JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 UNIT. W CAUF. LIBRARY. I.O.S
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTHONY PRY! 
 
 AUTHOR OF "MARQUERAY'S DUEL" 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 ROBERT M. McBRIDE & CO. 
 1921
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & Co. 
 
 Printed in the 
 United States of America 
 
 Published 1921
 
 TO D. C, 
 
 Without whose help this tale 
 could not have been written. 
 
 2132206
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 MARK STURT had not long returned from an ex- 
 pedition to the Southern Andes, and since he was 
 of a contemplative turn of mind it amused him to stand 
 behind a curtain in the recess of the balcony window and 
 watch the dance going on to the tune of Offenbach's 
 ingenuous Barcarolle. Andean rivers run with a swifter 
 flow, and Pacific tides flood in with a stronger wash 
 than that Mediterranean rippling, but for all that Mark 
 liked the little lazy tune liked it the better, perhaps, be- 
 cause it was steeped in the color and languor of Euro- 
 
 1
 
 2 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 pean life. After the energetic wanderings which had 
 taken him over the porphyry barrier of the Cordilleras 
 and across the Chilian nitrate plains, it was agreeable to 
 return to the leisurely ways of an English country house. 
 His reflections were tranquil and pleasant, and yet, 
 though he was scarcely aware of it, they were tinged 
 with melancholy. He was five and thirty, an age when 
 a man begins, in odd moments, to contrast what he has 
 done with what he once dreamed of doing. Sturt was, 
 in modest measure, a successful man; he had realized 
 some of his ambitions and was in a fair way to achieve 
 others. He was well in health and well off, staying in 
 a pleasant house and among pleasant people; Charles 
 Ferrier and his wife were old friends, and for the latter 
 Sturt felt as warm a sentiment as a man can feel for 
 any one in a life where the affections are habitually sub- 
 ordinated to the activities. But the dancing, or the tune, 
 or some accident of his own mood touched him to a vague 
 dissatisfaction. As happened to many men who were in 
 their early twenties in 1914, the discipline of endurance 
 and responsibility had made a middle-aged man of him 
 in a few weeks, and he had never been able to go back 
 as did many more and pick up the threads where he had 
 dropped them: and now and again there stirred in him 
 a regret, not for what he had lost, but for what he had 
 never had. Offenbach's melodies are a cry to youth, 
 and Sturt had done with youth. Or had he not, after 
 all, altogether done with it? "Ces ceuvres legeres, ou se 
 melent subtilement la froide ironic et la griserie." But 
 that sort of griserie is for boys of twenty. Happy boys 
 of twenty, then ! Say what one will, it is sober work to 
 reflect that one will never hear chimes at midnight again. 
 A touch fell on his arm. His brother had come up 
 the broad flight of steps from the garden, and stood look- 
 ing over his shoulder into the dark splendor of flowers
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 3 
 
 and jewels, and candle flames that sparkled, like stars 
 reflected in black water, on black paneled walls. They 
 were both tall men, but Lawrence Sturt was the taller 
 and in every way the more remarkable, a figure difficult 
 to overlook or to forget : they were twin brothers, but 
 Lawrence might have passed for eight and twenty. There 
 are no milestones on the primrose way. 
 
 "Pretty sight, isn't it?" he said in low, blunted tones 
 that carried no further than his companion's ear. "Rather 
 different from our last night at the base! Do you re- 
 member how the tent blew down and we had to dig for 
 our instruments by starlight in the snow? Royal coun- 
 try that by night all dark blue and silver. But one 
 can't camp at fourteen thousand feet in the Andes in 
 July more's the pity !" 
 
 "I thought I saw you go into the garden with Miss 
 Archdale. Have you deserted her?" 
 
 "On the contrary," Lawrence replied. "She fled from 
 me on the terrace to fetch a scarf from her room. Why 
 should it take her twenty minutes to fetch a scarf from 
 her room?" 
 
 "Can't imagine. No wonder you pine for the Andes," 
 said Mark, amused. "Arising out of that question 
 what had you been saying to her?" 
 
 "If you want to know, I was telling her our plans for 
 Colorado. She was rather struck when I said you were 
 coming too: wanted to know how long you would be 
 away and what your constituents would think of your 
 going off again. Has it ever occurred to you that she 
 takes an interest in your affairs ?" 
 
 "No, it hasn't. There she is with Mrs. Ferrier." 
 
 Lawrence Sturt followed his brother's long-sighted 
 glance to the female figures framed in a distant doorway : 
 their hostess, Dorothea Ferrier, a slender, fair-haired 
 young woman with vividly blue eyes, and her friend,
 
 4 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Miss Archdale. "Trust you to know where she is," Law- 
 rence murmured. "And on my honor I don't blame you ! 
 Dodo Ferrier sets her off: not that Dodo isn't a pretty 
 woman too in her way, but she looks washed out by the 
 side of Maisie Archdale a fact of which the fair Maisie 
 is probably aware. Women's friendships !" 
 
 "Do you mean that, Lawrence?" Mark asked mildly. 
 He had learned long ago to accept his brother's point 
 of view without protest, but, if he never quarreled with 
 it, he was still occasionally mystified. 
 
 "Every word of it. Women are born actresses : they 
 generally have twenty different motives for everything 
 they do, nineteen of which aren't presentable. Oh, not 
 Dodo so much ! She's married and out of the running, 
 and very fond of Charles Ferrier into the bargain, which 
 leaves her free to be as natural as any woman can be. 
 But the other is the fine social mask Sappho up to 
 date " 
 
 "Sappho ?" Mark, who had been listening with 
 half an ear, turned round to his brother. "Look here, 
 old man, you oughtn't to say that sort of thing. It isn't 
 decent." 
 
 "No, isn't it?" Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. 
 " 'Vengeance of Jenny's case, never name her' is that 
 your idea of decency?" 
 
 "After all one doesn't forget that Miss Archdale has 
 no men belonging to her." 
 
 "Ah ! I apologize. I forgot your personal feelings, my 
 boy." 
 
 "Lawrence, don't be a fool ! You know I haven't any." 
 
 "Not you," said Lawrence, pressing his arm. "Never 
 look at her, do you? Couldn't tell me the color of her 
 eyes? In point of fact I can't see why you hold off, for 
 you could hardly do better for yourself. You ought to 
 marry and now's your time. One of us is bound to carry
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 5 
 
 on the name, and, candidly, I don't think I was born to 
 figure as a husband and father. Whereas you, old Mark, 
 I think I see you with a little less hair and a little more 
 waistcoat, taking the kids you will infallibly have half 
 a dozen of them to Mass on a Sunday morning. Your 
 eldest son will carry on the business and step into the 
 family constituency, your second will go to Sandhurst: 
 I'm afraid I can't promise that the third won't be a de- 
 traque like myself. Come, own that the prospect at- 
 tracts you! And Maisie Archdale will do you down to 
 the ground: handsome, good family, good temper, any 
 amount of money, and no near relations. Probably she 
 has a devil of a will of her own but you ought to be 
 able to cope with that : you're not Arthur Sturt's son 
 for nothing. He had an eye for a pretty woman, too : 
 come now, haven't you?" 
 
 Sex was the one aspect of civilized life that interested 
 Lawrence Sturt, and it would be idle to pretend that he 
 was the less popular because in any male society, however 
 refined or respectable, his genial cynicism assumed com- 
 munity of taste. Mark's answering smile was rather 
 dry : it was difficult to resist Lawrence when he bade 
 one read the world in terms of French comedy: he was 
 improper but unaffected. 
 
 "After all, she might not have me. It is on the cards !" 
 
 "Rising politician blameless record? Hang it, she's 
 got to marry somebody she's three-and-twenty." 
 
 "And I'm five-and-thirty. Thanks !" Mark shook his 
 head. "You aren't so encouraging as apparently you 
 mean to be." Lawrence's unbelieving eyes irritated him 
 into indiscretion. "I don't want to marry any one, but 
 if I did it wouldn't be a woman who has already turned 
 down a dozen better men than I am." 
 
 "So that's it, is it ? I fancied there was something of 
 the sort in the back of your mind."
 
 6 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Something of what sort?" 
 
 "Oh! I understand well enough: sympathize, too, if 
 it comes to that. She is too rich. It's a difficult position, 
 and I can't see you competing with Forester's lovely uni- 
 form or Rudolph P. Hickson's railway shares. All the 
 same it seems a pity, since you confess to the attrac- 
 tion " 
 
 "Oh, shut up, Lawrence !" Mark Sturt broke into an 
 impatient laugh : if at the back of his mind there lurked 
 an assent, he was not going to admit as much even to 
 himself. But he knew from experience that it would 
 be idle to lose his temper with Lawrence, who would 
 only become more and more placidly confirmed in his 
 own opinion. Mark was not self-conscious enough to 
 realize that he was confirming it at every step merely 
 by arguing the point instead of letting the conversation 
 drop. He did not know that he was in the habit of 
 watching Miss Archdale or that he liked to think of her 
 in relation to himself. "No ! go your own way and leave 
 me to mine. Heavens ! what should I do with that lovely 
 young lady ? I couldn't take her to Colorado or to the 
 works. I should have to spend my life steering her 
 through what Gray son-Drew calls the social vortex if, 
 that is, she would have me, which, as I'm not a duke, 
 of course she wouldn't." 
 
 "No, wouldn't she?" Lawrence was flicking a rose 
 leaf from the lapel of his coat. "My good Mark, I'm 
 not so sure. It is precisely you fellows who refuse to 
 compete " 
 
 "Compete for what?" 
 
 Even Lawrence Sturt's Gallic candor died on his lips, 
 for the speaker was Miss Archdale herself. She was 
 alone, having apparently crossed the room on purpose 
 to join them in the alcove : she came up to Lawrence 
 ;with her slow easy step, but she was quietly watching
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 7 
 
 Mark. Dodo Ferrier in the doorway pressed her hands 
 together with a little "Oh!" between mirth and distress: 
 she wished Maisie would not do these odd things, 
 which laid her open to misinterpretation! Somehow or 
 other, however, she managed to escape comment as a 
 rule. 
 
 "A penny for your not your thoughts, Captain Sturt, 
 they're probably too crude for publication. But for the 
 end of your sentence : tell me, what won't your brother 
 compete for?" 
 
 "Is this your apology for doing me out of a dance? 
 Come back into the garden," said Lawrence, offering 
 her his arm. "Then I'll tell you anything you like." 
 
 "Anything you like, you mean," said Maisie. "Then 
 I should have to fetch another scarf." She turned to 
 Mark. "You are not engaged, are you, Mr. Sturt?" 
 
 "For this dance ? No," said Mark Sturt, startled. 
 
 "Then may I have the honor?" 
 
 She curtseyed to him airily with her teasing faint smile 
 and her sparkling eyes, direct and merry, like the eyes 
 of a boy of fourteen. Of the two men it was Mark who 
 was the more disconcerted Mark, who had known her 
 only for a few weeks, while Lawrence was a friend of a 
 year's standing. Lawrence, after the first gleam of ir- 
 repressible surprise, became distantly polite, murmured 
 a vague apology, brushed past Mark, and escaped among 
 the dancers. His tact was equal to any strain, but there 
 are situations which are not worth saving. Mark was 
 amazed and amused ; but he felt very awkward. It 
 was not the first time Miss Archdale had gone out of 
 her way to distinguish him, but she had never done it 
 so openly, or at another man's expense. And Lawrence, 
 of all men ! He did not know what to say to her, whether 
 to take it seriously or to laugh it off. 
 
 Miss Archdale remained standing by Mark in the
 
 8 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 recess of the balcony window, a little apart from the 
 coming and going under the central arch. She was so 
 tall that her head was on a level with his shoulder, and 
 so handsome that he could not help feeling gratified as 
 well as amused. It was a night of mid- July, moonlit 
 but overcast, and very warm : the day-long sunshine lin- 
 gered in the balmy air. Framed between high stone 
 traceries lay the dim verdure of the garden, its infinite 
 intricacy of beaded turf and bloomy spray all hushed 
 under the infinite monotone of twilight. Miss Archdale, 
 slowly fanning herself with a lace-like silver fan, was in 
 harmony with this nocturne, for over her gray dress she 
 wore a silver scarf, embroidered in wave-like ripplings 
 of moonstone and pearl. She wore no other jewels at 
 all except a moonstone fillet which bound up her lustrous 
 hair. 
 
 "Why aren't you dancing, Mr. Sturt?" 
 
 "I was enjoying a little interlude, Miss Archdale." 
 
 "Philosophizing? Criticizing?" 
 
 "Merely admiring." 
 
 "Ah !" said Maisie, glancing down. 
 
 The trivial sensuous delicacy of the barcarolle flowed 
 out past them into the night like a warm tide. 
 
 "Shall we dance this?" Mark asked, shaking himself 
 out of the dreamy mood which the music or her manner 
 seemed to be deliberately calling up. "I am no hand at 
 all these Russian or pseudo-Russian dances, but I think 
 I could manage a waltz. Why do you look at me with so 
 much scorn? You should not snub a man when he is 
 doing his best." 
 
 "Because you dance very well and you know it. I 
 hate affectation from from people like you." 
 
 "My dear child" the phrase was jerked out of Mark 
 by surprise "I danced when I was five-and-twenty 
 when I was Harry Forester's age!"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 9 
 
 "I watched you with Mrs. Ferrier to-night. No, I 
 won't waltz with you, but you can take me down the 
 garden if you like do you like?" 
 
 "Immensely," said Mark, pulling at his mustache. And 
 he strolled at her side down the steps and over the gray 
 lawn. Plenty of other couples were wandering about 
 near the house, but she led him on away from them all, 
 beyond rosebeds and shrubberies, through a latched gate 
 into the fringes of a beechwood and out again on fields. 
 Like a secondary daylight the moon from behind vague 
 clouds diffused a gray illumination over the undulating 
 countryside mown hay, belts of covert, the rare lamps 
 of a distant village, the woody bourne of hills ; and from 
 the shadow of the beech forest there stretched away the 
 silver levels of a lake. Grey Shorten, the gaunt old 
 Georgian house, was blotted out with all its festal lamps 
 behind trees : faint and far off the violins wailed on 
 muted strings, fitfully audible over the lisp of ripples 
 among reeds at their feet. 
 
 At the water's edge the gray roots of an alder, gripping 
 the soil like a wizard's hand, made a natural seat, and 
 Maisie threw herself into it, leaning her shoulders against 
 its clustered stem, while Mark sat down on the bank, 
 keeping a careful distance, pulling at his mustache. He 
 was amused, he was flattered, but in some odd angle of 
 his mind he was sorry. His irretrievable feeling was 
 that Miss Archdale ought to have been kept in order by 
 her mother or her nurse. Failing these, what was Dodo 
 Ferrier doing to let her wear her dresses so low? Be- 
 fore she got her scarf he had seen her and wondered 
 whether she understood the force or nature of the in- 
 stincts to which she played when she put on those gossa- 
 mer bodices which seemed constantly to be in danger of 
 slipping off her beautiful shoulders. Other women knew 
 what they were about. But over the lure of her splen-
 
 10 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 did dresses Maisie looked out into the world with the 
 gallant recklessness of a boy. 
 
 "Your brother has been telling me you're off moun- 
 taineering again. When do you go?" 
 
 "In a fortnight." 
 
 "Really? I read your book about the Andes. I liked 
 it, but you amused me." 
 
 "Did I? How?" 
 
 "By your laborious struggle to give all the credit to 
 your brother and none to yourself." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" 
 
 "Modesty is so rare nowadays," Maisie pursued, unruf- 
 fled by Mr. Sturt's hearty laughter, "and family affection 
 is even rarer, so that I couldn't help being edified by 
 your display of both. Really you wrote as though Cap- 
 tain Sturt dragged you about on a string!" 
 
 "So he did," said Mark, still amused. "He's a much 
 older hand at it than I am. He was in the Himalayas 
 five years ago, and New Zealand before that, when I 
 couldn't get away. You mustn't forget that he's a hunter 
 by profession, whereas I'm only a tradesman." 
 
 "Yes, you look it !" 
 
 "I know I do, though it's unkind of you to say so. 
 We can't all be six feet three of wire and whipcord!" 
 Mark Sturt was big and heavily built, turning the scale 
 at fourteen stone, but his weight lay in his bones: a 
 life of hard work and hard play had left little flesh to 
 spare on his body, and it never took him long to train 
 down to the finest point of condition. But he enjoyed 
 teasing Miss Archdale, a privilege granted to few. 
 "That's why I didn't get up Aconcagua, as you must 
 know if you've read my book." 
 
 "Your book leaves a great deal to the imagination. 
 Why didn't you get up Aconcagua? I asked Captain
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 11 
 
 Sturt and he said, 'That is Mark's usual luck.' What is 
 your usual luck, Mr. Sturt?" 
 
 "Haven't an idea," said Mark. He was getting angry 
 but he did not show it. "But I'll tell you with pleasure 
 why I didn't get to the top. I had four shots at it and 
 went sick regularly every time in the high altitudes. One 
 can play that game indefinitely, but it's not fair to the 
 others, so one had to chuck it and return to the base. 
 Hate it? Naturally I hated it, but one accepts one's 
 limitations." 
 
 "Does one? Do you? I should have thought you 
 were one of those who go on till they drop." 
 
 "Are you satirical?" 
 
 "No, it's Pax," said Maisie, smiling. "I really mean 
 it." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mark, flushing in spite of himself. 
 "But I must say that is a lady's point of view. When 
 one can't eat and can't sleep and can't stand, the one 
 thing left is to clear out of the way." 
 
 "And now you're going to Colorado. How long shall 
 you be away?" 
 
 "Five months or so. I must get back before next ses- 
 sion. I paired before Easter, but I daren't pair again. 
 Gatton is very good to me, but even Gatton has fitful 
 recollections of my 400 a year." 
 
 Gatton was the big industrial constituency which had 
 twice returned Mark Sturt to Parliament. 
 
 "Five months is a long time. What shall you do out 
 there go down the Grand Canon ?" 
 
 Mark assented. "And there's always a sporting chance 
 of a row in Mexico." 
 
 "What a hopeful tone ! Then perhaps you would never 
 come back at all," said Maisie. "Well, I'm going away, 
 too: I wonder if I could manage to get up an adventure.
 
 12 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 It would be a jolly change. I'm so sick and tired of 
 everything that it couldn't be a change for the worse." 
 
 "Abroad?" 
 
 "No, I'm going down to a cottage on the Dorsetshire 
 coast. It used to be a coastguard's cottage, but it has 
 been empty for years, and no laborer will live there be- 
 cause it's so lonely: I bought it out and out for a song 
 and had it put in order, then I got tired of it and I've 
 never been near it since. It's a queer little place, all 
 stone and mortar, at the top of a crack between two 
 chalk downs, and there isn't another building in sight 
 nothing but the cleft of the hills behind it, and a steep 
 narrow glen running down to an immense waste of sea. 
 No one comes because there's no beach only a tiny 
 strip of gray sand in between cliffs : and there's nothing 
 whatever to do but listen to the gulls and the waves and 
 the wind in the trees behind you." 
 
 "But you don't seriously think of staying in a place 
 like that? Or perhaps you didn't mean to go alone?" 
 
 "I shan't take even a maid. The cottage is all on one 
 floor and I didn't put much furniture in : just a few 
 chairs and pots and pans and a new kitchen range. I 
 shall drive myself over with a hamper from Ushant, the 
 nearest station: and when I've eaten my way through it 
 I shall wire to the Stores for another one. You can get 
 fruit and eggs and vegetables from a farmhouse two 
 miles off." 
 
 "What a wonderful plan," said Mark, amused : "and 
 shall you do your own cooking and dusting?" 
 
 "I shall : do you think I'm not competent ?" 
 
 "I'm sure you are if you say so. But I should never 
 have guessed it." 
 
 "Ah ! You mustn't believe all your brother says about 
 me. I like Lawrence, you know: if I were a man I 
 should want to sit and smoke with him in the small
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 13 
 
 hours." Mark was silent, chiefly from want of interest, 
 partly because he did not care to discuss his brother. 
 "But you can't be friends with him if you're a woman. 
 Lawrence is a raffine." Mark opened his eyes : again he 
 wondered if she understood what she was saying. "How- 
 ever, I didn't bring you down here to discuss Lawrence. 
 I had something exceedingly serious to say to you. Law- 
 rence isn't serious. You are, aren't you, Mr. Sturt?" 
 
 "Very," said Mark. He had no idea what was coming. 
 Far off in the woods a melancholy "Hoo! hoo!" pro- 
 claimed the hunting vigil of an owl. Some small un- 
 known animal rustled among the rushes near at hand : 
 by the tiny splash that followed it was probably a vole. 
 The stable clock at Shotton was striking two. Chimes 
 at midnight, after all! 
 
 "How hot it is!" said Maisie. "It feels as though 
 the moonlight were warm." She leaned forward, letting 
 the scarf drop from her throat as she touched Mark's 
 arm with the tips of her fingers. At that moment the 
 moon came sailing out of a cloud and a great glow of pearl 
 shone over the lake, bleaching the gold of her hair to 
 silver, and painting leaf-shadows in sepia on the ivory 
 of her bare shoulders, so classically strong and pure 
 above the gray mist of her dress. Mark held his breath. 
 He could not read far into those brilliant melancholy 
 eyes, but this he read, that if he took her in his arms 
 she would submit. The fine social mask! He had re- 
 garded that phrase as a wayside bloom of Lawrence 
 Sturt's exotic imagination, but it recurred now. In the 
 last fortnight he had seen a great deal of Miss Arch- 
 dale in the easy intimacy of a country house, and he had 
 watched her with other men : and she was friends with 
 them all friends with Harry Forester who adored her, 
 and friends with Charles Ferrier who adored his wife. 
 "She is like a boy, and I love her for it," he had heard
 
 14 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Mrs. Ferrier say, in whose judgment he had faith: and 
 which was the mask that brotherly good humor, or the 
 strange stern passion that looked out of Miss Archdale's 
 eyes to-night? In some obscure way she moved him to 
 pity. She was young after all, not yet four and twenty, 
 and the bloom and perfume of youth still clung to her, 
 intoxicating his senses but invoking his chivalry. And 
 yet what folly! Can there be any bloom left on a beau- 
 tiful woman whose eyes are as reckless as Maisie's were 
 under their profound and brilliant melancholy? Law- 
 rence Sturt, a very gallant cavalier, would have laughed 
 him to scorn. "Take the good the gods provide thee!" 
 Sturt felt himself stiffening in iron resistance. He turned 
 away his head. 
 
 "Hallo ! Isn't that an otter splashing about under the 
 island ?' 
 
 "I can't see. It sounds like one." Her fingers nestled 
 into the palm of his open hand. Sturt wondered what on 
 earth to say next and why he was behaving so churlishly. 
 "Mr. Sturt, I'm not vain as women go, but there isn't 
 another man at Shotton that would have refused to kiss 
 me when I when I let him. Why why won't you?" 
 
 "May I kiss you?" 
 
 "If you if you like." 
 
 His answer was to lay the lightest of kisses on her 
 beautiful wrist. 
 
 "Not my hand," said Maisie, careless and bold. 
 
 "It would not be fair, my dear, from me to you." 
 
 "No you won't?" She was apparently surprised. 
 "Don't you think me handsome? I don't, I hate red 
 hair, but most people do. You can be quite frank, I 
 don't care much one way or the other, but I should like 
 to know." 
 
 "Extremely handsome," said Mark gravely. He had 
 begun to wonder whether he was not asleep and dream-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 15 
 
 ing, but at all events it was a relief to have no difficulty 
 in disposing of that question. "It's profanation to call 
 your hair red. It is gold, real gold, not flax or mahogany. 
 You were far and away the most beautiful lady in the 
 room to-night. I don't pretend to be much of a judge, 
 but I give you my opinion, since you ask for it, for what 
 it's worth." 
 
 "I'm glad." She leaned down and fixed her eyes on 
 the clear, dark water under the alder tree. "Altogether 
 I'm what one would call eligible, highly eligible, amn't I ? 
 One can't pretend not to know it. So many men have 
 wanted to marry me : I never get through a season with- 
 out a lot of bother. For one thing, I've really rather a 
 lot of money for a woman : one wouldn't call it a big 
 fortune for a man, but not many women are so rich and 
 so free. It's my own : I could chuck it in the sea if I 
 liked not that I ever should like. Money's eminently 
 useful. An ambitious man could do a great deal with 
 five or six hundred thousand of his wife's money that 
 was not tied up in any way. If I married I should I 
 should throw it all into the common stock. Money is 
 never worth wrangling over and I certainly couldn't be 
 bothered with a separate balance-sheet. My hus- 
 band would have to use mine in and out with his 
 own. Such as it is, it would be useful to an ambitious 
 man a man who was going in, say, for politics or any- 
 thing like that. I suppose it isn't precisely true that 
 one can bribe a Whip. Or is it? There is a line 
 somewhere but it's one of those lines that outsiders can't 
 draw." 
 
 Mark, from the depths of his confusion, heard himself 
 gravely saying that one could do a good deal by judicious 
 contribution to party funds. 
 
 "Anyhow that doesn't signify, that's not the main 
 point." She seemed to brush it impatiently aside. "Ex-
 
 16 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 cept that it makes me more independent : too much so, I 
 suppose. I never have cared a snap of the fingers for 
 other people's opinion except the two or three that I 
 liked, Dodo Ferrier's, and Ph one or two others', and 
 yours." 
 
 "Mine !" 
 
 "Yes, I like you. Didn't you know I liked you? I've 
 always liked you. You're different from most of the 
 men I know. I liked you best of all just now when you 
 refused me. It was characteristic of you, that: you're 
 good at refusing. Oh, I know! that is the sort of thing 
 that women always want to know, and somehow or other 
 they generally contrive to get hold of their facts. There 
 are no women in your life, are there? That that 
 is one reason why I've been so bold: I could not have 
 said all this to most men, because it might not have 
 been fair to some other woman. But you're like me in 
 that, you haven't any ties, not even near relations, 
 except Lawrence, who doesn't count : you and I can 
 do with our lives what we like. If I've counted the 
 cost all round and I'm prepared to pay it, there's no 
 practical reason why I shouldn't do what I'm doing 
 now." 
 
 "But what are you doing? I beg your pardon, but 
 honestly I don't understand." 
 
 "I should have thought it was clear enough. Too 
 clear!" Her laugh was only faintly rueful. "But I'm 
 not afraid of plain English. Mr. Sturt, will you marry 
 me?" 
 
 "Will I?" 
 
 "Wait. I don't want an ordinary marriage, Eaton 
 Square and the Riviera and all the rest of it. Will you 
 marry me secretly before you go to America and come 
 with me to Ushant for a week?" 
 
 "Oh, my God!" said Mark under his breath
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 17 
 
 Her words could have but one meaning, did she ima- 
 gine that he would be blind to it ? Well, she was young, 
 and the world is hard on women. He subdued his 
 anger before he found an answer, the only possible an- 
 swer in that impossible position. "My dear, you must 
 tell me all about this. You have no .brother, let me take 
 a brother's place : you're so young, you don't I'm sure 
 you don't know what you're doing." 
 
 "Oh ! I deserve this." 
 
 "Do you mean that I'm wrong?" 
 
 "Yes, wrong." 
 
 "You must speak the truth, Maisie." 
 
 "I was brought up to speak the truth." She stood 
 facing him in the moonlight with her direct level eyes. 
 "I am innocent. Oh ! I'm not good like some women. 
 I dare say I might, if I were tempted, fall : it's hard to 
 say what one would do if one were tempted, because 
 certain forms of temptation are so so heavy. But if I 
 came to grief, and if I were in danger of discovery, I'd 
 face discovery. I had that hammered into me when I 
 was a child, that if you do wrong you must stand up to 
 your punishment. I'm doing wrong now." Mark be- 
 lieved it, she looked as haughty as Lucifer. "But, when 
 the reckoning comes, I shall face it. I'm not a coward." 
 
 "I can only beg your pardon." 
 
 "No, it was my own fault: I've compromised myself 
 so deeply that you think I'm capable of anything. But 
 indeed I'm not." 
 
 "My dear, I didn't mean to insult you. I've seen more 
 of life than you have, and I know how hard it can be on 
 a woman. I thought you were a young thing driven 
 into the toils." 
 
 "And so I am," said Maisie, trembling and bending 
 down her head. "But not the toils of a farthing scan- 
 dal."
 
 18 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Let us talk this over," said Sturt quietly. "Sit down 
 again : and let me put your scarf on, or you'll catch cold." 
 He returned to his place at her side : he showed no sign 
 of emotion except that he was still rather white and 
 that his manner was both more gentle and more formal 
 than it had been. "You asked me to marry you privately 
 and go down with you to Ushant. Why?" 
 
 "That I can't explain." 
 
 "Girls of your age often have romantic fancies." He 
 turned his head away. "Are you forgive me, dear, 
 but I can't think of any likelier explanation, and though 
 I'm not a romantic figure, one knows what girls will 
 do in the way of idealizing a fellow. I won't fail you, 
 if you'll trust me. You haven't by any chance been 
 fancying yourself in love with me, have you?" 
 
 "I thought you would say that. No, I'm not offended ! 
 You can say anything you like. But, Mr. Sturt, think 
 for a moment ! I'm not a young girl I'm not so young 
 as you imagine : at all events, I've seen a good deal of 
 the world. Do you think a woman like me I am proud 
 and I've always been independent could be so swept 
 away by a twopenny halfpenny schoolgirl fit of sentiment 
 as to deliver herself up to any man's mercy bound hand 
 and foot as I'm at yours?" 
 
 "I felt an awful fool for asking. But I was bound 
 to say it, Maisie." 
 
 "You couldn't have put it more nicely." She looked at 
 him with a fleeting laugh as he had seen her look at Mrs. 
 Ferrier: then with a swift return to seriousness, "Well, 
 here are the facts, so far as I can give you them. I'm 
 absolutely sick of my life, so sick of it that I don't much 
 care what happens to me : I'm in difficulties which I can't 
 describe to you or to any one: and this marriage is my 
 only way out. I came to you because I like and trust 
 you better than any other man I know, and because,"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 19 
 
 her voice faltered but she steadied it, "I had a an in- 
 tuition that, for the very short and inexacting period 
 I've named, you might be considered available." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "In plain English, I know you don't want to marry 
 any one. Your brother and Mrs. Ferrier say you'll 
 never marry. You're too fond of sport and politics and 
 going off to the ends of the earth. But what I offer 
 would not put a period to your wanderings : there would 
 be the one week at Ushant, which I suppose from all 
 one's ever heard of men you would enjoy, and after 
 that you would be free to forget me." 
 
 "Has it occurred to you that marriage for a week may 
 involve one in liabilities which can't be forgotten?" 
 
 "How do you mean? Oh! yes, I've thought of that. 
 But I'd take the risk." 
 
 "In that case the marriage would have to be made 
 public." 
 
 "Not unless you chose. I take all the risk. If it in- 
 volved my own social smash I shouldn't much care. I'm 
 so tired of it all! My own friends would stick to me 
 whatever happened and I shouldn't care a button for the 
 rest. One ought to value one's good name, I suppose, 
 but it doesn't matter much that I can see. Anyhow that's 
 my own look out. For you there would be no drag, no 
 responsibility after you left me at Ushant: except of 
 course that you wouldn't be able to marry anybody else 
 I can't help that." 
 
 Mark wondered if she imagined that he could remain 
 indifferent to what happened to his wife. But it was 
 not worth while to argue the point. "Suppose when my 
 week was up I didn't want to go to America?" 
 
 "Didn't want to leave me, do you mean? Oh! that 
 would be a matter for arrangement. If you wanted to 
 make me your wife publicly and permanently you would
 
 20 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 have a legal right to enforce your wishes, and I should 
 respect them. I never shuffle out of a bargain. I give 
 you free leave to make the marriage public and to com- 
 pel me to take your name and to live with you. It's 
 'Heads I win, tails you lose' for you. I want it to be so. 
 If you do this for me I want you to get all you can out 
 of it. If you come to that, I might not want to leave 
 you." 
 
 "What I cannot conceive is what you yourself get out 
 of it." 
 
 "Because you don't know the conditions." 
 
 "Tell me them." She shook her head. "I never heard 
 such rubbish in my life!" said Mark angrily. He tried 
 again. "If the ceremony is all you require, why on 
 earth didn't you go to Harry Forester? Eccentric as 
 your offer is, I feel sure he would jump at it." 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Sturt " 
 
 "Don't do that." Docile, she let fall her hands. He 
 realized then to what extent she was at his mercy and 
 for his life he could not repress a start. "Maisie, I 
 thought you never felt shy." 
 
 "No : well, I don't often blush, but when I do it is an 
 affaire. Oh, Mr. Sturt, be merciful!" Maisie murmured. 
 She was still scarlet, forehead and cheek and throat, her 
 modesty was as inexplicable as her boldness, but as her 
 blush ebbed she rallied her courage to reply. "Say, be- 
 cause I wasn't keen on marrying a man who cared." 
 
 "Do you mean ?" Mark began. His voice was hoarse : 
 he stopped, cleared his throat, and resumed rather more 
 deliberately than before, "Do you mean that you ad- 
 dressed yourself to me because I wasn't in love with 
 you?" 
 
 "Does that seem strange, to a man?" 
 
 "I suppose a young girl never does know anything 
 about anything."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 21 
 
 'Thank you. Perhaps you wouldn't mind explain- 
 
 ing?' 
 
 "I will. Don't you see that whereas, under these 
 very peculiar conditions, Forester, who is a thor- 
 ough good sort, would marry you for love, I could 
 only be supposed to marry you from a less worthy 
 motive ?" 
 
 "But I'd rather have your indifference than Harry's 
 love." 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Mark under his breath. 
 
 Her candor defeated him because he could not tell 
 whether it sprang from the cynicism of her seasons in 
 town or from pure nursery innocence. She jested with 
 the great veiled powers like a child. 
 
 He sat with his hands in his pockets looking across 
 the fields to the twinkling lamps of the village and the 
 low bourne of hills. The sough of the dawn- wind shook 
 through the tree-tops and over the short, severed stalks 
 of the hay. It seemed a long while since he had stood 
 watching the dancers and indulging a sentimental re- 
 gret for youth and its romance. Now adventure had 
 come to him, as it does come sometimes, in middle life, 
 to those who think they are safe over the fence forever: 
 a wild adventure which no sane man could take seri- 
 ously, yet mixed with practical considerations which no 
 sane man could overlook. For Miss Archdale had great 
 possessions, Lawrence had not overstated her material 
 advantages : richer than himself, many years younger, 
 still in the freshness and fame of her beauty, if he mar- 
 ried her there was not a man in his set who would not 
 envy him his luck. Her secret? Some cobweb mys- 
 tery, to be coaxed out of her at his leisure : at all events 
 he would have staked his life on its being nothing dis- 
 honorable. If he married her and declared the marriage 
 he could afford to loosen his grip on Gatton and its trad-
 
 22 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 ing ventures and to assure his footing in the political 
 world. 
 
 And was that an argument to be taken seriously? 
 Mark smiled into his mustache. No: her material ad- 
 vantages inspired in him nothing but a faint recoil of 
 distaste. Nothing would have induced him to touch 
 her money. He was too self-reliant, or too fastidious, 
 to care to accept more than he gave. It would have been 
 different if he had loved her, but he did not love her, 
 not at all : like many men who know little of women 
 he had an ill-defined poetic ideal of female perfection, 
 and if any woman could have reached his standard 
 Maisie certainly did not. Remained only to say no po- 
 litely : to explain to her that a middle-aged politician does 
 not conduct his private life in the spirit of a French 
 comedy! She was shrewd enough if she would but open 
 her eyes : incredibly reckless, but strong, in her detached 
 take-it-or-leave-it attitude. In five minutes he could be 
 quit of her without ill-feeling or much embarrassment 
 on either side. Mark wondered if she would then trans- 
 fer her offer to another man : he knew not a few who 
 would have jumped at it, with or without the half-mil- 
 lion which she was prepared to fling into the scale. How 
 cruelly she would suffer if she fell into the wrong hands ! 
 But no, she could not be allowed to go on risking her 
 happiness: she must be brought to book, Dodo Ferrier 
 must be called in if necessary. 
 
 Mark roused himself out of a long silence and turned 
 with twenty convincing arguments on his lips. He could 
 not do it. No honest man could do it. She would only 
 be unhappy if he did. It was midsummer madness, there 
 could be no earthly reason for it, she must tell him or tell 
 Dodo Ferrier. "My dear " 
 
 He stopped short. 
 
 "Well, what's my fate to be is it yes or no?"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 23 
 
 "It is yes." 
 
 "You don't mean it ?" 
 
 "By heaven I do," said Mark. He took her in his 
 arms and kissed her. 
 
 "Oh, but why why?" Maisie murmured, docile in 
 his clasp. "I didn't think you would. You weren't go- 
 ing to. You were going to say no." 
 
 "Was I ? In that case I must have changed my mind. 
 But I think you're wrong: I don't believe I ever meant 
 to refuse, no, not for a moment. I always take a sport- 
 ing offer, and yours, for a gloomy middle-aged business 
 man, has all the charm of the unexpected. You recall 
 the dreams of my vanished youth." He touched with 
 his lips her closed eyelids, ivory blinds drawn down over 
 the brilliance of her eyes. His own, she resigned herself, 
 a city undefended : and the entire current of Mark's be- 
 ing moved towards her in flood. It was not love but 
 it was everything short of love, and prudence and com- 
 mon sense could no more stand against it than a child's 
 barrier of sticks and sand can oppose the incoming 
 tide . . . 
 
 The stable clock was striking three : the midnight hours 
 were ended. "Oh, how late it is !" said Maisie, startled. 
 "Let me go now, Mr. Sturt." Mark released her in- 
 stantly. He had not kissed her again. 
 
 She stood up. Mark too pulled himself to his feet, 
 not without an effort: feelings that had let him alone 
 for thirteen busy years were at their narcotic work to- 
 night, sapping his energy. The love of beauty ran in 
 his blood: except by travel, he had scarcely ever in- 
 dulged it: but it is a tenacious passion, and mountains 
 and stars cannot satisfy it forever. "Time to go back, 
 what?" he said, shaking himself free. "Getting on for 
 dawn, isn't it? You must have cut half a dozen dances 
 by now, and you've had no supper." Over the glimmer-
 
 24 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 ing windiness of field and forest the flush of dawn was 
 at war with the fading moonlight, and the air was full 
 of the chill scent of grass and budding leaf: from the 
 nearest patch of covert came the faint piping cry of a 
 bird. 
 
 He gathered up her fan, her gloves, her handkerchief, 
 and fell into step at her side : betrothed lovers on the 
 eve of marriage, and almost as much a riddle to them- 
 selves as to one another. Mark Sturt, who should have 
 known better, was fighting off second thoughts in true 
 gambler's vein : he set his teeth and swore that he would 
 not repent till it was too late to retreat. And Miss Arch- 
 dale like a frightened child reflected, "I'm riding for a 
 fall," but she had neither power nor will to save herself. 
 She was in the grip of heavy forces, and she did not 
 understand them well enough to cope with them in any 
 way. 
 
 She could not read the man at her side. She could 
 imagine what Forester would have done, the handsome 
 passionate young man. She would have had to satisfy a 
 far more exacting claim, but Forester's kisses would not 
 have made her blush. Or Lawrence Sturt, Mark's 
 brother: Lawrence was a dangerous combination of 
 voluptuary and cynic, but she never would have flinched 
 before him, though he was not scrupulous and could be 
 cruel. Mark was slower and colder, and ought to have 
 been easy to read, and yet she could not read him. The 
 rather heavy, impassive face, the shrewd unrevealing 
 eyes and easy manner offered only negative qualities for 
 analysis, and he had an inexhaustible stock of silence: 
 while his sense of humor was an incalculable element, 
 for she could not always tell why he was amused. Law- 
 rence Sturt in his most reckless temper could not have 
 bent her. But Mark could look her down with his laugh- 
 ing eyes.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 25 
 
 They came out on the edge of the beechwood, where 
 the gray lawn, deserted now, stretched away to the 
 lighted windows of Shotton. The fleet of cloud over- 
 head was beginning to be shot with pink and mother-o'- 
 pearl, and in its interstices the sky was of a deep indigo 
 blue. "Whew!" Mark whistled softly, glancing at his 
 watch. "Ten past three. Half the people are gone home, 
 you know. Unless you wish to be either cut or congrat- 
 ulated, I suggest sneaking in through the library win- 
 dow and going straight to bed. You must be sleepy 
 though you don't look it." 
 
 "I am not tired," said Maisie, smiling. "But I will if 
 you like." 
 
 "Oh, Griselda wasn't in it," said Mark. "Very good, 
 I shall send you in by yourself. Slip through the shrub- 
 beries and go up the little staircase of the library; no 
 one will see you, and I shall say you had a headache and 
 went off early. I shall stop out here and have a ciga- 
 rette." 
 
 Maisie wondered why he took her left hand, till she 
 found that he was holding it and that he had taken the 
 signet ring from his own finger to slip it on hers. "You 
 can wear it round your neck by daylight," he said in 
 his clear impassive tones. "But I swear you shall wear 
 it on your hand to-night. Good night, my dear." 
 
 "Good night, Mr. Sturt." 
 
 "Say 'Good night, Mark.' " 
 
 "Good night, Mark."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 "The expense of spirit in a waste of shame . . . ." 
 
 MARK STURT did not require much sleep. He 
 smoked his three cigarettes in the beechwood, and 
 then he came indoors ten minutes before sunrise, when 
 the last guests were saying the last farewells. In reply 
 to the reproaches of Mrs. Ferrier he merely regretted 
 that he wasn't a dancing man, but the faint scent of to- 
 bacco that clung about his clothes added a shameless 
 footnote to his apology; and when she asked what he 
 had done with Miss Archdale he answered without any 
 hesitation that she had complained of being tired and 
 gone off early to bed. Harry Forester, handsome and 
 haggard after a wretched evening, had placed himself 
 near enough to hear what was said, and Mark's eye 
 sparkled as he saw the young man's face clear ; Forester 
 was the right side of thirty, and held a commission in a 
 crack cavalry regiment; the odds were in his favor, and 
 yet he had lost. 
 
 Mark went to bed, fell asleep as soon as he laid his 
 head down, and woke again at half -past seven feeling 
 very fresh and cool, and with a hazy impression that 
 something had happened to him the night before. He 
 lay back on his pillows, his tanned features turned to- 
 wards the splendor of eastern sunlight. There was a 
 ring round Mark Sturt's throat as definite as if it had 
 been drawn with a ruler; the skin was nut-brown above 
 it, and white below. Through the open window he could 
 see tree-tops waving, green against blue, and the song of
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 27 
 
 birds came in, the lively din of sparrows, the thick 
 treble "Pretty Dick! Pretty Dick!" of a late thrush. 
 Mark raised his left hand and fixed his eyes on his little 
 finger, where a band of bleached flesh marked the re- 
 moval of a ring worn for many years. Originally his 
 mother's ring, when she died it had been enlarged for 
 his father, and from his hand Mark had taken it when 
 Arthur Sturt lay in his coffin. Mark had offered it to 
 Lawrence, but Lawrence, always morbid in his shrink- 
 ing from death, had refused it with a shudder, and 
 Mark had worn it ever since. It was so small for him 
 that he could hardly get it off, but it was very loose for 
 Maisie Archdale's third finger. Mark wondered whether 
 she would have liked diamonds better than the old worn 
 ring, with the falcon crest of his mother's family, and 
 the motto: FORS L'HONNEUR. Would she guess that it 
 had been the symbol of an older romance? If it had not 
 been for that band of shrunken flesh on his finger, Mark 
 would have been inclined to think that he had dreamed 
 the whole affair. 
 
 But, if it was not a dream, what did it all mean? 
 
 Seven-thirty a.m. is the time of times for second 
 thoughts. Mark clasped his arms behind his head and 
 deliberately challenged them, and they came thick and 
 fast. He was thirty-five, a sportsman, a politician with 
 a safe seat in the House, and sole proprietor of the Gat- 
 ton ironworks, a large business in the northern Midlands 
 which throve unfailingly even in the slack times after 
 the war; till within the last year or so Gatton had ab- 
 sorbed most of his energies, and even now, though he 
 was getting to leave the details of administration more 
 and more to his pearl of managers, Sturt kept an ex- 
 tremely firm hand on all the strings. Unofficially he and 
 Jack Bennet were on brotherly terms, and Jack was free 
 to slap Mark on the back (they had been at Stonyhurst
 
 28 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 together), and call him an unpractical ass, but when 
 Jack had finished grumbling he did as he was bidden, 
 and when Mr. Sturt betook himself to the Andes it was 
 on the distinct understanding that, Socialism or no So- 
 cialism, Gatton would continue to be run on his 
 lines. Trade, sport, politics, such was the sum of Mark 
 Sturt's life, and it had aged him; he was the twin 
 brother of Lawrence Sturt, but he looked five years 
 older. 
 
 Of amorous adventure his course for the last thirteen 
 years had been remarkably free; in his early manhood 
 he had had one disastrous passion, the details of which 
 were not known even to his brother, and no woman had 
 ever relit the fires which burnt themselves out on a 
 French battlefield. Mark thought of Gatton, and t^ien 
 he thought of Renee ; Renee in her young slenderness, a 
 flower sprung from the French bourgeoisie, as he had 
 first seen her standing in her father's door when his com- 
 pany marched into her village. He had adored her with 
 a boy's swift visionary fancy; he had seen her not half 
 a dozen times in all; the last time he saw her she had 
 been lying dead four or five days. . . . Mark Sturt at 
 five and thirty remembered the Mark Sturt of two and 
 twenty with a strange impersonal pity. Ardent fancies 
 pass away in time, an^ if Renee had lived Mark would 
 certainly have forgotten all about her long ago, but be- 
 cause of her death and the way of it she had left an 
 imperishable stamp upon his life and nature. How hor- 
 ribly he had suffered ! All Lawrence Sturt knew, then or 
 later, was that his brother went through the autumn and 
 the winter fighting like one mad with the blood-lust, till 
 a heavy wound mercifully laid him low. For years after 
 his return to sanity Mark avoided women from cowardice, 
 as a man avoids whatever may bring on a recurrence of 
 some dreaded pain.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 29 
 
 And now after all these years a woman had come 
 into his life again and challenged him to an adventure 
 which not only was far out of harmony with Gatton 
 and Westminster, with middle age and common sense, 
 but seemed likely to end in some renewal of the old tor- 
 ment. Miss Archdale's intuition had not been at fault; 
 if Mark had kept out of her way, it was for no other 
 reason than because he was pretty strongly attracted by 
 her and afraid of her power. He did not want to marry, 
 still less to fall in love he wanted to climb another peak 
 or two with Lawrence, to make a good thing out of Gat- 
 ton, perhaps in the long run (a half -acknowledged ambi- 
 tion) to hold office in a Liberal ministry. Certainly 
 there was no face-reason why a week at Ushant should 
 interfere with these designs, but the small cold voice 
 of common sense warned Mark that he was taking heavy 
 risks, and that passion, like fire, is a good servant but 
 a bad master. With something of a cynical smile at him- 
 self, he laid a finger on his own wrist; no, he could not 
 think of Maisie coolly. If she could set his blood danc- 
 ing now, what would happen at Ushant? 
 
 "What will Ushant mean?" Mark said to himself 
 sternly. "Marriage is a sacrament. What sort of sacra- 
 ment will this marriage be for you or for her? You 
 know pretty well. Does she? W^hat right have you to 
 take advantage of her? What if you were to hurt her? 
 If after thirteen years' immunity you're driven to make 
 a fool of yourself again, can't you do it on cheaper terms? 
 No? This one woman and no other? The gambler and 
 the sportsman coming uppermost, is it?" He knew his 
 own weakness, watchfully guarded and veiled; there 
 was a vein in his character to which every now and then 
 the high throw or the long shot made an irresistible ap- 
 peal. "But the thing is folly and worse than folly. Your 
 word of honor? De Trafford would tell you to clear
 
 30 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 out by the nine o'clock train and break your word from 
 a safe distance." 
 
 Good advice is always cheap ; but the cheapest and 
 most drastic variety is the advice a man gives to himself 
 when he knows he is not going to take it. 
 
 Mark looked at his watch. A quarter-past eight. 
 "Breakfast any time after twelve," Charles Ferrier had 
 said cheerfully. It was not to be supposed that Miss 
 Archdale, after the exhausting emotions of the evening 
 Mark was happily confident that some of them had 
 been exhausting would be visible yet awhile, but to be 
 up and active was better than to lie and think of Renee, 
 or of Ushant ; and he rang his bell. Entered decorously, 
 within the minim interval of time, Henham, the ideal 
 valet, his gray hair trimly parted and his whiskers trimly 
 barbered. "Mr. Lawrence down yet?" asked Mark, tak- 
 ing his tea and his letters. Lawrence, like Mark, was 
 an early riser. 
 
 "No, sir, not yet." 
 
 "Get my bath ready. ... I am going to be married 
 on Monday, so you can have a week's holiday." 
 
 The latter sentence framed itself in Mark's mind, 
 but not on his lips. He would have liked to see what 
 effect it had on the serene Henham, but he really couldn't 
 flatter himself that it would have very much. "Yessir; 
 will your suit-case be enough for you, and shall I pack 
 your golf clubs?" That would probably be Henham's 
 reply. Both speeches, however, were left in the limbo 
 of the unrealized : Mark did not even go s6 far as to tell 
 Henham that he could have a week's holiday. A vein 
 of Celtic caution which was strongly developed in him 
 suggested that the less time Henham was allowed for 
 practicing the curiosity that all good servants feel about 
 their masters' movements, the better.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 31 
 
 He opened his letters, and was amused to find how 
 little interest they now had for him. The gunsmith's 
 specifications, over whose delay he had been chafing yes- 
 terday, were thrown down with a yawn. A note from 
 the publishers of Climbs in the Andes, enclosing a check 
 and statement of accounts, got even less attention. An 
 illegible scrawl from his cousin, Considine Sturt, in North 
 Russia, held him for a moment, because at first glance 
 he read it: "Dear Mark, I have shot thirteen babies in 
 prams" but when this genial infanticide resolved itself 
 into "thirteen brace of snipe" he tossed the rest aside 
 and got up. He really did not care what had become of 
 Considine and his erratic pursuits. 
 
 Mark dressed rapidly but carefully. Although, like 
 most of his class, he was a vigorous dandy, buying ex- 
 pensive clothes and bullying his tailors if they did not 
 fit him to a hair, he did not usually pay much attention 
 to the smaller details of his toilet, which were left in 
 Henham's care ; but this morning Lawrence himself could 
 not have been more imperative or more exacting, and 
 when he had finished tying his tie he looked himself over 
 in the glass, he who did not care as a rule whether there 
 were a glass in the room or no. The hall clock was 
 striking nine as he came downstairs. Floods of golden 
 sunshine everywhere, and not a soul to be seen except the 
 servants : even Lawrence apparently was taking life easy 
 after his late hours. Declining breakfast, Mark strolled 
 out on the lawn the gray moonlit lawn of last night, 
 striped now in misty sunshine. In the borders which 
 had been so full of mystery, roses and early hollyhocks 
 and sapphire spires of lupin stood up fresh and glitter- 
 ing under a light dew. Mark walked up and down with 
 his hands in his pockets, whistling snatches of Spanish 
 ballads that he had heard the Chilian arrieros sing round 
 their camp fires. Whatever was to come, he was the
 
 32 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 gainer by a glorious night and morning; by this dance 
 of blood in his veins, by the rush of health and energy 
 and vital force which thrilled him to his finger-tips. 
 
 "Yo no quiero al Conde de Cabra, 
 
 Conde de Cabra, triste de mi! 
 Que a quien quiero solamente, 
 
 Solamente, es ay! a ti. 
 Arroz con leche " 
 
 He had just taken out his pipe when he caught sight 
 of a feminine figure passing in and out of view between 
 the rose thickets at the end of the lawn. Surely he could 
 not be mistaken? There was no other woman in the 
 house so tall as Maisie Archdale. Mark crossed the 
 turf with the step of a cat; he had a good deal to say 
 to Miss Archdale, but he saw no reason why he should 
 not combine business with pleasure. Here the cluster 
 roses towered high against the morning blue, great groves 
 and archways of gold and pink and orange linked by 
 flaunting horns of honeysuckle or by the mauve and 
 purple butterflies of the climbing pea ; and here he came 
 on Maisie, in a small clearing where the sunshine, re- 
 flected from a million balmy petals, made the very air 
 burn. She was in a white embroidered dress, her hair 
 plaited thick and close, and she was kneeling on the stone 
 verge of a little font, whose musical babble, as it spurted 
 up and fell back into its own clear pool, drowned Mark's 
 footfall. Coming up behind her, he passed his arm 
 round her waist, drew her to her feet, and took a lover's 
 kiss. Then for one impenitent moment he thought she 
 was going to faint. 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Sturt " 
 
 "Mark." 
 
 "Mark." 
 
 How exquisitely she pronounced his name! Not the
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 33 
 
 least of her graces, to Mark Sturt's taste, was her beau- 
 tiful speaking voice; she dragged a little on her words, 
 now and then, but so slightly that it could not be called 
 a drawl, and when she spoke his name on a half-breath 
 Mark seized her in his arms. She threw up her wrist 
 to defend her lips, and Mark drew it down, smiling. 
 He was not tender; there was nothing in his eyes but 
 passion, the passion that borders on cruelty. "Let me 
 go," said Maisie. 
 
 "Rather have Forester, what?" Mark murmured. 
 "Don't be shy, Maisie; has no one ever kissed you be- 
 fore?" 
 
 "No one. Oh, let me go, Mark 1" 
 
 "By Jove, I believe that's true! Virgin soil, eh? I'll 
 initiate you. . . . What a shame, isn't it? Forester 
 wouldn't treat you so." She stood still in his embrace, 
 bending down her head. "Speak to me." 
 
 "I can't . . ." 
 
 "What can't you?" 
 
 "Anything, while . . ." 
 
 Mark's arm dropped. He drew two or three deep 
 breaths like a man recovering from a fainting fit. Then 
 he said, "I beg your pardon," and Maisie saw that he 
 was very pale. 
 
 "It's I who ought to apologize," she said, smiling as 
 she drew herself free of his clasp. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "For shirking. I didn't really mean to cry off." 
 
 "Do you mind my smoking?" 
 
 "No, I like it." 
 
 Mark filled his pipe and lit it before he spoke again. 
 He tossed the match down and watched it fall and burn 
 itself out on the close turf. "You mustn't mind me," he 
 said. "You reminded me for a moment of a young girl 
 I used to know when when I was a young man." He
 
 34 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 stopped, grinding the match into the grass with his heel ; 
 he had not meant to speak of Renee, he had never in his 
 life spoken of her before, but the words were dragged 
 out of him against his will, though under his impassive 
 manner they cost him strange birththroes. "She was 
 rather badly hurt: I do not mean by me. But for one 
 moment your expression reminded me of her. I'd rather 
 die than bring that look into any woman's face." He 
 waited a moment, and added simply, "I suppose you 
 know what getting married means." 
 
 "Did she die?" said Maisie. 
 
 "She? Who? Oh yes, she died." 
 
 "Did you love her ?" 
 
 "Yes, I loved her." 
 
 "Did you ever tell this to any one before, Mark?" 
 
 He raised his head with a jerk. "I'm afraid I can't 
 answer any more questions. Suppose you answer mine 
 instead. I asked whether you realize what marriage 
 means. If you were not happy in my arms just now, do 
 you think you'll be any happier at Ushant?" 
 
 "Probably not," said Maisie. "Do I care ?" 
 
 A gust of south wind, sweet with honeysuckle, went 
 wandering by, ruffling the folds of her white skirt, and 
 scattering the slender pipe of the fountain into silver 
 threads which wet the turf with spray. She turned and 
 began to pace the glade beside Mark. "I'm beginning 
 to understand you, Mark: the little tale you've just told 
 me throws a flood of light on your feelings. You call 
 yourself a business man, but you're as romantic as you 
 were when you were twenty, and as sensitively chival- 
 rous I've suspected you of it before, only I could hardly 
 believe it of Lawrence Sturt's brother. Now I'm not ro- 
 mantic. A bargain's a bargain, for me. I've Yorkshire 
 blood in me, and I like to pay my debts as I go along. 
 You mustn't be chivalrous with me, because it only makes
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 35 
 
 things harder for me. If you want to relieve my em- 
 barrassment, dear boy, you must hold yourself free to 
 take what you like, when you like, and to pursue your 
 own satisfaction irrespective of mine, without regard to 
 any small protests I may be weak enough to make. I'm 
 not like your little girl in the story I shan't die under 
 it. Is that clear?" 
 
 "Perfectly, thanks," said Mark, pulling at his mus- 
 tache. What was clear to him was that Miss Archdale, 
 after all her London seasons, did not know what she 
 was talking about ; clear too that she did not even dimly 
 see what sort of part she was forcing on himself. She 
 was very beautiful ; he could not call her stupid ; but he 
 did not know which he disliked more, the role she as- 
 signed to him or the tone in which she spoke of Renee. 
 He was not accustomed to think of himself as a fastid- 
 ious man, yet at that moment he was near to breaking 
 his word, not because the situation was both difficult and 
 dangerous, but because he was shocked and offended by 
 the woman at his side. "Perfectly," said Mark Sturt; 
 and then Maisie's fingers felt for his hand and nestled 
 into it, as if her heart the inner spirit which our words 
 often coarsen and belie were pleading for leniency. 
 Mark's hand clenched itself over hers. 
 
 "I did not intend to question you, Maisie, because I 
 feel bound in honor to respect your small secrets, and if 
 you refuse to answer me I shall not make any attempt 
 to find them out, though I'm certain I could compel 
 you to answer me if I liked. I won't do that. But you're 
 young twenty-three, isn't it? I'm ten years older, and 
 I'm a business man. I don't know what your difficulties 
 are, but it's hard for me, as a practical man, to believe 
 that there's no simpler way out of them than this fan- 
 tastic marriage. Difficulties that look terrible to inex- 
 perienced eyes can usually be settled with a pinch of
 
 36 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 common sense and a check. If, for instance, any other 
 man is bullying you I speak in the dark, as you know 
 give me leave to tackle him for you, and I'll engage to 
 settle his hash in five minutes, not with my fists, dear, 
 but with the prosaic aid of the law. I should be glad 
 to put my judgment and experience at your service. 
 Will you for God's sake do tell me why you want to 
 marry me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I beg of you to do it 111 keep your confidence." 
 
 "I shall not do it, Mark. But I'll give you back your 
 word, if you like." 
 
 "And if I take it back, what will you do?" 
 
 Maisie did not immediately answer. She stood by the 
 brim of the fountain, dabbling her fingers in its spray. 
 
 "Speak to me, Maisie." 
 
 "I shall marry Mr. Forester." 
 
 "Oh, you will, will you?" said Mark under his breath. 
 "No, I'll be shot if any other man shall wear you. Have 
 your own way, then; I'll not let you go again." 
 
 He stopped to relight his pipe, and to move to her 
 other side, so that the smoke should not drift across her 
 face. "Regard that as settled. Right or wrong, I'm not 
 going to give you up to young Forester. And now we'll 
 get to business. You go to Ushant on Monday, do you 
 say? Straight from here? And what then do I travel 
 down with you?" 
 
 "No, that would never do. You'll have to find your 
 own way to the cottage ; I might manage to pick you up 
 at the station and drive you over with me in the dogcart, 
 but I think it would be better if you walked. It's not 
 above four miles." Sturt, who was as indolent in travel 
 as he was energetic in sport, looked a trifle resigned. "I 
 know you won't mind that"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 37 
 
 "Oh, quite. Is it your idea that no one should know 
 you have a man in the house with you?" 
 
 "No, that wouldn't work; some stray passer-by would 
 be sure to see us together, or there would be children 
 hanging round, or those horrid little boy scouts they 
 crop up in the most unlikely places. No, the less mys- 
 tery the better. We'll be honeymooners, you and I ; legit- 
 imate, don't you know, but very daring and unconven- 
 tional. I'll wear sandals, and you shall go without a 
 collar, which will create a devil-may-care atmosphere of 
 Golder's Green." She laughed, and Mark had again the 
 fleeting vision of a sweeter Maisie, neither cold nor pas- 
 sionate, but natural and friendly as a boy. "I don't 
 think I ever knew any one who looked less like Golder's 
 Green than you do. You're not handsome, Mr. Sturt, 
 but I like the look of you: does that touch your vanity? 
 All men are vain, and most Englishmen are shy. Are 
 you shy, Mark?" 
 
 "Very," said Mark. 
 
 "I believe you are, though I'm sure you don't mean 
 me to believe you." She looked up at him with her soft, 
 brilliant eyes, derisive, cajoling, penetrating, but Mark 
 had not lived five and thirty years for nothing, and he 
 was steady under fire. "You certainly are impassive. 
 This is a digression. To return to Ushant: all I want 
 is to break the thread between it and London. In a 
 little place like Ushant there won't be a soul, you know, 
 that has ever heard of you or me or any one in our set. 
 Well, I won't say that; the ricar and the doqtor may 
 know your name as a promising M.P., and their wives 
 may hare seen my photograph in the Qveen f but that sort 
 of knowledge only widens the gulf. I know: I've lived 
 in that world myself." Mark listened attentively; no 
 mystery hung over Miss Archdale's past, yet he knew
 
 38 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 nothing very definite about it, and she herself never 
 spoke of it. But she did not break her rule, though for 
 a moment he had fancied she was going to do so. "There 
 is no bridge, believe me, between our small set where 
 every one knows every one, and the great world outside 
 it where no one knows any one. I'm not a bit afraid of 
 'flying chats' after we get to Ushant; all I do bar is leav- 
 ing links between Ushant and London which some kind 
 London friend may pick up." 
 
 "Quite; we'll be very precautious. But there remains 
 one point to settle." 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 "Rather an important one. Getting married. Have 
 you thought out your arrangements for that?" 
 
 "No, dear boy, I haven't," Maisie acknowledged with 
 an irrepressible faint blush. "I I left that to you." 
 
 "It does seem to fall within my province. Well, I 
 don't want to impress you with a display of learning, so 
 I'll confess that I got up the subject this morning out of 
 a directory. The first point to settle is whether you 
 want to be married in church or at a registry office." 
 
 "In church." 
 
 "Really? I didn't know forgive me if I am indis- 
 creet that you indulged in anything so unfashionable as 
 a dogmatic religion." Maisie looked as if she hadn't 
 known it either. "Dear me! this is very awkward. It 
 raises unforeseen difficulties. I say, I'm afraid it's all 
 off!" 
 
 "Because I want to be married in church? Good 
 heavens, why? You're not a militant agnostic, surely?" 
 
 "No, I'm afraid I'm something even more uncom- 
 promising," said Mark, stopping to knock the ash from 
 his pipe. "Didn't you know I'm a Catholic?" 
 "Oh! is that all?" 
 "All!"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 39 
 
 "My dear boy, I'd just as soon be married in a Roman 
 Catholic church as a Protestant one! I couldn't stand 
 a registry office I really am not a heathen, and no 
 amount of registrars would ever succeed in making me 
 feel married at all. But I'm not a bit dogmatic. Very 
 few Protestants are, I think. Oh, I suppose High Church 
 people are," said Miss Archdale hazily, "and they won't 
 eat fish no, they won't eat anything but fish by the bye, 
 I don't know how you'll get on at Ushant! One never 
 can get anything but bloaters in a sea-coast village. But 
 perhaps you aren't strict? Anyhow I'm not. I never 
 did really know the difference between the two churches, 
 except that you worship the Virgin and believe in the 
 saints and we don't, and one or two things like that. I'd 
 quite as soon be married by a Roman Catholic priest. 
 Of course they're not like our clergy, but they're just 
 as much priests, aren't they ? Apostolical succession and 
 all that. Dissenters are different." 
 
 "Ha-ha-ha !" 
 
 "Oh, Mark, don't laugh like that! They'll hear you 
 from the house!" Maisie cried out indignantly. But 
 Mark Sturt's shout of laughter was not to be subdued in 
 a moment. "Oh, do be quiet! what is there to laugh at? 
 I dare say I am very ignorant, but no one ever taught 
 me anything, and how am I to know ?" 
 
 "Ha-ha! Oh, I beg your pardon," Mark said re- 
 morsefully. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth to 
 laugh again. "Maisie, you are impayable! You ought 
 to have a sash and a bib. Never mind, I won't laugh 
 any more." He struggled back to gravity. "All right, 
 as you're not dogmatic we can go ahead like a house on 
 fire. Only there's one other point which I'm obliged, 
 with apologies, to bring forward. I pointed out to you 
 last night that there were liabilities to be considered. In 
 plain English, which I know you like, I am bound to get
 
 40 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 your promise that the children of the marriage, if there 
 were any, should be educated as Catholics." 
 
 "What, all of them? I thought the boys followed the 
 father's faith and the girls the mother's." 
 
 "That is a capital arrangement for those who believe 
 in two faiths," said the Catholic dryly. "We don't. Credo 
 in sanctam ecclesiam catholicam." He crossed himself. 
 
 "Mark, I didn't know you felt like this about it." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "You frighten me." 
 
 "Oh, you mustn't be frightened. I'm not a bit a good 
 Catholic." 
 
 "But you are a Catholic a believer," Maisie mur- 
 mured. "And I'm a heretic. Mark, I feel as if you had 
 gone miles away." Instead of replying, Mark turned 
 again to knock the ash from his pipe, and this time 
 Maisie drew her own conclusions, though for once in a 
 way she kept them to herself. She had seen Forester 
 take equal trouble with his match or his cigarette when 
 he was nervous, but she had never expected to find the 
 same trait in Mark Sturt. "I do bother you, don't I ?" 
 
 "Not a bit ; and anyhow you can't help yourself. These 
 things have to be settled before one can get married in 
 our Church, that's all. The ceremony once over, you 
 can safely forget that I'm a Catholic at all, ualess " 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 "Unless, of course, a child were born to us," Sturt 
 answered impatiently. "Then the subject would come up 
 again. Otherwise I promise that it shan't worry you. 
 Indeed, it makes things easier to arrange, for we can 
 get married in my own parish church by my own priest ; 
 that disposes of the question of residence, and Catholic 
 priests don't gossip." 
 
 "Is he nice?" 
 
 "Nice? What do you mean?"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 41 
 
 "Is he don't be cross, Mark, you know they aren't 
 all, and I should hate to be married by a man who dropped 
 his h's is he a gentleman?" 
 
 "I have no idea," said Mark shortly. "He was at 
 school with me." 
 
 "Oh! That sort? I'm glad." Miss Archdale's brow 
 cleared, but as Mark's remained clouded she relapsed 
 into deprecation. "Oh, now you are cross ! But I can't 
 see why you should be." 
 
 Mark looked at her. She was leaning back on a dense 
 thornless thicket of yellow briar against which the gold 
 of her hair glittered like a flame, her arms folded, her 
 knees crossed under her loose-flowing skirts; and her 
 raised eyes were as blindly clear as a child's. No, she 
 really did not see. "What an idiot you are, Maisie!" 
 said Mark very unexpectedly. He was more taken aback 
 by his own incivility than she was. 
 
 "Thank you. I don't know why, but perhaps I shall 
 grow up to it in time." 
 
 "Don't you mind being called an idiot?" 
 
 "No, I love it. You don't know how jolly and familiar 
 it sounds. Besides, you can't go on being cross after 
 that." 
 
 "Oh! well, if you like it, I shan't beg your pardon," 
 said Mark, struggling with an impulse to take her in 
 his arms again. But he did better than apologize. "The 
 fact is, I'm very fond of Father de Trafford. He is a 
 saint, Miss Maisie, one of the saints you don't believe 
 in : much better than you or me. Never mind, I for- 
 give you. There only remains to settle the day: will 
 Monday do ? I can get things in train by then, I believe, 
 though I shall have my hands full : I must but I needn't 
 bother you about that." He had been about to speak of 
 the necessity of getting a dispensation. 
 
 "Monday would suit me perfectly," said Maisie with
 
 42 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 a smile like sunshine. "I could go up by an early train, 
 drop my big box at my own house, and go on by taxi to 
 the church, either before or after lunch, whichever is 
 more convenient. And I could take your luggage down 
 with mine if you put it in the Waterloo cloakroom be- 
 fore I get there ; it would have your initials on it, I sup- 
 pose. Then you would have no bother at Ushant. We 
 had better not lunch together or go anywhere together 
 till we meet at the cottage. You must let me know the 
 time, and of course you must tell me where Father de 
 Trafford's church is would it be near your rooms?" 
 
 "Lane Street down at the back of Westminster, in 
 the thick of the slums." 
 
 "I'll remember. And when shall you leave Shotton ?" 
 
 "This afternoon. I shall have fifty things to see to 
 'between this and Monday." 
 
 "So soon? After all I can write to you if anything 
 occurs to me. Shall I address you at your own chambers 
 or at the club?" 
 
 "My own flat; but I wouldn't put down anything in- 
 criminating in black and white, if I were you. It never 
 pays to trust servants. You, I suppose, will stay on 
 here till Monday. But you might give me your town 
 address and the telephone number, in case of accidents." 
 
 "Hadn't we better exchange cards? I don't know 
 yours, either." 
 
 "Happy thought!" said Mark with levity. "Here's 
 mine." He gravely gave her one, and she tucked it into 
 her dress. Strange how suddenly they seemed to have 
 slipped into an easier relation, how much more naturally 
 they talked to each other since Mark's small storm had 
 cleared the air! "I'll give you mine when we go in- 
 doors," said Maisie. "Oh, and, Mark " 
 
 "Yes, dear?"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 43 
 
 "Is there any one you would like to ask to the cere- 
 mony?" 
 
 "Any one I would like ! I don't follow. Isn't it 
 to be a secret ?" 
 
 She looked up at him with a laugh and a fleeting color 
 and a twist of her level brows. "A dead secret. Still, 
 after all, Lawrence is your brother." 
 
 "Bless me !" Mark exclaimed, "do you mean, should 
 I like to tell Lawrence?" 
 
 "I thought it possible." 
 
 He shook his head. "No, dear. Such an idea would 
 never enter my mind." 
 
 "Then that settles that," said Miss Archdale, with the 
 air of one who brings a laborious negotiation to a satis- 
 factory close. "Oh, Mark, I'm so hungry ! I didn't have 
 any supper last night except some biscuits that Nelly 
 sneaked up to my room. Do let's go and have our break- 
 fast before all the other people come down !"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 "O Salutaris Hostia 
 
 Qui coeli pandis ostium, 
 Bella premunt hostilia, 
 
 Da robur, fer auxilium." 
 
 THE nave of St. Casimir's church was dark, for it 
 was nearly nine o'clock, and only half a dozen lamps 
 had been lit in the aisles for the Friday-night service. 
 But at the altar the Benediction candles shone like a 
 golden galaxy, star above star, honoring with their bright 
 rays the mystery of the Host; and before the throne 
 Father de Trafford knelt with white illuminated face, of- 
 fering the adoration of incense, which is the prayer of 
 the Church, while the low chant went up from kneeling 
 choir and congregation. Among the latter Mark Sturt 
 knelt with bent head, murmuring the same hymn that 
 men of his faith had sung six hundred years ago : 
 
 "Uni trinoque Domino 
 
 Sit sempiterna gloria, 
 Qui vitam sine termino 
 
 Nobis donet in patria." 
 
 Mark had told Maisie that he was not a good Catholic, 
 and in fact, as practicing Catholics go, he lived care- 
 lessly, for the pressure of work, while it staved off pas- 
 sionate adventures, tended also to narrow the scope of 
 prayer and meditation in his spiritual life. But he had 
 always fulfilled the obligatory observances, and when 
 he worshiped he was often painfully conscious of his 
 
 44
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 45 
 
 own deficiencies. To-night, when the bell rang and the 
 priest raised in his veiled hands the sacred mysteries and 
 made the sign of the cross over his people, Mark's head 
 sank lower and lower. 
 
 "Adoremus in aeternum sanctissimum sacramentum." 
 
 It was the world-old challenge of the spirit to the 
 flesh, of the unseen and eternal to the things seen, which 
 are temporal; and it pierced Mark Sturt to the heart 
 because, though he did not know it himself, there was in 
 him a strain of the visionary and the ascetic, which might 
 have ignored any lesser claim, but could deny nothing 
 to what claimed all. In place of lofty nave and lighted 
 choir Mark saw the solitude of Calvary and the Son of 
 God nailed to the cross ; and as, with the full keenness of 
 his intellect and the full strength of his will, he bowed 
 himself in adoration of that glorified body which the 
 priest carried in his hands under the form of the Host, 
 there came upon him once again that hunger and thirst 
 after God in which all mortal passions are lost as the 
 river is lost in the sea. And he prayed for purity of life 
 and thought. He forgot Gatton, forgot Westminster, 
 forgot the gold hair of Maisie Archdale: forgot indeed 
 where he was, till his neighbor, a young Irish private of 
 the Leinsters, touched his arm apologetically because the 
 service was over and the way out was barred by Mark's 
 half prostrate attitude. Purity of life and thought for 
 a soldier, a politician, a man of business with a big manu- 
 facturing constituency at his back? Strange paradox! 
 Mark Sturt submitted to it. For him no facile creed : 
 but to this hard and heavy bondage, this unremitting 
 tax on will and pride and strength, he could yield with- 
 out reserve. But he got to his feet rather hurriedly 
 when the Leinsterman touched his arm. 
 
 Father de Trafford, coming out as usual by the little
 
 46 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 door of the Lady Chapel ten minutes later, was not slow 
 to recognize the tall figure awaiting him, for Mark stood 
 bareheaded in the light of a street lamp, hat in hand. 
 "Is it you, Mark?" the priest exclaimed. "My dear fel- 
 low, I haven't seen you for years! How are you, and 
 what have you been doing? Killing yourself in the 
 Andes, I hear." 
 
 "While you have been killing yourself in Lane Street. 
 You look tired, Father ; you ought to get away. London 
 in July is too much for you." 
 
 "I'm not tired only worried. You're coming home 
 with me? That's delightful. You have dined, I hope? 
 for I couldn't give you much on a Friday night, but I 
 have some good cigars that you shall try, and we'll talk 
 about everything in heaven and earth. Now here is a 
 reward for a poor sinner! I was in a fit of the blues an 
 hour ago." He slipped his hand through Mark's arm. 
 "First I want to hear all your own news. Where are 
 you stopping at the flat?" Mark assented. "And how's 
 Gatton?" 
 
 "Gatton's very well, I believe. I haven't been there 
 lately, so Jack Bennet is in command. I'm booked for 
 the opening of the new town hall in January, which will 
 be a nuisance. Bennet is angling for the Lord Lieutenant, 
 but I suppose I shall have to make a speech. Will you 
 come and back me up? I can't bear facing that sort of 
 function singlehanded, but I can't get Lawrence to go 
 near it." 
 
 "I never knew any man that had a nicer sense of the 
 duties of his position than Lawrence," Father de Traf- 
 ford observed, "or a happier knack of getting out of 
 them. If one wanted to know what not to do in any 
 given emergency, Lawrence would be a better guide than 
 the Holy Father. Still Gatton is your own affair after 
 all, and I can't imagine why you should want any one
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 47 
 
 to back you up. After four or five years in the House 
 you ought to be used to getting on your legs aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Constitutional shyness, I suppose. I am shy, you 
 know; I hate the footlights." 
 
 "Oh, rubbish ! Where is Lawrence, by the bye ? Is he 
 as meteoric as ever?" 
 
 "Quite," said Mark, smiling. "He's staying in Hamp- 
 shire with the Ferriers. I've been there with him this 
 fortnight. I only left to-day." 
 
 "Pleasant party?" Father de Trafford asked, leading 
 the way into the presbytery. He was a thin worn-look- 
 ing man with the gay blue eyes of a boy, and he had a 
 soft gay manner without a trace of clericalism, so that 
 in the dark one would not have known him for a priest; 
 in the light, on the other hand, one could hardly have 
 mistaken him for anything but what he was 1 , for the 
 stamp of spiritual authority marked his features, and the 
 limpid glance, with all its sweetness, was remarkably 
 piercing and shrewd. "But I know the Ferriers always 
 get together pleasant people. Now let us make ourselves 
 comfortable. See my little smiling angle of the country 
 through this window ! Ille mihi prater omnes that's not 
 Church Latin." The presbytery was within a bowshot of 
 the church, and between the two lay one of those tiny 
 and sequestered nooks of garden which survive in the 
 older quarters of London : a crooked patch of turf en- 
 closed between high walls, a couple of shady plane trees, 
 a border dense with flowers now paling in the nightfall, 
 and a wooden bench and table roughly knocked together 
 by Father fie Trafford 's own carpentry. 
 
 "We might sit out there, shall we?" said the priest, 
 taking Mark's arm again and propelling him gently to- 
 wards the open window. Mark smiled, he knew the tiny 
 garden well ; through the dust and smoke of London
 
 48 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 there penetrated to his nostrils the sweet night scent of 
 stocks and tobacco-flowers. "I wish it were daylight, 
 then you should see my robin ; he always comes and con- 
 verses with me when I'm writing my sermons. Don't 
 laugh, plutocrat ! do I own Gatton, or can I go and climb 
 Popo-what's-its-name ? Very well then, I won't be put 
 out of conceit with this pocket-handkerchief of a garden 
 of mine. Philosophy lies in liking what you have, and 
 success lies in wanting what you haven't; there is life 
 for you in two nutshells, take your own and leave me 
 mine. Try these cigars : a duke gave them to me, so they 
 ought to be good, but as you know I am no judge. Oh, 
 my dear Mark, I'm very glad to see you again ! Were 
 you in church to-night?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I did not see you." 
 
 "Your Reverence never sees any one," Mark answered, 
 the kindly fun in his voice a thin veil over its deep affec- 
 tion. "I sat near the pulpit in the hope of catching your 
 eye, but in vain. I love your little Friday night talks, 
 they sound as if you were thinking aloud; and I was 
 deeply interested in what you were saying to-night." 
 
 "About the sanctity of marriage? I shouldn't have 
 expected you to find that topic keenly interesting, unless 
 it were from a Parliamentary point of view." 
 
 "Oh, it's a wide problem," said Mark. Father de 
 Trafford's head went slightly to one side; his vocation 
 had not come on him till he was five and twenty, and 
 his boyhood in a hunting family supplied him with an 
 illustration of Mark's attitude in the swerve of a horse 
 before a stiff fence. It had not taken him long to see 
 that Mark was facing a fence of some sort. "How 
 does the work go on," Mark continued, "and what can I 
 do to help, and why are you worried?" 
 
 "Because I have no faith," said the priest with an
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 49 
 
 immense sigh. "Oh, if people only realized what sort of 
 work it is we churchmen are doing! But few under- 
 stand; and many don't care, though I know that is not 
 the case with you." 
 
 "I'm afraid it is more my case than it ought to be. 
 Tell me some more about it; is there any fresh trouble? 
 The church was pretty full, I thought." 
 
 "Yes, one ought to be grateful for that, but it's very 
 difficult not to think more of the streets which are so 
 much fuller. The parable of the pieces of silver was 
 written for us priests, I fancy, but unluckily it is the 
 ninety and nine that are lost, and with all our sweeping 
 we can pick up only two or three. I was talking last 
 night to the parson of St. Sepulchre's, a very nice fellow, 
 and we agreed that all other problems w r hich vex the soul 
 of man put together are not so harassing as this of life's 
 moral handicaps. Pain and death, what are they? You, 
 Mark, you have been as near death as any man, and I 
 know that your experience has left you with more of 
 contempt than of fear in your heart; and yet it came to 
 you in a terrible form. The war taught us that lesson 
 if it taught us nothing else. But the more one sees of 
 evil the more one shrinks from it. What is it H. G. 
 Ward says? 'The world seems on the surface to be a 
 place not of equitable probation but of favoritism.' There 
 are hundreds of Catholics in my own parish who have, 
 so far as I can see, no chance of leading Catholic lives ; 
 and as for the folk across the river it makes me sick 
 to think of them. The men are bad enough, but it's the 
 women that make one's heart ache. They drift into vice 
 as the leaf drifts with the current. They seem born to 
 no other end." 
 
 "But they aren't in your parish, are they?" 
 
 "They are in God's parish, aren't they ?" retorted Father 
 de Trafford. "Now forgive me, I know you didn't de-
 
 50 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 serve that. But there's where it is, you see, they are 
 on debatable ground ; and I can do so little. I have my 
 hands full at St. Casimir's. I am trying to scrape up 
 money enough to start a mission. Will you give me a 
 check? Now I didn't mean to say that. You shall not 
 put your hand in your pocket while you are my guest." 
 
 "I can afford it " 
 
 "Don't throw your money in my face," said the priest 
 severely. "It's very ill-bred of you. No: keep your 
 hands out of your pockets. I've bled you enough for 
 this year. If all my children were as generous as you 
 are, I should never be reduced to mendicancy. There 
 is Lawrence now, why shouldn't he fork out? I'll ask 
 him." 
 
 "Do," said Mark half -absently, "but I say, Guy, old 
 
 chap " 
 
 He broke off with a laugh and a flush. The tired and 
 preoccupied mind had gone back twenty years to the 
 days when his spiritual director was merely a little fair- 
 haired imp of devilry in the Lower Line at Stonyhurst. 
 De Trafford pressed his arm; to him the old name rang 
 sweetly with its boyish associations and memories, some 
 pleasant, some painful, but all mellowed by the after- 
 light down the vista of years. "Oh, do go on !" he said. 
 "How that brings back old days ! No one calls me Guy 
 now except you, Mark. I have so few people of my 
 own, there is hardly any one left who knew me when 
 I was a boy. I wish you did it oftener." 
 
 "Couldn't : I'm far too much in awe of you." 
 "Oh, I dare say !" de Trafford jeered at him. Shrewd 
 as he was, the priest was too modest to realize that Mark 
 had spoken the bare truth. "In awe of the kid whose 
 head you used to punch. Not that you ever did punch 
 it as a matter of fact; your line was all the other way. 
 You shielded me from a lot, Mark. I don't know how I
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 51 
 
 should ever have got through the rough and tumble of 
 a public school if it hadn't been for you. One realizes 
 these things, looking back. I often wonder if you ever 
 understood the driving force you had among fellows of 
 your own standing, or the responsibilities which were 
 thrown on you. Never mind, you shouldered them as 
 you shouldered Gatton. True Englishman! you never 
 talk, rarely think, and often act." 
 
 It was his habit, half artless and half artful, to evoke 
 confidences by pretending to be quite unaware of their 
 coming and indifferent whether they came or not. Mark 
 knew the trick, and smiled ; but however well he knew 
 it, he generally fell a victim to it. In the present instance, 
 however, he had come on purpose to confess himself, and 
 the self -betrayal was deliberate. 
 
 "Guy, then Topsy, if you like," he said, smiling : "old 
 fellow, I want you to do me a service. Will you manage 
 it? I want you to marry me." 
 
 "What, what marry you? My dear Mark, are you 
 going to get married ?" 
 
 "Yes. Wait: don't congratulate me. It isn't alto- 
 gether a case for congratulation." The inner pain was 
 distinctly audible in his voice as he went on. "I think 
 you must have met her, or if not you'll have heard of her. 
 Miss Archdale." 
 
 "The beauty? Oh, I beg your pardon, but even I 
 can't help hearing as much as that ! I've seen her once 
 or twice, and she is very lovely. But 1 didn't know she 
 was a Catholic." 
 
 "She isn't." De Trafford did not speak. "No, you 
 are not going to like it, Father : it is not only a mixed 
 marriage, but it is to be, so far as we can manage it, a 
 private and a very hurried marriage. There I want your 
 help. Will you tell me how to get a license, and will you 
 put the dispensation in train for me? I never was mar-
 
 52 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 ried before, and I don't a bit know how you set about it, 
 except that there are certain necessary stipulations to 
 which of course both she and I are ready to agree. I 
 want you to put me up to the rules of the game." 
 
 "Is this all you're going to tell me?" 
 
 "Very nearly all. No, not all. I shall come to you 
 to-morrow night, you know." Father de Trafford 
 nodded, but without enthusiasm ; he was sure that Mark 
 would not marry without confession, but he knew also 
 that the penitent can, if he likes, rule a line between con- 
 fession and confidence. "No, I can't explain," Mark 
 said wearily. "Except to say that I really am not ask- 
 ing you to abet a clandestine match ; I'm my own master, 
 and Miss Archdale is her own mistress, for she has 
 neither father nor mother nor guardian, so there is no 
 one whom we're under any obligation to consult." 
 
 "Does Lawrence know?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Pity, isn't it?" 
 
 "Why? We never were on those terms, Topsy." 
 
 "Suppose the marriage became known, as no one can 
 guarantee that it won't, I think you would find that Law- 
 rence would be hurt." Mark did not answer, but his 
 expression was both skeptical and stubborn. "Don't 
 you want me to say any more?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I want you to say anything you care 
 to say, though I can't pretend that it will have much in- 
 fluence. The marriage will go forward. I won't dis- 
 guise from you that I'm anxious and unhappy about it." 
 
 "You care for her, Mark?" 
 
 "Question barred, Father." 
 
 "You fill me with anxiety," said the priest very gravely. 
 "What can I say when you leave me in the dark? How 
 can I even take the necessary steps to get your dispensa- 
 tion?" He raised his head, and the shrewd blue eyes
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN S3 
 
 flashed into Mark Sturt's as if they would read his very 
 soul, till the blood rose under the tanned skin. "Open 
 your heart to me now, if there's anything in it you're 
 ashamed to let me see." 
 "I'm always ashamed . . ." 
 
 "Ah!" De Trafford drew a long breath. For the 
 analyst of souls there was no misreading that wide candid 
 outlook, or the touch of bewilderment in Mark's tone. 
 "I am a fool, and I see too much of the seamy side of 
 human nature. Keep your secret, and I'll get your dis- 
 pensation. I don't in the least want to force your confi- 
 dence in a sphere outside my own." 
 
 "No, you only want to worm it out of me!" Sturt 
 turned suddenly and dropped his hand on his friend's 
 knee. "I swear, if I could, I'd tell you everything. I 
 should I should be glad to have advice your advice, 
 anyhow." The distress in his face was so very evident 
 that the priest's momentary feeling of estrangement was 
 quite broken down. De Trafford touched with his deli- 
 cate fingers the strong hand that would have been will- 
 ing to be led by his guidance. "Why are you troubled," 
 he said gently, "or is that question barred too?" 
 
 "It's the answer that I have to bar, not the question. 
 I can't tell you what isn't my secret. I am up against a 
 woman's caprice yes, caprice," Mark repeated, as the 
 memory of the night by the lake rose before him. "But 
 it's my own fault. I've made an unutterable fool of 
 myself, which is what you would expect of a middle-aged 
 business man who doesn't stick to his office." Father de 
 Trafford, who loved Mark because he was a romantic 
 and a visionary, had to repress a little laugh. "I plunged 
 heavily, shutting my eyes to consequences, and I've been 
 waking up to them by inches ever since. I can't think 
 how I ever came to do it, but it's done now and I can't 
 go back : and the worst of it is that I've let Miss Arch-
 
 54 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 dale in as well, a girl of three-and-twenty, all the more 
 at my mercy because she labors under the delusion that 
 she's a finished woman of the world and that I'm at 
 hers. ... I know I'm not intelligible. But I'm in the 
 dark myself, and ... let it go at that. I can't explain." 
 
 "Are you troubled because of her heresy?" 
 
 Mark smiled involuntarily. "No : not much, I'm afraid. 
 She isn't good enough to be called a heretic. She's quite 
 willing to be married in a Roman Catholic church, and 
 to have the children brought up as Roman Catholics. 
 She thinks the Roman Catholics are quite as respectable 
 as the Anglicans, and much better than the Wesleyans or 
 the Salvation Army." 
 
 "Oh, dear me ! That's not very hopeful. But perhaps 
 you'll be able?" 
 
 Mark shook his head. "No, I shan't," he said flatly. 
 "I'm willing to promise to try, but I know I can't do it. 
 You can come and stay with us, if the marriage is ever 
 acknowledged, and have a shot at her yourself, but I'm 
 afraid you'll agree with me that her ignorance is most 
 invincible. Bless the dear girl! I'm very fond of her, 
 you know." Father de TrafTord, more mystified than 
 ever, murmured pettishly that he didn't know anything 
 about it. "Well, I'm sorry, but the fact is I'm fretted to 
 death. I've been interviewing my lawyers this after- 
 noon; they think I'm mad, which irks me, because I've 
 always had a virgin reputation in the eyes of the law. 
 I could see by Riccardo's expression that he was saying 
 to himself, 'Now if it were Lawrence Sturt who talked 
 this rubbish it would create no surprise, but I did think 
 this fellow had more sense !' It is disgusting to be made 
 to look ridiculous ; for heaven's sake don't you laugh at 
 me!" 
 
 "I don't feel much like laughing. Tell me, Mark " 
 
 "If I can!"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 55 
 
 The moon had gone behind a cloud, and in the shadow 
 of the plane tree it was so dark that the men were no 
 longer visible to each other. All that could be seen of 
 Mark was the vague outline of his shoulders and the red 
 spark of his cigar. Father de Trafford waited a moment, 
 collecting his thoughts, and in the stillness the clock of 
 St. Casimir's began to strike ten. Then other spires took 
 up the tale in many whispering chimes. When the last 
 stroke from the Westminster Tower had died away into 
 infinity like a symbol of the night prayer of London, the 
 priest began again. "All this tirade about your law- 
 yers," the low delicate voice passed deftly behind Mark's 
 guard, "is meant only to throw me off the scent, isn't it? 
 "I've never known the day when Mark Sturt, tackling a 
 difficulty in earnest, could be moved by ridicule. Your 
 trouble goes deeper?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 De Trafford heard rather than saw the jerk of Mark's 
 arm as he flung away his cigar. Then he leaned his 
 elbow on the table and covered his eyes with his hands. 
 
 "Oh, my dear Mark !" 
 
 "Yes . . . It's difficult to express, even if I could 
 tell you all the circumstances, which I can't. Guy . . . 
 you say I shielded you at Stonyhurst. You never needed 
 it. You . . . did more for me than I could ever have 
 done for you. You've always stood to me for something 
 higher than myself. You know I've lived the life of 
 other men of my class ; if I've kept fairly straight it was 
 because I hadn't time for things that sap one's energy. 
 But I always meant, some day, to change. ... I ... 
 never ceased to be ashamed. Now and again I've had 
 the . . . vision. To-night, when you were kneeling be- 
 fore the altar, I saw the mysteries ... in Whose pres- 
 ence you live. No, let me go on. I don't pretend that 
 feelings which come and go, and have no appreciable in-
 
 56 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 fluence on conduct, are of much value, unless it were 
 that, having them, I was more deeply bound to do bet- 
 ter than I have done. You know that the work at 
 Gatton has always been to me as much of a religious 
 as of a commercial problem, but, Gatton apart, I've done 
 nothing. Not a record to be proud of. Yet I did mean 
 to do better some day. And now this marriage. . . ." 
 
 "You're afraid of yourself, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Needlessly, I think. You haven't lived the spiritual 
 life I grant you ought to have done better ; but you have 
 lived temperately. Action is governed more by habit 
 than by passion, and you have formed the habits of so- 
 briety and self-control." 
 
 Mark threw out his hand with a sound of distress. 
 "Don't mock me. I don't feel like it." 
 
 "What if you were to break off the marriage?" 
 
 "I can't. What's more, I won't. But anyhow I can't." 
 
 "Your word is given?" 
 
 "Yes. More than that. As you doubtless see, I don't 
 want to break it off; but I couldn't if I did." 
 
 "Is it in any sense a question of duty for it to go on, 
 Mark?" 
 
 "Not what one would call duty in the religious sense. 
 
 But in honor " 
 
 "You're engaged?" 
 
 "Pretty deeply." 
 
 "Then you need not be afraid. Your honor, so long 
 as I have known you, has always coincided with your 
 religious duty ; it has never been a mere observance of a 
 social code. The two standards are not nearly so differ- 
 ent as they are sometimes said to be. Follow your rule 
 of honor; you won't lose the vision of God by doing 
 that." 
 
 "Thank you, Father," said Mark after a long silence.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 MONDAY, the sixteenth of July, came drenched in 
 fog like a November morning. There were 
 patches of sun on the uplands behind Shotton, but all 
 over the low-lying flats a thick steam went up, drawn 
 over wall and window like a white blind. Here and 
 there in a breathing space the shapes of trees showed 
 faintly dark, and far up and far off a tiny sun hung half 
 dissolved in vapor, which drifted and deadened over it 
 like silver bonfire smoke. The daisy buds on the lawn 
 were smothered in dew, their heads all brushed down as 
 if a roller had gone over them, and minute drops of dew 
 splashed like rain from gutter and leaf. 
 
 "Maisie, can I come in?" 
 
 "By all means." 
 
 Dodo Ferrier entered, but halted on the threshold. It 
 was nine o'clock, and she was on her way down to break- 
 fast, but Maisie was still in bed, her hair scattered on 
 the pillow, her eyes blinking and filmy as if she had only 
 just woke up. Her room, which looked east over the 
 uplands, was full of mist and of the pearly morning light, 
 and a haze of light was in her eyes too, as she smiled at 
 Dodo's hasty "Oh, I beg your pardon !" 
 
 "Not at all. I know I'm awfully late," said Maisie. 
 "I lay awake all night. Then I fell asleep after Ellen 
 brought my tea." 
 
 "Mercy! why did you lie awake all night?" 
 
 "Thinking, just thinking. Do you often think? I 
 hardly ever do. Say once a twelvemonth, like a spring 
 
 57
 
 58 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 clean. It's going to be a lovely day, isn't it? The fog 
 is beginning to break. I should like it to be sultry and 
 blue, like a day in Italy. Hey-ho! I suppose I ought to 
 get up." 
 
 "You had much better go to sleep again," said Dodo, 
 shutting the door behind her and sitting on the bed. "I 
 came in to know what time you meant to start, but I 
 think you had much better not go at all. Stay another 
 day what does it signify, if you're only going down to 
 this horrid little place in Dorsetshire, wherever it is? 
 You won't like it a bit when you get there, you'll wish 
 you were back at Shotton." Maisie chuckled like a 
 schoolboy; she thought that very probable. "Oh, you 
 may laugh!" said Dodo crossly. "But you won't be a 
 bit happy. You're a most gregarious person, Maisie. 
 You'll hate being all alone." 
 
 "Now it comes to the point, I don't much want to go," 
 Maisie replied. She told no lies, black, white, or gray; 
 she had never said that she would be alone, and she did 
 not say so now. The inference was drawn from what 
 she left unsaid. "But no, thanks I won't stay. My 
 plans are all settled and my trunks are packed. Ellen 
 is in the sulks already because I've just broken it to 
 her that she's to stop in town, and I don't know what 
 would happen if I told her to unpack me again. She's 
 a slave-driver, is Nelly; she likes to maid me up to my 
 eyelids, and I really rather hate being maided. I succeed 
 in getting rid of her now aad then, but she gives me a 
 hot time of it when I do." 
 
 "If my maid rode over me like that I should get rid of 
 her permanently." 
 
 "Not if she'd been with you ten years, you wouldn't. 
 Nelly dates from my Cinderella days. She was kitchen- 
 maid at the John Archdales'. She gives me notice when 
 she feels that way inclined, but I never give her notice.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 59 
 
 I dress her down HOW and then, but not when she's out 
 of temper, because if I did there would be a row, and I 
 hate rows. Did you want to arrange about my going to 
 the station? Because you needn't worry, I shan't go 
 by train. I have a little car of my own stabled at the 
 inn, and I shall run her over myself." 
 
 "Stabled at the inn !" 
 
 "Yes. I wouldn't bother you to put her up. I know 
 Mr. Ferrier hates having the garage crowded full of 
 other people's cars. I told them to send her round at 
 ten o'clock. Ellen and the luggage can go behind." She 
 raised herself on her arm and glanced out of the window. 
 "So don't ask me to stay, Dodo. I can't. I should 
 rather like to." 
 
 "I can't imagine why you should go to Dorsetshire if 
 you don't want to go." 
 
 "I said I would and I will. I expect I'm a bit of 
 a fatalist. It was ordained from the beginning of the 
 world, and what does it matter, after all? My life's 
 my own," said Maisie, looking up at the veiled sun. "In 
 the scheme of creation, I don't see how one woman's life 
 can matter very much to any one except herself. Why 
 shouldn't I do as I like?" 
 
 "I don't understand you, Maisie." 
 
 "I don't understand myself. Occasionally, in fact, I 
 have a gloomy notion that I don't understand anything 
 at all that I'm wandering about among natural laws 
 like a civilian in an engine-room. Dodo, did you ever 
 lie still and watch something coming on you that you 
 were afraid of something you couldn't believe would 
 ever happen, and yet all the while you knew it was going 
 to happen, but you set your teeth and pretended it 
 wouldn't?" 
 
 "H'm. Yes, I know what you mean." 
 
 "That's what I've been doing these last few days."
 
 60 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "And now it has happened, has it?" 
 
 "No : but it was borne in on me last night that it will," 
 said Maisie dryly. "That's why I lay awake." 
 
 She folded her arms behind her head and stretched 
 herself indolently at full length. "Do you think I'm 
 nice, Dodo?" 
 
 " 'Hope so," said Dodo, smiling. "I like you." 
 
 "I know you do. I like you for liking me. I love to 
 be liked." She flung out one hand swiftly and clasped 
 it over her friend's. "Dodo, what little hands you have ! 
 Yours will go right inside mine. But then I'm so tall: 
 oh, bother ! I think I'm too tall for a woman. I wish I 
 were a man. No, I don't, though." 
 
 "You're rather like a man in some ways." 
 
 "I ? What on earth do you mean ?" 
 
 "Let me see, what do I mean?" said Dodo doubtfully. 
 "Well, in the first place, you're very independent. I 
 suppose that's partly because of your money ; few women 
 can afford to pay their footing anywhere as you can, 
 and even when we're rich we're as a rule more or less 
 accountable to some one or other. Any one but Mr. 
 FitzGerald would have tied you up in leading strings. 
 Still, money apart, it is like a man, you know, the way 
 you come and go in your own car, and settle your own 
 plans independently of anybody else, and hold your tongue 
 about your own affairs. And you have a man's sort of 
 temper." 
 
 "Bad temper?" Maisie asked with a twist of her eye- 
 brows. 
 
 "You? no! I never knew any one less irritable than 
 you are. You never fuss, and you never turn a hair 
 over small annoyances. You have a large grand good 
 humor, my dear, that shines down like the sun over all 
 sorts of petty people and petty things. Look at the way 
 you bear with that Virgin Vinegar of yours !"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 61 
 
 "Oh, I say, Dodo poor old Nelly ! She'd say I tram- 
 ple on her." 
 
 "That's just it." Dodo laughed in Miss Archdale's 
 humorously protestant face. "I'm sure you do! Most 
 women would either get rid of her or give in to her, but 
 you walk over the top of her. She would get on my 
 nerves in half no time, but she doesn't get on yours. 
 You haven't any." 
 
 "I know I haven't," said Maisie apologetically. "It 
 comes of being so healthy. How can you run to nerves 
 when you never have an ache or a pain? It makes me 
 rather dense, though," she added. "I expect if I had 
 a violent illness I should be much more sympathetic 
 afterwards. Mrs. John Archdale always said I had no 
 tact." 
 
 "You haven't much not that she knows anything 
 about it. You haven't nerves in the tips of all your men- 
 tal fingers, as most clever women have." Dodo hesitated, 
 but the moment seemed to be ripe for offering a caution 
 which had long halted on her tongue, and she relied upon 
 Miss Archdale to tolerate blunt speech. "Maisie, the 
 other night at dinner, when you were talking to Mark 
 Sturt about his political position, and his chance of office 
 if they reorganize the Ministry, didn't you know he hated 
 having that sort of thing dragged out of him before 
 other people?" 
 
 "No," said Maisie, blushing slowly and deeply. "I'm 
 sorry." 
 
 "I was sure you didn't. Well, never mind," Dodo con- 
 soled her. "Your innocence protects you, darling. If 
 any other woman had done it Mark would have got 
 restive, not to say rude, but the men seem to look on 
 you as a chartered libertine." 
 
 "Midway between a professional beauty and a jolly 
 good fellow."
 
 62 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Something of the sort," Dodo agreed, unable to help 
 laughing, though she was sorry to have wounded her 
 friend, on whose fair neck the blush still lingered. "They 
 like you all the better for it, I believe; anyhow I do. 
 You would be too formidable, darling, if you weren't a 
 little stupid now and then." 
 
 "Am I formidable?" 
 
 "I should not care to have you for an enemy. You 
 hit hard, and you're not afraid of anything." 
 
 "Or any ome?" 
 
 "My dear, what's the matter?" 
 
 "Nothing. You can't help," said Maisie. She turned 
 sideways for a moment, hiding her face on the pillow, 
 her right hand still folded over Dodo's small fingers. 
 "I'm terrified. I've been terrified all night. I feel as if 
 I were jumping over a precipice. Do you really like me? 
 You must be jolly stupid if you do. I hate myself. I 
 could I could whip myself at the cart's tail. That's 
 what I deserve to be beaten through the town in my 
 shift. I'm not nice. No nice-minded woman ought to 
 like me. I detest myself and I wish I were dead." 
 
 "Gracious!" said Dodo feebly. 
 
 "I wish I had the pluck to get up and shoot myself," 
 Maisie went on, flinging out the words as if it were a 
 physical relief to be frank. "I haven't, dear, so you 
 needn't be alarmed ; besides, I don't want to die just yet 
 not till I've had my own way. I'm going to take it. 
 Why shouldn't I? I've never had it yet. I will jump 
 over my precipice if I break my neck for it. Who knows ? 
 The gods may relent and let me off. I shan't think much 
 of their intelligence if they do. A woman who does 
 what I'm doing deserves to be made to suffer, and I 
 hope I shall suffer. I deserve humiliation and I hope 
 I shall get it. If I am beaten, I'll kiss the rod." 
 
 "What does all this mean?" said Dodo. Her manner
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 63 
 
 had changed; she was grave, simple, and direct. "I 
 thought you were half in fun at first, but now I see you're 
 in earnest. I don't want to misjudge you, but it sounds 
 as though you were going to plunge into a rather bad 
 scrape. Don't you do it, Maisie. Tell me all about it." 
 
 "Not one word." 
 
 "Is it connected with your going to Dorsetshire?" 
 Maisie smiled, impenetrable. 
 
 "Are you is there are you giving any man a hold 
 over you, Maisie ?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence, then, "Not as you fear. 
 Fors Vhonneur, Dorothea." 
 
 "Thanks," said Dodo, drawing a deep breath. She 
 stooped over Maisie and kissed her on the lips. "I know 
 you aren't angry." Maisie flung her arm round her 
 friend's neck and held her down for a moment, Dodo's 
 cheek against her own. 
 
 "Dodo, if I come to some sort of panoramic smash 
 which appears to me to be on the cards will you stick 
 to me? I'd stick to you. I love you, Dodo. Really I 
 do. And I should like to feel that there was just one 
 woman in the world that wouldn't take her hand out of 
 mine whatever happened. May I believe that of you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you'll keep my confidence?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "You married women are dangerous. You tell your 
 husbands," Maisie murmured with a laughing accent. 
 "It must be very queer to be married. Is it agreeable, 
 Dorothea? I can't imagine what it would be like." 
 
 "Find out," said Dodo, smiling broadly. "I should 
 love to see you married." 
 
 "Well, you never will," said Maisie. Her grip on 
 Dodo's hand had been strong enough to be painful, but 
 it relaxed now, and she shook back her hair and sat up
 
 64 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 with a merry laugh. "What a shame, isn't it? as Mr. 
 Sturt says. Now you had better run along and let me 
 dress. I've only forty minutes, and I shall probably 
 have to finish packing for myself. I wish Ellen had a 
 temper like you describe mine, but she hasn't. I don't 
 suppose she'll even turn up to strap my boxes." 
 
 "But that's outrageous! Why don't you ring her 
 up?" 
 
 Miss Archdale shrugged her shoulders as she sprang 
 out of bed. "Too much fag. I'm going to have my 
 bath now, dear. I don't a bit mind your stopping, if you 
 don't." 
 
 Upon this vigorous hint Dodo fled in disorder, but her 
 eyes were twinkling : oh, how like Maisie ! 
 
 Forty-five minutes later Miss Archdale was on her 
 way to town; not a direct route from North Hampshire 
 to the Dorset coast, but the detour, as Maisie carelessly 
 explained, was necessary to keep a business appointment. 
 Careless she was, and merry, for the night-watches were 
 over and the die was cast; one may reflect on the brink 
 of a precipice, but where is the use of reflecting after 
 one has jumped over it? 
 
 At half -past twelve she pulled up before the door of 
 her own tiny house in Mayfair, where she had arranged 
 to drop Ellen and the car, with all her luggage except 
 the single trunk that was packed to go to Dorsetshire. 
 Her selection of necessaries for a week in the country 
 puzzled Ellen, who had been told that the White Cottage 
 was a cottage and nothing more, and that its address 
 would not be given to her, because Maisie was going to 
 spend a week in idleness and go nowhere and do nothing 
 and see no one. "But if she don't want to see no one," 
 mused Ellen, "why have she gone and taken them French 
 gowns and all that new lingery?" Maisie's Dorsetshire
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 65 
 
 trunk contained, besides the tweed suits and shooting 
 boots which Ellen thought appropriate, two or three em- 
 broidered dresses of the airiest French extravagance, 
 together with piles of chiffon and lawn, richer and more 
 delicate than Maisie was in the habit of wearing. "If 
 it had been anybody but Miss Maisie !" said Ellen, shak- 
 ing her head. But Maisie made a good conspirator, for 
 she concealed little and explained nothing. Her bold in- 
 difference to comment carried her over quicksands which 
 would have sucked down warier feet. 
 
 She was not hungry, but she obliged herself to sit 
 down quietly to the lunch that was provided for her, and 
 to drink her cup of soup and eat her bread and butter, 
 because she had need of fresh bloom and steady nerves. 
 Afterwards she went to her own room to wash her face 
 and change her dress ; and strange it was to think, as 
 she entered her chamber, that the maiden Maisie Arch- 
 dale would never enter it again. It was the only room 
 in the May fair house that bore the print of her own taste, 
 and it was very spacious, dark, and easy; the woodwork 
 all of chestnut in its native dusky grain; flowers, pale 
 in color and rich in scent, overflowing the low window- 
 sill; some large landscapes on the walls, a couple of 
 Danish interiors, strange bare studies of light and shade, 
 and a couple of portraits insolently French. While she 
 fastened her veil, she lingered for some moments before 
 the mirror. It showed her a tall girl in a gray suit, her 
 eyes shaded by a gypsy hat, the long lapels of her habit- 
 shaped coat opening over a frilled shirt of fine lawn and 
 a beautiful bare throat, the lawn frills at her wrist falling 
 back from a beautiful hand which wore no ring except 
 the signet of Bridget Sturt. A glint of gold was visible 
 at her breast, and she felt for it and drew it out : a long 
 chain, and a locket that held a miniature. "Oh! my 
 own Philip, my darling," Maisie whispered. She
 
 66 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 kissed the portrait before slipping it back into its warm 
 nest. 
 
 When she came downstairs a taxi was in waiting, and 
 Maisie was driven first to Waterloo, where she put her 
 trunk in the cloakroom, and then on to Lane Street. It 
 wanted ten minutes of two o'clock when she sprang out 
 on the steps of St. Casimir's, and she glanced up and 
 down the street, but Mark was not in sight. A desire 
 to act up to the traditions of a wedding induced her to 
 give the cabman half a sovereign; he drove off blessing 
 his luck, and Maisie was left alone. Some ragged chil- 
 dren stared and jeered at her from their sport in the 
 gutter. A truculent woman in a dirty bodice, torn open 
 and flapping back from her generous bosom, came out 
 of a pawnshop over the way and vanished into a public- 
 house. July sunshine streamed down over the mean 
 west front of the church, its red and white brickwork, 
 its stucco tracery, the grimy babies playing on its grimy 
 steps. Minutes passed. A knot of loafers lounged out 
 of the bar and stared at Maisie; one of them made an 
 inaudible joke, and the others laughed. Anger schooled 
 her to wait quietly, but her heart throbbed as if she had 
 been running, and though it was a fiery July day waves 
 of chill went over her. In all her night fears, this one 
 fear that Mark would fail her had never crossed her 
 mind; and isn't it the thing we have never feared that 
 happens to us? At length a thin bell jingled out the 
 hour. Then Maisie forced herself to open the pitch- 
 pine door, studded with imitation nails, much as she 
 would have forced herself to lie down on an operating 
 table. Had Mark failed her? 
 
 Without roared the sunlit squalor of a London slum: 
 within, the mystery of the faith of ages brooded over 
 silent aisles. Shut in by high roofs, and paned with 
 stained glass, the church was very dark. It still smelt
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 67 
 
 of Sunday incense ; black rafters and gray pillars loomed 
 out of a bluish haze. A lamp burned red and dim be- 
 fore the high altar, and at the entrance of the Sanctuary, 
 beside a low screen of carved marble, a wrought-iron 
 tripod carried a score or more of burning candles, a gar- 
 land of fire, whose use and purpose Maisie did not un- 
 derstand. What she did understand what filled her 
 full of an immeasurable peace, a child's feeling of secur- 
 ity, strangely dashed with pain was the sight of Mark 
 Sturt, calmly kneeling upright on a tall praying chair, 
 his face turned towards the mystery of the altar. Used 
 as she was, in the men of her own church, either to an 
 excessive and self-conscious reverence or to no reverence 
 at all, Maisie was strangely touched by the unaffected 
 austerity and simplicity of the Catholic. He was there, 
 and in his hands she was safe; and yet between them 
 Tolled the unplumbed seas that estrange the skeptic from 
 the mystic. He was to be her husband ; and in that mo- 
 ment Maisie knew that she was jealous of Mark Sturt's 
 faith because he would always set the will of God above 
 her will or his own. 
 
 Sturt stood up when she entered, bent his knee to 
 the Host, and came striding down the aisle. Maisie 
 had gone through so many emotions in the last ten min- 
 utes that she was as much bewildered as relieved when 
 she discovered him to be his unchanged normal self. He 
 spoke in his softest undertone, but with no parade of 
 reverence. "How are you?" he said, shaking hands with 
 her. "You look very nice. Am I dressed properly? 
 It is so hot that I let myself off a frock coat. I hope 
 you don't mind." 
 
 "No," said Maisie, smiling faintly. 
 
 "Do you like lilies of the valley?" Mark asked. "I 
 thought you ought to have some flowers. These are wild 
 ones from Longstone Edge, my old home. May I ?"
 
 68 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Green sheath and ivory bell, he tucked them deftlj into 
 the front of her coat. 
 "They are very late." 
 
 "They linger in the high woods. As for this, it is 
 banality itself, but you might wear it to please me. I 
 knew I couldn't beat the Archdale diamonds, Maisie, 
 so I declined on pearls to match your throat." 
 
 "You have charming manners, Mark," Maisie mur- 
 mured. "Oh, what a lovely clasp !" 
 
 "It was my mother's. I'm so glad you like them." He 
 smiled in his whimsical way. "It was one for you, dear, 
 and two for myself. I hate diamonds and colored stones, 
 but I love pearls, and I know a bit about them. Man- 
 ton's a great pal of mine." He saw that she had recov- 
 ered herself. "Father de Trafford is waiting in the 
 vestry. Oh, let me take your gloves off, shall I? I'll 
 stuff them into my pocket if you like." Drawing off her 
 long gray gauntlets, she felt him start when he recog- 
 nized his ring on her hand. "You're ready now, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so." 
 "Take my arm," said Mark. 
 
 Stains of red and blue from the rich foreign glass 
 fell on the pavement as they passed up the aisle. Years 
 later Maisie learned that those moths'- wing panes were 
 a thank-offering of Arthur Sturt for the safe return of 
 his sons from the war; so the generations are linked 
 together, and man's work outlives man. The church was 
 very quiet. There was no one in it but the priest, the 
 bride, the bridegroom, the clerk, and the witnesses pro- 
 vided by Father de Trafford a fat little sacristan and 
 his own elderly servant. Remembering that Mark had 
 spoken of de Trafford in terms of personal intimacy, 
 Maisie looked at him, and found that he was looking 
 at her. Was he interested in the heretic who was mar-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 69 
 
 rying one of his flock? What a refined ascetic face it 
 was ! And young, much younger than she had anticipated 
 four or five years younger than Mark Sturt." 
 
 "Marce, wilt thou take Marcella here present to thy 
 wedded wife according to the rite of Holy Mother 
 Church?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 How the priest's voice softened when he spoke Mark's 
 name! They were friends, then, these two? As the 
 priest turned to Maisie, she submitted herself to the 
 flash of his blue eyes : but how stern they were, and 
 how searching in their authority ! A gust of anger shook 
 her, and all that she had ever heard of Rome's power 
 rushed into her Protestant mind. How much did he 
 know, this worn, delicate-featured man to whom Mark 
 Sturt confessed probably every secret of his inner life? 
 
 "Marcella, wilt thou take Marcus here present . . . ?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 ("Give" me your hand, dear," Mark whispered.) 
 
 He clasped her right hand in his own. "I, Marcus, 
 take thee, Marcella, to my wedded wife, to have and 
 to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, 
 for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death 
 us do part, if Holy Church will it permit, and thereto I 
 plight thee my troth." 
 
 "I, Maisie " 
 
 "I, Marcella " 
 
 "Oh I, Marcella, take thee, Mark, to my wedded hus- 
 band . . ." She stumbled softly through the solemnly 
 familiar clauses and the unfamiliar reservation, and lost 
 herself for a moment while the priest's voice ran on, 
 low and level, "I join you in marriage." It was but a 
 short ceremony after all, and very little different from 
 the Anglican. But now Mark Sturt was giving her 
 money half a sovereign: what in the world did he
 
 70 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 expect her to do with half a sovereign? She held the 
 coin helplessly in the palm of her hand. 
 
 "With this ring," said Sturt under his breath, "I thee 
 wed, this gold and silver I thee give, with my body I 
 thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee en- 
 dow. (Other hand, please.)" He drew his mother's 
 signet from her left hand slipped the wedding ring in 
 turn over her thumb, forefinger, middle finger, and ring 
 finger : "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and 
 of the Holy Ghost. Amen." He replaced the signet, 
 and almost immediately sank on his knees. Years later 
 Maisie learned, by chance, how he had longed for the 
 nuptial mass and the nuptial benediction, privileges de- 
 nied to those who marry out of the Faith. 
 
 Sturt held the door open for her to pass out into the 
 blinding sunshine. The children playing on the steps set 
 up a thin derisive cheer, and he plunged his hand into 
 his pocket and flung them a handful of coppers, which 
 scattered them right and left in a trice, tKeir noses in 
 the gutter. 
 
 "Five and twenty past two. What time did you say 
 your train went?" 
 
 "Two fifty-four. I get to Ushant before six." 
 
 "Mine leaves at half-past three and doesn't get in till 
 seven. Rotten journey, isn't it? Always is, when you 
 have to change. Here comes your cab ; I ordered it for 
 you. Can you really manage to take my suit-case with 
 your own trunk? because, if so, here's the cloakroom 
 counterfoil. I suppose I mustn't see you off at Wa- 
 terloo?" 
 
 "Better not, don't you think? One so often meets 
 people one knows." 
 
 "Well, good-by for the present," said Mark, opening
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 71 
 
 the door of the taxi. Maisie slipped in and sank down 
 on the cushions as though she were tired. She heard 
 Mark speak to the driver, and then he came back to her 
 and lingered, folding his arms on the door. "You look 
 a bit fagged," he said, examining her narrowly. "I 
 expect you haven't had much to eat. Better get a lunch- 
 basket at Waterloo, what ? I'm going to a club. By the 
 bye, I've paid your driver, Maisie. I hope you don't 
 mind." 
 
 "Paid my driver !'* 
 
 "So sorry if it embarrasses you, but the fact is I never 
 heard of any man letting his wife pay her own fares on 
 her honeymoon, and I was afraid it might invalidate 
 the marriage. Here's your ticket. Don't drop it." He 
 laid it on her knee. "Take care, your lilies are falling 
 out. Shall I tuck them in for you?" 
 
 "Not in Lane Street, dear boy !" 
 
 "Oh, why not?" He unfastened the top button of her 
 coat and deftly knotted the ribbon of her lilies through 
 the buttonhole ; then as he re fastened it, under his breath, 
 in aa accent remarkably at odds with the tranquil cold- 
 ness of his manner and attitude, "Your throat is as white 
 as your lilies, Maisie, and whiter than your pearls." 
 
 "My dear Mark, you'll make me lose my train." 
 
 "Oh, by Jove, so I shall. That would never do." 
 
 He fell back, lifting his hat, and Maisie was borne 
 away. When Mark turned to reenter the church he 
 found that Father de Tr afford had come out of it in his 
 cassock and was standing behind him on the steps. 
 Mark's face changed. Their eyes met, and after a mo- 
 ment Mark looked down. He touched de Trafford's arm 
 without speaking. 
 
 "I congratulate you, my dear Mark," said the priest 
 with his gay smile. "Come ! why do you look so gloomy ?
 
 72 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 It is not like you to be nervous or undecided. Your 
 good lady is wonderfully beautiful. Why did you never 
 tell me she was so young?" 
 
 "So young? She's twenty-three." 
 
 "She is still a child," said the priest. 
 
 "Your penetration, Father, is for once at fault. She 
 is a finished woman of the world with I don't know 
 how many thousand a year, and she has refused a dozen 
 men." 
 
 "And has accepted you. How very strange! She 
 has the eyes of a child or a very young girl, Marce mi. 
 I don't understand her, but I congratulate you with all 
 my heart, and I wish you happiness." 
 
 "Happiness," repeated Mark dreamily. 
 
 He shook himself out of his abstraction with a vigorous 
 effort and unfastened his pocket-book. "Thanks, no 
 doubt I shall be very happy. What was it your Rever- 
 ence was telling me the other night about the riverside 
 mission? Here's something for you to play with; make 
 what use of it you like." 
 
 De Trafford glanced at the sum named in the check. 
 "But, my dear fellow, this is a mistake! You've writ- 
 ten the wrong figures . . . You really mean it ? Mark, 
 I don't know how to thank you " 
 
 Sturt's own brougham had drawn up by the curb, the 
 versatile Henham at the wheel. Sturt halted with one 
 foot on the step, turning an inexpressive face to his 
 friend. "Pray for me," he said. "I can do with it."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MARK'S train was late: it was ten minutes past 
 seven when he got out at Ushant station. He 
 had no luggage to see after, and was soon swinging along 
 a level country road which ran at first through a strag- 
 gling village street. Low-browed Dorsetshire cottages 
 stood sunning themselves in the light of a pleasant, almost 
 cloudless evening. Small children, of healthier aspect 
 than Father de Trafford's black lambs, were playing 
 about in and out of open doorways, and they looked up 
 open-mouthed at the strange gentleman as he went by. 
 Mark, in homespun tweeds and a Panama hat, cut an 
 altogether unfamiliar figure in Ushant street with his 
 great height and drilled shoulders and easy, swinging 
 stride from the hips. If they were interested in him, 
 however, the feeling was reciprocated, for Mark from 
 the outset liked the look of the little place, its unsophisti- 
 cated quiet and its pleasant country smells. The sur- 
 vival of the thatcher's craft appeared in strips and patches 
 of honey-colored straw, combed smooth and trimmed off 
 razor-clean, amid the dim and ragged brown of the un- 
 repaired roofs. Each little garden had its plot of late 
 pinks or early phlox, or summer-long mignonette and 
 roses, and their ordered sweetness brought an indescrib- 
 able feeling of refreshment to the heart of a man who 
 loved rural England far better than Mayfair. He was 
 soothed also by what never fails to impress a towns- 
 man the intense quiet which brooded over everything, 
 a quiet as intimate and profound as the quiet of the 
 solemn blue sky, and which seemed only to be accen- 
 
 73
 
 74 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 tuated by the small sounds that broke it: the cling-clang 
 of a bicycle bell, the barking of a dog in a yard, the 
 clink of hammer on anvil in the smoking furnace of a 
 forge. As he was leaving the village behind him, the 
 church bells began to ring; Ushant possessed a peal of 
 six, mellowed by age to a plaintive harmony, and from 
 time immemorial the ringers, whose office was hereditary 
 in half a dozen families, had been accustomed to practice 
 on a Monday evening. Other lands, other manners : this 
 peal ringing out of the stone brooch-spire had for Mark 
 Sturt the sacred sweetness of the Angelus. 
 
 But now the last houses had strung themselves out 
 behind him, and he swung on iato the empty country 
 east and south towards the sea. For a long time there 
 was nothing remarkable in his surroundings ; the broad 
 road, raised slightly and dyked on either side beyond 
 broad ribbons of grass, rolled on out of sight between 
 broad fields of barley, or sainfoin, or mustard, varied 
 only by an occasional patch of trees or the shade of an 
 occasional avenue. A chain of low blue hills lay along 
 the landward horizon. Then gradually, as he went on, 
 the country began to rise all about him in slow undula- 
 tions; the crops grew poor, were striped with scanty 
 pasture; insensibly the arable land was melting into 
 down-land and the wide view across the plain was ex- 
 changed for a broken prospect, sometimes opening far 
 out over the fertile distance, but embraced at every turn 
 by the soft breasts of the hills. 
 
 And the air, which had all along smelt of seaweed 
 and spray, began to freshen ; the tang of salt in it sharp- 
 ened ; Mark breathed it ia with expanded chest he was 
 nearing the sea. Strange it was that he had not yet 
 caught a glimpse of it since leaving the train, but he re- 
 membered that in this part of Dorsetshire the inland 
 country slopes up to the coastline of cliffs. At last, the
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 75 
 
 road rising over a small eminence, the Channel came 
 into view, but still only as a distant field of silver round- 
 ing off the gaps between the hills. At the same time the 
 road, apparently thinking that it had gone as near the 
 coast as it cared to go, took a decided bend to the left, 
 with the sweet irresponsibility of roads built by the mud- 
 dle-headed English race and not by the trenchant Roman. 
 Mark halted and pulled out his map, on which Maisie 
 had traced out a course for him in red ink. Yes! here 
 the road bent to the left, "and a little farther on," Maisie 
 had written, her bold "park-paling" hand cramped into 
 the margin, "you come to a gibbet at a X-roads. There 
 you see rough track like farm by-way turning off towards 
 the sea. That brings y. t. White Cottage." 
 
 A few paces farther and Mark came upon the strag- 
 gling cross-roads, over which a weather-beaten gibbet 
 and a newly painted sign-post combined to preside. And 
 there facing him was the farm-track rough enough in 
 all conscience ; Mark wondered how Miss Archdale would 
 manage with her French heels among its antiquated ruts, 
 stiffened in the mold of the previous winter. Grass grew 
 thickly over it, and poppies and corn cockles mingled 
 with the grass, and on either side the swelling of the 
 downs locked it from all observation but that of the 
 birds and the sky. It wound among those low contours 
 for some time, the air freshening at every step ; at last 
 it turned a corner and brought him out within a stone's 
 throw of the White Cottage. 
 
 Mark halted. Here was one of those unforeseen reve- 
 lations which take the most hardened traveler's breath 
 with surprise. Landward all round him the downs reared 
 their great chalk shoulders, sparsely covered with turf 
 where a few sheep grazed ; steeply the track wound 
 down between them, tumbling through a strait and shady 
 glen full of smallish trees ; a brook appeared out of
 
 76 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 nowhere and went prattling along by the way ; the White 
 Cottage itself crouched within a stone's throw, sending 
 up a thread of smoke from its one chimney, and catch- 
 ing a scarlet glare on its narrow panes; but what one 
 saw first and last and beyond everything else was the 
 changeful-changeless splendor of the sea. Flat as the 
 floor of a room it lay spread out below him, woven all 
 over in a silkwork of shining wrinkles, and every foam- 
 less ripple danced in gold and silver under the triumph 
 of the sunset, which was burning itself away in strange 
 fires along the water's edge. The few clouds there were 
 only made the flame more ardent, the abyss more pro- 
 found; the eye lost itself in that illimitable glory. Et 
 lucem perpetuam. . . . Was that a stairway of burnished 
 gold going up out of the sea into infinity ? and were those 
 doves' wings folded in airy pallor, unlit, over the fires 
 of sunset? 
 
 Mark came up to the White Cottage where it crouched 
 against a shoulder of the downs ; it had no garden, noth- 
 ing but the purple thyme and blue scabious which sprang 
 wild in the virgin turf, and the track he was on led di- 
 rectly to the door and then no farther, except as a mere 
 thread of footpath which plunged down through the 
 glen to the sea. He thought it the loneliest spot that 
 he had ever seen. But the smoke signified habitation, 
 the windows were all open, and there was a mark of 
 fresh wheel tracks which had turned on the level patch 
 before the glen. She was there, then. Mark knocked 
 at the door. 
 
 "Is it you, Mark? Come in." 
 
 Mark came in, bending his head to avoid the lintel. 
 The White Cottage was still, as Maisie had warned him, 
 a cottage and nothing more, and he incontinently found 
 himself in the kitchen. He took his hat off and looked 
 about him. The first impression which the place made
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 77 
 
 on him at his entry was the same, mutatis mutandis, as it 
 made on Maisie "Oh, my dear boy," she exclaimed, 
 "how big you are !" Mark felt as though, if he stood 
 upright, his head would touch the ceiling. But it was a 
 pleasant place and of a good size, built with Government 
 money in the days before the cheap contractor. It was 
 put together of stone, covered with plaster, and washed 
 over with a coat of chrome-color; the roof was peaked 
 and raftered like the roof of a garret, and the lattice 
 windows were small and set low. The principal articles 
 of furniture were a dresser, set out with blue crockery; 
 a deal table ; a couple of heavy wooden chairs ; a shining 
 modern stove; and rows of aluminium saucepans, frying- 
 pans, and other unknown utensils, which glittered on the 
 shelves above a little stone sink. Maisie herself was 
 poking the fire when he came in, and after her cursory 
 greeting instantly returned to it. "You're late," she 
 said, "but I was really rather glad because I've only just 
 got the kettle to boil. It's always tiresome work strug- 
 gling with a new stove, and I couldn't manage the damp- 
 ers at first. Did you find your way easily by the map ?" 
 
 "Quite, thanks," said Mark, laying down his hat and 
 stick on a wooden locker under the window. "What can 
 I do to be useful ? I'm a nailer at cooking." 
 
 "Do you want to?" said Maisie doubtfully. "That's 
 such a nice suit, it seems a pity to spoil it. How much 
 did you give for it?" 
 
 "Twelve guineas. It's new for the occasion." 
 
 "I thought it was. Didn't you bring some old clothes 
 with you flannels, or anything like that?" 
 
 "I did; they're in my suit-case. How did you man- 
 age about the luggage, by the bye ? It never entered my 
 head till after you had driven off that when you got here 
 you would apparently have to drag it out of the trap by 
 yourself."
 
 78 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "No, I brought a youth over with me from the inn 
 where I hired the dog-cart. We carried the boxes in 
 together, and afterwards he drove the cart home. Your 
 suit-case is in the other room, if you would like to go 
 straight in. I'm afraid I can't offer you a bath; I did 
 think of having one put in, but the time was so short, 
 and then there's no water laid on, only a well at the back 
 of the house, and it really is rather a fag if you have 
 to pump every drop and carry it about in a kettle." 
 
 " 'Couldn't -think of it. Besides, you don't want to 
 have a bath in a bath when you can have a bath in the 
 sea. Which is the room?" 
 
 Maisie left the poker in the fire and came to do the 
 honors of the house. She was wearing a serge dress, 
 very short in the skirt and open at the neck ; her sleeves 
 came to her elbows, and she wore a muslin collar and 
 cuffs, and a white linen apron with a bib and pockets. 
 "Allow me to show you over the domain," she said. 
 "Please take particular notice so as not to lose your way 
 another time." She opened a door on the right. "The 
 parlor. I haven't had time to get it tidy yet I felt that 
 the kitchen was a more vital matter." Mark looked over 
 her shoulder into a, dim interior of strawberry-cdiorejd 
 walls, oak furniture, rose branches in a Sevres pot, and 
 a case of boorks half-unpacked. "Charming," he said 
 politely Maisie shut the door again "To keep it cool," 
 she explained : "the kitchen gets hot when you're cook- 
 ing, though the air is so fresh here towards evening that 
 I don't think we shall mind that much" and opened the 
 door on the opposite side of the kitchen. "Our room," 
 she said. "That's all ; there isn't any more to see." 
 
 Mark passed in while Maisie held the door open. It 
 was the largest of the three rooms, and the airiest, for 
 it had two windows facing south and west, and the south 
 window, which overlooked the Channel, was so much
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 79 
 
 bigger than any other in the place that Mark guessed 
 it to have been recently put in. An old-fashioned four- 
 post bedstead was flanked by a tall Ferraran mirror, and 
 on a table in the window stood a Chinese bowl full of 
 sweet peas. His own suit-case, unstrapped, stood beside 
 Maisie's trunk. 
 
 "I've left you half the cupboard," said Maisie cheer- 
 fully. "I unpacked one of my boxes to get it out of 
 the way. There is a sort of shanty at the back where I 
 keep coal and wood and other oddments, so I shoved it 
 into that, and I shall put the other out there too as soon 
 as I've had time to clear it. I'm afraid there isn't much 
 room to spare, but it won't be so bad when we've got 
 the boxes out of the way." 
 
 She stood on one leg with the other foot drawn up 
 and kicking her ankle, her hands in her apron pockets 
 and her shoulders propped against the door, in the happy- 
 go-lucky attitude of a girl of sixteen; the Greek curves 
 of her hair under their gold fillets were roughened by 
 the wind, her face was faintly red from stooping over 
 the fire, and her bright eyes were entirely friendly and 
 entirely unembarrassed. Her husband was speechless. 
 
 "I'd have unpacked for you if I'd had your keys," she 
 continued. "In the middle classes the women always 
 unpack for the men. Well now, I must get back to my 
 stove. Don't you think you'll be more comfortable if 
 you change out of that noble thing in suits?" 
 
 "I think I will, thanks," said Mark. He stood very 
 still, leaning his hand on the window-sill, and one who 
 knew him well might have noticed that his voice had 
 gone flat. Under the drilled manner he was disabled by 
 such a fit of shyness as had not seized on him since he 
 was twenty. He concealed it; but he could not have 
 done even that if he had said any more. 
 
 "Right. Don't be long," said Maisie.
 
 80 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 She went out, shutting the door behind her, and Mark 
 recovered himself and straightened his bent shoulders. 
 In the reaction he was hot with anger; it chafed his man- 
 hood that it should have been he and not Maisie who 
 was shy, and the more so because he could not believe 
 that Maisie had not read him like a book. He had always 
 regarded Lawrence Sturt's gallantries with a mixture of 
 amusement and dislike, but he did find himself, for one 
 moment, envying the dash with which that practiced 
 swordsman would have beaten down Maisie's guard. 
 Lawrence would not have let her go without a kiss. . . . 
 Mark had reached this stage in his reflections when 
 Maisie knocked at the* door again. "It really is chilly 
 to -night. Wouldn't you like* some" hot water ?" 
 
 "Have you any handy?" 
 
 "Lots !" Maisie sang out. 
 
 "Thanks most awfully. I'll come and get it in a min- 
 ute." 
 
 There was no reply, but shortly after the door was 
 opened and a white arm came round it with a kettle. 
 Mark splashed some water into his basin "Don't take 
 too much," said Maisie, "I want about half" and re- 
 turned the kettle to the hand; after which he was left 
 to complete his toilet without further interruption and 
 in a more sober frame of mind. 
 
 When Mark came out, dressed in an old suit of flan- 
 nels, the kitchen had undergone a change. A white cloth 
 was thrown over the table, and the oak chairs were 
 drawn up to it. Silver and glass were set out, and in a 
 branched silver candlestick candles were lighted, which 
 flickered in the draught from the window and threw giant 
 and distorted shadows on the walls. Maisie raised a 
 flushed face from the fire. "The plates are hotting on 
 the rack here," she said. "Do you mind putting them on
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 81 
 
 the table while I dish up? I do hope you can resign 
 yourself to having only ham and eggs for to-night, we'll 
 do ourselves better to-morrow, but I haven't had time 
 to unpack the Stores hamper yet." 
 
 "Couldn't have anything better. Oh! sac a papier!" 
 
 "What's the matter did you burn your fingers ? Dear 
 boy, I knew you would. Never mind, tell me if you like 
 fried bread and how many eggs you can eat. I've done 
 four for you and two for me, but I can put some more 
 on while we're eating these." 
 
 "Oh, we'll eat these first, anyhow. Is that beer on 
 the window-sill?" 
 
 "Yes: there is some claret in the locker, but I know 
 you always drink beer when you can get it and I rather 
 like it myself. It goes with the furniture, don't you, 
 think?" 
 
 "It goes very fast," remarked her husband, raising 
 his face from an empty tankard. "Sea air makes people 
 thirsty. Maisie, you are a genius ! When did you learn 
 to cook?" 
 
 "When I was a girl. Yes, mustard, please." 
 
 "Brown bread or white?" 
 
 "Brown let's each have half the crust." 
 
 There was an interval of silence. 
 
 "Aren't we pigs?" said Maisie. "It's like a German 
 table d'hote. You know the awful hush that falls when 
 they bring in a fresh course." 
 
 "I've never been to Germany." 
 
 "Never been to Germany !" 
 
 "Not I. Had enough of them in France. Surely you 
 knew I was through the war, didn't you ?" Maisie shook 
 her head ; she knew nothing whatever about Mark Sturt's 
 early career, and had never heard of him except as a 
 business man and politician, though when the idea was 
 once offered to her she could only say "of course," and
 
 82 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 wonder that she had not recognized before the military 
 stamp on his broad shoulders. Mark was smiling as if 
 at some private joke, but there was a flush on his cheek. 
 "Really? Well, how should you know it after all! I 
 never got my captaincy. No, I didn't volunteer; I was 
 in the army before war broke out. I was only a lines- 
 man 1st Derbyshires." 
 
 "Did you see much fighting?" 
 
 "Had my whack. Not so much as Lawrence ; he was 
 out from start to finish and never got a scratch, which 
 is a bit of a record, considering that he was in some of 
 the hottest corners. Incidentally I may add that he 
 saved my life at the very imminent risk of his own. 
 Lawrence shines, you know, when he gets out of civilized 
 life ; he enjoyed the show, I believe, which is more than 
 I can say." 
 
 "Why did you go into a line regiment when your 
 brother was in the Guards?" 
 
 "Possibly because I wasn't keen on being a gay Guards- 
 man." 
 
 "Don't snub me, Mark, please. You might have liked 
 the gunners or the cavalry." 
 
 "Too heavy for the cavalry." He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. "Really I don't know. I think my father settled 
 it for us, but I don't remember raising any objection. 
 Why should I ? The opulent and ornamental were never 
 in my line. It was a good regiment, too. Yarrow was 
 our colonel, the men worshiped him; he was killed at 
 Loos." Mark checked himself with a sigh. "Anyhow 
 it made no great odds, for I was invalided out of the 
 Service at three and twenty, so that was an end of that." 
 An end of the subject too, Maisie thought, judging by 
 his tone, and she was too cautious to press her point, 
 though she longed to speak her mind on Lawrence Sturt's 
 charmingly mannered selfishness. She knew, even she,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN S'6 
 
 that a man's old regiment is one of the topics that are 
 ruled out of criticism. One other question she risked. 
 "Oh! yes, I got a nasty cut over the hip," Mark an- 
 swered impatiently. "Are there any more eggs going? 
 Don't get up, please I'll bet I've fried more eggs than 
 you have. Very good they are, too. Did you get them 
 at the farm?" 
 
 "No, I fetched them with me from Ushant, and the 
 milk and the bread as well. I knew I shouldn't get over 
 to the farm to-night, it's every step of two miles." 
 
 "Something of a walk for Miss Archdale I beg your 
 pardon, Mrs. Mark Sturt. I was wondering as I came 
 up the lane how you would get on in your pretty little 
 slippers." Maisie replied by sticking out her foot, shod 
 in a thick square-toed boot. "Come, that's better!" said 
 Mark. "I hate those silly shoes women generally wear. 
 Why do you wear them? Senseless little things." 
 
 "To match the women," said Maisie. 
 
 The caustic contempt of her tone made Mark raise his 
 eyebrows. "Have some more beer and think better of 
 it." 
 
 "I will have half a glass more beer I hope it won't 
 make me drunk but I won't think better of it. We 
 can't help it : we were educated to be senseless. Were 
 you ever drunk, Mark?" 
 
 "Often," said Mark cheerfully. 
 
 "Rubbish! Tell me I want to know." 
 
 "Are you reflecting that you're alone in the house with 
 me ?" Mark asked. He leaned back in his chair laughing 
 at her. "Ha, ha ! what a hopeless kid you are at times, 
 Maisie! I have been drunk once or twice in my life, 
 but I'm not an habitual drunkard, dear. Would you 
 like a list? Once when I was at Sandhurst, after a boat- 
 race night a very mild affair, terminating in a gentle 
 reprimand ; once when I was in the army, on an occasion
 
 84 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 which I won't specify, when the drinks were mixed and 
 we were all rather glorious ; and once I believe in China, 
 but there was opium in that and I don't remember much 
 about it, bar the headache I had afterwards. I'm afraid 
 that's the limit." He leaned across the table and cap- 
 tured the hand that wore his rings. "Did you flatter 
 yourself that I'd been a devil of a fellow? Ha, ha! what 
 a disappointment, isn't it?" His shyness had left him, 
 and in its place there came again the strange heavy beat 
 of excitement along his pulses. "Your turn now to con- 
 fess. Why do you sneer at women? I hate to hear a 
 woman do that. Women ought to stick together as men 
 do. Esprit de corps, what?" 
 
 "Oh! Mark! Not with my rings on, please you 
 hurt." 
 
 "So sorry. But why do you say you were edu- 
 cated to be senseless? You seem to me distinctly 
 competent." 
 
 "Ah! but I wasn't brought up in my present atmos- 
 phere," Maisie retorted. "I had plenty of sense ham- 
 mered into me when I was a girl." 
 
 "When you were a girl?" Mark repeated, amused. 
 "Where did you live in those dim and distant days when 
 you were a girl?" 
 
 "In the country. Well take it in turns to clear the 
 plates away, shall we? If you get up, too, we shall only 
 fall over each other. To expedite matters I'll put them 
 straight into the sink. I'm afraid there's not much for 
 a second course only bread and cheese and fruit and 
 cream." 
 
 Mark registered a vow to get the tale of her early life 
 out of her by and by, but it would evidently take a good 
 deal of getting, and the present was not a fitting oppor- 
 tunity. They finished their supper, while out of doors 
 the splendor faded into twilight, the mist and chill of
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 85 
 
 night settled over the sea, and the ceaseless dash of 
 waves sounded ever louder and louder in the withdrawal 
 of those small unnoticeable noises which are woven into 
 the fabric of the serenest daylight quiet. When neither 
 of them could eat any more, Maisie turned Mark out of 
 doors while she washed up and set the kitchen tidy. His 
 offers of help were refused. "Not to-night : I can do it 
 quicker by myself till we get used to finding our way 
 about, thanks all the same I'd really rather you went 
 and had a smoke." Mark suspected that it was done 
 chiefly in order not to throw too great a strain upon his 
 patience, whose durability tried by many vicissitudes 
 of camp life was not yet understood by his companion; 
 but he gave way, and walked up and down outside on 
 the patch of level sward between the sea glen and the 
 downs, watching the light from St. Catherine's light- 
 house wink and wheel in taper beams across the gray 
 floor of the Channel. How still it was, and how fresh! 
 There was not a sound to be heard but the recurrent 
 murmur of a wave against the cliffs and its long surge 
 and suck over the hidden beach below. 
 
 In the open kitchen doorway Maisie appeared, sil- 
 houetted black against fire and candle light, carrying in 
 either hand a cup of coffee. "No milk, no sugar," she 
 said, giving him his portion. "Pure Turkish, no chicory. 
 Is that right ?" 
 
 "Pure chickish, no turcory. Exceedingly right." 
 
 "You have a baby sense of humor, Mark," said Maisie. 
 "Just like a man. Ouf ! I'm almost tired." 
 
 She sat down on a hummock of grass and thoughtfully 
 stirred her coffee. She had taken off her apron and 
 smoothed her hair, which shone like gold in the twilight, 
 and the schoolgirl neatness of the blue serge rose and 
 fell with her even breathing. Mark stood a little behind 
 her watching that soft rise and fall. So Renee had
 
 86 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 looked as she sat in her father's garden and listened to 
 the young English officer's lame attempts at French, the 
 shuttles flying under her downcast eyes ; but Maisie Sturt 
 was no Renee, and with some years of London in her 
 memory, and Mark a captive at her side, what title had 
 she to wear Renee's aspect of untouched maiden calm? 
 Passion flamed again in Mark, the response of his senses 
 to the goad of his vanity ; if she had thrown herself into 
 young Forester's timid hands she could not have ap- 
 peared more secure. Youth has a right to a man's infinite 
 gentleness, and womanhood to respect, but experience 
 masking as innocence has forfeited either claim. . . . 
 Or was it, after all, Maya, illusion ? A dream, prolonged 
 and vivid, but rushing on to its inevitable end? 
 
 The wind, what there was of it, was setting towards 
 the sea. A faint breath went by them like a sigh over 
 the thin grass of the downs and through the sea-dwarfed 
 oak-trees. It carried with it, plaintive and remote, the 
 chiming of the tower clock in Ushant far away. 
 
 "It's striking eleven," said Maisie. "I shall set my 
 watch, because Ushant church is five minutes faster 
 than London time. When in Ushant, do as Ushant does. 
 I can't afford to get up late to-morrow." 
 
 She gave her little unembarrassed laugh. "Let me 
 take your cup," said Mark, conscious as he said it that 
 the common courtesy sounded quaintly formal in that 
 natural setting. But Maisie gave him her cup smilingly, 
 and Mark took them both indoors and washed them un- 
 der the tap. "Where do you keep the cloths ?" he asked 
 through the kitchen window. "You'll find one on the 
 clothes prop, drying," Maisie answered. Mark wiped 
 the little cups, set them on the dresser, and came out 
 again. Maisie was on her feet, shielding her eyes with 
 her hand, gazing out far-sighted over the gray tides of 
 the Channel. Mark came softly up behind her, put his
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 87 
 
 arm round her waist, and bent his head so that his lips 
 touched her ear. 
 
 "Past eleven o'clock, Maisie, and you've had a long 
 day. You'll never be up in time to-morrow if you don't 
 go to bed soon." 
 
 "I should so awfully like to run down and have a 
 dip in the sea." 
 
 "Now? It's too cold; you would get a chill." 
 
 "Not I, I never get chills. I'm as strong as a horse." 
 
 "Well, it's too late," said Mark peremptorily. "Wait 
 till the morning." 
 
 "I am rather tired," Maisie confessed. 
 
 She went indoors, leaving the door open, and a mo- 
 ment later he saw the light of a lamp spring out in her 
 room. Mark glanced at his watch. Ten minutes past 
 eleven. Maisie appeared at the window and drew the 
 blind down. But it was a thin blind, and the discovery 
 that he could still see her, defined in shadow against the 
 lighted canvas,* her arms lifted to take the pins out of 
 her hair, drove Mark Sturt away from that vicinity. 
 He lit a cigarette and strolled slowly down the glen, 
 thinking of nothing, noticing nothing except the stony 
 roughness of the track underfoot. The sea was hidden 
 now, the trees rose up between it and him ; only the voice 
 of its deep breathing still encompassed him like a bene- 
 diction or a serenade, and the wheeling stare of the light- 
 house flashed periodically behind the leafy gloom. He 
 followed the track till he came out upon the silvered 
 and deserted beach, and saw dark waters lapping at his 
 feet, a bath of stars. They invited him with their crys- 
 tal freshness, and lazily he threw off his clothes and 
 plunged in. Cold it was, cold and shallow, soon deep- 
 ening towards the entry of the cove ; a few strokes car- 
 ried him out of his depth. He turned over on his back 
 and floated, lying between shadow and shadow. Bright
 
 88 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 over the Channel glittered Altair and Sagittarius, and 
 Cassiopeia sphered up in her diamond chair, and Alde- 
 baran far in the west ; further inland the Northern wag- 
 oner hung inverted over the downs, while the cove caught 
 the sparkle of the Tyrian mariner's guide 
 
 the stedfast starre 
 
 That was in Ocean waves yet never wet, 
 But firm is fixt, and sendeth light from farre 
 To all that in the wide deep wandering arre. 
 
 Mark splashed about lazily; a powerful swimmer and 
 indifferent to temperature, he loved to feel the light slap 
 and curl of the water over his chest, and to-night more 
 than any other night every nerve in his body seemed to 
 sparkle with the pleasure of energy. He lost all definite 
 thought as he breasted the water's yielding caress. At 
 last an insane fear fastened on him that he had been 
 away too long, and he swam ashore and huddled on his 
 clothes again, wet as he was, and took the precipitous 
 footpath at a run. But when he regained the cliff-top 
 the light was still burning in Maisie's room. Mark 
 looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to twelve. He 
 moved towards the open door. 
 
 And all at once he knew that he could not enter it. 
 
 There was no struggle in his mind, the decision seemed 
 to have been made for him; he turned sharp round and 
 walked away, not towards the glen, but inland, towards 
 the downs. He took out his cigarette case and lit an- 
 other cigarette, not because he wanted to smoke, but as 
 a man dazed after an accident will perform some small 
 action to test his own faintness ; for the world had again 
 grown fearfully unreal. He put his hand up to his fore- 
 head and found that it was streaming with perspiration. 
 He walked on till he came to the bend in the track, but 
 there he turned back, remembering that he could not
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 89 
 
 leave Maisie by herself and out of earshot in that solitary 
 spot. He felt as tired as though he had just undergone 
 a severe operation, but there was still no struggle, no 
 rebellion; the fiat had gone forth from laws deeper than 
 the passions of his own being, and he obeyed it. 
 
 He threw himself down on the grass by the wayside. 
 Some time passed : how long he did not know. Presently 
 the light behind the blind moved and the blind itself was 
 lifted. Maisie looked out. She could not see him, and 
 she stood for some minutes at the window, waiting. At 
 last she called him softly by name. "Mark." 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 "Mark" she raised her voice "are you there?" 
 
 "I'm here, dear," said Mark, standing up. 
 
 "Oh, there you are !" 
 
 By the relief in her voice he understood that she had 
 been frightened. 
 
 "I'm ready now." 
 
 "I'm not coming." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "I'm not coming." 
 
 "Not coming at all?" 
 
 "No. I shall sleep out here. Go to bed, dear. Don't 
 worry about me." 
 
 She stood for a long time silent, holding up the blind. 
 
 "Is it- Don't you want to come ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mark, stamping his foot. "Go and lie 
 down. Drop the blind and go away from the window." 
 
 "But, Mark " 
 
 "Drop the blind and go away from the window." 
 
 She let fall the blind and he saw her cross the room 
 with a steady step. The light in its turn was extin- 
 guished. Now shadows and soft starshine enveloped 
 everything in heaven and earth. It was some time before 
 Mark dared to move from the spot where she had left
 
 90 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 him, but at last he went with a swift light tread to the 
 open casement of the kitchen, caught up a coat that he 
 had left lying on the locker, and passed on into the 
 fringe of the wood. There he made himself a hole for 
 his hip after the fashion of an old campaigner, doubled 
 up the coat under his head, and lay down to sleep under 
 the shelter of the trees and the stars. But no sleep came. 
 With the first accent of his wife's voice, immunity was 
 over, and fatigue. He looked up at the stars, the sign 
 manual of God, but he could not pray; and then he 
 thought of his friend, who preached the beauty of purity 
 and the transience of human pleasure and pain, and he 
 wondered whether Father de Traffbrd had ever stretched 
 his own limbs on that rack. Pleasure may cheat our 
 wish, but in pain there is no illusion. His will held firm, 
 however. Mark Sturt's wedding night was passed under 
 the stars.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 UT\ TARK." Mr. Sturt, who was stretched at full 
 
 IV-L length on the turf before the cottage with his 
 pipe and a book, looked up lazily. "I have to go over to 
 the farm for some more eggs. Will you stay where you 
 are and look after the house, or come too?" 
 
 "I wonder if I've finished digesting my breakfast," 
 said Mark. "I ate a good deal." He rolled over on his 
 back and cocked one knee over the other. 
 
 "Make up your mind," Maisie admonished him, "be- 
 cause if you don't I needn't lock up the house." 
 
 "Oh, I expect I'd better come," said Mark, getting 
 to his feet. "Let me just shy this book in at the window. 
 Is that the kit you're going in? Pity it's thrown away 
 on old Biddle. He doesn't know a good thing when he 
 sees it." 
 
 Mark was in flannels the same flannels that he had 
 worn on the night of his arrival, but dirtier by a week's 
 hard wear; and Maisie was in a harebell-colored cotton 
 frock, bare-armed and bare-throated. The skin that had 
 been white a week ago was now a warm pale brown, 
 and in place of her Greek waves she wore her hair down 
 in two thick plaits which swung below her waist. She 
 looked younger than ever, and had a boy's indifference 
 to the sun. "You'll get sunstroke if you go out like 
 that without a hat," said Mark. He said it every day. 
 
 "I'll take my new sunshade," replied the biddable 
 Maisie, catching up a flowered cotton parasol which she 
 had bought in Ushant for two and elevenpence, three 
 
 91
 
 92 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 farthings. Mark had not yet got over the surprise of 
 finding that she generally did as she was told to do. 
 "Here's the latchkey, don't drop it." Mark put it in his 
 pocket; it was one of the incorrigibly feminine idiosyn- 
 crasies which fascinated him in his wife, that in spite of 
 her thick boots and indifference to wind and weather she 
 never had a pocket in any of her dresses. She carried 
 her handkerchiefs up her sleeve or in her belt, and when 
 she dropped them she borrowed Mark's. 
 
 They swung off over the downs in step together, Mark 
 shortening his stride to keep pace with Maisie's long 
 level tread ; comrades thoroughly at ease with each other, 
 in spite of the precarious delicacy of their relations. Per- 
 haps it was strange that it should have been so, and cer- 
 tainly a small defect of sensibility on either side would 
 have made the position intolerable; but Sturt and his 
 wife came of a stock that has, among many less useful 
 qualities, the knack of taking things for granted. There 
 had been ten difficult minutes the first morning, but when 
 each realized that the other had accepted the situation, 
 and that there would be neither discussion nor reproach, 
 the gap was soon bridged, and in the small familiarities 
 forced on them by life at the cottage they were soon able 
 to ignore the fact that there had ever been a gap at all. 
 
 "Our last day," said Maisie, as they breasted the downs 
 to the south-east. "What shall we do this afternoon 
 take the car out, or go for a row?" Mark had discov- 
 ered in the village a dilapidated car for hire, and after a 
 hot and happy morning spent chiefly on his back in a 
 farrier's yard he had managed, as he said, to "whack her 
 up" to fifteen miles an hour, at which breakneck pace he 
 and Maisie had taken turns to drive her through stony 
 lanes, across the downs, and even over the beach. "We 
 might dine somewhere at an inn and save washing up." 
 
 " 'Shouldn't wonder if we had a storm," said Mark,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 93 
 
 scanning the weather. "Hallo! things look a bit queer 
 ahead. What's all the smoke?" 
 
 It was one of those sultry days when the country 
 seems to be worn out with the burden of holding up the 
 fleecy stillness of the clouds. An overcast night had 
 prevented any dew from falling, and the sky was still 
 packed with faint shapes, which never seemed to move, 
 and which dissolved into a mere smudge of vapor over 
 the bronze sixpence of the sun. There was no wind. 
 Far as the eye could see, the gray-blue floor of the Chan- 
 nel stretched without a speck of foam, till it shaded off 
 through infinite gradations of silvery shade into the 
 silver dazzle, of the horizon. A tramp steamer plowing 
 along left behind her a wake that lay for miles like a 
 stain, while overhead the smoke of her single funnel 
 rolled itself out from a pennon to a string of beads, and 
 those again into mere puffs and curls of whiteness, which 
 dispersed themselves imperceptibly into the surrounding 
 haze. 
 
 But Mark was not looking at the sea. As they came 
 over the rise, they saw before them a patch of downland, 
 covered with a low scrub of heather and gorse-bushes, 
 which was burning furiously. Some tramp had thrown 
 away a lighted match, or some spark had flown from a 
 traction-engine along the road, and the grass and shrubs, 
 parched by a long drought for no rain had fallen since 
 Mark's coming to Ushant had caught like tinder. Be- 
 fore the line of fire, smoke rolled in low clouds ; it had 
 gone over their heads while they were in the glen, but 
 now the smell of it was bitter in their nostrils. Mark 
 halted, leaning on his stick, and looked round him with 
 a practiced eye. 
 
 "No harm done. Eastwards they've beaten it out al- 
 ready ; north you get the high road, southward the cliffs, 
 and in our own direction it will stop at the dyke. Pity
 
 94 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 to leave that black scar on the downs, but at least it 
 won't touch crops or farm buildings. Ever seen a heath 
 fire before ? Come along over the dyke, it's worth watch- 
 ing; not quite like a forest fire I once saw in Canada, 
 though." 
 
 The dyke, a tolerably broad ditch of ill-defined Ro- 
 man antecedents, now used as a watering-place for sheep, 
 was spanned only by a couple of planks, and Mark turned 
 to give his hand to his companion. "My dear girl, 
 what's the matter?" he said hastily. "There's nothing 
 to be afraid of !" 
 
 "I'm not afraid. Go on : I don't want a hand, thanks." 
 Mark opened his eyes, but said no more, and Jed the way 
 across the footbridge, his wife following. "Yes, we'll 
 wait and watch it," said Maisie. She sat down on a 
 cushion of heather and Mark threw himself on the turf 
 at her feet; he had to choose his couch warily, for the 
 gorse grew thick all about them. Maisie pulled a long 
 feathery shaft of grass, and drew it lightly, like a proxy 
 caress, across his upturned face. 
 
 "You are sunburnt, Mark : tanned like a gypsy. Your 
 neck was white under your collar when you came, but 
 it's as brown now as a coffee berry. I should have 
 thought China and the Andes and all the other places 
 would have tanned you from head to foot, but I suppose 
 it wears off after a few weeks of civilization. You are 
 thin, too thinner than you were when you came, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 He put up his hand and drew hers down and took 
 the grass-blade away. "I don't like being tickled, thanks. 
 Maisie, why are you afraid of fire?" 
 
 "I'm not afraid of fire," Maisie averred, gazing with 
 steady eyes at the distant surge of smoke. "What's the 
 time? We mustn't leave the eggs too late, because of 
 getting home to see to lunch."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 95 
 
 "Tell me, Maisie." 
 
 "There's nothing to tell. I thought you knew. Oh, I 
 think I'd like to tell you if you really care to hear, but 
 do you? Long tales about other people's pasts are so 
 very, very dull." 
 
 "Still you might take the chance of boring your hus- 
 band." 
 
 "Ah! if you were." 
 
 Mark's hand closed over hers with a force of which he 
 was unconscious. "Don't, dear don't. You don't know 
 what you're talking about." 
 
 "And do you ?" said Maisie sadly. 
 
 "Tell me about the fire," Mark answered after a mo- 
 ment. He could not, in fact, explain himself to Maisie, 
 because he had not yet succeeded in explaining himself 
 to himself. "Were you ever in one?" 
 
 "Yes. Did you really never hear that ? How little we 
 know about each other, even now !" She named a famous 
 ocean tragedy. "We were all in it. I lost every 
 one." 
 
 "You lost?" 
 
 "My father and mother, two brothers older than my- 
 self, and a young sister. We were all on our way home 
 from the Cape. She had a dangerous cargo, and they 
 could not get the blaze under. You remember, don't you ? 
 It was only ten years ago. I was a girl of thirteen. There 
 was no panic, and all the passengers were got into the 
 boats, but there was a heavy gale blowing, and one boat 
 was swamped as they lowered it. My mother and Philip 
 and Jim and Lucy were in that one, and my father and 
 I were going in the next. They were drowned before 
 our eyes." 
 
 Mark took her hand again and held it. 
 
 "Hardly any one was lost except that boatfull," Maisie 
 went on. "The rest of us were picked up in the course
 
 96 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 of the day, but my father died before we got to England. 
 He was a delicate man and he couldn't stand the shock. 
 They put it down to the exposure and the wetting he 
 jumped in after my mother and was all but drowned 
 himfelf but he could have pulled through if he had 
 cared to live. He worshiped my mother. I couldn't 
 do anything to help him, and I was glad for his sake 
 when he died. He had nerves, my father. Every one 
 was very good to me, particularly the people off the 
 Redruth Castle, but I couldn't answer them at all. I 
 remember Lady Dene Viola Dene, the Governor's wife 
 taking me in her arms and telling me not to ride my- 
 self on the curb, but of course I couldn't tell her any- 
 thing. I never have really told any one before." 
 
 "Clever woman, Viola Dene. Go on, dear." 
 
 "Philip was my special pal," said Maisie. Her eyelids 
 fell, and her teeth fastened for a moment on her lower 
 lip. 
 
 "Your young brother?" 
 
 "He was seventeen; four years older than I was. He 
 was coming home to go into the army. He was an ugly 
 boy with beautiful eyes like my mother's, and he was 
 always in hot water. He taught me to ride and swim 
 and row; he could ride anything on four legs himself. 
 Jim was unimaginative, and Lucy was only a plaything, 
 but Philip and I were always about together. He said 
 I had more sense than Jim, and he treated me 'exactly 
 like another boy he used to cuff my head if I didn't 
 do things properly. I loved Philip. I love him still, 
 and I still want him. Oh ! my dear, dear Philip." 
 
 "Don't cry, dear," said Mark. He sat up and put his 
 arm round her. 
 
 "I'm not crying," said Maisie, leaning her cheek against 
 his. "Feel ! not one tear. That's because Philip invariably 
 cuffed me when I cried. He said if I cried I was a silly
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 97 
 
 idiot of a girl, but if I didn't I was very nearly as good 
 as a boy. I I think, looking back, Philip must have 
 been awfully fond of me, but one didn't analyze it at the 
 time. I did so wish afterwards that I had made him 
 say good-by to me before he got into the boat. I know 
 exactly what he would have done. He would have kissed 
 me perfunctorily over one eyebrow and said, 'Good-by, 
 old girl, I wish you were coming too,' which would have 
 been something to live on afterwards. But the last words 
 he actually said to me were, 'You confounded little 
 messer, you've been messing about with my gun again 
 with your wet paws,' and I defy any one to get any satis- 
 faction out of that." 
 
 "What happened when you reached England?" 
 "Death and damnation," said Maisie. She shook her- 
 self free of Mark's arm. "I died on board, and I was 
 damned in the suburbs. I went to live with my uncle 
 John and his wife and family in a big house on Chisle- 
 hurst Common. My father had never saved a farthing, 
 so there was nothing for me except a small Civil Service 
 pension, and there was no one else who could have taken 
 me except my mother's brother, who was Irish, and ec- 
 centric, and a bachelor, and flatly refused to have any- 
 thing to do with me. The John Archdales were the ob- 
 vious people. Uncle John was not of the same type as 
 my father, and he hadn't any nerves. He had married 
 a tub merchant's daughter, and they had six children 
 George, Muriel, Hilda, Rosie, Tom, and Gladys. We 
 wore camisoles and underskirts, and wiped our mouths 
 on serviettes, and sent soiled clothes to the laundry, and 
 Uncle John asked a blessing. I went to school with my 
 cousins. Uncle John always used to say that he never 
 made any difference between us, and he didn't I had 
 just the same clothes as his own girls, and the same 
 'extras/ and the same tips and treats. They were all
 
 98 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 very kind to me, and Aunt Gladys said I was to look upon 
 her as a mother, and the boys and girls would be like 
 brothers and sisters to me now I hadn't any of my own. 
 One day when I had been there four or five months she 
 came into my bedroom I shared it with Hilda and 
 said she wanted me to have some new frocks because she 
 couldn't bear to see a young girl like me all in black; 
 and while I was being turned round to be measured she 
 told the dressmaker all about it. She kept appealing to 
 me for details. I thought of what Viola Dene said about 
 the curb. I was polite and diffuse. . . . But, indeed, 
 Mark, it is not healthy for any girl to suffer like that." 
 
 Mark nodded. 
 
 "Remember that when you're judging me," said Maisie 
 softly, "I'm not good; I'm not half as good as you are, 
 Mark of mine. But if some day you come to know why 
 I married you, and find it hard to forgive me, don't 
 leave out of the reckoning those five years at Chislehurst. 
 Thirteen to eighteen is an impressionable age." 
 
 "How did you escape?" 
 
 "Easily enough, after I left school. I said I wanted 
 to earn my own living, and I fancy Uncle John wasn't 
 altogether sorry to get me out of the way. Tom and 
 George were a good deal at home just then." 
 
 "Oh !" said Mark, smiling. 
 
 "Exactly," Maisie returned with composure. "So I 
 got away and turned in to work. I wanted to be a nurse, 
 but they won't take you as probationer till you're twenty- 
 three, so I took a post as mother's help and nursery 
 governess (I haven't any brains, you know). But I only 
 had a couple of years of it, for when I was twenty my 
 mother's brother died and left me every farthing of his 
 money. He didn't even appoint Uncle John trustee. He 
 detested Uncle John, and they say he was very fond of 
 my mother; but I firmly believe that his ruling motive
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 99 
 
 was to play a last posthumous prank in the character 
 of Cinderella's fairy godmother. I'd only seen him once 
 in my life, when he turned up at Chislehurst in an im- 
 mense Rolls-Royce, and insisted on carrying me off, a 
 pig-tailed schoolgirl in a sailor hat, to lunch at the Ritz. 
 He refused to get out of the car or wait while I changed 
 my dress. He gave me champagne and ice-pudding and 
 a 10 note, and told me I was an unlicked young devil 
 and that he should like to see what I should do if I had 
 a free hand." 
 
 Mark reserved his opinion of Mr. FitzGerald. "And 
 what did Cinderella do when the glass coach came for 
 her?" 
 
 "Went to the ball," said Maisie, smiling. "I wrote 
 straight off to Lady Dene, recalling the old South African 
 days and telling her what had happened. Her reply 
 was a telephone message asking me to come and see her 
 in Berkeley Square. I went for a week-end and stayed 
 for the rest of the season, and after that my life is 
 public property. I go to see the John Archdales now 
 and then, but they don't like me very much; they say 
 I'm worldly, and they won't let the girls come and stay 
 with me because it isn't proper for a young lady to live 
 alone as I do. They are just what they always were, my 
 money hasn't made a pin's difference to them ; I respect 
 them for that, but I don't think about them unless I'm 
 obliged. And so now you know why I winced when I 
 saw the fire." She unfastened a gold chain from her 
 neck and put an open locket into Mark's hand : the ivory 
 miniature of a spirited boy of fourteen or fifteen, with 
 curly brown hair and large, speaking eyes. 
 
 "I shouldn't have guessed it," said Sturt, studying 
 Philip's features. 
 
 "That he was my brother?" 
 
 "I didn't mean that. You're like him; you have his
 
 100 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 eyes. I should never have guessed that you had led a 
 life like that." He laid the locket on her knee. 
 
 "No : well, I didn't propose that any one should guess 
 it," said Maisie carelessly. "Oh, Mark, look at that silly 
 rabbit!" White scut and hunched quarters, a little doe 
 loped past them with the sneaking gait of a housewife 
 bound for her own front door though frightened to her 
 toe-tips. But the front door, alas, was behind that screen 
 of flickering flame, now not many yards away, and 
 the little rabbit, after a prolonged ^tare, scampered off 
 again with bolting eyes. Maisie sprang up. "I don't 
 like that. Poor little wretch! Come along and get the 
 eggs." 
 
 Mark dragged himself to his feet. The lassitude of 
 his movement attracted Maisie's attention, and she turned 
 her bright, veiled eyes on him. "You look fagged. 
 Sleeping out of doors can't be very restful." 
 
 "Oh, I like it. I've done it often enough, you know, 
 under less pleasant conditions ; rugs and cushions are a 
 luxury. But I've got a devil of a head to-day," Mark 
 confessed, "which means either liver or thunder. The 
 latter, I fancy. Whew ! Time to get a move on, what ?" 
 In a momentary flicker of wind the smoke reached out 
 a long arm after them, and Mark fanned it away from 
 Maisie with his straw hat. "The fire will be up to where 
 we were sitting in ten minutes' time." 
 
 Quickening their pace, they recrossed the dyke, to 
 make their way down to the farm by a track on the 
 other side. By now the fire had licked its way in patches 
 almost to the water's edge, and the heat was becoming 
 oppressive. Mark inobtrusively shielded his companion 
 as much as he could, for Maisie was still very pale, 
 and Lady Dene's pregnant comment, taken together with 
 the story of the Redruth Castle, had set her for him in 
 a new light. She was so cool and hardy that he had al-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 101 
 
 ways supposed her to be emotionally immature, unversed 
 in sorrow and probably incapable of any strong feeling, 
 but Philip's sister was not cold. "Poor wretched little 
 rabbit!" said Maisie presently, her mind reverting to its 
 previous train of thought. "Mark, do Catholics believe 
 in a heaven for animals?" 
 
 "It isn't an article of faith, but some of the Fathers 
 upheld it. Why?" 
 
 "Sometimes I wish I were a Catholic. No, I don't. 
 I might surrender my will, but I could never surrender 
 my reason. How can you do it ?" 
 
 "Do what, dear ?" 
 
 "Believe what you don't believe because the priests 
 tell you to. It's more than weak it's immoral." Mark's 
 eyes danced. "Ah, you laugh you think you can get 
 behind whatever I say. Yours is an arrogant creed." 
 
 "Maybe," said Mark. "It's an old one." 
 
 "You look like an adept listening to the irresponsible 
 prattle of a neophyte." 
 
 "There goes your rabbit across the road, I know her 
 by the white patch on her quarters. I wouldn't worry 
 about her; the fire will have burned itself out in an 
 hour, and she'll be able to get back to her bunny-hole. 
 Hallo !" 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 "Where's your locket?" 
 
 Maisie put her hand up to her throat. "Gone; I 
 dropped it where we were sitting. I know I did. It 
 was on my knee, and I forgot it when the rabbit went 
 by." 
 
 "Wait for me," said Mark, and ran off. In spite of 
 his heavy build, he was fleet of foot, and had need to 
 be, for even the brushwood blaze of an English down is 
 hot enough to melt the soft gold of an ornament, and 
 under the puffs of a rising wind the flames were traveling
 
 102 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 fast. "Oh, don't, Mark don't go!" Maisie cried out, 
 but he naturally took no notice. She watched him dash 
 straight across the heather and leap the fifteen- foot dyke 
 in his stride, and then he was lost to sight behind a swell 
 of the downs. 
 
 It was a race between Mark and the advancing fires. 
 They caught from bush to bush, the papery unreality 
 of daylight flame dancing over an intense glow of scorch- 
 ing heat ; they stretched out capriciously in gulf and in- 
 let, leaving bays and promontories behind the general 
 tide. Mark tore off his flannel blazer and dashed for- 
 ward with his arm over his head to keep the smoke out 
 of his eyes. So long as his retreat lay open the danger 
 was of the slightest, but the discomfort was considerable, 
 and if he had had to cast about for his direction he would 
 have been driven back for want of time. Luckily he had 
 taken his bearings after the inveterate habit of the trained 
 woodsman, and was able to pick up the landmarks as he 
 ran. There on the right was the thornbush, now spit- 
 ting and crackling in a whirl of ardent tongues; there 
 was Maisie's deep heather tussock still uncaught ; within 
 a yard's radius the locket must have dropped when she 
 sprang to her feet. But the heat was intense, and the 
 smoke was rolling up in clouds. Mark staggered as it 
 surged round him, and for the first time a distinct idea 
 of peril darted into his mind; if he stayed long enough 
 to let that suffocating vapor get him by the throat he 
 would go down under it, and this trumpery heath fire 
 would burn the flesh from his bones as surely as any 
 league-long Canadian furnace. But to go back to Maisie 
 without the miniature was impossible. Mark scanned 
 the grass : it was not there. Then with his heavy stick 
 he beat open the thorn bush. "Oh, damn!" he said 
 peevishly. For there lay the locket within arm's length, 
 but the slender chain was wound in and out low down
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 103 
 
 among the branches, and to get it he had to plunge his 
 hand straight through the surface blaze. 
 
 Maisie was about to recross the footbridge when Mark 
 came up to it, a figure out of a Mayday sweep's revels, 
 his white clothes grimed with smoke and soot from head 
 to foot. But he had slipped on his blazer again, he was 
 smiling, and he held the locket dangling by its fragile 
 chain. "Saw it directly," he said. "Awfully sorry I 
 broke the chain, though. Most clumsy of me." 
 
 "But, Mark, aren't you hurt ? You had only those low 
 shoes on." 
 
 "Pricked a bit," said Mark philosophically. "Scorched 
 my arm, too. Let's leave the eggs, what ? I might create 
 surprise. Unless you would like to go on to the farm 
 by yourself, in which case, if you'll excuse my escort, I'll 
 wait for you." 
 
 "No, thanks, we'll do without the eggs. Come home 
 and let me see to your arm." 
 
 She hurried him back along the downs to the White 
 Cottage, or tried to do so, for Mark refused to hurry; 
 he was honestly amused by her solicitude, but the mishap 
 and the prevision of awkwardness to come had jarred 
 his temper, and amusement would soon have turned to 
 annoyance if Maisie had not let him alone. Luckily 
 Maisie was bred in the same tradition. Till she had him 
 indoors she ignored Mark's malaise as stoically as she 
 would have ignored her own, and when she spoke it was 
 with a laconic trenchancy which disposed of opposition. 
 
 "Come in here," she said, leading the way into the 
 parlor, "it's too dark in the kitchen. Sit by the window 
 and let me have a look at you. Oh, Mark, don't be 
 stupid! If your arm is burned it must be dressed, and 
 whether you like it or not you'll have to let me help 
 you." Then as she drew off the loose blazer she saw 
 that there was not much sleeve under it to cut. "Hallo !
 
 104 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Oh, I see. Because of the smoke? H'm: that smarts, 
 I should say. Your shoulder too? You might have 
 warned me before you got your jacket off. Luckily we've 
 some olive oil in the place." With the aid of the oil she 
 was carefully removing the charred linen, and Mark ad- 
 mired her deftness. "So I ought to be," said Maisie 
 carelessly. "I hold every certificate you can get under 
 the Red Cross. Can you get your arm into warm water 
 if I stand the basin on the window-sill? Quite like old 
 days, this." She was tearing up a linen sheet into strips, 
 and Mark sat still, fretted but amused; his arm was 
 scorched from elbow to shoulder where he had plunged 
 it into the blazing sprigs, and, little as he liked the situa- 
 tion, his body appreciated her unflinching delicacy of 
 touch. "Now I'm going to bandage you." She stood 
 back, regarding her handiwork. "Look here, Mark, you 
 mustn't move that arm or you'll make it really bad. 
 You'll have to let me help you into a fresh shirt. Where 
 are they in your suit-case ? Don't get up." 
 
 "Thanks very much. I'm fearfully sorry to bother 
 you." 
 
 "I wonder what uncivilized man does when he feels 
 embarrassed and hasn't a civilized mask to wear," the 
 say-all Maisie observed with her irresponsible irony. 
 Mark twisted his mustache to hide a laugh, but he did 
 not like it, and he was beginning to get angry. She 
 drew his shirt down from the bandaged arm. "Good 
 heavens! where did you get that scar?" 
 
 "St. "filoi," Mark answered laconically. 
 
 "It must have been touch and go." 
 
 "It was, I believe. That dark-blue tie do you mind ? 
 Can't tie a knot with one hand. Thanks ever so much. 
 You might fix me up a sling while you're about it." 
 
 "No fear!" said Maisie scornfully. "Can I take a 
 couple of these handkerchiefs? Dear, dear, what a
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 105 
 
 dandy we are ! Irish linen, and finer than mine. Never 
 mind, I like you for being a dandy. Philip was too." 
 She came behind him to secure the sling, and swiftly, 
 when it was done, she leaned down over his shoulder 
 and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Mark started and 
 flushed. "Just one kiss, because you saved my locket for 
 me," Maisie whispered. "I haven't thanked you what? 
 Oh, Mark, you didn't mind?" 
 
 Sturt had risen to his feet. "You are far too kind," 
 he said, and the courtesy out like a whip. "But don't let 
 me give you any more trouble, I can manage now by 
 myself." 
 
 By the time Mark came in to lunch, the beauty of the 
 morning was over. Clouds had gathered with the swift- 
 ness of storm, the wind was moaning in the glen, and 
 thunder was rolling all round the horizon, while big 
 drops of rain, the first they had seen at Ushant, had 
 begun to splash down on the hot stones, which smoked 
 under them like a furnace. Mark had changed into a 
 serge suit, and in putting it on seemed to have put off 
 the gypsy ; he looked as he had looked on his first arrival, 
 rather out of place and too big for his surroundings, 
 and he was very polite to Maisie and very constrained. 
 
 The conditions of life at the White Cottage were in 
 fact so difficult that they could be ignored only so long 
 as the fiction of unconsciousness could be kept up, and 
 constraint was sure to follow the trying relations into 
 which Mark's slight accident had thrown the husband 
 and wife; but it would have been nothing if Mark had 
 not lost his temper. Modern intercourse is so nicely 
 adjusted that it is probably harder to get back to friendly 
 terms after a hot speech, than it was in Tudor times 
 after a blow. Mark would have liked to apologize. He 
 was exceedingly ashamed of himself. But how could he
 
 106 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 reopen the subject? He felt himself obliged to step deli- 
 cately ; and meanwhile, though he did not 'know it, Maisie 
 was suffering torment under his impassive gentleness. 
 Ever since the night in the garden at Shotton, Sturt had 
 looked on Maisie as female mystery incarnate ; but what 
 had never once occurred to him was that, if he did not 
 understand her, still less could she understand him. His 
 mental processes were a complete blank to her, and, while 
 Mark was casting about for a form of apology which 
 should not double his offense, Maisie was a prey to blind 
 panic. As soon as lunch was over she fled. She said 
 she was going to get the eggs. She refused to let Mark 
 go with her, and swung off bareheaded and without an 
 umbrella through a gathering storm which threatened 
 every minute to become a downpour. 
 
 Mark settled himself with his pipe and a book, but 
 The Origins of the Twentieth Century failed to hold his 
 attention. The wind rose steadily, the thunder became 
 almost unintermittent, rain began to fall in sheets. An 
 hour and a half went by; ample time for Maisie to get 
 to the farm and back. Mark went into the bedroom and 
 looked out seaward. Spray was mixed with rain on 
 the glass, he heard the drumming of great breakers on 
 the cliffs, and far as the eye could see the Channel was 
 an angry waste of black and white under a louring sky. 
 A big ship went by far out, keeping wide of that tor- 
 mented shore. Lightning fell in steep flashes, sometimes 
 in two places at the same moment. By force of will 
 Mark obliged himself to go back to his book, but when 
 six o'clock struck and Maisie had been gone between 
 two and three hours he gave up all pretense of reading. 
 He would have gone to meet her if he had known in 
 what direction to go, but he had no idea what had become 
 of her. He tried to persuade himself that she was shel- 
 tering at the farm, but he could not believe it. Maisie
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 107 
 
 disliked the Biddle family, who were Strict Baptists and 
 looked down their noses at the strange tenants of the 
 White 'Cottage. Half -past six struck, then seven ; Mark 
 in sheer desperation was just groping among his wife's 
 dresses to find her waterproof before he went to look 
 for her, when the latch lifted and Maisie came in. 
 
 Mark came out of the bedroom and stopped short. 
 "Good heavens ! where have you been ?" 
 
 "Out," said Maisie baldly. 
 
 "You don't say so! My dear girl, what have you 
 been doing?" 
 
 "The Biddies hadn't any eggs, or anyhow they wouldn't 
 let me have any. I walked into Ushant and got them at 
 the shop." 
 
 "Two miles to the farm, five by road from the farm 
 to Ushant, four back to the cottage. Is this your idea of 
 a joke?" 
 
 She put the basket of eggs on the table and passed 
 slowly into her own room. A small river marked her 
 track on the floor. "Dear Mark, don't scold me! I got 
 sick of it long before I turned back, but I said I was go- 
 ing to get those eggs and I got them. The sky was mag- 
 nificent well worth a wetting. It won't hurt me, you 
 know. Nothing like that ever does. It was too bad of 
 me to leave you to get your own tea, though. How's the 
 arm?" 
 
 "Are you getting out of your wet things?" 
 
 "Oh, yes stockings and all. Why, Mark, you sound 
 quite anxious ! Have you been wondering what had be- 
 come of me? I thought you would be sure to guess." 
 
 "Naturally I was anxious. I should have come to 
 fetch you back if I had had any idea where you were. 
 If I go into the parlor will you come and dry yourself 
 by the fire?" 
 
 "Bless you, I'm not cold!" Maisie sang out, laughing.
 
 108 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "I was walking too fast to get chilly. Eleven miles in 
 three hours and a quarter isn't bad going for a woman 
 in a wind like this. I'd much rather you would take the 
 top off the stove and put the soup on, if you can manage 
 it with one hand ; it's all ready in the big saucepan. What 
 a storm, isn't it? Let's have the curtains drawn and 
 light up. It's like a winter's night, as wild as Decem- 
 ber." 
 
 Mark set on the soup and drew the curtains, shutting 
 out the early-fallen dusk ; he could not shut out the wind, 
 which crept in between the joists of the floor and the 
 crannied masonry of the walls, or rushed down the chim- 
 ney and drove puffs of smoke and sparks out into the 
 room, making the starry candle flames flicker and pine. 
 He spread the cloth for Maisie, laying the china and 
 silver as she liked them to be laid, and a bowl of branch- 
 ing scabious and sea-poppies between the candelabra. 
 "Aren't you nearly ready?" he called out. "You ought 
 to be hungry, Maisie." 
 
 "Ye-es. I feel a little shy." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I can't get it up anyhow, it's as wet as if I'd just 
 washed it," said Maisie apologetically. She came out 
 into the doorway of her room, the flicker of shade and 
 shine playing over her from head to foot; and Mark 
 stood up and raised his hand. She had changed her wet 
 serge for a French dinner dress of silver tissue, her high 
 boots for silver sandals; and over all she wore, like a 
 fairy mantle, the damp glittering tresses of her long 
 hair. 
 
 "I salute the Princess Cinderella, Maisie." 
 
 She slipped into her chair without meeting his eyes. 
 "Oh, Mark, you shouldn't have done all this. How 
 good of you ! I wish you would tell me how your arm 
 is."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 109 
 
 "All right, thanks, I'd forgotten about it. May it 
 please your Highness " 
 
 "What? Oh, Mark, don't! oh, how can you?" 
 
 He had passed from a military salute to one of a 
 purely civilian nature. Maisie turned away from him, 
 leaning her cheek on her palm, but her other hand lay 
 passive in his grasp, and Mark, bending his head, touched 
 it with his lips. "Am I forgiven? I know it was my 
 bearishness that drove you out of the house this after- 
 noon, and I can't sit down to dinner with you till I've 
 received absolution. I'm very sorry, and I never will 
 do so any more." 
 
 "Yes, Mark, you are forgiven. It wasn't your fault, 
 it was mine ; it is all my fault, all." 
 
 "Glad to hear it," said Mark cheerfully. "I quite 
 thought some of it was mine, that time. So now we'll 
 have our soup." 
 
 Outside the wind shrieked, threatening wrecks, the 
 lightning was so bright that it shone through the curtains 
 and dimmed the candles, and hard on the heels of every 
 flash a roar of thunder seemed to shake the house ; but 
 inside deep peace had fallen, that peace of heart which 
 no storms can break. Neither Mark nor Maisie said any- 
 thing more than the small remarks proper to the occa- 
 sion, as when Maisie offered to butter Mark's bread for 
 him, and Mark asked if she would very much mind un- 
 screwing the bottled beer; but after all it is of these 
 homely threads that the stuff of intimacy is woven, and 
 Maisie felt herself nearer to Mark while she cut up his 
 cold chicken than she had ever been before. When the 
 meal was over, Mark essayed to help her clear the table, 
 but his aid was refused. "No: you had all the bother 
 of laying it, and anyhow you couldn't wash up with one 
 hand. Go and sit in the big chair by the fire and be 
 comfy, it's as cold as cold to-night." She slipped on a
 
 110 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 big apron and caught up a ribbon to tie back her hair. 
 
 "I never in my life saw a woman with hair like yours, 
 Maisie." 
 
 "It's too long and too heavy," said Maisie with un- 
 affected impatience. "I should like to cut it off." 
 
 "I enter a caveat." 
 
 "Then I won't," said Maisie sweetly. 
 
 Mark sat down sideways in the big oaken arm-chair, 
 crossed his knees, lit his pipe, and lounged at ease, watch- 
 ing his wife. Maisie washed up the dinner things rather 
 slowly ; perhaps she was more tired than she was willing 
 to confess. She went into the parlor, and he heard her 
 closing the heavy storm shutters and barring them; then 
 she returned to the kitchen and shot the bolt of the door. 
 Their small preparations for the night were complete. 
 Maisie slipped her apron off again and came back to 
 the fireside, blowing out the candles on her way. She 
 dropped half a dozen cushions on the floor and sat down 
 at Mark's feet, her flounced skirts flowing out all round 
 her like a silver lakelet: she leaned her head against his 
 knee. Mark sat very still. 
 
 "Our last night at the White Cottage. I'm sorry you 
 should have had such a rotten time to-day. Is your arm 
 smarting badly?" 
 
 "Hardly at all, thanks." 
 
 "Will you let me change the dressings for you before 
 you go to sleep?" 
 
 "I shall be most awfully grateful to you if you will. 
 That stuff you put on salad oil or whatever it was 
 did me ever so much good. I expect I should have 
 had quite a bad arm if you weren't so exceedingly 
 skillful." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. Mark." 
 
 "Yes?" said Mark cheerfully. He held a match to 
 the fire he could not strike it with one hand leaned
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 111 
 
 back at full length in his chair and relit the nearer 
 candles. 
 
 "Why do you do that?" 
 
 " 'Hate sitting in the dark. Dismal show to-night any- 
 how; sure to be wrecks along this coast before morning 
 By Jove, that was a near thing!" 
 
 The wind came roaring up the glen, shook the cot- 
 tage, and traveled on over the downs in a high continu- 
 ous shriek like the note of a siren. As it passed, came 
 flash and crash together, and then the smash of splin- 
 tered wood, a loud tearing creak, and the splash of leaves 
 and twigs dragging down through other foliage to the 
 ground. "Tree struck," said Mark. "In the glen." 
 
 "I should think even you won't want to sleep out of 
 doors to-night, will you?" 
 
 "I've been out in worse weather, but not from choice. 
 No: I shall turn in on the sofa in the parlor." 
 
 "What a wretched state of things !" said Maisie slowly. 
 "Mark, I know you're fagged, I know you don't want to 
 talk to me : I know you're trying to put me off. But this 
 is my last chance, and I must speak to you. After all, I 
 am your wife." 
 
 "Yes," said Mark lightly. "And no other man's." 
 
 "Why why won't you, Mark ? Is it because you don't 
 like me?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I like you exceedingly." 
 
 "You mean don't you? like me for what I am, not 
 only for my looks ?" Mark assented. "I know," Maisie 
 went on. "We're good companions, aren't we? There 
 must be thousands of contented husbands and wives who 
 aren't so companionable as we are. That is what I 
 don't understand. If if you really didn't like me, I 
 could understand your refusing: but feeling as you do 
 it seems so overstrained." She looked up at him with 
 her fearless brilliant eyes, the eyes of a child, as Mark
 
 112 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 had come to believe. "After all, I am your wife. We're 
 bound to each other for life, and neither of us can ever 
 marry any one else. We couldn't even get a divorce, 
 because no judge would believe such a story. You're 
 putting us both into a false position. When I struck 
 this insane bargain for I see now that it was insane 
 I had no right to do it for anything on earth but at all 
 events it never crossed my mind that you would repu- 
 diate your share of it; that you meant to give me the 
 protection of your name without accepting any return 
 for it." 
 
 "I did not mean it." 
 
 "You didn't mean it when you came down here? Oh, 
 I'm glad ! You changed your mind at the eleventh hour, 
 wasn't it? Literally? Somehow I thought that was the 
 way of it, only it seemed so queer. Why did you change 
 your mind?" He was silent. "Mark, I'm very stupid 
 and ignorant, but I'm not absolutely blind. You look 
 tired to death, tired and downright ill. No man's nerves 
 will stand this sort of thing without wear and tear, they 
 aren't made that way. Any man of the world would 
 tell you that you had far better, both for your own sake 
 and mine, make the best of the position." Still he held 
 his peace. "Speak to me, Mark. To-morrow you'll go 
 away from me and I don't know when I shall see you 
 again. Why why won't you marry me?" 
 
 "Do you want me to marry you, Maisie?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oh, my dear !" said Mark under his breath. 
 
 He drew her down against his knee again, stroking 
 her hair with his hand. 
 
 "I'm afraid I can only tell you that I don't think it 
 right. You know that to a Catholic marriage is a sacra- 
 ment. I suppose it sounds a rotten thing to say what 
 I feel is that I don't love you."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 113 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 "And you don't love me. Apparently you think that 
 doesn't matter, but I can tell you that it does matter to 
 many women, and I think the odds are you would find 
 you were one of them. But you say you are my wife. 
 Well : I never ought to have married you. I'm sure this 
 must seem overstrained to you : I know most men would 
 not feel about it as I do. I dare say I'm all wrong. But, 
 having taken one false step, I won't go on and take an- 
 other. You might hate me, Maisie, if I did." 
 
 "But if I don't mind " 
 
 "You think you don't mind, dear, because you are 
 only a child and don't know anything about it. That's 
 why I was so much more in the wrong all through than 
 you were. I ought to have guarded you. You had your 
 small reason, I suppose I don't know what it was and 
 it doesn't much matter. You didn't know that there was 
 any particular reason for not doing it. You see, dear, 
 you don't understand." 
 
 "And you do, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes," said Mark sadly. "I do." 
 
 "And where did you get your experience ?" said Maisie. 
 "From the girl who died ?" 
 
 "Good God!" said her husband. 
 
 He walked over to the door, threw it open, and stood 
 leaning against the woodwork, wind and rain beating in 
 on him. Maisie rose languidly to her feet : she glanced 
 at Mark once or twice, but she did not speak to him. 
 She went about one or two small duties which were 
 generally left to the end of the evening, throwing on 
 more coal and laying a bundle of sticks on the rack to 
 dry before they were needed to light the fire next day. 
 At length she touched Mark's sleeve. "Shall I dress 
 your arm now?" 
 
 He turned and stood looking down at her. "About
 
 114 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 the girl I told you about. I ought to tell you that I only 
 saw her half a dozen times. She died at sixteen. She 
 was s he died at the hands of drunken Prussian sol- 
 diery." 
 
 "I know, Mark." 
 
 y ou _know ?" 
 
 "I know she died innocent. I only struck at her to 
 hurt you. Poor child! I can't hurt her." 
 
 "I don't understand you, Maisie." 
 
 "I'm sure you don't. Will you let me see to your 
 arm?" 
 
 "No. Go to your room." 
 
 "Mark " 
 
 "I'm not angry, but you must leave me alone. I don't 
 blame you for wanting to hurt me, because I don't doubt 
 that I myself have hurt you, though most unwillingly. 
 But I really can't stand any more of it at present, my 
 dear." 
 
 He opened the door of her room and stood aside for 
 Maisie to pass in. 
 
 "What are you doing with my key, Mark?" 
 
 He had taken the key from the inside of the lock. 
 "What are you doing ?" Maisie repeated "Mark ! Really, 
 that isn't necessary. Don't be afraid, I shan't renew my 
 my solicitations." 
 
 Mark stepped back into the kitchen, shut the door 
 between them, slipped the key into the lock on his own 
 side, and turned it. Then he went back to his chair by 
 the fire and sat for hours without movement, leaning his 
 head on his hand. '
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 "From of old, virtue in man is by men praised with a sneer." 
 
 LAWRENCE STURT, Mark's elder brother by twen- 
 ty minutes, had rooms in Chelsea, where he stayed 
 when he was not hunting, or shooting, or fishing, or 
 otherwise making life uncomfortable for the animal 
 world. 
 
 He was an inch or so taller than Mark, half a stone 
 or so lighter, and much better looking, though they 
 were alike ; the strong regular features, which in Mark 
 had been left blunt, were refined in Lawrence to an 
 almost effeminate delicacy, and the general coloring was 
 more pronounced. In character the difference, in spite 
 of a large common stock of experience, tradition, and 
 impulse, was even more marked, though here again it 
 followed apparently the same line of cleavage, for Law- 
 rence got credit for much more originality of action 
 than Mark. Lawrence, though happy to trade on his 
 seniority, had consistently declined to perform any of 
 the duties of his position, while Mark had gone first into 
 business and then into Parliament without expressing 
 any pronounced views or tastes of his own. Mark was 
 a Liberal Unionist as his father had been before him. 
 Lawrence when he thought about it proclaimed the 
 doctrine of Feudalism, as evolved after the war by a 
 small reactionary clique of intransigeants who held that 
 Labor had proved itself unfit to govern. Mark remained 
 a docile member of his mother Church, Lawrence dis- 
 tinguished himself in his salad clays by writing violently 
 atheistical articles in a clandestine College review, and 
 
 115
 
 116 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 later settled down into what is sometimes called "the 
 religion of all wise men." Lastly, Mark kept clear of 
 women, while Lawrence shot by an eccentric orbit from 
 one bright and dangerous luminary to another but never, 
 to vary the metaphor a little, burned his wings on the 
 way. 
 
 Lawrence was at the present time not best pleased 
 with his brother, who had vanished in a most irregular 
 and uncharacteristic manner at the moment when he 
 ought to have been getting together his outfit for the 
 Colorado journey. Lawrence, who had come up to town 
 in the heat of late July to expedite his own arrangements, 
 was annoyed when he learned from Henham, at Mark's 
 flat, that Mark had been away for a week and had left 
 no address. Repairing to a club, he found it in the hands 
 of the paperhangers, and was obliged to dine at a restau- 
 rant and go on by himself to a dreary and belated play. 
 After three acts he gave it up and went home. He came 
 into his drawing-room in a thoroughly bad temper, tried 
 to grope his way across in the dark (the service was com- 
 munal, and in one of his fits of medievalism he had cut 
 off the electric light), knocked over a chair, swore, and 
 struck a match. When he had lit the immense hanging 
 lamp of wrought Moroccan brass, which stained the 
 room from end to end in ember red, he turned round and 
 saw that he was not alone. Mark Sturt had been sitting 
 waiting for him* in* the dark. Lawrence, a sensitive me- 
 dium, experienced a slight disagreeable shock. He tilted 
 up the lamp and looked sharply at his brother, who sat 
 far back in a deep chair in a favorite attitude, more quiet- 
 even than usual because he was not smoking. 
 
 "Hullo, Mark! I've just been round to look you up. 
 What possessed you to go off and not leave any address ? 
 I cursed you high and low." 
 
 "Did you ?"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 117 
 
 "Good God ! what have you been doing with yourself ?" 
 
 "Nothing: what should I?" 
 
 "I suppose it's this red light that makes you look so 
 queer," said Lawrence : "hanged if I think it is, though. 
 I say, Mark, have you been ill?" 
 
 "Not I." 
 
 Lawrence opened his lips and shut them again. 
 "Either that, or you've been on the spree, my friend," 
 was his unspoken comment. But since Mark did not 
 seem to be at all inclined to receive sympathy he judged 
 it wiser to quit the subject. 
 
 "I went round this afternoon to row Bannatyne about 
 the guns," he said, dropping into a chair and crossing 
 one knee over the other. "Have a drink no? Well, 
 you are in a bad way. I asked him if yours were ready 
 and he said they weren't. So then I asked him why he 
 was so infernally slow, and he said he'd written to you 
 about them and got no answer. Didn't you get his let- 
 ter?" 
 
 "I believe I did, but I forgot to write back." 
 
 "My good chap, perhaps it has slipped your memory 
 that we start on the second?" 
 
 "That's what I came to see you about. I'm not go- 
 ing." 
 
 "Not going to Colorado?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why not ?" Mark shrugged his shoulders. "But what 
 are you going to do, then ? You don't mean to stop on 
 here in town by yourself?" 
 
 "No: but I can't get as far as Colorado. I simply 
 haven't the energy. Besides, I want to go to Gatton. 
 Bennet has been having trouble with a section of the 
 men, and wants a free hand, which I don't propose to 
 give him. Then there's the session coming on in Janu- 
 ary. It wouldn't give us much time."
 
 118 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "You knew all that a week ago," said Lawrence, star- 
 ing at him. "You were keen enough then. What's put 
 you off? What do you mean by saying you haven't 
 enough energy?" 
 
 "Simply that, Lawrence. I've been out of sorts these 
 last few days; nothing wrong, only fagged and out of 
 sorts. I really don't feel up to the American trip. I'm 
 sorry to throw you over, but if you don't want to go 
 alone why not try to get hold of Considine? Last time 
 I heard from him he seemed to be at a loose end." 
 
 "Because I swore I'd never take Considine on a shoot- 
 ing trip again. He always wipes my eye if he gets the 
 chance, and he has a trick of firing down the line when 
 he gets agitated which inspires me with deadly alarm. 
 I like sport, but Considine is the limit." 
 
 "Hugo Wilson would jump at the chance." 
 
 " 'I ah never shoot with the same guns two seasons 
 running. Bannatyne has a standing order to build me a 
 pair a year."' Lawrence, a born mimic, dropped swiftly 
 into the classic Cambridge drawl. "Thank you." 
 
 "Sorry: I didn't mean to let you down." Mark was 
 genuinely apologetic: he knew that Lawrence hated his 
 own company, and he knew too, from long experience, 
 that no finicking sportsman stood any chance of tolera- 
 tion. Had there been no> second side to Lawrence Sturt's 
 life the brothers would have drifted apart because they 
 would have had nothing whatever in common, but the 
 Mirabell of purple and fine linen whom fair ladies knew 
 in town was a different man from the bearded ruffian, 
 dirty and cheerful, for whom no days were too long and 
 no conditions too severe. "Surely you can beat up an- 
 other fellow between this and the second?" 
 
 "The time's so short. Besides" Lawrence Sturt 
 turned his black eyes again on his brother, and the cameo 
 delicacy of his profile was drawn a trifle sharper "the
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 119 
 
 whole thing's so silly. You may be out of sorts now, 
 but that's all the more reason for getting away. By the 
 time you've crossed the Atlantic you'll be as fit as you 
 were ten days ago, whereas if you knock about here doing 
 nothing you'll only get more hipped every day of your 
 life. Change is what you want. If you had been through 
 it all as often as I have, you'd know what prescription to 
 take." 
 
 "Through what all?" 
 
 Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. "How do I know 
 your precise turn of vanity? You've been away with 
 some woman, of course." 
 
 "Oh, have I?" 
 
 "And she's let you down, or you've had a fit of con- 
 science, some rotten nonsense or other; and you think 
 none of it ever happened to any one before. Go to 
 Colorado, you ass! That's the worst of men like you; 
 when the things that happen to everybody happen to 
 them, they labor under the delusion that it's all quite 
 novel and exciting. You come to Colorado' and let her 
 rip." 
 
 Mark laughed. He was amused, not so much by what 
 Lawrence said, as by a snapshot imagination of what 
 Lawrence would have said if the truth had been related 
 to him. There was no man on earth to whom Mark 
 would less willingly have confessed it. Lawrence Sturt 
 was a natural cynic; he affected nothing and concealed 
 nothing. He was very fond of his brother more fond 
 perhaps of Mark than Mark was of him and he admired 
 what he called the solidity of Mark's position and charac- 
 ter, but Mark's attitude towards women inspired in him 
 nothing but amusement. In his own attitude Lawrence 
 was more French than English, for he was profoundly in- 
 terested in women, and in the leisured intervals of rov- 
 ing their society was a necessity to him, but he never
 
 120 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 lost the sense of sex, and though he had many women 
 friends they were not immune from pursuit. Several 
 such intimacies had come to an abrupt end one way 
 or the other by his unforeseen transition from friend- 
 ship to passion ; and this from pure neglect of the moral 
 issue, for to him passion was merely a coming to terms. 
 Preference of one man to another he could respect, 
 though he was inclined to share Donne's view of a con- 
 stant lover, but virtue in the abstract as a motive for 
 refusal moved him merely to derision in a man, and in 
 a woman to pity. Useless to resent his mocking coun- 
 sels ; he did honestly think Mark a fool to let himself be 
 moved one step out of his way by any woman, whatever 
 the link might have been. However, nothing could have 
 thrown Lawrence out more effectively than Mark's short, 
 unwilling laugh, which made him doubt his own diagnosis ; 
 the patient is not as a rule amused by the surgeon. He 
 shifted in his chair and reached for his pipe. 
 
 "I saw a friend of yours to-day two, in fact; both 
 clamoring for your address. One was Father de Traf- 
 f ord. Met him in New Bond Street. Is it you that are 
 financing this new mission scheme of his?" 
 
 "Did he tell you so ?" 
 
 Lawrence grinned. "Not precisely! I don't know 
 why the idea came into my head. But he was so over- 
 flowing with gladness that he kept me standing ten min- 
 utes in the sun and got a tenner out of me in the end. 
 I hate chucking my money away on charity, but one 
 can't help admiring de Trafford though he is a priest. 
 After all it's better form to keep oneself in order. Some 
 o' these days I shall chuck up everything and turn Car- 
 thusian monk. You see if I don't." 
 
 "Oh, I think not." 
 
 "You may be right. So then I went a bit farther on 
 and ran up against Jenny Essenden, in half mourning
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 121 
 
 Field died at Nice, you know and looking prettier than 
 ever. She really is what I call a pretty woman. Well, 
 she was asking after you too. I didn't know you knew 
 her." 
 
 "I don't, except that I was stopping in the same hotel 
 when Field had his first attack of hemorrhage. Naturally 
 one had to see something of her in the circumstances. 
 Field wanted a lot of looking after, and the hotel people 
 tried to kick up a row, and Jenny behaved as one would 
 expect her to behave. Then his mother came out to 
 look after him, and Jenny moved on. She went back to 
 him when he got better, though. She was a pretty 
 woman, as you say." 
 
 "Is a pretty woman," Lawrence corrected him. "Black 
 and white suits her ; lovely brunette skin she has. She's 
 at a loose end now, I fancy. She was annoyed when I 
 couldn't tell her where you were. I don't think she be- 
 lieved me." 
 
 He made Mark Sturt throw back his head and laugh 
 like a schoolboy. "Lawrence, you are impossible ! Take 
 her on yourself these adventures don't happen to me." 
 
 "H'm. What about Miss Archdale?" 
 
 "Miss Archdale?" Mark repeated. He had rarely been 
 so taken by surprise, but he was not gun-shy, and his 
 face expressed nothing but surprise and some faint an- 
 noyance. "What on earth do you mean?" 
 
 "I suppose you never look at a woman with your eyes 
 open." Lawrence stooped to strike a match on the heel 
 of his boot. "But I think I pointed out to you before 
 that it's precisely you fellows who never look at a wo- 
 man well, of all the touchy beggars! Ten rounds 
 rapid,' hey? My good Mark, if you don't want to know 
 what I mean, why ask?" 
 
 "How on earth was I to know you meant anything so 
 idiotic?" Mark retorted; but, irritation overborne by
 
 122 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 curiosity, he was weak enough to add, "Besides, you saw 
 ten times more of her than I did. It was not I who 
 sculled her up the river !" 
 
 Lawrence regarded him fixedly. "No: and shall I 
 tell you what she talked about? You, my young friend, 
 you. I tried to head her off, because I could have found 
 a more amusing topic of conversation than the feats 
 which you didn't perform in the Andes, but it was no 
 go, though I pointed out to her that my own achieve- 
 ments were really rather creditable. So I gave her, two- 
 pence colored, that famous spill on the Horcones cor- 
 niche, as the first and last time on that expedition when 
 you kept your head and your footing : and, I give you my 
 word, when you cut the rope between yourself and 
 Mathias the lady was as white as my shirt." 
 
 "Oh, rot," said Mark, feigning a yawn. 
 
 He swung himself to his feet. "Good night. I'm 
 sorry to have had to throw you over, but it's unavoid- 
 able. Gatton is good enough for me just now. If you 
 bar going alone you might take Mrs. Essenden what?" 
 
 "What's the matter with your arm ?" 
 
 "Scorched it," said Mark, letting himself out of the 
 door. He paused to add, with ribald indifference to 
 truth or even probability, "So now you know why I 
 can't go to Colorado, don't you?"
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LAWRENCE and Mark Sturt were the twin sons of 
 a North of England ironmaster and his beautiful 
 Cornish wife. Bridget Sturt she was Bridget Saltau 
 before she married died when her sons were three years 
 old; Mark retained a faint memory of her, from Law- 
 rence's mind her image had vanished as a reflection van- 
 ishes out of a mirror. Mrs. Sturt had not loved her 
 husband, and she died partly of heart failure after in- 
 fluenza and partly because she found the business of 
 life too fatiguing to be carried on any longer. Even her 
 beautiful boys could not reconcile her to the necessity 
 of satisfying Arthur Sturt's demands. 
 
 It was from her that Lawrence derived both his looks 
 and his temperament. Mark was more like his father, 
 though in him too a strain of Celtic softness crossed the 
 hard uncompromising stock of the Sturt family. Arthur 
 Sturt liked to call himself a tradesman, and a tradesman 
 he was, but on a grand scale. Born of an old North of 
 England family, but younger son to a younger brother, he 
 had settled in a Derbyshire dale where land was cheap 
 and waterpower plentiful and had built up for himself 
 a business which made his name known far and wide. 
 "Sturt's Patent Reaper and Binder" was now gathering 
 sheaves across half Canada, while "Sturt's Patent Plow" 
 eared the fertile acres of the Cape. A town had sprung 
 up round the foundry, a small kingdom in which Arthur 
 Sturt was king; he had the knack of handling men, and 
 it was his one secret vanity that among his employees 
 
 123
 
 124 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 there had never been a strike. Trouble had come near 
 more than once, but had been averted by prompt and 
 personal action. Gatton loved Arthur Sturt, whom it 
 called "The Squire" a queer nickname for the autocrat 
 of a manufacturing center, but justified by his tall figure, 
 fresh color, and blue eyes, as well as by his love of long 
 tramps, gun on shoulder, and his easy seat in the saddle, 
 and the endless anecdotes told about his genial ways. 
 That these anecdotes were deceptive that the man who 
 traded on the Squire's reputed geniality would speedily 
 regret his little error were the facts on which the 
 Squire's popularity was solidly based. He would have 
 been called "soft" for his Tudor friendliness and ac- 
 cessibility if Gatton had not early felt the Tudor grip 
 of steel. The stern resolute man, hard as the rock of 
 his own fells, would have made a slave-driver whose 
 slaves never mutinied. In command of English labor 
 he used different methods, certainly, but much the same 
 spirit; absolute fearlessness, absolute inflexibility, abso- 
 lute impartiality between their claims and his own. 
 
 Perhaps it was in this last quality that his strength lay. 
 It is said that there is no such thing as commercial 
 honesty in England to-day, but Arthur Sturt was cynically 
 honest, for he never lied, never broke his word, never 
 took a secret or unfair advantage,, never abused the 
 power of his capital, never overlooked or forgot a cheat, 
 and was so entirely devoid of the Christian grace of for- 
 giveness that he liked no sport better than the hounding 
 down of the man who tried to cheat him. It may be 
 added that he was an indefatigable worker. He did not 
 marry till he was fifty, and up to the time of his mar- 
 riage he lived in a red brick villa within half a mile of 
 the works ; when it was represented to him that Bridget 
 Saltau could not be transplanted from Saltau Avery to 
 a red brick villa, he bought up Longstone Edge, hill and
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 125 
 
 dale, lock, stock, and barrel, and settled the estate and 
 the sixteenth century manor house which bears its name 
 upon her and her eldest son after her, but he continued 
 to motor in to Gatton every day. 
 
 After Mrs. Sturt's death he became even more devoted 
 to his business than before. He had certainly loved his 
 wife; whether he realized that she had never loved him 
 and that his marriage had been a failure it was impos- 
 sible to say, for he never spoke of her. His energies 
 were all concentrated on the expansion of Gatton, on 
 the development of new enterprises, and on the acquisi- 
 tion of land, which he bought up right and left, chiefly 
 for building purposes, while politics of the Chamberlain 
 school provided distraction for his leisure hours. Law- 
 rence and Mark were looked after by nurses and gov- 
 ernesses in their tender years; at the age of ten they 
 were packed off to a preparatory school; Stonyhurst 
 followed. For their first sixteen years of life their in- 
 tercourse with their father was confined to state meals 
 on Sundays, state attendance in the Catholic chapel, and 
 an occasional state interview in the study for Mr. Sturt 
 was a believer in the educational value of a sound thrash- 
 ing, and the ferulas they got at Stonyhurst were mild 
 in comparison of the paternal riding whip. Looking back 
 on his youth, when he was old enough to contrast it with 
 that of other boys, Mark supposed that it had been in 
 some ways a Spartan discipline; but he was too healthy 
 and happy to be conscious of any want at the time, for 
 he loved the tradition of the old Catholic school, the 
 daily Mass, the yearly Retreat, the sodalities, the rich 
 setting of hill and woodland, and the immense playing 
 fields, and the unusual clash of rank and type and age 
 which under the segregating atmosphere of the older 
 Faith made of the place a microcosm a little apart from 
 non-Catholic England; while in the vacations, if there
 
 126 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 was no petting at Longstone Edge, there were guns and 
 horses and an extraordinary range of freedom. 
 
 Throughout these early years the brothers were closely 
 and tenderly linked; they did everything together, and 
 were never happy out of each other's society. Gradually, 
 however, they began unconsciously to develop individual 
 tendencies and to drift apart, and by the time they passed 
 into the Higher Line each had his own set, and interests 
 which diverged ever more widely. Mark's bosom friend 
 was little Guy de Trafford, a born saint under all his 
 devilry; Lawrence, a born rebel, led a movement which 
 dignified itself by the name of Free Thought, though 
 its more obvious badges of union were smuggled ciga- 
 rettes. Mark was more bookish than Lawrence, and 
 Lawrence was a keener sportsman and more adventur- 
 ous than Mark ; more popular also than Mark, who 
 masked, in his later teens, a paralyzing shyness under a 
 front of indifferent calm. The Sturts were a military 
 family, and Mr. Sturt had meant to put both his sons in 
 the army, but, to the astonishment of his father, Law- 
 rence at seventeen, politely insubordinate as usual, struck 
 for Cambridge and the diplomatic service. 
 
 It was at this time that Arthur Sturt began to realize 
 how little he knew of his children, but for the shrewd 
 merchant prince it was not too late to repair the error, 
 though the gulf is wide between a man of seventy and a 
 boy of seventeen. It did not take him five minutes to 
 decide that Mark was docile and that Lawrence was 
 neither to hold nor to bind, and that Mark was a Catho- 
 lic by temperament while Lawrence was not and prob- 
 ably never would be one even in name. Then Arthur 
 Sturt went to Stonyhurst and had long talks with pre- 
 fects and form-masters; what he heard interested him 
 very much, perplexed him a good deal, and caused him 
 to slap Lawrence on the back when they next met, and
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 127 
 
 to eye Mark with imperfectly concealed mistrust. Law- 
 rence was annoyed by the one demonstration, and Mark 
 was hurt by the other. Decidedly the belated fatherhood 
 of Arthur Sturt was working out on odd lines. 
 
 Mr. Sturt was a Catholic, but a Catholic of a lax type. 
 He shrugged his shoulders over Lawrence, but, if Law- 
 rence wished to go to Cambridge, to Cambridge he should 
 go, though the air of a mixed university was not likely 
 to foster a pining faith. But Mr. Sturt would have been 
 more surprised than he was if he had known that the 
 choice was dictated largely by a desire to get away from 
 Mark. Twins ! there was a hint of compulsion in the 
 tie which annoyed the adolescent Lawrence. Were they 
 to be expected eternally to do the same things in the 
 same way? With his own serene candor, he put the 
 case to Mark on the eve of their eighteenth birthday. "I 
 am sick to death of you, Mark. Aren't you sick to death 
 of me? Let us, for heaven's sake, get away from each 
 other for a bit. It isn't our fault that we're twins, but 
 it'll be our fault if we continue to be Siamese twins, 
 and I propose to put a stop to it. What say you?" 
 
 "Don't know that I much care one way or the other," 
 said Mark after pondering for a moment. "I don't 
 particularly mind seeing you about, if that's what you 
 mean." He paused, blew out a whiff of smoke, and 
 looked up at his brother through the cloudy rings with 
 a spark of laughter in his eye. "I don't particularly 
 enjoy it either, if you come to that. Rather like a piece 
 of furniture what? A handsome wardrobe." 
 
 "Oh, that's how I affect you, is it?" said Lawrence. 
 "Well, you affect me like an ugly wardrobe which gets in 
 my way. Why do you say 'what' like that at the end 
 of a sentence? Silly trick." 
 
 "You do it yourself. I didn't know I did." 
 
 "There you are again ! We are alike : too much alike.
 
 128 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 I could murder you, Mark, when you do the same things 
 I do. I should like to punch your head." 
 "Try." 
 
 Lawrence looked longingly at his brother. "Will you 
 really? Nothing would please me more, but I didn't 
 think you were sportsman enough. With or without the 
 gloves ?" 
 "Without." 
 
 They had forgotten that the schoolroom was over their 
 father's study. Mr. Sturt, after listening for some min- 
 utes to the sounds overhead, came upstairs and found 
 his sons engaged in a scientific and violent fight. He 
 dragged Lawrence off Mark desisted as soon as the 
 door opened and then standing between them illustrated 
 a family idiosyncrasy by giving way to a gust of laugh- 
 ter. It was characteristic of the Sturts that they laughed 
 when other people would not as a rule have been amused, 
 and Arthur Sturt, iron founder, aged sixty-eight, made 
 the room ring as he stood between the disordered twins. 
 Mark had lost a front tooth, Lawrence had a black eye, 
 both were streaming with blood. 
 
 "You idiotic young puppies !" said Mr. Sturt as soon 
 as he could speak, "shake hands, will you? or I'll knock 
 both your heads together. You won't? Yes, you will, 
 my lads. Come! Enough nonsense. Mark, you have 
 more sense than t'other one." Mark, after a brief strug- 
 gle with himself, held out his hand. "Now, Lawrence, 
 will you have the goodness? No hanging back when 
 the other fellow leads the way. Gentlemen don't do it." 
 Lawrence obeyed sulkily. "Now, no more of this: d'ye 
 hear?" 
 
 "Why didn't you let us fight it out, sir?" said Law- 
 rence, with his handkerchief at his nose. "We'd hardly 
 begun. And there were lots of arrears." 
 
 "Why did you choose the room over my study for
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 129 
 
 your battle-ground, young ass ?" said his father, strolling 
 to the door. "Might have gone down to the stables 
 what?" 
 
 His conclusion was that on the whole it was as well for 
 the lads to be separated for a year or two. 
 
 Lawrence shone at Cambridge. That is to say, he be- 
 came President of the Union, and got his rowing blue. 
 In the intervals of these pursuits he read for the Modern 
 Language Tripos, and, more to his own than to his tutor's 
 surprise, was "allowed a pass." Mr. Sturt did not seem 
 to mind much, nor did he grumble when Lawrence's bills 
 began to come in; tailors' bills, wine merchants' bills, 
 livery-stable bills, hotel bills, garage bills it really seemed 
 as though Lawrence in the three years of his University 
 career had taken an oath not to waste a farthing of his 
 large allowance on any account which could be left or 
 induced to run on. The total was startling it mildly 
 surprised even Lawrence; but Mr. Sturt paid it without 
 turning a hair. Indeed he had small right to complain, 
 for he had turned a deaf ear to the tutorial warnings 
 which began to rain on him while Lawrence was still a 
 freshman. Mr. Sturt had come up each year for the 
 Mays, and had satisfied himself that Lawrence was 
 playing through his University days en prince, handsome, 
 brilliant, merry, and beset by friends. Mark meanwhile, 
 being put down for an infantry commission, had a much 
 less shining and expensive career at Sandhurst, and came 
 out of it with superfluous honors and a tinge of melan- 
 choly in his eyes. 
 
 It was about this time that it became plain that Mr. 
 Sturt, in his old age, was growing very fond of his elder 
 son. He kept a tight hand over Mark, even in the matter 
 of an allowance, and since Mark paid his debts the dis- 
 parity between the twins was still wider than it was
 
 130 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 meant to be. At this time indeed the brothers were 
 farther apart than ever before or after, for the difference 
 of position accentuated the difference in temperament; 
 Mark, modest by nature, malleable by training, depressed 
 by want of encouragement, and painfully conscious of 
 being the poorest subaltern in his regiment, was forced 
 back more and more on his own stoic pride, while in 
 Lawrence on the contrary Mr. Sturt's wayward favors, 
 acting on a headstrong will and ardent passions, pro- 
 duced sheer license of speech and act. Mark went shabby 
 to pay his mess bills and sold his hunter to meet the 
 subscriptions which drain a young officer's purse; while 
 Lawrence was off to Paris and Vienna, nominally to 
 study languages, in reality to have as gay a time as 
 Europe can offer to gilded youth. The severities of 
 training, coupled with a nice dislike of cheap fruit, had 
 kept him moderately straight at Cambridge, but in France, 
 behind the smart Ministerial gateways and within the 
 gray old doors of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, which 
 were unlocked for him by the letters of his relatives, 
 the young man's education sentimentale went forward 
 apace. Meantime the brothers continued to see nothing 
 of each other till the cataclysm of the war tore up the 
 order of their lives and threw them again across each 
 other's path. 
 
 Long before the crisis, Lawrence was back in England 
 clamoring for a commission. He had got a hint of what 
 was coming, and he cursed himself in fluent German 
 for having risen from the table where so great a game 
 was to be played. Luckily it was not too late to pick up 
 the cards as a University graduate and ex-lieutenant of 
 the Officers' Training Corps he was still eligible for 
 Sandhurst, and Arthur Sturt, hot-blooded as any boy, 
 wrote off post-haste to claim the nomination which his 
 old friend Lord Vere had promised him long ago, and
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 131 
 
 which, alas ! he had not cared to claim for Mark. Never- 
 theless, do what Lawrence would, Mark had the start of 
 him. Mark was sent immediately to the front, landing 
 at le Havre in the early days of August, when nin&- 
 tenths of England did not know that a man had left her 
 shores; a subaltern in a line regiment, he went through 
 all the horrors of the great retreat, dreamed his dream 
 at Vitry-le-Frangois when the tide turned, and left his 
 youth between Meaux and Soissons, when stubborn flight 
 collected itself into grim advance, and the Germans were 
 hammered back at ten miles a day over bridgeless rivers 
 and treeless fields and roads aflash with discarded shells 
 and accouterments and smelling of dead horses and men. 
 Early in October Lawrence came out with a draft of 
 reinforcements, and chance threw him straight across 
 Mark's path. They met in a village street after a name- 
 less action, linesman and guardsman, both mud from 
 head to heel, both deaf with the roar of the guns, both 
 reeling with exhaustion. 
 "Hullo, Lawrence !" 
 "Hullo, Mark!" 
 
 "You're lucky to get out here so soon." 
 "Lucky for you fellows too, ain't it?" 
 "Oh, we're all right now. How's father?" 
 "So-so. You look a bit pallid anything wrong?" 
 "No, only a raving headache from those infernal guns. 
 You haven't a cigar to spare, have you?" 
 "Masses. Here, you can have all these." 
 "Oh, I say, can you really? Oh, thanks most awfully! 
 My kit has gone astray. You couldn't let me have a 
 clean shirt, could you, and a tin of Keating's, while you 
 are about it? Oh, good! Bring 'em round to-night, I'm 
 in the patisserie shop over there with half a chimney. 
 'By." 
 
 There were many such meetings.
 
 132 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 During the death-wrestle of October and November 
 Lawrence saw a good deal of Mark, for it so fell out that 
 their regiments held adjacent strips of line by Ypres, 
 and in the disintegration and confusion of the British 
 forces there came one desperate day when the brothers 
 found themselves firing side by side with a miscellaneous 
 collection of cooks and servants behind them. Then 
 the line was shortened, and they were thrown apart, to 
 meet again on the eve of La Neuve Chapelle. But Mark's 
 military career was cut short at St. filoi, and it was when 
 the roll was called and Mark was missing that Law- 
 rence for the first time realized that after all, in spite of 
 that trick of saying "what?" he loved his brother. He 
 refused to believe that Mark was dead, he hoped that 
 Mark had been taken prisoner. Two days later he 
 learned from a captured Saxon that an English officer 
 was lying wounded but still alive, half -buried in a shell 
 pit between the lines a very tall man, a lieutenant of the 
 Derbyshires. The Saxons had tried to get him in, but 
 the place was cross-swept by a tempest of artillery fire 
 and raked by snipers, and after losing two men in the 
 attempt they had given it up. Lawrence got his prisoner 
 to point out the exact spot; it was close to the German 
 lines. He had to wait till dark such dark as was left 
 by star-shells and pistol-flares ; and he refused to take a 
 stretcher-bearer with him; he would risk his own iron 
 nerve and iron sinews, but no other man's. Luck be- 
 friended him, and he came reeling back with the wreck 
 of a human form on his shoulders five minutes before 
 a false alarm of the German gunners pounded that par- 
 ticular spot of ground where Mark and two dead com- 
 rades had been lying into empurpled mire. 
 
 It was Mark's luck that he should be out of the rest 
 of the fighting ; he was insensible when Lawrence brought 
 him in, insensible (happily for him) in the horse ambu-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 133 
 
 lance which covered the rutty roads behind the front, 
 insensible in the train to the base except for red inter- 
 vals when he listened to his own moans and pitied the 
 poor beggar who was having such a devil of a time. 
 Two months he lay at Boulogne, and Lawrence, chafing 
 in the trenches while the spring flowers came out in 
 war-scarred cottage gardens, thought every day to hear 
 that his brother had gone west. But Mark was very 
 strong, and the youth in him locked fast hold on life; and 
 when he went west at length, late in May, it was in the 
 blue swinging cot of a hospital ship. 
 
 Mark never forgot his home-coming. Longstone Edge, 
 like many another manor house of less and greater pre- 
 tensions, flew the Red Cross flag from the beginning of 
 the war; it was transformed into a convalescent home 
 for wounded officers, and by the aid of a little wire-pull- 
 ing Mr. Sturt managed to get his own son sent to him as 
 soon as the military hospital relaxed its grip. It was 
 two o'clock in the morning when the Red Cross ambu- 
 lance drew up before the lighted entry, and Mark 
 still a stretcher case, after all those racking weeks 
 was lifted out by the orderlies. He looked up and saw 
 his father's tall spare figure standing in the porch, the 
 dark hair much grayer than it had been a twelvemonth 
 before, the shrewd eyes surrounded by a network of 
 wrinkles. Shrewd as those eyes were, they traveled over 
 Mark's face without a gleam of recognition. It was not 
 till Mr. Sturt had watched the last case out of the van 
 not till he had felt the shock of disappointment and 
 anxiety not till he had turned back into the hall for a 
 despairing second survey, that he recognized Mark's quiz- 
 zical smile. And then Arthur Sturt could not find words 
 for a moment. Essentially a fair-minded man, he had 
 always meant to hold the scales level between his two 
 sons, and yet when the news came of Mark's almost
 
 134 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 mortal wound his instant, mute, irrepressible cry had 
 been, "Thank God it isn't Lawrence." He would not 
 have let Lawrence lie at Boulogne two months, nor yet 
 two weeks, without going over to see him. And now he 
 stood by Mark's side he a man of seventy, still full of 
 health and vigor and there lay Mark, prostrate, help- 
 less as a child. The young man was very much moved 
 by the sight of his father's emotion. He held out his 
 hand, the large, long-fingered hand of a powerful man, 
 bloodless now, and so weak that he could hardly lift it. 
 "Well, my boy," said Mr. Sturt in his coolest tones, 
 "glad to have you home again. We'll soon get you on 
 your legs now, what?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Mark; and added, unaware of the 
 turn his father's thoughts had taken, "I saw Lawrence 
 last week, sir. He's put in for five days' leave, and he 
 thinks he'll get it." Then he wondered why Mr. Sturt's 
 reply came so sharply: 
 
 "Lawrence isn't the point. It's you we have to think 
 about now, my son." 
 
 Later, when Mark was in bed in his own room, Mr. 
 Sturt came in with the surgeon and stood by with his 
 hands in his pockets while the dressings were changed. 
 Poor Mark, for whom dressing-time was still a dark hour, 
 could have dispensed with the paternal observation, but 
 he had early learned to regard his father as the incalcu- 
 lable element in an otherwise stable world, and he held 
 his tongue. "You've had a grueling," was Mr. Sturt's 
 comment after the surgeon went. "Feel bad, eh?" He 
 wiped Mark's wet forehead with his handkerchief. He 
 had, and Lawrence inherited, the last talent that one 
 would have expected to find in either of them the wary, 
 patient, and delicate fingers of the born nurse; but he 
 was intolerant of the sick-room tact that conceals or 
 evades.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 135 
 
 Mark smiled with wry lips. "Rather sore, you know. 
 Did Trent say if there's any chance of my being fit to go 
 back?" 
 
 "Do you want to go back?" 
 
 "Yes. 'Hate leaving my men : Lawrence too." 
 
 "No chance of it, I'm afraid." 
 
 "Not before the show's over?" 
 
 "Not at all." The nurse was signaling to Mr. Sturt 
 to be silent, but he ignored her. "Trent swears you'll 
 never sit a horse again." Mark set his teeth on a cry: 
 the shock was very great. The nurse, scarlet, fairly 
 ordered Mr. Sturt out of the room. But he stooped over 
 Mark and touched the young man's cheek with his lips 
 the incalculable element again. "Better know the truth 
 eh?" 
 
 "Trent's a damned fool," Mark gasped out. 
 
 "Think so? Better prove it, then," said Arthur Sturt 
 with his dry smile. "You're a Sturt : you come of tough 
 stock. But, go or stay, you've won your spurs, Mark. 
 Run away for two minutes, my good girl. I've had a 
 letter from your Colonel. God bless you, my boy. You've 
 made me very proud of you." 
 
 It was Mark's natural luck to be invalided out of the 
 Service which he loved ; he proved Captain Trent a fool 
 in the end, but it took him two years to do it, and when 
 Lawrence came home in August on leave Mark was 
 barely able to crawl about on crutches. It was Law- 
 rence's luck that he went through the whole campaign 
 without a scratch. What did seem strange to those who 
 knew them both, and most strange to those who knew 
 how much luck has to do with such rewards, was that it 
 was Mark, not Lawrence, who won the cross for valor. 
 What had he done? Till Lawrence told the tale, Mr. 
 Sturt knew little more than was conveyed by the bald
 
 136 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 official narrative of the War Office; indeed he hardly 
 knew as much as that, for the incident dated from 
 crowded days, and Mark had not taken much notice of 
 it at the time and had incontinently forgotten all about 
 it. But Lawrence Sturt told the story one summer eve- 
 ning on the lawn at Longstone Edge. Gallantry went 
 cheap in the autumn days from Mons to Ypres, when 
 more crosses were earned, perhaps, than were given in 
 the whole length of the war; but there was a bizarre 
 coolness about Mark's act which tickled his father's fancy. 
 Mark vainly swore that he had a revolver. "No, you 
 hadn't, old chap," said Lawrence, grinning down at him 
 in an immense fraternal amity. "Till you got past the 
 wood you had nothing but a cane. Tom Wentworth and 
 I were watching from the hill with field-glasses, and Tom 
 yelled to me, 'Who's the feller with the walking-stick?* 
 Then you slued the gun round and I saw the bandage 
 on your wrist and a large patch of red clay on your 
 trousers, and I yelled back, 'It's Mark/ and just then 
 we were ordered forward in support and poor old Tommy 
 only went about three yards before he toppled over. I 
 saw him going down on a stretcher when the fun was 
 over, so I went up to ask him how he felt, and the first 
 thing he said was, 'You ought to tell Mark to keep that 
 cane and cut his initials on it/ 'His initials?' I said. 
 'Yes/ said Tom, with a pallid grin, 'M.S.V.C.' " 
 
 Mark smiled. In all humility and sincerity he recog- 
 nized, as most men do, that he had done no more to de- 
 serve the distinction than nine out of ten of his acquaint- 
 ance who had not won it ; and yet he did not undervalue 
 it or blind himself to its significance. Few men very 
 few educated men came out of the war the same as 
 when they entered it. Of these few Lawrence was one, 
 but not Mark; and perhaps even Lawrence would not 
 have escaped scot free but for the charmed life he bore,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 137 
 
 immune amid the hottest fighting, though it must be 
 owned that in point of good impressions Lawrence sick 
 or well was a non-conducting medium. "Sir," said Ar- 
 thur Sturt to his darling son on one unfortunate occa- 
 sion when Lawrence was distinctly less dear than usual, 
 "sir, you have not enough moral sense to cover a three- 
 penny bit." But Mark, whose character, naturally re- 
 flective, had taken longer to set and harden, owed a great 
 deal to that stern school, for it killed the diffidence in 
 him and made him sure of himself. Gallantries in the 
 heat of action win the conspicuous honors of war ; Mark 
 knew, Lawrence guessed, that a much more difficult cour- 
 age had dictated Mark's conduct during those two days 
 when he lay wounded between the lines. 
 
 "Did you know where you were ?" Lawrence asked one 
 night when they were alone." 
 
 "Pretty well," said Mark. 
 
 "Did you realize that you were within earshot of our 
 trenches?" pursued Lawrence. 
 
 Mark did not answer, and Lawrence dropped the sub- 
 ject. For all his levity, it still turned him sick to think 
 of that night the glazed eyes, the death-mask features, 
 the untended body ripped open by the slash of a bayonet 
 from breast to flank . . . Difficult to associate that dying 
 wreck with Mark ! Yet it was Mark ; and for the first 
 twenty- four hours Mark must have had long periods 
 of consciousness, when the temptation to call out for 
 help, the help of his own side, must have been hard to 
 subdue. He had subdued it ; believing himself done for, 
 he had lain without a cry, waiting for the death which 
 came by inches, by a slow and foul agony, sooner than 
 risk a comrade's life to save the fag-end of his own. For 
 that, certainly, far more than for his bizarre adventure 
 with the machine-gun, Mark deserved his cross. 
 
 Slowly, very slowly, Mark came back to health and
 
 138 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 strength; it was a miracle that he lived at all, and he 
 would not have done so had he not possessed not only 
 an iron constitution but also iron nerves. Pain alone 
 kept him awake, and when that eased off he slept like a 
 child, long healing slumbers in which life seemed to be 
 visibly flowing back into his broken frame; life mental 
 as well as physical, for the Mark Sturt who lay on the 
 lawn at Longstone Edge was saner and clearer-visioned 
 than the madman who stormed the barricades of St. 
 filoi. He never consciously spoke of Renee. That he 
 spoke of her in delirium he knew because one day Mr. 
 Sturt asked abruptly, "Who is Renee, my boy?" but, 
 though in most ways Mark was frank with his father, to 
 that question he answered with gray unwavering eyes, 
 "I don't know, sir." There are wounds of the spirit 
 which can bear no human touch, and within this category 
 fell Mark's fantastic, pure, and fleeting romance, sealed 
 immortal by its bloody end. Yet the lacerated mind re- 
 covered with the lacerated body, for Mark, disciplined 
 by the exhaustion of pain when he was too weak to feel 
 anger, learned to see Renee's death in perspective as part 
 of the general suffering caused by the war; and there 
 came a day when he confessed to his director, "Father, I 
 accuse myself of wishing to take revenge into my own 
 hands." 
 
 When Lawrence took his second week's leave Mark 
 was fairly on his legs, allowed a little mild golf and an 
 occasional day's shooting, but his military career was at 
 an end, for the army surgeons had certified that he would 
 never cross a horse again. By the time Lawrence came 
 home for good, Mark had ridden fifteen miles in a morn- 
 ing. But he was still leading an invalid life at Longstone 
 Edge, dragooned by Mr. Sturt, whose blunt humorous 
 tyranny stood on guard over Mark's chafing imprudence. 
 "Good heavens, Mark," cried Lawrence, when Mark was
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 139 
 
 ordered to a sofa the first evening, "I wouldn't be kept 
 in leading strings if I were you!" "Aye, that's the line 
 to take," said the sardonic Arthur Sturt. "You always 
 were a sensible fellow, Lawrence." And Lawrence shut 
 up under that cold blue stare. He was immensely amused 
 and pleased to find himself snubbed in Mark's favor. 
 
 A month later Mr. Sturt sickened and died, after a 
 ten days' illness ; died, holding the hands of his tall sons, 
 and smiling with easy reassurance into Lawrence's eyes. 
 The strings thus broken, it could be seen how well they 
 had done their work, for Mark, whom the medical world 
 had sentenced to a life of dependence, at once came 
 forward and took command of all business arrangements. 
 Lawrence, the brilliant and the hardy, shut himself up in 
 his room and wept. He was, in fact, perfectly useless; 
 he sobbed like a child at the funeral, and left Mark to 
 do the honors to a concourse of distinguished mourning 
 guests. "Just like Lawrence!" said Mark to himself by 
 the graveside ; and as he drew his brother's hand through 
 his own arm he realized, as Lawrence had realized after 
 St. filoi, that in spite of mutual irritation and impatience 
 the link of birth held fast. To the end of the chapter 
 Lawrence would go on thinking Mark slow and occa- 
 sionally dense, while Mark was aware of a vein of emo- 
 tional weakness in Lawrence, but their qualities were 
 rather complementary than hostile, and the relation be- 
 tween them was rooted in mutual respect. 
 
 Mr. Sturt's will came as a surprise to both his chil- 
 dren. That Longstone Edge would go to Lawrence they 
 had always known, and they had taken for granted that 
 the business and the bulk of the money would go with 
 it. But Mr. Sturt had other views. He explained in a 
 prefatory note that the English law of primogeniture had 
 always seemed to him less satisfactory than the French 
 system of equal division; and he left Gatton and all its
 
 140 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 revenues unconditionally to his younger son, "because 
 he may possibly develop business aptitudes, whereas my 
 son Lawrence never will." Mark's impulse was again 
 to protest; but when they came to look into matters he 
 grew resigned. There was a great deal of money going; 
 Mr. Sturt had made large gains, and his investments had 
 turned out well. He was one of the first men to back the 
 fortunes of the aeroplane, and the big sums put into a 
 popular Flying School had proved a gold-mine. Gatton 
 and all its future profits apart, there was enough left to 
 make Lawrence a very rich man, richer than Mark ; and 
 besides Lawrence did not want Gatton, and frankly 
 owned that if it had come into his hands he would have 
 sold it to a syndicate. Mark did not precisely want Gat- 
 ton either he had had no business training, and he liked 
 an active life. But facts spoke with a loud voice to 
 Mark's ear, and there was no doubt about it that Gatton 
 was a big fact. He took up the work where Arthur Sturt 
 had dropped it, and for the next four or five years he 
 had little leisure to repine. 
 
 When peace was signed, Lawrence resigned his com- 
 mission, out of sheer boredom. He had enjoyed the 
 war ; there were few who could say as much. It had left 
 him with a thirst for adventure which life in barracks 
 could not satisfy. He had a passion for sport and ex- 
 ploration, and he was rich enough to indulge it. At first 
 Mark was too busy at Gatton to see more of his brother 
 than before the war, but when things got into train he 
 formed the habit of accompanying Lawrence on his long 
 trips to shoot strange beasts and climb strange peaks in 
 the less habitable districts of the globe. When the wan- 
 derers returned their paths diverged Lawrence took up 
 his quarters in town, while Mark went back to keep an 
 eye on Gatton. Years passed on, youth ripened into full 
 manhood; presently the House of Commons beckoned,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 141 
 
 and Mark, almost before he knew what was happening, 
 found himself member for his own division of the county. 
 Gatton had brought him in, to his own surprise, with ac- 
 clamation. It was all hard work, collar work, and Mark 
 gloried in it. He liked labor for its own sake, and he 
 forgot that he had ever been a soldier. He liked London 
 too, and the society which swiftly opened to the young 
 Northern member, a society which was ready to like 
 him for the sake of his beautiful mother and his brilliant 
 brother, not to speak of Sturt and Saltau relatives in all 
 the Services. Was he ambitious? He had hardly time 
 for it. His hands were always full of work, or full of 
 play. When Parliament was up, there were markhor to 
 be shot above Kashmir; and behind all else there was 
 always Gatton with its swarming operatives, its com- 
 plexities of procedure, its pressure of conflicting claims. 
 Mark did not run Gatton precisely on his father's lines. 
 He kept it going for a year or two on the old footing, 
 till he had mastered the working of the machine, and 
 then having called together his lieutenants he told them 
 that he was going to make a change. He had faith in 
 an experiment which he was rich enough to carry out. 
 He meant to run Gatton on a profit-sharing basis. There 
 was opposition of course, but Mark had not fought 
 through the Retreat for nothing; he knew his own mind 
 and carried it through, paying no more attention to old 
 Holmes, who prophesied the Bankruptcy Court, than to 
 Lawrence, who jeered at him for a Socialist. He was 
 vindicated by the issue, for, in the first place, Gatton 
 on the new lines continued to pay as well as Gatton on 
 the old, and in the second he focused the attention of 
 his political neighbors on his doings ; ambitious or not, 
 this had formed no part of his plan, and he disliked it 
 at first, but resigned himself to it because it was a fact, 
 and ended by growing interested in his own position. He
 
 142 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 rarely thought about himself, but it was plain that a man 
 of five and thirty, in control of a business as big as Gat- 
 ton, and possessed of a competent fortune and a safe 
 seat in the House, was a force to be reckoned with. 
 
 On his entry into public life Mark spoke little and 
 modestly, but when problems came up for discussion in 
 which he was directly interested problems academic to 
 three-fourths of the Hotjse, but to him the staple food 
 of his most anxious thought he began to make his voice 
 heard, and it was a telling voice. Mark had by nature 
 the "Parliamentary manner," so hard to acquire. He 
 was clear, easy, humorous, pleasantly respectful to the 
 chiefs on either side, but pleasantly tenacious of his own 
 views. He was not visibly nervous, or not more nervous 
 than the House likes a new hand to be. As he gained 
 a firmer foothold, he developed an unexpected facility 
 in debate. Lawrence, who did not admire his brother's 
 usual oratorical style, changed his mind one night when 
 he strolled into the Gallery by chance in time for a 
 breeze. It was a peculiarity of Mark's position that the 
 Conservatives called him a Fabian and the Socialists 
 called him a Tory; it was the Labor men who were at 
 him that night, and the skill and power of Mark's defense 
 gave Lawrence great delight. As they drank their coffee 
 together on the Terrace, and Mark accepted congratula- 
 tions from authoritative quarters, the conviction came 
 on Lawrence that his brother was on his way to a posi- 
 tion in the great world the world which acts and gov- 
 erns, as distinct from the world which watches and talks. 
 
 Even a Lawrence Sturt has his periods of reflection, 
 and for ten minutes, while Mark stood apart talking to 
 the Senior Whip, Lawrence lay back in his chair over- 
 looking the dark, full-flowing river and reviewed the 
 two lives, linked in the mystery of birth, passing on side 
 by side from infancy to manhood. Or should one say to
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 143 
 
 middle age? There was a touch of its gravity in Mark, 
 bending his courteous head to catch the low tones of 
 Hubert Grayson-Drew. Already custom lay on him 
 
 with a weight 
 Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life. 
 
 Behind him Mons and Ypres and St. filoi, his wrecked 
 soldier's career, long months on the brink of death, then 
 Gatton, now Westminster . . . But Lawrence had es- 
 caped untouched ; at thirty-five he was as handsome and 
 as irresponsible as he had been at five and twenty . . . 
 His was a generous nature, incapable of jealousy, but 
 he had no illusions. 
 
 Grayson-Drew passed on, and Mark sat down again. 
 His features expressed no elation, but some quiet confi- 
 dence. He glanced at his brother, whose interests were 
 notoriously non-political, with an apologetic smile. 
 "Bored ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Not I," said Lawrence. "Je we dis mes verites, mon 
 bon." 
 
 This was in the spring session before Mark met in 
 with Maisie Archdale.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "In her strong toil of grace." 
 
 MARK did not go to Colorado. He went to Gatton ; 
 not to Longstone Edge, though it was always at 
 his service, but to Jack Bennet's bachelor villa within a 
 stone's throw of the works ; and for the next ten days 
 an accumulation of business drove Maisie out of his 
 head, for except when he snatched an hour off to share 
 Bennet's bread and cheese lunch, or to run to earth an 
 evasive grumbler, he was in his office from nine a. m. to 
 eleven p. m., sifting papers, checking accounts, and in- 
 terviewing an endless stream of callers. Mark hated 
 officials. He could not now say, as Arthur Sturt had 
 said once, that he knew every "hand" in the works by 
 name, but he was not far off it, and it was still his rule 
 that every man and boy had the right of personal appeal ; 
 and here his training as a company officer stood him in 
 good stead, for he could get on terms with any type. 
 Gatton was no industrial paradise grievances were al- 
 ways cropping up ; but it was indisputable that every 
 grievance taken before Mark's tribunal would be inves- 
 tigated to the bottom, and despite the enormous power 
 of class prejudice, and the sleepless grudge which the 
 English proletariat bear against their capitalist employ- 
 ers, Gatton had a queer faith in "young Sturt's" justice. 
 This the men had learned, that if two points came up for 
 settlement Mark was as likely as not to give the lesser 
 for and the greater against himself. 
 But when the pressure of work relaxed Mark found 
 
 144
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 145 
 
 himself very tired. Bennet, coming in late one evening 
 from a dinner which Mark had declined, discovered his 
 chief asleep on the sofa, and was struck, as Lawrence 
 had been, by the change in him. Mark woke up heavy- 
 eyed, and Bennet, whose relations with him out of office 
 hours were unaltered from Stonyhurst days, opened fire 
 from the hearth-rug. "I say, aren't you well? You 
 look fagged to death." 
 
 "Headache," said Mark briefly. 
 
 "It strikes me you have too many headaches. You're 
 getting as gray as a badger, Mark." 
 
 "Gray, am I ?" said Mark, rather startled. He got up 
 to look at himself in the glass overmantel (Bennet's fur- 
 niture, like Bennet's clothes, was in shop taste, not his 
 own). "So I am. And look at you with not a hair 
 turned in your brown wig ! I shall be going bald next, I 
 suppose. I must look out for a hair restorer. I do get 
 the most infernal heads, certainly." He leaned his fore- 
 head on his hand. 
 
 "Why not wire Captain Sturt that you'll join him 
 after all?" 
 
 Mark involuntarily shook his head, and then took it 
 between his hands with a groan. "Oh, you little devils! 
 I bar croquet balls trundling to and fro between one's 
 eyes, there isn't room for them. No, I can't go to Amer- 
 ica; I can't go so far out of the way. Besides, what do 
 I want of a holiday? I've done no work since Easter. 
 I was fit enough three weeks ago. I am fit now, if you 
 come to that." 
 
 " 'Expect you ought to have lain up a few days with 
 that arm of yours." 
 
 "Gone to bed! I think I see myself." 
 
 "Well, you might do worse, old man," said Bennet. 
 "You look thoroughly run down. Shan't you go North 
 for the twelfth? I would if I were you. Off your sleep,
 
 146 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 aren't you? I heard you walking up and down last 
 night." He laid his hand affectionately on Mark's shoul- 
 der. To his astonishment it was impatiently shaken off. 
 
 "My health isn't on the books of the firm, thanks." 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 "I beg yours, Jack." 
 
 "Not at all," said Bennet stiffly. "Sorry I forgot my- 
 self. I won't again." He walked out of the room. 
 
 Bennet was a short-tempered man of dour Northern 
 pride, and he had taken Mark's little fit of irritation for 
 an official snub. Twenty years earlier Mark would have 
 dashed after him and abased himself, but he could not 
 do it now ; the generous boyish impulse was as strong as 
 ever, but stronger were the frost of custom and the shy- 
 ness of middle age. Bennet was still stiff when they met 
 at breakfast, and ten times it was on the tip of Mark's 
 tongue to say, "Jack, after all these years, don't you 
 know me better?" and yet he could not say it. How 
 many of us are there who carry to our life's end the 
 smart of some such trivial misunderstanding? But it 
 was after this incident that Mark settled to go abroad. 
 Irritable nerves are a dangerous luxury for men who 
 keep the warm heart of twenty under the inelastic man- 
 ners of thirty-five ; moreover Mark, whom Lawrence 
 called a sentimental Englishman, saw a chance of soft- 
 ening Bennet by an indirect apology "I'm going to 
 follow your advice and take a holiday. I was feeling 
 rotten last night." 
 
 It was neither Gatton nor his own health that made 
 Mark refuse to go to Colorado, but the feeling that he 
 ought not to be out of reach of his wife. Mark had not 
 seen Maisie since they parted on the Ushant platform. 
 Their last night of storm remained fixed in his mind 
 as having set a seal of tragedy on the checkered experi- 
 ences of the week. How slowly the hours had passed
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 147 
 
 as he sat by the dying fire and listened to the periodical 
 chime of Maisie's clock and the ceaseless droning shriek 
 of the wind ! Why he did not yield was and remained 
 to him a mystery ; it was not from generosity, for every 
 generous instinct urged him to yield. Mark had simply 
 obeyed one of those edicts of the moral law which en- 
 force themselves, with a sterner stringency than that of 
 reason, on man's trembling heart and brain. 
 
 Towards morning, when dawn came late and sullen, 
 the wind lulled, and the inner conflict wore itself out 
 about the same time, and Mark dropped to sleep in his 
 chair. But then came the dreary waking, when he was 
 roused by her "Let me out, Mark" : and he had to go 
 and unlock the door like a jailer for her to pass out. 
 How worn she had looked, she too, how white and 
 fagged, as she went about her morning duties ! She had 
 not slept, perhaps, any more than he. She was too proud, 
 and Mark too nervous, to reopen the night's broken ex- 
 planations, and they talked lightly like strangers, at break- 
 fast, in the dogcart, on the platform, till Maisie's train 
 came in. 
 
 "Good-by, Mark." 
 
 "Good-by, my dear. You know where to find me if 
 you want me." 
 
 "In Colorado ? That is rather a long way off." 
 
 "I am' not going to Colorado. My London address 
 will always get me in twenty-four hours." 
 
 Mark fancied she was glad, but there was no time to 
 say any more, and the train carried her away out of his 
 life, it might have been forever. What a parting! She 
 did not understand, and Mark was incapable of further 
 explanation ; it was one of his venomed torments that 
 he had left her after all in the dark. What did she think 
 of him? What does a woman in her heart of hearts 
 think of a man's virtue? Mark winced when he tried to
 
 148 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 estimate his wife's opinion of him. A saint may turti 
 his back on temptation; but Mark Sturt did not enjoy 
 the prerogatives of a saint. Mere men of the world have 
 no title to pretend to the insolences of virtue. It was 
 nothing short of an insult for a man of his class to re- 
 fuse what a woman of the same class offered. And he 
 was dumb : he could not say, "I would give ten years of 
 my life to take you, but there is a fiery sword between 
 us which I dare not pass." The worst of it was that 
 Maisie was no believer in fiery swords. 
 
 Mark went to Normandy. He left Henham in charge 
 of the flat ; he was tired of the routine of expensive Euro- 
 pean travel, and he meant to go to inns where the ideal 
 valet could not be expected to put up. He had a kindly 
 memory of certain small villages on the Seine which he 
 had visited once with Lawrence as a schoolboy on a 
 holiday, and he thought he would try whether by going 
 back to them he could recapture something of the school- 
 boy's happy inexacting mood. He fetched up at last ten 
 miles below Rouen in the little old-fashioned town of 
 Duclair, found a room for himself at a tavern on the 
 river, and strolled through the market it was a Mon- 
 day morning to fetch his letters from the bureau de 
 poste and to buy six sous' worth of Reines-Claude, their 
 melting greenness scorched to gold and purple where the 
 sun had scarred them through the leaves. Then he came 
 back to the terrasse beside the shining Seine and settled 
 down to a pipe and a consommation with something 
 nearer to enjoyment than a sheaf of correspondence com- 
 monly inspires in a busy man. There was the usual drift 
 of business letters, charitable appeals, and cards of in- 
 vitation ; out of them he weeded three or four envelopes 
 of a more private and promising aspect. 
 
 The first was from Lawrence, dated from "s.s. Tran- 
 sylvania, Liverpool Docks" ; Lawrence wrote on the point
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 149 
 
 of starting, and with the usual grievance; rarely had 
 Mark received a letter from his brother which did not 
 air a grievance. This time Lawrence was annoyed be- 
 cause after ten days' delay he had not found any one to 
 take Mark's place : "you silly ass," he wrote, "but I am 
 avenged, because long before you get this you will be 
 sick to death of French cookery and wishing you had 
 not been a silly ass." Crowded into a postscript at the 
 bottom of the sheet, Mark read news which did, it must 
 be confessed, interest him faintly: "I ran up against 
 Mrs. Essenden again before I left and she had another 
 shot at your address. I foiled her. Effectively. But 
 she's a pretty woman." Mark whistled a pensive little 
 Spanish tune and thought, with a momentary touch of 
 sentiment, what a pretty woman Jenny Essenden had 
 been in Freddy Field's days, and at that moment the 
 idea crossed his mind, coming out of nowhere, that in 
 Jenny Essenden's case there would have been no flaming 
 sword. He could not have said why, unless it were that 
 Jenny was not worth any such heavenly attentions. 
 
 The next letter was from Father de Trafford, and ran 
 in a very different strain. The priest wrote, with a gay 
 confidence that disarmed indifference, freely about the 
 work that was being done with Mark's check; he spoke 
 of his meeting with Lawrence, "whose character fasci- 
 nates me. I sometimes wonder what is going to become 
 of him. It seems to me that he is as likely as not to end 
 in a monk's cell, but do not, my dear Mark, tell him I 
 said so. The likeness between you two is as perplexing 
 to a poor student of human nature as the unlikeness." 
 Mark thought of what Lawrence himself had said, but 
 did not, as most men would hare done, conclude that 
 Lawrence had said it also to de Trafford; on the con- 
 trary, he had so rarely found the priest's penetration at 
 fault that he sat for five minutes trying to adapt his
 
 150 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 own knowledge of his brother to this novel point of view. 
 But he could not see Lawrence in the habit of a Carthu- 
 sian. 
 
 The next letter he took up was a long intimate screed 
 from Mrs. Ferrier, full of political news. Charles Fer- 
 rier represented his county with credit and indeed with 
 intermittent distinction, but scandal said that his wife got 
 up his speeches for him. At all events she was a keen 
 little politician, and her letter was in some ways the most 
 interesting of the three, because it brought Mark into 
 touch with London life again. An important bill was 
 coming on in the spring session, and Dodo wrote with 
 acid humor of the intrigues behind the Front Benches. 
 "I am glad you are not gone to Colorado," she said. 
 "That is all very well for Lawrence, who is not and 
 never will be an homrne serieux" how about Father de 
 Trafford and the cell? "but for a man like you now- 
 adays it really does not pay. Will you come to us for 
 Christmas ? We have Mr. Mallinson coming, whom you 
 said once you would like to get to know personally, and 
 I am sure it would be a good thing if you did. He and 
 you are much of the same stamp and the same tradi- 
 tion. And they want new blood ; and they want want 
 in both senses some one trustworthy. Freville is their 
 ablest among the younger men, and he has no money, and 
 I don't think he's true to his salt; anyhow he drops so 
 much on the turf that Mr. Mallinson is afraid of him. 
 My own dear boy will never of course run steady in har- 
 ness; his latest freak was to vote with the labor men on 
 a snatched amendment one night when there were not 
 fifty people in the house, and the faddists all but upset 
 the applecart. When they reviled him he said he was 
 very sorry but it happened to be a point of principle. 
 Principle ! As Mr. Grayson-Drew said to me afterwards, 
 'What can you do with a man who is capable of upsetting
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 151 
 
 the Government on a point of principle?' I told Mr. 
 G.-D. that I washed my hands of him, and he said 
 Charles was turning his hair gray. But you, old Mark, 
 would never turn a Whip's hair gray." 
 
 "No, my own instead," Mark thought ruefully. He 
 laid the letter on his knee and sat looking far out over 
 the Seine, whose dark glossy tide washed softly among 
 the reeds and loosestrife along the cobbled shore. South- 
 wards lay the town, eastwards upstream stretched a great 
 bend of river, going away into the distance round a 
 headland of rock and woody chalk bluffs white over the 
 dark leaves of August. Beating up against the current, 
 a trading vessel from the Piraeus went by to Rouen, her 
 funnel banded with the black and white key-pattern orna- 
 ment of old Greece, the waves of her wake slapping 
 lazily along stone pier or grassy bank. It was all fresh 
 and peaceful in the pale sunlight; and from the Place 
 came the human stir of the market and the barking of 
 dogs and the tolling of church bells, levity and piety 
 tempered together into the pleasantly skeptical bonhomie 
 of rural France. Mark's wedding night under the stars 
 seemed very far away. 
 
 He returned to Dodo's letter. "It is dull here till the 
 shooting begins. So far no one else has turned up except 
 Harry Forester and Miss Archdale, who came on to- 
 gether from the Beningfields. I wonder whether they 
 will make it up after all? I half hope they will, for I 
 like her very much, and she seems to me to be very un- 
 happy. Perhaps that is partly why I like her. I used 
 to think one would never get far with her because she 
 was too prosperous to want a friend, but now I think 
 she is not a bit happy, and after all there are not many 
 men as lovable as Harry Forester. Every one says . . ." 
 
 "Oh, the devil they do !" said Mark. He crushed the 
 unfinished sheet into his pocket; he could not stand any
 
 152 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 more of Dodo's gossip just then. But the peace of the 
 morning was scattered, and he caught up his hat and 
 stick and prepared to go for a walk and the first per- 
 son he saw when he stepped out into the cobbled street 
 was Jenny Essenden. 
 
 She was lying back at ease in a big gray car, her 
 silk-coated toy Yorkshire terrier perched on her knee, 
 her small French hat and flying veil tipped at a rakish 
 angle over her small head. Jenny Essenden was a very 
 pretty woman. She was definitely out of the world ; but 
 she held a record of her own. She was not poor, and 
 had never been poor as far back as her history was com- 
 mon knowledge. She was not to be had for the asking 
 still less for a price. Poor Field, who died at Nice, was 
 not a rich man, but Jenny had stayed by him faithfully 
 to the bitter end, and since his death rumor connected 
 her name with no other. It would be going too far per- 
 haps to say that she had principles, but at all events she 
 had tastes, which served to some extent the same pur- 
 pose. She had a graceful manner too, a manner which 
 easily passed the searching observation of servants and 
 hotel proprietors. The host of Mark's inn was standing 
 bareheaded by the door of the car, evidently unaware 
 of any peculiarity in Mrs. Essenden's position, and she 
 was speaking to him with her pretty infantine gracious- 
 ness but she broke off when she caught sight of Mark. 
 "Mr. Sturt ! How nice to see somebody one knows ! 
 Are }seu staying here?" 
 
 "Yes, for a day or two. Are you?" 
 
 "No, indeed, I'm in my own chateau. What can you 
 be doing in a tiny place like this penance for your 
 sins?" Mark smiled, but did not answer; he had early 
 decided that there is far less necessity for answering 
 questions than people commonly suppose. "I heard you 
 were going to Colorado."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 153 
 
 "So I was ; but I didn't go. I think my brother Law- 
 rence must have poured out that grievance to you when 
 you met him in town." 
 
 Mrs. Essenden never opened a book and could not 
 write a note without a slip in spelling, but beyond these 
 educational limits she was as little of a fool as it is pos- 
 sible to be. She met Mark's eyes and laughed out mer- 
 rily. "He did tell me that, and another friend of yours 
 told me that you were going to Normandy. Does it seem 
 shameless of me to run you down like this when you 
 want to get away by yourself? But it really is an acci- 
 dent. I can't help it if Duclair is only a few miles from 
 my dear chateau, can I?" 
 
 "Who told you I was going to Duclair?" 
 "That very delightful person, Father de Trafford." 
 Mark involuntarily opened his eyes. "I didn't know 
 you knew him." 
 
 "Saints and sinners always meet," said Jenny. "Well, 
 now, tell me what you were going to do before you met 
 me. Tweeds and a straw hat, let me see: had you any 
 excitement on? I can't guess." 
 "I was going for a walk." 
 
 Her face of unaffected dismay made Mark laugh again. 
 "A walk? You like walking? Mon Dieu! Drive with 
 me instead. I don't hesitate, now, to press you, because 
 no one could possibly like walking better." 
 
 "You are very kind," said Mark with a touch of for- 
 mality. "But won't you lunch with me to-day? I had 
 hoped you would give me that pleasure." 
 
 "At that little tavern? No, my friend; I would do 
 much to give you pleasure, but there are limits to my 
 benevolence. Come, get in; see, Fifi is making a pretty 
 face at you you can't refuse a lady." 
 
 Mark got im, feeling and indeed looking a little re- 
 signed; but his resignation was cheerful compared with
 
 154 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 that of Monsieur Vedie, who had followed a good deal 
 of the conversation, and had certainly not missed the 
 significance of the wave of the hand with which Jenny 
 flicked his tavern from her horizon. Such were Jenny's 
 courtesies all too often, sweet in the mouth but leaving 
 an after-taste of bitterness. The car shot away, and 
 Monsieur Vedie retired to console himself with a petit 
 verre; Jenny lay back on her cushions, and Mark, taking 
 an easy attitude by her side, allowed himself to be 
 amused. After all, Lawrence was right Mrs. Essenden 
 was a very pretty woman. With the ingratitude of men, 
 Mark was the more ready to pick holes in her prettiness 
 because she had followed him to France; but how few 
 there were to pick ! How like a roseleaf was the texture 
 of her rounded cheek! and how bright her eyes were, 
 under the shadow of that rakish little hat! 
 
 The car raced on through the warm and sunny coun- 
 tryside, and Mark unbent more and more. After all it 
 would have been mere folly to play the saint with Jenny, 
 who, poor dear, would have languished under moral 
 criticism like a flower bewildered in an east wind. They 
 lunched together on a shining balcony in Caudebec, 
 fetched a wide circle, and returned a little before sunset 
 to Jenny's chateau, which Mark saw for the first time 
 dark against the golden evening light. A long valley 
 winding between forested heights ; a stream, the clear 
 Clerettes, flowing down to the Seine through meadows 
 gray after hay-harvest, where high-arched elms, grouped 
 as Claude le Lorrain would have grouped them, extended 
 their long shadows with the penciled effectiveness of art ; 
 gates of lace-like ironwork under a covert of beechwood ; 
 and then the strange broken facade of Geres itself, me- 
 dieval manor raised on wreck of Norman fortress, glow- 
 ing like a jewel in rose-red plaster and black timber and 
 stone bastion, among rose-gardens and firwoods, under
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 155 
 
 the sunset gold. Mark fell silent as the car turned in 
 under the poplar avenue. In him as in Lawrence, though 
 neglected and repressed, there ran a pretty strong vein of 
 the passion for beauty, and this old French chateau, dim 
 with ghosts and perfumed of rose-leaves, appealed to 
 him with a heady melancholy, a refined and sensuous 
 charm. Subtle Jenny saw it and sank her voice. "Isn't 
 it," she whispered, "an unhappy place, my chateau? All, 
 all dead ! The race are extinct, after six hundred years. 
 Come, I give you thirty-five minutes before the soup." 
 
 She sprang out : and Mark was led away to his room 
 by an English servant of such distinguished mien that 
 Mark wondered if he could be aware of the irregularity 
 of Mrs. Essenden's position. The chamber itself was a 
 pleasant novelty after Ushant, and Gatton, and the Trois 
 Piliers. Mark bathed at leisure under the rosy fire of 
 sunset, and wished he had brought his evening clothes 
 with him, though Jenny had assured him that she liked 
 him best in tweeds. When he was ready to go down, the 
 man-servant reappeared bearing a tiny cup on a tray. 
 Mark took it mechanically; but a liking for a thimble- 
 ful of black coffee by way of aperitif is not common 
 enough to be gratified by chance, and Mark as he drank 
 it looked curiously down into the sober honest face. 
 "How do you know I like coffee before dinner?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I have waited on you before, sir, when you didn't 
 bring a valet of your own. I was in service with Mrs. 
 Desmond for two years." 
 
 "You know me, then?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Wonderful head you must have. Well, do you think 
 you could find me a clean handkerchief?" 
 
 "There are some in your drawer, sir." 
 
 "Oh, ah thanks," said Mark, taking the loose folds
 
 156 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 of fine linen from Carter's speckless hand : and he strolled 
 downstairs feeling very fresh and comfortable, and say- 
 ing to himself that Mrs. Essenden's valet was all a valet 
 should be. 
 
 So, he soon discovered, was Jenny's dinner : and so 
 (within her limits) was Jenny herself. Good as the 
 wine was he did not linger over it, but came out to join 
 his hostess on the terrace in the twilight, while the bats 
 "on leathern wing" flitted and wheeled over the dewy 
 lawn, and the firwoods on the hillside opposite were 
 relieved like a frieze of black fern-leaves against the 
 honey-colored west. Jenny was half sitting, half lying 
 among green cushions on a gilt couch, and Mark pulled 
 up a chair and sat down near by. But she was disin- 
 clined for talk, it seemed ; she signed to him to help 
 himself to a cigarette, and then she lay very still, her 
 long eyelashes tangling over her bright eyes, her bosom 
 scarcely rising and falling with her quiet breath. She 
 was in a black dress, graceful and flowing; and it flashed 
 across Mark's mind by a freak of memory that she was 
 more modestly dressed than Maisie would have been of 
 an evening. Mark smiled to himself and Jenny looked 
 up and caught him. 
 
 "What are you thinking of ? No whom are you think- 
 ing of?" she amended swiftly. 
 
 "Do you imagine," Mark answered, lazily and not 
 too respectfully courteous, "that when one is in Mrs. 
 Essenden's company one ever thinks of anything but 
 Mrs. Essenden?" 
 
 She colored vividly. "Ah, you think that sort of 
 answer is good enough for me! No, don't apologize," 
 for Mark, startled, was trying to do so. "One can never 
 unsay oneself, can one? And I deserved it for asking 
 you questions, which I know you hate." 
 
 "How do you know I hate it?"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 157 
 
 "Because you're so intensely reserved, of course. I 
 never knew any one so reserved as you are; I don't be- 
 lieve you could give yourself away if you tried." 
 
 With many men this would have been a useful opening. 
 Mark spoiled the effect by listening in a contented silence. 
 The content was due to the excellence of Jenny's ciga- 
 rettes. 
 
 "Besides," said Jenny, trying another tack, but rather 
 at random, "it's a family trait. Your brother hates it 
 too. He's a very interesting man, your brother Law- 
 rence" strange how Jenny's view agreed with Father 
 de Trafford's! "though infinitely less interesting than 
 you are, Mr. Mark ; but it's difficult to get anything out 
 of him if he doesn't want one to." She added with a 
 funny little grin, "Addresses, for instance." 
 
 "Mine, for instance," Mark assented. "By the bye, I 
 didn't grasp how you came to hear of it from Father 
 de Trafford. Who told you I knew him?" 
 
 "Captain Sturt." 
 
 "Did he? ('I foiled her.' Oh, Lawrence!) When 
 was that ?" 
 
 "Oh, ten days ago; before he went to Colorado. He 
 dined with me one night," Mrs. Essenden's eyes were 
 dancing, "and I I'm afraid I pumped him. But I don't 
 think he found it out. You haven't heard from him yet, 
 I suppose? Men never write to each other, do they?" 
 
 "Oh, my brother's a great correspondent; in fact I 
 heard from him this morning, and he mentioned having 
 met you, but he didn't say anything about Father de 
 Trafford." 
 
 "I'm sure he never thought of it," said Jenny merrily, 
 "and yet it was very easy. Oh, I didn't say anything 
 to compromise you, Mr. Mark! I know what danger- 
 ous people priests are to meddle with. I went to Father 
 de Trafford on my own affairs, and then I just spoke of
 
 158 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 you as having been very kind to me, and I said I should 
 have liked to write and thank you if you hadn't gone to 
 America . . . are you shocked?" 
 
 "Not a bit," said Mark. In point of fact he was grati- 
 fied, as was Jenny's desire; but he was also and this 
 was by no means Jenny's desire faintly startled and 
 restless. Lawrence Father de Trafford Carter, who 
 knew his ways even the coffee and the handkerchiefs 
 why, what a web it was that had been spun about him ! 
 More than half accident ? For a moment, till he thought 
 of the chateau itself, which could hardly have been rented 
 and staffed in ten days, he wondered if accident had had 
 any hand at all in bringing Mrs. Essenden to Duclair. 
 But it was a lovely evening, Jenny's chef knew his trade, 
 and . . . Jenny's tokay was so delicate, after the vin 
 ordinaire of the Trois Piliers, that Mark had taken per- 
 haps a little more than his usual temperate allowance. 
 His nerve was cool and his hand steady; it took more 
 than an extra glass or so of tokay to throw Mark off his 
 balance ; but he was disposed to look with a lenient eye 
 on the slips of a pretty woman who flattered his vanity. 
 "Not a bit," said Mark. "But, I say, Mrs. Essenden, why 
 did you want my address ?" 
 
 She looked up, clear-eyed. "I don't know. I just 
 sort of thought I should like to see you again, that was 
 all. You were so very kind io me when poor Freddy 
 was ill. I never have had anything to do with illness, 
 and I hate it and I'm afraid of it; but I was fearfully 
 sorry for my poor Freddy, and I did so 'want to help 
 him, and you somehow showed me the way." 
 
 "I showed you the way to help Field?" 
 
 "Yes. You were so gentle with him, and youseemed 
 to know just how best to manage him. I thought then 
 that if ever I were very tired of everything I should like 
 you to be gentle to me in the same way, Mr. Mark. You
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 159 
 
 never seem to be afraid of anything yourself, and I'm 
 afraid of oh, ever such a lot of things. Death, for 
 instance." 
 
 Mark rose, tossing away his cigarette, and folded his 
 arms along the high carved balustrade. He had first to 
 clear away the trails of red Chambery roses that had 
 twined their thorny sprays in and out among the carving, 
 and the scent of crushed petals mixed its incense with 
 the damp breath of the woods. And now that he was 
 no longer watching her there came a subtle change of 
 expression into Mrs. Essenden's face. Dark against the 
 clear night sky, either artist or sportsman would have 
 admired Mark Sturt's heavy frame, broad of shoulder, 
 lean of flank, essentially a male type, destructive and 
 creative ; and so Jenny admired him ; her eyes fastened 
 on him with a peculiarly hungry look. 
 
 "Listen to the Angelus in the valley," she said. There 
 was no harmony between her musical voice and her eyes. 
 "You are a good Catholic, aren't you, Mr. Mark? And 
 I'm a very bad one. Some day I shall repent, and con- 
 fess my sins, and be good ever after, but I don't want 
 to do it just yet. I want to sin a little more first." 
 
 "But you are not a Catholic, are you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I am," Jenny answered. "One of my other 
 lovers converted me." 
 
 "How old are you, child?" asked Mark roughly. 
 
 "Twenty-five." 
 
 Two years older than Maisie. Mark was silent. 
 
 "It is the only faith to die in," Jenny ran on softly. 
 "And I'm fearfully afraid of death. Not now, you know 
 not while you're here; but when I'm alone. I stuck 
 to Freddy till the end, he died in my arms, but I hated it 
 all the time. Of course that was horrid of me; still I 
 did stick to him. But afterwards I was tired oh, so 
 tired ! So then I thought I'd come away by myself and
 
 160 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 be quiet, but that didn't pay either. Women like me can't 
 afford the luxury of their own company, there are too 
 many ghosts. Am I boring you?" 
 
 "No," said Mark. She was in fact sending him to 
 sleep; but he was not bored. Under the low, lulling 
 voice a hint of dead passions glimmered like wreckage 
 in shoal water, and Mark was not one of those men for 
 whom sea peril has no lure. He liked his company. It 
 did not strike him that he stood in any real danger; 
 after fourteen years' immunity, after the fight at 
 Ushant, he was not afraid of such a thing as Jenny 
 Essenden. 
 
 Jenny knit her brows : he was difficult she liked him 
 for it. She had been almost as much attracted by Law- 
 rence Sturt as by Mark, but she had fixed on Mark be- 
 cause Lawrence was to be had for the asking. 
 
 "Not that I want to pretend I'm sorry about any- 
 thing," she said with a light laugh. "I'm sorry Freddy 
 died, but I'm not a bit sorry for the rest of the incident. 
 I'm not one of those dreary ladies who lose their money 
 on both sides of the bet. Virtue may be a pretty person 
 I haven't the least desire to make her acquaintance: 
 mine also is le beau role, and I'm sure it's much more 
 amusing. Oh, here comes Riche. Now I want you to tell 
 me what you think of this chartreuse. I took over the 
 cellar with the chateau, and they told me great things 
 of it; and Riche and I would like your opinion." 
 
 "First-rate, if it's like your tokay," said Mark. He 
 held it up to the light; the bubble-fine Venetian glass 
 was as precious as the green dew within it. "First-rate 
 it is ! No, no more, thanks." 
 
 "But you can leave the tray," said Jenny ; and then 
 as the servant withdrew, "Riche is pleased. He said he 
 was sure you were a connoisseur. He is such a nice 
 man so trustworthy: you might say just a word to
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 161 
 
 him about it if you get the chance. I always seem to 
 be so lucky with my servants," she added merrily. "I 
 wonder why." 
 
 Mark did not answer, but by his kindly eyes Jenny 
 knew that another subtle stroke had gone home. Fifi 
 bundling down the terrace, an animated mat of curls, 
 to subside with snufflings of deep affection in the crook 
 of Jenny's arm, was an undesigned but effective ally. 
 Mark was not fond of little dogs, but Fifi was all right 
 for Jenny, and, if he liked to see a woman fond of ani- 
 mals, he liked even better a woman of whom animals 
 were fond. 
 
 The western light faded, and the stars came out. Lamps 
 flashed like jewels in the windows of Jenny's chateau. 
 Mark lingered on the darkening terrace, indolent with 
 the indolence that comes of a good dinner and a good 
 digestion, perfume of flowers, perfume of a summer 
 sunset, perfume of wine; his senses were all rosed over 
 with a pleasurable warmth. Jenny had fallen silent for 
 some time, when the distant chiming from a church tower 
 roused Mark Sturt to glance at his watch. "Eleven 
 o'clock!" he said. "I must be getting back. They go 
 to bed early at Duclair. Thank you, Mrs. Essenden, for 
 a delightful evening " 
 
 "You are not going back to-night?" 
 
 "But of course! Didn't you very kindly say I could 
 have the car ?" 
 
 "Yes, but I thought you had given up the idea. Why, 
 it's miles and miles, and all through dark country lanes ! 
 Pm sure that little estaminet of yours will have shut up 
 ages ago." 
 
 "But I have nothing with me." 
 
 "But the man will see to that! I told him you might 
 be staying the night, and you don't know how clever he 
 is. I'm sure you'll find everything in your room. Oh,
 
 162 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Mr. Mark, I can't let you turn out at this time of night. 
 I never heard of anything so inhospitable !" 
 
 She slipped to her feet, and Mark felt her little hand 
 settle on his arm. He stood rigid under her touch. The 
 furtive expression had vanished from her eyes ; they 
 were bright, there was a haze over them, and her bosom 
 fluttered. 
 
 "Why why won't you stay?" she murmured. "Is 
 is it because I am what I am ?" 
 He was speechless. 
 
 "You wouldn't feel safe with me?" Jenny breathed. 
 "The the woman who knows how to make the running ? 
 The woman whom a man needn't respect? That tempts 
 you, does it?" It did: with such a potent shock of 
 temptation that Mark's will seemed to turn to water. 
 Oh ! after the racking strain of Ushant, what if he were 
 to resign himself, for the briefest interlude, to the prac- 
 ticed, the exquisite facility of Jenny's unholy charm? 
 What, after all, does a Jenny Essenden more or less count 
 for in a man's life? 
 
 "Oh, I didn't think you would say this to me!" Jenny 
 murmured. She sank her face in her hands, and her 
 very neck was rosy; then lifting her head, with an in- 
 fernal sparkle in her wet eyes, "Well, and and if it 
 were so? If I were to own that I'm a little in love with 
 you? Why why not?" 
 
 "Why not? Faith, why not?" Mark repeated. 
 He threw back his head and laughed. After all, why 
 not? For his wife's sake? She had left him. For 
 Guy de Trafford's sake ? That bond snapped like thread 
 in a candle flame. For love of the vision of God ? Mark's 
 eyes were bloodshot and his brain was whirling; he 
 could still laugh, but he could not pray. 
 
 Mark laughed at himself, but Mrs. Essenden naturally 
 thought he was laughing at her. The rose-red turned
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 163 
 
 scarlet; she snatched her hand from his sleeve and 
 leaned her forehead on the balustrade with a little wail 
 of sobbing. 
 
 "Good heavens ! what a brute I am !" Mark exclaimed. 
 It was the second time within a month that he had made 
 a woman cry. "Jenny, Jenny, don't!" he said, slipping 
 his arm round her waist. Jenny made a brief pretense 
 of rebellion; she knew in that moment, and hated him 
 for knowing it, that her victory was won. He would not 
 escape her after having made her weep. "Jenny, sweet- 
 est, dry your pretty eyes !" said Mark. "I can't tell you 
 why I laughed, but it had nothing to do with you, I 
 swear." 
 
 "I hate you !" said Mrs. Essenden passionately. 
 
 "Do you ?" said Mark, taking her in his arms. "I un- 
 derstood you to say you were a little in love with me." 
 
 "I don't. Oh, I hate hate you!" 
 
 "That's very unkind. And mayn't I stay, then?" 
 
 "No, no ; you don't want to stay. What am I to you ? 
 Freddy Field's mistress. You like innocent women. 
 Leave poor little Jenny alone you and your moralities 
 what do you want of me? an andenne, a " 
 
 "Kiss me," said Mark in a sudden flame of passion. 
 She was a small and slender woman, and he lifted her 
 like a child and set her on the balustrade, and pressed 
 his lips against the coolness of her white throat. It 
 was dark; but if it had been noonday Mark would not 
 have cared. 
 
 "Oh! how strong you are!" Jenny murmured. She 
 nestled down, clinging to him with her arms about his 
 neck. "Oh! but, Mark, not here . . . indoors . . ." 
 
 No, Mrs. Essenden was not worth the flaming sword
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MARK did not go back to Duclair that or any subse- 
 quent night. He stayed on at the chateau, amus- 
 ing himself in a fit of thorough-paced indolence with 
 Jenny and Jenny's cuisine and her car and her gardens 
 and delightful unforeseen accessory her mile of trout 
 stream. It may be confessed that he did not take him- 
 self, or Jenny, very seriously. When he did reflect at 
 all upon his own doings, the one definite scruple that 
 came up was dislike of his position as Jenny's guest, but 
 after all she was a rich woman and the money was her 
 own. He heard a good deal of her history from time 
 to time in those warm August days: a history perhaps 
 a little edited, a little glossed, but true enough in its 
 main outlines. 
 
 Mrs. Essenden was the second daughter of a country 
 clergyman, and had been brought up after the straitest 
 sect of Evangelical doctrine: long family prayers night 
 and morning, droned out through Mr. Simpson's long 
 hooked nose; dresses cast off by a rich cousin; roast 
 mutton and suet pudding, muddy roads and starved 
 hearths. Catherine, the elder sister, was placid and fond 
 of good works ; Maggie, the youngest, had wits that 
 carried her to Newnham. Jenny had nothing but her 
 prettiness and her baffled social aptitudes. When she was 
 seventeen her father found her out in a fiery flirtation 
 with the curate, and after a still more fiery lecture Jenny 
 was packed off to a situation to act as governess to an 
 elderly widower's little girl. What never entered Mr. 
 Simpson's head was that Jenny would marry the widower; 
 
 164
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 165 
 
 but she did within six months, and brought him home 
 in triumph, unenvied of her family. 
 
 She made him a good wife. She had a keen sense of 
 what was due to others, and would have felt it wrong 
 to defraud her husband of his bargain. Timothy Essen- 
 den, brewer, was a little bald kindly man with a thin 
 neck like that of a hen, reddish and covered with goose- 
 flesh : very fond of his young wife, very anxious to 
 make her happy, very little able to do so by any other 
 means than the course which he ultimately followed 
 that of dying within a year or two of his marriage and 
 leaving her half his money. 
 
 Jenny was not a greedy woman, and she did not com- 
 plain because the other half went to little Laura. But 
 she had no quarrel with Providence when Laura, whose 
 small frame had not derived its full share of vitality 
 from Mr. Essenden's exhausted middle age, sickened of 
 scarlet fever and died at her boarding school. Mrs. 
 Essenden was now left alone in the world, a rich woman 
 of twenty without encumbrance. Her father offered her 
 a home at the parsonage, but when Jenny spoke of travel 
 he agreed, not without relief, that she might as well see 
 the world while she was young. It never crossed his 
 fancy that one of his girls could go astray. Jenny there- 
 fore set out for France without even a chaperon. With 
 what plans she went it would be hard to say, for the in- 
 fluence of a decent upbringing was still strong on her, 
 and though her eyes courted insult her acquired instinct 
 was to reseat it. But, if blame falls to the man who 
 broke Jenny in, at least he found an apt and merry 
 pupil. 
 
 A friend of the family met Jenny in Venice. Scandal 
 was already flying about, and Mrs. Morgan, in the role 
 of a woman of the world, spoke to the lovely unguarded 
 young widow. Mrs. Morgaa used to say afterwards that
 
 166 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 she had never been so shocked in her life. Jenny had 
 had enough of sermons, and was not fond of other women 
 at the best of times ; she told the truth roundly, and 
 drove the elder lady from the field. Letters from home 
 followed, incredulous, touching, stern : Jenny tore them 
 up. At last Mr. Simpson came out in person to Venice, 
 and was met, not by Jenny, but by Jenny's deputy. The 
 scene was brief, and the expression controlled on both 
 sides, for Mr. Simpson was a University man, and he 
 did not fall into the blunder of sermonizing Jenny's 
 deputy, though he would certainly have sermonized Jenny. 
 He stayed only long enough to make certain that Jenny 
 knew what she was about, and went home a harsher and 
 a sadder man. 
 
 An unexpected issue of the interview was that Jenny's 
 deputy, who had not liked his role, departed at the same 
 time, leaving the little sinner to her own devices. Jenny 
 wept for twenty-four hours : then shrugged her shoul- 
 ders and looked out for a successor. That was four 
 years ago, when she was barely of age ; she was twenty- 
 five now, and there had been plenty of adventures, with 
 intervals of repose, between the Venetian calamity and 
 the capture of Mark Sturt. 
 
 Why had she planned to capture Mark Sturt? Be- 
 cause she liked him, but not for that reason only. She 
 was fascinated by his physical attributes, by the tanned 
 skin, brilliant eye, and powerful frame which set him 
 as far apart from her little bald husband as from Fred- 
 erick Field's pitiful surrender: the last months of her 
 connection with Field had been a sore trial to Jenny, 
 and she took no small credit to herself for sticking to 
 him to the end. Now she could not associate Mark Sturt 
 with any idea of sickness or death, still less of delicacy. 
 Then again he was known to be difficult ; his notoriously 
 cold temper notorious because he was Lawrence SUirt's
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 167 
 
 brother was a challenge to her notion of her sex's do- 
 minion. Men ought not to live without women, Jenny 
 thought: if any man indulged the delusion of his being 
 able to do so it was high time that he should be brought to 
 book. Last, but not least, Mark was a big fish for Jenny 
 to land. She had many correspondents, and it tickled 
 the very marrow of her vanity to be able to write with 
 artful-artless vagueness, "What a dear fellow Mark Sturt 
 is when you get to know him ! Pots of money, and as 
 simple as a boy. I am learning all the ins and outs of 
 political life from him I forget if I told you he is here 
 in Normandy." 
 
 This was not true, for Mark never talked politics with 
 Mrs. Essenden ; but it was as good as true, for by dint 
 of talking a good deal herself and watching his expres- 
 sion Jenny did manage to pick up some ideas about the 
 lighter side of political life. That she could not get any 
 further annoyed her, but to her probings Mark remained 
 impervious. Nor would he talk about Arthur Sturt, or 
 Lawrence, or Gatton, or the war, or any other personal 
 topic. Maisie often jarred his taste, Jenny rarely; and 
 yet he did not much mind what Maisie knew about him, 
 while for Jenny all doors were barred. 
 
 Once, after some weeks at the chateau, he borrowed 
 one of Jenny's horses to ride into Rouen. Jenny would 
 have liked an explanation, but she got none, and Mr. 
 Sturt was away several hours. Jenny waited for him in 
 the garden, sitting on the lawn in the shadow of an aspen ; 
 bowers of roses made a screen for her, while near by a 
 fountain dispensed innumerable jets of water, which fell 
 in a soft splashing and rippling over the chipped limbs 
 of a struggling nymph and faun. Peering between the 
 flowery branches, Jenny saw Mark stroll down the ter- 
 race and vault across the balustrade. She called to him, 
 and he came to her over the grass, still breeched and
 
 168 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 booted, and threw himself down on one arm beside her 
 cushions. "Pretty thing, kiss me," he said with sparkling 
 eyes. Jenny's heart began to throb; it was in this tem- 
 per that she loved him, or nearly loved him, Mark 
 threw his free arm round her and dragged her down, 
 crumpling all her rosy muslins. "What a shame, isn't 
 it?" he whispered. "My dusty head against a roseleaf 
 throat like yours. How cool you are, Jenny, and how 
 sweet you smell! It was hot in Rouen and the stinks 
 were pretty bad . . . See us ? They can't, and what the 
 devil does it matter if they do? Don't be bourgeoise, 
 Sapho." 
 
 "Mark ! If you call me that atrocious name, you 
 you shan't have what I've got for you." 
 
 "What might that be? Chocolates, with any luck." 
 Then he saw what it was and his manner changed. "Oh, 
 a letter for me ? Thanks. Fifi, you shut up." 
 
 "I've half a mind not to let you have it." 
 
 "Please do." He took it out of her hand, glanced at 
 the writing, and put it in his pocket. 
 
 "Who's it from?" demanded Jenny. 
 
 "Another lady, of course," Mark grinned. 
 
 "It's from Lawrence, isn't it ?" 
 
 "My brother yes." 
 
 "Why does he address it to Duclair?" 
 
 "All my letters go to Duclair except those that Hen- 
 ham forwards from the flat. I was obliged to let him 
 have my direction because he gets a lot of official stuff 
 which ought not to be delayed, but he is trustworthy." 
 
 "You haven't told any one but Henham where you 
 are?" 
 
 "You seem amnoyed !" 
 
 "Not even Lawrence?" 
 
 "Does that surprise you?" 
 
 "Rather," Jenny admitted. "I thought men always
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 169 
 
 kissed and told." She took his temples between the tips 
 of her fingers, and a caress, light as a moth's wing, 
 brushed his lips. "I rather like you for not telling." In 
 reality, she reflected, it was one for her and two for 
 himself ; he was ashamed of her. "Well, aren't you going 
 to read your letter? I haven't read it; you see it was 
 sealed." 
 
 "Yes, my brother often seals his letters," said Mark, 
 breaking the envelope. "Silly trick, because there's never 
 anything in them." He glanced down the sheet and put 
 it in his pocket. 
 
 "Do you and Lawrence often write to each other?" 
 
 "He writes pretty often. I hardly ever do." 
 
 "You and he are twins, aren't you? I suppose you're 
 very fond of each other." 
 
 "Oh, very." 
 
 "Whom do you love best in the world, Mark ?" 
 
 "You, of course." 
 
 "Oh ! pass for that," Jenny said with her little grimace. 
 She had no illusions. "Whom after me?" 
 
 "Er Fifi," Mark answered, pulling the little dog's 
 ears. Fifi showed her teeth; jealous like her mistress, 
 she hated Mark, and would go into convulsions of minia- 
 ture rage if endearments passed in her presence. "Love 
 me love my dog. Fifi doesn't love me, though, do you, 
 Fifi ? Bite then." He put his finger in her mouth. 
 
 "And after Fifi whom? Lawrence? Or the other 
 lady?" 
 
 "The other lady, I expect." Mark yawned without 
 apology. "Ouf ! I must go and change. I want a bath, 
 Jenny, the Rouen road is inches deep in dust. Oh, I for- 
 got to say the other lady lives in Rouen. That's why I 
 went over. I've been buying her a cracker brooch. Do 
 you think she'll like it? The cracker shops aren't very 
 good in Rouen, but it's too far to go to Carnage's."
 
 170 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Jenny bit her lip. A judge of stones, she knew that 
 the price of the spray of ruby rosebuds Mark tossed into 
 her lap had run into three figures. Was she grateful? 
 Jenny Essenden loved jewels; but one reason why she 
 hated Mark Sturt was that he had power to remind her 
 of Jenny Simpson. 
 
 "Mr. Sturt settles his hotel bill/' she said scornfully. 
 
 "Jenny!" Impassive as he was, she made him start; 
 she had hit the nail on the head. "Good heavens, child! 
 I only meant to please you." 
 
 "With rubies; and you won't tell me one little single 
 thing about yourself. No man ever before made me feel 
 as you do that I was nothing to him but a toy." 
 
 He took her in his arms, whispering reckless ardors, 
 and after a brief struggle Jenny lay still. She let hirri 
 pin the ruby spray at the curve of her breast, she let 
 him brush away the dew from her lashes ; she was more 
 exquisite in her pale surrender than in her rosy triumph, 
 and when she murmured, "Be nice to Jenny," Mark very 
 nearly forgot his predecessors. Nearly not quite: in 
 the very hour of passion the ghost of poor young Field 
 warned him with its monitory eyes, "Such the look and 
 such the smile" she "used to love with, then as now." It 
 was not Jenny's sins that came between her and Mark, 
 it was this ill-defined yet haunting sense of the unreal, 
 the factitious, in Jenny herself. He would as soon have 
 taken Fifi seriously. 
 
 And he was not always nice to Jenny; now and then, 
 unintentionally, he gave her a glimpse of this profound 
 indifference which underlay his fiercest desire. She knew 
 that she held him only by a frail thread, and the knowl- 
 edge made her ten times more resolute to hold him. She 
 matched her wits to his, and when he was tepid she 
 turned cynically cold, and would absent herself or very 
 nearly ignore him for days at a time. Then there would
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 171 
 
 follow the flare-up of a tiny quarrel, and then the nerve- 
 sapping sweetness of reconciliation. She had the whip- 
 hand of Mark because she was in earnest, while he did 
 not care enough about her to analyze her conduct or his 
 own. If he had realized that she was straining every 
 nerve to keep him, he would soon have shaken himself 
 free, but she never let him find it out; indeed, between 
 her quarrels and her sweetness, and the fishing, and the 
 car, and the cellar, and the soul-destroying apathy of 
 satiation to which she condemned him at will, Mark had 
 small chance to think at all. After fourteen years, riot 
 ran pretty strong in Mark's veins : Jenny provoked it : 
 she knew her trade as well as any street drab, and reveled 
 in it. It charmed her to fire him to brutality by twenty- 
 four hours' neglect. A gambler born, Jenny played high ; 
 and for this reason the break in their relation came from 
 her and not from him. 
 
 Jenny retired to her room one day to think about the 
 future. It was nearing the end of September, and in a 
 week or two the golden season was sure to break, for 
 Norman autumns close early; the chateau was fairyland 
 in the misty sunshine, but the first blast of cold rain 
 would turn it to a desolation, and then Jenny was sure of 
 it Mark would find out that he must get back to work. 
 She knew that there is always work to be done by a 
 man in Mark's position. She knew all about Gatton. 
 How did she know? Jack Bennet did not seal his cor- 
 respondence. There were loose political threads to be 
 knit up before the coming session. Mark's friends too 
 were getting impatient; Jenny seized her earliest chance 
 to pick his pocket of one of Mrs. Ferrier's letters, the 
 feminine writing having stabbed her into jealousy, and 
 its gay intimate tone and frequent political allusions filled 
 her with rage and dismay. Sad to tell, she set down 
 Charles Furrier as an injured husband, and Mark went
 
 172 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 up in her esteem; but her wrath against Dodo would 
 have surprised that lady. 
 
 Jenny reckoned Dodo as a dangerous rival, one indeed 
 for whom on her own ground Jenny was no match. Dodo 
 touched Mark's life through his work, Jenny only 
 through her sex. Once riveted on Mark's neck, Jenny 
 believed that her fetters would stand any strain; but 
 he was not half hers yet, and Dodo's light lure was not 
 the only peril Jenny saw ahead. Of whom was she 
 afraid? A man of Mark Sturt's antecedents must be 
 sunk drowning deep in inertia before he will bear, with- 
 out revulsion, certain forms of moral shock. 
 
 Therefore, playing high, Jenny struck first. She chose 
 a veiled September evening, blowy and mild ; the evening 
 of one of those days that ripen the pears and apples, 
 and set the sap stirring in late blooming roses. Mark 
 had been out with a gun all day, and came in quite happy 
 with a brace of rabbits ; it was not precisely sport, but it 
 was a harmless method of whiling away the silken, sunny 
 hours. He looked, to a superficial glance, much the bet- 
 ter for his time at the chateau, and he had put on weight ; 
 Father de Trafford's glance would have darkened, and a 
 trainer might have questioned his staying power, but he 
 was still in pretty fair condition, hand and eye in happy 
 accord. Dinner over, Jenny strolled into the salon and 
 sat down to the piano. Her playing was her one accom- 
 plishment, and she had early found out that it was one 
 which appealed to Mark Sturt ; no pianist himself, 
 he was passionately fond of music, and would sit 
 for hours listening while her small fingers danced over 
 the keys. So now : she had scarcely got through a dozen 
 bars when Mark lounged into the room. 
 
 It was a room that made a rare setting for Jenny's 
 bizarre charm. Gilt moldings divided the walls into 
 panels, which were filled, some with water colors, some
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 173 
 
 with valuable antique tapestry : faint tints of vermeil and 
 azure and straw-color telling the tale of Perseus and 
 Andromeda in a sequence of dim pictures. The house 
 being old was draughty, and when the wind blew, as to- 
 night, it worked its way in underfoot and overhead, puf- 
 fing up the Aubusson carpet into little swells, and sway- 
 ing the framed arras, till a trembling like life passed 
 over Andromeda's discolored limbs, and the tail of the 
 dragon waved under the high gilded cornice. The furni- 
 ture was light and graceful, and so arranged as to in- 
 crease the effect of space ; there was a profusion of pale 
 wood and ormolu, of marquetry and vague brocades. 
 This room had distinction, and it was to Jenny's credit 
 that she shone in it ; its effect even on Mark was to make 
 him pull down his white waistcoat and give a little twist 
 to his mustache. 
 
 "Come and sing," said Jenny. He had a baritone voice, 
 untrained but naturally easy, and a good ear, and it had 
 amused him many a night to stand behind Jenny's chair 
 with his hands in his pockets and run through the score 
 of an opera with her. But to-night he shook his head 
 and sat down in a big chair, leaning his elbow on the 
 arm of it and his forehead on his hand. "No, you play 
 to me. Something with a nice tune in it what?" 
 
 "Gay or melancholy?" asked Jenny, preluding in bril- 
 liant runs and trills. 
 
 "Don't care." 
 
 "Tell you a little story, then," said Jenny. "This cha- 
 teau was the dower house of the Comtesse de Geres. 
 She was a widow with two sons, Philippe and Rohan. 
 When the war broke out they naturally went to fight. 
 One autumn evening in 1915 it was late in September; 
 perhaps for all I know this very night the Countess 
 was standing in the window, there by the bookcase, wait- 
 ing for the facteur. She saw him a long way off in the
 
 174 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 avenue, and she beckoned him across the grass. He 
 came up and put into her hand two official envelopes, 
 just alike, printed forms from the French War Office. 
 Philippe had been killed in Champagne on the twenty- 
 sixth, and Rohan in Artois among the orchards of La 
 Folie one day later. Philippe was twenty-five and Rohan 
 nineteen ; they were the last male descendants of the line. 
 Madame de Cleres took the veil, and she is a nun in the 
 convent of the Sacred Heart in Rouen to this day. Now 
 this was her own piano, and these that I'm going to 
 play to you are some of her tunes." 
 
 And she began to play light French operatic airs of 
 the Second Empire, trivialities of Offenbach and Auber, 
 La Vie Parisienne, Les Diamants de la Couronne, sweet 
 and folichon, not the music of a nun. Mark, tired after 
 his long tramp in the open air, listened and dreamed of 
 the war ; of the cruel tragedy which had extinguished an 
 ancient line, that September evening fourteen years ago; 
 of his own ghastly experience between the lines at St. 
 filoi ; of Maisie, and her comment on his scar ; and so 
 on from one random memory to another, till thought 
 grew vague in the immense lassitude which came upon 
 him, and through which Jenny's music grew as indistinct 
 as the rippling of a brook. . . . He woke with a 
 start, and with words on his lips : "No, dear, no : not 
 that." Jenny had left playing; she had spun round on the 
 piano stool to face him, her hands on her hips, her 
 small ankles crossed below her opalescent skirts. 
 "You were asleep, Mark." 
 "Was I?" 
 
 "And talking in your sleep. If you do that I shall 
 learn all your secrets. How will you like that?" 
 
 "You terrify me." Mark yawned. "What was that 
 last thing you were playing?" 
 
 "The barcarolle out of the Contes d'Hoffmann." Sway-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 175 
 
 ing across the polished floor like a dancer, her Pompadour 
 curls and long slender waist emergent out of a mist of 
 gauze, she came to him and leaned down over him till 
 her long lashes brushed his cheek. "Did you know that 
 you talk in your sleep, Mark?" 
 
 "Do I?" 
 
 "You woke me up, last night." 
 
 "So sorry : I'll take a dose of quinine. I had malarial 
 fever years ago in China, the sort of thing that hangs 
 about you forever, and now and then in autumn, when 
 the nights are damp, I get a bit of a temperature. Er 
 no : not infectious, Jenny. Wasn't that what you were 
 going to ask?" 
 
 "Am I such a coward, Mr. Sturt?" 
 
 "Pretty fair." Mark grinned. "Who was late for 
 Mass last Sunday because there was a cow in the short 
 cut? I watched you from the terrace, Jenny: wasn't 
 that a shame? She was such a dear old moo-moo." 
 Jenny went to Mass every Sunday; but she went alone. 
 
 "You might be nice to Jenny to-night," Mrs. Essenden 
 murmured, enlacing him for a moment in her arms, "be- 
 cause it's our last night. I'm going to London to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "To London !" 
 
 "Yes ; did you think I was going to stay here forever ? 
 No, no, my dear Mark : I am a town bird, as you know, 
 and much as I love this pretty French country there 
 comes a time when I pine for my native streets. Con- 
 fess now won't you rather like to smell a London fog 
 again ?" 
 
 "Bless her, she's turning me out !" said Mark, amazed. 
 "Are you tired of me, Jenny?" 
 
 "Not tired of you. Perhaps a little tired of of being 
 in love with you." 
 
 "Well, I'm hanged !" said Mark, getting up and stretch-
 
 176 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 ing himself. "This is rather sudden. You might have 
 given me longer warning! But that's the way with your 
 fair but inconstant sex: to use a novel metaphor, when 
 they tire of a man they fling him aside like a worn-out 
 glove. Amn't I poetical to-night? Kiss me, Jenny, and 
 let's let London rip." 
 
 He advanced towards her. But Jenny, slipping 
 through his hands, ran away into the embrasure of the 
 window. "No you can't touch me here not where the 
 Countess stood." 
 
 Mark stopped dead, arrested not for the first time 
 in his experience of Jenny by the striking of a deep 
 fantastic note which jarred among her pretty French 
 harmonies. "Jenny, you have a macabre fancy. Come 
 away from the window." 
 
 "Non . . . Enfin, c'est fini . . . je suis a bout . . . tu 
 m'embetes . . . laisse-moi, m'ami . . ." 
 
 Jenny played high. 
 
 "Je le veux bien!" said Mark with his unexpected 
 laugh. In one swift spring he caught her round the waist 
 and snatched her out of the window. "As a defensive 
 weapon, Jenny, ghosts are overrated. How about Lon- 
 don now?" 
 
 "Put me down!" said Jenny, passive but with flashing 
 eyes. Mark's answer was to shift his clasp, so that she 
 lay at full length across his arms, the slippers falling 
 from her feet. "Don't force me to be angry; you are 
 my guest." 
 
 "Ah! and if I cared two straws whether you were 
 angry or not, no doubt I should set you down. But you 
 lie, Jenny, you lie: you're not a bit angry you like it." 
 
 She hid her face on his shoulder. "You make me 
 ashamed." 
 
 "I think not, Jenny." 
 
 Mrs. Essenden's small white teeth fastened on her lip ;
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 177 
 
 if he could have seen her he would have known his 
 own danger. But only her curls were visible, and a 
 moment later her arm crept round his neck. "Mark, my 
 beloved . . . how strong you are ! Oh, have your own 
 way with me what do I care? I am only a woman, 
 and you are a man. . . ." She turned in his arms and 
 clung to him as the nymph of the fountain clung to the 
 faun, enlacing him in the perfume of her disordered 
 curls and flying gauze. "I adore you. . . . But I shall 
 go to London to-morrow all the same." 
 
 "And leave me? No, Jenny!" 
 
 "Have I the courage? You could come to me when- 
 ever you like." 
 
 "Whew!" said Mark, whistling softly. He set her 
 down. 
 
 "Come and see you in London, Jenny? Of course 
 I could. But where will you be? I'm a public man, 
 Jenny : I have to think of my reputation. Shall you stop 
 at an hotel?" 
 
 "Stop at an hotel? Of course not! I shall be in my 
 own house. Did you really never go there before be- 
 fore we ran away together? Why, I thought you must 
 have seen it in poor Freddy's time." She knew he had 
 not, but it was her cue to seem to have forgotten. "It's 
 a quaint little spot in Green Street, near the Green Park, 
 quite close to Westminster." 
 
 Mark did not answer. He had made no definite plans 
 for the winter, but he had always meant to break with 
 Jenny when he left the chateau; the escapade had helped 
 him over a bad time, and he was grateful, but after all 
 it was Jenny's shikar, and by the strictest code of honor 
 such a liaison can be broken at will. He had never 
 dreamed of carrying it on in England. But then he 
 had not thought of going back to England for another 
 month or six weeks, by when he expected to have had
 
 178 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 enough of Jenny. He was not ready to give her up yet 
 awhile. And yet there was, as he had said, his reputa- 
 tion to be thought of : people wink at a holiday indiscre- 
 tion, but an homme serieux ought not to let himself be 
 entangled in any permanent folly. Jenny read his inde- 
 cision and struck with practiced hand. 
 
 "Oh, no, that would never, never do," she said, hopping 
 on one foot like a little stork to put her slippers on. "I 
 forgot you were a public man, mon ami. It would be a 
 great to-do if it came to the ears of your chiefs Mr. 
 Mallinson, too, so Puritanical! No," she swayed before 
 him on the tips of her toes, holding by the lapels of his 
 coat, "we will have this one evening more and then we 
 will say good-by like sober people. You are quite range, 
 are you not ? and even I, sinner as I am, like to keep my 
 toquades away from English soil. Perhaps later on we 
 will arrange a second little honeymoon, but for the pres- 
 ent, Monsieur, we shall have to say good-by." 
 
 "Shall we?" said Mark slowly. There was a libertine 
 glow in his eyes that she had never seen there before, 
 and the line was drawn deep from nostril to jaw. "Sure 
 you'll find it so easy to throw me over, Jenny ? You pur- 
 sued me to France, didn't you?" 
 
 "Cad !" said Jenny tersely. 
 
 "Oh, quite. But are you sure you can do without 
 me, Jenny?" 
 
 "Why will you call me Jenny every time you speak to 
 me?" 
 
 "Because it's a pretty name, and you're a pretty girl, 
 Jenny. Answer my question." 
 
 "I didn't listen to it." 
 
 "Is Jenny sure she can live without me?" 
 
 "Quite, quite sure !" Jenny sang out with a little peal 
 of laughter. Mark, who had expected blushes, turned 
 rather white; however little he cared for Jenny, he had
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 179 
 
 always flattered himself that Jenny, after her fashion, 
 cared for him. And while he was digesting a new idea, 
 Jenny suddenly ran away. Mark cursed his own care- 
 lessness, but he was too late, she had escaped into the 
 hall where a footman was waiting. But while he was 
 angrily reviewing this unexpected turn of his affairs, 
 Jenny stuck her head round the door again her little 
 curly head, her slender shoulders gleaming through the 
 disorder of her torn laces. "You see the truth is," she 
 said, "men are so monotonous. I adore you forever 
 but I'm tired to death of you !" 
 
 She flew off. Sturt followed, abandoning the circum- 
 spection which he had habitually practiced : at that mo- 
 ment he desired nothing on earth but to bring Jenny 
 to her knees. Did she take him for a second Freddy 
 Field? . . . Entrance was barred: Mark fell back de- 
 feated after an interval of indiscretion, to which Jenny 
 vouchsafed no heed beyond the derision of a distant 
 laugh. In his own room, after a cup of coffee, he got 
 some sort of shaken hold on himself and fell asleep 
 vowing vengeance on Jenny in the morning. 
 
 In the morning Jenny was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 f <TT TELL, Henham, how are you? Everything going 
 V V on as usual, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, thank you," said Henham. He added after 
 a moment, "I'm glad to see you back, sir, if I may say 
 so. Keeping pretty well, I hope?" 
 
 "Hey? Oh, quite, thanks," said Mark carelessly. He 
 stood by the hall table turning over a tray of cards. 
 "Yes. Any letters ?" 
 
 "I forwarded them up to Saturday, sir. The others 
 that came since your telegram are in the smoking-room. 
 Mr. Considine called last Friday to get your address. 
 I don't know whether you would have wished me to give 
 it him, but as you said no one was to have it I didn't. 
 He lef this note for you." Mark took it. "And Father 
 de Trafford came round the day before, and he wanted 
 your address too. So I gave it him." 
 
 "You gave it him!" Mark swung round on his heel 
 to face the little gray man. "Confound you, Henham! 
 why did you do that?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir, but you told me once I was 
 to always let Father de Trafford have your address, 
 wherever you was, whenever he wanted it." 
 
 "So I did. Quite right." 
 
 Mark passed on into the smoking-room, and Henham 
 gave a little jerk of the head as he watched the tall fig- 
 ure disappear. "Now what have you been up to?" he 
 seemed to be saying to himself. Henham knew, it is 
 hardly necessary to say, all about Mrs. Essenden, and 
 could have given his master details of her career in 
 
 IPO
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 181 
 
 fact, Henham and Frank Carter were members of the 
 same club; he did not disapprove of the connection, or 
 at least he had not done so up to the time of Mark's 
 return. Now, as he went away to warm Mark's claret, 
 the shadow of perplexity rested on his face; he could 
 not quite make out Mark's manner. "I do hope," he 
 said to himself as he got Mark's coffee ready, a task 
 never deputed to the cook's hand, "we shan't have any 
 nonsense about marryin' her. We're a bit soft where 
 there's a lady in the case yes, we are. But I don't 
 think we're soft enough to marry one of her sort. I 
 fancy we should draw the line at takin' her into the 
 family." 
 
 Mark warmed himself at the fire, and looked round 
 the room with the freshened observation of the traveler 
 who has been away a long time. He was struck by the 
 change of weather, late summer to early winter; three 
 nights ago he had sat with Jenny among roses by moon- 
 light, but here in London there was frost in the air and 
 the trees in the Park were stripped. He had been in 
 France only six weeks, but the time seemed longer be- 
 cause of this turn of the seasons. He was struck no less 
 by the change in the character of his surroundings. Lov- 
 ing light and space, and disdainful of ornament, Jenny 
 had left the chateau untouched in its age-old beauty and 
 severity, the Classic setting of a Classic race; and the 
 transition to the dark shabby comfort of Park Court 
 was not altogether agreeable. 
 
 Mark's dwelling was in a nook off Victoria Street, 
 high up, overlooking a medley of roofs and chimneys; 
 very unlike those lovely rooms near the river which 
 Lawrence had filled with the spoil of his wanderings. 
 Mark, always hard-worked and in a hurry, had taken 
 over a furnished flat which he left pretty much as it 
 stood. A Turkey carpet, a flowered paper of his pre-
 
 182 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 decessor's choice, and a Victorian "suite" in leather and 
 mahogany were good enough for him, and there was 
 little to represent his own tastes except a stand of 
 weapons which occupied the greater part of one wall, 
 and a bookcase that ran the length of the other. Item, a 
 "Sargent" portrait of Mr. Sturt in riding dress, startlingly 
 life-like in its vigorous pose, ruddy color, and jeering 
 smile ; but this by the way. Many a time Mark had re- 
 turned to the flat after longer wanderings with all the 
 satisfaction with which a man gets into an old coat or 
 old slippers. To-night, for the first time, he did not like 
 it. Why ? There was no dust or disorder ; the fire was 
 burning merrily, his big chair was drawn up in his own 
 corner, a couple of evening papers lay within arm's length, 
 there were chrysanthemums on the table, and Sobranies 
 in their cool china box. Yet was the room ugly, after 
 all, or was it lonely? Mark tried in fancy to seat Mrs. 
 Essenden in one of those leather chairs. He smiled; 
 this was no frame for Jenny. Mark leaned his arm 
 along the chimney-piece and looked down into the fire. 
 Was it possible that he missed Jenny? 
 
 Jenny was in Green Street, no doubt, settling in. He 
 had not seen or heard of her since the scene of the night 
 before last, except for a note which Carter brought in 
 with his breakfast ; a strange note, Jenny all over, a piece 
 of formal courtesy begging him to stay on at the chateau 
 as long as he liked, followed by a Gallicism which made 
 the blood burn in his cheek and haunted him across the 
 Channel. He had not stayed on at the chateau ; he had 
 waited one night at Duclair to collect his letters ; then 
 home by Dieppe and Newhaven in a blinding gale of 
 rain. As he tramped the deck of the Rouen Mark's mind 
 was as chaotic as the tumbling wintry sea. Uppermost 
 in it then and now was a desire to score off Jenny. The 
 wind wailed round the high flat, a gust of rain lashed
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 133 
 
 the windows. He could be with her in twenty minutes. 
 "She won't want me to-night," Mark said to himself. 
 "It will take her more than twenty- four hours to unpack 
 herself. But little Jennies can't have all they want. Sup~ 
 pose I go round for an hour and make her give me some 
 dinner? Compromising! After all, what's the odds? 
 Who cares? My wife?" He laughed. "If my wife 
 tears about the country with young Forester, what's the 
 odds if I dine with Jenny Essenden?" he reflected sav- 
 agely. 
 
 But as he raised his head he caught sight of his own 
 reflection in the glass. "Hallo !" he said aloud. He had 
 seen those lines about other men's mouths, and he knew 
 well enough what they meant. He looked into his own 
 eyes as if they had been those of a stranger. "No," he 
 said. "Curse you, no. Not that. Oh, good heavens! 
 what am I doing? I'll go and see the Ferriers ; no, they're 
 not up yet. Considine, then." He opened his cousin's 
 note, but Considine Sturt had no permanent footing in 
 town, and with characteristic carelessness had forgotten 
 to put an address. "De Trafford? Can't, after Hen- 
 ham's giving me away. Bridge at a club ?" He shrugged 
 his shoulders. "I wish Lawrence were in London." As 
 the wish framed itself he read in it the measure of his 
 own weakness. "Well, upon my word, what am I com- 
 ing to? Jenny, you little jade, I swear I won't go near 
 you to-night. I'll turn in and do some work. There's 
 Mallinson's latest White Paper, that ought to keep me 
 going for a bit." He dropped into a chair and began to 
 read closely. 
 
 Twenty minutes later he was on his way to Green 
 Street. 
 
 To be conscious of mortal weakness, to be resolved to 
 break loose from it, and to fail over and over again is a
 
 184 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 frame of mind and life of which many men, at one time 
 or another, gain experience. Some fail from pure want 
 of stamina, from pure inability to govern their actions 
 by their will; others and in this class every child of 
 man is liable to find himself because in the given case 
 the will is divided. This was Mark's position that au- 
 tumn. He had always meant to renounce Jenny, but it 
 was to be at his own choice of time, and Jenny by fore- 
 stalling him had called into play all the uncivilized in- 
 stincts of the hunter after his quarry. To put it baldly, 
 he had meant to drop Jenny when he grew tired of her, 
 and it was the flick of a whip across his fighting temper 
 that the little jade should presume to grow tired of him. 
 More somber and more dangerous still, he was jealous. 
 He did not love Mrs. Essenden, he did not respect her 
 not at all, not so much as she deserved ; it was the purely 
 physical jealousy of the dominant male; but it ate into 
 his nerves. At Cleres he had been safe, but in London 
 Jenny had many friends. There was a harmless man 
 about town named Horton, a tall, fair, decadent fellow, 
 a frequenter of Green Street and similar purlieus, to 
 whom Mark was always rigidly civil, but "Hanged if I 
 think your cousin likes me !" said Horton with his noise- 
 less laugh to Considirre Sturt. 
 
 Shortly after this incident Considine dropped in one 
 evening at Park Court, where he found Mark dressed 
 and on the point of going out. Considine, a small, dark, 
 slender Irishman, nearly as handsome as Lawrence but 
 in miniature, threw himself into a chair by the fire. 
 "You're in a hurry it's early yet. Do you dine at the 
 Verneys? Because I am going there myself and I can 
 take you on." 
 
 "I am dining out, but not at the Verneys." 
 "In Green Street ?" Considine cocked a deliberate eye- 
 brow. "Felicitations. The lady is charming."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 185 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "You're not alone in thinking so," Considine retorted. 
 "Well, well, I hope she gives you a good dinner. Horton 
 swears she has the same chef she had in Freddy Field's 
 day or was it Lessingham he said? I forget what hap- 
 pened to Lessingham. Went under, didn't he? Drink 
 or drugs." 
 
 "Can't say," said Mark, unmoved. "I'm afraid I'm 
 not a Who's Who like Horton." 
 
 "Horton isn't a bad chap," said Considine, rearrang- 
 ing his buttonhole. "He's fearfully nervous of you. 
 Says you look at him like an injured husband. I beg 
 your pardon." Mark had consigned Considine to that 
 region whose streets are paved by the well-intentioned. 
 "Come, come," said Considine, "that's putting the saddle 
 on the wrong leg. After you, my boy." 
 
 "You confounded little Irishman," said Mark, laugh- 
 ing against his will, "what do you want?" 
 
 "Sure I thought you were out for congratulations. 
 No, now, hit a man your own size !" as Mark stood over 
 him. "If you're so shy about it why do you put it in 
 the papers?" 
 
 "Put what in the papers?" 
 
 "Why, your marriage, of course," said Considine, arch- 
 ing his perfectly formed eyebrows. "Don't tell me it's 
 off, when I've just spent my last tenner on a teapot?" 
 
 "My what?" 
 
 Considine pulled a paper out of his pocket and pointed 
 to a marked paragraph. "Do you mean to say you didn't 
 put that in yourself?" 
 
 Mark read the paragraph ; it was one of a series headed 
 "A Little Bird Tells Me That" and the report of the 
 particular little bird was that a certain well-known M.P., 
 tired of his wanderings in cold climates, was going to 
 settle down to domestic bliss "in a snug little house not
 
 186 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 far from Green Street, where visitors always get a warm 
 welcome, and we wish him joy, but oh, dear, what will 
 Mrs. Grundy say?" 
 
 "Do you know, I thought it wasn't quite your style," 
 observed Considine placidly, as Mark thrust the horrible 
 little sheet into the fire. 
 
 "Did you come here to show me this, Considine?" 
 
 "Thought you might like to see it." 
 
 "Thanks. I'm sorry I wasn't more genial at the out- 
 set. What infernal cheek! Of course I can't take any 
 step. Can't even flog the editor. Shouldn't I like to, 
 though !" Mark added rather boyishly. 
 
 "H'm-m-m." 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 "Well, I admit," said Considine, contemplating his 
 now perfect buttonhole, "that the style of the commu- 
 nique isn't in faultless taste. But if you were to flog all 
 the fellows who are saying it you would have your hands 
 full." 
 
 "On my word, one's friends are very obliging!" 
 
 "That they are ! Trust them for that." 
 
 "But you didn't believe it?" Considine was silent. 
 "Good heavens! you surely know me better ?" 
 
 "Well, you see, Mark, you've been uncommonly indis- 
 creet. I don't want to pry into your affairs, but if it's 
 true that you pay the fair Jenny's bills, which is what 
 I never heard of her letting any other man do " 
 
 "Fair and softly," Mark said. "This is poisonous 
 gossip. I never dreamed of marrying Mrs. Essenden. I 
 should never marry a woman who let me pay her bills." 
 
 "Nor should I. That's why I remain a melancholy 
 bachelor." Considine winked at him. "All the same, 
 I can't, in that case, understand your feeling for the lady. 
 You don't, by any chance, think it your mission to re- 
 habilitate the victim of a harsh social system?"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 187 
 
 Mark grinned. "Not precisely." 
 
 "Far be it from me to ask if you don't think you're 
 playing the fool?" 
 
 Mark did not answer. He shrugged his shoulders in 
 a tacit assent which struck a spark of gravity out of 
 Considine's whimsical impertinence. 
 
 "Sick of being alone, is that it? You ought to marry. 
 Why didn't you cut in at Shotton and spoil Forester's 
 game?" Mark started under the familiar pinprick. 
 "Lawrence swears you had a sporting chance. How- 
 ever, that's off now, by what I hear; Harry's the happy 
 man." Mark leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece and 
 kicked the brands together; it was all he could do to 
 keep an unmoved face. His pride was cruelly wounded. 
 "But there are lots of other nice women going," Consi- 
 dine pursued. "Really I should cut Green Street if I 
 were you. It isn't respectable. One Lawrence is enough 
 in a family. Besides, to speak seriously, you're not Law- 
 rence ; you've a big part to play." A jerk of the head in- 
 dicated the mocking portrait of Arthur Sturt. "He be- 
 lieved in you." 
 
 "He? he cared more for Lawrence's little finger than 
 for all my fourteen stone." 
 
 "Not latterly. Oh, I don't say he didn't like Law- 
 rence better! but he had more faith in you. Last time 
 I was at Longstone Edge, the summer he died, he said 
 to me, 'Lawrence will do nothing. The women will suck 
 him dry. But Mark will make his name.' " 
 
 "What about Watson, and Garden, and Delany ?" Mark 
 named some well-known members of the Liberal party 
 who had not escaped scandal. "Or Sheddon, a married 
 man ; his constituents haven't shot him out yet." 
 "They are not in office." 
 "Nor am I." 
 "You could be, if you liked."
 
 188 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "You mean well, Considine." 
 
 Considine Sturt had a peculiar grimace. "I do, I 
 mean extremely well, but I've done pretty badly. Eh, 
 old Mark? I wish Lawrence were at home. Well, 
 you're fretting to be off, so I won't keep you." He rose. 
 "Give my love to your enchantress, she's an old flame of 
 mine." He was thunderstruck by the uncontrollable al- 
 teration in Mark's features. "Powers above, I didn't 
 mean that!" Mark was speechless. "Ah, now, if that's 
 the way you feel about it, you're harder hit than I 
 thought." 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 Considine, shocked into earnestness, laid his hand on 
 Mark's arm. "I say, I've known you all your life will 
 you let me take a liberty? If you don't jolly well mind 
 what you're doing, old man, you'll go under like Lessing- 
 ham did. He was mad on Jenny, mortgaged every stick 
 and stone; and the night he left England I saw her at 
 the opera in Freddy Field's box. You fellows that ideal- 
 ize women, you never know where you are with the Es- 
 senden type. I'd lay any odds she sent that par. to Ad- 
 derley's herself. I'm not qualified to talk morality, and 
 I'm not clever like you are, but I've forgotten more about 
 women than you ever knew, and I do beg of you, Mark, 
 to steer clear of that little in Green Street." 
 
 Mark did not quarrel with the term applied to Mrs. 
 Essenden, though its coarse vigor rang strange from 
 Considine's fastidious lips. He gathered up his hat and 
 coat and drew on his gloves as he strolled to the door. 
 "Good man," he said gently. "Well, I must be off now, 
 but Henham will look after you. Have a Sobranie, won't 
 you? I remember you like them." 
 
 Considine sat on by the fire. He felt like a snubbed 
 schoolboy, but he bore no grudge. In the Sturt family, 
 as among many Catholic families in England, there was
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 189 
 
 a good deal of clan feeling, and Considine, sagacious 
 and affectionate, grieved for his cousin's plight. Mark's 
 look haunted him the look of a man drowning in deep 
 water. "And I can't pull him out. I don't carry big 
 enough guns," Considine reflected, lucidly Irish. "But I 
 wonder " 
 
 Mark was in deep water. He was dimly aware of it 
 aware that he was living too fast in more ways than one 
 but, though he sickened in the night watches, there 
 was no will left in him to resist Jenny. To resist Jenny ? 
 Jenny never appealed to him except to keep away. An 
 onlooker would have thought that he held her by right 
 of conquest. He came and went in Green Street like 
 the master of the house, and like a master who had 
 small respect for its mistress; and when Jenny stormed 
 he took his own way to quiet her. It was significant of 
 a change in their relations that he was no longer her 
 guest; after his first visit to Green Street he told her 
 that for the present, so long as their connection lasted, 
 he should pay the rent of the house and the salaries of 
 the servants. "No one has ever done that for me," 
 panted Jenny, and strange to say this was the truth. "I 
 shall do it, however," Mark replied, "or I shan't come 
 here any more. And I've every intention of coming here, 
 Jenny, and I'm sure you wouldn't like it if I didn't 
 what?" 
 
 Jenny raged, and trembled, and was torn by twenty 
 passions, in which the lust of revenge predominated. 
 She acted the woman beaten down and humbled, and 
 gave him all the illegitimate sweets of a forced surren- 
 der; and when he went away she laughed at him yes, 
 and let her maid laugh at him. "Mon Dieu comme il est 
 drole ce gros monsieur!" Louise would say, holding up 
 her hands: "et ga ne derange pas madame? si j'etais
 
 190 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 madame je 1'enverrais promener, moi mais quand on 
 aime a distraction hein? pas moyen de s'en tirer." "Je 
 1'enverrai promener, moi," said Jenny, fastening her teeth 
 on her lip with the sudden little snarl of a teased cat, 
 "Ah, oui! mais pas encore . . . non, non, ma fille. At- 
 tends que je lui aie plonge mon poignard dans le coeur !" 
 
 Meanwhile London was filling up again, and externally 
 Mark's life resumed more or less its usual form. Not 
 altogether, however. Lawrence of course was still away; 
 an occasional scribble from a township off the line of 
 march told of his doings, and never failed to rouse in 
 Mark vain regrets that he had not taken his brother's 
 advice and gone to Colorado. Once in a fit of frank- 
 ness he owned as much in writing back. "I could wish 
 I'd taken your advice. You were in every way right. 
 But if a man elects to be a silly ass he must pay for it." 
 He could see Lawrence reading those words perhaps by 
 matchlight, and raising his eyebrows over them with a 
 twist of his cynical delicate lips. A second friend of 
 Mark's might as well have been in Colorado for all he 
 saw of him ; this was Father de Trafford, who had never 
 come to the flat since the night when Henham gave him 
 Mark's address at the chateau. Miss Archdale it was 
 still as Maisie Archdale that Mark thought of her 
 was staying in Norfolk. Other houses, where in previous 
 years Mark had been admitted as an intimate, gave him 
 this winter a less cordial welcome; others again, where 
 manners were easy, dispatched more frequent invita- 
 tions, and in a more confident style. 
 
 "Let's see, who's coming to us for Christmas besides 
 our own people?" asked Charles Ferrier, leaning over 
 his wife at her writing-table and ruffling up her curly 
 fair hair. 
 
 Dodo ran over a few names. "And Mr. Mallinson 
 he is due to-morrow ; and I think Mark Sturt. He hasn't
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 191 
 
 definitely accepted, but I asked him months ago. I was 
 going to write to him to-day." 
 
 "I don't suppose he will accept." 
 
 "Why?" Dodo asked, wheeling round on her chair 
 like a flash. 
 
 "Been going the pace a bit. Generally supposed to 
 be making rather a fool of himself." 
 
 "I knew it!" said Dodo. "I met him in the Row the 
 other day and reviled him for not coming to see me, and 
 I knew by his eyes that there was something wrong. 
 Tell me about it, Charles. Who is she?" Ferrier pre- 
 served a discreet silence. "Oh, dear boy, don't be silly !" 
 said his wife. "In the first place, if it's all over London 
 to-day it will be all over Hampshire to-morrow, and I'd 
 rather know the rights of the case than the wrongs. Sec- 
 ondly, I'm very, very fond of Mark, and if he is in a 
 mess I vote we get him out of it." 
 
 " 'Fraid we can't do that, darling. It'll have to run 
 its course." 
 
 "Men always say that. Who is she ?" 
 
 "A Mrs. Essenden." 
 
 "In or out?" 
 
 "Out and out. Surely you've heard her name Jenny 
 Essenden ?" 
 
 "Oh-h." Dodo primmed her lips to a whistle. "That 
 woman. I remember. The Fields were furious, they 
 routed her once, but she came back, and she was alone 
 with Freddy when he died. Well, I dare say poor Freddy 
 would rather have had her than anybody else. I hate 
 Mrs. Field, I wouldn't a bit like to have her near me when 
 I was dying, she looks like a jet mausoleum in a bonnet. 
 Freddy hadn't any money of his own either, so if that 
 were all it would be rather to Mrs. Essenden's credit. 
 But if I remember rightly Freddy wasn't the first?" 
 
 "Not by long chalks," said Ferrier dryly. "And un-
 
 192 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 luckily you see he wasn't the last either. I only hope 
 Sturt won't be green enough to marry her." 
 
 "Oh, I hope not," said Dodo. "Idiot, why do you 
 laugh? If if the mischief weren't done it would be 
 different, but I hate whitewash. And what would be- 
 come of his career, if he did? Poor Mark! it's bad 
 enough already, because people nowadays mind that sort 
 of thing so much more than they used to; if it gets wind 
 in his constituency one never knows what may happen. 
 I suppose there is no doubt it's true?" 
 
 "Not the remotest. In fact Horton says he's running 
 the establishment, so that it must be fairly serious. She 
 has, or had, a house of her own in Green Street, but 
 Horton swears Mark pays." 
 
 "Did Mark tell him so?" Dodo's tone was skeptical. 
 
 "No, I rather gather that the woman told him so her- 
 self." 
 
 "Would she tell Mr. Horton a thing like that ? Why 
 should she? It sounds just a made-up bit of scandal, 
 that last. Somehow I can't see Mark mixed up in this 
 sort of thing not seriously; I should have thought he 
 was too too fastidious to fall in love with a woman of 
 that class." Her husband smiled. "Ah ! you mean that 
 that isn't a man's point of view. Dear child, I know it; 
 but look at the risk! One can't see Mark taking that 
 risk unless he were more or less in love. He's a Roman 
 Catholic, too." 
 
 Ferrier shrugged his shoulders. "She's a very pretty 
 woman. I told you Sturt was making an idiot of him- 
 self." 
 
 "Have you spoken to him about it ?" 
 
 "I? Good Lord, no!" 
 
 "No, no I mean, does he afficher himself with her? 
 Does he talk of it, or take her about in public?" 
 
 "Oh, I see your point no, really, the information
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 193 
 
 comes, as I understand, all from the female; she gives 
 the show away with both hands. But it's true enough; 
 Horton dined with her one night when Sturt was there, 
 and well, really, darling, I can't give you chapter and 
 verse, but Horton said he was obviously the master of 
 the house." 
 
 "What's she like? I suppose you know her by sight: 
 oh, perhaps you've dined with her too, like Mr. Hor- 
 ton?" 
 
 "Er no," said Ferrier, winding one of his wife's curls 
 round his finger. "I've never spoken to her, that I re- 
 member. Yes, I have, by Jove ! I met her once at Good- 
 wood with Morris Frere. She was very pretty then, 
 and quite young; quiet clothes, quiet manners. She was 
 a country parson's daughter, I believe." 
 "Like me. I wish I knew her." 
 "Why the devil?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Dodo, rising impatiently. 
 "Sixpence, please. Yes, you did, you said devil." She 
 shook the missionary box under Ferrier's nose. "I've 
 always wanted to know a woman who had got right over 
 the fence: not a Maggie Frere, who only put one leg 
 over and got back again, but one of the real wrong set 
 the Jenny Essendens of London. It's a handicap for us, 
 you see, that we never know what we're fighting." 
 
 "I wouldn't try to fight Jenny Essenden, darling, if I 
 were you. Lea.ve her alone; and leave Sturt alone, too. 
 He'll drop it before long sure to ; he'll get tired of her, 
 or she'll get tired of him. It's probably only a casual 
 aberration, an outcrop of the same sort of streak Law- 
 rence Sturt has in him. But doa't you meddle. You 
 won't do any good." 
 
 "N-no," said Dodo reluctantly: "but all the same, if 
 you don't mind, I think I'll try to get hold of him for 
 Christmas."
 
 194 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "No, don't, dear." 
 
 "Why not?" Ferrier was silent. "Charles, is there 
 anything more?" 
 
 "Er yes : if you will have it. I don't care to have to 
 watch a man at table in my own house, Dodo." 
 
 "Mark Sturt? You mean ? I don't believe it. They 
 say that of every one!" 
 
 "I've seen it." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "At the Savoy, the night I dined with Haynes. As 
 we left he was coming out of a private room with two or 
 three other men: not drunk, I don't say that, whatever 
 Haynes may swear, but far enough gone to be rowdy. 
 They were expostulating with a waiter. Haynes and I 
 fled." 
 
 "Oh!" said Dodo. Tears of grief and indignation 
 brimmed her eyes, but she dashed*them away and slipped 
 from her husband's arm. "Oh, my poor old Mark ! Oh, 
 and you want me to let him go! Charles, I shall write 
 to him to-night."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 SHOTTON, December 22. 
 
 MY DEAR MARK, 
 Have you any hazy recollection of the fact that 
 I asked you to come to us for Christmas? You never 
 said yes or no, and I have seen so little of you lately 
 that I haven't had a chance of settling with you, but if 
 you will come do come ! Charles and I and Terry will 
 do our best to make you happy. It will be the most awful 
 infliction you can possibly imagine, a real old-fashioned 
 country Christmas, turkey and plum pudding and Dumb 
 Crambo in the nursery. You are so tall, you will be 
 most helpful in the decorations. Mr. Mallinson is com- 
 ing, also some of our own people, and one or two others. 
 I should love you to see Mr. Mallinson playing Dumb 
 Crambo. Dearest Mark, you aren't going to forget old 
 friends, are you? They never forget you. 
 
 Yours always, 
 
 DODO FERRIER. 
 
 Mark was breakfasting by himself in Green Street 
 when this letter reached him Jenny was never down 
 before eleven and when he had read it he leaned his 
 arm. on the table and dropped his forehead on his hand. 
 He looked exhausted, and worse than exhausted; his 
 features were beginning to wear the stamp of deteriora- 
 tion. He used to think back now and then over the 
 events of the past month or two, and wonder how they 
 had all come about,, and what Jenny had done to him. 
 A long way off seemed the nights when he had slept un- 
 der the trees at Ushant. He had begun to wonder why 
 
 195
 
 196 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 he had taken so much pains to refuse what the gods of- 
 fered him; and there was enough left in him of his old 
 self to recognize Jenny's destructive influence in that 
 changed point of view. 
 
 His Christmas plans were still vague, for a simple 
 reason ; Jenny had maneuvered to get him to spend Christ- 
 mas with her in Paris, and in doing so had inadvertently 
 struck against a force with which she had not reckoned 
 the strong, secret force of religious feeling. Some 
 element in Mark's very bones rebelled against a Christ- 
 mas spent with Jenny. Unacknowedged instincts sprang 
 up in him demanding a season, however brief, of clean- 
 ness and peace of mind. Once and again he thought of 
 going to de Trafford as a man to his friend, not as 
 penitent to confessor but by now he knew his own 
 weakness, and with bitter self-disgust he owned that he 
 was capable, if Jenny stayed in town and she would not 
 go to Paris by herself of coming straight back from 
 de Trafford to Green Street. Better keep clear of the 
 priest altogether than so profane his own soul. But he 
 longed how he longed! to get away from Jenny for 
 a season. 
 
 Dodo's letter came to him in his distress and weak- 
 ness like the clasp of a friendly hand. He rose straight 
 from the breakfast table and went to Jenny's desk ; there 
 he hesitated. What could it seem but a deliberate insult 
 if he wrote to Mrs. Ferrier on Jenny's note-paper? But 
 he had no other at hand, and bitter experience warned 
 him that he had better commit himself before his im- 
 pulse failed; and what did it signify after all? Did not 
 every line of Dodo's letter prove that she knew what 
 was in fact common knowledge? Mark, whose eyes 
 were keen even when slightly grises with fatigue and 
 champagne, had recognized Ferrier in the vestibule of 
 the Savoy. He took a sheet of Jenny's paper stamped
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 197 
 
 with Jenny's address, and wrote his reply standing at 
 Jenny's little rosewood desk. 
 
 19, GREEN STREET, 
 WESTMINSTER, S. W. 1. 
 Tuesday. 
 Thank you, I will come to-morrow. 
 
 O. M. STURT. 
 
 "Wire me off, if you like, after that," he said to him- 
 self with a smile which softened his heavy eyes ; and he 
 went straight out into the street and posted the letter. 
 He did not return to the house, and next day Jenny got 
 a curt note telling her that he was gone to spend Christ- 
 mas in "the country. By way of consolation, and because 
 he knew that he was treating her badly, he sent her also 
 a ruby pendant, and a check, with a line of writing: 
 "Make what use you like of the enclosed." He smiled 
 into his mustache as he set his name to this broad absolu- 
 tion. What if Jenny's liking covered Christmas at the 
 Bristol with Horton? 
 
 He reached Shotton by four o'clock on Christmas Eve ; 
 and walked up from the station, the better part of two 
 miles along a quiet country road. No sooner had he 
 stepped out on the platform than there came on him the 
 same sense of refreshment as had come on him at Ushant ; 
 though there was an immense difference between the 
 illumination of that golden sunset and the stealing twi- 
 light of 'December. Unlit save for a streak or two of 
 sand-color and argent in the west, a fell of cloud, gray 
 overshot with brown, lay in bank after bank immovable 
 from pole to pole, and under it a north wind blew cold 
 and pure through the stripped brown woods and over 
 the matted and faded fields. Mark never wore an over- 
 coat, and when he first left the train he shivered, but
 
 198 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 swift walking soon warmed his blood, and when he 
 reached the heavy woods of Shotton, and the gaunt house, 
 pale against the empurpled twilight, he was looking and 
 feeling more like his old self than he had done for many 
 a day. 
 
 Tea was in the library, so Davis said, the white-haired 
 butler ; and his "Mr. Sturt, ma'am," was an old servant's 
 welcome to a friend of the house. There was no light 
 in the room except the rich glow of the hearth, stacked 
 with faggots and peat half-way up the chimney, but as 
 Mark entered with his easy stride, carrying his head 
 rather high, various figures detached themselves in bas 
 relief, rosed over by the fireshine or dim against 
 the linen-folded panels. In the great bay with Charles 
 Ferrier were gathered a group of riders, the men in 
 breeches and boots, the women in habits; two of Mrs. 
 Ferrier's brothers, young army men, and some friends 
 of the family of many years' standing whom Mark had 
 met before at Shotton. Near the fire in a big chair he 
 recognized the gray head and plain, dignified features of 
 George Mallinson, and at his feet Dodo, slender as a 
 young girl in her cream color and ermine, was sitting 
 on the hearth with her arms about her knees. So much 
 Mark saw before Dodo uncurled herself and almost ran 
 to meet him. "I'm so glad you're come," she said, giving 
 him both her hands. "Charles, here's Mark! You do 
 know every one, don't you ? ah ! Terry, you little fiend ! 
 don't let him bother you!" 
 
 When Mark had shaken hands all round and dropped 
 into a chair near his hostess, he began to feel that he 
 was going to enjoy himself. Mrs. Essenden had taught 
 him that he was lonely, but she could not satisfy the 
 want she had created, no, not for a moment; no more 
 indeed could Dodo, but her warm uncritical kindness 
 soothed it for a time. Nor was it only Dodo who went
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 199 
 
 out of her way to make him welcome. A woman's wel- 
 come can do no more for a man, if his own sex give him 
 the cold shoulder, than men can do for a woman in the 
 parallel case, and Mark had come down slightly on the 
 defensive, for he had not forgotten the Savoy night, and 
 he was pretty sure that Ferrier, a Londoner to his finger- 
 tips and with all the Londoner's dread of a scene, would 
 remember it too; but there was no trace of criticism in 
 Ferrier's steady eyes, and Mark's stiffness melted when 
 he found himself adopted on the spot into the charmed 
 intimacy of family life. Terry alone was enough to keep 
 Mark happy; an imp of four, he took to Mark as chil- 
 dren always did in spite of the fact that he never knew 
 what to say to them, and precipitated himself upon 
 Mark's legs as soon as he sat down. "I've got some new 
 knickers," he said, fixing Mark with a gimlet stare. 
 "Would you like to see them, Mr. Shirt?" 
 
 "Mr. Sturt, darling, not Mr. Shirt," interpolated Dodo 
 hastily. 
 
 "Shirt," said Terry with a riotous giggle. "Shirt. Mr. 
 Nightshirt." From dancing up and down on Mark's 
 knee he fell into Mark's arms, planting one foot on his 
 friend's stomach after the inconsiderate manner of small 
 children in big chairs. "Ow, I've hurt my foot. Mr. 
 Nightshirt, can you play bears?" 
 
 "Rather !" 
 
 "Ow. I shall come an' play bears to-morrow morn- 
 ing before you get up." 
 
 "Well, don't forget," said Mark with his hearty laugh. 
 "I shall lie awake all night thinking about it." 
 
 "Will you ?" Terry said. He had been trying to tie the 
 tips of Mark's mustache into a bow, but he desisted sud- 
 denly and flung his arms round Mark's neck. "Yen I 
 like you better yan Mr. Potiphar." 
 
 Mark, like many, perhaps the majority of men, was
 
 200 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 fond of children, but he had never connected them with 
 himself; his life had been too full to be handicapped with 
 the ties of a family, and he had none of that feudal feel- 
 ing towards his Northern property which makes a man 
 crave for an heir. He had never desired a child. But 
 now he thought to himself, without tracing the fancy to 
 its origin or its conclusion, "And I might have a kid like 
 this but not by Jenny Essenden." 
 
 Mrs. Ferrier fancied he was tired, and rose. "Terry, 
 fly to your father," she said. Terry, declining to fly any- 
 where, was carried writhing to the window seat, where 
 Ferrier was telling an apparently scandalous tale to his 
 brothers-in-law and Miss Travis. Mark watched him 
 scoop up the elf in one arm as he continued to make his 
 point, amid the ribaldry of his audience ; what the point 
 was Mark did not hear, for Dodo had taken him out of 
 the room. She stopped beside the fire in the hall, arch- 
 ing one small foot to the flames, her blue eyes, blue as 
 steel, lifted to Mark's face. "I do, do hope you won't 
 be bored !" she said frankly. "We're terribly intimc, I 
 know, and the Earles always behave like infants of 
 twenty when they get together. But you look so fagged, 
 Mark; I believe, if you only don't mind, it'll do you 
 good to be just one of us and put up with Terry's plati- 
 tudes." 
 
 "Oh, I like it," said Mark, smiling. 
 
 "Provided you don't get tired of it," said Dodo with 
 her inexpressive keenness of glance. Mark felt himself 
 flushing; surely she could not be going to cross-examine 
 him? But no; Dodo did not number want of common 
 sense among her irregularities of character. 
 
 "A person of simple tastes, aren't you? like Mr. Mallin- 
 son. I think men who work hard often are," she ran on, 
 apparently at random. "It is the Mr. Potiphars who 
 always have to be amused. Oh, that's Terry's joke, he
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 201 
 
 is great on nicknames, but really he did think- it was 
 Potiphar; I'd been telling him the story of Joseph just 
 before Mr. Forester came." 
 
 "Is Mr. Forester here?" 
 
 "Yes, you haven't seen us all yet " Dodo began, and 
 
 then she broke off, as the outer door was thrown open. 
 "There she is !" she said with a touch of vexation ; and 
 Mark saw framed in the entry against a somber sky the 
 figure of a very tall woman in sable coat, cap, and muff, 
 followed by Forester himself. Dodo's swift glance went 
 from Mark to the new-comer, and then came back to 
 him. Vague misgivings, so vague that she had felt thor- 
 oughly justified in disregarding them, rushed back upon 
 her as she realized how badly she had blundered. But 
 what was it what was wrong between those two, that 
 each looked at the other as if at a ghost, Mark Sturt 
 reddening slowly to the roots of his hair and Maisie 
 white as paper? 
 
 There could be no pause, and there was none. "Well, 
 my darling," said Maisie, coming forward and giving 
 her hand to Dodo, "how are you and how is Terence? 
 Oh, yes, thanks, I came in the car, but I saw Mr. For- 
 ester at the gate, so I walked up through the park with 
 him. No, we're not cold are we, Harry?" Then she 
 turned to Mark. "How d'ye do, Mr. Sturt? I'd no 
 idea you were going to be here. Unexpected pleasure." 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "I Dodo." 
 
 "Oh ! come in." 
 
 Dodo entered. She was wearing another of the soft 
 ivory-colored dresses that Ferrier liked her in, and with 
 her curly fair hair and slender shoulders she seemed 
 younger and less a woman of the world than her friend, 
 who, in black velvet and Mechlin lace, resembled one
 
 202 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 of Vandyck's gallant ladies. Maisie's splendid hair was 
 dressed elaborately as usual, and she was in the act of 
 fixing a pearl-set Spanish comb among its soft puffs and 
 coils. "How smart we are!" Dodo said, kneeling down 
 by the fire. "But why do you never wear your wonder- 
 ful diamonds, Maisie? Are you afraid of their being 
 stolen?" 
 
 "I shouldn't care a pin if an enterprising burglar made 
 a clean sweep of them," said Maisie. She patted a sec- 
 ond comb softly into place, and then she put out the lamps 
 and threw herself into an easy chair on the other side 
 of the hearth. "Diamonds are vanity. Dodo, you look 
 pale and conscience-stricken. What is it? Pass me my 
 cigarettes and tell me all about it." 
 
 Dodo prepared to comply,' but seemed to find a diffi- 
 culty. "I do wish you wouldn't sit with your knees 
 crossed," she said irrelevantly. "You have very nice 
 ankles, but " 
 
 "But you are not looking pale because I show too much 
 of my legs," said Miss Archdale in the high classic drawl 
 which enabled her to speak her mind with so much point 
 and fluency. "If you have any questions to ask, ask 
 them. I know I gave myself away this afternoon, thanks 
 to your talent for arranging surprises. On the whole 
 I think I'll get the first shot in myself: why didn't you 
 tell me Mr. Sturt was going to be here ?" 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "Poor," said Maisie, "very poor. Have another go." 
 
 "But upon my honor I don't know !" Dodo answered. 
 She sat curled round on a cushion, one hand clasping her 
 foot, while in her eyes danced golden specks reflected 
 from the flames : leaping flames, yellow ribbons veined 
 with sapphire and vermilion, and branching upwards into 
 weedy fringes of brown and hyacinth blue and chryso- 
 prase green. "Twice or three times I was going to tell
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 203 
 
 you, and then I thought I wouldn't, but I didn't, and don't, 
 know why. You didn't seem to see much of him when 
 you were with us in July." 
 
 "I saw more of him than you knew." 
 
 Dodo was silent, and after a moment Maisie went on. 
 "This much I will tell you, Dodo, because I want you 
 to play up. You didn't tell me he was going to be here, 
 or tell him I was, because you had an inkling that if you 
 did one of us would stay away. You were quite right. 
 He is connected for me with the most painful, the most 
 humiliating experience of my life. It was no fault of his, 
 and you need not think you can guess what it was, be- 
 cause you can't the conditions were too unlikely, too 
 bizarre. But there it is, if you had warned me I couldn't 
 have forced myself on him." 
 
 "I'm very sorry." 
 
 "I'm not. It had to come. I shan't run away. Only, 
 be content with what you've done, dear child. Leave me 
 to make the running. Don't, in your affectionate zeal, 
 send me in to dinner with him, or arrange accidental 
 tete-a-tete." 
 
 "Is it likely? Do you think I ever would have asked 
 you if I had known there was any feeling of this kind 
 between you ?" 
 
 "Do I ? Don't I ?" Maisie stuck out her slender foot, 
 shod in the Louis-Quinze slipper that matched her velvet 
 dress and the pearls in her hair. "No, I don't think 
 these-shoes were dear at fifteen guineas ; it's always satis- 
 factory to be unique. Really I can't see why you did it 
 at all. You must have had some motive you were 
 matchmaking as far back as July. Why have you set 
 your heart on marrying me to Mark Sturt?" 
 
 "I like you both so much. And" Dodo hesitated 
 "I always did think Mr. Sturt was a little in love with 
 you."
 
 204 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Mr. Sturt in love with me!" Maisie repeated in an 
 accent of profound surprise. "Good heavens ! why, he 
 never spoke to me if he could help it!" 
 
 "Ah, you don't know him as well as I do." Maisie 
 smiled ruefully, feeling that Dodo's words were true, 
 though not as Dodo meant them; Maisie's judgment 
 was entangled in personal relations, and she could not 
 step far enough back to gain the detached standpoint 
 of the critic. "He was caught, fascinated, but he wouldn't 
 yield to the fascination. He didn't much want to marry 
 any one. And then he's proud men of his age always 
 are; he knew you had refused twenty people, and he 
 wouldn't a bit have liked to be the twenty-first." 
 
 "He never would have been." 
 
 "Maisie!" 
 
 But Miss Archdale passed on so carelessly that Dodo 
 could not decide if the words were a confession or no. 
 "You're wrong : quite wrong. I'm not the sort of woman 
 he likes. He doesn't want a woman of his own height, 
 he wants a little clinging person with brown eyes and an 
 affectionate disposition. He's very domesticated, is Mark. 
 His ideal lady would exist to warm his slippers and bring 
 his babies into the world." 
 
 "Cynic!" said Mrs. Ferrier gently. Lifting her keen 
 blue eyes, she searched her friend for a sign of relenting, 
 but the handsome mask was impenetrable in its good- 
 humored scorn. Dodo sighed, and suddenly her impa- 
 tience overflowed in blunt speech. "Don't pose, Maisie. 
 If you married, you wouldn't shirk motherhood." 
 
 Maisie took her cigarette out of her mouth to laugh. 
 She stretched out her long limbs with a touch of the old 
 vanity, the flame-light flickering over her sculptured 
 shoulders and the deep curves of bosom and waist. 
 "Faith, shouldn't I? Think of my figure." 
 
 "Thanks for that."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 205 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because now I know you are romancing by the yard," 
 said Dodo placidly. "You forget, my love : I've seen you 
 with Terry." 
 
 "With Terry? Well: ah, well . . ." 
 
 The broken murmur ended in a long sigh, and she 
 tossed her cigarette into the fire. "Would you like me 
 to come and kiss you, Dorothea ? I'd rather not, but it's 
 the orthodox prelude to a girlish confidence, and I have 
 a very great desire to confide in you. Also I have a very 
 great desire to weep. I don't know why one should 
 always ride oneself on the curb. I jest at holy things 
 because I don't want to cry, but after all why shouldn't 
 one cry now and then? Oh! my heart ... I shall if 
 you bother me about Terry. Happy woman ! you have 
 everything. But you weren't happy always. Did you 
 want children, before you married?" 
 
 "No : do you ?" 
 
 "Yes, very much : I should love to have one of my 
 own. It makes me ache to feel Terry in my arms. He 
 isn't mine, though. I want something right out of me, 
 made of me. Dodo, didn't Terry take to Mark ? I'm so 
 glad he likes him better than Mr. Potiphar. Poor Harry ! 
 he is full of good intentions, but he hasn't a way with 
 children. Mark has. He loves them, and he is sweet 
 with them : he doesn't a bit know what to do with them, 
 but he lets them do anything on earth they like with 
 him. I watched him with Terry this evening when they 
 didn't know I was there; Terry was a little demon, but 
 Mark was a willing victim. He was a German, and 
 Terry shot him. I should love to see him with a child 
 of his own." 
 
 "I suppose you know what you're telling me." 
 
 "Perfectly, thanks." 
 
 "And you don't mind my knowing?"
 
 206 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Rather. No, I don't care; I don't care much about 
 anything, if I could only stop the the pain for a little 
 while. It is a silly position, isn't it? I can still see it's 
 silly, but I don't feel it as a humiliation, I only feel it 
 as a pain. Usedn't I to be rather a proud, independent 
 sort of woman? I haven't any pride left; if Mark held 
 up his little finger I would go to him, and I wouldn't 
 ask much either only the crumbs from his table. I 
 wouldn't stipulate for ardor, I would be content with a 
 little affection. Just to warm his slippers and bear his 
 babies." 
 
 "Oh ! Maisie ! Maisie !" 
 
 "And that is love," said Maisie. She leaned forward, 
 stretching out her hands to the fire as if she felt cold; 
 her eyes were steady and brilliant, but Mrs. Ferrier saw 
 that she was trembling. "Love that the poets write 
 songs about. I don't think it's any fun at all. Do you 
 suppose other women do the trick as completely, Dodo? 
 Did you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you were very unhappy. But it's over now. Or 
 do the scars never fade?" 
 
 "Never," said Dodo, her face darkening for a mo- 
 ment. "But that doesn't matter. Never to be happy is 
 the price one pays for loving another person better than 
 oneself." 
 
 "And you think it's worth while?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "So do I," said Maisie simply. "But oh ! it hurts." 
 
 Now and then in dark hours the need of human com- 
 panionship is very great. Maisie covered her eyes with 
 one hand and laid the other on Dodo's knee ; a maiden 
 hand, for she had taken off Mark's rings in the train 
 that carried her away from Ushant, and had slipped them 
 on the chain that bore Philip's portrait. Dodo, who
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 207 
 
 knew nothing of either rings or locket she was vaguely 
 acquainted with the tragedy of the Redruth Castle, but 
 not from Maisie, and she had never heard Philip's name 
 Dodo drew courage from her own experience to throw 
 her arm, for a moment, lightly and shyly round Maisie's 
 neck. There was much that she did not understand ; but 
 that Maisie had suffered, and suffered deeply, was evi- 
 dent from the indefinable change, the saddened maturity 
 that had come on her since July. Six months ago and 
 Maisie was still a girl, high-spirited and impatient; she 
 had been in the thick of the fight since then, and had 
 come out of it scarred and sobered. Youth takes wing 
 when we begin to realize that we have no particular 
 right to be happy, and that the universe will not, on our 
 account, go one step out of its way; this lesson Maisie 
 had learned, apparently the old nursery lesson, "You 
 must not snatch." But in what school had she endured 
 discipline ? 
 
 What perplexed Dodo most of all was the way in 
 which Maisie spoke of Mark. She loved him ; he did not 
 love her; surely there was an end of the matter? The 
 rest could only be a question of bearing pain with forti- 
 tude. But Maisie seemed to look on the game as only 
 half played, and the candor with which she spoke of 
 possible further developments would have shocked Dodo 
 if it had not been vindicated by its own simplicity. Mrs. 
 Ferrier was no prude, and she was not, as some women 
 are, afraid to face the mysteries of life and passion, but 
 she was a wife, and it seemed strange to her that Maisie 
 should disregard the conventional delic&cies which veil 
 them from the unmarried. How came Maisie by this 
 intimacy of the imagination? And what right had she 
 to assume, as she did implicitly in every word, that there 
 was to be any future relation between her life and 
 Mark's? Dodo was baffled.
 
 208 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Later she was to realize that what baffled her was 
 precisely this nameless, pervasive difference between the 
 married and the unmarried point of view. Even such a 
 marriage as Maisie's must confer rights and constitute a 
 bond. Loved or unloved, the wife has a lien on a man's 
 private life, on the disposition of his future, on the very 
 substance of his nature. This is fact, not fancy law, 
 not whim; Mark himself, having done little cool think- 
 ing since he went to Normandy, was scarcely awake to 
 it, but it was the foundation on which Maisie based her 
 few remaining hopes. 
 
 "And, Dodo " 
 
 "What is it, dear?" 
 
 "Is he do you have you " 
 
 "Oh, Maisie ! Maisie !" 
 
 "What is this rotten tale that is going about? You 
 know what I mean; I suppose Charles doesn't turn a 
 deaf ear to the gossip of the clubs. Louis Haynes' wife 
 tried to tell me, but I shut her up. But to-night, when 
 I watched him He has changed." 
 
 Dodo winced, she had dreaded this question. 
 
 "Dear, forgive me: are you wise indeed, have you 
 any right to examine into Mr. Sturt's private life?" 
 
 "Yes, I have the right." 
 
 "Oh, I don't understand you. Yes, it is true." Maisie 
 was mute. "True so far as it goes. Such things don't 
 go very far, do they? Anyhow, women have to bear 
 them. But, if it's any comfort to you, my own impres- 
 sion is that he'd be thankful to be rid of her." 
 
 "Her?" 
 
 "Mrs. Essenden you meant that? Oh, goodness!" 
 Dodo murmured in an accent of dismay. "Oh, you only 
 meant that time at the Savoy?" 
 
 "Who the devil is Mrs. Essenden? His mistress?" 
 
 "Maisie ! Maisie !"
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 209 
 
 "Come, it only wanted that!" said Maisie with the 
 wreck of a laugh. "Is it the lovely Jenny Essenden that 
 Freddy Field went off with? How very nice for Mark! 
 Has it gone on long?" 
 
 "Since August, Charles said." 
 
 "August? you don't say so. My high-minded Mark! 
 August . . . and I who loved him because he was a 
 Catholic and a mystic . . . oh, and he was, he was! oh, 
 my darling, oh, my darling . . ." 
 
 The tears had their way at last. Dodo sat still, not 
 daring to touch her friend now. Not many drops fell, 
 however. Maisie was not one of the women who find 
 relief in- tears. She dashed the' bright dew from her eye- 
 lashes and lay back in her chair, pressing her handker- 
 chief to her lips to still their trembling. 
 
 "Don't take it so to heart," Dodo* pleaded. "You know 
 these things don't count in a man's life as they do in 
 ours; not an unmarried man, anyhow. It's all wrong, 
 of course, but it's the world we live in." 
 
 "And all men are alike: and you wouldn't care, would 
 you, if Charles ?" 
 
 "He is my husband." 
 
 "True: and I am not Mark's wife," said Maisie with 
 an indefinable accent of irony. 
 
 She pulled herself languidly to her feet. "I must wash 
 my face; it's ten to eight. Oh, yes, I shall come down 
 to dinner ; a little blanc de perle will hide the ravages of 
 grief. Oh, dear me, where's my rose-water? Tell me 
 everything you know about this affair with Mrs. Essen- 
 den is it casual or settled? Does she live with him?" 
 
 "She has a house of her own in Westminster, which 
 Mark is supposed to be paying for ; that may or may not 
 be true." 
 
 "But it is certain that he goes to her? It's no mere 
 club gossip?" Dodo reluctantly shook her head. "But
 
 210 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 why should you think he wants to be quit of her?" 
 
 "Because he did such an extraordinary thing when I 
 asked him here. I wrote to him at his flat in Park Court, 
 but I suppose he was " Dodo stumbled "it was for- 
 warded to him in Green Street, for he wrote his reply to 
 me from that woman's house and on her paper. I tore 
 it up, because I knew how Charles would storm if he got 
 hold of it, but I'm pretty certain Mark didn't do it out 
 of carelessness, and still more that he didn't mean it for 
 an insult. For thirty seconds I was cross, and I thought 
 of wiring to him not to come, but directly I thought it 
 over I saw what he meant." 
 
 "And what did he mean?" 
 
 "A confession and a fair warning; if it didn't sound 
 so absurd, I should say just a little bit of an appeal. I 
 am convinced that he wouldn't have done it if he weren't 
 feeling rather sick about it all." 
 
 "Yes, I dare say he is sick about it," Maisie assented 
 in level tones. She crossed to the window and stood 
 looking out into the dark night; her thoughts were as 
 somber as the wintry landscape, over -which a rigor of 
 frost was settling down under a heaven of tropical stars. 
 ". . . Oh, my beloved: oh, Mark, my darling, I'd have 
 died for you, and I've thrown you straight into this 
 woman's hands. For it's all my doing, I tried you too 
 high, and so in the reaction my knight without reproach 
 has fallen as other men fall. And I who could have 
 kissed the ground under your feet at Ushant because 
 you weren't like other men! You're in the dust now; 
 you're not much better than I am. I shall have some- 
 thing to forgive, as well as to be forgiven. That is bit- 
 ter. I suppose it's always the way, the envenomed tor- 
 ment of sinning is that one makes others sin whom one 
 would have died to keep superior to oneself. But it 
 will bring you back to me. Some day when you're sick
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 211 
 
 of her you'll remember that you have a wife and you'll 
 turn to me for deliverance. Beloved, for your sake I'd 
 rather you never came to me than that you were brought 
 to me by sin and weakness, but for my own ? . . . Thank 
 God she can't give you legitimate children." 
 
 The last words were half audible. "What did you say, 
 Maisie?" asked Mrs. Ferrier, startled. 
 
 "I say," answered Maisie, strolling back to the fire, 
 "that it's lucky Charles doesn't open your letters, or 
 there would have been a row. He would not have fol- 
 lowed your subtleties, he would have said it was an un- 
 gentlemanly thing to do." 
 
 "But Mark is a gentleman." 
 
 "You stick up for your friends, don't you, Dodo?" 
 
 "You like to hear me stick up for Mark, don't you, 
 Marcella?" 
 
 "Rather," Maisie admitted. "Not that I care much, 
 after all. I have the makings of a good wife in me, 
 Dodo, a humble, faithful, unassuming Grisekla of a wife; 
 if he swore at me, if he beat me, if he went away to 
 Green Street now and then I wouldn't care, if he would 
 let me stay with him between times. Come, let's go 
 down; I promised to try over Harry Forester's new 
 song with him before dinner, and I forgot all about it. 
 One's so apt to forget Harry Forester."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Dire que j'ai vecu avec ga . . . 
 
 SOME hours later, on that same Christmas Eve of 
 his arrival at Shotton, Mark Sturt, for the first time 
 since he went to Normandy, settled down to think out 
 his affairs. 
 
 Long after the rest of the household were in bed and 
 asleep, he sat back in a big chair by the fire in his room, 
 pulling hard at his pipe, and staring from under shaded 
 eyes into the chase of flames. Political work trains the 
 faculty of concentration, and Mark, who was not weak 
 though he had acted weakly tackled the problem of 
 his own conduct systematically point by point. "Quelques 
 decouvertes que Ton ait faites dans le pays de 1'amour- 
 propre, il y reste encore bien des terres inconnues." Mark 
 had not liked it when from Consicline he heard his wife's 
 name linked with Harry Forester's ; but when hearsay 
 turned to eye-witness when Forester led Maisie in out 
 of the snowy night Mark was shocked out of five 
 months of drifting by the recoil of jarred pride. He 
 sat down to think : and his conclusion was that since 
 July he had played the fool, actively or passively, in 
 every branch of life. 
 
 What brought home his own folly to him as nothing 
 else would have done was having to fight off an in- 
 clination to stimulate thought by resort to his hunting 
 flask. He stood aghast at himself. The impulse was 
 brief but strong so strong that he was tempted to end 
 it by emptying good brandy out of the window. Tempted ? 
 
 212
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 213 
 
 Yes, tempted to fly temptation. "Well, I'm damned!" 
 he said aloud, standing flask in hand beside the windy 
 night. "No, I'm not, but I'm within arm's length of it." 
 He screwed the cap on again and pitched the flask, still 
 full, back into his drawer: then, returning to his chair 
 by the fire, "No, my friend," he said with a jerk of his 
 shoulders, "no more of that rot. Understand once for 
 all, Mark Sturt, that little bottles of brandy don't rank 
 as temptation." 
 
 Indeed the imp of the spirit flask had never gained any 
 hold over Mark, and in five minutes' time he had for- 
 gotten it in a struggle with fiends more robust. He was 
 astonished to find how little grip he had of the forces 
 with which he was contending. Five months of drifting 
 five months of Jenny's tutelage had disorganized his 
 brain. "What have I been doing since July?" he asked 
 himself, forcing his fogged mind to classify and con- 
 centrate. "Take Gatton first." What of Gatton, the pre- 
 occupation of thirteen arduous years? Locked in his 
 dispatch case" lay half a dozen letters from Jack Bennet, 
 all of them unanswered, the last even unread. Mark 
 fairly shrugged his shoulders over his own folly. "I'll 
 tackle those letters and write to Jack before I sleep," 
 he said. Luckily Bennet, though unutterably bewildered 
 and sore, was a loyal and able lieutenant, and Gatton was 
 not likely to have suffered by its master's aberration. 
 Mark wished all other debts could have been written 
 off as swiftly. 
 
 What of his Parliamentary ambitions? "Five months 
 to the bad," was Mark's net verdict, and he grew rather 
 white about the mouth as he framed it. The favor of a 
 less conspicuous lady might have passed virtually un- 
 noticed, but Jenny was a torch to scandal. Mark had 
 talked to George Mallinson that night, and it had not 
 taken him ten minutes to gauge the attitude of the white-
 
 214 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 haired Chancellor. Those kind gray eyes, accustomed 
 to the reading of men, would have been more friendly 
 and less reserved if Mark had met him before it became 
 necessary to make allowances for the Savoy night, and 
 the house in Green Street, and all the poisonous exag- 
 gerated rumor that Jenny had set flying about Mark's 
 name. "By Jove, I'll sit in Mailinson's pocket for the 
 next ten days !" Mark said to himself with a savage laugh. 
 "My hand is steady anyhow." As for the liaison with 
 Jenny, he could but hope that when it was broken the 
 rumors that had sprung out of it would die away of 
 themselves. 
 
 "When it was broken." It had to be broken, then? 
 Yes, if Mark hoped for office; he knew that no official 
 post could be held concurrently with that of Jenny's 
 lover. "She is too panache," he reflected with a hard 
 smile; "I must break that link"; and then it seemed to 
 him that his very being dissolved in weakness. He shifted 
 in his chair and the sweat came out on his face. What! 
 break it once for all? break it from to-night? Never 
 again? Never. . . ? "Never," repeated the tiny warder 
 of his will. But his hand shook as he wiped his stream- 
 ing temples, and his nerve gave way before the image of 
 Jenny which rose up out of the dark, in the firelit room, 
 like a ghost and what a ghost! Her long curls fell 
 across his eyes, her sweetness* warmth, and perfume 
 came into his arms : but, though the lure of this ghost 
 of passion was as strong as life, it could not quench the 
 fires it lit. Only Jenny's self could do that. Oh ! once 
 more, for the last time ! "Once more ?" said the warder 
 of his will. "No, my friend, never again. 'Once more' 
 has broken lives innumerable of better men than you. 
 Your solitary chance lies in 'never again.' Make your 
 mind up if she has left you a mind to make up and 
 stick to it."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 215 
 
 An hour later Mark was back in his chair beside the 
 sinking fire. He looked ravaged, but a measure of peace 
 had come to him after the fight. Mrs. Essenden had 
 not had time enough to do her work thoroughly; she 
 had sapped his will but not broken it. "I'll settle with 
 Jenny before I go to Gatton. A check-book and a wait- 
 ing taxi. I wonder what she'll stand me in to get quit 
 of her? A pretty stiff figure, I fancy." Such was the 
 sum of Sturt's reflections, in which it will be seen that 
 he did not flatter Mrs. Essenden; but men's thoughts 
 rarely flatter ladies of her craft. 
 
 So much for Gatton, and Mr. Mallinson, and Jenny: 
 and now to home affairs. But on this topic Mark could 
 by no means reduce himself to method. He could think 
 only by flashes. "She is my wife," he said. "She holds 
 the place my mother held." His wife! Aye : though the 
 fascination of Jenny was still on him, he felt the differ- 
 ence between the durable and the impermanent tie. "She 
 is the only woman who can give me legitimate children." 
 Though by a different path, he had come to the same 
 landmark that Maisie had reached months ago. "I ought 
 to have a son. It is ten to one Lawrence will never 
 marry. When I die, who will take my place at Gatton? 
 Besides . . . that's a jolly little beggar, that kid of Fer- 
 rier's." In the ellipse lay a world of dim feeling, the 
 slow, shy instinct of paternity that rarely stirs in men 
 till after marriage, the sense of duty to the State, and 
 to his own manhood, and to the linked generations of 
 the dead. 
 
 "Then there's Forester." All the evening Mark had 
 stood aside; he was not going to exchange shots with 
 Harry Forester he, the husband, with that luckless 
 innocent lover! but his pride bled inwardly. "They all 
 think she'll marry him." Maisie gave Forester no en- 
 couragement, Mark acquitted her of that meanness; but
 
 216 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 it did not strike her, apparently, that there was a third 
 point of view to be considered. "The position has be- 
 come insufferable." The position had not changed at all ; 
 it was Mark himself who had changed, imperceptibly 
 shifting his point of view from day to day. "I must 
 put a stop to it." He had only to pronounce certain 
 words, and at Ushant it would have been easy to say 
 them. But Ushant had gone as far away as another 
 man's life, and the Maisie who had poured his tea and 
 buttered his bread had turned into a friendly stranger. 
 Mark groped in darkness. 
 
 "Time enough to settle that when I'm quit of Jenny." 
 This was as near as Mark had got to a decision when he 
 rose at last and began to undress, after scrawling his 
 unbusinesslike Stonyhurst signature "Yours ever, 
 Mark" at the foot of a long letter to Jack Bennet. "Till 
 then my hands are tied. Meanwhile I mark time and 
 take my chance to disabuse Mallinson of his crotchets." 
 He stood by the open window in his shirt and trousers, 
 and the north wind, bitter with frost, blew in on his chest. 
 Mark rather liked the bracing cold. He threw up his 
 arms with a yawn and stretched his great body, into 
 which, sleepy as he was, the hot blood of power and de- 
 termination came flowing back as he realized that from, 
 that night onward he was committed to a fight. He stared 
 out into the dark, and his heavy eyes softened. "Ah ! 
 Guy, old fellow . . ." He had not prayed since he left 
 Duclair with Jenny; why pray, when one is living in 
 mortal sin? But now, with his inveterate simplicity, he 
 bent his knee. 
 
 Salve regina, mater misericordiae, vita, dulcedo, et spes nos- 
 
 tra, salve. 
 
 Ad te clamamns exsules filii Evae, 
 Ad te suspiramus.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 217 
 
 Jenny's lover had need of that prayer. " 'Must go 
 round to Green Street now," was Sturt's final reflection 
 as he flung himself into bed. 
 
 "Dear me, what a pretty scene!" said Mr. Mallinson. 
 "This is the sort of day that makes even old stagers like 
 you and me feel young again hey, Sturt?" 
 
 "Oh, quite," said Mark cheerfully. "Let me buckle 
 that strap for you, sir, shall I ?" 
 
 "No, no, please don't," said Mr. Mahinson, fumbling 
 with his gloved fingers : " oh, thank you, my dear boy, 
 but you really shouldn't!" 
 
 It was New Year's Eve, and "seasonable weather." 
 The snow that fell on the night of Maisie's arrival con- 
 tinued to fall thick and soft for four and twenty hours ; 
 then the clouds blew over and the sun came out in a pale 
 blue sky but the temperature held. The lake froze in 
 one night, and the ice hardened in the very noonday un- 
 der the breath of a north wind. The scene that had 
 taken Mr. Mallinson's fancy might have been a Russian 
 landscape, so clear was the western lighting and so pure 
 the mask that sparkled under it over the undulating val- 
 ley. The beechwood was plumed with snow, the pas- 
 tures glittered, oak and ash and elm threw long blue 
 shadows across them, not the skeleton shadows proper 
 to December, but dense and blurred as in summer leaf. 
 The lake itself, in its frame of forest and field, resembled 
 a drawing in water color, so animated yet so delicately 
 clear appeared the knots and couples that dissolved and 
 reformed on its gray and polished floor. 
 
 Mark helped the Finance Minister on with his skates. 
 Mallinson was a plain, blunt-featured, blue-eyed man of 
 sixty, with a broad forehead queerly modeled by the 
 calculating brain within, and till ten days ago Mark had 
 never understood why Mallinson was so well loved in
 
 218 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 the House. Ten days ago Mark had seen in him only a 
 useful man to cultivate. But this ambition, never very 
 keen Mark was not made of supple stuff had not sur- 
 vived an hour's experience of the great statesman's trans- 
 parent honesty and goodness. Mallinson was one of the 
 most powerful factors in the Liberal government of the 
 day, because in no matter what ministerial combination 
 he was secure of his own post, but in private life he was 
 as simple as a child, with a courteous modesty of man- 
 ner that seemed to deprecate a snub. He was no orator ; 
 he had no backing of wealth or landed influence ; but he 
 had budgeted for England in the first stricken years of 
 peace, when deficits were piling up and every man urged 
 economy on every class but his own; and Gatton had 
 trained Mark to appreciate the vast work that those lean 
 gentle hands had done. Comparing record and manner, 
 Mark conceived for the elder man a deep admiring af- 
 fection, while Mallinson in his turn was grateful and 
 touched. By what law does amity spring up? Politics 
 were merged in the unexpected pleasure of a friendship 
 that bridged the gap between thirty-five and sixty, be- 
 tween the untried private member and the high command. 
 Mallinson safe on the ice, Mark returned to put his 
 own skates on. It was the first time that he had been 
 down to the lake ; throughout the genial festivities of 
 Christmas he had stood a little apart, friendly but pre- 
 occupied; but as he pulled down his white sweater and 
 stamped the snow from his boots his spirits began to 
 rise. He was out of practice, but he had learned his form 
 in Petrograd, and he had not gone twenty yards before 
 the old ease came back. He looked about him. A mili- 
 tary band from Hillingdon was playing merry French 
 airs from a pavilion on the island, and far down the lake 
 Maisie was waltzing with Harry Forester. Harry was 
 rather conscientious than graceful, and his reversing was
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 219 
 
 a trial to his partner. Mark's glance sparkled. What 
 of Amyas Saltau's wife, the Dresden China Frenchwo- 
 man with the forget-me-not eyes ? Mark had watched her 
 at Prince's. She was, by her marriage, some connec- 
 tion of his mother's family. 
 
 "Madame," said Mark, "will you waltz this with me?" 
 
 "I did not know you waltzed," said Claude Saltau. 
 "I have been waltzing with Mr. Forester. I am a little 
 tired." She stuck her head on one side. "Are you are 
 you a bay horse?" 
 
 "Er a bay horse? Oh, I beg your pardon, do you 
 mean a dark horse?" returned Mark, who was accus- 
 tomed to Mrs. Saltau's lapses into imperfectly mastered 
 slang. "Come and try." 
 
 "A bay horse is a dark horse," said Claude, affronted. 
 "These distinctions are very stupid. But, since you are 
 so confident, come then, my pippin." 
 
 Light faded, shadows lengthened ; a windless cold set- 
 tled down over the white fields, dispersing the elder 
 company and thinning the younger. The far end of 
 the lake, where the beechwood stood on guard against 
 the brilliant pallor of sunset, was now comparatively 
 clear. In the east the moon hung broad and bright like 
 a gold coin over a peak or two of snowcloud scarlet in 
 the afterglow. Skilled ice-dancing is the poetry of mo- 
 tion; and Mark and his cousin, flying over the glassy 
 floor in the long sweeping curves of the waltz, swayed to 
 the merry music as the reed sways to the wind. 
 
 "How well you skate!" said Dodo, poising in front 
 of Mark like a gray bird in her soft chinchillas, after 
 Claude had left him. "I had no idea you were such a 
 dandy." 
 
 "Thank you." Mark accepted the compliment gravely. 
 He was enjoying himself. "Not so well as my brother." 
 
 "But then you don't do anything so well as your
 
 220 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 brother," Dodo was impertinent enough to retort. "I 
 don't remember ever to have had so many figure skaters 
 on the ice before. Let's do something to astonish the 
 natives !" 
 
 "Might get up a Lancers, what?" suggested Mark 
 lazily. "Bags I you for my partner if we do. There 
 would be plenty of light, with a clear sky and a full 
 moon." 
 
 "Oh, yes, let's!" Dodo cried. "Fly and tell the men 
 what to play while I get the set together." 
 
 There was no difficulty in arranging a set of sixteen. 
 They were forming on the ice when Mark came back: 
 Roderick Earle and Grace Travis, Claude Saltau and 
 Charles Ferrier, Harry Forester and a daughter of the 
 vicarage, and so on. There was a hitch over the last 
 couple : Dodo wanted Mr. Mallinson to come in, and 
 Mr. Mallinson, laughing like a schoolboy, protested that 
 he had not been on the ice for fifteen years, and also 
 that he had forgotten how to dance the Lancers. "So 
 have all of us," said Dodo cheerfully. "It's as old as 
 the hills. But what does it matter on the ice? Of course 
 we shall get into a dreadful muddle, but anyhow it will 
 be great fun." 
 
 "But I'm not steady on my legs!" said the statesman 
 ruefully. "I shall tumble down and upset you all, you 
 mark my words. You young things will get on far bet- 
 ter without me, and I shall be quite happy sitting on the 
 bank." 
 
 "Come and dance with me, Mr. Mallinson," said 
 Maisie, appearing from the island where Ferrier had 
 been tightening a strap for her. "I haven't any partner, 
 and I should love to say I had skated the Lancers with a 
 Finance Minister. I saw you doing the most wonder- 
 ful loops this afternoon." 
 
 Maisie was in her sable cap and coat, the latter thrown
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 221 
 
 open and revealing her beautiful throat, bare under its 
 veil of tulle as if the day had been midsummer. She 
 had a cluster of purple violets pinned at her breast, and 
 her eyes were sparkling as she tossed away her muff 
 and stretched out her warm bare hand to the statesman. 
 George Mallinson shrugged his shoulders, laughed, and 
 surrendered at discretion. The band were already strik- 
 ing up the prelude as they glided to their places, filling 
 the last gap; and not till then did Maisie realize that 
 she was standing next to Mark Sturt. It was too late 
 to escape. 
 
 Perhaps it was due to Mr. Mallinson's gray hairs or 
 perhaps to the influence of the scene and hour that the 
 dancers found themselves going through the old-fash- 
 ioned, intricate, and graceful evolutions with unexpected 
 decorum. Riot would have been out of harmony with 
 that gray arena, the solemn guardianship of snowy wood- 
 land, the mingling light and shadow of afterglow and 
 moonshine, the sweet, plaintive music a little dimmed 
 by distance and dispersal through the open air. Ad- 
 vancing and retiring, crossing hands and exchanging 1 
 courtesies, they all fell under the same spell. The other 
 skaters had stopped to watch them, and there was scarcely 
 a sound except the dry grinding clash of steel on ice. 
 
 Disaster, however, came with the Third Figure. It 
 was a graceful group, Mark thought, as the men stood 
 waiting with hands locked together, the women on the 
 edge of the circle poising easily for flight; but as soon 
 as they glided off he realized that the chain would not 
 hold. The ice was too smooth, the pace too hot, and 
 the centrifugal force too violent for undrilled resistance. 
 A woman's nervous laugh, then Roderick Earle's "Look 
 out, Grade!" and "Oh, Lord!" from Ferrier, a gasped 
 "So sorry!" from another man and then the link of 
 hands broke and the dancers scattered. Mark himself
 
 222 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 and Charles Ferrier stood fast. But Mallinson, out of 
 practice and hampered by the stiffness of his sixty years, 
 was the first to let go, and as he staggered back, reeling 
 to a heavy fall, he dragged Maisie with him. Instantly 
 Mark released Dodo, whose balance had never been im- 
 periled, and struck forward to throw his arm round 
 Maisie, drawing her round with him and away from 
 Mallinson till she came naturally to a level footing. For 
 that moment she was in his arms, and as he bent over 
 her he saw the glitter of a gold chain under her tulle 
 vest. Ushant the smart of flame OH his arm harebells 
 dancing in the grass before the White Cottage the sting 
 of salt wind in the open doorway it all came back like 
 yesterday as Mark watched the scarlet blood burn under 
 the fine skin, and the intervening time dwindled to a 
 shadow in retrospect. A stranger? No, Jenny was the 
 stranger : this was his wife. 
 
 A moment later they were standing erect and disen- 
 gaged, and Maisie, as her blush ebbed, raised her bril- 
 liant eyes and murmured an easy "Thank you." Mark 
 bowed silently. A voice from the bank said "Bravo !" 
 
 Mark turned round, unable to believe his ears. But 
 there was no mistaking that very tall, slight figure, or 
 the delicately cut colorless features, or indeed the cos- 
 tume Lawrence all over: a Russian jacket to the hips, 
 fur-lined and fur-bordered, high boots laced from point 
 to knee, and arrowy Russian skates ; Lawrence back 
 from Colorado, and appearing with his habit of dramatic 
 abruptness at a -moment when his brother would have 
 preferred to be unobserved. "Is it you?" said Mark, 
 quitting his companions without apology, and skating 
 over to the bank. "Lawrence? I hadn't a notion you 
 were coming back. Or did a letter miscarry?" 
 
 "Not to my knowledge. But let me apologize first to 
 Mrs. Ferrier," said Lawrence, stepping on the ice. He
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 223 
 
 was bareheaded, with an indifference to cold which was 
 as characteristic in its way as the hardy male coquetry 
 of his outlandish furs, and he came up to Dodo with one 
 of his deep foreign bows. "Will you forgive me? I'm 
 only just home from Colorado, and I've done a fearful 
 thing. You never will forgive me, I know." 
 
 "Yes, I shall forgive you anything if you look at me 
 like that," said Dodo helplessly. She was far from ap- 
 proving of Lawrence, whose affectations filled her with 
 rage, but he had his own way with her when he liked, as 
 indeed he had with many women. "What have you 
 done? Eloped with some one, I suppose I do hope it 
 isn't my cook!" 
 
 "Taken possession of a bedroom and unpacked and 
 changed my clothes," said Lawrence, showing his white 
 teeth in a hearty laugh. "Do you mind awfully? I 
 only got in last night, and they told me Mark was down 
 here, and there didn't seem to be a soul in town, and I 
 was bored to tears, so I thought the best plan all round 
 would be for you and Ferrier to take me in too?" 
 
 "Oh! is that all?" 
 
 Dodo's tone of unaffected relief made the culprit laugh 
 again. "All, on my honor! What do you take me for? 
 Any one would think I came to steal the spoons !" 
 
 "Go : I want to look after Mr. Mallinson," said Dodo, 
 waving him away. "Go and talk to Mark, if that's 
 what you came down for; you might at least have the 
 decency to pretend you came to see me. Have you had 
 anything to eat, poor wanderer?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, thanks they gave me some lunch as soon 
 as I got here." 
 
 "I might have known it !" was Dodo's perfectly audi- 
 ble comment, as she flitted away to look after the states- 
 man, who was sitting on a chair on the bank, nursing 
 his shoulder and apologizing to his anxious friends for
 
 224 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 having been the first to break the chain. Lawrence, who 
 hated amiable people, stared at the group for a moment 
 from under dropped eyelids, and then turned to his 
 brother. 
 
 "Get away down there where the ice is clear and we'll 
 show the aborigines a trick or two, Mark." 
 
 Mark, who was indifferent to comment but not fond 
 of it, hung back, but Lawrence laid a hand on his arm. 
 
 "Come along, you ass I've traveled over five thou- 
 sand miles to talk to you, and I'm going to do it now." 
 He dragged his brother down the lake, a long stone's 
 throw away from the group on the bank, and began 
 solemnly to perform the intricate evolutions which he 
 and Mark had learned together one winter on the Neva. 
 "How it all comes back ! Remember that time we skated 
 up together from Petrograd to the Gulf of Finland, and 
 the queer white nights at the winter gardens on the way ? 
 What was that figure they called the trepaka? We'll 
 do that. I'm out of form, but I doubt if the con- 
 noisseurs on the bank will discover it. Do 'em good to 
 see what real figure-skating's like, silly fools. Well, how 
 are you?" 
 
 "Much as usual," said Mark, wondering what possible 
 motive could lie at the back of his brother's proceedings, 
 which appeared to him to be even odder than usual. 
 However, it was less trouble to give in than to argue, 
 and he followed Lawrence with stoic gravity in the half- 
 forgotten maze of figures ; many a time they had wheeled 
 through it together amid the medly of students and no- 
 bles and bagmen at the Usupov Club. 
 
 "You don't look it. Curious tangle you seem to have 
 wound yourself up in while I've been away! The crown- 
 ing indiscretion didn't burst upon me till I saw you with 
 Miss Archdale just now. No accounting for tastes, old 
 man; she's excessively handsome, I admit, but I doubt
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 225 
 
 if you can drive her tandem. However, you seem to 
 have her very well in hand." 
 
 "Look here," said Mark, stopping short, "if you came 
 home from Colorado to say this kind of thing, I'm sorry 
 you took the trouble. That subject is barred." 
 
 "Temper !" said Lawrence : "wait a bit. I haven't be- 
 gun on my subject yet. When I do you really will want 
 to kick me, but you see you can't do it out here." He 
 performed a maneuver which brought the whole supple 
 length of his figure to an angle of sixty degrees with 
 the ice, came erect again with a swinging pirouette, and 
 paused to light a cigar. Some of the spectators on the 
 shore had begun to drift towards the western end of the 
 lake to watch the curious, foreign-looking performance. 
 Lawrence shifted the cigar between his teeth and spoke 
 softly. "Though I only got back last night, I've snatched 
 time to call on Mrs. Essenden." 
 
 "Who said anything to you about Mrs. Essenden?" 
 
 "You yourself, when you regretted not having taken 
 my advice." 
 
 "Brilliant as you are, Lawrence !" 
 
 "Considine, then, if you will have it." 
 
 "Ah? Very amiable of Considine." 
 
 "Yes, he said he felt sure you would thank him for 
 his damned officiousness." 
 
 "No, I don't thank him, and I don't thank you," said 
 Mark, out of patience. "I wish to goodness you would 
 all mind your own business. Do I ever preach to you 
 or Considine? I can't see why every jack-sprat in town 
 should think he has a right to shove his nose into my 
 affairs. Lord Vere collared me the other day, and I 
 couldn't tell him to go to the deuce, but I can you and 
 Considine, and by Jove I do ! As for the woman I don't 
 know anything about her, and I thought she was in 
 Paris."
 
 226 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 The anticlimax of the last remark made Lawrence 
 shout with laughter ; but he soon grew grave again. "Oh, 
 you thought she was in Paris, did you? She is not, 
 then. She's in Green Street. You owe me one that she 
 hasn't turned up to-day down here." 
 
 "Turned up at Shotton !" 
 
 "Yes. You don't understand the fair Jenny. It seems 
 you've annoyed her, my friend ; you ran away, didn't 
 you? without leaving your address. Jenny's particularly 
 good at getting addresses. Few things annoy her more 
 than for a man to try to break away." 
 
 He flashed off down the ice with his own erratic grace, 
 reverting to a solo performance of the trepaka. Mark 
 knew him well enough to be sure by now that affectation 
 so whimsical could only cover news of weight. He 
 waited : in a few moments Lawrence was at his side 
 again. 
 
 "You're right, Mark, I really have something to say 
 to you and I don't know how to begin. I thought it would 
 say itself more easily if we were not alone, but I can't 
 stand all these people staring. Let us get off the ice 
 and walk up through the wood, it will be quiet there." 
 
 Mark was startled. He said no more till they were in 
 the wood together, threading its frozen aisles. The last 
 splendor of sunset had faded out by now, and they 
 walked by the illumination of moonlight and starlight 
 and snowlight ; buried deep in crystal silence, they heard 
 nothing but the crunch of dry snow underfoot, they saw 
 nothing but the silvershafted beech trees gleaming away 
 in dim reiteration under their hoods of snow. Far in 
 the north the heavenly husbandman drove his glittering 
 Plow, and in the east the Hunter knelt with arm thrown 
 up, his sword belted to his thigh. Suddenly the air was 
 full of a hollow moaning, and the plumed branches trem-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 227 
 
 bled ; a gust of wind shook through the wood like a great 
 sigh, and was gone again. 
 
 "What is at the bottom of all this, Lawrence?" 
 
 "Pretty the blue shadows are on the snow, aren't they ? 
 Bah! I'm cold." He turned up the wolf collar under 
 his chin. "There is a breeze getting up. I thought the 
 weather meant mischief. Aren't you going to thank 
 me for calling on Jenny? A warm quarter of an hour 
 you would have had if she had come' down here and 
 made a scene before all your little friends." 
 
 "Who told her where I was?" 
 
 "Some fellow she knew Horton, I fancy. I doubt 
 if he knew he told her." 
 
 "I must talk to Jenny." 
 
 "Aye: but the point is, what are you going to say?" 
 Mark smiled, and his mouth hardened. "Think you can 
 bully her, do you? My poor Mark! that shows how 
 much you know about it. There's only one way to man- 
 age women of Jenny's type." 
 
 "That being?" 
 
 "Beating them," said Lawrence grimly. "She wants 
 the cat. Civilized countries don't allow it, more's the 
 pity. I was much inclined to take the job on myself. 
 What possessed you to let her fix her claws in you? I 
 warned you. But I thought you were safe in Normandy. 
 I had no idea Jenny had left town. I had a letter from 
 her in October, postmarked Westminster. But I might 
 have known it was a blind. I might have known she 
 would not let a man go when she had once marked him 
 down. She's a pest, is Jenny. A social pest. She wants 
 killing. I've more than half a mind to do it my- 
 self." 
 
 "I don't," said Mark slowly, "dispute the general force 
 of your observations, but in Mrs. Essenden's case they
 
 228 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 aren't deserved. She was anxious to break the connec- 
 tion. I refused to let her go." 
 
 Lawrence stopped and faced his brother in a moonlit 
 clearing. His right hand opened and shut once or twice, 
 much as though he wished it were clenched on Jenny's 
 throat. Deep affection mingled with the deep impatience 
 in his tone. 
 
 "You silly ass!" he said again: "oh, Mark you silly 
 ass !" 
 
 "Look here," Mark spoke wearily, "you mean well, I 
 dare say, but you're neither lucid nor civil. The whole 
 affair seems to me commonplace enough. What on earth 
 is there to make a fuss about?" 
 
 "She wanted to break the connection, did she? My 
 good chap, she marked you down six months ago the 
 more fool I, to- flatter myself I'd fooled her. She break 
 off? I'll be sworn! If she hadn't, you would have. 
 Reculer pour mieux sauter is a wile as old as Eve." 
 
 "You may be right," said Mark after a silence during 
 which his memory took a flying survey of the past and 
 found the charge unpleasantly confirmed. "I'm not an 
 expert. Haven't had your varied experience. But every 
 case hangs by its own rope. In the case of Jenny Essen- 
 den how do you know?" 
 
 Lawrence paused to relight his cigar, which had gone 
 out. By matchlight Mark saw the fine-drawn sharpness 
 of his features, and the flicker of his momentary smile. 
 
 "She was my mistress before she was yours." 
 
 "You lie." " 
 
 "Better have stayed by the lake, what?" said Law- 
 rence. "Drop it, Mark." He knocked the stick out of 
 his brother's hand. 
 
 After a minute they walked on together in silence. 
 
 "Now you see why I returned from Colorado," re- 
 sumed Lawrence. "Indiscriminate connections of that
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 229 
 
 sort aren't in your line, are they ? Nor, to say truth, in 
 mine. Not that it signifies a pin's point of course: if 
 there were question of legality, one couldn't even call it 
 illegal. Still I thought you would like to know about it." 
 
 "She knew." 
 
 "Naturally! You don't fondly imagine she'd care?" 
 
 "Thanks for telling me," said Mark. They had come 
 out on the edge of the wood, and he stopped, holding 
 out his hand. He made no other apology for his mo- 
 mentary flare of violence : had not Lawrence foreseen it ? 
 One could trust Lawrence to see in the dark. "Go back 
 to the lake if you don't mind, we don't want them to 
 think there's anything up. We'll talk this out later on. 
 You'll have to give me place and date. But I'll take an 
 hour to get used to it first." He was holding his brother's 
 hand in a grip like that of a drowning man; Lawrence 
 could not draw it away. 
 
 "Feel sick?" said Lawrence simply. "I did, the first 
 ten minutes. Seems so so perverse, doesn't it? I'm 
 not precisely fastidious, and the connection, I may add, 
 didn't last long ; but all the same it filled me with disgust 
 to think I'd lived with that." 
 
 "Quite," said Mark, letting him go. "Will you tell 
 Ferrier I've gone on?"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE RAKE'S SERMON 
 
 THE skating party was already breaking up when 
 Lawrence returned to it. After excusing Mark to 
 Mrs. Ferrier, he had only time to take Maisie Archdale 
 for one long flight over the darkling ICQ, their arms inter- 
 laced, the bright plaits under the sable .cap lying close 
 against his dark shoulder, before the music was brought 
 to an end and the lake left deserted to the frost and the 
 moon. But when they all walked up together through 
 the snowy fields Lawrence kept fast at Maisie's side, 
 and his attitude was sufficiently exclusive to provoke in- 
 discretions. "So that was what fetched Lawrence Sturt 
 back from Colorado !" was Roderick Earle's candid com- 
 ment to Grace Travis, with whom he was on semi- 
 brotherly terms. Grace, however, answered with a sigh, 
 "Oh, I hope not!" and refused to explain herself even 
 under charge of being unduly taken with Lawrence's 
 furs. Maisie herself, recalling the July passage-at-arms, 
 began to wonder if she was to be the victim of another 
 fit of adoration. She need not have been afraid. The 
 truth was that Lawrence, with his hawk's eyes, had seen 
 in that brief moment of his arrival more than any one 
 else had ever seen, and, in the deep clannish affection 
 for his brother which was the toughest though not the 
 ruling force in his life, he was trying to find out how 
 the land lay. 
 
 "Gloomy old place, Shotton," he remarked, as the 
 gaunt Georgian fagade loomed up twinkling through the 
 
 230
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 231 
 
 dusk. "If I were Charles Ferrier I should let it. But 
 I have no landed sentiment. It is a thousand pities 
 Longstone Edge didn't go to Mark. That's our own 
 feudal mansion at Gatton, you know; the feudality so 
 far as we are concerned is not forty years old, but I 
 believe Mark loves every stick and stone of it. Has he 
 ever talked to you about it?" 
 
 "Never," said Maisie briefly: then giving way to a 
 natural yearning, "Would Mr. Sturt ever talk of any- 
 thing he really cared about?" 
 
 "Possibly not," said Lawrence, laughing. "I remem- 
 ber when I lunched with him at the Ritz the day when 
 he was given his V.C. " 
 
 "When he what?" 
 
 "Didn't you know he was a V.C?" 
 
 "No, I never knew it." 
 
 She was not a keen reader of the papers : she had 
 never seen a letter addressed to Mark Sturt; and in 
 conversation she avoided his name. 
 
 "It was earned," said Lawrence soberly, standing aside 
 to let Maisie pass in. He had amused himself in the 
 war, but even for him, even after thirteen years, some of 
 its incidents were a sobering memory. 
 
 "I'm sure it was," said Maisie. "But I must go and 
 dress now. You see we dine at seven to-night." And 
 then she left him with a little smiling bow and ran away 
 upstairs. There are tales that one would rather never 
 hear at all than hear from an outsider. Lawrence Sturt, 
 as he joined the knot of men who lounged round the hall 
 fire, drew his own conclusions, and kept them to him- 
 self. 
 
 "Come in here for ten minutes, will you, Lawrence?" 
 
 Lawrence's eyes said, "Now I am going to be bored." 
 
 But he turned into his brother's room without protest,
 
 232 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 though he hated to be hurried over dressing, and it 
 was already after six o'clock. Shotton was an old 
 house and solidly built, but the wind had risen in the 
 last half hour, and Mark's room in the bachelor wing 
 faced north. Lawrence looked vexed and ruffled. He 
 dragged a sofa closer to the side of the fire and threw 
 himself on it. "Do for heaven's sake shut those win- 
 dows, Mark ! What a beggar you are for draughts ! 
 One can have too much of the best fresh at six o'clock 
 on a January night." He shot out a long arm and poked 
 the fire to a blaze. "That's better. Are you going to 
 dress up to-night?" Mark signified assent. "Thank 
 heaven I can't." One would not have guessed from his 
 expression that he was grateful to the fate that doomed 
 him to appear in ordinary black and white at a New 
 Year's masquerade. "Give me a cigar." Mark obeyed. 
 "And a match Mallinson took my last. Yes, and I'll 
 have that other cushion." Mark threw it at his head. 
 "Silly ass!" said Lawrence placidly, tucking it be- 
 hind his neck. For an M.P. of thirty-five, I must 
 say!" 
 
 Mark, his hands buried in his pockets and his shoul- 
 ders propped against the mantelpiece, spoke rather in- 
 distinctly across the stem of his pipe. "Do you happen 
 to have seen a paper lately?" 
 
 "I occasionally glance at The Times." Lawrence 
 grinned. "Don't be witty, it's not your form. Yes, I 
 know you're a coming man. Time enough too. What 
 does Mallinson say?" 
 
 "He doesn't say much. He can't very well, off his 
 own bat. But if Morrison dies which' appears to be 
 only a matter of days it is admitted that there will be a 
 shake-up all round. Ancaster will go to some Colonial 
 outpost, th*y won't have him at the Home Office any 
 longer. His last feat is the limit. He was sent down,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 233 
 
 you know, to settle the Western railway strike, but when 
 he was driving from the station there was a row of sorts 
 in the street, and Ancaster ran away. Wouldn't face 
 the music. He was booked to speak at the Corn Ex- 
 change, but when he found he couldn't persuade the 
 Chief Constable to telephone to the barracks he scratched. 
 I mean to say, he had a heart attack." 
 
 "Good Lord !" 
 
 "Mr. Mallinson of course will stay where he is, and 
 I believe Lauderdale sticks to the War Office. They 
 hate him, but he's able." Mark paused, exhaling a cloud 
 of smoke through his nostrils. "And strong. Awful 
 rows in the Cabinet, I gather, when Lauderdale attends. 
 Even Mallinson admits that he's difficult to work with. 
 By that same token, Vesey will probably take on Home 
 affairs, because he's one of the few men with whom 
 Lauderdale is still on speaking terms. You remember, 
 Miss Vesey married young Lauderdale." 
 
 "I remember he was a Trinity man of my year. So 
 Vesey goes to the Home Office? H'm. That leaves 
 Vesey's Under-Secretaryship vacant." 
 
 Mark nodded. "Of course it's all in the clouds at 
 present." 
 
 "You would like it?" said Lawrence, half-incredulous. 
 It was difficult for him to believe that any man could 
 find pleasure in the dusty ways of politics, or indeed in 
 taking on any sort of hard work unless he were driven 
 to it. Mark smiled. 
 
 "I should like it very much indeed," he said emphati- 
 cally. "Of course I don't count on it for a moment. I 
 can only give you the broad outlines that everybody 
 knows ; there are all sorts of ins and outs which I mustn't 
 repeat, because they were told me in confidence. But I 
 know Mallinson means business. He was good enough 
 to say I had done some useful work on Committee."
 
 234 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Your debating power would tell. Mallinson is no 
 speaker, nor is Vesey; as for Lauderdale, his oratorical 
 style reminds one of those immortal guns we used to call 
 the Neutral Battery. Half his shells drop in his own 
 lines." 
 
 "I'd rather work with Lauderdale than with Ancaster 
 any day. His hands are clean, and when his mind is 
 made up he rides straight across country. Imagine Lau- 
 derdale funking the railway men! I said that to Mr. 
 Mallinson, and he agreed with me." 
 
 "Ah? You seem to hit it off rather well with the 
 great man." Lawrence's eyes traveled furtively over his 
 brother's face; he knew Mark to be intractably disin- 
 terested, and he feared to start a scruple. "He likes you 
 personally, I think. I've just been talking to him in 
 the billiard room, and I was amused at the paternal tone. 
 He referred warmly to your speeches at the Interna- 
 tional Congress of something-or-other, and your striking 
 monograph on Cooperation. I didn't know what it was 
 all about, so I said 'Oh' and 'Really' at proper intervals. 
 Is it a fact that you write the middles for the Liberal Re- 
 view?" 
 
 "Not regularly. Litchfield has asked me for an article 
 once or twice." 
 
 "Once or twice, eh? All this year, Mallinson said." 
 
 "How does he know? I don't sign them." 
 
 Lawrence laid his head back and laughed softly. "He 
 said nobody could mistake your sledge-hammer prose. 
 Don't blush, Mark, my boy! Not but what you ought 
 to blush for writing anything at all in that pestiferous 
 rag. Socialism, rank Socialism ! Let us hope there isn't 
 any chink in the world above; if there is, I think I see 
 father with his eye glued to it, cursing himself for leav- 
 ing you Gatton. How is Gatton, by the bye ?" 
 
 "Oh, Gatton goes on swimmingly. I'm due for the
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 235 
 
 opening of the Town Hall this day week. It pays, you 
 know; we have a bigger turnover every year." Mark 
 mentioned a sum which made Lawrence raise his eye- 
 brows. "But I don't take much out of it," Mark added. 
 "Reckoning one year with another, I doubt if my per- 
 sonal expenses average more than a couple of thousand. 
 I may have to take more in future." He smiled to him- 
 self. 
 
 "That sounds like matrimony.'* 
 
 "Yes, doesn't it?" Mark's smile broadened; he had 
 not the faintest intention of admitting Lawrence fur- 
 ther into his confidence. Then his features darkened 
 and his manner changed. "It is late, and I shall take 
 half an hour to get into my clothes. Let us come to the 
 point. About this sickening Essenden affair. Will you 
 give me chapter and verse?" 
 
 "Oh, with pleasure," said Lawrence. He laid down 
 his cigar and sat up, leaning on his arm. He was per- 
 haps not free from nervousness, for he spoke quietly 
 and with unusual precision and restraint. Mark listened ; 
 the tale was brief. 
 
 "So that was what you meant when you said you had 
 foiled her." 
 
 "If you like to call me a fool I shan't quarrel with you. 
 Actually it never occurred to me that she would hold on 
 her way as soon as I was out of England." 
 
 "Am I in a position to call any one a fool ? I've been 
 a fool myself. What did Considine say?" 
 
 "Very little. You know his epistolary style. It took 
 me three-quarters of an hour to gather the drift, be- 
 cause for some time I labored under the impression that 
 he was breaking the news of your death. When at last 
 I made out that the word was Essenden and not ery- 
 sipelas, I dried my tears and packed my traps. One 
 thing struck me. Mark, who set the talk on foot ?"
 
 236 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "What talk?" 
 
 "Considine said the whole affair was public property 
 that it was common club gossip that you had been 
 away with her in Normandy, and that you were financing 
 the establishment in Green Street. Some other rubbish 
 too, which Considine apparently believed. I did not." 
 Mark had picked up a Dresden toy and was looking at 
 it attentively; he felt hot and uncomfortable, but he 
 did not speak, though Lawrence waited for a moment. 
 "But we don't want to go into that," Lawrence said 
 gently. He was not even watching his brother. "My 
 point is that these things must have originated with 
 somebody. You did not, I suppose, give yourself away. 
 Who did?" 
 
 "What do you mean? Fellows always talk." 
 
 "More or less. Why more?" 
 
 "How on earth do I know? Probably because it was 
 out of my line." 
 
 "You don't think Jenny fanned the flame?" Mark 
 did not answer, but his eyes flickered. "She has her 
 knife into you, Mark. Revenge is sweet." 
 
 "But what has she to revenge?" 
 
 "That, of course," said Lawrence lightly, "is known 
 only to yourself. I can but transmit the impression that 
 I got of her this morning, when I let her know that I 
 was on my way to you. I should say," he weighed his 
 words, "that she hates you rather more violently than 
 she hates me. Sorry if I wound your feelings." He 
 paused again. Mark gave a short laugh. "Being unfor- 
 tunately enslaved to an effeminate social system, you and 
 I are equally powerless to tackle Jenny as she deserves 
 to be tackled. But I fancy Jenny is well aware that 
 whereas I, if I weren't unfortunately civilized, should 
 like to beat her, you wouldn't touch her with a forty- 
 foot pole. Now the Jennies rather like being beaten, but
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 237 
 
 no woman on God's earth will stand being snubbed." 
 
 "But snubbed! Good heavens, Lawrence, it is she 
 who has done the snubbing!" 
 
 "You think ? I doubt it. You are occasionally a little 
 inhuman, Mark. What is it? the religious strain in 
 you, perhaps. You despise the Jenny type. Amen to 
 that! I am not going to sentimentalize over Jenny as a 
 fallen woman. Jenny never fell. But if you use the 
 woman you despise ! Vaya, I have spoken. Rather, 
 I have preached! I have got my own back." He laid 
 himself flat on his cushions and shut his eyes. 
 
 A rake's sermon is apt to be impressive, and Lawrence 
 Sturt's point of view was novel enough to keep Mark 
 silent for a minute. He felt that there was some rough 
 justice in it. Yes, he had despised Jenny from the very 
 first. "She ran me down," Mark said frankly to him- 
 self, though he would not have said as much to Law- 
 rence ; and on the strength of it he had bullied her, con- 
 sciously or unconsciously or tried to bully her. Was 
 it true, as Considine and now Lawrence suggested, that 
 she had given him away? It was odd, now he came to 
 think about it, that the details of hi liaison with Mrs. 
 Essenden should be known so fully and in such preci- 
 sion. Watson and Garden and Delany had escaped with 
 a casual laugh or two, a vague contradictory whisper 
 which their party could affect to disbelieve, but London 
 had laughed openly over every point of Mark Sturt's 
 indiscretion. How came London so well-informed? 
 
 "Of course a lot of men go to Green Street," was the 
 issue of his meditations. "Horton, for instance. He is 
 good for any amount of chatter. He wasn't there to- 
 day, by any chance?" 
 
 "I did not see him, Mark." 
 
 "Well, well!" Mark yawned and stretched himself. 
 "I'm sick of the subject. Thank heaven the whole epi-
 
 238 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 sode will be over in twenty- four hours ! I shall run up 
 to town to-morrow." He did not think it necessary to 
 tell Lawrence that the breach would in any case have 
 come about within a few days the rake's sermon rankled 
 slightly. 
 
 "You're going to see her?" Lawrence asked. "Far 
 better go than write. I say: if she has any letters of 
 yours, better make her give them up." 
 
 "She has no letters of mine. She may have a note 
 or two ; nothing that might not be published in The Times 
 for all I care." 
 
 "H'm. Wise man! So you didn't trust the fair 
 Jenny all the way, after all?" 
 
 "If you want to know the truth, Lawrence, I don't 
 think I ever thought about her." 
 
 "H'm. As I expected. And then you wonder that 
 she hates you ! Well, take a bit of advice from me, will 
 you ? you didn't last time and you were sorry for it after- 
 wards. Think about her now." 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 Lawrence swung himself erect and faced his brother 
 in the dim firelight, thrusting his hands into his breeches' 
 pockets and swaying slightly on his feet. "Think hard, 
 Mark; think like the devil." 
 
 "You take her seriously?" 
 
 "I take her damn-seriously." 
 
 "But she can't do anything." 
 
 "Can't she!" 
 
 He was smiling down into Mark's eyes. "I tell you, 
 Mark, that lady would not stick at much, to get her 
 knife into you. She knows her game is up. She won't 
 get any more out of you: and she's not a bit afraid of 
 you don't you flatter yourself. You've lived with her 
 what is it? five months. Now you, if I know you, 
 were off your guard ; and Jenny, if I know her, was all
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 239 
 
 eyes and ears. She probably knows you inside out, 
 better than you know yourself. Can't she do anything?" 
 
 "She might turn up and make a scene somewhere, I 
 suppose, but she'd be sorry for herself if she did. She 
 would not come to my flat twice. I should have her 
 warned off the premises." 
 
 Lawrence laughed. "Good; stick to that frame of 
 mind, and you'll have the range of her. But don't under- 
 rate the forces of the enemy, and for God's sake don't 
 take any notice of the white flag." He ground the heel 
 of his boot with sudden violence into the ashes scat- 
 tered on the hearth. "Would you call a truce with poison 
 or fire? Then call a truce with Jenny."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 "What says the married woman?" 
 
 IN the meantime, after leaving Lawrence at the foot 
 of the staircase, Maisie had gone to her own room to 
 dress for the early dinner that was to precede the New 
 Year's Eve masquerade. When she was out of sight of 
 Lawrence her step grew languid and the brightness faded 
 out of her eyes. There are times when the inner world 
 is more real than the outer ; those who are drilled to the 
 social mask will play out their part in it without self- 
 betrayal, but in every interlude the mind reverts auto- 
 matically to a more exciting dialogue and a richer-col- 
 ored scene. One moment laughing down into Lawrence 
 Sturt's eyes, the next Maisie was reliving, with a doubled 
 keenness of sensation, her own feelings on the lake when 
 Mallinson's stumble flung her into Sturt's arms. 
 
 In her own room there was a leaping fire on the hearth, 
 and when she had thrown off her sables she knelt down 
 before it, warming her chilled hands, and wondering, 
 not for the first time, whether if anything precious to 
 her had fallen into it she would have had the courage 
 to snatch it out. Brushwood fires in the open air are not 
 so hot as a sea-coal hearth, yet flame is flame ; and one 
 of the Ushant memories that Maisie liked was that of 
 Mark Sturt's calm face as he came back to her over the 
 downs, holding up her miniature with his unaffected 
 English indifference to pain. "I wonder if you still carry 
 that scar, Mark," said Maisie softly. "You had your 
 share of scars already. You're hardy enough, my friend. 
 And so you hold the cross, Mark of mine? Ah! now I 
 
 ?40
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 241 
 
 know why you colored up when you said, 'Surely you 
 knew I was in the army ?' " She covered her sparkling- 
 eyes with her hand; she was so deeply one with Mark 
 that she felt, not her own woman's triumph, but his sol- 
 dier's shame. 
 
 "Please, miss," said Ellen, coming into the room in 
 her decent and disapproving black dress, "there's a lady 
 wants to see you. I told her it was a very inconvenient 
 time to come, but she said it was on business and she 
 wouldn't keep you many minutes. What shall I say to 
 her, miss? You won't have time to see her now, will 
 you?" 
 
 "What's her name?" 
 
 "She didn't give it ; said she was only business and you 
 wouldn't know her." 
 
 "Some begging letter imposition, I suppose," said 
 Maisie impatiently. "What do you mean when you say 
 she is a lady is she a lady?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, miss ; quite the lady. Quite nice in her man- 
 ners, too, and quietly dressed; and said she was very 
 sorry to be so late, but she couldn't catch an earlier train. 
 I thought p'r'aps you'd see her when you was dressed. 
 She didn't look poor, an' she drove from the station ia 
 a fly, an' said it was to wait for her." 
 
 "It's past six now, and dinner is at seven. Ask her 
 if she would mind coming up to my room and talking to 
 me while you do my hair ; if it's really a matter of busi- 
 ness I dare say she'll be glad to get it over and get back 
 again." 
 
 Ellen went out, and Maisie continued to kneel by the 
 fire. But her chain of thought was broken, and among 
 dreams and memories a faint prick of curiosity made 
 itself felt. Six o'clock on New Year's Eve was a strange 
 time to choose for a business interview! Probably the 
 woman would turn out to be a beggar Maisie had been
 
 242 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 pestered by many beggars since she came into Philip Fitz- 
 Gerald's money ; and yet even for a beggar the time was 
 tactlessly chosen. 
 
 Ellen stood aside respectfully holding open the door, 
 and there came into the room a little elegant figure in a 
 little serge suit of Puritan sobriety, topped by an astra- 
 chan cap and a flying black veil. A beggar? Hardly; 
 those clothes were of the plainest, but they smacked of 
 the Rue de la Paix a mile off, and even the mendicant 
 who only begs for charity is not apt to lift up her skirt 
 in a hand as small as a child's, over a Lucile petticoat 
 and a Viennese shoe. A lady ? Apparently ; and yet the 
 scent of roses which clouded her was heavier than Maisie 
 was accustomed to breathe. 
 
 "Leave us, Ellen," said Maisie on the instant. "I'll 
 arrange my own hair to-night. But don't be out of the 
 way, I may ring if I want you." 
 
 She turned to her visitor. "I'm afraid you've had a 
 cold drive. Will you sit here by the fire, and will you 
 excuse me if I go on dressing? We dine early to-night, 
 as I think my maid told you, because there is a dance 
 on." 
 
 Her visitor smiled. "Please do not let me be in the 
 way more than I can help. I know it's the most unpar- 
 donable time to arrive, but I had something I really 
 wanted very much to say to you, and it was only after 
 lunch I made up my mind quite definitely that it had 
 better get said to-day. So I took the first train down 
 to Shotton, but it's a tiresome, changing journey, and 
 when I got here I could not find a cab at once. It is 
 very kind indeed of you to receive an utter stranger in 
 this unceremonious way. For I expect I am an utter 
 stranger to you." 
 
 Maisie had fetched an ivory brush and was taking off 
 her dress. She threw a lawn coat round her shoulders
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 243 
 
 and began to unfasten her hair, which was roughened 
 into curls by the frosty wind; as she took the pins out 
 it rolled down below her waist in two thick plaits of 
 gold, which scattered into an iridescent mantel when she 
 unbraided them. 
 
 "At present," she said, smiling, "you must remember 
 that I don't even know your name." 
 
 "No, you don't, do you? I wouldn't give it to your 
 maid in case she might have heard of me; these women 
 know everything. I'm Jenny Essenden." 
 
 Maisie's comb ran into a tangle. She waited a moment 
 to ravel it out, laid the comb down, and moved with 
 her slow easy stride towards the bell. Jenny got up 
 and threw herself in front of it. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" 
 
 "Ring for a servant." 
 
 "To get rid of me? Oh! you virtuous women! Ring 
 then : get the footman to throw me out who cares what 
 happens to a courtesan?" 
 
 Maisie looked down at her steadily. "Mrs. Essenden, 
 if I don't behave to you with civility it is your own doing. 
 If you had sent up your name to me in a straightfor- 
 ward way I should probably have decided to see you. 
 But when you worm yourself in by a trick what am I 
 to think you come for, if it isn't some more or less im- 
 proper motive?" 
 
 "Well, you're wrong then," said Jenny defiantly. "Put 
 yourself in my place : ah ! you think you could never be 
 in my place. Now I wonder if you're right there? I'm 
 not so simple as to think all women are no better than 
 myself, like the wise man who said, 'II y a peu d'honnetes 
 femmes qui ne soient lasses de leur metier' I'm sure 
 there are plenty of proper ladies, even pretty ones, who 
 couldn't be naughty if they tried; but I'm not a bit sure 
 about you, Miss Archdale. Turn me out turn me out
 
 244 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 if you're positive that you haven't a spice of my own 
 little familiar devil lurking under that grand calm blond 
 temperament of yours." 
 
 She moved away from the bell. Maisie stretched out 
 her hand to it, hesitated, and finally drew back. "Women 
 ought to stick together," was her entirely unforeseen re- 
 ply. "I'm not sure that I'm doing right, but I might 
 equally do wrong if I sent you away. Go on, then: 
 I'll listen." 
 
 She went on brushing out her thick tresses. Jenny 
 with a soft sigh of relief returned to her chair and leaned 
 back at ease, pulling off her loose gloves and stretching 
 out her shoes to the warmth : small shoes, high-heeled, 
 and trimly buckled over the fine silk stocking and the 
 fine arched instep. At this moment, in the bachelor's 
 wing, Lawrence Sturt was warning Mark that Jenny 
 was dangerous. She had thrown back her veil, and her 
 delicate little face was bright and full of life, as if she 
 were enjoying herself. 
 
 "I want," she said, "to talk to you about a man in 
 whom we are both deeply interested if you'll confess 
 it to be possible that you and I could be interested in 
 the same man and in the same way." 
 
 "Who ?" 
 
 "Mark Sturt." 
 
 "I knew it," said Maisie inaudibly. She had finished 
 brushing out her hair ; she began to gather it up, Spanish 
 fashion, into high smooth coils, and loose ringlets that 
 shaded her fair neck. 
 
 "I want you," said Jenny, curling sideways in her 
 chair and watching wide-eyed over her clasped hands, 
 "to give him up to me." 
 
 "Assuming, which I don't admit, that there is this dis- 
 tressing rivalry between us" Maisie was steady under 
 fire, her tone was admirable in its good-humored scorn
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 245 
 
 "I should like to know why you want me to give him up 
 to you." 
 
 "Because," said Jenny softly, "I have the better right 
 to him." 
 
 "Do you mean forgive my putting it bluntly that 
 you're fond of him?" 
 
 "I'm very fond of him, but I'm afraid I've traveled 
 past those considerations. I'm his mistress." 
 
 "Since when?" 
 
 The expert Jenny told the truth, though she would 
 have liked to risk a lie. "Since the middle of August." 
 
 "I heard some scandal of the sort, but I didn't pay 
 much heed to it. You must remember, Mrs. Essenden, 
 that Mr. Sturt's friends, of whom I am one, take a 
 strictly practical view of the situation. I don't for a 
 moment profess to judge either him or you, but there 
 is one judge before whom every man in his position is 
 permanently on trial I mean the British public. Per- 
 haps you aren't much interested in politics? I dare say 
 you don't know that at the present time there is a great 
 deal of activity going on in the political world. It is 
 almost certain that there will be a shuffling of places after 
 Parliament meets on the fifth, and Mr. Sturt's friends 
 hope very much that he will get something in the re- 
 arranged Ministry. Now just at this time it would not 
 do him any good to have his name mixed up with any 
 woman's in the way in which it would be mixed up with 
 yours." 
 
 "Why not?" said Jenny "if he married me?" 
 
 "He won't marry you." 
 
 Mrs. Essenden gasped under the insult; and an insult 
 it was, for Maisie would have said the same words in 
 the same tone even if she had not known that Mark could 
 not marry Jenny if he would. Mark Sturt marry a 
 Jenny Essenden? No: like Henham, Maisie felt pretty
 
 246 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 certain that he would draw the line at taking her into 
 the family. She had not designed to wound she had 
 forborne to point out a fallacy in Jenny's argument 
 but she felt no compunction when she saw Jenny quiver 
 under the lash ; it was good for Mrs. Essenden, probably, 
 to hear the truth now and then ; Jenny in tears would 
 have appealed to Miss Archdale's stern chivalry, but 
 she was not saint enough to pity Jenny triumphant. 
 
 "You devil!" said Jenny passionately, "why shouldn't 
 he marry me? He couldn't take me any closer to him 
 if I were twenty times his wife." 
 
 Maisie ignored that remark. She had taken up a hand 
 mirror to examine her hair, and the profile that she pre- 
 sented to Jenny was as inexpressive in its serene good 
 humor as if there had been no Jenny in the room. 
 
 "Don't you want," said Jenny, "me to tell you how I 
 found out that you and I were in the same boat?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm frankly very curious. I can't think how 
 you came to connect my name with Mr. Sturt's." 
 
 "How could I but in the one way? He told me him- 
 self." 
 
 "Oh, no, he didn't." Maisie paused in the act of put- 
 ting on her gown. "Now, Mrs. Essenden, this ceases to 
 be amusing. When I promised to listen to you I did 
 not mean that I would listen to anything you liked to 
 invent." 
 
 "He told me himself," Jenny answered with her cruel 
 smile. "In his sleep." 
 
 Maisie's memory flashed back over the still nights at 
 Ushant. "He does not talk in his sleep." 
 
 "Good gracious, Miss Archdale," Jenny cried, round- 
 eyed, "how do you know that?" 
 
 "Sorry," said Maisie with her imperturbable irony. 
 "Perhaps you have never heard him chaffing his brother 
 over their tent experiences in the Aades."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 247 
 
 "Oh, I see!" Jenny gave way to a ripple of laughter. 
 "Well, it did sound very very odd, you know. But, 
 since you know Captain Sturt so well, perhaps you've 
 heard him say that Mark gets a touch of fever now and 
 then. He was light-headed one night, and he talked of 
 you and to you in quite a touching way. He appeared 
 to be declining invitations." 
 
 Maisie crossed to the window and threw it wider open. 
 Clouds had come up, quenching the moonlight ; the snow 
 had begun to fall again, thick, soft, and pure, and a whirl 
 of it was borne in, on the breath of a north wind, over 
 Maisie's splendid dress, her glittering wreath of hair, 
 her shoulders and breast. She stood up unmoved under 
 the blast, looking out over the gloomy woods of Shot- 
 ton, slowly lacing her dress ; she was in the flame-color 
 and black and silver of an old Spanish painting, and on 
 the rich brocade the scattered flakes thawed in dim 
 patches of tarnish. Jenny had struck home. It needed 
 the ice-blade of the wind on her forehead to keep Miss 
 Archdale composed. And still there was no respite from 
 the little voice, soft and sweet with its childish over- 
 tones, which ran on behind her in ribald Rabelaisian 
 variations on the same theme. Jenny's game was up. 
 But the retreating enemy has always one resource. He 
 can poison the wells. 
 
 "You see, Miss Archdale, that is what you virtuous 
 women never will understand. You think it is good for 
 us others to be shown now and then what you think of 
 us, and how completely we are beneath your attention 
 and the attention of your men ; but what you don't real- 
 ize, and what we think it's good for you to realize now 
 and then, is that your men are more ours than yours. 
 Now I hadn't found out, when I came into this room, 
 how helplessly you were in love with Mark, but I did 
 know for certain that Mark was in some way or other
 
 248 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 mixed up with you and that it was a case of pull-devil 
 pull-baker between you and me. We get very clever at 
 reading things like that. It's our trade, don't you see, to 
 understand? All this time you've been talking with so 
 much intelligence and so much self-control (more, I will 
 say, than one in a thousand of your class) about dear 
 Mark's political position and the upset I should be to him, 
 it's been child's play for me to see that you haven't known 
 how to keep your voice steady or conceal the palpitations 
 that are going on under that pretty little coat. I'm sorry 
 to wound your pride, but why did you let yourself get 
 into such an undignified position? Men never like it. 
 It flatters them, but it annoys them, because in this sort 
 of sport three-quarters of a man's pleasure lies in walk- 
 ing up his birds. I was quite as keen on dear Mark as 
 you are, but I wasn't silly enough to let him see it." 
 
 The wind shrieked and rattled in the chimney ; the 
 heavy-headed elms in the avenue groaned, rubbing their 
 great branches together and straining under their weight 
 of snow. Small avalanches were rolling down from the 
 roof like minute-guns. Jenny cowered over the fire, 
 she was cold, but very happy. 
 
 "And if in these few minutes I've been able to read 
 your heart like a book if for all your money and your 
 class pride I've told you things about yourself that will 
 sting you to your dying day do you think it was any 
 harder for me to read what was in Mark's mind when 
 I had him with me morning, noon and night, when he 
 was off his guard ? Why, to take only the most obvious 
 aspects of the situation, do you suppose I didn't read 
 his letters? He used to come to me with all sorts of 
 things in his pockets, political letters, letters from his 
 brother, bits of private scandal, silly scribbles from Mrs. 
 Ferrier in which she was always throwing you at his 
 head ; and when his back was turned I used to read
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 249 
 
 them all. Used to ? why, it's only a week ago that he was 
 with me! This is Wednesday night, isn't it? New 
 Year's Eve ? Well, he spent the twenty-second in Green 
 Street." 
 
 The whirl of flakes had lightened, and between great, 
 vague stormfields appeared Orion, the eternal hunter, 
 girt with his diamond belt. Incredibly steep precipices 
 of cloud were seen silvered by the flying moon. Below 
 them stretched the dark, dense laboring woods, the frozen 
 lawns. A night of tempest, and of purity: how cold, 
 and how remote from the hushed room where Jenny's 
 pretty little voice continued to dribble poison in her 
 enemy's ear ! Maisie leaned her forehead on the window- 
 pane. An ache of cruel anguish shook her so that she 
 was near to weeping not for her own shame, but for 
 Mark. How weak they are, these strong men! He had 
 earned the cross, the highest military honor ; and he had 
 laid his head on the breast of a Jenny Essenden. 
 
 "That is what I mean," Jenny had not done with her 
 yet, "when I say that whatever you virtuous ladies may 
 like to think a man really does belong more to his mistress 
 than he ever does to you. A very charming man mar- 
 ried to a very charming woman once said to me, 'Damn 
 it all, Jenny, I can't swear at my wife.' I often think 
 of that and smile, when I see my old lovers driving with 
 their wives. For, after all, when a man respects a woman 
 he can't be altogether at his ease with her; or not, at 
 least, till he's been married to her for a year or so, and 
 the gloss has worn off, and he begins to swear before her 
 if he doesn't swear at her. Think what an advantage it 
 gives a woman to be on those sort of terms with a man 
 that he doesn't mind swearing at her from the very first ! 
 Then again, in the case of a man like dear Mark, in the 
 most devoted marriage there are all sorts of reticences 
 and reserves; he will want his wife's love, of course,
 
 250 JENNY ESSENtJEN 
 
 but he'll want her to keep her illusions as well. So that 
 if you, say, had been married to him for a twelvemonth, 
 I should still know more of the real Mark than you would, 
 because you would always have seen him on his good 
 behavior, whereas I " 
 
 "Whereas you . . ." 
 
 "Ah!" Jenny laughed. "I've seen him at his worst." 
 
 Maisie strolled over to the mirror by the fire to pin a 
 Spanish posy of carnations behind her gold ringlets. She 
 seemed to be thoroughly indifferent to Jenny's presence 
 in the room. 
 
 "You are plucky," said Jenny, smiling up at her. 
 "Really I do admire you most awfully, Miss Archdale, 
 and I'm very sorry for you too. I declare I shouldn't 
 mind going shares in Mark with you. I dare say you're 
 right and that it wouldn't do for him to marry me. I 
 think I shall tell him so next time I see him ; he is sure 
 to be back in Green Street within the next few days. Of 
 course I shan't give you away; I never give away an- 
 other woman; I shall only tell him that if he likes to 
 marry you I won't make any fuss so long as he doesn't 
 throw his little Jenny overboard. But perhaps you 
 wouldn't like that arrangement? It's quite a common 
 one, only the wives don't as a rule know anything about 
 it. They're proud, you see, the proper ladies are ; but 
 you're so dreadfully in love that I don't suppose you 
 would be very proud." She glanced at her watch. "How- 
 ever, I can't settle that till I get Mark to myself again. 
 You haven't heard him speak of running up to town, 
 have you? On business? Well, when you do, you'll 
 know what it means." She began drawing on her gloves. 
 "Ten days ago yes, I think he'll turn up pretty soon." 
 
 There was the impudence of a street Arab in her deft 
 little wink. It broke the spell. The tears that ached be- 
 hind Maisie's eyeballs dried up in flame. She took a step
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 251 
 
 towards Jenny, and her hand clenched itself much like 
 Lawrence Sturt's. Decidedly there was that in Mrs. Es- 
 senden which appealed to primitive instincts. Jenny 
 started up, she had no mind to be beaten. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," said Maisie good-humoredly. "I 
 was only going to ring the bell. I really don't think 
 you can have any more to say?" 
 
 "No, I don't think so. It's nearly seven' o'clock, isn't 
 it?" said Jenny. She glanced into the mirror as she 
 drew down her veil. "Thank you very much for your 
 courtesy to a poor little outcast. Now I mustn't keep 
 the cab waiting any longer," she was making for the 
 door. "To be sure, it's Mark who pays." 
 
 She gave Maisie her little smiling bow, and vanished. 
 Almost in the doorway Ellen passed her ; Ellen who had 
 had misgivings after all, and had waited in the corridor 
 just out of earshot, in case her mistress were to ring for 
 her. As Ellen drew up and curtsied, Jenny gave another 
 little laugh and a little wriggle of her shoulders. She 
 had a sudden conviction that, if Ellen had known one 
 word in twenty that Jenny had been saying, Jenny would 
 have been slapped. 
 
 When Ellen came into the room Maisie was bending 
 over her jewel case. 
 
 "Miss Maisie! whatever's the matter?" 
 
 "Find my keys." 
 
 "They're in the pocket of your blue serge," said Ellen 
 shortly. She was not used to the imperative mood, and 
 she flounced over to the wardrobe. 
 
 "Thanks. Is my hair smooth?" 
 
 "Yes, miss. Why, it's all damp! Miss Maisie dear, 
 whatever's the matter?" 
 
 Maisie stood erect, looking herself over from head to 
 foot in the tall mirror. "Really I'm looking very hand- 
 some. Flora made a success of this dress, faith, she did !
 
 252 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Rather daring, a Spanish dress for a woman as fair as 
 I am ; but I believe the Gothic strain is often blonde like 
 me." 
 
 "Miss, do you know you've got the window op'en and 
 the snow have come in all over her ladyship's carpet?" 
 
 "Shut it, then, and don't look so startled ; I'm not a 
 ghost ! Pin up this fold of brocade there, that goes bet- 
 ter; I hate folds that fall crookedly. Now give me my 
 diamonds." 
 
 "Miss, you won't never wear your diamonds for a 
 little dance like this?" 
 
 "The circlet in my hair, the collar and chain, the brace- 
 lets, and the star in my dress. Don't worry, Nelly ; I've 
 had a a facer, and the diamonds are a prop to my self- 
 respect. You knew the foreign woman wasn't up to any 
 good? Wrong both times, Nelly; she happened to be 
 cockney, and it wasn't she who administered the facer; I 
 don't care two straws for her one way or the other. 
 You're not to sit up- for me, do you hear ? It is an order, 
 so good night." 
 
 She caught up her long white gloves and left Ellen 
 to hen own reflections. 
 
 There was no one in the hall when Maisie came down 
 the great staircase. An immense Yule log blazed between 
 silver andirons on the hearth, and the candles set high 
 in silver sconces flickered lightly in the draught. As she 
 neared the foot of the stair, Mark Sturt came out of the 
 gun-room. He wore the court dress of a Tudor ancestor, 
 and its rich strangeness set off his heavy distinction. He 
 stopped dead at sight of Maisie in her Spanish draperies 
 and constellation of diamonds; five minutes earlier, and 
 it would have been Jenny that he met. 
 
 "Salutations !" he said, coming forward. "We shall not 
 need any lamps to-night, Maisie. You blaze." 
 
 His wife remained standing on the last step but one,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 253 
 
 her bare right hand clenched over the balustrade. "If 
 he went away to Green Street now and then I wouldn't 
 care . . ." It had been easy to feel that when she had 
 never seen Mrs. Essenden. Perhaps the facile forgive- 
 ness of women springs, more often than their husbands 
 understand, from ignorance. 
 
 Mark glanced round the deserted hall. He had meant 
 to settle with Jenny before approaching his wife, but 
 Jenny was on the eve of settlement, and after all a New 
 Year's Night revel counts for little either way. 
 
 "I want a dance, Maisie. Don't say you've given them 
 all to my brother or to Mr. Forester?" 
 
 "A dance ?" 
 
 "One of the old waltzes," Mark explained. " 'El Do- 
 rado/ or 'Toreador/ or the barcarolle out of the Contes 
 d'Hoffman. I'm going to bribe the orchestra. It will 
 cheer me up before I go." 
 
 "Before you go?" 
 
 "Didn't you know I was going away to-morrow?" 
 
 "Oh ! Are you ? Running up to town, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes," said' Mark, faintly startled. "But only for a 
 single night " 
 
 "On business?" 
 
 "Business of a sort, yes " 
 
 "And you want your dance with me first?" said Maisie, 
 smiling down at him. "Oh, Mark! I'm afraid your 
 tastes are as Catholic as your faith." 
 
 He drew back, and his manner was to the full as 
 haughty as her own. "I beg your pardon? I don't fol- 
 low." 
 
 "Shall I translate?" said Maisie. She flicked him 
 across the eyes with the gloves that she carried in her 
 hand. "Is that clear?" 
 
 "Perfectly, thanks," said Mark, his color changing grad- 
 ually from his bronzed fairness to a dusky shade of
 
 254 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 gray. "Don't do that again, Maisie." He took the 
 gloves out of her hand. "Silly trick. You tempt me to 
 remind you that you're my wife." 
 
 A door slammed on a landing and Lawrence Sturt 
 appeared on the stairs. It seemed to be his fate that 
 evening to play eavesdropper on his brother, for as he 
 stepped over the threshold his keen ear caught Maisie's 
 reply 
 
 "Thanks, I remember everything. This time the door 
 is locked on the inside." 
 
 Lawrence passed his hand across his lips to brush away 
 a smile. He was sorry for Mark, who seemed to be in 
 hot water all round, but he was also faintly amused. 
 These moralities and these emotions!
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 "On a bien de la peine a rompre quand on ne s'aime plus." 
 
 MARK yawned himself downstairs before eight 
 o'clock on the morning of New Year's Day, and 
 read the paper over a solitary breakfast to the tune of 
 flames crackling on the hearth and a bleak wind howling 
 round the snow-jammed windows. To his surprise, when 
 he came out into the hall, he found Lawrence pulling on 
 his gloves by the fire. "You're not coming, are you?" 
 said Mark in no very cordial tone. 
 
 "Drive you to the station," said Lawrence briefly. 
 "My coat, Basil." His servant, a Levantine Greek named 
 Basil Copanaris, put him into a huge fur coat and but- 
 toned it under his chin like a baby, and Lawrence moved 
 to the door, where his own powerful car was standing 
 tire-deep in snow. "Bah ! I hate these English winds," 
 grumbled the Sybarite, settling himself at the wheel. 
 Since it was too much trouble to protest, Mark dropped 
 into the seat beside him, though he would rather have 
 been alone. At the last moment a man-servant came 
 hurrying up, a sealed letter in his hand. 
 
 "For you, sir." Mark took it, puzzled. It was from 
 Mr. Mallinson, Brown explained: he had hoped to have 
 the pleasure of seeing Mr. Sturt that morning, but his 
 neuritis had been that bad all night that he wasn't able 
 to get up. "It's his shoulder, you see, sir, fallin' on the 
 ice." 
 
 "Oh? I'm very sorry," said Mark, absently fingering 
 the envelope. He lay back staring out over the wintry 
 
 255
 
 256 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 landscape. "All in?" said Lawrence curtly, and the 
 great car shot away. 
 
 They covered the run to the station in silence the 
 silence, it must be owned, of extreme ill-humor on one 
 side and suppressed amusement on the other which was 
 not broken even when a violent double sideslip, the natural 
 result of taking ill-swept turns at forty miles an hour, 
 hurled them from the brink of a viaduct to the brink 
 of a coal cart. It was not till Mark was dumbly extricat- 
 ing himself and his suit-case from under Captain Sturt's 
 counterpane of rugs that Lawrence said what he had come 
 to say. He leaned far back over the side of the car 
 and slapped Mark gently between the shoulder blades. 
 Mark shook him off impatiently. "Lord love you," said 
 Lawrence, laughing, "what an amiable beggar it is ! Is 
 this because I shot over your coverts last night?" 
 
 "My train's due and I'm on the wrong platform, Law- 
 rence." 
 
 "It shall be due, and you shall sprint across the line in 
 front of it, and the guard shall curse you. Was I shoot- 
 ing over your coverts last night?" 
 
 Mark raised his gray eyes, clear and angry. "Con- 
 found you! yes, you were." 
 
 "Oho !" said Lawrence. Under his penetrating stare 
 Mark felt as though he were made of glass. Deep be- 
 neath the drift of circumstance and temper the link of 
 birth held fast, that blood-link which through all the 
 changes and chances of the world binds parent to child 
 and brother to brother and still more closely twin to 
 twin, as the cables hold unseen under the deep seas. 
 Mark's train ran into the station; "Beg pardon, sir " 
 an anxious porter touched his cap, and Mark swung off 
 unhurried. It was a retreat in good order, for he pre- 
 tended not to hear Lawrence Sturt's loud laughter ring- 
 ing after him through the booking office.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 257 
 
 Except to wonder fleetingly whether any man had ever 
 knocked Lawrence down, and if not why not, Mark did 
 not give much further thought to his brother or to his 
 wife. Mark had not enjoyed the New Year's Eve dance. 
 Between the splendor of her dress and diamonds, and 
 the flare of her own white beauty, Maisie's apparent de- 
 sign had been to make herself the most conspicuous 
 woman in the room, and she was ably seconded by Law- 
 rence, who had never been known to hang back from 
 any sort of mischief; the pair had danced together half 
 the evening, while the husband and brother looked on 
 with what philosophy he might. But Mark was not seri- 
 ously angry with Lawrence, because he had recognized 
 from his boyhood the futility of getting angry with 
 Lawrence ; while his feeling for Maisie was of that dur- 
 able sort which a man is content to postpone. 
 
 Nor did he give to Mallinson's letter all the attention 
 it deserved, though swift study showed him that for his 
 own ambition it was vitally important. Mallinson had 
 scribbled it in bed, after reading his own mail ; a rough 
 sheet, oddly intimate in tone, or paternal, as Lawrence 
 said : "because this shoulder of mine is an old enemy, and 
 if it gets troublesome I may have to go home and nurse 
 it before you get back. And, my dear boy, I have just 
 heard from the Chief, and I should like you to know 
 how things stand." For shrewd Dodo Ferrier was right; 
 Mallinson had taken an immediate fancy to Mark Sturt, 
 and liking had ripened into confidence when the two 
 men compared notes, finding themselves in agreement 
 on points where Mallinson had expected difficulty. "An 
 able man," Mallinson had said to Dodo, "able and thor- 
 oughly honest. No, my dear, the quality of political 
 honesty is not so common as you seem to think, and the 
 men who can convince the public and their own col- 
 leagues that they possess it are sure to get on if, that
 
 258 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 is, they have the necessary backing in the way of posi- 
 tion and brains. Your friend Sturt has all that, and 
 his business training will come in very useful. We want 
 new blood." So Mallinson wrote in the double charac- 
 ter of personal friend and Minister of State. Mark, 
 however, put the letter by, placing it carefully in his 
 pocket-book and the pocket-book in the breast pocket of 
 his coat, for George Mallinson in confidential vein was 
 occasionally more witty than discreet. Mark was drop- 
 ping with sleep after a white night, and he lay back 
 and shut his eyes, but no sleep came. "Think hard, 
 Mark; think like the devil." He had an ugly interview 
 before him, and Lawrence Sturt's warning haunted him 
 more than he cared to own. 
 
 It haunted him in the train, in a hasty lunch at his 
 flat, and in the motor-brougham which whirled him to 
 Jenny's door; it haunted him because he could not for 
 his life see where danger lurked for him in or after his 
 break with Jenny. Another man, mindful of his own 
 earlier degradation, might have feared the worse disaster 
 of a relapse ; but for Mark, reared in Catholic traditions 
 and with a distinct natural bent towards asceticism, that 
 risk was barred. Prudence hinted that to go to Green 
 Street was to expose himself to the hottest fire of tempta- 
 tion, but Mark, though he had read Sapho, felt safe 
 on that score. It was necessary to visit Jenny because 
 he agreed with Lawrence that it would be dangerous to 
 write to her, but so far as personal feeling was con- 
 cerned Mark would never willingly have gone near her 
 again. 
 
 In a fit of newborn caution, he dismissed the brougham 
 before he got to Green Street, and walked to the door. 
 Jenny was certainly at home; the aspect of the little 
 house, the glitter of its brass dragon knocker, the gay 
 window-boxes blooming extravagantly with cut flowers
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 259 
 
 in January, proclaimed her dainty presence. But when 
 Mark rang the tall parlormaid's face fell as she opened 
 the door. Yes, Mrs. Essenden was at home, but she was 
 not in, and would not be in for some time, perhaps not 
 before night; she had gone to a matinee and was going 
 on to tea somewhere afterwards. The maid stood with 
 the door in her hand, and Mark hesitated; it might be 
 better to write a line and ask Jenny to be at home at a 
 given hour next day. But on second thoughts Mark did 
 not care to defer the operation. Better go through with 
 it and cut the ropes that bound him before lying down 
 for another night's rest. Rest! it seemed to Mark that 
 he had had no rest since before he went to Ushant. 
 
 If he had felt any further indecision, Polly Whibley's 
 demeanor would have settled it. She did not want him 
 to come in; she urged the uncertainty of Jenny's return, 
 the tedium of the long hours of waiting. Struck by a 
 sudden suspicion, Mark put a query point-blank; had 
 Mrs. Essenden gone out alone? He got, as he had half 
 expected, a confused and shuffling stammer. Yes, she 
 was alone ; oh, yes, certainly, she was alone no, she was 
 not bringing any one back with her. Mark was disgusted 
 with himself for having stooped to question a servant. 
 He put the girl aside and strode past her into the house ; 
 the first object on which his eye fell was a man's walk- 
 ing stick thrown across the hall table. Mark shrugged 
 his shoulders and registered the fact for use against 
 Jenny if, as he phrased it to himself, she turned nasty; 
 not that there was any reason why Mrs. Essenden should 
 not receive visits from her men friends, or go with them 
 to a play ! but, taking that stick in conjunction with Polly 
 Whibley's manner, he was sure enough of his ground 
 to risk a stray shot. 
 
 He looked round the little hall and cast his mind back 
 to the last visit he had paid in Green Street. True to
 
 260 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 the streak of caution which sometimes influenced his ac- 
 tions more than it became definite in his thoughts, he had 
 on every occasion been on his guard against leaving any 
 of his own property behind him; he could not call to 
 mind that Jenny had any possessions of his or any letters, 
 unless it were the most trivial of notes. He went into 
 the morning-room and looked round. Nothing: not a 
 trace of masculine occupation except a book on political 
 economy, which had no name in it, though an observer 
 might have safely argued that it was not Jenny's own 
 choice in literature. In the drawing-room there was not 
 even a book. Polly the maid had followed him and stood 
 fingering her apron perhaps she thought he was looking 
 for a different sort of evidence. But Mark sent her 
 sharply about her business, and she obeyed him; prob- 
 ably all the servants knew, though none of them could 
 have proved, that in that house Mr. Sturt was pay- 
 master. 
 
 When the door had shut which banished Polly to the 
 kitchen quarters, Mark went upstairs to Jenny's room. 
 It was as it had always been, white, fresh, and dainty; 
 he had no fault to find with it except that it was kept 
 at too warm a temperature, and that it was too full of 
 roses branched and budding roses, white and pink, La 
 France and Chatenay, Jenny's favorite flower. On a table 
 by her pillow lay a Garden of the Soul, hand-bound in 
 white vellum, an Imitation of Christ, a Key of Heaven, a 
 Rosary of the Blessed Virgin, manuals of Catholic devo- 
 tion Jenny's devotion ! Mark turned over the little 
 books with the shadow of a smile, remembering how 
 Jenny had stormed one day when he threatened to put 
 them in the fire. Decidedly that was one of the occa- 
 sions when he had not been nice to Jenny! Near the 
 door hung a little Holy- Water stoup, and in a shrine, 
 so placed that Jenny's eye lit on it when she woke of a
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 261 
 
 morning, blessed candles were burning before a tall cruci- 
 fix in ebony and silver. A pair of long white gloves, 
 exquisitely fresh Mark had never seen Mrs. Essenderi 
 in any garment that was not spotless lay on the sofa 
 beside a pair of French mules, little rosy slippers that 
 recalled a little rosy foot. Pretty gloves ! pretty shoes ! 
 Of any other tenancy there was again not a trace. 
 
 Mark passed on into the dressing-room. Here if 
 anywhere he might have left something behind. But he 
 had not done so. He glanced through the drawers and 
 found them empty, he turned over the leaves of a writing 
 portfolio, he even examined the blotting paper, but it 
 was an illegible blur in which not a line of his own writ- 
 ing was discernible. It was an ironic commentary on 
 Mark's own folly that he should have risked so much 
 for a relation which had meant so little to him. As he 
 stood in the dressing-room he could not get up any senti- 
 ment at all. Even the fury which Lawrence's tale had 
 inspired in him was cooling as he passed back through 
 Jenny's chamber. It had been an ugly episode, but it 
 was over now, so completely relegated to the past that 
 it was hardly worth a man's while even to feel disgust; 
 what did it signify, after all? what signify the Jenny 
 Essendens of this world, and what they do or are done 
 by? Mark shut the door behind him and came down- 
 stairs breathing more freely now that he had got away 
 from that eternal scent of roses. 
 
 The house remained perfectly quiet. He went into 
 the drawing-room and dropped into a chair before the 
 fire. Almost immediately Polly Whibley reappeared to 
 know if he would like some tea. Mark packed her off 
 again, the more sharply that he saw she wanted to speak 
 to him ; if he could, he would have said, "My good girl, 
 you are sorry for me because your mistress is deceiving 
 me, and you would like either to get me out of the way
 
 262 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 or to break the news to me and soften the shock of her 
 return ; you may save yourself the trouble, for your mis- 
 tress can go to the devil for all I care, and as you seem 
 to be a decent sort of girl I strongly advice you to take 
 example by me and clear out of the house." In the mani- 
 fest impossibility of saying any such thing, he dismissed 
 Polly to the kitchen and disposed himself to wait. He 
 was tired dead tired; he had had little sleep the last 
 few nights, and little peace of mind by day. It was 
 not unpleasant to sit by Jenny's fire for an hour or two 
 and immerse oneself in vague dreams of the future, 
 even though there was still a stiff bridge to cross be- 
 fore those dreams could be realized. . . . He fell asleep. 
 
 "Wake up, Mark!" said Jenny's voice, playful and 
 soft. "You've had a nice little nap. Do come in, Mr. 
 Horton, he's wakened up now." 
 
 Mark came to himself with a start and a glance at the 
 clock. It was close on night; he had slept for hours, 
 the drugged exhausted sleep which comes after long 
 vigils. The room was full of light, and Jenny was 
 standing by his chair in her theater dress of black silk 
 and gauze, an ermine scarf slipping from her transpar- 
 ent shoulders. In the opening doorway appeared the tall 
 thin figure of George Horton, his lined features pinched 
 into a nervous grin. 
 
 "Mrs. Essenden! I apologize for my behavior," said 
 Mark, getting to his feet. "Your maid said you would 
 be in to dinner, so I took leave to wait for you, and I 
 suppose the hot room after the cold outside made me 
 drowsy. How are you, Horton? You look rather blue. 
 Take my place, won't you ?" 
 
 "We've been to a theater," said Jenny, drawing off 
 her gloves. "Mr. Horton took pity on my loneliness. 
 It wasn't a very good play, though. Rather a melan-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 263 
 
 choly piece, about a poor girl that was deserted by her 
 lover. You'll both stay and dine, won't you?" 
 
 "Thanks very much, I'm afraid I can't do that," Mark 
 replied. "If Mr. Horton will excuse us, I should like 
 just ten minutes of your time on a small matter of busi- 
 ness ; you don't mind, do you, Horton ? I shan't keep 
 Mrs. Essenden long." 
 
 Surprise, relief, amusement were legibly inscribed one 
 after the other on Horton's features. Though he was 
 no coward, Horton would not have gone to Green Street 
 that night if he had known Mark Sturt would be there, 
 and while Jenny went to reconnoiter in the drawing- 
 room he had shivered by the hall fire, mentally measur- 
 ing his own attenuated muscles against Sturt's superior 
 inches and powerful frame ; when Jenny called to him, 
 Horton had gone in to back her up in rueful anticipation 
 of a shindy; but apparently there was to be no shindy! 
 The master of the house had accepted his situation with- 
 out a murmur. Horton was amused, and pigeon-holed 
 the affair in a retentive memory as worth telling for its 
 flatness, but he was happy to be let off the risk of broken 
 bones. And Jenny? Jenny was merry and placid; she 
 turned to Horton with a little wave of her baby hands. 
 They were covered with rings and bracelets that Sturt 
 and other men had given her. 
 
 "Do you mind you don't? smoking a cigarette in 
 the morning-room for just ten minutes? It will be as 
 long as that before dinner is ready, so you won't lose 
 anything by waiting." 
 
 Inimitable Jenny ! She made no apologies or explana- 
 tions on either side; she waited till Horton had gone 
 out, and then when she had shut the door behind him 
 she returned with her funny little reflective smile and 
 sat down opposite Mark in a high-backed Chippendale
 
 264 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 chair. Qearly Mark had learned the truth from Law- 
 rence: in Jenny's opinion it was on the cards that Miss 
 Archdale also had been telling tales. But Mrs. Essen- 
 den had burned her boats when she went to Shotton, and 
 in George Horton she had provided an overland retreat. 
 "Well," she said, "and what has my lord and master 
 to say to his handmaiden?" 
 
 "Little enough. I won't keep Horton waiting long, 
 Jenny." 
 
 "Oh," said Jenny with an ambiguous laugh, "he won't 
 mind." 
 
 "He can take his own time, you mean?" said* Mark. 
 
 He stopped. Horton had been nearer than he knew 
 to broken bones ; after all, whatever Mrs. Essenden was 
 now, she had been Mark's ten days ago, and something 
 in him older than morality, older than love, very much 
 older than prudence, revolted against this tame ac- 
 quiescence in another man's poaching. But he was on 
 his guard; he saw the latent spark in Jenny's eye, recog- 
 nized his own danger, and shifted his ground. 
 
 "I didn't come here to indulge in recriminations. Your 
 movements are entirely at your own disposal from this 
 time onward. The connection between us ceases from 
 to-night. If you have any further communications to 
 make to me, you'll make them through my lawyers." 
 
 "Oh?" said Jenny softly. "Yes?" 
 
 "I'm giving them instructions to pay. the rent of the 
 house and the servants' wages up to next Lady Day." 
 
 "Riccardo will be amused," Jenny murmured. 
 
 "In ordinary circumstances I should have given you 
 fair warning before I broke with you, and so far as the 
 financial aspect is concerned I propose to do the same 
 now: if, that is, you keep the few conditions I make." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Not to try to see me : not to write to me : not to do
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 265 
 
 what I hear you were insane, enough to threaten doing 
 make a scene at any house where I may happe'n to be 
 staying." 
 
 Jenny nestled her head back against a cushion and 
 her teeth closed, softly on her lower lip. She had won 
 that trick, then ; her tongue had done its work with Miss 
 Archdale. Jenny hugged herself for joy. She could 
 hardly think of her excursion to Shotton without laugh- 
 ing in Sturt's face. 
 
 "That's all I have to say," said Mark, reaching for 
 his gloves. All things considered, it was not much. Five 
 months he had lived with Jenny, and he was prepared 
 to break with her in as many sentences. He had not 
 loved her nor she him, and, though he knew that she 
 laced her stays from the middle and pattered her prayers 
 in French, she was essentially a stranger to him. Tempta- 
 tion? It was dead; Lawrence Sturt's tale had killed it, 
 apparently. Mark rarely analyzed his own motives, and 
 he saw no incongruity in the terms of his farewell to 
 Jenny, nor. could he have explained why he was no longer 
 allured by her exquisite facility and grace. He had but 
 one thing more to say, and he said it as he rose. "I 
 ought to warn you that if you try your hand at any dan- 
 gerous game I shall set the police in motion. A prosecu- 
 tion for libel, Mrs. Essenden, is a thing some men are 
 disinclined to face ; I shouldn't have the slightest scruple 
 in handling it, and it generally results in a swingeing 
 bill for damages." 
 
 "You are not very nice to me, are you?" said Jenny, 
 smiling up at him. "Not very nice to me, Mark, after 
 all these months, to talk of prosecuting me for libel ! Me ! 
 poor little me ! What have I ever done to you that you 
 should scold me like this? What makes you think I 
 would do anything dreadful? I'm sure I'm a very peace- 
 able little person. I only want people to be nice to me."
 
 266 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Yes, it's a shame, isn't it?" Sturt answered with his 
 unexpected laugh. "Poor, ill-used Jenny!" 
 
 "Well, I do think it is a shame !" Jenny cried. "You 
 may go away if you like I'm sure I don't want to keep 
 you if you don't want to stay but why need you be so 
 horrid over it? I never did you any harm. I admit I 
 did make love to you a little just at first, but only a very 
 little you didn't need much tempting, did you? Men 
 never do. And after that, all through the time at Cleres, 
 
 it was you, and always you, who And when I came 
 
 back to town I wanted you to keep away, you know I 
 did, but you would come to see me here, though I said I 
 didn't like it. But you were so impetuous." She stopped ; 
 she could have stabbed his pride very deeply if she had 
 told him what she knew, that he had used her as an ano- 
 dyne. It has been said that Jenny possessed tastes, 
 though she lacked principles, and her taste precluded that 
 particular taunt as hitting below the belt. "And now 
 as soon as you are tired of me you think I shall want to 
 blackmail you. Men are all brutes when they get tired 
 of women, but I did think, Mark, you would always be a 
 gentleman." 
 
 He looked down at her, faintly amused, quite impas- 
 sive. "Yes, it's very sad. Cheer up : tell Horton all 
 about it." 
 
 "Oh!" said Jenny under her breath. She snatched a 
 handkerchief from her bosom and pressed it to her lips : 
 she bit into the cambric : Mark shuddered, the soundless 
 writhing spasm was so like that of a trapped beast. For 
 the first time in all his experience of Jenny he felt afraid 
 of her. But nothing happened; she wiped her lips, and 
 slipped the handkerchief back among her soft laces. 
 "Good night," said Mark. 
 "Good-by, Mark," said Jenny. 
 He moved towards the door. Before he gained it, in
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 267 
 
 one spring she had flung herself on his breast, her arms 
 clasping his neck, her lips pressed to his throat, every 
 curve of her slight shape abandoned to his support. 
 "Don't don't leave me, Mark," she murmured, and he 
 felt the heavy throbbing of her heart under her thin 
 laces. "My God, I love you. Stay with me once more. 
 I'll send Horton away. Oh, I love you better than all 
 the world." 
 
 "Better than my brother?" 
 
 Shaking from head to foot, Sturt wrenched open the 
 clasped arms with small regard for Jenny Essenden's 
 womanhood. He threw her from him across a chair 
 it was mere chance that she did not fall on the floor. 
 Horton heard the noise, and dashed in ; he would have 
 stopped Mark, but Mark pushed him out of the way 
 with a touch and escaped into the street. He was still 
 unpleasantly shaken as he shut the house door behind 
 him, but he was sufficiently master of his nerves to have 
 caught up his hat and stick as he crossed the hall, and 
 before he turned out of Green Street he had regained his 
 composure. It had been an ugly scene a very ugly 
 scene : but there had been no danger in it after all, and 
 it was over now : he had set foot in the little house for 
 the last time: he had done with Jenny Essenden forever.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MARK went home and went to bed. It seemed to 
 him that he had never been so tired in his life, and 
 he went straight to his own room, refusing even Hen- 
 ham's offer of dinner. He could not eat; Jenny had 
 taken away his appetite. All he wanted was to sleep 
 sleep and forget the existence of Mrs. Essenden; and 
 he flung off his clothes and flung himself into bed as a 
 man does who feels a heavy sickness coming on him. 
 But it was health, not sickness, that was coming to Mark 
 Sturt health and the prospect of sweet calm slumber 
 after so many fevered hours. 
 
 He slept without turning till eight o'clock next morn- 
 ing, and woke feeling as he had not felt since the early 
 days at Ushant; full of life and vigor, keenly looking 
 forward to the day before him. He rang, and Henham 
 brought him tea and letters, among which he was amused 
 to find a note from Lawrence. "How have you sped? 
 For heaven's sake let me know. I have had devastating 
 premonitions of evil all day. Do not murder the lady, 
 at all events the prettiest of pretty women is not worth 
 getting hanged for." Mark laughed, and tossed the char- 
 acteristically indiscreet little missive into the fire : yes, 
 Lawrence should hear without delay. He scribbled a 
 telegram to let the Ferriers know that he would be back 
 in the course of the day, and dispatched Henham with 
 it on the spot. Mark's irritation had evaporated. After 
 all, why blame a man for shooting over lands un fenced 
 and unguarded? He forgave Lawrence, he forgave 
 George Horton had not Horton served his turn with 
 
 268
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 269 
 
 Jenny? he forgave Jenny herself because that little de- 
 feated enemy was not worth hating, and, though Maisie 
 was not yet included in the general amnesty, he had 
 every intention of forgiving her too, in set form, before 
 the day was out. His eyes sparkled as he rehearsed the 
 scene. "What a jolly morning!" he said as the little 
 gray man laid out his clothes. It was a brilliant frost, 
 and Henham smiled in decorous sympathy; he was sin- 
 cerely glad to see Mark looking so fit and cheerful again, 
 so much better than was to be expected of a man who had 
 had no dinner. Henham did not like unsettled ways. 
 
 Mark bathed and dressed himself, and came down 
 about nine o'clock very hungry. For some time his at- 
 tention was concentrated on his eggs and bacon, but at 
 length he found himself at liberty to unfold the morning 
 paper and glance through the headlines. He skimmed 
 his own Liberal sheet first, found nothing in it of conse- 
 quence, and turned to the leading Tory organ, the Jour- 
 nal. "Railway Disaster at Sutton," he read : "American 
 Labor Storm": "British Naval Rights" how that 
 smacked of old days ! "Ministerial Changes" on the 
 last he fastened. Tentative lists are more often wrong 
 than right, but the man who expects to see his own name 
 will skim every one of them. This, however, was not 
 on ordinary lines. "By the courtesy of a correspondent, 
 whose name we hold but are not at present at liberty to 
 reveal, we are enabled to publish the following commu- 
 nication, which throws some curious light on the system 
 by which a modern Cabinet is formed." Mark passed 
 on to the "communication," and found himself reading 
 his own name : "My dear Sturt." 
 
 He stopped and went back to the beginning. "By the 
 courtesy of a correspondent . . ." Yes. But what was 
 it all about? "My dear Sturt, I very much regret not 
 being able to get down to breakfast, as there are vari-
 
 270 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 ous points which I should have liked to clear up before 
 you go. You will of course treat this letter as most 
 strictly confidential. ... I have just heard from the 
 P.M. ... It is proposed to redistribute certain of the 
 vacated offices as follows. . . ." 
 
 It was his own letter from George Mallinson that he 
 was reading. 
 
 In the first terrible revulsion of feeling, Mark sat 
 still at the breakfast table leaning his head on his hands, 
 and staring blankly at the paper which was propped 
 against the coffee-pot. He could not, for a minute, grasp 
 what had happened. But there was Mallinson's letter, 
 printed in extenso, staring him in the face : a letter "most 
 strictly confidential," dispatched indeed, though only from 
 bedchamber to hall, under Mallinson's private seal and 
 the seal had not been tampered with, Mark had instinct- 
 ively made sure of that before he broke it open. "By 
 the courtesy of a correspondent . . ." After reading 
 the letter in the train, Mark had put it in his pocket-book 
 and the pocket-book in his breast pocket, and, tired as 
 he was at night, he had not forgotten to slip the case 
 under his pillow, ready to return to his pocket in the 
 morning. He felt for it, and found it. But when he 
 opened it there was no letter in it. He had dropped it, 
 cr it had been taken from him. 
 
 In the first recoil, most men, confronted by a disaster, 
 cry out, "I do not believe it," but the measure of the 
 trained mind is its rapid acceptance of facts. Mark's 
 spasm of skepticism was over when he opened the 
 empty pocket-book. The thing was done, and he was 
 responsible ; his guilt or innocence was a side-issue. 
 He had, however, a partner in his official crime. That 
 the editor of a respectable paper should have dared to 
 print a private letter which fell irregularly into his 
 hands !
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 271 
 
 Mark sprang up, taking the paper with him, jumped 
 into a taxi, and was driven to the offices of the Journal. 
 It was still early, but he sent up his card, and was at 
 once shown into the large shabby room where the editor- 
 in-chief was at work. He rose as Mark came in a 
 small, spare man with a pointed beard and piercing dark 
 eyes ; it occurred to Mark that Wynne was not surprised 
 to see him. 
 
 "Good morning, sir," said Mark, curtly civil. "You 
 publish a letter of mine this morning." 
 
 "A letter addressed to you, sir yes, we do." 
 
 "A private and confidential letter addressed to me not 
 as a politician but as a personal friend of the writer. 
 You had absolutely no right to print that." 
 
 Wynne swung round on his revolving chair and touched 
 a bell. A messenger lad entered the room. "Send Mr. 
 Ashton to me," said Wynne. Ashton, a secretary, en- 
 tered within a few seconds. "Mr. Sturt's letter and the 
 covering letter, please, Ashton." 
 
 "Here, sir." 
 
 "That'll do." Ashton went away. Wynne held out 
 to Mark the lost letter from George Mallinson. "That 
 is, as you see, the letter we publish." 
 
 "And had no right to publish." 
 
 "Excuse me. This is the covering letter, which we 
 did not publish because we were not authorized to do 
 so. But you see that it authorizes us to publish the en- 
 closure." 
 
 Mark took from Wynne's hand a sheet of his own 
 paper, stamped with the address of his own flat. 
 
 13, PARK COURT, WESTMINSTER, S.W.I. 
 
 Thursday. 
 Make what use you like of the enclosed. 
 
 O. M. STURtP.
 
 272 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Mark gave a short, hard laugh. Was that his sentence 
 of political death? 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said, raising his head after 
 a brief silence. "That is perfectly clear and correct. 
 You were justified in publishing Mr. Mallinson's letter." 
 
 "I suppose you are going to say that that note is a 
 forgery. Believe me or not as you like, Mr. Sturt, but 
 if I had dreamed that it was not authentic no power on 
 earth would have induced me to take advantage of it. 
 But it so happened that I myself had been reading your 
 Andes book, which has, you may remember, a facsimile 
 of your signature under the frontispiece; and on careful 
 comparison the handwritings appeared to me to be iden- 
 tical. Yet I should have got you to confirm it if I had 
 known you were in town." 
 
 "It is not a forgery," said Mark. "Except that the 
 date has been altered from Tuesday to Thursday. You 
 would not examine that, of course, and it has been very 
 carefully done; but if you hold it sloping to the light 
 you will see that it is so." 
 
 Wynne turned the paper slantwise. "Yes, I do see, 
 and I wish with all my heart I had held it over till I 
 had consulted you." 
 
 "Oh, not at all," said Mark. 
 
 He stood up. 
 
 "Sorry to have made a fuss. You were, of course, 
 entirely correct in your action. I shall not take any 
 steps in the matter. Let it stand as it is." 
 
 "No withdrawal?" 
 
 "Ah ! that is not in my hands. I dare say I am not your 
 first caller, am I?" Wynne hesitated. "Don't answer: 
 I'm not asking any questions. I have heard nothing 
 myself so far, but then no one except Mr. Mallinson 
 knows I am in town." Mark smiled ; he could imagine 
 that the telephone bell at Shotton had been kept going.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 273 
 
 "If they come to you, show them these letters and say 
 what you said to me. Don't point out the alteration in 
 the date, please. I shall be, as a personal favor, grate- 
 ful if you will forget my coming here. My hands are 
 tied." He did not know how haughtily he spoke, nor 
 how unwaveringly certain Wynne had grown, in their 
 brief interview, that this man with the clear stern eyes 
 and indifferent manner had never been for sale. "Be- 
 cause you're in it with me, I have said more to you than 
 I shall say to any one else. But you are clear. You 
 understand, Mr. Wynne, I take all responsibility and re- 
 fuse all explanation." 
 
 "That shall be as you wish," said Wynne. 
 
 The rest of that morning passed like a nightmare. 
 By the time Mark got back to his flat, the official world 
 had found out that he was in town, and the only occu- 
 pation left him was to sit in his chair and refuse to 
 answer questions. Theoretically it should be easy to say, 
 "I have no explanation to give you," but in practice, in 
 the teeth of indignant authority, Mark found his posi- 
 tion very nearly untenable. He stuck to it, because he 
 had nothing whatever to gain by telling the ridiculous 
 truth : but he was reminded of the tortures of Sing-Sing. 
 Henham kept the journalists at bay. But Henham could 
 not bar out the sardonic humor of Lord Vere, Arthur 
 Sturt's friend and Lawrence Sturt's godfather: or Con- 
 sidine Sturt, who had motored up from Buckingham- 
 shire to get his cousin's denial; or the gray-haired, hot- 
 tempered Premier, striding in to know "what the devil 
 this means, sir?" or Lauderdale's private secretary, silk- 
 enly hinting that in the long run it pays a man better 
 to be true to his salt. . . . 
 
 Mallinson himself appeared shortly after twelve, and 
 then Mark's cup of gall was full. Mallinson was an 
 old man, and the fracas had shaken him. He was not
 
 274 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 suspicious, he was not even angry ; he murmured, "Thank 
 you, my dear boy," when Mark, dropping his guard of 
 indifference, put him into a screened chair by the fire 
 and asked after his neuritis; but he was extremely hard 
 to face. He took for granted that the letter had been 
 stolen. "And I don't like to say much, Mark, because 
 I recognize that it is worse for you than for me; but 
 I feel I do feel that you should have been more care- 
 ful. I should have told you to burn it if I had thought 
 there was any danger of your leaving it about. It it 
 really does make things so very awkward! How am I 
 ever to look any of them in the face again? If it had 
 been in my official style I could have borne it better, 
 but the personalities are too too terrible. A man doesn't 
 want to make enemies at my time of life. Do you sup- 
 pose Maude or Eley will ever speak to me again ? Never 
 mind! Never mind! Only tell me how it happened." 
 And Mark longed to make a clean breast of it. But to 
 tell Mallinson the truth and bind him to silence would 
 be only dragging Mallinson after him into the mud, and 
 for the tenth time that morning Mark gave his stiff, 
 curt version of the affair. It brought Mallinson to his 
 feet. "Wynne not to blame ? You take the blame ? . . . 
 No explanation to offer ? But that is absurd ! You must 
 know how you came to lose it. I don't understand what 
 you mean by an 'authorization.' You are not going to 
 tell me that you intended Wynne to print that letter?" 
 
 Standing with his back to the wall, Mark swore in- 
 wardly that he would not speak, no, not till the inves- 
 tigation was over. In six months' time Mallinson should 
 know all. So long as he, like Mark, was liable to be 
 badgered in cross-examination, it was better for him to 
 be able to say, "I wash my hands of Sturt. He will tell 
 me nothing." Which was, in effect, much what Mallin- 
 son did say. . . . "But you ought to explain. You have
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 275 
 
 no right to refuse. No, Sturt, no : I can't see eye to eye 
 with you here. I suppose you're shielding some one, 
 but if it were your own brother you would not have any 
 right to shield him. You owe it to all of us as well as 
 to yourself to speak out." 
 
 When Mallinson had limped out of the study, Mark 
 laid his head down on his folded arms and groaned. He 
 was a proud man; till that hour he had never known 
 how deeply pride had struck its roots in him, pride in 
 his ancient name, in his unspotted personal honor. He 
 had never given any man a chance to accuse him of a 
 betrayed confidence or a broken word. But now? By 
 now the clubs and country-houses were humming with 
 the news of Mark Sturt's amazing indiscretion. He had 
 enough faith in his own reputation to be sure that many 
 of those who knew him would at least suspend judg- 
 ment. There would be a rush for the later editions, 
 and their columns would be scanned for his disclaimer. 
 But when no disclaimer followed when it was whis- 
 pered that Wynne held Sturt's written authority what 
 then? What would his own verdict have been? "Got 
 at," and a shrug of the shoulders. "Squared by the wire- 
 pullers. Press money probably the Merridew gang." 
 The Merridew newspaper ring had corrupted bigger men 
 than Mark Sturt. 
 
 But, though he winced, he was not a bit the more in- 
 clined to explain himself. Society is no sentimentalist, 
 and in its rule of thumb judgments probability of fact 
 takes precedence of probability of character; if he could 
 bring himself to tell the ridiculous truth, all London 
 would laugh at him, and four-fifths of London would 
 not believe a word of it. A great wave of scorn and 
 healthy anger went over Mark as he reached that fortify- 
 ing conclusion. He defend himself? He, with the sol- 
 dier's discipline in his blood, stoop to an excuse? He, a
 
 276 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Sturt, confess the slips of his private life to Wynne the 
 journalist, or to Lauderdale's sneering secretary? 
 "'Never!" said Mark with glimmering eyes. Better set 
 his back to the wall and fight it out ; and in this frame 
 of mind he rang for Henham and ordered a solid lunch 
 and bottled beer. . . . Well: but it was hard luck to 
 have to fight, and fight for his life, because once in thir- 
 teen years he had slipped as other men slip every day. 
 That wild-cat Jenny! 
 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make whips to scourge us. 
 
 Mark startled Henham by laughing aloud as he shook 
 out his table napkin. He had just remembered the vaunt 
 on which he had gone to sleep overnight. "Why didn't 
 I touch wood?" he reflected. He was impenitent, but he 
 was not blind to the poetic justice of her betrayal. Done 
 with Jenny Essenden, had he? Till his life's end Mark 
 was not to have done with Jenny Essenden. 
 
 The day wore on. After lunch Mark determined to 
 keep to his original plan of going down to Shotton, and 
 he left the flat soon after two o'clock, directing Henham 
 to summon him by telephone if any urgent message came 
 from Mr. Mallinson, and swung off for Waterloo on foot 
 to get a breath of air. The first man he saw when he 
 turned into Victoria Street was Grayson-Drew, the Chief 
 Whip, whirling past in an open car. Mark automatically 
 raised his hat to his official superior, and Grayson-Drew 
 put up two fingers in a stiff unsmiling acknowledgment. 
 Mark swung round and stood for a moment following 
 the car with his eyes. A foretaste, this, of what he had 
 to expect? If he had not taken the initiative, Grayson- 
 Drew would have cut him. Mark walked on with a 
 glowing heart ; he swore he would not take the initiative 
 again. Well, what wonder if the party organizers were
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN . 277 
 
 in a rage? there must be dire confusion that day in the 
 Government camp. It would have mattered less had 
 Mallinson been less indispensable, or had his luckless 
 letter been less damningly and comically indiscreet. The 
 Liberal government could not get on without him, and 
 yet how was he to go on working with the distinguished 
 colleague whom he had described as suffering from golf- 
 ing degeneration of the brain ? 
 
 Meanwhile, not desiring any more casual meetings till 
 his position should be defined and regularized, Mark got 
 into a taxi and was driven the rest of the way. But in 
 town, even in the week after Christmas, one cannot es- 
 cape one's friends. When Mark had settled himself with 
 a pipe and the Badminton in the corner of a smoking 
 carriage, he saw coming up to the door another man 
 whom he had known more or less intimately on sporting 
 terms for the last ten years. French had put his foot 
 on the step when he caught sight of Mark buried behind 
 the tall magazine. He drew back swiftly and passed on 
 to another compartment. 
 
 It was a bitter, dark afternoon when Mark got out at 
 Shotton. The frost of New Year's Eve had never 
 thawed, and the country was masked in snow, feature- 
 less save where patches of wood, stripped by the sud- 
 den gale on New Year's night, stood up black and bare. 
 Overhead the clouds lay packed, rank on rank, no light, 
 not even a western rift, breaking through their black- 
 ened fleeces; thick and low they stooped over the land, 
 while all along the northern horizon copper-colored gloom, 
 dotted with grayish-white puffs of moister vapor, rolled 
 upwards like the smoke of war. There was no cab to 
 be had, and no car had come to meet him because he 
 had not named the time of his arrival, and Mark tramped 
 the twilit miles to Shotton in a frame of mind not ill 
 suited to his surroundings. "Think hard, Mark: think
 
 278 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 like the devil." He remembered that caution as he turned 
 in at the gate. He had thought hard, and had believed 
 himself to have guarded every avenue of danger, but the 
 worst of it was that Mrs. Essenden had begun thinking 
 earlier. 
 
 Mark reached the house and let himself in by the open 
 door. Footmen came forward to take his hat and stick, 
 and Mark wondered whether they knew all about him; 
 no doubt the Journal was taken in the servants' hall. 
 He asked for Mrs. Ferrier; she was out driving with 
 Miss Archdale, but Mr. Ferrier and most of the other 
 gentlemen were in the gun-room. Mark nodded and 
 strolled forward, opening the door. ". . . I'd give a 
 year of my life to have seen old Maude's face. . . ." 
 Ferrier's dropped sentence and the hush which fell all 
 over the room told Mark that his own affairs had been 
 under discussion. Oddly enough, till that moment it 
 had not occurred to him that at Shotton, among his per- 
 sonal friends, in the circle that he had left not six and 
 thirty hours ago, he could suffer any embarrassment. 
 
 Through the firelit dark he recognized the more famil- 
 iar figures; Charles Ferrier with his lean gypsy face 
 standing back to the hearth, his hands deep in his trouser 
 pockets ; Roderick Earle lounging on a couch ; Harry 
 Forester posted in the window-seat ; Lawrence Sturt sit- 
 ting with folded arms on the edge of a table, one breeched 
 and booted leg cocked over a neighboring chair. Mark 
 came into the room, and found that he had not the faint- 
 est idea what to say to any of them. He drew up, and 
 the color a man's rare, heavy blush that seems to scorch 
 the skin under which it passes went over his 
 face and neck from the line of his collar to the line of 
 his hair. 
 
 "Hullo!" said Ferrier, coming forward swiftly and 
 holding out his hand. "Here you are, Mark ! 'Fraid you
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 279 
 
 had a beastly walk up from the station. We couldn't 
 send to meet you because we had no notion of the train." 
 
 "I expect it was a mistake for me to come at all," 
 said Mark simply. "I have to apologize, Ferrier. Some- 
 how it never struck me." 
 
 "Rot," said Ferrier, flushing, and, "Oh, rot!" said 
 Earle, getting unexpectedly off his sofa. "Come and 
 have a whisky and soda, Sturt excuse me, Charles 
 you've had a rough day." 
 
 Lawrence had not budged hitherto, but when the other 
 men gathered round Mark he too came forward, part- 
 ing his way between them, and dropped his hand on 
 Mark's shoulder. "Get it over," he said in the deepened 
 tones that were his only betrayal of strong feeling. 
 "Come ! the cat's out of the bag we know the text, you 
 may as well let us hear the commentary. You never sent 
 that letter, Mark. Who did?" 
 
 "The letter to the Journal?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Own up : don't be a fool !" It was Law- 
 rence's eternal cry, "Don't be a silly ass !" "Oh, Mark, 
 don't shirk your fences ! It isn't good enough ; it simply 
 is not good enough. Defend yourself : you owe more 
 
 to the family than to Keep your own name out of 
 
 the mud and let the rest go to the devil." 
 
 Mark held his peace for a couple of breaths. He 
 knew what Lawrence wanted no details, not even 
 Jenny's name. Every man in that room could have filled 
 up some sort of detail for himself. He was not even re- 
 quired to say "A woman betrayed me" ; he had only to 
 say "I was betrayed." Lawrence himself would have 
 entered either plea without scruple ; and indeed so would 
 Mark, so far as the traitress was concerned. It was 
 not pity for Jenny for that matter, what would Jenny 
 care? nor chivalry, nor any lingering sense of obliga- 
 tion to the life once mixed with his own that held Mark
 
 280 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 back from speech, but sheer stubborn pride. He could 
 stand any obloquy and it was hourly becoming clearer 
 to him that he would have a good deal to stand sooner 
 than confess how Jenny had fooled him. 
 
 "I have nothing to explain," he said quietly. "Wynne 
 holds my authorization." 
 
 "To print Mallinson's letter? Wynne holds a permit 
 from you?" 
 
 "He does, indeed." 
 
 "Were you drunk?" 
 
 "We'll defer this discussion for the present, Law- 
 rence." 
 
 "Defer it as long as you like," said Lawrence. 
 
 He turned his back on Mark, took out his cigar case, 
 and lit a cigar. Mark watched him in silence, a silence 
 which none of the other men attempted to break. These 
 men knew Mark he was of their blood and class; they 
 had knocked about with him for years in the loose in- 
 timacy of covert, moor, and camp, and they represented, 
 not the unbiased cynicism of London, but the shrewd 
 faith that is begotten by danger out of hardship the 
 careless and inarticulate freemasonry that will damn one 
 man by a shrug of the shoulders and stand by another 
 to the death. A word, and Mark could have had them 
 on his side through thick and thin; but, as a point of 
 personal preference, he would sooner have died where 
 he stood than speak that word. 
 
 He turned again to Ferrier. "Really I'm very sorry: 
 I wouldn't have inflicted our family squabbles on you if 
 I'd foreseen them, but, as you know, it has all happened 
 so quickly that I've hardly got my bearings yet. I'll 
 say good-by, Ferrier; I shan't see you again for some 
 months to come." 
 
 "Going off?" said Ferrier. "Dare say you're wise. 
 Explanations are futile things. Better wait for the row
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 281 
 
 to blow over." He hesitated, then went on with a visible 
 effort. "All the same, if you'll forgive my saying so, 
 none of us who know you will accept the crude state- 
 ment of the case which is apparently all you're going to 
 give us. Publicly, I suppose we shall be bound to take 
 the facts at their face value; but, if it's any consolation 
 to you, we all know there's something behind." 
 
 "Amen!" said his brother-in-law. "Although I'm not 
 your brother and I haven't known you as long as Ferrier 
 has, I should like, if I may, to endorse what Ferrier 
 says." 
 
 "Thank you," said Mark awkwardly. 
 
 He shook hands with Earle, included Lawrence among 
 the other men in a slight bow, and came out into the 
 hall, followed by Ferrier. "I hear Dodo is out with Miss 
 Archdale," said Mark, dropping into a more ordinary 
 manner as soon as he was alone with Ferrier. "Have 
 you any idea how soon they'll be in?" 
 
 "In half no time, I should say. Listen! aren't those 
 wheels in the avenue?" 
 
 As he went to the door, Dodo's high dogcart drew up 
 before it. Mark waited in the darkened hall, where no 
 candles had yet been lit because of Dodo's liking for 
 long twilights and firelights. He heard his own name 
 in a brief exchange of speech between husband and wife. 
 Then the two women came in together, Ferrier follow- 
 ing, and Mark went slowly forward. He remembered 
 afterwards the appeal of Dodo's upturned face, white 
 and scared; but after the first preoccupied greeting it 
 was not to Dodo that he addressed himself. He forgot 
 Dodo, forgot Ferrier, forgot everything in the isolation 
 of his rising fury. 
 
 "How d'ye do, Miss Archdale? So sorry to bother 
 you when you haven't had any tea, but my time is short. 
 May I see you for ten minutes ?"
 
 282 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Maisie strolled over to the great hearth, slowly pulling 
 off her gloves. She glanced up at him with her clear 
 cold eyes, steady as a fencer's blade. 
 
 "Of course you may, Mr. Sturt. Don't go, Dodo: Mr. 
 Sturt doesn't want to see me privately." 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 She smiled and slightly shook her head. 
 
 "You'll remember that I have a right to insist." 
 
 "I'm sorry that I can't recognize any right of yours. 
 I'm very sorry about about everything; it's all most 
 unfortunate, and I wouldn't willingly do anything to 
 make it harder for you. But I won't see you privately." 
 
 "Are you afraid of me?" 
 
 "Do you think that likely?" 
 
 "I think you ought to be. I am a tolerant fellow, 
 Maisie, and I have given you a long rope, but you came 
 to the end of my patience two nights ago, here on that 
 staircase. God knows what you meant by it, I don't. I 
 swore to myself that evening that I would have an ex- 
 planation out of you, or, failing that, cut my own way 
 out of the tangle once for all. Are you going to refuse 
 me an explanation?" 
 
 "Yes, I refuse." 
 
 "As you please." A door opened behind him,; the 
 men were coming out of the gun-room. Mark did not 
 even turn his head to see who they were. He was desper- 
 ate strung up to the point at which a man does not 
 care who hears what he says; but if he had been as cool 
 as he seemed he would still have held on his way. "But 
 in that case, since I'm not going till I've said what I came 
 to say, you force me to speak before others." 
 
 She tried to escape towards the stairs. Mark stopped 
 her. But he felt Ferrier's hand on his arm. "Mark, 
 old fellow, you can't " 
 
 "Let me alone," said Mark: "she is my wife."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 283 
 
 He addressed himself again to Maisie. "Before you 
 married me you gave me leave to make the marriage pub- 
 lic if necessary. In my judgment, it has become neces- 
 sary, because I'm going away to-night, and I refuse to 
 leave you in your present absurd and anomalous position. 
 It is not fitting that my wife should pass for an unmar- 
 ried woman. To-night I shall send the dated announce- 
 ment to the papers." 
 
 "Sorry," Maisie murmured with the old good-humored 
 irony, glancing past Mark to Dodo Ferrier. "It is quite 
 true. I married him last July." 
 
 "And if I were to die," Mark went on, "the truth 
 would have to come out, because, though this fact does 
 not seem ever to have struck you, men in my position 
 don't get married without making settlements on their 
 wives. So that I was obliged to take my lawyers into 
 my confidence, last July. You wanted the marriage kept 
 secret, for reasons which I didn't dispute then, and don't 
 dispute now." Carefully and plainly, Mark scored his 
 points for the benefit of the jury. "You have from start 
 to finish acted, from a woman's point of view, in an open 
 and honorable way; I don't grumble at anything, ex- 
 cept, perhaps, your having forced me into this disagree- 
 ably public explanation. But your point of view is not 
 mine. I ought to have protected you from your own 
 ignorance." 
 
 "Thank you. All this happened six months ago. Why 
 have you suddenly wakened up to your duty?" 
 
 "I can't imagine why I didn't wake up to it long ago. 
 At all events I'm going to do it now. I dare say you 
 think that after what has lately happened I ought to take 
 myself out of your life with as little fuss as possible. I 
 wish I could think so too: believe me, I should prefer it. 
 But marriage is a bond that can't be lightly broken. It 
 is a poor bargain for you, I know : you're richer than I
 
 284 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 am, and after selling my party I can't even offer you a 
 decent name." He curbed himself ; he was half mad 
 with rage and pain, but he was not going to stoop to 
 irony. "For all that, you are my wife. I came here to- 
 night to ask you to leave Shotton with me." 
 
 "Here and now? Straight out with you into the 
 snow ?" 
 
 "Here and now," said Mark, holding out his hands. 
 When Maisie laid her own in them he believed that he 
 had conquered. He drew her towards him, looking 
 down into her eyes with the strange gay smile of the man 
 who has snatched victory out of defeat. "I'll give you 
 ten minutes to get on your snowboots, Maisie." 
 
 "Ah! I shouldn't mind the snow." 
 
 "Well, will you come?" 
 
 "No." She added, so low that Mark himself barely 
 heard, "Take Mrs. Essenden." 
 
 She made him gasp for breath, but he was too well 
 drilled to betray by any definite sign how cruelly she had 
 hit him. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" he cried. 
 
 "But for that I would have come, Mark." 
 
 "Well, I am done," said Mark with clenched hands. 
 "If, knowing what you know, you think you have the 
 right !" He broke off, and shrugged his shoulders. 
 "That finishes everything. I have nothing more to say. 
 But you'll not continue to pass under your maiden name. 
 You'll acknowledge me as your husband. You'll sign 
 yourself Maisie Sturt in future." 
 
 "Certainly, if you like." 
 
 "Good-by." 
 
 "Good-by, Mark." 
 
 At the door Mark turned, drawing himself up for a 
 last glance. The hall was still pervaded by the silence 
 of sheer astonishment. Dodo leaned against Charles Fer-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 285 
 
 rier's arm, holding a handkerchief to her eyes. Maisie 
 stood by the fire, smoothing out her gloves, and looking 
 down with stern thoughtful glance into the gold and ruby 
 of the flames. In the background the white sharp face 
 of Lawrence Sturt jeered at him out of the shadows. 
 The same ironic commentary that had mocked him when 
 he looked up out of the pains of death to find his brother 
 kneeling over him in that fly-haunted pit at St. filoi. 
 "O passi graviora," he could hear Lawrence saying, "for- 
 san et haec olim. . . ." 
 
 But this was worse than that.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 HpHREE hours later Mark let himself into his flat, 
 JL where he found Henham waiting. 
 
 "Any more people called, Henham?" 
 
 "No, sir. Well, no one to speak of. One or two gen- 
 tlemen connected with the Press, that was all. I had a 
 job to get rid of them." 
 
 "Oh, you're an invaluable fellow. Well, now get me 
 something to eat, and then I shall want you to pack for 
 me. I'm leaving town to-morrow, and I shall want you 
 to stay on here for a bit and look after the place." 
 
 "Yessir." 
 
 "I shall probably be away a good long time. I'll ar- 
 range for you to draw your money as usual. I shall want 
 my guns and fishing tackle." 
 
 "Yessir." 
 
 "If any one should turn up to-night, say I'm not at 
 home." 
 
 "If Captain Sturt should come, sir?" 
 
 "I won't see him." 
 
 "Or Father de Trafford?" 
 
 "Nor him either." 
 
 "Or if if a lady was to call, sir?" 
 
 "Good God!" said Mark, with a sudden burst of 
 laughter, "if a lady calls, put the chain up." 
 
 Mark went into his bedroom. He was not one to col- 
 lect litter, but no man can live seven years in a spot with- 
 out gathering a few personal trifles about him; letters, 
 memoranda, things of no value but for their associations. 
 Mark had not much, but he came across a dozen photo- 
 
 286
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 287 
 
 graphs of Lawrence and some of his letters, and one note 
 from Maisie which he had discovered under a pebble on 
 the window-sill at Ushant one morning when he returned 
 rather late from a stroll to find the cottage empty. "Dear 
 Mark, Don't turn your steps towards the cove, I've gone 
 down there to bathe. Put some coal on if the fire looks 
 low, I've stacked on all I cd. but it's not a big enough 
 grate. M." Lawrence and Maisie's letters went to- 
 gether into the flames, and Mark stamped them down 
 with the heel of his boot. He had not much sentiment 
 left in him, but he had enough to be glad when they 
 were burned. 
 
 He returned to the living-room, where Henham was 
 waiting to serve dinner. Wonderful man, Henham ! He 
 could not have expected Mark home that night, and yet 
 in forty minutes he had got ready an admirable meal, 
 with claret of the right temperature and Mark's favorite 
 hors d'ccuvre. Between two courses, when Henham had 
 left the room, a point of recollection pricked Mark's 
 mind, and he rose at once and went to a cabinet by the 
 window. He had just remembered having left in it a new 
 automatic pistol which Bannatyne had recently sent home 
 to him, and which he and Henham had been examining 
 together. They had been testing the mechanism, which 
 was of a novel design, and Mark knew that they had 
 left the weapon loaded; a careless act, witness many a 
 coroner's inquest. Henham of course knew his way 
 about, but a loaded Browning is not a safe thing to keep 
 loose in empty rooms. But, when Mark went to draw 
 the charge, he stood weighing the toy in his hand with a 
 very odd expression. It was already drawn. At that 
 moment Henham came in with coffee and a benedictine. 
 . . . Mark looked at him : not an eyelash flickered, 
 though he certainly saw his master standing by the open 
 cabinet with the unloaded pistol in his hand.
 
 288 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "There are a lot of other weapons on the wall, Hen- 
 ham," said Mark. 
 
 "Yessir," Henham agreed, sweeping a crumb from 
 the table. "But they don't come so 'andy like." 
 
 Mark returned to the fire, his coffee, and a pipe. Hen- 
 ham retired in his own noiseless fashion, and Mark let 
 his eyes rove over the stand of weapons that filled the 
 length of the wall. There was every variety of cutting 
 and stabbing implement, from the paralyzing poison-dart 
 of the Tsavo jungle to the eight-foot spear of the Dyak, 
 but there were no guns. Decidedly Henham showed 
 judgment; the crook of a finger round a hair-trigger is 
 a swifter and a neater trick than disemboweling oneself, 
 say, with a Japanese sword. Mark's mind ought to 
 have been fixed upon the wreck of his political and matri- 
 monial career, but instead of that he found himself 
 ruminating over Henham, and wondering whether there 
 had ever been a Mrs. Henham or a little Henham junior. 
 He did not know one single fact about Henham's private 
 life not even his Christian name. 
 
 The door reopened, and Henham himself appeared 
 but such a harassed and agitated Henham as Mark had 
 never seen before. "I beg your pardon for disturbing 
 you, sir," he panted out as respectfully as his breathless 
 state allowed, "but there there is a lady to see you, sir, 
 and I I couldn't stop her coming in ' 
 
 Mark was on his feet with a bound : he had a flying 
 memory of Lawrence's cautionary note, and the thought 
 struck him that it might be needed. "Where is she?" 
 
 "Sir, it's it isn't Mrs. Essenden " 
 
 It was not Jenny Essenden : it was Maisie Sturt. 
 
 She stood in the doorway, towering over Henham's 
 shoulder : no wonder he had not been able to keep her 
 out! She was in her sable suit again, cap and coat and 
 fur-bordered gauntlets : but where had she been and
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 289 
 
 what had she been doing ? Coat and cap and skirt, every 
 garment down to her gaiters and boots was powdered 
 thick with snow; her jacket was unfastened as usual over 
 her bare throat, and the snow had eddied in against her 
 skin ; a wreath of snow lay in the folds of her veil. Shut- 
 ting the door on Henham's discomfiture, she came to the 
 fire and began to strip off her out-of-door clothes, shak- 
 ing into the hearth their white drifts, which the warmth 
 of Mark's room was fast thawing into rivulets that 
 dripped round her in a pool on the floor. 
 
 "Maisie!" said Mark, stupefied. "Is it you? How 
 how did you get here?'* 
 "I motored." 
 
 "Motored up from Shotton? In an open car? You 
 don't mean you drove yourself ?" 
 
 "Yes ; the last train had gone and it was a very bad 
 night, and I couldn't drag a man out. I took my own 
 little run-about that was stabled at the inn. What does 
 it signify? I had powerful head-lamps." 
 
 "Your dress is saturated. You'll get rheumatic fever 
 if you sit in those clothes." 
 
 He knelt to unfasten her boots: they were wet the 
 little run-about was not designed to face the storms of 
 a winter night, and apparently the snow had drifted in 
 round her legs all the way. Maisie let him take them 
 off, while she herself removed the drenched cap and 
 veil. Her hair was still dressed for the evening, a pearl 
 comb set high among its shining puffs and coils ; she had 
 apparently flung on her furred suit over silk stockings 
 and a white evening gown. "I shall be none the worse," 
 she said. "You know I took no hurt when I got wet at 
 Ushant, and then I ,was soaked to the skin. This is 
 nothing to that, because my motoring clothes are so 
 thick ; see, I'll slip out of them the silk is not wet un- 
 derneath."
 
 290 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 , "Your bodice is wet." Sturt hurried into his bedroom 
 and came back with a coat of his own. "Put this on 
 over it. Why hadn't you the sense to fasten your col- 
 lar?" 
 
 "I donlt know. I never thought about it. Let me sit 
 down by the fire." 
 
 Then he saw that she could hardly stand. He dragged 
 up his own chair for her to sit in, and raked the coals 
 to a blaze. Maisie leaned forward, stretching out her 
 hands to the glow, nestling her bare shoulders into Mark's 
 old coat as if she liked its roomy warmth. 
 
 "No coffee, Mark, thanks no, and a benedictine still 
 less. Come here and let me say what I have to say." 
 
 He leaned one elbow on the mantelpiece and stood 
 looking down at her, the other hand thrust into his 
 pocket. His rather heavy, impassive face was keenly 
 observant and attentive, but it expressed no feeling of 
 any kind neither anger, nor tenderness, nor admiration, 
 nor even curiosity. 
 
 "You don't seem much moved," said Maisie, smiling 
 faintly. "How do you feel like having a gun acci- 
 dent?" 
 
 "Not a bit. It's a smash, certainly, but it will blow 
 over; or, if it didn't, there are other countries in the 
 world besides England. I still have our national resource 
 of killing things." 
 
 "Do you think you'll have to resign your seat?" 
 
 "I shall not have to do so. I have already done 
 so." 
 
 "You would, of course: I might have known that. 
 But if you were nominated again would you stand?" 
 
 "Certainly, if Gatton did me that honor. But I don't 
 think Gatton will." 
 
 "Lawrence thinks they will. He says you took a wise 
 line in refusing to explain."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 291 
 
 "Oh?" said Mark blankly. "I did not gather that 
 opinion from Lawrence this afternoon." 
 
 "He lost his temper. But he said to-night, and Charles 
 Ferrier agreed, that in the long run you'll score by it. 
 No explanation is better than a lame defense. After all, 
 the bribe theory doesn't cover the facts. Where is 
 the bribe? You lose the chance of office and your 
 seat." 
 
 "I see." Mark's tone was dry; he did not care to 
 discuss his brother. When he remembered the scene in 
 the gun-room, a desire to hit Lawrence ached in his arm 
 like cramp. 
 
 "Of course I know who did it. She has smashed up 
 your career out of revenge." 
 
 "How do you come to know anything about Mrs. Es- 
 senden ?" 
 
 She passed by that question. "And, after all, it's not 
 your career that you mind about, is it? It's the breach 
 of confidence, the failure in honor towards Mr. Mallin- 
 son. I know how proud you are, and how sensitive about 
 a thing like that." 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 "Very : and deadly reserved, too, and rather shy, under 
 the drilled manner. You've schooled yourself to go 
 through with things, but you feel them acutely, and a 
 stab like this, which touches your personal honor, is 
 what you can least stand. Oh ! outsiders won't see all 
 that, but I'm not precisely an outsider, and no more is 
 Mrs. Essenden. She knows you through and through, 
 that's why she chose this particular form of revenge." 
 
 "Sheer chance. She took the first weapon that came 
 to hand." 
 
 "She could have struck twenty times before. She 
 held her hand till she could strike right up under your 
 armor."
 
 292 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Mark did not answer, but his expression remained no 
 less coldly attentive and polite. 
 
 "And you're going away when? To-morrow?" He 
 nodded. "Where shall you go Central Africa?" 
 
 "Central Africa?" Sturt laughed. "Oh, no Central 
 Africa is where you go to meet all your friends. I shall 
 drop -off the edge of civilization. I'm not keen on meet- 
 ing my friends although, as you say, the bribe theory 
 doesn't cover the facts." 
 
 "I am very sorry abo,ut.it all, Mark very sorry." 
 
 "So you said to-night." 
 
 "I behaved very badly to you." 
 
 "Not at all," said Mark politely. 
 
 "And now you are not going to forgive me," said 
 Maisie. She covered her eyes with her hand. 
 
 "Don't cry," said Mark. "It isn't worth it. You 
 had much better have a benedictine, it will pull you to- 
 gether a bit." 
 
 "I am not crying: and you needn't be afraid I shan't 
 make you any scene. Believe me, I am not one of the 
 women who make scenes. I rather wish I were, you 
 would probably understand me better if I did. Are you 
 angry with me for coming here ?" 
 
 "Certainly not. You seem to forget that you're my 
 wife. You have every right to come here, and to say 
 anything you like to me. What is it you want to say? 
 You'll feel happier when you've gone through with it, 
 and, for that matter, so shall I. It's getting late, isn't 
 it? You must be tired." 
 
 "You hate me for understanding, you hate my coming 
 here," said Maisie, turning her head away. "But it is 
 not my fault that I'm here. I came under orders." 
 
 "Whose Mrs. Ferrier's ?" 
 
 "Would she meddle? No: some one who knows you 
 better than Dodo or I do. Lawrence made me come : so,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 293 
 
 if you're angry and I know you are, though you say 
 you aren't be angry with him." 
 "Lawrence!" 
 
 "We had a short explanation after you left. He way- 
 laid me on the landing, and we had it out together in 
 my room. I told him how I married you, and he told me 
 about Mrs. Essenden's peculiar catholicity of taste. No, 
 it wasn't a conventional dialogue : but Lawrence is not 
 prudishly conventional, is he? He was angry, if you 
 like. He said his usual motto was never to interfere with 
 another man's horse, or his gun, or his wife; but that 
 you and I were such fools that there was nothing for 
 it but for some kind friend to knock our heads together." 
 
 "I recognize Lawrence in the turn of that phrase. He 
 can always manage other people's business better than 
 his own." 
 
 "He advised I may say he ordered me to come up 
 by the first train to-morrow morning and confess to 
 you; but I couldn't face a night's inaction." 
 
 "I owe him one for that," said Mark, smiling and 
 giving a little twist to his mustache. 
 
 "Oh, I can't stand this," said Maisie under her breath. 
 "I can't, Mark, I can't." 
 
 "If it will make things easier for you, I believe I know 
 what you're trying to say." 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 "That, feeling yourself partly responsible for the ruin 
 of my career, you are prepared to let bygones be by- 
 gones and accompany me into exile. Isn't that the way 
 of it?" 
 
 "More or less." 
 
 "Then, with all possible gratitude both to Lawrence 
 and to yourself, I beg to state that I have changed my 
 mind and I decline the honor." 
 
 The choice of words, the smile, the undisguised and
 
 294 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 penetrating sneer brought Maisie to her feet. "Is that 
 meant for an insult?" 
 
 "Anything you like." 
 
 "Well, you are pretty badly hit, then," said Maisie. 
 
 She faced him with her direct eyes and deer-like car- 
 riage of the head, as she had faced him long ago in the 
 fields at Shotton. "And that is my fault ; it was through 
 me you fell into Mrs. Essenden's toils; but for me you 
 would have gone on living the old, hardy life. Now you 
 shall have the truth. You are a proud man, aren't you? 
 I'm proud too. You haven't been very generous to me 
 this evening. I don't wonder; you've had a great deal 
 to chafe you to-day, and you're tired and out of humor, 
 and the last thing you want is a scene of sentiment. Be- 
 lieve me, if it is disagreeable to you, it is no less so to 
 me. I must say what I came to say, not only because I 
 promised Lawrence, but because it has to be said. I've 
 done so very wrong I've wronged you so deeply that 
 there's nothing left for me now but to put myself into 
 your hands. I must I must stand up to my punish- 
 ment." She was on her feet, white as death, facing him 
 in her silk and pearls and crushed tulle as he could 
 have imagined her facing enemy rifles. "Will you will 
 you promise to hear me out not to interrupt the tale? 
 I can't I can't finish if you do." 
 
 "I promise." 
 
 "Thank you. Haven't you often wanted to ask me 
 why I married you?" 
 
 "Occasionally." 
 
 "Ask now." 
 
 "Why did you marry me?" 
 
 "Because I loved you." 
 
 "Because you ?" 
 
 "Because I loved you. Oh ! don't don't laugh, Mark, 
 will you?" She cowered down, but only for a moment.
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 295 
 
 "There never was any other reason at all. I loved you, 
 not better than my honor, as Mrs. Essenden said, but far 
 better than my pride. Oh! no, you promised!" Sturt, 
 deeply flushed, would have stopped her. "Have patience 
 with me this once, you ought to know how you stand." 
 She waited for a moment, struggling for quiet breath, 
 while Mark fell back into impassivity ; the firelight played 
 on her slight foot in its clocked stocking, on her gleam- 
 ing silks, on the white shoulders bare under Mark's serge 
 coat. Outside, over the dark roofs of London, a north 
 wind rushed along laden with snow, thundering in Mark's 
 chimney and raving round his curtained windows. 
 Had she headed her car, then, sixty miles into that 
 blinding gale to face this harder firelit scene at the end 
 of it? 
 
 "I cared from the first day I saw you, which you 
 don't remember, but I do; Lawrence was telling me 
 Andean tales under the beech trees, and you came up 
 to us over the grass, and Lawrence said 'My brother.' 
 And I said to myself, 'Heavens ! am I going to care for 
 that man?' It was a a fatality, Mark. These things 
 happen, don't they ? It wasn't a girl's fancy. One could 
 imagine a young girl falling in love with Lawrence, say, 
 because of his extraordinary looks, or because of his 
 reputation. But you're not Lawrence, and I'm not a 
 young girl. It was a a torment. One can't fight against 
 one's stars. And you? you were the only man in the 
 house that never looked at me, though heaven knows I 
 took pains enough to make you. You thought I was 
 amusing myself, didn't you? You were out in that guess, 
 my friend : but you drove me mad and I didn't always 
 know what I was doing." 
 
 Sturt moved restlessly and kicked the brands together; 
 she was trying him high. 
 
 "It was all done in that one evening, the evening Law-
 
 296 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 rence told me you were going to America. When I heard 
 that, I think I went mad. Anything may happen in six 
 months. You might have got killed or you might have 
 got married. Oh! I know now it was unpardonable. 
 Heavens ! when I look back to five months ago it seems 
 to me I was nothing but a child. I knew things with 
 my mind, with my intelligence, but I didn't see where 
 they led. Inexperienced women don't. I never had the 
 dimmest inkling of what Ushant would mean for you. I 
 never thought I was doing you any wrong. I knew Law- 
 rence and Dodo wanted you to marry me. I was blind 
 with vanity, I suppose, for I never doubted no, I don't 
 think I once doubted that I could make you care for me 
 if I could once have you to myself. Like a child, I 
 wouldn't tell you any lies, but I told you half-truths. I 
 offered you a week at Ushant, but it was in my mind that 
 before the week was up I'd make you love me so that 
 you would never let me go. Do you remember what I 
 told you at Ushant?" 
 
 "About your brother?" 
 
 "Ah ! you do remember." The shadow of a smile flitted 
 through her eyes. "I'm glad I don't want you to hate 
 me. Then you'll remember I had not had much happi- 
 ness in my life. I was very lonely; no, worse than lonely 
 solitary. I love my friends, but I don't find it easy to 
 talk to them. I did long for some one to hold on to, some 
 one I could touch when I couldn't talk to him . . . and 
 I used to think . . . just to touch you, Mark, not say- 
 ing anything. . . . Ushant was sin. I know that now. 
 But I didn't know it then. I never knew till that first 
 night in the cottage. I never knew what shame meant, 
 till then. You put me to shame then, as you're doing 
 now. But I'm yours, to take or leave." 
 
 "Here !" said Mark, holding out his arms. She came 
 to him. "Leave you? never."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 297 
 
 "Lawrence was right, then? He said you cared for 
 jne." 
 
 "Lawrence was exceedingly right." 
 
 "And you don't despise a woman that has ?" 
 
 "Not a bit. I'm grateful for the honor done me." 
 
 "No satire, Mark: I can't stand it. Remember I'm 
 dying of shame still." 
 
 "Die, then," said Mark with levity. "What do you 
 want ? to be adored ? So you shall be, but give me five 
 minutes to get myself in hand again. I was mad with 
 rage when you came into the room this evening. I've 
 been mad with rage ever since that night on the stairs. 
 I lay up to score off you." 
 
 "You did it," Maisie murmured. 
 
 "And now you want consolation affection what's the 
 trick? What do you think a man's made of? Feel my 
 heart. Now say you're afraid of me?" 
 
 "I'm not." 
 
 "Aren't you? You look as if you were. Sit down, 
 I can't get at you properly. You can hardly stand, you 
 know, and I seem to be half drunk myself." 
 
 He dropped on one knee beside her, taking her into 
 his arms, and the chalice of love, so long desired, was 
 at her lips. Questions framed themselves in Maisie's 
 mind, and died there. "Do you love me more than you 
 loved Jenny? How long have you loved me? Why did 
 you say no at Ushant? Wasn't that because you cared 
 a little even then, too much as well as not enough ?" To 
 some she already knew the answer; others must go for- 
 ever unanswered, for Mark probably could not have 
 answered them, and certainly would not if he could. 
 Many a woman's love is woven in and out of such silence 
 and renunciation, because some men will be bound by 
 no chain but of their own forging, and they will not 
 submit to questions; bitter-sweet, this certitude came to
 
 298 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 Maisie as she drew down Mark's head against her heart, 
 and the tenderness of motherhood was in her eyes, for 
 in the depths of life, below passion, a woman bears her 
 lover as she bears his child, in pain and patience as well 
 as in joy. 
 
 Yes, he was hers : but he came to her in his unimpaired 
 strength and untouched pride, with thirteen years of 
 manhood behind him years of war and trade and sport 
 and politics, years in which he had subdued dangers and 
 difficulties, and tasted strange experiences, and sinned 
 sins that to her were a name only; years in which he 
 had stood alone, never bending his will against his will, 
 never asking or giving a confidence. Yes, he was hers ; 
 but for how long ? Forever ? He had gone from Ushant 
 to Normandy ; were there to be other Normandys in his 
 life? 
 
 Sharp as the point of a sword Jenny Essenden's warn- 
 ing for the thousandth time pierced her, sharp as a bodily 
 pain at her heart; at Shotton and at Ushant she had 
 cheated him out of one prerogative of his manhood 
 the chase, the conquest ; and oh, fool ! in her reckless- 
 ness she had thrown away the armor that innocent women 
 wear as a guard against a man's light thoughts and easy 
 infidelities, not only her own dignity and reticence, but 
 the dignity of Mark Sturt's wife, the reticence traditional 
 among men and women who are trained to endure and 
 forego. Passion obliterates all things, but when passion 
 fades memory returns, and, though she knew that Mark's 
 lips would always be sealed, was it so certain that she 
 would not live to read a memory in his silence? Maisie 
 was not given to weeping, but the poignant tears of re- 
 gret hung on her eyelids now: oh, that regret for what 
 we would undo if we could with our life-blood, but it 
 can never be undone ! 
 
 Yet, he was hers; and as the swift moments ebbed,
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 299 
 
 and there was no sound in the quiet room but Sturt's deep, 
 hurried breathing and the rustle of her own dress when 
 he shifted his clasp, there came to Maisie a broader vision 
 of human life, which builds a nest in heaven out of error 
 and failure and even sin. What did she want, after all, 
 of armor against Mark? She was his own, to love or 
 hate, to hold or leave, to honor or scorn. For othei 4 
 women, other ways of love : this way for her. 
 
 The clock was striking midnight, and the fire had 
 burned down to red embers. 
 
 "Oh, Mark, it's late!" said Maisie. She drew herself 
 slowly out of his arms and held him away from her: an 
 unknown Mark, half dazed, but with the white radiance 
 of passion still visibly lighted in his face. "Oh, Mark, 
 don't look at me like that! I'm not worth it." 
 
 "Aren't you?" 
 
 "Let us be sensible. I ought to see about a room at 
 an hotel. I wonder what your man did with the car 
 and my dressing-case? I suppose I can get in at the 
 Wharton." 
 
 "Get in at the Wharton ?" 
 
 "Why not? I must sleep somewhere, and my own 
 house is shut up." 
 
 "Oh, quite !" said Mark. He began to laugh. "Locked 
 doors what? There's no key here, Maisie: come and 
 see." 
 
 She sprang to her feet. "Oh, Mark, I can't, I can't! 
 I I don't feel a bit married. It's so long ago." 
 
 "So you think you'd like to go to an hotel ?" said Mark 
 with sparkling eyes. He stood up, stretching his cramped 
 limbs ; he was still in his rough homespun, and he threw 
 up his arms and straightened back his shoulders with 
 the easy vigor of the athlete. "Ouf ! I'm tired." He 
 did not look it. "Don't you think you're rather young
 
 300 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 to go without a nurse? You won't have any one to 
 brush your hair for you to-morrow morning, and put 
 your bib on and tie your sash. Ha ha! when you laugh 
 and blush like that you look about fifteen and almost 
 pretty. My darling, you shall do absolutely as you like ; 
 but be generous, Maisie I'm not made of putty, though 
 you seem to think I am. And what's the odds, after 
 all, if you're coming to Central Africa with me to-mor- 
 row?" Bending his head, he raised her hand gently to 
 his lips. "Dear, if you can forgive the mess I've made 
 of things, not only the hash I've made of my political 
 career, but the rotten time I gave you at Ushant, and 
 and all that's happened since if you can forgive all that, 
 are you going to be afraid of me now, Maisie? Recol- 
 lect, you're giving up a lot. It'll blow over in time, as 
 Ferrier said; but for the next year or two it'll be a 
 toss-up between cutting London and being cut by it. 
 Some of our side will never forgive me never;. I've 
 made them look such fools. And I shall never explain. 
 I split with Lawrence over that. They can think what 
 they like and say what they like. Don't fancy I'm doing 
 it to spare Jenny either. I could crush her, if that were 
 all, with no more compunction than killing a fly. It's 
 not for Jenny's sake, it's for my own." 
 
 "And mine," said Maisie. "Do you imagine I want 
 it proclaimed all over London that Mrs. Essenden picked 
 your pocket?" 
 
 "How on earth do you know that ?" 
 
 "Aren't I clever? Anyhow, that is what she did: 
 and I quite agree, my dear boy, that you had better hold 
 your tongue about it. You don't come out of it at all 
 well." 
 
 "Not at all. Maisie, did Mrs. Essenden go to see 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, she did."
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 301 
 
 "At Shotton?" 
 
 "Yes, the night Lawrence arrived. The night I met 
 you on the stairs, dear." 
 
 "Oh, damn the woman !" said Mark between his teeth. 
 
 "Leave her," said Maisie. "In point of fact she is 
 already getting her deserts, or some of them: Lawrence 
 had it all out of me this evening, and I rather gathered 
 from his manner that he proposed to go and see the lady 
 himself. I said he'd better not, but Lawrence in a rage 
 is a little difficult to influence. I couldn't cope with him 
 at all, and if I were Mrs. Essenden I should get under 
 the table. He is fond of you, Mark. I told him what 
 she had told me of her little trick of reading your let- 
 ters yes, dear boy, she read them all and I have an 
 impression that he overtook me on the London road 
 just south of Clapham. He started after I did, but he 
 had a bigger car." 
 
 "En route for Jenny's?" 
 
 "I should say so, from his expression." 
 
 "I'll call quits with Jenny, then," said Mark with an un- 
 forgiving laugh. "Oh, there you are, Henham. This is 
 Mrs. Sturt, your new mistress. She is going to stay the 
 night, so we must see what we can do to make her com- 
 fortable. Will you bring her bag up and get her some- 
 thing to eat? You took the car to the garage? that's 
 right. You had better light a fire in my room. You 
 won't mind roughing it for one night, will you, Maisie ? 
 It can't be more uncomfortable than we were at Ushant. 
 Oh, and, Henham, I can't take Mrs. Sturt to Mr. Ben- 
 net's quarters. I shall want you to go round to Captain 
 Sturt to-morrow he's at Chelsea to-night and tell him 
 I want to borrow Longstone Edge for a bit. We'll shut 
 the flat up and you shall go down with us and help me 
 to get things shipshape." 
 
 "Yessir," said Henham.
 
 302 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 "Longstone Edge, Mark?" Maisie repeated, docile but 
 bewildered. "But but I thought you were going to 
 Central Africa?" 
 
 "Did you?" Mark answered cheerfully. "So I gath- 
 ered. I didn't. What a shame, isn't it? No, dear, I'm 
 going to Gatton to do a little work."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE riverside mission was thriving, and yet Father 
 de Trafford was not happy. 
 
 He sat alone in his study, reading a book that he had 
 read many times before when he felt depressed. It was 
 a night of snow and storm, but the curtains were drawn, 
 and the room, though sparsely furnished, was of warm 
 and comfortable aspect, with its Turkey carpet, shaded 
 lamp, and pleasantly fusty smell of leather bindings 
 a little too comfortable, in Father de Trafford's opinion, 
 for the tenancy of a Catholic priest. He often longed 
 for the severer life and harder penances of the monastic 
 clergy. But his superiors told him he was doing his 
 best work where he was, and so he stayed on at St. Casi- 
 mir's, and consoled himself with the reflection that he 
 could not have entertained MM. Athos and d'Artagnan 
 in the blessed solitude of a cell. 
 
 It was late; the deep tolling from Westminster began 
 to sound twelve, and the tale was taken up by St. Casi- 
 mir's thin reiteration. Father de Trafford came out of 
 the cellar of the Lis d'Or out of the hams, the sausages, 
 the olive oil, and the "broken bottles and pushed away 
 his reading lamp ; for a man who was obliged to take 
 care of his health and who had a mass to celebrate at 
 7:15 a.m., it was time to go to bed. Yet he did not rise; 
 he leaned his cheek on his hand and sat on by the fire, 
 musing. 
 
 It was of Mark Sturt that he was thinking; Mark 
 Sturt, the founder of the riverside mission, to whom the 
 
 303
 
 304 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 priest had not spoken since parting from him on the 
 steps of St. Casimir's with that strange "Pray for me" 
 ringing in his ears. Not one day or night, not many 
 single hours had gone by him since then without a prayer 
 for Sturt's soul. Father de Trafford knew his London 
 well. Of the outside of Mark's life he knew as much 
 as Horton did, or any other male gossip who moved in 
 Jenny's set ; and from it he had divined, with the strange 
 inward vision of the Catholic priest, who sees day by 
 day men and women bared to the dry light of the con- 
 fessional, a good deal of Mark's inner history as well. 
 Not that Mark had ever gone near a confessional since 
 his connection with Jenny ! but de Trafford had shriven 
 him in the old days, and could make a pretty shrewd 
 guess at the effect Jenny would have on a man of Mark's 
 temper. De Trafford read Jenny pretty clearly Jenny 
 who had bathed him in penitential tears which dried up 
 soon after he let slip the word Normandy and he had 
 regretted that indiscretion more than many sins. Slight 
 it was, and natural, for Normandy is wide, and Mark's 
 journey was indeed no secret, yet de Trafford guessed 
 that he had put the end of a clew into Jenny's hand. 
 "She diddled me," he reflected ruefully. Like Lawrence, 
 like Ferrier, and like Alfred Henham, when he read 
 George Mallinson's letter in his morning paper de Traf- 
 ford was not slow to put his finger on the guilty party. 
 No evidence would have convinced him that Sturt had 
 committed a breach of confidence. In the aimless malice 
 of the trick he read Jenny's hand. 
 
 And what now ? Where would it all end ? Again and 
 again that day the priest had been on the point of going 
 to see Mark, and yet he did not go. He had an intui- 
 tion that Mark would refuse to see him, and, after that 
 refusal, there would be a definite barrier where now 
 there was merely no bridge. If he wanted spiritual con-
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 305 
 
 solation, Father de Trafford reflected with his shrewd 
 smile, Mark knew where to go for it ; he knew, none bet- 
 ter, that the doors of Holy Church are open day and 
 night. If he wanted the counsel of this world, he knew 
 equally well that all de Trafford could give as man to 
 man was equally at his service. Mark was very sore, no 
 doubt, very angry, savagely shy of his friends; but he 
 would not doubt de Trafford. There was no need for 
 the priest to go and say, "I know this is not your do- 
 ing." Such faith is taken for granted in certain rela- 
 tions, and after twenty years. On the whole, the priest 
 was of opinion that Sturt would not want to meet him 
 not yet, anyhow. "It looks like revenge," de Trafford 
 reflected. "If the truth were known, I expect Mark 
 has chucked the lady, and she is getting her own 
 back." His thoughts, and indeed his speech, occasionally 
 refused to wear clerical dress. "No, I won't go to him. 
 But I wish the dear fellow would come to me. He won't, 
 though not yet." Nevertheless, when the door bell jan- 
 gled suddenly through the sleeping house, he started to 
 his feet with Mark's name on his lips. 
 
 His servant was in bed long ago, and all other lights 
 were out. Taking a candle, de Trafford hurried into the 
 hall and unlocked the door. Outside, darkly silhouetted 
 against a street of glimmering snow, stood a very tall 
 man in a heavy overcoat, who stretched out his bare 
 hands to the priest as if he were flying for his life. Mark 
 Sturt ? No : Lawrence. 
 
 De Trafford drew him into the study and set him in a 
 chair by the fire. Used as he was to the unforeseen, he 
 was so excessively startled and shocked by Lawrence 
 Sturt's appearance that he knew not where to begin : nor 
 did he know in what capacity Lawrence had come to 
 him Lawrence who had never, within de Trafford's 
 knowledge of his adult life, approached a sacrament of
 
 306 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 the Church. But when no word came de Trafford was 
 forced into a question. 
 
 "Lawrence, what have you been doing ?" 
 
 "Killing a woman." 
 
 "Ah!" said Father de Trafford under his breath. 
 
 He unlocked a cabinet, took from it a hunting flask 
 three parts full of brandy, and poured out the spirit with 
 no sparing hand. 
 
 ''Drink this, and pull yourself together. Remember, 
 what you tell me now is not under the seal of confes- 
 sion." 
 
 Lawrence drank it. As if it had given him a swift up- 
 leap of strength, he rose to his feet and stood looking 
 round the room till his eye lit on a tall crucifix that hung 
 against the wall. Then with a step like that of a drunken 
 man he reeled across to the prie-Dieu and fell on his 
 knees. There was something terrible, something re- 
 pellent to de Trafford's taste in his prostration. De 
 Trafford thought to himself, "This agony won't last. 
 How he has sapped his own manhood! I don't believe 
 he has killed any one. I must stop this." 
 
 He bent over Lawrence and seized him by the arm. 
 "Lawrence, get up: control yourself. Do you wish me 
 to hear your confession?" 
 
 Lawrence raised his head, and before the blazing mis- 
 ery of his eyes de Trafford reconsidered his judgment. 
 "Oh, de Trafford, save me! can you save me?" 
 
 "Save you from what?" 
 
 "From sin," said Lawrence: "from sin." 
 
 Over brow and breast de Trafford made the sign of 
 the cross. "Confess to me then." 
 
 "Pray, Father, give me your blessing . . " 
 
 There was no reserve about Lawrence Sturt's con- 
 fession. Forth it all came, the sins of boyhood, early 
 manhood, middle age: every sin that Lawrence could
 
 JENNY ESSENDEN 307 
 
 remember, and, beyond the limits of a slender code of 
 honor, nearly every sin that de Trafford could suggest. 
 But it was not altogether easy to understand. Even 
 the timeworn leading questions, that had served to rack 
 many a tormented mind into peace, de Trafford found 
 in this case difficult to frame. When he reached the 
 events of that night, Lawrence spoke so low, and he 
 was trembling so violently from head to foot, that the 
 priest could hardly follow him. He had gone late to 
 Jenny's house ... he had forced his way in ... there 
 was another man -with her .. . . there had been a row, 
 and he had thrown the other man out. . . . 
 
 Poor Horton, who had paid his price for Jenny's favors 
 after all ! 
 
 "Oh, I suppose I didn't strangle her," Lawrence said 
 with his imperishable gleam of humor. "You can't kill 
 her sort. I tried to . . ." He looked down at his hands. 
 ". . . But that was afterwards." 
 
 "After what?" 
 
 He shuddered again from head to foot, murmured a 
 broken sentence which de Trafford barely caught, and 
 fainted. 
 
 Wan dusk of snowlight, an hour before dawn, glim- 
 mered through St. Casimir's painted panes. Not many 
 worshipers had gathered for early Mass, that winter 
 morning; foremost among them knelt Lawrence Sturt, 
 the light of the radiant altar striking down over his bare 
 head. In the serene ecstatic splendor of his regard there 
 was no trace left of last night's agony, and his lips moved 
 in the rapture of the Pange lingua. As a matter of fact 
 his absolution had been deferred ; but that affliction could 
 not lessen nothing could have lessened the glory of his 
 mood. Meanwhile Guy de Trafford, not a little weary 
 after his night of vigil, was robing himself in the vestry
 
 308 JENNY ESSENDEN 
 
 for the sacrifice of the Mass. The delicate fair face of 
 the priest was overcast, as if the burden lifted from his 
 penitent had fallen upon him; as if on his fastidious 
 purity of spirit the grime of Lawrence Sturt's unedited 
 revelations had thrown a temporary stain. As he waited 
 for the clock to strike the quarter-hour, de Trafford 
 thought of many things : of Mark Sturt and his marriage, 
 whose complete history up to date he had not been able 
 to prevent Lawrence from betraying to him; of Law- 
 rence and his headlong reformation ; of the chaos reign- 
 ing in the Liberal camp ; and of the little house in Green 
 Street, and its mistress, the causa causans of all these 
 changes. 
 
 "Mark will come back," he said to himself. "It will 
 blow over much the sooner when the eccentric romance 
 of his marriage begins to get known. It will cost him, 
 say, a year's seniority, but he will come back to politics 
 in the end, and he will come back to us. One is sure of 
 my dear old Mark. And Lawrence? Him we shall not 
 keep. I don't think he will go to Green Street again." 
 De Trafford was not sure even of that. "But so long as 
 he keeps his splendid looks, and there are women in the 
 world of the Essenden type to tell him so, we shall have 
 no hold on Lawrence Sturt. So it all comes round again 
 to Jenny Essenden. Ah ! I am wanting in faith. Why 
 should we not keep him, after all? He is ours now; 
 he would lie down on the rack with that wonderful smil- 
 ing splendor in his eyes. Faint-heart that I am! is not 
 the grace of God stronger than the grace of Jenny Essen- 
 den?" 
 
 THE END
 
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