how could 
 she fail to be cheerful when Mummy was so sweet, 
 and was so anxious for her to learn French as to be 
 willing to put up with Augustine's English and all
 
 230 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 sorts of tiresome foreign ways! And as for dis- 
 loyalty, she was not really disloyal, since she 
 never stopped thinking of Len except sometimes 
 when she was learning French, and she had to 
 learn French. But she could not think of Len and 
 French verbs, especially the irregular ones, at the 
 same time; and if as Mummy pointed out she 
 was remembering Len when she ought to be learn- 
 ing French verbs, she would not be able to remem- 
 ber French verbs when, later on, she was travelling 
 with Len. Perhaps on their honeymoon! Oh, it 
 was impossible; far, far too wonderful ever to 
 come true. But it made the verbs and all the rest 
 of the horrid grammar which she had never been 
 able to master at the Stottleham French class and 
 could not master now it made it all seem almost 
 like part of the trousseau. And looked at in that 
 way, it was all right to be happy. 
 
 And then, besides the French lessons, there were 
 Monsieur and Madame and Mademoiselle who in- 
 sisted upon her being gay; and Monsieur and 
 Madame had friends and Mademoiselle had 
 friends; and the friends came to see them and 
 were delighted with Dorrie, and they, also, seemed 
 to think she ought to be gay. Amongst the 
 friends there were of course men as well as 
 women, and men of all ages ; men between twenty 
 and thirty, and between thirty and forty, as well 
 as men on the way to fifty and beyond it. 
 
 Had it not been for Len, Georgina would have 
 been in a constant fever of anxiety, for she looked 
 upon all Frenchmen as immoral or fortune-hunters
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 231 
 
 or both ; and it was obvious that every one of the 
 men who were received by Madame thought Dorrie 
 charming ; and that some thought her very charm- 
 ing indeed. But Len was a complete chaperon, 
 never to be eluded and always on duty. So 
 Georgina breathed with freedom, and even with a 
 certain satisfaction. She did not care twopence 
 how many Frenchmen fell in love with Dorrie, pro- 
 vided Dorrie did not fall in love with a single 
 Frenchman; it was rather gratifying to see their 
 subjugation; and as for Dorrie . . . Georgina 
 never had a qualm. She knew that Len filled 
 Dome's whole male horizon, and the foreground 
 as well, and the middle distance. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 In October Dorrie had influenza. It was not a 
 bad attack, but it was sufficient to disturb and 
 excite both Georgina and the French family. 
 Georgina discussed at length with Mademoiselle as 
 to how Dorrie could have caught the disease ; but 
 neither of them arrived at any conclusion ; nor did 
 Monsieur or Madame, nor Augustine, nor the 
 bonne a tout faire. The one thing certain was that 
 she had got it, and a doctor had to be called in. 
 "For I should never dream," wrote Georgina to 
 Mrs. Vearing, "of allowing my darling Dorrie to 
 be ill without seeing a doctor. But how I miss 
 my dear friend, Dr. Rayke, and his ever-ready ad- 
 vice, and my trusted physician at home."
 
 232 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Dr. Bechamel turned out however to be all that 
 even Georgina could desire in respect of compe- 
 tence, kindness and attention ; and it was wonder- 
 ful (and this too Georgina wrote to Mrs. Vearing) 
 how well Dorrie was able to answer his enquiries 
 in French. "She put out her tongue at once," 
 wrote Georgina, "and he never had to say it again 
 or point to it or make signs as I have to do when 
 I speak to Augustine. Sometimes I almost wish 
 I had brought Hannah, in spite of her teeth and 
 her dowdiness, but when we come to move further 
 on, no doubt we shall find the benefit of Augus- 
 tine 's French and German. ' ' 
 
 Dr. Bechamel spoke French to Dorrie, but if he 
 had not been able to speak English to Georgina, 
 Georgina would have insisted upon a doctor of her 
 own nationality. She had in fact wanted to call in 
 an Englishman before Dr. Bechamel was sum- 
 moned, but Dorrie had said it would be so much 
 more amusing to be ill if Mummy would have it 
 that she was ill in French, and Georgina had 
 given way. Dr. Bechamel's English was not per- 
 fect, but it was ever so much better than Augus- 
 tine's, and, after Augustine, the fact that Geor- 
 gina could understand Dr. Bechamel and Dr. 
 Bechamel could understand Georgina, made his 
 deficiencies seem of no account. 
 
 The worst of Dorrie 's illness for she was soon 
 better was that it gave Len an excuse for coming 
 over. 
 
 Having seized upon the excuse, nothing would
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 233 
 
 induce him to let go of it again. He told Lady 
 Clementina that it would be impossible for him to 
 settle to anything unless he saw for himself that 
 Dorrie was all right ; and he wrote the same thing 
 to Georgina; while Dorrie on her side, as soon as 
 she heard that there was the slightest chance of 
 Len's coming over, declared to Mummy and wrote 
 to Lady Clementina that she was quite sure she 
 should never get up her strength unless Len were 
 there to help her to do it. So he came. 
 
 "You really must not imagine," he had said to 
 his mother, "that we are children in arms." 
 
 "As far as reasonableness goes," answered 
 Lady Clementina, "you're barely short-coated." 
 
 "I don't see any unreasonableness in not want- 
 ing to be everlastingly separated from a person 
 you're as good as married to." 
 
 "Of course you don't," said Lady Clementina, 
 "that's the point." 
 
 "Mothers," said Len to Dorrie after he had ar- 
 rived in Paris, "think you are a sort of infant till 
 you're eighty." 
 
 "Yes, Mummy never realizes how old I am. I 
 suppose they can't help it," answered Dorrie. 
 She added: "But I'm sure they mean to be nice." 
 
 ' ' Oh, they 're nice all right. Only so absurd. ' ' 
 
 By the time Len arrived, Dorrie was looking 
 almost quite well. 
 
 "I wasn't really ill, you know," she told him. 
 "But Mummy wanted me to go to bed so badly that 
 I went. She's been so sweet about my learning
 
 234 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 French and all that, and I know she doesn't really 
 like being abroad a bit that I felt I must do some- 
 thing in return. ' ' 
 
 "I think it's rotten," said Len, " coming abroad 
 when she doesn't want to come, and you don't want 
 to come, and 7 don't want you to come." 
 
 1 1 It's so that I can talk to foreigners if we meet 
 them after we 're married, ' ' Dorrie explained. 
 
 "If a fellow can't talk English I'm sure 7 don't 
 want to talk to him, and I shouldn't think you 
 would. ' ' 
 
 Dorrie had rather liked talking to the French- 
 men who had so very much liked talking to her, but 
 she did not say so : she felt at the moment as if she 
 ought not to have liked it at all. 
 
 "You almost have to talk to them sometimes if 
 you 're in their country, ' ' she said. * ' If you travel, 
 for instance. ' ' 
 
 "Depends on who you're travelling with. If 
 you and I were together ... we shouldn't want to 
 talk to anybody except each other. ' ' 
 
 "No," said Dorrie, "of course not. Except to 
 order things." 
 
 "You needn't bother about that: all waiters 
 speak English." 
 
 "Perhaps in out-of-the-way places ..." 
 
 "Then we wouldn't go to out-of-the-way 
 places." 
 
 At that they both laughed. It still took very 
 little to make them laugh.
 
 LEN AND DOREIE 235 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 It was dreadful when Len went away; dreadful, 
 Dorrie felt, for Dorrie, but much worse, Georgina 
 felt, for Georgina. 
 
 " That's just what I was afraid of," Georgina 
 said, ' ' that his coming would upset you. ' ' 
 
 "It isn't his coming," said Dorrie tearfully; 
 "it's his going." 
 
 "That's what I mean. If he came, of course he 
 had to go." 
 
 "He needn't have, Mummy, if he'd stayed on." 
 
 ' ' Really, darling, you are absurd. How could he 
 stay!" 
 
 It seemed to Dorrie that it would have been quite 
 easy; but it was no use arguing with Mummy, 
 especially as Len's departure was an accomplished 
 fact; so what she said was: 
 
 1 1 Must I learn German when I know French ! ' ' 
 
 And to this Georgina replied: "We'll see." 
 
 Georgina when she said, "We'll see," knew 
 quite well what they would see. Germany had 
 been already decided upon by the two mammas; 
 not for the sake of the language, for Georgina was 
 willing to waive the language, and Lady Clemen- 
 tina did not care two brass farthings whether 
 Len's charming, unwelcome little bride knew Ger- 
 man or not, but for the sake of an excuse to keep 
 the lovers apart. Len had an examination to pass 
 and he would not settle down to work if Dorrie 
 were about: of that Lady Clementina was quite
 
 236 THE THUNDEKBOLT 
 
 sure. As for Dorrie, she would settle to nothing 
 if Len were about: of that Georgina was equally 
 sure. 
 
 And hanging and hovering about, Len was sure 
 to be. He was supposed to be eating dinners at 
 Lincoln's Inn, for he was to have a profession, 
 though he was not to practise it. But what was a 
 dinner now and again? Except for those dinners 
 Georgina knew that he would board and perhaps 
 lodge at the Beeches ; and if not, Dorrie would be 
 boarding and lodging at Holt Hall. Alicia Vear- 
 ing had been quite right; an engagement of any 
 length was most undesirable ; but while it lasted 
 and it had to last, at any rate till the following 
 summer the only possibility of peace was to keep 
 the Straits of Dover, if not a larger sea, between 
 Len and Dorrie. Georgina would have preferred 
 the Atlantic Ocean. 
 
 So Germany was really a foregone conclusion, 
 though, for the sake of keeping Dorrie amused by 
 travelling about, it was not to be all Germany; it 
 was to be Belgium and Holland to begin with and 
 Germany for a couple of months or so at the end. 
 In her heart Georgina looked forward to Germany ; 
 it was too far off for Len to run over. And she 
 did not want Len; she wanted Dorrie all to her- 
 self ; and if she could not send Len away, she could 
 at any rate take away Dorrie. Long ago she had 
 disposed of Nurse by turning her into Hannah. 
 She could not turn Len into anything except a 
 husband; and though she wished him to be Dor- 
 rie 's husband, she wished intensely that he should,
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 237 
 
 at any rate till he was her husband, keep out of the 
 way of Dome's mother. If Dome's engagement 
 had been broken off, Georgina would have been 
 miserable, but . . . but . . . 
 
 Once upon a time Dorrie had outgrown Nurse, 
 and Georgina had been pleased : then she had out- 
 grown Miss Kimmidge, and Georgina had not been 
 displeased: and now she had outgrown Georgina, 
 and Georgina Georgina found it hard to give way 
 to Len, even though he was an earl's grandson. 
 But in her heart of hearts she did not think that 
 Dorrie really could outgrow her: in her heart 
 of hearts she thought she could not by anybody 
 be outgrown. Of course just now . . . but later 
 on, when Dorrie had married and settled down, 
 Georgina expected to be rather to the fore. She 
 remembered that after a few months with Theo- 
 dore it had been rather a relief to go home for a 
 little without him : Dorrie no doubt would find the 
 same thing. In the meantime, from every point of 
 view, Germany, preceded by travelling in Belgium 
 and Holland, was advisable. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 So to Germany they went. But not straight to 
 Germany, not till February, and not till Len had 
 run over again. This time it was because of his 
 birthday. His birthday was in January, and it 
 was absolutely necessary, as he had gone to Holt 
 Hall for Christmas, that he should go to Paris for
 
 238 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 his birthday. Lady Clementina, on one side of 
 the Straits of Dover, gave way; Georgina, on the 
 other side, gave way too. For one thing it was 
 no use not giving way; Len would have come all 
 the same ; and then, the Germany Bill having been 
 carried, it was possible to accept the Birthday 
 Amendment. 
 
 So there was Len ; in and out of the flat all day ; 
 talking the vilest French to Monsieur and 
 Madame, and the latest English slang to Made- 
 moiselle; very much the son-in-law to Georgina, 
 and overwhelmingly the lover to Dorrie. Not that 
 Dorrie found him overwhelming, but everybody 
 else did. 
 
 " Mummy," said Dorrie, " we've hit upon a most 
 delightful plan. It's that my birthday is to be 
 our wedding day. You said I wasn't to be mar- 
 ried till I was nineteen, and so I shan't be; and 
 yet all thr time I am nineteen I shall be married. ' ' 
 
 "You can't fix days so long before," said Geor- 
 gina. ''It may be on a Sunday." 
 
 "Oh, but it isn't. We've looked it up and it's 
 a Wednesday as near the middle of the week as 
 it could be. ' ' 
 
 "We'll see," said Georgina. 
 
 "Len wants my veil to be net, not lace," Dorrie 
 went on. 
 
 "I don't want a bit of pattern coming over her 
 face," said Len. 
 
 "A twirligig on my nose," laughed Dorrie. 
 "Only if it was red . . .?" 
 
 "You never had a red nose in your life," said
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 239 
 
 Len. He turned to Monsieur, who had come into 
 the room and who was evidently trying to under- 
 stand by means of his eyes something of the con- 
 versation that his ears could not convey to him. 
 "Mademoiselle," said Len, holding his nose, 
 "jamais rouge." 
 
 "But no, Monsieur," said Monsieur, "certainly 
 Mademoiselle has no occasion to rouge. Made- 
 moiselle has the complexion of an angel." 
 
 ' * He er what does.he say ? ' ' asked Len. 
 
 "He says I don't need to rouge." 
 
 "What an old idiot! Of course not. Non, 
 non," said Len to Monsieur, "pas pas what the 
 dickens is cheeks! Joues, did you say! Pas 
 joues, nay nay. Nay, nay, nay. Comprenez!" 
 
 It was evident that Monsieur did not "com- 
 prenez": Dorrie was obliged to explain. 
 
 "Doesn't understand his own language, the old 
 rotter," said Len. 
 
 "But it isn't quite his language," said Dorrie. 
 "You say it so funnily, Len, even when you get the 
 words right." 
 
 "Well, he evidently means well from the way 
 he looks at you, so tell him it's all right." 
 
 This was the way in which Len spoke French 
 to Monsieur and Madame; but Monsieur and 
 Madame thought him a charmant garqon, and so 
 did Mademoiselle ; and they all agreed that he was 
 well suited to that chere petite and almost worthy 
 of her. 
 
 He was very attentive to Georgina and listened 
 to all she had to say about Dorrie and to all the
 
 240 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 advice she gave him. The advice rather bored 
 him, but he listened all the same, and he was never 
 bored when Mrs. Bonham talked about Dorrie. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 The evening before Len went back to England, 
 some friends of Monsieur and Madame gave a 
 ball. Monsieur and Madame and Mademoiselle 
 were all invited, and so were Georgina and Dorrie 
 and Len. Georgina did not want to go; she 
 thought it would not be quite the right thing for 
 Dorrie, who had never been to a ball before, and 
 was not properly "out," and too exhausting for 
 Len just before his journey. But Dorrie and Len 
 insisted upon accepting the invitation; that is to 
 say that they coaxed and teased till Georgina 
 gave way. 
 
 "It's just because I've never been to a ball that 
 I ought to go," said Dorrie. 
 
 "It would be rather absurd if Dorrie had never 
 been to anything grown up before she 's married, ' ' 
 said Len. 
 
 "Especially when I am grown up eighteen. 
 Why, Vera Marsden ' 
 
 "And Gwen Saunders-Parr!" added Len. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham 's usual fir-mness broke down under 
 the repeated attacks made upon .her in the char- 
 acter of mother and mother-in-law: she accepted 
 the ball, and ordered an evening dress for Dorrie
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 241 
 
 the first real grown-up evening dress Dorrie had 
 ever had. 
 
 It was a most beautiful dress, so they all agreed, 
 down to the bonne a tout faire, who waited on at 
 the flat to see Mademoiselle attired in it. It was 
 white, of course, and what the dressmaker called 
 ' ' tres simple ' ' and ' * tres jeune fille " ; but to Dorrie 
 it was a wonder of the dressmaking art and to 
 Len the garment of an angel when Dorrie wore 
 it; while everyone else agreed that it was exactly 
 suited to Dorrie and the occasion. 
 
 ' ' How it becomes her ! ' ' said Madame, and Geor- 
 gina, when Madame 's remark was translated to 
 her, smiled at Madame and agreed. 
 
 "I really think it does." 
 
 "La petite est charmante," remarked Monsieur, 
 and Len, catching a word he recognized, repeated : 
 "Charmong, charmong, charmong." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham and Madame sat together during 
 a large part of the evening, and whenever Dorrie 
 came to them or passed near them, Madame made 
 appreciative remarks. Georgina did not under- 
 stand the remarks, but she understood the speech 
 of Madame 's face and the look in her eyes, and 
 was dear Mrs. Bonham of Stottleham in her most 
 gracious mood. 
 
 Dorrie was radiant, in spirits and in beauty. 
 She said she was going to forget disgusting to- 
 morrow, and she did. Len delighted in dancing 
 with her, and when he was not dancing with her, 
 he had the delight of looking at her dancing with 
 somebody else. He was not a bit jealous of her
 
 242 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 dancing with other men, because he knew quite 
 well that she would much rather be dancing with 
 him; and she danced with him, of course, more 
 than with all the others put together. 
 
 There were many people that evening who 
 looked at and admired Dorrie; many women who 
 envied Mrs. Bonham her daughter, many men who 
 envied Len his bride. Georgina knew it, and Len 
 knew it, and Monsieur and Madame and Made- 
 moiselle knew it ; but Dorrie knew nothing except 
 that it was lovely to dance with Len, and that she 
 was enjoying herself immensely. 
 
 It was only quite towards the end of the ball 
 that Dorrie stopped enjoying herself. Then to- 
 morrow, which was already indeed to-day, thrust 
 in its importunate face and made Dome's face 
 wistful. 
 
 1 1 If only you weren 't going, Len ! ' ' 
 
 "I shall come back or rather you will come 
 back. And then " 
 
 "And then " 
 
 "It will make up for everything," said Len. 
 
 "Yes," Dorrie whispered back, "for every- 
 thing." 
 
 They stood in a little alcove by themselves, look- 
 ing into each other's faces. Dorrie was above 
 middle height, but Len was taller than she by a 
 head, and while she looked up, he looked down. 
 And looking down, he thought her just perfect. 
 That was the picture of her he took away with 
 him, that was how he always, in thinking of her, 
 saw her: in her white dress, with the pinkest of
 
 LEN AND DORRIE 243 
 
 soft pink cheeks, the most golden of hair, the bluest 
 of eyes : and in her eyes the love light. 
 
 They were wonderfully happy, looking through 
 the glamour of love into the glory of being always 
 together; and they thought themselves miserable 
 because before the everlasting union there stood 
 the dull months of parting. But they were far 
 more happy than miserable. 
 
 Georgina, from without the alcove, caught sight 
 of them, and was more convinced than ever that 
 she was right about Germany. 
 
 1 'This sort of thing," she thought, " would be 
 impossible without a break. And when we do get 
 back to England there will be the trousseau to take 
 up some of Dorrie's attention." 
 
 The next day Len went back to England, and a 
 fortnight later Georgina and Dorrie set out on the 
 way to Germany.
 
 BOOK VI 
 GERMANY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 DORRIE set out for Germany with an unwill- 
 ing heart; and after all, when at last she 
 got there, she rather liked it. She liked it partly 
 because it came at the end of her exile ; at any rate 
 when she got as far as Germany she had not to go 
 any farther; whereas all the time she was in Bel- 
 gium and Holland she was going farther and 
 farther away from Len. Had she had an ounce 
 of rebellion in her, she must have rebelled; but 
 there was nothing of the rebel in Dorrie. When 
 she was not delighted and her normal attitude 
 was delight she was pitiful; but always or 
 so Georgina thought sweet. And because she 
 was so sweet, Georgina could not bear to see 
 her pitiful. Rebellion she could have withstood, 
 as the people of Stottleham, within and without 
 her own set, knew. Dear Mrs. Bonham, it had 
 often been remarked, would stand no nonsense. 
 But pitifulness was another thing. 
 
 So when Dorrie said : "What a long way we're 
 going, Mummy ! ' ' Georgina felt for the moment as 
 if she could hardly carry the trip through. And 
 when Dorrie said: "It's such a long time, 
 Mummy," she was weak enough (she told herself 
 
 245
 
 246 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 it was weakness) to shorten, on the spur of the 
 moment, the period she had intended to spend in 
 Germany and to promise Dorrie that they would 
 go back to England in June instead of July. But 
 it was worth while to be weak, for Dorrie was so 
 radiantly grateful and called her a heavenly Mum. 
 
 The shortening of the time, together with the 
 fact that from Germany they were to go, except 
 for a week in Paris, straight home, made Germany 
 seem not dreadful after all. And then there were 
 Lady Clementina's relations. For Lady Clemen- 
 tina, as Mrs. Bonham had been inclined to suppose, 
 had German relations. 
 
 Len's grandfather's sister had married a Ger- 
 man, and become a German baroness ; but though 
 she was a German baroness she had remained 
 extremely English, and the Baron had generally 
 spoken English to her because she spoke German 
 so badly. She had, however, a daughter and sev- 
 eral sons, and they were all quite German like the 
 Baron and not a bit English like the Baroness. 
 The daughter, who was born a baroness, married 
 a Graf and became a Grafin ; and it was this Grafin 
 who caused Dorrie to like Germany. The Grafin 's 
 brothers were all officers in the Prussian army, 
 and since the Baroness's death Lady Clementina 
 knew nothing about them: she said she really 
 could not be bothered with Prussian officers. But 
 the Grafin and her husband had come to England 
 and had been invited to Holt Hall; and Lady 
 Clementina had liked the Grafin and continued 
 to write to her after she returned to Germany.
 
 GERMANY 247 
 
 In one of her letters Lady Clementina had men- 
 tioned that Len's little fiancee was going to Ger- 
 many; and the Grafin had answered the letter 
 much sooner than she usually answered Lady 
 Clementina's letters and said that she wished 
 above al] things to see the bride, and would her 
 dear cousin send her the bride's mother's address 
 at once ? 
 
 The Grafin lived in a castle in Silesia, and 
 Dorrie, when the invitation came to stay with the 
 Graf and Grafin, thought it would be lovely to stay 
 in a castle. So did Georgina. And the castle 
 with the Count and Countess inside it would 
 serve as a variant to Holt Hall at the Stottleham 
 tea-parties. 
 
 Dorrie would infinitely rather have had Len 
 than the castle, but as she could not have Len 
 for the next month or two, and had to go to Ger- 
 many she thought the castle and the Grafin and 
 the Grafin 's two daughters, who were also Grafins, 
 would be much nicer than anything else. On the 
 way she doubted, because the way was such a very 
 long way ; but when Mummy promised, faithfully 
 promised, that she should see England which of 
 course meant Len before the end of June, she 
 felt ever so much better, and went to bed at 
 Dresden with rather a headache but quite a light 
 heart.
 
 248 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Dorrie went to bed as soon as she arrived at the 
 hotel, for she had had a long day in the train and 
 she did not like trains. So she had tea and a roll 
 and butter and an egg brought up to her bedroom, 
 and ate the egg and drank the tea while Augustine 
 unpacked what was needed for the night. 
 
 Georgina was tired too, but she wanted her 
 dinner, so she descended to the dining-room, where 
 she had a little table to herself and half a bottle 
 of white wine and tried all the dishes that were 
 served at the table d'hote. She missed Dorrie, 
 but was quite comfortable about her, and Geor- 
 gina was never lonely at meals. She was not 
 amongst the people who read at a solitary repast. 
 1 'When I eat," she had remarked at a Guild Meet- 
 ing, the question of meals having arisen, "I give 
 my whole attention to my food. I consider it so 
 much better for the digestion"; and the remark 
 had been received with approval. It was so prac- 
 tical, quite in keeping with dear Mrs. Bonham's 
 habitual good sense. 
 
 At the Dresden table d'hote, Georgina was still 
 dear Mrs. Bonham. Hers was a consciousness 
 which was never merged in an outside atmosphere 
 or affected by the consciousness of other personali- 
 ties. As in England, so she was in Germany: the 
 Mrs. Bonham who, in the drawing-room at the 
 Beeches, consulted with Dr. Rayke, was changed 
 no whit as she sat in the dining-room of the
 
 GERMANY 249 
 
 Dresden hotel and observed, between the courses, 
 her fellow-diners. 
 
 The room was fairjy full, and, to Georgina, the 
 people who filled it looked all much alike. " Just 
 all Germans," she said to herself. She thought 
 them plain in appearance and she did not like the 
 way they ate. ' * Some of the men, ' ' she wrote to 
 Mrs. Vearing, ' ' actually tucked their table napkins 
 under their chins like children with bibs. So ill- 
 bred and un-English ! ' ' 
 
 The man at the table facing Georgina 's table did 
 this. He was the only man of his party, the four 
 others being women. Germans, evidently, all of 
 them, thought Georgina, who gave them her atten- 
 tion while she was waiting for the chicken and 
 salad. No, she considered, after the chicken, there 
 was one woman who might have been an ordinary 
 Englishwoman; the word " ordinary" was praise 
 from Georgina. And the man himself, with his 
 abominable table napkin, he was not perhaps dis- 
 tinctively German-looking after all "when you 
 looked into him." Georgina looked into him be- 
 tween the chicken and the ice pudding, and she 
 came to the conclusion that he might almost be a 
 Frenchman. The short dark beard, the olive skin, 
 and the quick movements. . . . Then the ice pud- 
 ding came, and Georgina proceeded to eat it. 
 
 After the ice and the grapes and the biscuits, 
 Georgina interviewed Augustine, who, according 
 to instructions, was waiting outside the dining- 
 room door. Mees was in bed, reported Augustine,
 
 250 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 and fast asleep ; nothing could be more satisfactory 
 than the condition of Mees. 
 
 Georgina, therefore, went on to the drawing- 
 room. She could not go to bed immediately after 
 her dinner, and there might be an English paper. 
 At any rate, as Dorrie did not want her, she would 
 see, especially as, if she went upstairs, it was ten 
 to one but she would find that Augustine had not 
 taken out her patience cards. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 There was an English paper, a copy of the 
 ' ' Times. ' ' It was nearly a week old, but Georgina 
 seized upon it with avidity: it was delightful in 
 Dresden to be able to read the "Times." 
 
 She read with joy the births, deaths and mar- 
 riages ; she skipped the leading articles, glanced at 
 the correspondence and the police news and was 
 proceeding to forthcoming marriages and recent 
 engagements, when a most annoying and also quite 
 painful thing happened. A fly or a gnat or a 
 midge or a speck of dirt or one of her own eye- 
 lashes got into Georgina 's left eye. Georgina 
 rubbed her eyelid, and it did no good : she took out 
 her handkerchief and wiped away the gathering 
 moisture, and it did no good : she twisted a corner 
 of the handkerchief and tried to pass it between 
 the upper and lower lids, and still it did no good. 
 
 Then she heard a voice.
 
 GERMANY 251 
 
 "Pardon, Madame! There is into yonr eye 
 something entered. Not?" 
 
 Georgina started, and with the one uninjured 
 eye looked in the direction of the voice, which was, 
 indeed, almost in front of her. And there, look- 
 ing at her with keen dark eyes, was the man of the 
 table napkin, who had faced her at table d'hote. 
 
 Georgina hesitated. She had a hazy sense that 
 some sort of introductory formula should have 
 taken place or should take place now: her mental 
 attitude would have been expressed by the words : 
 I am Mrs. Bonham of Stottleham. Who are you! 
 though even in her mind she did not frame those 
 words. 
 
 "I I she began; then the pain caused by 
 
 the midge or the dust or the eyelash caused her to 
 waive ceremony. "Yes, there is," she said. 
 
 "I am doctor," said the man. "Allow!" 
 
 And before she could allow or disallow, he had 
 turned back the upper lid of her eye and removed 
 the cause of her discomfort. 
 
 Georgina blinked. The eye still smarted a little, 
 and watered. 
 
 "It is all right. In a minute the pain is over." 
 
 The man smiled at her with a beneficent smile : 
 Georgina, in the relief that she was now beginning 
 to feel, smiled faintly back. 
 
 "Thank you so much," she said. "I'm sure 
 I'm ... it was most kind of you." 
 
 "Such small things occasion much suffering. It 
 is nothing." 
 
 With a swift movement the benefactor drew a
 
 252 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 case from his pocket, took a card from the case 
 and handed it to Georgina with a bow. He had a 
 sense of the formalities then after all. 
 
 "I'm so sorry," said Georgina, "that I haven't 
 a card down here. Perhaps in the morning ..." 
 
 Her tone verged on cordiality ; she had forgotten 
 the table napkin. 
 
 "It makes nothing," said the man, and bowed. 
 
 "My name," said Georgina, "is Mrs. Bonham." 
 
 Again the man bowed. "It makes me pleasure 
 to assist," he said, and turned away. 
 
 Georgina returned to the "Times," or tried to 
 return, but the incident had diminished her 
 interest in the recent engagements. Did all 
 Germans, she asked herself, suddenly assist 
 strangers? She tried to think how an English 
 doctor would have behaved in the circumstances, 
 but she could not recall any instance of having 
 had a fly in her eye in the presence of an unknown 
 doctor. Then she found herself wondering who 
 this unknown to her unknown German doctor 
 might be. She did not like to look at his card 
 there, in the drawing-room ; she must wait till she 
 got upstairs. In the meantime she glanced every 
 now and again towards that corner of the room 
 where, talking to a little group of people, he paced 
 up and down. He seemed to her like a man who 
 never was, or could be, still. Georgina did not 
 like restless people; she liked people to be quiet 
 and not fidget. Nevertheless he had been very 
 kind very kind indeed, and but for his help . . . 
 Perhaps he was an oculist . . . possibly well
 
 GERMANY 253 
 
 known . . . there were celebrated German oculists 
 . . . people went all the way to Germany to con- 
 sult them ... a man called Pargonsticker or 
 something of the kind. It might be quite useful 
 to have met him like this, supposing anything were 
 to go wrong with her or Dome's eyes. 
 
 His name, however, was not written on his back, 
 nor on his face, nor on his short black beard. She 
 had to wait till she went upstairs to find out what 
 it was. On the card was printed "Herr Dr. 
 Eeisen, Bahnstrasse, Laubach." 
 
 Was Reisen a well-known name? Georgina did 
 not know. But then she did not know the names 
 of any German doctors. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 In the morning Dorrie 's headache had as com- 
 pletely vanished as had on the previous evening 
 the insect from Georgina 's eye. Georgina told 
 Dorrie about the German doctor, and Dorrie 
 laughed. 
 
 ' * Oh, Mummy, how funny you must have looked ! 
 I wish I had been there to see." 
 
 It did not fit in with Mrs. Bonham's idea of 
 herself to think that she might have looked funny. 
 Had anyone but Dorrie suggested it, she would 
 have resented the suggestion, but she rarely re- 
 sented anything from Dorrie. Probably, too, the 
 child was only in fun; and anyhow if she had 
 looked funny, there was nobody but Germans to 
 see her.
 
 254 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 There was an immense deal to be seen in 
 Dresden, according to Baedeker and also Murray, 
 and apart from the guidance of Baedeker and 
 Murray there was, as Georgina knew for herself, 
 the Madonna. It would never do, having been 
 in Dresden, not to refer, in Stottleham, to the 
 Dresden Madonna. The Madonna must be made 
 sure of before they saw anything else. They set 
 out therefore, soon after breakfast, to make sure 
 of the Madonna. 
 
 Georgina before going downstairs put one of 
 her visiting cards in her handbag. She had prac- 
 tically promised it in exchange for the card of 
 Herr Dr. Eeisen. But she did not see the doctor 
 as she and Dorrie went out, nor when they re- 
 turned, nor at the table d'hote in the evening. 
 He had, indeed, left with his party, by an early 
 train that morning, as the waiter, on enquiry, in- 
 formed her. 
 
 It was perhaps just as well, Georgina thought. 
 He might have expected her and Dorrie to talk 
 to him and his party in the drawing-room after 
 dinner, and she did not care about talking to people 
 in hotels. You never knew and especially 
 foreigners. Moreover these particular foreign- 
 ers looked dowdy- the women at any rate. The 
 doctor was not exactly dowdy, but there was the 
 table napkin, which had re-formed itself in Geor- 
 gina 's recollection. He had been very kind, and 
 she was much obliged to him, but it was just as 
 well. 
 
 Georgina and Dorrie stayed a week in Dresden,
 
 GERMANY 255 
 
 and saw a good deal besides the Madonna. But 
 Dorrie begged that Mummy would not make her 
 see everything in the guide-books. ''Because the 
 pictures get so jumbled, and there are such lots 
 that are the same people over and over again." 
 
 Dorrie, in truth, much preferred the confec- 
 tioners' shops to the galleries. She rather liked 
 the opera, but not so much as the music at the 
 cafes; and at the cafes you could have chocolate 
 with whipped cream while the music was going on. 
 If only Len had been there to have chocolate too, 
 and some of the delicious cakes that were served 
 with it! She wrote him enormously long letters 
 and told him everything they did, but the galleries 
 were just mentioned in a sort of list, while the 
 cafes were described in detail. And every letter 
 ended up with a reference to the month of June. 
 She longed for March to be over, because on the 
 very first day of April she would be able to talk, 
 not of a distant June, but of the month after next. 
 The month after next made it seem very near. 
 "It" was the meeting with Len. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 It was the middle of March when Mrs. Bon- 
 ham and Dorrie arrived at the Grafin's, and the 
 castle, Dorrie wrote to Len, was lovely. Geor- 
 gina, writing to Mrs. Vearing, called it superb. 
 It was right among the hills ; the hills were clothed
 
 256 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 in forests, and some of the forests belonged to the 
 Graf, for he had a very large estate. 
 
 "I feel," Georgina wrote to Mrs. Vearing, "as 
 if I were back in feudal times. It is such a lordly 
 kind of life." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was used, at the Guild Meetings, 
 to give tidings of Mrs. Bonham and report as to 
 where she was and what she was doing; and the 
 news spread at once from table to table that dear 
 Mrs. Bonham was leading a lordly life. It was re- 
 ceived with satisfaction; the lordliness of Mrs. 
 Bonham reflected credit upon Stottleham. And 
 Miss Truefitt did not sniff. All the sniff had been 
 taken out of her by Dorrie 's engagement. 
 
 The lordliness of Mrs. Bonham 's life, however, 
 lay chiefly in a certain etiquette and in the ideas 
 of Mrs. Bonham ; for the Graf and the Grafin and 
 especially the Grafin were quite simple folk, and 
 so were their children. There was Otto, who was 
 twenty-one, and Emilie, who was nineteen, and 
 Alma, who was seventeen. Otto was fair and so 
 was Alma, and Emilie was dark ; and all three im- 
 mensely admired Dorrie, especially Otto. He was 
 of course a count like his father, and Emilie and 
 Alma were countesses; and this was one of the 
 things that Georgina thought lordly. 
 
 Dorrie, being eighteen, was midway in age 
 between Emilie and Alma, and both confided in 
 her. Emilie had a romantic attachment, and 
 Dorrie was moved to tears by the hopelessness and 
 the pathos of Emilie 's fate. Der Adolf was evi- 
 dently one of the noblest and most charming of
 
 GERMANY 257 
 
 men, and it was heart-breaking to think that pov- 
 erty and an inferior position forbade his union 
 with Emilie. 
 
 Alma had no romantic attachment, but she hoped 
 to have one: as yet she had come across no man 
 sufficiently romantic to be attached to. Otto had 
 had two, and had now, since Dome's arrival, 
 formed a third. He, also, wished to confide in 
 her, but Dorrie had no pity for Otto. When Otto 
 fixed his blue eyes on her and sighed, Dorrie only 
 laughed; "because," as she told Georgina, "he 
 isn't really miserable a bit, and he only pretends 
 to himself he's in love with me. The way he 
 looks it's quite, quite different from Len. I 
 wonder if Daddy used to look at you, Mummy, 
 the way Len looks at me." 
 
 "I daresay," said Georgina. She did not in 
 fact remember how Theodore had looked at her 
 before they were married. She remembered 
 Kayke's way of looking at her during the time 
 he had sat on the fence that divided him from 
 matrimony far better than any gaze or glance of 
 Theodore's. But she could not, of course, reveal 
 the romance which her prudence had stultified to 
 Dorrie. 
 
 She missed Eayke, during this time abroad, 
 more than anybody. Mrs. Vearing yes, she 
 missed Mrs. Vearing, but nothing like so much 
 as she missed Rayke. Alicia was a sort of satel- 
 lite, whereas Rayke, with his wisdom and sym- 
 pathy, was a sort of sun ; and while she missed the 
 circling of the satellite, she missed still more the
 
 258 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 illumination of the sun. He wrote her nice letters 
 and she wrote equally nice letters to him ; but she 
 missed the constant consultation and the asking 
 and giving of advice. Advice by post was not the 
 same thing; it took so long in coming and she 
 could not explain the little ins and outs of diffi- 
 culties in a letter. Rayke had always understood 
 so much that she left unsaid, but if she left things 
 unsaid in writing, he did not understand at all. 
 It would be very nice, she thought, to be back at 
 the Beeches with Eayke coming to tea. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 In the meantime G-eorgina made the most of 
 the castle, with its counts and countesses and its 
 lordly life; and Dorrie, striking off daily in her 
 almanac one of the days that still divided her 
 from Len, made the most of it too. And Dome's 
 most was a good deal, because she was young 
 and well and eager of enjoyment, and was amused 
 by all the sights and ways that were different from 
 what she had known in England. 
 
 There were continual expeditions to points of 
 interest or beauty, and at every point there was 
 a restaurant where they had coffee or beer or milk 
 and always cakes. Georgina had a distinct liking 
 for German beer, but Dorrie made faces when- 
 ever she tasted it, and Otto made her very angry, 
 or as nearly very angry as she could be made, 
 by saying that her dislike was affectation. Then,
 
 GERMANY 259 
 
 when he had made her angry, he begged her to 
 forgive him and said if she would only be kind 
 to him he would never tease her again. 
 
 There were always Jews wherever they went, 
 and the Graf and the Grafins disliked the Jews as 
 much as Dorrie disliked the beer. And sometimes 
 there were Polish Jews who wore long gaberdines 
 and earlocks, and amazed and amused Dorrie by 
 their appearance, and who seemed to be held in 
 as much contempt by the German Jews as were 
 the German Jews by the .Germans who were not 
 Jews. 
 
 Georgina and Dorrie both wrote accounts of the 
 expeditions. Georgina 's accounts were circulated 
 throughout Stottleham and interested the people 
 in all the different sets; but Dorrie 's accounts 
 got no further than Len, and indeed in Dome's 
 accounts there was very little of general interest. 
 
 It was lovely spring weather, and they all en- 
 joyed the expeditions. The Graf and the Grafins 
 said it was so delightful to show their dear English 
 friends the beauties and customs of the Father- 
 land ; and Georgina said it was so interesting and 
 instructive, and Dorrie said it was so funny, to see 
 how things were done in Germany. There were 
 only two expeditions which were not completely 
 successful. The first was spoiled by Georgina 
 having a headache, which became a very bad head- 
 ache before they got back to the castle; and the 
 other expedition was the one during which Dorrie 
 had her accident. But this one was not very much 
 spoiled, not nearly so much as was the expedition
 
 260 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 of Georgina's headache, since Dome's accident, 
 as Dorrie said, was such a tiny one. 
 
 She slipped on a path slippery with pine-needles 
 and fell, and at the spot where she fell there was 
 the remains of a broken bottle, cast away by a 
 last year's picnicker (the Grafs and the Grafins 
 said of course he was a Jew) and partially em- 
 bedded in the soil. It was sharp enough and 
 strong enough to cut through the side of Dorrie 's 
 shoe and graze her foot. It was not much more 
 than a graze, but it bled a little ; and Emilie, who 
 could not stand the sight of blood, almost fainted, 
 and Otto thundered against the rascally Jew whose 
 fault it was, and the Grafin proposed all sorts 
 of remedies, and Georgina, who always carried 
 two handkerchiefs, produced a clean one to bind 
 up the wound, and everybody talked at once. 
 
 The only one who did not talk was Dorrie. 
 Dorrie only laughed, and when they allowed her 
 to answer some of the questions they volleyed 
 forth, she said it did not hurt at all or hardly at 
 all, and she did not feel a bit sick or shaken, thank 
 you, nor at all frightened, and that it was ever so 
 much better than if she had sprained her ankle. 
 
 1 'The villain!" said Otto. "To break a bottle 
 and throw it where a lady might fall." 
 
 "I hope," said Dorrie, "that he had drunk the 
 beer, poor fellow, before he broke the bottle." 
 
 Whereupon the papa Graf said that she had a 
 noble character. 
 
 Otto wanted to carry her, but Dorrie resolutely 
 refused to be carried. If it had been Len .
 
 GERMANY 261 
 
 But it was not Len, and she did not say to Otto 
 what might have happened if he had been Len. 
 She took Georgina's arm as far as the carriage, 
 but she hardly limped at all, and by the time they 
 got back to the castle the wound had stopped bleed- 
 ing altogether. 
 
 By that time, too, everybody's excitement had 
 subsided, and it seemed to them all somewhat 
 absurd that Augustine should a little lose her head 
 when she heard that Mees had had an accident. 
 
 ' 'And I said only a slight accident," Georgina 
 explained. 
 
 "But Augustine's always losing her head, 
 Mummy," said Dorrie, "so it's only likely she 
 would when everybody else did." 
 
 "I didn't lose my head." 
 
 "You never do, do you, Mummy! But all the 
 rest did. That 's what made me laugh. Especially 
 Otto." 
 
 "Poor Otto, I fear, has lost his heart." 
 
 * * Oh no, he <hasn 't. It 's only because he thinks 
 he ought to. He likes me, of course, but it's be- 
 cause I'm pretty." 
 
 "But, darling" Georgina was a little shocked 
 ' ' do you think you 're pretty ? People don 't gen- 
 erally ..." 
 
 "I must be," interrupted Dorrie, "because Len 
 says so." 
 
 "Really, Dorrie " 
 
 "And I think so too, rather, of my own accord. 
 I can't help it, Mummy, especially in some of my 
 hats."
 
 262 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "When I was a girl," said Georgina, "I never 
 heard girls talk as you talk." 
 
 "Didn't you? I wonder, when 7 have a 
 daughter " 
 
 "Really, Dome, it's hardly. ... To talk of 
 having children before ..." 
 
 "But of course I shall have children. You had 
 a daughter, Mummy, so why shouldn't I?" 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Augustine had been getting on quite satisfac- 
 torily in regard to German ; it seemed to Georgina 
 that she had managed everything very well during 
 the travelling. She had accomplished the ticket- 
 taking without a hitch, and appeared to have no 
 difficulties at the hotels. Georgina did not realize 
 that at every hotel most of the servants spoke 
 French as well as English, and she was reassured 
 as to Augustine's command of the German tongue. 
 Moreover, Augustine had improved very much in 
 her English, so that there was now no difficulty 
 in communicating with her, and being satisfied in 
 respect of her English, Mrs. Bonham was disposed 
 to be satisfied also in respect of her German. 
 Augustine herself was quite satisfied too. 
 
 Augustine thoroughly enjoyed herself at the 
 castle; it was the kind of life, she told Dorrie, 
 that she did enjoy; and she became as nearly de- 
 pressed as it seemed possible for her to be, when 
 the time drew near for leaving it.
 
 GERMANY 263 
 
 It seemed extraordinary to Dome that Augus- 
 tine should be depressed. Of course in a way it 
 was all right. Dorrie too in a way was sorry 
 to go ; sorry to leave the kind Graf and Grafin and 
 Emilie and Alma and Otto even Otto. But when 
 they left the castle their faces would be set towards 
 England, west instead of east, and surely to go 
 back to England . . . Only of course, Dorrie re- 
 minded herself, everybody could not be engaged 
 to Len. Augustine certainly could not. The 
 thought amused her and made it more difficult than 
 ever to look as sorrowful as she felt she ought 
 to look in response to the melancholy aspect of 
 Emilie, Alma and Otto. 
 
 The only thing that was rather tiresome was 
 that the little wound on her foot had not prop- 
 erly healed. The Graf thought some dirt must 
 have got into it; the Grafin thought it was the 
 dye from the stocking; Georgina did not know 
 what to think ; and as for Dorrie, all she thought 
 about it was that it was annoying because people 
 made such a fuss. 
 
 ' 'I think," said the Grafin to Georgina, "that 
 you should let a doctor see the foot as soon as 
 you get to a town." 
 
 "I will," said Georgina, "most certainly. 
 Laubach is our first stopping-place, and ..." 
 
 Suddenly she remembered Dresden and the fly 
 in her eye and the doctor who had been so kind. 
 She had not thought either of the fly or the doctor 
 since she had been at the castle. And now she 
 could not remember his name, but she thought
 
 264 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 she was almost sure that Laubach was the name 
 of the place on the card he had given her. 
 
 The next time she went upstairs she looked for 
 the card and found it and brought it downstairs 
 to show the Grafin. 
 
 "The Herr Professor Eeisen was it who came 
 to your assistance?" exclaimed the Grafin. "I 
 know the name very well, and indeed I know a 
 little the man. There has been talk about him" 
 the Grafin shrugged her shoulders "but he is 
 so celebrated that one has to forget it. Every- 
 where in Europe I daresay you have heard of 
 him, my dear Mrs. Bonham, as a professor, a sci- 
 entist ..." 
 
 "I may have heard the name," said Georgina, 
 but she felt quite sure she never had. She added : 
 "My friend, Dr. Eayke, I daresay would know 
 him." 
 
 "Without doubt. And you could not consult a 
 better man. He is a skin specialist " 
 
 "But this wound has nothing to do with the 
 skin," said Georgina quickly. Dorrie's skin was 
 perfect, she said to herself. 
 
 "No, of course not." The Grafin hastened to 
 remove the imputation she appeared to have cast 
 on Dorrie's skin. "Oh no. Your Dorrie has such 
 a beautiful complexion. Still, he is clever so 
 clever in every way. I will write you a little letter 
 of introduction." 
 
 "It's most kind, but I need not trouble you. I 
 have my introduction." And Georgina pointed 
 to the card. "I am sure he will remember me."
 
 GERMANY 265 
 
 Dear Mrs. Bonham was not used to being for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The Grafin agreed; the card was quite enough. 
 Still, she had to write to the Professor in any 
 case, about a poor girl in whom she was interested 
 and whom she wanted him to treat in his clinic : she 
 would mention Mrs. Bonham and her daughter at 
 the same time. It could do no harm, said the 
 Grafin. 
 
 The Grafin having agreed with Georgina, Geor- 
 gina now agreed with the Grafin. The card, to be 
 sure, was an introduction, a fully sufficient intro- 
 duction, connected as it was with the incident of 
 the fly; but it could do no harm to be known as a 
 friend of the Grafin 's; on the contrary a friend 
 of the Grafin 's would certainly be received with a 
 greater enthusiasm and deference than an hotel 
 acquaintance from whose eye the professor had 
 removed an insect. Georgina therefore agreed to 
 the Grafin 's proposal, and graced her thanks with 
 a measure of effusiveness. 
 
 Dorrie, who usually objected to seeing doctors, 
 said she would go and see any doctor Mummy 
 liked, if it would make people stop worrying about 
 her foot. And the doctor who had been so kind 
 to Mummy would be much the nicest doctor to 
 see.
 
 266 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Georgina and Dorrie, when they got to Laubach, 
 thought it very dull. The Grafin had recom- 
 mended an hotel in a quiet part of the town, in 
 the Catholic quarter, for the Jewish quarter, she 
 said, was reeking with Jews ; moreover it was very 
 noisy, not only because there were a great many 
 Jews, but because there were also a great many 
 cobblestones. The cobblestones seemed to be 
 everywhere, but very few vehicles passed over 
 them in the street where was the hotel recom- 
 mended by the Grafin, and it was very quiet, and 
 quite Jewless and so Georgina and Dorrie 
 thought quite uninteresting. Augustine thought 
 so too. 
 
 Dorrie and Augustine went out after they had 
 all had some tea and some little rolls shaped like 
 buns, to see if they could find shops and res- 
 taurants with bands. Georgina was tired and 
 preferred to lie down in her bedroom ; besides, she 
 owed letters to both Mrs. Vearing and Dr. Rayke 
 and wanted to clear off her debt. 
 
 "I wish, Mummy," said Dorrie when she came 
 back, "that we had gone to an hotel amongst the 
 nice horrid Jews." 
 
 "I don't know why you call them nice, darling. 
 After all we heard at the castle. . . . Besides, 
 they can't be nice if they are horrid." 
 
 "I suppose they're horrid, because the Grafin 
 and all said they were. But I think they're rather
 
 GERMANY 267 
 
 nice, more amusing than other Germans, and 
 very kind if you ask the way." 
 
 ' ' Did you ask the way f Where to ? Where did 
 you go to?" 
 
 "We asked the way to the hotel, because it 
 was such fun, Mummy we lost ourselves. We 
 went ever so far away well, not ever so far, but 
 pretty far, and we got right amongst the Jews and 
 the shops and the bustle much more amusing 
 than it is round about here. And of course we 
 thought we knew the way back, and then we 
 didn't." 
 
 "You should have looked at the map. I don't 
 know whether there 's any sort of map of Laubach 
 in Baedeker, but I am sure I saw maps and local 
 guidebooks for sale in the bureau." 
 
 "We did buy a guide-book and there was a map 
 in it, but you can't study a map when you're 
 walking along, can you, Mummy?" 
 
 "I should have studied it before I started," said 
 Georgina. She rather prided herself on finding 
 her way about. She had found it with almost no 
 difficulty at all to the Dresden Madonna. 
 
 "I suppose we ought to have, but we were so 
 anxious to start. But Augustine says she is going 
 to study it this evening. We kept saying 'Bitte, 
 Schwarzerhof ' all the way along, and the Jews 
 for they all seemed Jews were very kind, and 
 one sort of passed us on to another." 
 
 "I hope you didn't make your foot worse, 
 wandering about like that." 
 
 "It didn't hurt hardly at all, only because the
 
 268 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 stocking nibs it. It's ever so much better. I 
 don't see why I really should go and see the doctor 
 at all." 
 
 "It will be better to see him, darling, because 
 it might get worse later on at some place where 
 we don't know any doctor. And besides, you 
 know, the Countess has written to him and he 
 will be expecting you." 
 
 "I'm sure he wouldn't mind. One foot can't 
 make any difference to him. ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps not; but the Countess might mind 
 after taking the trouble to write. And besides, 
 it's safer. I should feel more comfortable. 
 We'll go in the morning; and if he says it's all 
 right, we might well, we might move on the next 
 day." 
 
 "Or even to-morrow afternoon," Dorrie sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Georgina reflected. There was the packing and 
 . . . but Augustine ... it would not take long. 
 And Laubach was dreadfully dull. 
 
 "Or even to-morrow afternoon," she agreed. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 But to-morrow morning and to-morrow after- 
 noon Georgina was in bed with a headache. She 
 said it was a nervous headache, but Dorrie and 
 Augustine thought it was bilious, though Dorrie 
 did not say so to Augustine, nor did Augustine 
 say so to Dorrie. Dorrie did not think that the 
 German beer had agreed with Mummy, for
 
 GERMANY 269 
 
 Mummy had headaches much oftener in Germany 
 than she had in England or even in France: but 
 Georgina would not admit beer as a factor any 
 more than she would admit bile. The idea of Mrs. 
 Bonham of the Beeches being upset by beer ! Her 
 headaches were due to over-fatigue, and though 
 she felt far too wretched to argue the point, or 
 any point, on that Tuesday morning, she most cer- 
 tainly would have argued it with marked dis- 
 pleasure when she got better. And Dorrie, know- 
 ing this, left the point unraised. 
 
 The tiresome thing was that Georgina could not 
 take Dorrie to the doctor, and they would have to 
 wait at least an extra day, and perhaps two, in 
 the depressing superior quarter of Laubach. 
 Dorrie said she felt sure Mummy would be ever 
 so much better when she had left Laubach : it was 
 enough to give anybody a headache to be in Lau- 
 bach. If Mummy wasn't better by the after- 
 noon, she would go to the doctor's with Augustine, 
 if she had to go. Augustine had been studying 
 the map, and knew exactly where the Bahnstrasse 
 was and how to get there, and if Mummy could be 
 left . . . 
 
 Mummy felt that to be left would be bliss com- 
 pared with being argued with or persuaded or 
 entreated or indeed talked to at all. If Dorrie 
 wanted to go with Augustine, let her go. She had 
 meant and wanted to take her herself, but if Dorrie 
 persisted . . . argument with her head in its 
 present condition was impossible. . . . 
 
 "Do as you like," said Georgina.
 
 270 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 So when the afternoon came, and poor Mummy 
 could not look at food, Dorrie put eau-de-Cologne 
 on the little table by her bed and kissed her and 
 drew the curtains and tiptoed out of the room. 
 She herself did not know what it was to have more 
 than the slightest of headaches, but she was dread- 
 fully sorry for Mummy, and she summoned the 
 chambermaid and told her all that she was to do 
 and all that she was not to do, and then she sum- 
 moned Augustine. 
 
 It was a horrid afternoon, Dorrie wrote to Len, 
 which was rather a good thing in a way, because 
 in horrid weather, when you couldn 't see anything 
 else, you might as well see a doctor. 
 
 As it happened, they saw a great deal besides 
 the doctor, a great deal which they had not in- 
 tended to see. Dorrie called it her mistakes and 
 accidents day, because it was full of both. In the 
 first place, when, not far from the hotel, they came 
 to a church, Dorrie insisted upon going in, be- 
 cause, as she said, she liked to smell the incense 
 and she wanted to see the dear little acolytes. 
 There was no service going on, and there were 
 no acolytes, and she soon had enough of the in- 
 cense. That could not be called either a mistake 
 or an accident, but later on, when Augustine lost 
 her way, she declared that she had been put out 
 of her bearings by going into the church. 
 
 " Ridiculous, wasn't it?" said Dorrie in a letter 
 to Len. ' ' But Augustine is no good with a map. ' ' 
 
 "Then," the letter went on, "we got down into 
 the Jewish quarter again where we had been the
 
 GERMANY 271 
 
 day before, and into a wide street full of bustle 
 and Jews, and Augustine kept asking the way, 
 and people kept telling her, and she kept on losing 
 it again, and then it began to rain. I had an um- 
 brella, but Augustine hadn't, and I held mine over 
 us both and we both got wet. Two people always 
 do if there's only one umbrella, don't you think 
 so? It would really have been much better if 
 one of us had kept dry, but that would have had 
 to be me, and I felt so sorry for Augustine, be- 
 cause her front hair came out of curl and she 
 looked so funny and flurried, and I don't think 
 she knows German as well as she thinks she does. 
 Then the streets got very muddy and wet, and you 
 know how horrid it is when your skirt gets muddy 
 and flops against your ankles oh no, of course 
 you don't. How funny you would look in a skirt, 
 Len darling! Well, mine got wet, and so did 
 Augustine's, and then when we were crossing the 
 road we nearly got run over, and Augustine 
 screamed, and I gave a jump, and I jumped into 
 a puddle. We were both splashed, and my hat 
 fell off, and oh the poor feather! I said then I 
 thought we had better go home to the hotel, I 
 mean, but Augustine thought that Madame, as she 
 calls Mummy, would be angry if I hadn't been to 
 the doctor's, and of course I didn't want Augus- 
 tine to get into a row. 
 
 "Well, we did get there at last, because we took 
 a cab, and Augustine was rather cross because 
 I laughed at her in the cab. But how could I help 
 it? for generally she looks quite smart, and she
 
 272 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 looked so draggled and funny. What / must have 
 looked like, I can 't imagine. I am sure you would 
 have cut me dead (but I don't really think you 
 would). But I was afraid the doctor would be 
 horrified. Only he wasn't in when we got to his 
 house in the cab, and they sent us to his clinic, and 
 he wasn't there either, only a sort of assistant or 
 something. But Augustine explained and said 
 about the Grafin writing, and he said it was all 
 right. Only what I did hate, though it does not 
 matter now, as it 's all over, but I did hate . . . 
 
 ' ' Augustine 's come in and the bus is waiting to 
 go to the station and I can't till to-morrow." 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 What Dorrie hated, and what Georgina hated, 
 and what the Herr Professor hated too when he 
 realized what had happened, was that Dorrie, in- 
 stead of having a consultation with the doctor at 
 the doctor's house, had been received into his 
 clinic. 
 
 The doctor did not realize the mistake that had 
 been made till the following afternoon. Nor did 
 Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 Georgina, in the dozing discomfort which suc- 
 ceeded the more acute stage of her suffering, did 
 not discover Dorrie 's absence till Dorrie 's bedtime. 
 Then her alarm for surely there must be some- 
 thing very much wrong with the foot was only 
 equalled by her anger. The anger was directed
 
 GERMANY 273 
 
 against Augustine because there was, at the mo- 
 ment, nobody else against whom to direct it. Au- 
 gustine must have been stupid ; it must have been 
 Augustine's fault. Augustine was dispatched at 
 once to bring back Dorrie or at least news of her. 
 
 Augustine brought back neither. 
 
 " Everything was shut," she announced with 
 tears of terror; for Augustine, always in awe of 
 Madame, was now overwhelmed by Madame 's dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 The next morning Augustine was dispatched 
 anew, after Georgina had got up, dressed, and then 
 been obliged to lie down on the sofa; and again 
 Augustine returned without Dorrie and without 
 news that could be called news. 
 
 "It was all r-right. Mees was to stay. They 
 said it was all r-right. ' ' 
 
 The roll of Augustine's r's, the inability of Au- 
 gustine to explain why it was all right, got on 
 Georgina 's nerves. It was impossible to do any- 
 thing with a creature so incapable. 
 
 Early in the afternoon, shaken and still a little 
 sick, but stimulated by alarm and upheld by annoy- 
 ance, Mrs. Bonham went in a cab to the flat in 
 which resided Herr Reisen. 
 
 The doctor remembered her at once. Of course. 
 Mrs. Bonham had taken it for granted that he 
 would. And he was very kind and very polite; 
 but it was obvious that he had not an idea why she 
 had come. 
 
 Perceiving that he did not understand the object 
 of her visit, Mrs. Bonham stared at him.
 
 274 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "You don't know !" 
 
 ' * I await you shall tell me. " 
 
 Georgina told him. 
 
 As she told him, the Professor got up from his 
 chair and walked up and down the room as he had 
 done in the drawing-room of the hotel at Dresden. 
 And then, as Mrs. Bonham realized that Dorrie 
 was not in Herr Beisen's flat, Herr Reisen realized 
 that it was Miss Bonham who had been received 
 the morning before into his clinic. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, in all her life, had never been so 
 angry or so agitated as when she realized where 
 Dorrie was. A common clinic . . . with common 
 people. That it was the Professor's own clinic 
 gave it, in that moment, no touch of redemption. 
 No matter whether well-to-do patients were re- 
 ceived in it or no ; it was for all sorts of people- 
 people who . . . low-class people like the Coun- 
 tess's protegee . . . the wretched, confusing, mis- 
 chief-making protegee. 
 
 In that hour Georgina almost hated the Count- 
 ess. It was all her fault with her idiotic officious 
 letter. If she had only left Georgina to manage 
 her own business ! Her daughter, Mrs. Bonham 's 
 daughter, treated like . . . Through Georgina 's 
 indignation ran a resolve : it must never be known 
 in Stottleham. Not even to Alicia Vearing, not 
 even to Rayke, would she disclose it at any rate 
 not in writing. Perhaps later on much later 
 when it was all long past and over, at tea some day. 
 . . . And Dorrie it must be represented to Dorrie 
 that . . . Dorrie was so apt to treat things as
 
 GERMANY 275 
 
 jokes and be amused when She might even be 
 
 amused at this. 
 
 The only comfort was that the Professor was 
 fully as much upset as was Mrs. Bonham ; or even 
 more upset. As he walked up and down the room, 
 there could be no doubt about his being upset. 
 The disaster, the terrible disaster thus he charac- 
 terized it of Dorrie having been mistaken for the 
 Countess's ignoble protegee caused him to break 
 from his careful English into words which, incom- 
 prehensible to Georgina, sounded to her like a 
 concentrated essence of blasphemy. 
 
 She disapproved of swearing and even of strong 
 language ; but the occasion justified unusual vehe- 
 mence : she could not but be gratified by the Pro- 
 fessor 's guttural distress and was even a little 
 soothed by it. He saw the enormity then of what 
 had occurred. That was something. 
 
 It was also something that Dorrie 's detention 
 was not due to the state of her foot, that there was 
 nothing terribly the matter, or indeed much the 
 matter at all, with her foot. Not that Georgina 
 had thought there was ; nevertheless it was satis- 
 factory to have the Professor's emphatic assur- 
 ance. 
 
 "The foot," said Dr. Reisen, "is nothing. It 
 will in a couple of days be healed: almost it is 
 healed now. The foot is nothing. It is the con- 
 fusion, the mistake, the ... If but even only this 
 morning I had known ... if but since two, three 
 hours . . . No, no, not the foot it is. ... The 
 foot is nothing."
 
 276 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Yet, having stated that there was nothing the 
 matter with Dorrie's foot, Herr Eeisen had what 
 Georgina called the impertinence to suggest that 
 Miss Bonham should remain a week or two in 
 Laubach in order to undergo treatment. 
 
 11 Treatment !" said Mrs. Bonham. "And, 
 pray, what for ? " If there was nothing the matter 
 with Miss Bonham 's foot, she asked the Professor, 
 why should Miss Bonham have treatment ? 
 
 The Professor, answering, was not very coher- 
 ent. 
 
 "The general health of the young lady is is 
 ... To counteract prevent . . . there is a tend- 
 ence ..." 
 
 "I know of no tendency in my daughter's 
 health," said Mrs. Bonham, getting up, "which re- 
 quires treatment at Laubach. There are no tend- 
 encies in the health of my family which require 
 counteraction or treatment at all. Miss Bonham 's 
 family on both sides is perfectly sound, and her 
 general health is excellent. We leave Laubach," 
 said Mrs. Bonham, looking at Herr Eeisen as she 
 looked at members of the second set in Stottleham 
 when they claimed acquaintance with her outside 
 second-set precincts, "to-morrow morning." 
 
 She bowed and Herr Reisen bowed. After the 
 bow he opened his mouth, but, looking at Mrs. 
 Bonham 's face, he did not speak : instead of speak- 
 ing he shrugged his shoulders.
 
 GERMANY 277 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 But for Dorrie, Georgina would have dismissed 
 Augustine on the spot. For it was even more 
 Augustine's fault than the Countess's. Had it 
 not been for Augustine's stupidity, the Countess 
 might have committed no fault at all. It was Au- 
 gustine who had muddled everything, with her 
 lack of sense and of German. Georgina had lost 
 all faith in Augustine's German. She was sure, 
 she said to Dorrie and also to Augustine that it 
 was even worse than her English had been when 
 she first became maid to Georgina. 
 
 And Augustine, when she was not calling upon 
 her God, accepted all Madame 's reproaches in 
 tears and speechlessness. For there was nothing 
 to be said. What could she say! Muddle? con- 
 fusion? Who save herself could know how con- 
 fused and muddled she had been? And as for her 
 German who better than Augustine could know 
 how bad it was? At the hotels her German had 
 seemed to her very good, but at the hotels every- 
 body everybody that mattered spoke French. 
 But at the clinic ! If only at the clinic there had 
 been somebody intelligent enough to speak 
 French! Augustine felt that in being confronted 
 at the clinic with a person who spoke no French, 
 who did not understand her German and whose 
 German she did not understand, she had been, by 
 fate, abominably badly used. But of what use to 
 point that out to Madame? especially as explana- 
 tions in English were at all times difficult. Mees
 
 278 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 was different. Mees spoke French, Mees was un- 
 derstanding, Mees had sympathy. 
 
 It was Mees who came to the rescue. 
 
 "I know she muddled, Mummy, but German's a 
 dreadful language to understand; and it was 
 partly my fault for jumping into a puddle; and 
 then what with the rain and altogether ... If 
 you had seen us, Mummy, and hadn 't known I was 
 me, you might have thought we were well, any- 
 thing." 
 
 "I really cannot overlook it, Dorrie: it was 
 inexcusable. To profess to know German thor- 
 oughly! And then not to come straight and tell 
 me ! I really cannot. ' ' 
 
 But Dorrie continued to plead, and Dorrie, as 
 usually happened, in the end got her way. It took 
 her some time, for Georgina, when she heard of 
 Dome's experiences in the clinic, was more bitter 
 against Augustine than before. To think of Dor- 
 rie being shut all night in a ward with other girls 
 common girls! It was unspeakable; and most 
 certainly must never be spoken of in Stottleham; 
 on that point she was more firmly resolved than 
 ever before. Suppose that Lady Clementina were 
 to hear of it ! That Dorrie while in the clinic had 
 been inoculated, though to Dorrie it was the chief 
 grievance of her detention, was to Georgina a 
 minor matter. Inoculation was perfectly respect- 
 able, even fashionable, and the little mark on 
 Dorrie 's arm caused by the injection would soon 
 pass away. It was the company she had been 
 in that was so objectionable; and the fact that she
 
 GERMANY 279 
 
 had actually been mistaken for a girl of the peas- 
 ant class was to Georgina gall and wormwood. It 
 was this that made Augustine's crime almost un- 
 forgivable, and would have placed it beyond the 
 possibility of pardon, save for one mitigating fact, 
 namely Augustine's acceptance of the position of 
 criminal. At least, said , Georgina, she acknowl- 
 edged her fault; and the acknowledgment a little 
 weighed down the scale of Dorrie's pleading. 
 
 Augustine accepted the position because there 
 was no other position to accept. She felt that fate 
 had made her, to a certain extent, the scapegoat of 
 a concatenation of circumstance, that though it 
 had been her fault, it had not been all her fault; 
 yet that still in some measure her fault it had been. 
 It had been, for instance, partly her fault that 
 Mees had been left at the clinic ; and when she was 
 made to realize, as she was on the evening of 
 Mees's return, how terrible it was, or might have 
 been, for Mees, she felt that no position assigned to 
 her could be too abject. 
 
 So Augustine took the position of criminal, and 
 Dorrie took the position of advocate, and Geor- 
 gina, having taken the position of judge, was in- 
 duced at the last to recommend the criminal for 
 mercy. And thus they all three left Laubach to- 
 gether.
 
 BOOK VII 
 AUGUSTINE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 GEORGINA in France, and even more in Ger- 
 many, missed Mrs. Vearing and Dr. Rayke 
 and Stottleham, but not so much as Mrs. Vearing 
 missed dearest Georgina, as Dr. Rayke missed his 
 intelligent friend, or as Stottleham missed dear 
 Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 The Guild meetings had lost much of their 
 savour; Mrs. Bonham, with her nice clothes, her 
 nice ideas, and her bows, smiles and handshakes 
 nicely graduated according to the different sets, 
 had been not its central interest, for the work of 
 course was that, but its chief inspiration. Mrs. 
 Vearing yes, Mrs. Vearing was nice, too, and 
 very kind, and more approachable than Mrs. Bon- 
 ham; Miss Truefitt preferred her; but Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's very unapproachableness invested her with 
 interest, for there was always the question, not to 
 say the excitement, of seeing how far she could 
 be approached, and whether, out of her own set, 
 some would approach her more nearly than others. 
 Mrs. Vearing, her satellite though as far as posi- 
 tion, Miss Truefitt said, above her had always 
 been as a charming moon to Mrs. Bonham 's sun, 
 and was charming still; but in Mrs. Bonham 's ab- 
 sence she seemed a moon that was always in a 
 
 281
 
 282 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 waxing crescent or a waning bow, and never at the 
 full. 
 
 Yet it was from Mrs. Vearing alone that news 
 was given of dear Mrs. Bonham to all the sets in 
 Stottleham. Throughout the winter the news was 
 communicated to the Guild; and when, in the 
 spring, the Guild meetings ceased, it was given out 
 at tea-tables in the best set, and during parochial 
 calls in the others. 
 
 Mrs. Ludovic Pottlebury was much in request at 
 this time in the second set, for Mrs. Vearing told 
 as many details to Patricia in the course of confi- 
 dential teas at the Vicarage or over the Bank as 
 she communicated at social teas to the church set ; 
 and the more detailed the account of Mrs. Bonham 
 and her doings, the deeper the interest in all the 
 sets. So, first through Mrs. Vearing, then through 
 Patricia, and then through divers newsmongers, 
 the outstanding events of dear Mrs. Bonham 's 
 sojourn on the Continent (for thus Georgina's ab- 
 sence was frequently described) and some of the 
 lesser ones were made known to Stottleham. 
 
 Thus it was that, when Len ran over to Paris, 
 Stottleham was aware of it. 
 
 "Mr. Fortescue is in Paris, with Mrs. and Miss 
 Bonham. Did you know?" 
 
 "I heard they expected him. By the night boat, 
 I believe, last Friday. ' ' 
 
 "Oh no; he left Charing Cross early on Satur- 
 day morning." 
 
 "Charing Cross! I understood he had gone by 
 the Dieppe route from Victoria."
 
 AUGUSTINE 283 
 
 "I think not. Mrs. Pottlebury, I am sure, said 
 Dover and Calais." 
 
 Mrs. Pottlebury was constantly brought in to 
 clinch the argument, and there were many argu- 
 ments to be clinched. They increased, in fervour 
 and in points of difference, when Georgina and 
 Dorrie left France for Germany. The station 
 from which they had started, the route they fol- 
 lowed, the towns they stopped at; all these were 
 food for discussion, and all these, sometimes quite 
 hotly, were discussed. 
 
 The incident of the fly in Mrs. Bonham 's eye was 
 told only to a few; but it leaked out and spread 
 like wildfire, its final version being that dear Mrs. 
 Bonham had had a serious accident, that both her 
 eyes were injured, and that an operation had been 
 performed at an hotel. When Mrs. Vearing heard 
 of this version, she sent round Patricia Pottlebury 
 as a sort of walking official bulletin to give the true 
 statement of the case. Patricia, during the Bon- 
 hams' travels, was often an official bulletin, when 
 she was not an extra special news-sheet. 
 
 She was an extra special outside the church set 
 in connection with the lordly life at the Castle. 
 She knew the very latest happenings in that life ; 
 the last strange German dish that Mrs. Bonham 
 had had for lunch, and the most recent expedition 
 which had been enjoyed by Mrs. Bonham, Miss 
 Bonham, the two Grafs and the three Grafins, 
 Stottleham was much impressed by the three 
 Grafins, more so than by the two Grafs. 
 Dorrie occasionally wrote to Patricia, but Dorrie
 
 284 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 wrote such long letters to Len, that she had not 
 nmch time to write to anybody else, and it was 
 through Mrs. Vearing that Patricia and after 
 Patricia, Stottleham learned that Dorrie had cut 
 her foot. It was cut to the bone before the news 
 reached the outer fringe, and much sympathy was 
 expressed with poor Mrs. Bonham because her 
 sweet daughter had nearly bled to death. And 
 she engaged too! Poor young Mr. Fortescue! 
 
 Stottleham heard of the healing of the foot, but 
 it had no slightest hint of the clinic : it did not even 
 know that Dorrie, at Laubach, had seen a doctor. 
 Georgina, in mentioning the couple of days' stay 
 at Laubach, did not mention the doctor any more 
 than she mentioned the clinic. There were several 
 things which, in her letters to Mrs. Vearing and to 
 Bayke, she did not mention ; as, for instance, that 
 she liked the German beer, and that Augustine, 
 as a travelling maid, was not the success she had 
 anticipated. 
 
 But Stottleham could not complain; nor did it: 
 it was ignorant of its own ignorance and rejoiced 
 in a knowledge which it held to be complete. 
 
 "Of course," said Mrs. Vearing, "when dear 
 Mrs. Bonham returns, she will be able to- tell us 
 all sorts of delightful anecdotes which she has not 
 time or space for in her letters. And darling 
 Dorrie too. I shall give a special tea-party to 
 welcome them back and hear their impressions." 
 
 "I hope Miss Bonham has quite got over hier 
 accident," said Mrs. Charles Marsden. 
 
 Mrs. Saunders-Parr answered her.
 
 AUGUSTINE 285 
 
 "Oh, quite. I heard from my sister-in-law 
 Len 's mother yesterday, and she said they wrote 
 the wound had healed soon after they left the von 
 Holzigers, and that must be more than three weeks 
 ago." 
 
 "Yes, it's about a month," said Gwendolen 
 Saunders-Parr, "for the last letter I had from 
 Dorrie was written a month ago just after they 
 left Laubach, and they stayed a day or two at Lau- 
 bach after leaving the Castle." 
 
 "It did quite heal," said Mrs. Vearing, "but I 
 heard from Georgina Bonham this morning, and 
 she says she is sure that the poison or whatever 
 got into it is not yet out of her system." 
 
 "They thought some dirt got in, didn't they?" 
 asked Miss Chauncey. 
 
 "Yes, or a little dye from the stocking. At first 
 they were afraid it might be troublesome, but 
 it was was all right Dorrie is so healthy, you 
 know and it healed perfectly, Mrs. Bonham 
 wrote." 
 
 "Then what has happened," asked Mrs. Mars- 
 den, "to make Mrs. Bonham think I hope it 
 hasn't opened again. I always think it's a bad 
 sign if a wound opens again after it has healed." 
 
 "No, it isn't that; it was such a small affair I 
 don't think it would be likely to, after once healing 
 up. But Dorrie seems out of sorts and so Mrs. 
 Bonham feels sure there must have been some sort 
 of poison and that it got into her blood." 
 
 "Being out of sorts," said Mrs. Saunders-Parr, 
 "might come from anything."
 
 286 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "It might have nothing to do with the wound at 
 all," added Miss Chauncey. 
 
 ' * Only it happens to have come on after she had 
 the wound and not before," said Mrs. Vearing. 
 Her tone was for Mrs. Vearing tart. If Geor- 
 gina Bonham thought that Dorrie's indisposition 
 was connected with the cut on her foot, connected 
 with the cut the indisposition must be. Surely 
 dearest Georgina, who was on the spot, knew bet- 
 ter what she was talking about than did people who 
 had not seen Dorrie for months. 
 
 Miss Chauncey, however, was not to be put 
 down; she was moreover supported by Mrs. 
 Saunders-Parr ; and the two narrated instance 
 after instance of illnesses which had nothing to do 
 with wounds. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing was nettled, but she had no power 
 to sting. She never could sting, nor could she 
 argue ; and she knew that if she tried to prove her 
 point in words, the words would not come right 
 and the point would go astray. If Georgina her- 
 self had been there! Then indeed those who 
 thought they knew better than she did would have 
 received a merited snub. But dearest Georgina, 
 alas, was not there, and Mrs. Vearing, unable to 
 snub on her behalf, was reduced to being herself 
 almost snubbed. All she could do was, as quickly 
 as possible, to change the subject, and to turn it 
 altogether away from Mrs. Bonham. At any rate, 
 if they scouted Georgina 's opinions, they should 
 hear no more of her doings. It was Mrs. Vear- 
 ing 's only possible retaliation and she adopted
 
 AUGUSTINE 287 
 
 and stuck to it. She parried with cold courtesy 
 any further enquiries concerning dear Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Georgina, meanwhile, was convinced that the 
 German food did not agree with Dorrie. 
 
 She and Dorrie and the forgiven Augustine were 
 at Frankfort when she wrote and told Mrs. Vear- 
 ing about the indisposition which had created 
 almost a breach of the peace in the Vicarage draw- 
 ing-room. In that same letter Georgina had 
 spoken of the Palm Gardens, and the promenades 
 round the town, and the beautiful woods in the 
 neighbourhood, and the excellence of the hotel; 
 also of a tendency showing itself in Augustine to 
 be hysterical. All this would have immensely in- 
 terested Georgina 's set, and all this would have 
 been communicated to it, had not certain members 
 of that set taken upon themselves to question Mrs. 
 Bonham's diagnosis of the condition of Dome's 
 health. 
 
 But Georgina, mentioning so much, had not men- 
 tioned certain symptoms which secretly but consid- 
 erably troubled her. One was that Dorrie 's inocu- 
 lated arm had not healed satisfactorily; there was 
 inflammation and what Georgina called a sort of 
 sore where there should have been soft white skin. 
 The other was that a sore place had appeared on 
 Dorrie 's lip. All this pointed, in Georgina 's 
 opinion, to something wrong with the blood, and
 
 288 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 was the more disturbing inasmuch as Dorrie had 
 never had anything of the kind before. That the 
 German food had much to do with her condition 
 Georgina had no doubt, but she was convinced also 
 that the wound in her foot had been poisoned, and, 
 convinced therefore that Dr. Reisen's diagnosis 
 had been wrong, she was more angry with him than 
 ever. His stupidity and incompetency were un- 
 equalled. No wonder he had muddled Dome's 
 identity, when he had proved himself quite inca- 
 pable of dealing with her foot. 
 
 It would have been a relief to Georgina to speak 
 of Dorrie 's symptoms and her own disquietude to 
 Mrs. Vearing, but she had refrained from doing so 
 because Dorrie was so upset about her arm and lip 
 and had asked her not to say anything about them. 
 
 Dorrie did not care about her arm compara- 
 tively speaking. She had cared at first, because 
 she was used to a perfectly clear and healthy skin ; 
 but compared with her lip her face, it didn't mat- 
 ter at all: when her lip became what she called 
 disgusting the arm sank into insignificance. Her 
 arm all day at any rate was covered; nobody 
 could see it: she need hardly see it herself. But 
 her lip ! If it should not be all right by the time 
 that she saw Len! And the time for seeing Len 
 was drawing near. 
 
 How she looked forward to that time ! And now 
 it was shadowed ; and by such a little thing. But 
 the little thing meant much to Dorrie, to whom it 
 seemed that any shortcoming in Len's bride was 
 of the nature of a wrong done to Len.
 
 AUGUSTINE 289 
 
 Georgina laughed at her and told her that she 
 was absurdly vain; and reproved her seriously, 
 saying that it was quite wrong and irreligious to 
 care so much what she looked like. And Augus- 
 tine assured her in a torrent of words for 
 Augustine in her own language was voluble that 
 her lip would be as pretty as ever it had been long 
 before she got back to England. 
 
 But Dorrie, in spite of Mummy and in spite of 
 Augustine, was greatly upset. And she did not 
 want Len even to know. To be sure he had said 
 he would love her just the same if she were as 
 ugly as sin, and she knew he would; but she did 
 not want to be ugly, and to Dorrie the smallest 
 blemish was ugliness. 
 
 Augustine was invariably sympathetic when 
 Dorrie spoke of what she called her ugliness, but 
 Georgina at last became angry as angry as it was 
 possible for her to be where Dorrie was concerned. 
 
 "I told you," she said, "that it was wrong to 
 think so much about your appearance, and it's 
 quite as wrong to talk about being ugly and as 
 absurd as about being pretty. ' ' 
 
 "It isn't so much for myself though it's horrid 
 to be hideous it's for Len. I wanted to be as 
 pretty as I could for his sake." 
 
 "Len will do very well." 
 
 "It's meeting him again, Mummy, after all this 
 time when I did so want to look nice." 
 
 "Really, Dorrie," Georgina exclaimed, "you 
 put me out of patience. After all, what is it? A 
 mere nothing, the result of this horrid foreign
 
 290 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 food; and it'll be all right as soon as you get back 
 to England and have proper wholesome things to 
 eat." 
 
 ' ' You think so, Mummy ? ' * 
 
 "Of course I think so. What else should I 
 think? It's quite wicked to make the fuss you do. 
 Have you used that ointment?" 
 
 "Yes, but it's no good." 
 
 "And vaseline? I've often " 
 
 "Not a bit of use." 
 
 "I don't suppose they would be of use," said 
 Georgina, "if it's the food, and if the poison isn't 
 all out of your system yet. ' ' 
 
 She pinned much faith to a return to English 
 food. As Dorrie had maintained that the German 
 beer did not agree with Mummy, so now Mummy 
 maintained that the German food did not agree 
 with Dorrie. Had the time she had arranged to 
 spend in Germany not been near its end, Georgina 
 would have cut it short. She was not, in truth, in 
 spite of her protestations, quite happy about Dor- 
 rie : she was not in her secret heart persuaded that 
 Dorrie 's condition was due altogether to food and 
 to poison. She began to doubt if she had been so 
 completely wise as she generally considered her- 
 self to be in keeping the lovers so long apart. She 
 wondered if Dorrie were perhaps fretting a little 
 after Len. For she was less well than throughout 
 her healthy young life she had ever been. She 
 seemed a little languid, and her glands . . . Dor- 
 rie had never before suffered from swollen 
 glands. . . .
 
 AUGUSTINE 291 
 
 Georgina could not make up her mind whether 
 it came from the food and the accident or whether 
 Len had something to do with it. It was very 
 annoying if it was due to Len: she would much 
 have preferred the other factors : considering that 
 Dorrie had her mother, it was really . . . But 
 anyhow she determined that as soon as they 
 reached Paris, where a week was to be spent in 
 buying some of Dome's trousseau, she would 
 take Dorrie to see Dr. Bechamel. Dorrie prob- 
 ably required a tonic, and Dr. Bechamel would 
 know what particular tonic she ought to have. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Having determined that Dorrie when in Paris 
 should see Dr. Bechamel, Georgina became anxious 
 to reach Paris. She found she was becoming anx- 
 ious too, to be at the end of the tour: the tour, 
 she felt, had somehow not been a success or at 
 least the last weeks of it. For at first Georgina 
 had really enjoyed it, the moving about and the 
 hotels and the sightseeing, and Dorrie had seemed 
 to enjoy it too, and Augustine had been cheerful 
 and brisk. And the time at the Castle of course 
 had been quite delightful. Georgina had been 
 very sorry to leave the Castle; Dorrie certainly 
 would have been sorry too had it not been for the 
 idea of getting back to Len ; as for Augustine, she 
 had made no bones about declaring her regret. 
 
 It was Laubach which had spoilt everything 
 Laubach with its humiliating experiences and
 
 292 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Georgina 's terrible headache: she could not bear 
 to think of Laubach. It had been pleasant enough 
 in Thiiringia to be sure, and Thiiringia followed 
 upon Laubach; Dorrie had been quite merry and 
 well during their stay on the outskirts of the 
 forest. But somehow whether it was that Au- 
 gustine had become rather careless and tiresome 
 somehow everything went less smoothly than be- 
 fore the day or two at Laubach. And now here 
 was Dorrie out of sorts, and fretting Georgina 
 felt sure she was fretting after a young man she 
 had known only a few months, whereas she had 
 known her mother all her life; and here was Au- 
 gustine getting more stupid and unreliable every 
 day ; and it was all very worrying. 
 
 Georgina had no patience with Augustine : she 
 had forgiven her, but she almost regretted the for- 
 giveness. It was not that Augustine was inatten- 
 tive; she was more attentive than ever, she was 
 lavish of attention; but, having muddled at Lau- 
 bach, she seemed unable to do anything but muddle 
 ever since. On the day when they had left Lau- 
 bach, she had seemed really quite distraught, and 
 ever since she had had periods of what Georgina, 
 in writing to Mrs. Vearing, had described as hys- 
 teria. 
 
 The letter in which Georgina spoke of Augus- 
 tine's hysteria was the letter whose contents Mrs. 
 Vearing in high dudgeon had in part withheld from 
 the Vicarage tea-party. But Augustine's hys- 
 teria, like the accident to Mrs. Bonham's eye, 
 leaked out, for Mrs. Vearing, the day after the
 
 AUGUSTINE 293 
 
 tea-party, mentioned it to Patricia Pottlebury, and 
 Patricia mentioned it to Myra Pottlebury, and 
 from Myra Pottlebury it wound its way in and out 
 of Stottleham. 
 
 Stottleham was greatly interested, and it was 
 thought very trying for dear Mrs. Bonham to have 
 an hysterical maid. "So awkward at hotels and 
 railway stations," said Stottleham. But at the 
 same time, as Mrs. Markham pointed out, if you 
 ran the risk of taking a French maid, you must 
 be prepared for anything. French people were 
 so often hysterical. 
 
 "Not hysterical so much as flighty," amended 
 Miss Ansell. 
 
 "Or immoral," put in Miss Truefitt. 
 
 Mrs. Markham said that hysterical and flighty 
 were the same thing ; and Miss Ansell said no, but 
 that flighty and immoral were much the same 
 thing; and Miss Truefitt maintained that all three 
 words had a different meaning, but that French 
 people were flighty and immoral. Whereupon 
 Mrs. Markham declared that if Mrs. Bonham had 
 engaged a maid who was immoral, she was quite 
 sure she would never keep her ; and this both Miss 
 Ansell and Miss Truefitt found themselves unable 
 to contradict. 
 
 Meanwhile Augustine, who was certainly not im- 
 moral and was not naturally flighty, and was more 
 unhappy than hysterical, went on behaving at 
 times as if she were distraught ; and when Dorrie, 
 finding her in tears, asked her what was the mat- 
 ter, she said, "I love you, Mees, and soon I leave
 
 294 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 you"; and when Georgina asked her what on earth 
 she was crying about, she said, "It is because of 
 Mees." 
 
 It was all very well, and Augustine could hardly 
 be blamed for being upset at the prospect of leav- 
 ing Dorrie. All the same Georgina felt that if she 
 would only be more careful with the packing and 
 somewhat brisker in looking after the luggage, it 
 would be far more satisfactory. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 In Paris Mrs. Bonham went to the Hotel 
 Brighton, in the Rue de Rivoli, and Dorrie was de- 
 lighted with the hotel because they had rooms high 
 up, in the front, and looked right across the Tuile- 
 ries Gardens. 
 
 "I like it ever so much better than Germany, 
 Mummy. Don 't you ! ' ' 
 
 And Georgina agreed that she did, knowing, 
 while she agreed, that Dorrie 's liking was purely 
 geographical, and that if Germany had been nearer 
 to Len than France, Dorrie would have preferred 
 Germany. 
 
 But Dorrie, longing to be back with Len, yet did 
 not want to go back till she was what she called fit 
 to be seen. 
 
 " Shall we go and see Dr. Bechamel at once!" 
 she asked the evening of the arrival in Paris, and 
 Georgina answered: "Certainly, darling." 
 
 "To-morrow?"
 
 AUGUSTINE 295 
 
 "To-morrow morning. At least we must find 
 out when he will be in. I'll 'phone, I think." 
 
 So Augustine was commissioned to telephone, 
 since Georgina was afraid of being answered in 
 French, and, with Georgina at her elbow, made an 
 appointment for half-past two on the following 
 afternoon, as the doctor would be out all morning. 
 
 Dorrie was quite excited about going to see Dr. 
 Bechamel, and Augustine was fully as much ex- 
 cited as Dorrie. 
 
 "If he only makes my lip all right, I don't mind 
 anything. I'll take the most disgusting medicine 
 he can invent." 
 
 And Augustine replied with hysterical fervour 
 that she hoped and she prayed that the bon Dieu 
 and the doctor would soon make Mees as well and 
 as beautiful as ever she had been. 
 
 Augustine, tremulous and in a mood which 
 Georgina found extremely trying, when she and 
 Dorrie set out for Dr. Bechamel's, was on the 
 watch, still tremulous, when they returned. 
 
 She followed Georgina to her room. 
 
 "Madame, what he say the doctor?" 
 
 "He I he said it was the kind of thing he did 
 not understand. He I am to take her to a spe- 
 cialist. ' ' 
 
 "A specialist? My God!" said Augustine. 
 
 Augustine's "mon Dieu" translated into Eng- 
 lish had always jarred upon Georgina 's sense of 
 what was reverent and befitting : at the moment it 
 grated on her nerves. 
 
 "I do wish you would avoid your French bias-
 
 296 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 phemies when you 're speaking English, ' ' she said 
 irritably. "You know how it annoys me.'' 
 
 But Augustine was obviously in a distraught 
 mood and did not apologize. 
 
 "What specialist? What his name!" was all 
 she said. 
 
 Ordinarily Georgina would have resented the 
 question, ordinarily she would have conveyed to 
 Augustine that she was presumptuous, and dis- 
 missed her without answering it; but then ordi- 
 narily Augustine would not have questioned, for 
 she stood in considerable awe of Madame. And 
 to-day Georgina, no more than Augustine, was 
 quite herself. The idea of a specialist had 
 alarmed her, and she did not want Dorrie to be 
 alarmed. If only Rayke had been there ! or Alicia 
 Vearing! But there was nobody, not a soul, to 
 speak to. Instead of dismissing Augustine, Ma- 
 dame, taking her veil off before the glass, an- 
 swered Augustine's question to Augustine's reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 "His name," said Georgina, "is Maboeuf." 
 
 Whereupon Augustine's reflection burst into 
 tears. 
 
 "Upon my word!" exclaimed Georgina, and she 
 faced now, not the reflection, but Augustine's very 
 self. "I really cannot " 
 
 "It is the nerves," said Augustine. "I dry at 
 once the eyes"; and she did. 
 
 "You had better go," said Georgina; "you up- 
 set me. And take my coat, please ; it wants brush- 
 ing."
 
 AUGUSTINE 297 
 
 * ' And the hat of Madame I ' ' 
 
 ' ' Well, perhaps. ' ' Georgina took up a comb and 
 began to arrange her front hair. "I suppose," 
 she said, "he is a skin specialist." 
 
 "One would suppose so, Madame." 
 
 Augustine, no longer hysterical, departed with 
 the coat and hat. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 When Georgina came out of the skin specialist's 
 two days later, she said to Dorrie that it was all 
 most satisfactory. 
 
 "He told me," said Dorrie, "that my horrid lip 
 would soon be all right. And the glands and ev- 
 erything. Did he tell you the same, Mummy, 
 when you saw him afterwards?" 
 
 "Yes, just the same." 
 
 "It is a relief. Do you know what I'd like to 
 sing! 'Oh, let us be joyful.' Yes, I should 
 right out here in the street. ' ' 
 
 "I'm very glad," said Georgina, "very glad- 
 very glad I 'm very glad. ' ' 
 
 "Why, Mummy, you're like a parrot," laughed 
 Dorrie. "You " 
 
 She turned as she spoke. "Why, Mummy, how 
 funny you look! You're not are you ill, 
 Mummy ? ' ' 
 
 "My head," said Georgina, "is aching terribly 
 it makes me quite giddy." 
 
 "We'd better you must have a cab. You 
 should have let them call one at the doctor's."
 
 298 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "I'm afraid," said Georgina in the cab, "that 
 I'm going to be as bad as I was at Laubach." 
 
 "I am so sorry. Poor Mummy! And just 
 when everything seemed to be going to be lovely." 
 In spite of her sympathy Dorrie gave a little laugh. 
 "I shall have to take you to a specialist to cure you 
 of your headaches. I hope he'll be as nice as 
 mine." 
 
 Georgina did not answer : her eyes were closed, 
 her brows were knit as though with pain. 
 
 "You'll have to lie down at once," said Dorrie, 
 "as soon as ever we get back." 
 
 At the hotel Dorrie spoke to Augustine before 
 Augustine could speak. 
 
 Poor Madame, her head was dreadfully, but 
 dreadfully bad. Augustine must come and help to 
 take off her things. And was the sal volatile un- 
 packed? and where was the eau-de-Cologne I 
 
 She spoke in French. Augustine answered in 
 English. 
 
 ' ' And Mees ? What of Mees ? " she asked. She 
 looked at Madame. 
 
 But Dorrie answered. "Oh, I? I'm all right 
 at least I'm soon going to be. It's Madame that 
 matters now. Mummy, you'll go to bed at once, 
 won't you?" 
 
 Not to bed, Georgina said, but she would go cer- 
 tainly and lie down. She wanted nothing just to 
 be left quiet. No, she did not want Augustine. 
 She knew where the eau-de-Cologne was. And 
 Dorrie could do nothing for her. Augustine, if 
 Dorrie wanted to go out, could go with her.
 
 AUGUSTINE 299 
 
 Please would they leave her quiet not disturb 
 her? She would ring the little hand-bell if she 
 wanted Augustine or Dorrie. And if they were 
 out, there was the chambermaid. But she should 
 not want anything. She was quite sure she would 
 soon get to sleep. 
 
 But Dorrie insisted upon going with Mummy to 
 her room: Dorrie would not go till Mummy had 
 taken off her dress and loosened her hair and was 
 covered up warm and comfy on the sofa. Then, 
 having darkened the room, Dorrie went. 
 
 When she had gone, Georgina got up from the 
 sofa and locked the door. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Georgina Bonham, when she had locked the 
 door, went back to the sofa. She did not lie upon 
 it, but she sat down; having sat down, she looked 
 at the carpet. It seemed to her that there was 
 nothing else to do, nothing else to be done. What 
 could she do? Except just not to let Dorrie know 
 at any rate not yet. But what was it exactly 
 that Dorrie ... It was difficult ... the special- 
 ist ... These French carpets they were quite 
 different from English from anything in Stottle- 
 ham. 
 
 Stottleham! Georgina raised her eyes and 
 looked round the room. Mrs. Vearing Rayke 
 Mrs. Charles Marsden the Saunders-Parrs. . . . 
 Were they real people? Both couldn't be real 
 both Stottleham and this.
 
 300 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 Georgina tried to think, and could not think. 
 The numbness of shock was upon her, and pres- 
 ently she began to feel the cold that follows upon 
 shock. It was warm June weather, but she shiv- 
 ered, and by and by the shivering of her body was 
 recognized by her brain. She got up from the sofa 
 and put on a warm dressing-gown and took the 
 little brandy-flask from her dressing-case and 
 drank some brandy. 
 
 Then she was able to think : or she thought that 
 she was thinking. What she really did was to go, 
 over and over again, through everything that had 
 happened between her entrance of the specialist's 
 house and her exit from it ; and what she tried to 
 do was to go through it exactly as it had taken 
 place, with everything in its right order ; and this 
 was what was so difficult to get the order right. 
 
 Things that mattered and things that did not 
 matter, all that the specialist said and did and 
 looked, and how and when it was she first had un- 
 derstood. And she could not remember just ex- 
 actly when and how, which sentence had followed 
 which, when it was that the meaning of the sen- 
 tences had first come home. She could not stop 
 trying to remember and she could not remember. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham of the Beeches had known that 
 there were things that well, that were not spoken 
 of, not at least by people in any sort of a set. But 
 these were not real things not real to Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. They were sort of in the world, but not in 
 any world that mattered. And nice people didn't 
 think about them ; the nicer you were, the less did
 
 AUGUSTINE 301 
 
 you ever dream of thinking about them. They 
 were things that had to do with dreadful people, 
 things that were walled off from religious, re- 
 spectable people, things that never could come 
 within miles of the people who knew and were 
 known by Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 And now they had come. 
 
 There was an illness Mrs. Bonham had known 
 that an illness that had something to do with an 
 Act of Parliament. Mrs. Vearing, one day in 
 the dusk, when it was nearly dark had somehow 
 arrived at mention of the Act (and had apologized 
 for the arrival), and had said that Adam had said 
 that Dr. Eayke had said that it ought to be 
 repealed; or that it ought not to have been re- 
 pealed ; Mrs. Vearing was not sure which. But it 
 didn't matter; it was no concern of Mrs. Vearing 's 
 or Mrs. Bonham 's; it had to do with something 
 which could not affect anybody in any set in 
 Stottleham. 
 
 And now Dorrie . . . 
 
 It was not surprising that Mrs. Bonham could 
 not think. Suddenly into the bliss of ignorance, 
 knowledge had come like a knife : the mere knowl- 
 edge, the mere cutting was a shock, apart from 
 the depth of the wound, apart from what was 
 wounded. 
 
 Sitting on the sofa, Mrs. Bonham was conscious 
 of the cutting, but not conscious yet of the extent 
 or full nature of the wound. The cutting was up- 
 permost in her consciousness, partly because it 
 was so recent and the shock of it still held her, and
 
 302 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 partly because she dared not think of all that by 
 the cutting had been sundered. 
 
 Of Dorrie she dared not think. She would be 
 cured of course. The specialist had spoken of 
 treatment . . . and back in England Rayke . . . 
 he would know, advise . . . but . . . Never could 
 the horror of it, the disgrace . . . Dorrie! Mrs. 
 Bonham's daughter guarded, brought up, looked 
 after, as in all Stottleham no one's daughter had 
 been cared for, protected, watched. 
 
 How! As the shock a little bit wore off, that 
 was the insistent question. How? Instead of the 
 interview at the specialist's, the question possessed 
 her. How ? Back and back she went, through all 
 the travels, and forward again, and once more 
 back. He had said, the specialist, that it was pos- 
 sible in all sorts of ordinary ways and places- 
 hotels waiting rooms . . . But surely ... Of 
 the hundreds and thousands that travelled, Dor- 
 rie ... Some special place, some special way, 
 surely . . . 
 
 She sat there on the sofa, too wretched to be 
 restless, and, as a little the shock died down, 
 anguish arose: the blind anguish of an unimagi- 
 native being plunged into experience. It sur- 
 passed any suffering she could have believed pos- 
 sible : nothing could exceed it.
 
 AUGUSTINE 303 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 Yet it was exceeded, and by means of Augus- 
 tine. 
 
 That evening, when Dorrie was safely in bed, 
 Augustine came to brush Madame 's hair. Osten- 
 sibly that was her reason for coming, but Madame 
 did not want her hair brushed, nor did Augustine 
 want to brush it. There was something Augustine 
 wanted to ask Madame : there was something too 
 that Madame wanted to ask Augustine. Madame 
 remembered what she wanted to ask only when 
 Augustine came in: Augustine had been remem- 
 bering all the afternoon. 
 
 For weeks Augustine had been on tenterhooks. 
 Madame, more than a month ago, had adjudicated 
 to her the position of a criminal : she had accepted 
 the position and had then by Madame been for- 
 given. But fate, as well as Madame, fate, after 
 befooling her, had also placed her in the position 
 of a criminal, and all these weeks Augustine had 
 not known what fate was going to do; whether, 
 having snared her, fate would tighten the snare, or 
 whether she would be granted a reprieve. 
 
 Augustine stood before Madame : what Augus- 
 tine wanted to know was all that was known to 
 Madame : what Madame wanted to know was how 
 much Augustine knew. And neither could obtain 
 the information wanted without a risk of giving 
 herself away. 
 
 Georgina was the more unhappy and Augustine
 
 304 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 was the more afraid. It was Georgina who 
 began. 
 
 "Bid you know, when I spoke to you of Dr. 
 Maboeuf, what kind of a specialist he was!" 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 "What illness disease f " 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 * ' How did you know 1 ' ' 
 
 "I was maid here in Paris, in a family where he 
 came." 
 
 1 ' And you knew then ? ' ' 
 
 "In families, Madame, the servants know al- 
 ways all." 
 
 Georgina waited ; Augustine waited too. 
 
 "Then," Georgina said, "when I said it was to 
 Dr. Mabo2uf I was to take we were to go . . .!" 
 
 "Madame, I was broken with fear." 
 
 Georgina looked at Augustine and then she 
 looked at the floor. 
 
 "But he is he might be a specialist for other 
 things. Why should you think . . .?" 
 
 Georgina by her questions had largely given 
 herself away. Augustine took no notice of her 
 poor attempt to find covert. 
 
 "Oh, Madame," she said, "what did he say of 
 Meeaf" 
 
 Georgina raised her eyes and looked at Augus- 
 tine and looked away again. She was trying to 
 think of something to say that would put Augus- 
 tine off, but she could not think of anything, she 
 could not think properly at all; and even if she 
 had thought of something quite clever and said
 
 AUGUSTINE 305 
 
 it, it would not have put Augustine off with 
 Madame 's face before her. 
 
 Augustine knew what she had wanted to know, 
 and without having given herself away; but now, 
 suddenly and completely, without being obliged to 
 do it, she gave, threw herself away. But Augus- 
 tine had never had discretion. She wrung her 
 hands. 
 
 * ' It is what I fear all the time, always. I watch, 
 I fear, I hope. My God! my God!" said Augus- 
 tine. 
 
 11 You feared I You! All the time? What do 
 you mean?" 
 
 The lethargy in Georgina's brain, the numbness 
 of the shock, was suddenly gone. Mrs. Bonham of 
 the Beeches leapt forth to life again. 
 
 Too late Augustine saw what she had done, and 
 recognized at once that it was too late : with Mrs. 
 Bonham she knew she had no chance. Sobbing, 
 terrified, wretched, Augustine fell upon her knees. 
 
 And then it all came out: the reason why Au- 
 gustine had been distraught, and why she had been 
 careless, and why, so often, she had verged upon 
 hysterics. 
 
 Augustine, at the hotel Laubach, had, it ap- 
 peared, betrayed what Madame had charged her 
 most rigorously to conceal. Not on the first 
 evening, not on the evening when Mees was kept 
 at the clinic, but on the evening following upon 
 Mees's return. Then, overcome by misery for 
 Madame had not yet forgiven her by misery and 
 indiscretion, she had spoken to the servants of the
 
 306 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 hotel of Madame 's anger and its cause. And the 
 servants had told her . . . 
 
 Here Augustine broke off and blamed herself, 
 not in that she had been indiscreet, but in that she 
 had been indiscreet too late. Had she known, only 
 known, on the evening before, nothing in all the 
 world nothing would have prevented her from at 
 once bringing back Mees. 
 
 Augustine wrung her hands and wept anew. 
 Madame needed all the force of Mrs. Bonham to 
 drive her on. 
 
 The doctor Beisen, Augustine went on at last, 
 knew much of what the doctor Maboeuf knew 
 much of. But the doctor Eeisen had made experi- 
 ments very many. It was to find out. On ani- 
 mals first of all; and then, because from the ani- 
 mals the results were not sure enough then in his 
 clinic upon . . . 
 
 "Not oh, not . . . f " said Georgina. 
 
 "But yes," said Augustine. 
 
 There had been a Augustine did not know the 
 word a process, she called it. 
 
 "A trial!" 
 
 Perhaps. ... It was some years before, and it 
 was because of girls young girls eight ; the serv- 
 ants had said eight. He had told it in the papers. 
 He was proud, because of his discoveries, and he 
 had told it, and there had been a process. 
 
 "But " Georgina interrupted Augustine 
 
 "but he is still there free!" 
 
 Yes, he was still there. In Germany, Augustine 
 said, things were very strange. He told nothing
 
 AUGUSTINE 307 
 
 now not in papers: but there was talk stories, 
 that still . . . And the servants had said: "You 
 never know." 
 
 And this it was that had haunted Augustine. 
 You never knew. This it was which had caused 
 her to be distraught and almost impossible. She 
 had watched and feared and hoped and prayed. 
 My God, how she had prayed! And then and 
 then . . . the illness of Mees . . . and at the last 
 the doctor Maboeuf and the face of Madame. 
 * * Oh, my God ! ' ' said Augustine. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Georgina, when Augustine had left her, un- 
 dressed and got into bed. She undressed because 
 it was bedtime and she was accustomed at bed- 
 time to undress, and, having put on her nightgown, 
 it would have seemed to her almost indecent not to 
 get into bed. 
 
 She got into bed and lay down; but here the 
 bonds and bandages of custom broke ; she could not 
 keep on lying down. She sat up in bed and looked 
 into the darkness, and she remembered all sorts 
 of things. 
 
 First of all she remembered her visit to Herr 
 Reisen at his flat, his restless striding to and fro, 
 his astounded comprehension, his angry distress, 
 his suggestion that Dorrie should stay on at Lau- 
 bach to be "treated." "For what?" Mrs. Bon- 
 ham had asked. She knew now ; she understood. 
 The figure of Herr Reisen, radiating dismay,
 
 308 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 seemed to pass somehow through and behind all 
 the other things she remembered. 
 
 Amongst these other things she remembered first 
 a speech of the Grafin 's. The Grafin had made it 
 while she was writing her letter to Herr Reisen; 
 she had turned round from her writing-table and 
 made it. "He is a very clever man," the Grafin 
 had said, "and to me most charming and most 
 kind. But he has enemies, he has been attacked. 
 There was an action I do not know if that is the 
 right word to do with the law it was while we 
 were in France. I do not know what it was about, 
 and Fritz (Fritz was the Graf) told me I had bet- 
 ter not go into it, but it was something to do with 
 his scientific work. ' ' Then the Grafin had turned 
 back again and gone on with the letter, and 
 Georgina remembered what she had replied to the 
 Grafin. "He looks clever," she had said. 
 
 Then, after the Grafin, she remembered things 
 ever so far back, at the very beginning of Dorrie's 
 life. People, when death comes near, are said to 
 see the whole of their past lives suddenly, in a 
 flash, and it was something in that way that Geor- 
 gina 's memory, flung back, showed her event after 
 event: only it was not her own life that passed 
 before her, but Dorrie's, and it passed, though with 
 swiftness, not in a flash. 
 
 She saw Dorrie as a baby, and Hannah applying 
 for the situation as nurse, and Hannah arriving 
 and established as Nurse. She saw Dorrie chang- 
 ing from baby to child and outgrowing Nurse, and 
 she remembered everything that occurred when
 
 AUGUSTINE 309 
 
 Nurse had been transformed into Hannah ; the con- 
 versations with Rayke and Mrs. Vearing, and that 
 Mrs. Vearing had wanted to sit in the arbour and 
 that the arbour had seemed to Georgina damp. 
 She remembered the dinner before Nurse had been 
 summoned, the cutlet and the extra half-glass of 
 claret, and everything that Nurse had said and 
 that she had said to Nurse. Then came the first 
 night that Dorrie had slept in the dressing-room 
 and all that Dorrie had asked for and wanted. 
 And after that came the nursery governesses. 
 
 Georgina remembered them all, every one of 
 them; not all the names, but many of the names, 
 and all the faces. They passed in procession be- 
 fore her as she sat up in bed: Miss Snell who 
 smoked cigarettes, Miss Parkins who bit her nails, 
 Miss she could not remember the name of the 
 governess who ate peppermints, but she remem- 
 bered her face. Then there was Mrs. Flores who 
 was cruel, and Miss Bell the suffragette, and 
 again the name was not there the teetotaller, and 
 Miss Bootham, the anti- . . . 
 
 Georgina 's pulses, which were beating quickly, 
 beat suddenly in a succession of leaps. Miss 
 Bootham she did not see Miss Bootham 's face so 
 clearly as some of the other faces, but clearly she 
 remembered what she had said. Her statements 
 had outraged Georgina at the time because they 
 were so outrageous; she remembered how out- 
 raged she had felt ; and at the Guild meeting they 
 had all been outraged. And Georgina had en- 
 quired into the statements, and especially the one
 
 310 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 about experiments ... the animals and the hu- 
 man beings; and the Vicar and Eayke had said 
 that it was false. That was because they did not 
 know, because they were ignorant of Germans and 
 of what was done in Germany. It was only Eng- 
 land they knew; and perhaps France; or perhaps 
 not only France; they might have known all the 
 other countries in the world except Germany and 
 yet not have known that Miss Bootham spoke the 
 truth. To know that Miss Bootham spoke truth, 
 you had to know Germany. 
 
 At the thought of Germany, the pictures of Dor- 
 rie 's past went right away, and the sort of burning 
 feeling that had been behind them flared up and 
 filled Georgina and the room and the darkness. 
 She knew it for anger, she knew now how bitterly 
 angry she was; it was more than anger. And in 
 it was the determination to bring the professor to 
 justice. It should be done. She would make it 
 known, the infamy of him ; it should be known ev- 
 erywhere, all over the world, in France, America 
 ... of course in England. She would expose him 
 and bring him to justice. It would not be difficult, 
 once she was back in England. There were am- 
 bassadors, consuls And then there was the 
 
 "Times." 
 
 Suddenly she saw a past copy of the " Times," 
 and a special sheet and a special column and a 
 special announcement: "A marriage has been ar- 
 ranged between Leonard Reginald, only son of the 
 late Reginald Fortescue and Lady Clementina 
 Fortescue, and grandson of . . . "
 
 AUGUSTINE 311 
 
 A blackness of fear and pain fell upon Georgina. 
 Would it ever be? Len . . . Lady Clementina 
 . . . All her hopes and pride, all that had made 
 the splendour of Mrs. Bonham was torn in a 
 travail of humiliation. And worse than the hu- 
 miliation, worse than anything that could happen 
 to herself or her hopes, was the thought but she 
 dared not think it, the thought of what would hap- 
 pen to Dorrie if ... She dared not follow the 
 thought. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Georgina had remembered with extraordinary 
 clearness the childhood of Dorrie, and all her life 
 she remembered it. But she never afterwards 
 could recall with any clearness what took place be- 
 tween her first visit to Dr. Maboeuf and her arrival 
 in England. She had a heavy sense of what she 
 had felt, but only a' blurred recollection of what 
 she had done. 
 
 She remembered that she had gone a second time 
 to see Dr. Maboeuf; she remembered asking him 
 how long it would take for the evil to show itself ; 
 and she remembered, when he answered her, tell- 
 ing him of what she felt to be the truth. She had 
 told him with no doubt in her mind of his sym- 
 pathy, his indignation, his eagerness to expose 
 Herr Reisen ; he would scout and condemn him as 
 surely, as bitterly, as Georgina herself. 
 
 And instead of scouting Herr Reisen, Dr. Ma- 
 bo3uf had scouted Georgina.
 
 312 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 There was no proof, he said, of Mrs. Bonham's 
 accusation. He would not even listen to Mrs. Bon- 
 ham. The treatment Monsieur the Professor had 
 given could have no connection with the indisposi- 
 tion of Mademoiselle. As for the dates the time 
 Mademoiselle had been at other places in Lau- 
 bach besides the clinic of Monsieur le Docteur 
 Beisen; and just before and just after Laubach 
 . . . "Oh, non, Madame." 
 
 Yet, by his face, Georgina, always shrewd and 
 now with a shrewdness doubled and trebled by the 
 desire to find out, to understand, by his face 
 Georgina had realized that he had known the 
 meaning of Dome's arm and lip; and realizing, 
 she had remembered questions he had put to Dor- 
 rie, questions that had no meaning for her at the 
 time. 
 
 Had Dorrie touched her arm just after Herr 
 Reisen had treated it, Dr. Maboeuf had asked, and 
 then touched her lip ? ' ' Oh no, ' ' Dorrie had said ; 
 but he had continued to question her till she had 
 told him that she had bent her face to her arm to 
 see if the injection had any smell. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, remembering, had recalled these 
 questions to Dr. Maboeuf. Why had he asked 
 them, if between lip and arm there was no connec- 
 tion? 
 
 She could see always, as she went over and over 
 again through the interview, the shrug of Dr. Ma- 
 bo3uf's shoulders. 
 
 "Once there is an opening in the skin, who can 
 tell what may enter ? " he had said. " It is the duty
 
 AUGUSTINE 313 
 
 of a doctor to enquire in every direction." She 
 could not remember what reply she had made or if 
 she had replied at all, but only the bitterness of her 
 emotion. 
 
 And she remembered that the specialist had 
 shrugged his shoulders again when she had spoken 
 of the others the eight. He had said nothing; he 
 had just shrugged his shoulders and spread out 
 the palms of his hands. And again she could not 
 properly recall what she had said or done, but only 
 what she had felt. She did not remember taking 
 leave of the French doctor, or whether she took 
 leave at all, nor did she remember going out of 
 his house. She only remembered being in the 
 street, and then at the hotel. 
 
 And after that second visit to the doctor she re- 
 membered buying things. She had to buy things 
 because of Dorrie; part of Dome's trousseau was 
 to be bought in Paris, and Georgina did not know 
 what to say; she had not yet made up her mind 
 what she was going to say to Dorrie. She must 
 wait, till she got back to England, and to Rayke. 
 And in the meantime, not knowing what to say, she 
 had to go on buying things. 
 
 In the bewilderment, the sense of darkness, of 
 upheaval, of disintegration, it was to Rayke that 
 her thoughts turned most for help, for hope, 
 almost for salvation. He had been so wise always, 
 so kind, and so dependable. She thought of their 
 talks, their consultations, and it was such a relief 
 to think of them instead of the other things ; how 
 carefully he had listened, how cleverly he had
 
 314 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 counselled. At the time when Hannah had be- 
 come Hannah; and again in the testing of Miss 
 Kimmidge; and times upon times countless 
 times. 
 
 Georgina half wondered whether at that time 
 when he and she had so nearly joined forces, she 
 had been wise to put him off. If he had been her 
 husband, with his man's knowledge, his under- 
 standing of what women of what Georgina had 
 not known, perhaps this all that was happening 
 might not have happened. She did not know, and 
 it was too late now. But still, even as things were, 
 she could turn to him ; for knowledge and skill and 
 sympathy and cleverness; as counsellor, as her 
 very dear, trusted friend. She seemed to see her- 
 self talking to him, telling him, pouring it all out. 
 And oh the relief of it! 
 
 Only a week ago, it would have seemed to Geor- 
 gina that to hint even at such things as she now 
 imagined herself pouring out to him, would have 
 been a sheer impossibility because it would have 
 seemed a sheer impropriety. But now! The 
 world was in ruins now, and when the world is in 
 ruins, it does not matter half so much what you 
 do or say. 
 
 In ruins her world was but for Eayke. He 
 stood up out of the ruins straight and strong. 
 Georgina, spent with anxiety and bewilderment, 
 felt a measure almost of hope, almost of cheer- 
 fulness, on the morning when she and Dorrie loft 
 Paris for England.
 
 BOOK VIII 
 HANNAH 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was with a sense of relief and satisfaction that 
 Mrs. Bonham set foot on English soil. She 
 had always believed that English people, English 
 customs, English ideas, English speech, English 
 everything, were superior to anything belonging 
 to any other nation, but never had English 
 superiority seemed so superior or so consoling as 
 when Georgina, with Dorrie, landed at Dover. 
 The porters who spoke and looked English, the 
 Custom House officials, the familiar-looking 
 English train, even the half -cold tea at the station, 
 all were consoling and also fortifying to Mrs. 
 Bonham. 
 
 Dorrie would not have any tea. She had begun 
 to have a cold the day before, and she had been 
 seasick during the crossing, and did not want 
 anything to eat or drink. But Georgina drank a 
 cup of tea and ate a bun, and, almost without know- 
 ing it, enjoyed both. It was the first time she had 
 come anywhere near enjoying food or drink since 
 the visit to Dr. Maboeuf, and the enjoyment was 
 due to the relief of getting back to England. 
 
 All the way in the train she told herself what 
 a relief it was ; she hugged the relief and the com- 
 fort of it. To be in England, the land of justice, 
 
 315
 
 316 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 of freedom, of religion, where doings like Dr. 
 Reisen 's would not be tolerated, where Dr. Reisen 
 himself would be scorned and abhorred. That 
 horrible Dr. Maboeuf to Georgina he seemed hor- 
 rible had refused to condemn, had indeed tried 
 to shield him. It showed what he was, what the 
 French were. But in England! In England the 
 whole medical profession would unite in condemna- 
 tion. 
 
 She looked at Dorrie sitting opposite to her, 
 with closed eyes, with the pink of her cheeks wiped 
 out, and the sweet, blemished mouth; and every 
 ounce of tenderness that was in Georgina 's soul 
 went out to Dorrie, and all the indignation of 
 which she was capable rose up and burned about 
 her thought of Herr Dr. Reisen. Then, through 
 the window, she saw the Kentish hops and the 
 serene Kentish landscape, and she remembered 
 that she was in England and took comfort. 
 
 For once in England, with doctors she could 
 trust, there was hope. That horrible man whom 
 she had not thought horrible at all at the first 
 visit, but charming and kind even he had said 
 that with time and treatment . . . And besides it 
 was impossible back in England Mrs. Bonham 
 felt it to be impossible that anything so unspeak- 
 able could endure. In Stottleham ... oh no; 
 when she thought of Stottleham, she knew it could 
 not endure. She would take Dorrie to some nice 
 clever man, an English specialist; and she and 
 Dorrie would stay in London for a time till . . . 
 Dorrie should not return to Stottleham till she
 
 HANNAH 317 
 
 was quite, quite well. And never in Stottleham 
 should it be known that . . . except to Rayke. 
 Rayke 's advice and co-operation were essential; 
 and also his sympathy and his strength. Mrs. 
 Bonham had never wanted to lean or not to lean 
 much on anybody: Dorrie's mother felt that she 
 wanted to lean on Rayke just now a good deal. 
 Rayke Stottleham England. What a comfort 
 it was to be back ! 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Georgina had telegraphed to Hannah to meet 
 them at Charing Cross. 
 
 Augustine had been left in Paris. Georgina 
 felt that it was impossible to bear any longer 
 the presence of Augustine. Augustine had wept 
 and declared it was not her fault, that she was 
 desolate, that she would have given her life, and 
 God knew it, sooner than that harm should have 
 come to Mees. But Georgina could not put up 
 even with the sight of Augustine. It might not 
 have been her fault. And yet it was. But for 
 her stupidity, her pretending to know German 
 In spite of her tears and protestations, and in 
 spite of Dorrie's intercessions, for Dorrie was 
 sorry for Augustine, Augustine was left in Paris. 
 
 "Mummy, I think you're rather hard on poor 
 Augustine," Dorrie had said. "She can't help 
 losing her head over the packing sometimes ; and 
 she's very obliging." 
 
 "I know what I am doing," Georgina had re-
 
 318 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 plied; and Dorrie knew from Mummy's face and 
 voice that Augustine had no chance. 
 
 And once Augustine had been said good-bye to, 
 Dorrie could not help feeling rather glad, since 
 saying good-bye to Augustine meant saying how do 
 you do to Hannah. And Hannah, though outside 
 she was housemaid, had never stopped in her own 
 inside and in Dome's being Nurse. 
 
 Georgina had telegraphed to Hannah to meet 
 them, and there, on the platform, was Hannah, 
 with her face what Dorrie called bunched up; 
 it was a peculiarity of Hannah's face when she 
 was moved; moved to joy that is to say, for sor- 
 row made her impassive. 
 
 Hannah, with a bunched-up face and hungry 
 eyes, was searching the length of the train; but 
 not for long; she saw Dorrie the very instant she 
 got out. 
 
 "Oh, Hannah," said Dorrie, as soon as she had 
 finished saying how do you do, "don't I look hor- 
 rid?" 
 
 "You seem to have a cold, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "Yes, I've got a cold, and I've been seasick, 
 and . . ." 
 
 "Come along, Dorrie!" said Georgina. 
 "There's the luggage to look after." 
 
 Hannah was certainly better at getting the lug- 
 gage than Augustine had been, at least than 
 Augustine had been since leaving Laubach; and 
 soon Georgina and Dorrie and Hannah were on 
 their way to the Maiden Hotel. Georgina, before 
 telegraphing for Hannah, had engaged rooms, and
 
 HANNAH 319 
 
 the rooms were all ready, and Georgina felt them 
 to be very English and satisfactory. 
 
 She was thankful, apart from the satisfactori- 
 ness of the rooms and the relief of being in London, 
 to have the journey over. She had begun, before 
 leaving Paris, to feel physically the strain of the 
 Paris week, and now she was very tired, and was 
 thankful to think there was no more travelling ; she 
 did not count the going down to Stottleham to see 
 Rayke as travelling. 
 
 Georgina was very tired, but not so tired as 
 Dorrie. Dorrie was dreadfully tired and said she 
 would like to go to bed at once. So to bed she 
 went, tended by Hannah; and when she was in 
 bed Hannah brought her tea and toast, which was 
 all she would consent to have; she drank every 
 drop of tea, but did not eat much of the toast. 
 
 Hannah was distressed, but Hannah could not 
 remonstrate much, because Dorrie said: "Now, 
 Nurse darling, don't bother me! I want to go to 
 sleep." 
 
 So Hannah could not bother her; she could 
 only take away the tray and hover about till Dorrie 
 was asleep. And when Dorrie was asleep, she 
 went to Mrs. Bonham, for Mrs. Bonham had said 
 that when Hannah was done with Miss Dorrie, she 
 wanted to speak to her.
 
 320 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Hannah went to Mrs. Bonham and Mrs. Bonham 
 told her what she considered Hannah would have 
 to know. She did not tell her of Herr Reisen and 
 of the clinic; she could not find the words or the 
 courage to tell her; she only told Hannah what 
 Hannah had to know. She had to know; it would 
 have been impossible to keep it from her ; and im- 
 politic too, for Hannah's help was needed. As 
 for her discretion, there could be no discretion 
 greater than Hannah's. 
 
 Hannah listened with a face as impassive as her 
 face had been on the evening when Georgina had 
 broken to her that Dorrie had outgrown her; and, 
 as on that evening, there came a point when Geor- 
 gina said to her that she had better sit down. 
 
 When Hannah had sat down, Georgina said : 
 
 "Did you know of such things?" 
 
 Hannah answered: "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 They sat in silence; till Georgina said: 
 
 "I never knew." 
 
 "You was brought up different from me," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 Again there was silence, and then Georgina 
 said: "I suppose so." 
 
 "I was brought up," said Hannah, "so as I had 
 to know." 
 
 ' ' Do you know much ? ' ' 
 
 Hannah stood up. 
 
 "Oh, ma'am, I know what it all means."
 
 HANNAH 321 
 
 "Don't!" said Georgina: she spoke to some- 
 thing in Hannah's face and voice. 
 
 "Sit down again!" 
 
 Hannah obeyed. 
 
 "Then you know that there's a that it can be 
 cured. ' ' 
 
 "Ye-es. Only you never know." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" Georgina 's 
 voice was sharp. "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I've seen cures; and the children had it." 
 
 Georgina looked at Hannah and Hannah looked 
 at Georgina. There was terror in Georgina 's 
 eyes. There was something in the eyes of Hannah 
 that held Georgina as steel holds a magnet. 
 
 Presently Georgina said: "But it can, it can 
 completely. ' ' 
 
 Hannah answered: "I'd sooner see her in her 
 coffin than cast off." 
 
 "Cast off? What in the world . . . please 
 think of what you're saying." 
 
 "I'm thinking," said Hannah, "of Mr. For- 
 tescue." 
 
 "But," said Georgina, "when she's cured . . ." 
 
 "Women marries men cured and sometimes 
 not, but men don't marry women." 
 
 "But Mr. Fortescue he just worships her." 
 
 "It's because men know, and women doesn't," 
 said Hannah. 
 
 "But he Len Hannah, you know as well as 
 I do that he worships her." 
 
 "If 7 was him," said Hannah, "d'you think I 
 wouldn't have her? D'you think I'd think of my-
 
 322 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 self, or the children if I couldn't stop 'er having 
 any ? D'you think I'd think of anything ex- 
 cept not breaking her 'eartf " 
 
 "Well, you don't suppose you care more than 
 he does? The idea!" said Georgina. 
 
 Hannah said nothing. 
 
 "Do you think," Georgina said after a while, 
 "I shall have to tell him? now I mean, before 
 she's ... at once!" 
 
 "Yes," Hannah answered, "because he'd find it 
 out and that 'ud be worse. ' ' 
 
 After another little while Georgina said: "I 
 think you'd better go now, Hannah." 
 
 Hannah got up and went away. 
 
 She went up to the unfamiliar room whither she 
 had brought certain familiar things; her Bible, 
 Dome's photograph, a green silk pincushion, a 
 blue glass bottle, three parts full of the aconite 
 and iodine mixture to which, rather than to the 
 dentist's skill, Hannah pinned her faith. The 
 bottle was on the mantelpiece, and Hannah, paus- 
 ing as it caught her eye, stood and looked at it. 
 
 Years ago Mrs. Bonham had reproached her for 
 leaving just such a bottle in a cupboard that was 
 unlocked, a cupboard from which Dorrie, reaching 
 up from a chair, had extracted it and spilt the 
 contents on the floor. "It might have been the 
 child's death," Mrs. Bonham had said. "Dr. 
 Bayke said it would have stopped her heart beat- 
 ing. ' ' Hannah remembered the look on Mrs. Bon- 
 ham 's face, the sound in her voice and the misery 
 in her own heart at the picture of what might have
 
 HANNAH 323 
 
 been a misery far deeper in reproach than the 
 words of Mrs. Bonham. Now, standing looking 
 at the bottle, the thought came: Supposing that 
 what might have been, had been, would it perhaps, 
 after all ... She could not carry the thought to 
 its end, not definitely, not in words. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 The next morning Georgina told Len. 
 
 Len came bursting in before Georgina had 
 finished her breakfast. He was full of delighted 
 expectation; and where was Dorrie? It seemed 
 as if he had half expected her to be waiting for 
 him on the steps of the hotel. 
 
 He had arrived last night late. When he knew 
 Dorrie was to be in London, of course he had to 
 be in London too; but her letter telling him that 
 they were to arrive a day earlier than he had 
 expected, had only come by the evening post, too 
 late for him to catch any but the latest train. 
 And he had meant to meet them at the station! 
 Wasn't it disappointing? 
 
 Mrs. Bonham said yes, because it seemed the 
 only thing to say ; she could not say that she had 
 made her plans with a view to prevent Len being 
 able to meet them at the station. 
 
 But Dorrie now that he was here. What a 
 bore that she was having her breakfast in bed! 
 Of course if she was tired 
 
 "Very tired," said Georgina. 
 
 ''And had a cold "
 
 324 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "A bad cold," said Georgina. 
 
 Well, then, of course but it was beastly rough 
 luck. And how long when would she be down? 
 
 Perhaps not all day, Georgina told him. 
 
 "Oh, I say!" 
 
 Suddenly Len 's face changed. * * I say, she isn 't 
 really ill, is she?" 
 
 "Yes, she's she's rather ill." 
 
 "What is it? How long ? Why didn't you 
 
 send wire ? What is it ? " 
 
 Georgina was trembling. 
 
 "I don't know L'en, oh, Len, I don't know how 
 to tell you. ' ' 
 
 Len's face was white, his eyes were dim with 
 fear. 
 
 "You've got to tell me." 
 
 Georgina told him. It took some time to make 
 him understand. 
 
 When he had understood and had gone away, 
 Georgina went into her bedroom; it was nearly 
 time to get ready to go to Stottleham. In her bed- 
 room Hannah was waiting. 
 
 "Did you tell him?" Hannah asked. 
 
 "Yes, I told him." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He didn't say anything. He sat with his face 
 in his hands. ' ' 
 
 "What did he think?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Couldn't you tell by his face?" 
 
 "When he took his hands from his face, he got 
 up and went away."
 
 HANNAH 325 
 
 "He didn't say nothing!" 
 
 "He didn't even say good-bye." 
 
 "I was watching," said Hannah, "and I see him 
 go down, but I couldn't get a sight of his face." 
 She turned away. "If I'd have seen him," she 
 said to herself, "I'd have known." 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 All the way from Paris Georgina had comforted 
 herself with the thought of seeing Eayke, and 
 now very soon she would see him. She was in the 
 train, on her way to Stottleham, really on the way : 
 in a little more than two hours she would see him. 
 
 She needed more than ever to see him. She 
 was shaken, unnerved, near to breaking-point: 
 there was not a soul in Stottleham who could have 
 conceived the possibility of dear Mrs. Bonham 
 craving for support, for guidance, as Mrs. Bon- 
 ham craved to-day. She had been always sure of 
 herself and Stottleham had admired her self- 
 security; it seemed to add a certain security to 
 Stottleham. But now she was not sure of any- 
 thing, not even of herself: there was nothing she 
 could be sure of, save only the wisdom and the 
 sympathy of Rayke. 
 
 And Rayke what would he say? She could 
 imagine his horror and his anger, but she could 
 not imagine his advice. But the advice would be 
 there, and it would ease the terrible pain of anxiety 
 that was pressing upon her. She did not know,
 
 326 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 had not since the beginning of the terror known, 
 what to do. Eayke would know. He would tell 
 her exactly what to do, which way to take, and 
 she felt that the way he would indicate to her 
 would be a way that would lead her out of her 
 trouble. For he always found solutions. There 
 was rest in the very recollection of his past 
 wisdom, peace in the fact that she would see him 
 soon. His mere understanding would be balm, 
 and she was assured of the fulness of it, and the 
 kind look in his eyes . . . and the soothing voice. 
 . . . She almost seemed to hear it now, through 
 the rumble of the train: "Dear friend, don't 
 worry; I will tell you what to do." 
 
 Where were they now? Ah, just past Mugford. 
 Every mile of the line was familiar to Georgina, 
 and each landmark assured her that she was 
 nearer and nearer to the relief she craved for. 
 
 She had bought several papers at the station; 
 she took them up, opened them and glanced 
 through them one after the other; she did not 
 want to remember any more, nor did she want 
 to look forward. The thought of the meeting with 
 Rayke was making her tremulous, and she did not 
 want to be tremulous ; she must be collected, calm, 
 able to tell him everything with the lucidity he 
 admired. So she looked at the papers: it was 
 something to do and it gave her mind a little rest 
 from rushing on and backwards. 
 
 Some of the papers were illustrated ; she opened 
 the illustrated ones first and looked at the pictures ; 
 and when she had looked at them all, she found
 
 HANNAH 327 
 
 her thoughts leaping back again to Paris, to 
 Laubach, or forward to the meeting that was so 
 near. She took up the other papers, the papers 
 that had no pictures, and scanned the pages care- 
 lessly. She could not read them ; there was noth- 
 ing in them that could interest her; papers were 
 concerned with the outside world, and in all the 
 world outside her trouble there was nothing that 
 seemed to matter. 
 
 She glanced at the headings; they occupied her 
 eyes and helped to keep her mind steady. She 
 went on from one to the other slowly, so that they 
 should not too soon be done, for when they were 
 done her mind would be again defenceless. Then, 
 in her languid perfunctory following of the lines, 
 her eye caught a name, and immediately the 
 languor was gone and in its place burned interest 
 intense and keen. 
 
 Georgina read, and then she dropped the paper. 
 She picked it up and looked at it again to see 
 what it was that had seemed to her for the moment 
 real, to be actually written there : for so she told 
 herself her brain had tricked her; what she had 
 imagined could not be real. 
 
 But it was real; or else she was mad. 
 
 She leaned forward and said to a lady on the 
 opposite seat: 
 
 "Excuse me! would you mind telling me what 
 that name is? My sight is a little uncertain.' 
 
 "With pleasure. It's Keisen, Dr. Reisen." 
 
 "I I thought it looked like that." 
 
 "He seems to be well known," the lady said.
 
 328 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 "A German, I believe, who has done wonders for 
 medical science." 
 
 "Yes," said Georgina. " Thank you." 
 
 She took up the paper again and read once more 
 the announcement of the lecture that was to be 
 given by Professor Eeisen; read that he was to 
 give the lecture to an English medical society, and 
 read what the subject of the lecture was to be. 
 Ten days ago she would not have understood what 
 the subject was, but she understood now. 
 
 It was in her mind to say to the lady opposite : 
 "Do you know who he is? what he has done?" It 
 was in her mind to tell her all his infamy; but it 
 was not clearly there because her mind was dazed ; 
 she was too dazed to be able to speak. She said 
 nothing. 
 
 The thing she had read was beating into her. 
 He had left Germany and come to England . . . 
 he was here in England, in London ... he was 
 welcomed, he ... 
 
 She sat with the paper on her knee, dazed, till 
 the train reached Stottleham. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 The getting to Stottleham brought Georgina to 
 herself; it seemed to her that it brought her also 
 to salvation. She felt as the train stopped and 
 she got out on to the platform that for her, then, 
 in the chaos that had come to her, Rayke and sal- 
 vation were one. And now he was very near. 
 To reach him her strength would endure; after-
 
 HANNAH 329 
 
 wards well, afterwards she would have his 
 strength to cling to, to lean upon, his wisdom to 
 point out her path; and always his sympathy. 
 
 The station-master was wreathed in smiles on 
 the platform, and all the porters were touching 
 their caps. They were greeting Mrs. Bonham 
 after her sojourn on the Continent, and Mrs. Bon- 
 ham would have enjoyed what she would have 
 accepted as Mrs. Bonham 's due. Mrs. Bonham 
 would have responded with smiles, with ap- 
 propriate enquiries addressed to the station- 
 master, with appropriate tips bestowed upon the 
 porters. Mrs. Bonham had pictured just such an 
 arrival as this, only with Dorrie and Augustine 
 and many boxes and the greater part of Dorrie 's 
 trousseau. The dazed, harried soul in Mrs. Bon- 
 ham's body knew only one desire, and that was 
 to reach Eayke. 
 
 No, she had no luggage . . . just for the day. 
 It was a beautiful day, yes, and she was quite well, 
 and she hoped the station-master's wife was quite 
 well. She gave a porter sixpence and got into a 
 cab. 
 
 1 'No, not the Beeches. To Dr. Rayke's." 
 
 In the cab Georgina breathed with relief: there 
 was nothing more to do now, to think about, till 
 she saw Rayke. She felt, as she drove down the 
 High Street, as if during the last eight or nine 
 days she had been holding something in herself 
 together, as if she could not hold it much longer, 
 as if, did she not have some help in the holding, 
 the something would break.
 
 330 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 She had chosen a closed cab and she sat far 
 back in it. She did not want Stottleham to see 
 her. Once seen, Stottleham would flock around 
 her. Mrs. Bonham, the dear Mrs. Bonham who 
 had gone abroad, would have rejoiced in the flock- 
 ing: the dazed Mrs. Bonham who returned shrank 
 from the thought of it. 
 
 Ah, there went Miss Pottlebury, and behind her, 
 a few paces behind, was Mrs. Charles Marsden, 
 and on the other side of the road was Miss True- 
 fitt. Georgina shrank back in the cab. 
 
 Now the cab turned out of the High Street. 
 There was the church and the Vicarage. And 
 now, here was Rayke's house. 
 
 "Shall I wait, ma'am?" asked the cabman. 
 
 4 'No, don't wait." 
 
 Georgina 's hand trembled as she paid him ; she 
 trembled slightly all over as she waited at the 
 door. Such a long way, such a long time, but she 
 was here at last ! Oh, the comfort of it ! 
 
 The parlour-maid opened the door, and started 
 with surprise, and smiled with welcome. 
 
 "You, ma'am! Who'd have thought . . .? 
 I 'm sure I 'm glad to see you back. ' ' 
 
 "Dr. Rayke is he in?" 
 
 * ' I 'm sorry, ma 'am ..." 
 
 "I want particularly to see him, I must see him. 
 I'll come in will he be long? I'll come in and 
 wait." 
 
 "He's away, ma'am." 
 
 "Away?" Georgina 's voice faltered.
 
 HANNAH 331 
 
 "In London, ma'am. There's some great 
 doctor come from abroad Germany I think and 
 the master's gone up to bid him welcome." 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "No," said Georgina, "no, thank you, I won't 
 come in. And there 's no message, no. No, thank 
 you. ' ' 
 
 " I 'm very sorry, ma 'am. And the master . . ." 
 
 "It doesn't matter at all," said Georgina, "not 
 in the least." 
 
 Did it? Georgina turned and went along the 
 street, back along the way she had come. Did it 
 matter? She thought not. There wasn't any- 
 thing really that mattered not very much. The 
 thing inside that she had been holding together, 
 that mattered; it mattered that she should hold 
 it still. There was not anything else. 
 
 "Mrs. Bonham! You? Back? Of course I 
 
 knew you were to arrive in London, but How 
 
 nice to see you back!" 
 
 It was Patricia Pottlebury who blocked Mrs. 
 Bonham 's way with a beaming face. She still 
 wore her hat on one side, and it was very much on 
 one side now. 
 
 "I'm not it's just for the day. We shall be in 
 London for a long time. How are the children?" 
 
 "Oh, ever so well. Baby's just got his third 
 tooth, and Dorothy . . . But I want to hear about 
 you. How are you? You don't look are you
 
 332 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 quite well, Mrs. Bonham?" Patricia's eyes were 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Exceedingly well, thank you. How's Mr. 
 Pottlebury?" ' 
 
 "A touch of rheumatism, but except for 
 that . . . AndDorrief" 
 
 1 'She's quite . . . She's not very well." 
 
 "I am sorry. What is it?" 
 
 "It's it's influenza. How is Miss Pottle- 
 bury?" 
 
 "Thank you so much. Myra's much as usual. 
 I hope it isn 't a bad attack. And just now when 
 she'll be wanting to get her trousseau. You're 
 staying in London for that, of course." 
 
 ' ' Of course, ' ' said Mrs. Bonham. " I 'm going, ' ' 
 she added, "to the Vicarage." 
 
 "Might I just walk with you as far as that?" 
 Patricia turned as she spoke and walked along by 
 the side of Mrs. Bonham. "Dr. Rayke's in 
 London," she went on, "to meet this German 
 doctor they think so much of. But of course you 
 know. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 "He's been looking forward to it. He told 
 Ludovic . . . But about Dorrie. It's not a bad 
 attack?" 
 
 "Not at yes, it's rather bad." 
 
 "I am sorry. But not you're not anxious 
 about her, Mrs. Bonham?" 
 
 1 ' Oh no, I 'm not anxious, I 'm not the least anx- 
 ious." 
 
 "I'm so glad; I was half afraid . . . Here we
 
 HANNAH 333 
 
 are! Thank you so much for letting me walk 
 with you. Please give my love to Dorrie." 
 
 "And mine to Ludovic," said Mrs. Bonham. 
 She was not thinking of what she was saying; 
 never before had she sent any message of greeting 
 to Ludovic Pottlebury. What she was thinking 
 was that Alicia Vearing had been always kind. 
 
 She had said she was going to the Vicarage 
 partly to get rid of Patricia Pottlebury, partly be- 
 cause she had to go somewhere, and the Beeches 
 was still shut up, partly because of the sense 
 of Alicia's kindness. She could not stay in the 
 street till the train went ; she had the feeling that 
 if she stayed in the street the thing inside her 
 would break loose ; Alicia and her kindness might 
 help her to hold it together. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Alicia had been always kind, and to-day she was 
 very, very kind. It was too delightful to see dear- 
 est Georgina, and too sweet of dearest Georgina 
 to have come down. But how tired dearest Geor- 
 gina looked ! and Mrs. Vearing was sure she had 
 had no lunch. The Vicarage lunch was over, but 
 there was plenty Cook, in a moment . . . 
 
 No, said Georgina, she had a headache, she 
 couldn't really . . . 
 
 "Then a cup of coffee, just a cup and perhaps 
 a biscuit. It will pick you up." 
 
 Georgina agreed to the coffee; it was the line
 
 334 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 of least resistance; and it did pick her up. It 
 picked her up wonderfully, perhaps because Alicia 
 had it made extra strong: it took away the dull 
 heavy feeling that had been pressing upon her all 
 the time she had talked and listened to Patricia 
 Pottlebury, and made her feel intensely keen in 
 mind and in memory: it made her feel that she 
 wanted to talk and tell things. 
 
 After the coffee, the Vicar came in, and Adam 
 as well as Alicia was so sorry to hear that Dorrie 
 had influenza, and Adam as well as Alicia was so 
 sorry that Kayke was away. Adam supposed, as 
 Alicia had supposed, that Mrs. Bonham wished to 
 consult him about Dorrie 's influenza. 
 
 Georgina said yes, she had thought if he had 
 been at home . . . 
 
 What a pity she hadn't known, Alicia said. 
 Eayke being in London, it would have been so easy 
 to see him there; and he could have seen Dorrie. 
 
 Adam said he could give her Rayke 's address; 
 he didn't know when Rayke was coming home, 
 but he could give Mrs. Bonham his address; he 
 supposed from what Rayke had said, that he 
 would stay on in London as long as Professor 
 Reisen did. 
 
 And then they both began to talk about Pro- 
 fessor Reisen. 
 
 He must be so clever, Alicia said, from what 
 Dr. Rayke had told them, but apparently not fully 
 appreciated in Germany. "So extraordinary, for 
 I always understood that German doctors . . , 
 But a prophet in his own country, you know,"
 
 HANNAH 335 
 
 When Alicia stopped, Adam went on. "Yes, 
 very extraordinary; but so Dr. Rayke said, in his 
 own country his work had not been properly 
 recognized. But here after the lecture, I under- 
 stand, he is to be given the Society's gold 
 medal. ' ' 
 
 "Gold medal," repeated Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 "Yes, on account, I believe, of some very re- 
 markable discoveries he has made through ex- 
 periments." Adam, saying this, looked extraor- 
 dinarily important. 
 
 "I didn't hear about the experiments," said 
 Mrs. Vearing. "I don't think Dr. Eayke . . . 
 What were they about, Adam?" 
 
 "I couldn't it's a subject I couldn't ..." 
 murmured Adam. 
 
 But Georgina could: Georgina could and did. 
 She burst into speech: she found herself telling 
 Alicia what Augustine had told her ; telling Alicia, 
 and also Adam. A year ago a month ago she 
 would have died sooner than have referred re- 
 motely to the subject of Herr Reisen's experi- 
 ments within earshot of Adam. But now what 
 did it matter to her that Adam was a man? All 
 that mattered was that there were men like Herr 
 Reisen, and that other men ought to know. It 
 was all the better that Adam was a man. 
 
 She told them everything, all she knew; about 
 the eight girls on whom Herr Reisen had experi- 
 mented, and that one was only twelve. She told 
 them with the stimulus of the coffee in her brain, 
 and the thought of Dorrie in her heart. But she
 
 336 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 did not tell them about Dorrie : that was the only 
 thing she did not tell them. 
 
 And when she had finished telling them, they 
 said they did not believe her. Not in so many 
 words; but Alicia said she must have been mis- 
 taken, and Adam said she must have misunder- 
 stood ; and the reasons they gave were that Bayke 
 had gone up to see Professor Eeisen and that a 
 society whose name Alicia could not pronounce 
 was to present him with a gold medal. 
 
 To be sure, Adam remembered, Rayke had re- 
 ferred vaguely but it was because animals you 
 couldn't be sure the results 
 
 "And I'm sure if Dr. Rayke approved," said 
 Alicia, "that it was for the girls' own good." 
 
 "And the good," added Adam, "of humanity." 
 
 And then 
 
 Georgina looked from one to the other, and the 
 thing inside her that she had tried to hold to- 
 gether was somehow outside her, and she could not 
 hold it. And constrained by the thing she told 
 them about Dorrie. She had never meant to tell 
 them. But now she told them. 
 
 And when she had told them, again not in so 
 many words but again they said they did not 
 believe her. They said what the French specialist 
 had said. They did not shrug their shoulders or 
 turn out the palms of their hands ; they were very 
 much distressed, and they were very, very kind; 
 but they said, as he had said, that she must be 
 mistaken, that it must have been some other way, 
 that after all there was no positive proof. They
 
 HANNAH 337 
 
 said it because they were so good, but they said 
 it. They were very good and terribly distressed 
 and overflowing with sympathy. But they did not 
 believe her. 
 
 Mrs. Vearing wept, and came and put her arms 
 round Georgina, and said, what could she do? 
 Georgina did not weep; she made a little move- 
 ment to try and get rid of Mrs. Vearing's arms, 
 and she did not answer. 
 
 And then the Vicar said something about 
 Christian fortitude, and Georgina turned on the 
 Vicar. 
 
 4 'Don't dare to talk to me of Christian fortitude ! 
 It's all very well for things for ordinary things 
 for things that don't matter. But this . . . 
 Dorrie ..." 
 
 All of a sudden it struck Georgina that there 
 was something extraordinarily funny about 
 Christian fortitude, that it was all extraordinarily 
 funny; the experiments, and Dorrie, and Rayke 
 going up to London, and everything. And, being 
 funny, it was a thing to laugh at. Gaorgina 
 laughed. 
 
 She laughed and laughed; she shook and 
 screamed with laughter ; the peals of her laughter 
 rang through the room and through the house ; she 
 laughed till she cried. She laughed literally till 
 she cried, for suddenly she was sobbing; and in 
 her sobbing she screamed as she had screamed in 
 her laughter. Then the laughter came back ; and 
 then the sobs; and then again the laughter; till at 
 last she was still ; exhausted, motionless, rigid.
 
 338 THE THUNDEEBOLT 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Three things were known that evening through- 
 out the length and breadth of Stottleham. The 
 first was that dear Mrs. Bonham had been sud- 
 denly seized with f aintness and was lying ill at the 
 Vicarage. The second was that Miss Bonham had 
 influenza and was lying ill in London. The third 
 was that Mrs. Bonham had sent her love to Ludo- 
 vic Pottlebury. 
 
 There was no dispute as to the main facts of 
 these three pieces of news, but there was consider- 
 able discussion as to details. Dissension was 
 acute on the point of Mrs. Bonham 's exact message 
 to Mr. Pottlebury, some maintaining that the 
 greeting sent was "kind love," others declaring 
 that it was love without any qualification. The ad- 
 vocates of love pure and simple finally carried 
 the day; it was conceded that dear Mrs. Bonham 's 
 kindness could hardly be supposed to run into 
 adjectives when it flowed beyond the precincts of 
 her own set. 
 
 There was also some difference of opinion as to 
 which of the spare rooms at the Vicarage Mrs. 
 Bonham was in. There were those who asserted 
 that she was in the best room at the front of the 
 house: others said no, she was in the smaller one 
 at the back because it was quieter. Some had seen 
 a nurse at the front window; others knew that 
 there was no nurse, and that if by any chance 
 one had arrived recently, it was certainly not the 
 front window she would be looking out of.
 
 HANNAH 339 
 
 As to Dorrie, discussion was confined to the 
 question of the hotel in London in which she 
 was ill. The Maiden? Certainly not; it was 
 Claridge 's. But it could not be Claridge 's because 
 it was known as a fact that it was the Ritz. As 
 to the influenza itself, there was no dispute; it 
 was agreed that Dorrie had it ; and, mild in char- 
 acter at the beginning of the evening, it was of the 
 most malignant type by bedtime. 
 
 But Dorrie really had influenza. Though Mrs. 
 Bonham, struggling with the interrogatory impor- 
 tunities of Patricia Pottlebury, had supposed her- 
 self to be telling a lie when she gave influenza 
 as the cause of Dorrie 's indisposition, it was truth 
 nevertheless which Patricia, on Mrs. Bonham 's 
 authority, set floating through the waters of 
 Stottleham. Dorrie had influenza, and it was the 
 one thing, when Georgina heard of it, for which 
 she felt she could be thankful. It was a respect- 
 able, mentionable disease, the sort of disease as 
 to which, as the Vicar had said, you could exercise 
 Christian fortitude. 
 
 Was it about Dorrie he had said it? Georgina 
 remembered the Vicar saying something about 
 Christian fortitude, but she did not remember 
 clearly what had led up to his saying it, and after 
 he had said it she did not remember anything at 
 all. 
 
 For a week she lay in the Vicarage spare bed- 
 room (Miss Truefitt and her faction were right; 
 it was the one at the back) ; for a week she lay 
 there without remembering or knowing anything
 
 340 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 at all; and for another week she lay there getting 
 better. She was tenderly nursed by Mrs. Vear- 
 ing; she was unremittingly enquired after by all 
 the Stottleham sets; even Miss Truefitt called re- 
 peatedly, though, not being in Mrs. Bonham's set, 
 she did not leave a card. 
 
 And while Georgina lay ill at Stottleham tended 
 by Mrs. Vearing, Dorrie lay ill in London tended 
 by Hannah. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Every morning while Dorrie lay ill, Hannah 
 brought in a bouquet of beautiful flowers. "From 
 Mr. Fortescue," said Hannah. 
 
 Dorrie loved the bouquets : she had them divided 
 into smaller bouquets and placed all about the 
 room, so that she could see some of them which- 
 ever way she looked. 
 
 "But I wish he'd write," she said from time to 
 time. 
 
 "You know, Miss Dorrie, the doctor said you 
 wasn't to have letters." 
 
 "I never heard him." 
 
 "He told me, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "I'm not so very ill." 
 
 "No, Miss Dorrie, but your temperature's 
 high." 
 
 "If it goes down, I suppose ..." 
 
 "When it goes down, Miss Dorrie, you can have 
 all the letters you please. And Mr. Fortescue can 
 come up one day and see you. ' '
 
 HANNAH 341 
 
 "I don't know ... I almost think I don't want 
 to see him till my lip's well." 
 
 "I shouldn't worry about my lip, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 They were right at Stottleham; Dome's in- 
 fluenza was severe; and Hannah was right when 
 she told Dorrie that her temperature was high. 
 It seemed to be high for a long time, and all the 
 time it was high he* head hurt dreadfully; but 
 always, while the high temperature was there and 
 the dreadful aching head, there too was Hannah, 
 with a basin of cool water, and a cool wet handker- 
 chief to lay upon the head. Then the temperature 
 dropped, and the doctor told Hannah that now was 
 the time to take care because of the weakness 
 wrought by the influenza on the heart, and that 
 Hannah must be watchful. 
 
 Hannah was watchful, and day after day Dorrie 
 grew stronger; and as she grew stronger she 
 talked more about Len. 
 
 "Can't I soon have letters?" 
 
 "I should say so, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "I shall ask the doctor." 
 
 "Very well, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 The next morning Dorrie asked the doctor if 
 she could have letters, and the doctor said : ' ' Cer- 
 tainly." 
 
 "I'll tell Mr. Fortescue myself," said Hannah, 
 "this afternoon." 
 
 "But he brings the flowers in the morning, and 
 they've come." 
 
 "He's wrote and said he would like to come up 
 and see me this afternoon, Miss Dorrie."
 
 342 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 For a time Dorrie said nothing ; then she called 
 Hannah. 
 
 "Nurse!" 
 
 Hannah went to her. 
 
 "Nurse, when you see him it might be, before 
 my lip's better, a long time I mean a long time 
 to wait to see him when I want to see him so 
 badly." 
 
 "It might be a week or two, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "I don't think I could hardly wait a week or two. 
 So, Nurse " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Dorrie dear." 
 
 "You might tell him and see if he minds." 
 
 "Mind? As if he'd mind!" 
 
 "If he minds I couldn't bear it if he was to 
 mind, if he was to care ever such a little bit less." 
 
 "As if he'd mind!" 
 
 "Nurse." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "If he was to leave off loving me, I'd rather 
 die." 
 
 "I know you would, my lamb. But there ! as if 
 he'd mind!" 
 
 "He might. But then he mightn't. But 
 almost yes, I'd like you to tell him." 
 
 Just before Hannah went to see Len, Dorrie 
 said it again, that she would like Hannah to tell 
 him. And Hannah said she would. 
 
 She said it smiling, and smiling she went out 
 of the room; but dread was in her heart. For 
 was Len a prince? what Hannah called a prince? 
 She did not know, but she was going to know now,
 
 HANNAH 343 
 
 before she went back to Dorrie. She had written 
 to him to come just for that very reason, that she 
 had to know whether or not he was a prince. Han- 
 nah had written to Len to ask him to come, and 
 he had come, but dread was in her heart. For he 
 had not been before since Dorrie had been ill; he 
 did not even know that she had been very ill. And 
 he had sent no flowers. It was Hannah who had 
 ordered the flowers to be sent. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Len was in the sitting-room waiting for Hannah 
 and Hannah was sorry for him when she saw his 
 face. 
 
 For half an hour they talked together, and most 
 of the time Len's face was turned away, and part 
 of the time Hannah was on her knees. And then 
 Len went away. 
 
 Hannah, when he had gone, did not at once go 
 back to Dorrie. 
 
 He was not a prince; she could not go back at 
 once : before she went back she had to master her 
 passionate disappointment, her bitter contempt for 
 Len. She went up to her bedroom and stood there 
 while the iron entered into and seared her soul. 
 The few possessions she had brought with her 
 helped in the searing, since they all spoke to her 
 of Dorrie. There was Dorrie 's face looking out 
 from the photograph frame; there was the Bible 
 with leaves torn by Dorrie; the pincushion with
 
 344 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 stains of ink spilled by Dorrie ; and the blue glass 
 bottle on the mantelpiece. 
 
 She stood and thought of Len. She had no 
 mercy on him. She did not even allow herself to 
 conceive that he might be right, that Lady Clemen- 
 tina might be right. Risk ! Children ! No right 
 to run the risk! And Dorrie? Dome's tender 
 heart? "If he was to leave off loving me, I'd 
 rather die." Hannah knew it, knew Dorrie had 
 spoken the truth; what at the moment Dorrie 
 believed to be the truth ; what in the time to come 
 would prove to be truth indeed. 
 
 For Len was representative ; as Hannah put it, 
 ''they're all alike." If Len failed, Len who had 
 known Dorrie in the fulness of her health and 
 beauty, there was none who would not fail. A 
 year ago if Len, for any reason, while that health 
 and beauty was still untouched, had failed, Hannah 
 would indeed have scouted him; her anger would 
 have been hot, her scorn unmeasured; but there 
 would have been no despair to flood scorn and 
 anger with bitterness. She would have said: 
 ' ' There 's many and many a one '11 want her better 
 worth having than him. And so young as she is, 
 she'll forget him by and by." His stupidity, 
 crass and contemptible, would have been his out- 
 standing characteristic in Hannah's estimation. 
 
 But now! Now the onward course of Dorrie 's 
 life would be a path only of humiliation: there 
 would be none to follow Len. And when she knew, 
 understood, why Len, why they all ... "She 
 must never know," said Hannah.
 
 HANNAH 345 
 
 The words were fixed in Hannah 's mind : * ' She 
 must never know": and side by side with them 
 stood words of Dorrie's: "I'd rather die." 
 
 She stood there looking, looking, looking: her 
 eyes were on the blue bottle on the mantelpiece: 
 God alone knows what with her inner vision she 
 looked at as she stood there before going back to 
 Dorrie. 
 
 But her face was dreadful: haggard, agonized, 
 dreadful. 
 
 Still with the dreadful face she went back to 
 Dorrie's room, but she waited a moment outside 
 before she opened the door. And in that moment 
 she changed her face : when she entered the room 
 it wore a radiant smile. 
 
 "Nurse, have you seen him?" 
 
 "Of course I see him." 
 
 "And what did he say, Nurse?" 
 
 "What should he say, Miss Dorrie?" 
 
 "Did you tell him about this?" Dorrie 
 touched her lip. 
 
 "I told him, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "And he said what did he say?" 
 
 "Didn't I tell you what he'd say? As if he 
 could say anything but what I said he'd say!" 
 
 "He didn't mind?" 
 
 "Not him." 
 
 " Oh ! " Dorrie drew a long breath. " Oh, I 'm so 
 glad. He is a darling, isn't he?" 
 
 "He is, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "And he '11 come?" 
 
 "Soon as you're better."
 
 346 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 " And he '11 write?" 
 "At once. Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "Then to-morrow, in the morning, I'll have a 
 letter?" 
 " To-morrow for sure, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 The -doctor looked in at dusk. 
 
 "All right, but she's been a little upset, hasn't 
 she? or excited?" 
 
 "A little excited, sir." 
 
 Hannah was anxious to know whether the excite- 
 ment might have a serious effect; she asked the 
 doctor all kinds of questions ; she was particularly 
 insistent as to the possibility of heart failure. 
 Was there still a risk of it? 
 
 "I don't say there isn't, though I don't say there 
 is. I . . ." 
 
 "But it wouldn't be out of the way if . . .?" 
 
 "Nothing is out of the way in these cases. I 
 should watch her a little." 
 
 "I'll watch her all night, sir." 
 
 When the doctor had gone, Dorrie said: 
 "Nurse, come and sit beside me." 
 
 Hannah sat beside her. 
 
 ' ' Does your head ache at all, Miss Dome ? I 've 
 got the little basin here and the handkerchief ? ' ' 
 
 "No, my head doesn't ache. I'm tired, but my 
 head doesn't ache. I want you to sit there and 
 tell me about my darling Len, all about him ; every-
 
 HANNAH 347 
 
 thing he said, and what he looked like, and if he 
 laughed." 
 
 "He laughed, Miss Dome, when I told him 
 about your lip." 
 
 "Did he? Really? Then I know he didn't 
 mind. How lovely of Len to laugh ! " 
 
 Hannah made no answer. 
 
 "Nurse!" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "If Len didn't love me it would break my 
 heart," 
 
 "I know it would, my own." 
 
 "I'd rather die than not be married to Len." 
 
 "I know, my little lamb." 
 
 "Tell me everything he said." 
 
 Hannah began, and paused and went on again, 
 and told Dorrie what Len had not said: it came 
 quite easily after the first few sayings. She went 
 on till Dorrie 's breathing became quite regular, 
 till it seemed as if Dorrie might fall asleep. Then 
 she said: "The doctor left some medicine for 
 you, Miss Dorrie. You was to have it the last 
 thing." 
 
 1 ( Oh, must I have it, Nurse ? I 'm tired of medi- 
 cine. ' ' 
 
 "I'm afraid you you must, Miss Dorrie." 
 Hannah got up. "I'll go and fetch it." 
 
 "Isn't it here?" 
 
 "No, Miss Dorrie." 
 
 "You won't be gone long?" 
 
 "No, not long." 
 
 Hannah went out of the room and upstairs to
 
 348 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 her bedroom. She took the medicine glass with 
 her and filled it and returned. 
 
 She stood by Dorrie 's bedside. * ' Miss Dorrie ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, dear," said Dorrie; and then, when she 
 had emptied the glass: "Medicine bothers me." 
 
 "My lamb." 
 
 Hannah put her arms round Dorrie, held her 
 to her breast, kissed her. "My little lamb," she 
 said, "my own little one. My own little child!" 
 
 She kissed Dorrie 's face, her cheeks, her fore- 
 head, the marred beauty of her mouth. 
 
 "Nurse," said Dorrie, "you do love me." 
 
 ' l My little one, my love ..." 
 
 Hannah 's voice broke, but Dorrie did not notice 
 the break in it; her thoughts had fled from Han- 
 nah. 
 
 * * Only not so much as Len, ' ' she said. Her eyes 
 closed. 
 
 Dorrie slept quietly; her breathing was some- 
 what feeble and grew feebler. Hannah sat by 
 the bed and looked at her. There was the night- 
 light, and the little table with the basin and hand- 
 kerchief, and the stillness of the night, and Dorrie 
 lying asleep and Hannah watching her. Hannah's 
 face was white whiter than Dorrie 's. Once or 
 twice she rose from her chair and bent over Dorrie. 
 Towards the dawn she fell on her knees beside 
 the bed and laid her head and her arms upon the 
 bedclothes, and all the bed moved with her 
 trembling. Only Dorrie did not move. 
 
 Hannah sat there till the dawn had reached the 
 day. When it was light she rose, bent over Dorrie,
 
 HANNAH 349 
 
 touched her, laid her cheek against Dome's face. 
 Then her hand sought the bell and rang it, again 
 and again. 
 
 People came at last, a half-dressed chamber- 
 maid, a porter rubbing his eyes. The doctor 
 they must 'phone at once for the doctor. 
 
 When she had sent for the doctor, Hannah went 
 back into Dome's room and back to Dome's bed. 
 She bent over the bed and took the form of Dome 
 in her arms and pressed it to her bosom and held 
 it there. She was holding Dorrie thus when the 
 doctor came. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, arriving next day, in answer to 
 Hannah's telegram, was met by Hannah. In the 
 telegram Hannah had said : ' ' Come at once, ' ' and 
 Mrs. Bonham, terrified, had risen from her bed 
 and come. Mrs. Vearing came with her. 
 
 Both Mrs. Vearing and Mrs. Bonham, since Mrs. 
 Bonham had been well enough to be anxious, had 
 been anxious about Dorrie, but their anxiety had 
 not been nearly great enough to suggest the pos- 
 sibility of such a telegram as Hannah's. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham, arriving, said to Hannah: "Is 
 is she . . .?" 
 
 And Hannah said: "She's gone." 
 
 Mrs. Vearing went out of the room, and Mrs. 
 Bonham sat down and wept. She wept with all 
 the pain and the grief and the dread of the last 
 few weeks in her tears, and, because the flood of
 
 350 THE THUNDERBOLT 
 
 her suffering found a flow, her tears did her good. 
 Then, when she had cried for a long time, she 
 asked Hannah to tell her all about it, and Hannah 
 told her. 
 
 She told her that Dorrie had seemed much 
 better, was better, but was tired; she told her 
 how she had sat by Dorrie and watched, and how 
 at the dawn Dorrie had seemed very still; she 
 told her how the doctor had warned her that Dor- 
 rie 's heart might fail, and how, coming as soon 
 as he could be fetched, he said that it had failed. 
 She did not tell Mrs. Bonham the lies about Len 
 that she had told to Dorrie, but she told her what 
 Len had really said. 
 
 When Hannah had finished telling everything, 
 Mrs. Bonham said: "It would have broken her 
 heart." 
 
 Hannah said: "She didn't ever know as he 
 had cast her off." 
 
 Mrs. Bonham sat for a while, still, and saying 
 nothing; then she looked at Hannah and said: 
 
 "I don't know ... it may be the mercy of God 
 ... it may be there was no other way. ' ' 
 
 1 'It may be," said Hannah. 
 
 Mrs. Bonham got up from her seat ; as she stood 
 she tottered. She looked at Hannah and said: 
 "Oh, Hannah!" She came close to Hannah and 
 put her head down on Hannah's shoulder. 
 
 Hannah put her arms round Mrs. Bonham. 
 
 When Mrs. Bonham had gone to bed Hannah sat 
 thinking.
 
 HANNAH 351 
 
 Besides the inventions about Len, there was an- 
 other thing that she had not told Mrs. Bonham. 
 She had thought that perhaps the doctor might 
 find it out and tell Mrs. Bonham and all the world ; 
 but the doctor had not found out anything. Han- 
 nah knew, since it was evening and a whole day 
 had passed, that it had not entered into the 
 doctor's mind that there was anything to find 
 out. 
 
 The thought in her mind as she sat alone after 
 Mrs. Bonham had gone to bed was, dared she tell! 
 The bottle still stood on the mantelpiece, nearly 
 empty now instead of three parts full. She looked 
 at it and wondered. Dared she tell! If she could 
 have been hanged (she called it hung) it would 
 have been a joy to Hannah. But the joy of hang- 
 ing could not be reached except by things coming 
 out. And things, she felt, must never come out. 
 
 If the doctor if through the doctor things had 
 been made known, Hannah's way would have been 
 plain and, from Hannah's point of view, easy. 
 But since the doctor had shed no light, now, for 
 evermore, so it seemed to her, there must be dark- 
 ness. Because darkness was best for Dorrie. 
 For only one or two people knew what had hap- 
 pened to Dorrie, but not all the world. And Len 
 knew, and Lady Clementina knew, that Len had 
 cast Dorrie off. But nobody else, save only Han- 
 nah and Mrs. Bonham. And if ... Did Hannah 
 dare to confess, all the world would know or 
 might know of Dorrie 's humiliation. For at 
 trials things came out. Hannah had a horror of
 
 352 THE THUNDEEBOLT 
 
 judges and of lawyers: they were sure to find 
 things out. 
 
 And if she just followed Dorrie? told nothing, 
 but just followed her? Hannah's thought hugged 
 the idea, then abandoned it. She must not follow 
 Dorrie, because then too things might come out. 
 For there would be the coroner an inquest, and 
 coroners also always found things out. 
 
 To both of these ways of escape there was but 
 one alternative; if the way of death would mean 
 too great a risk, there was only one way for her to 
 take she must give her life to looking after Mrs. 
 Bonham. Hannah, pondering long, decided that 
 the risk was too great ; there must be no smallest 
 chance of anything coming out. So it must be life 
 and taking care of Mrs. Bonham. Nothing else 
 was possible. But the darkness of the night was 
 as light to the darkness in the heart of Hannah. 
 
 It was in 1911 that Hannah made her choice. 
 
 Herr Beisen is no longer either in England or in 
 Germany, no longer in any country belonging to 
 the visible world. 
 
 Len is married. Lady Clementina's daughter- 
 in-law has family and money and good looks and 
 all that Lady Clementina and the relations wanted 
 in Len's wife: but there is something she has not, 
 something which the daughter-in-law that Lady 
 Clementina did not want, had, and Lady Clemen- 
 tina misses that something. 
 
 Georgina sold the Beeches and left Stottleham. 
 She is estranged from Bayke, but she sees Mrs.
 
 HANNAH 353 
 
 Vearing sometimes. In her new neighbourhood 
 there are neighbours who like to be asked to tea 
 by Mrs. Bonham, but the Mrs. Bonham they have 
 tea with is not the Mrs. Bonham of Stottleham. 
 It is a faint little satisfaction to Georgina that 
 Dorrie died of an ilm-ess she can talk about. 
 
 Hannah lives with her and is faithful with un- 
 failing faithfulness. She knows that Mrs. Bon- 
 ham has a heavy burden to bear. 
 
 But Hannah bears a heavier burden still. 
 
 THE END

 
 If SOUTHERN REGIONAL U6RABY FAOUTY 
 
 A 000125461 4