THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 J. Lorenz Sporer
 
 JAMESIE
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 PROMISE 
 
 LE GENTLEMAN 
 
 HERSELF 
 
 SUCCESSION 
 
 A LADY OF LEISURE 
 
 DUKE JONES 
 
 THE ACCOLADE 
 
 HATCHWAYS 
 
 Each, I2mo., net, $1.50 
 
 FOUR PLAYS FOR CHILDREN 
 
 "The Rose and the Ring," "The 
 
 Goody Witch," "The Goose Girl," 
 
 "Boots and the North Wind." 
 
 8vo. Illustrated. $1.25 net
 
 JAMESIE 
 
 BY 
 
 ETHEL SIDGWICK 
 
 jscmgj 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
 
 .ass 
 
 To H. 
 
 WHO HAD ACCEPTED IT, IN PROJECT, 
 
 UNREAD
 
 PREFACE, IF WANTED 
 
 [BY JAMESIE'S UNCLE.] 
 
 ST. JOHN HERBERT says, somewhere in the 
 course of these letters, that he was not con- 
 cerned with " politics " in editing them. This, 
 in our political era, may be regarded as a bene- 
 fit. Herbert was not a politician properly, be- 
 yond, let us hope, a general sense of justice, 
 since his business was the Law. Further, a 
 Frenchman being his collaborator, if he really 
 had entered seriously upon the disputations of 
 our times, they would have had some undigni- 
 fied clashes. Even as it was, I am told the ink 
 flew at moments, however they agreed about 
 Jamesie. 
 
 Herbert was modest, at least, as master of the 
 ceremonies. He called the contents of his vol- 
 ume a "shuffle," du Frettay called them a 
 "salad," both terms a little unfair. Because 
 in shuffling and salad-making the intention (I 
 believe) is to disorganise; and Herbert, in
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 stringing our letters, certainly had some organic 
 idea. That I grant him. What it was I leave 
 to clever people of his own sort who read him. 
 So far as I can see, everything that was really 
 serious that passed between us, especially my 
 own more thoughtful outpourings, Herbert left 
 out. He put in a few thoughtful ones of his 
 own, goes without saying. I wonder at times 
 they were not all his: except that du Frettay 
 had thoughts he needed to give to the world as 
 well. 
 
 He divided his material into three parts, of 
 which one pre-war, and which he named ac- 
 cording to his private theory. As for character 
 he had not (he told us kindly) much of a com- 
 pany ; he had to take what he had and make the 
 best of it. At least he had three or four nations, 
 five or six classes, two sexes, and young and old. 
 And he had Jamesie. 
 
 The worst documentary drawback was (he 
 mentioned suddenly) that people lie so, in let- 
 ters; and the more moving the times they live 
 in, the more they lie. He was proceeding to 
 illustrate, from the material under his hand, 
 when du Frettay rather hastily interrupted him. 
 He said the same people lied much more in life
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 and literature: that is to say, they arranged 
 things. He implied that it was no more than 
 tolerable good manners, in society, to arrange 
 things, and that in one's correspondence, it was 
 purely a question of style. Then he said, that 
 at least your letter-writer betrayed his own na- 
 ture in lying, the form of his lying, which your 
 newspaper-correspondent never did. There 
 Herbert agreed with him, and they shook hands 
 upon it; and both made an exception for Jim, 
 the soul of truth and style as well: and they 
 shook hands again. 
 
 Herbert declared he was not going to prefix 
 a portrait of Jamesie, though he had plenty of 
 sketches, Jamesie's mother being a painter; then 
 he proceeded to start one in pen and ink. 
 Jamesie was a Suir, he began, but handsome; 
 though handsome, Herbert proceeded, he made 
 the mistake of not resembling his mother the 
 least. At this point du Frettay observed that 
 Jamesie's mother had made him, mind and 
 body: that his type was deep, deep-rooted in the 
 English middle-classes, and not in the Irish 
 upper at all : and that Herbert had far better 
 let him have the whole editing of the sacre let- 
 ters, since du Frettay appreciated the English
 
 x PREFACE 
 
 malgre tout. A little disputation occurred just 
 there, so my nephew's portrait never got beyond. 
 
 Remained the technical convention, having 
 swept the literary forms aside. Lies, or state- 
 ments under suspicion, were accorded a point 
 of interrogation, as being a help to the reader, 
 and yet polite. Letters by grooms and the un- 
 grown were to be punctuated: that was quite 
 righteous; as much as that filthy handwritings 
 (like Ashwin's and Iveagh's and Joyce's) should 
 be given the clean dress of print. Spelling, in 
 the communications of the Upper Ten (such as 
 Shere) had to be looked to: they allowed them- 
 selves to supply meanings, in the form of words 
 left out, to the contributions of children under 
 five. Entirely imaginary letters, from horses 
 and others, and purely commercial documents, 
 like the bills that followed Steenie about, were 
 suppressed altogether. Letters in foreign lan- 
 guages I should not like to say all that hap- 
 pened about that. 
 
 As to French, Herbert owned himself an un- 
 practised translator, but even he could not be- 
 lieve du Frettay would have translated into his 
 native tongue more correctly than he. He had 
 nobody's word but du Frettay's own for it, nor
 
 PREFACE xi 
 
 had he the time to test that, in his vexed life 
 among the Tribunals : so they settled, to avoid 
 difference, on a system of marginal notes, and 
 then proceeded to disagree over each note in 
 turn. German, said Herbert suddenly; he was 
 willing to undertake, unless du Frettay put in 
 a special claim for it; which disturbed our 
 friend's feelings so much that he almost left his 
 grievance about the French. 
 
 As to the prospects of the " tendancieux," that 
 scarecrow of our times, it might almost, said 
 Herbert, be made a matter of excuse, that 
 though his company was thick with warriors, 
 none of them wrote about the war. They wrote 
 about the commonest and most domestic mat- 
 ters, at least in the field, and in hospital they 
 grumbled about their dinners. Du Frettay said 
 his lot did that in the field as well, for reasons 
 that the Administration was going to hear of 
 presently: but that must have been a local pecu- 
 liarity. They wrote (I quote Herbert) " to 
 young children, old nurses, and little marraines 
 of whom they were careful. Sometimes they 
 asked the world behind the lines, shyly as it 
 were, whether things seemed to be looking up 
 at all, and when it was likely to be over. Other-
 
 xii PREFACE 
 
 wise they seemed for the most part to be en- 
 gaged in a thing that was horribly abstract, a 
 cloud on the brain, more than a human business. 
 They sought relief where they had always 
 sought it, in comradeship, friendliness, such art 
 as they could manage, such natural beauty as 
 they could snatch: in argument and classical 
 reading: in echoes of innocence from a world 
 happily shut off from them: in family af- 
 fection, freshly consecrated: in Love . . . un- 
 censorable? " 
 See Jamesie.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE STRIFE i 
 
 PART II 
 THE TRUCE 115 
 
 PART III 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 199 
 
 APPENDIX 343
 
 PART I 
 
 THE STRIFE
 
 JAMESIE 
 
 THE STRIFE 
 
 Sophie Colmar to Francis Blakie. 
 
 DEAR FRANCOIS, 
 
 i 
 
 I am told you come Saturday fortnight 
 with M. Herbert. Is this fact? I burn to be 
 sure. Excuse more, as I am brim with work 
 to the Duchesse's arrival. 
 
 Je t'embrasse, mon coeur, 
 SOPHIE. 
 
 Francis Blakie to Sophie Colmar. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIE, 
 
 Mr. Herbert is letting me come, since they 
 are short of players for the men's eleven. You 
 and me, I suppose, will be opposite sides. 
 Don't cry if I bowl you, because that 's my busi- 
 ness. And, I say, don't you go boasting and 
 saying things imprudent, as likely with this in- 
 door work I have lost my form. I Ve been 
 coaching Mr. H. in odd times, but between our- 
 selves he is not much good. Do you know of
 
 4 JAMESIE 
 
 any other gentlemen playing, or is it just the 
 scrap lot of farm and garden hands? 
 
 Keep me informed in case of alteration, won't 
 you? It 's a bit of all right your mother does n't 
 disapprove. I shan't change Mr. H. now till 
 I marry, so you '11 have me at hand. After that 
 naught but death shall us part, as the song says. 
 Has that brother of the Duchess's spoken to 
 
 you again? 
 
 Yours ever, 
 F. B. 
 
 The Duchess of Wickford to Lady Iveagh Suir. 
 
 DEAR BESS, 
 
 I am ashamed not to have written before, 
 enclosing this: but you are not, my dear, obliged 
 to accept it. Tell me right out if you would 
 rather not, and I will console Steenie. I am a 
 little afraid he may have been boring you 
 lately, lounging in at all hours when you want 
 to be painting: and you are probably too kind 
 to him, much. I ought to tell you he is a lazy 
 boy, and my husband has given him the go-by 
 in Ireland. He is figuratively in the corner, 
 and is only allowed to play for us because we 
 must have men. I wish I wish I wish he
 
 THE STRIFE 5 
 
 would take to some sensible work. Yet I am so 
 little older, and I can't be for ever scolding him, 
 or he would tire of me, and I am the last. 
 
 We are being sillier than usual on Saturday, 
 chiefly for the children. It is cricket, men 
 against women, the men playing left-hand. 
 That is the sort of thing, if you came, I should 
 have to offer you. Kells is hoping for Jamesie 
 anyhow. Sophie tells me to say she would see 
 to your dress. 
 
 [The card enclosed states that the Duchess of 
 Wickford was at home, cricket and dancing, 
 at Holmer, July nth. And it was inscribed 
 in her pleasant hand, " Bess and Jamesie," 
 simply.] 
 
 The Duke to the Same a scrawl. 
 
 I enclose what I consider right for Kells' 
 portrait, and get yourself a frock with it and 
 bring it us, not forgetting Jim. 
 
 The Marquis of Kells to Jamesie Suir. 
 
 DEAR J., 
 
 Mother says your coming chucker-up! 
 Secrets and Nurse is in it. Bring your Paint- 
 box. Biscuit is ill and I 'm riding Gypsy whose
 
 6 JAMESIE 
 
 a dull old Girl. Nurse says this is shockenly 
 written. Larks on Saturday. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 KELLS, KC.B. 1 
 
 The Duke to his brother-in-law, Stephen 
 Crawford. 
 
 . . . This, Steenie, is to let you know. You 
 are fond, I am aware, of your sister's hospitality. 
 It is her substance very largely, I don't deny, 
 you have been wasting out there, 2 and no doubt 
 you are welcome to it. What she would wel- 
 come less, is your going back on me. I 'have 
 evidence you have used me beyond unfairly, as 
 a cloak for your own misdoings ; and you have 
 gone too far now, I think, for any new exten- 
 sion I might grant you to set it right. I have 
 given you chances enough. They dislike you, 
 and me by means of you, and I, you kindly ob- 
 serve, am to blame for it, giving you too hard 
 a job. So I would believe, if I had not given 
 you others simpler, where you had failed as 
 signally. As it is I must evict you, Stephen, 
 
 1 Author's Note. It was Kells' and Jamesie's habit to give them- 
 selves titles, which they greatly preferred to their own. See hencefor- 
 ward in this history. 
 
 * Ireland.
 
 THE STRIFE 7 
 
 and invite you not to go back. I have too much 
 conscience in these times to risk it, absentee as 
 I am. 
 
 I am told you have played the villain to Katie 
 Rochester, and her brother is one of those who 
 attacks me. I am not making too much of that, 
 knowing the ramshackle lot they are, and am 
 keeping the worst of your foolery from Janet. 
 But it is a warning, the first big thing that has 
 slipped through your fingers, after the many 
 lesser you have duffered, and I tell you, for 
 Janet's sake, who cares for you, pull up while 
 it is time. 
 
 I am older than you, and I am the injured 
 party. You will not, I hope, take offence at 
 this then, having forced it upon me: indeed, 
 I think you must be expecting it, you come so 
 little near us. Janet and I want you for her 
 party as we have mentioned, and I trust you 
 will pick up any decent cricketing hands you 
 see. It is left hands we want peculiarly. The 
 girls are in their strength, and they have got 
 that kid Madeleine Pennant, who is tremen- 
 dous. I am trying for an old Blue for Captain, 
 Shere is a safe draw for a good reason, 1 and 
 
 1 See later.
 
 8 JAMESIE 
 
 there is a bare chance my own brother may be 
 back in time. I hope you have pinned Herbert. 
 By the way, has he not a man belonging to him 
 who is something of a bat? . . . 
 
 Canon Oxborough, to the Duke. 
 
 MY DEAR BOY, 
 
 To be sure I will captain your eleven if 
 you really require me, but have you ascertained 
 there are none of the young fellows more fit? 
 Remember my age, my emaciated limbs and 
 failing powers. Well, I will do my best, and 
 let the monstrous regiment opposed to us look 
 out! At worst I might have to get one of you 
 boys to run for me. I will step over if I have 
 time on Sunday and look at the pitch. Non- 
 sense about not playing, I cannot have you 
 shirking it. Committees indeed! We have all 
 our bit of sacrifice to make in the public cause. 
 Salute my fellow captain from me if you are 
 writing. I have heard of her triumphs, tell 
 her, and count her worthy of my steel. Love 
 
 to Janet. 
 
 Your affectionate uncle, 
 
 LIONEL OXBOROUGH.
 
 THE STRIFE 9 
 
 Miss Madeleine Pennant, Buckdean School, 
 to her sister Joyce in London. 
 
 All right, only for goodness sake do the writ- 
 ing. Dukes and duchesses are a trifle off my 
 line. I Ve got the clothes I want, thank you, 
 and I hope I know how to behave to a foreign 
 eleven, men or otherwise. You seem to forget 
 I have done it before. Of course a lot of men 
 and girls ragging is hardly worth going over 
 for, but better not let the duke know that. Do 
 any of you, by any chance, know the rules? I 
 like the duchess, what I have seen of her, and 
 of course she is jolly kind to ask me for the 
 dance. 
 
 Sorry you are off with Steenie, that is if you 
 are. I suppose it would be cheek to suggest at 
 this stage you might do better, but perhaps I 
 am prejudiced. Besides, neither you nor Linda 
 tell me much, do you, so I can only make 
 shots at the right thing to say. Mention to the 
 duke or whichever it is that I am obliged to 
 Canon Oxborough. Anyhow he knows some- 
 thing of the game. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 M. M. P.
 
 io JAMESIE 
 
 Lady Iveagh to the Duchess. 
 
 DEAR JANET, 
 
 Your letter is like you, kind. No, I would 
 rather not come on Saturday. It is not the 
 dress, though thank him and Sophie for think- 
 ing of it: it is for every reason I think I am 
 better at home. 
 
 I am sorry about your brother. I did have 
 to tell him not to come quite so often, that is the 
 fact. So long as Kells was sitting to me, he 
 came with Kells, that was simple. But Kells 
 is no more, and still your brother continues, 
 I own it annoyed me, in front of Jamesie. I 
 did not imagine he was serious, but I think chil- 
 dren, in those ways, should be treated with the 
 greatest respect. And Jamesie notices. 
 
 I heard from our Paris friends yesterday, and 
 there they seem to be taking this Sarajevo busi- 
 ness seriously. I hope it does not mean another 
 blaze-up in the Balkans. Don't spoil Jamesie. 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 ELIZABETH Sum.
 
 THE STRIFE n 
 
 Jamesie to St. John Herbert. 
 
 Mother is n't going but I 'am. She says I 
 must tell you Father coming she has no Time. 
 I told Mother it would have been difacult if 
 she had Played, because we are backing the 
 other side. Aunt Janet says Kells is playing 
 possubly. Is Francis? 
 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 Kells to Canon Oxborough. 
 
 DR. UNCLE LIONEL, 
 
 Heres Mothers List. Shes made up Father 
 isnt and says he wont be. We cant find any left- 
 handed Men. Uncle Iveagh is but hes coming 
 this time for my Poney. Theyve had two vets 
 to him 1 and Tim is giving up hope. Aileen 
 wanted me to ask, when Horses die, what hap- 
 pens? But I said not being Xtians you wouldnt 
 know. 
 
 Your aft. nephew, 
 KELLS. 
 
 1 The poney.
 
 12 JAMESIE 
 
 Follows the Ladies' List, we found so 
 alarming. 
 
 Janet. 
 
 /Joyce Pennant. 
 -[ Laura Pennant. 
 I Madeleine Pennant. 
 
 Linda Monk (Pennant). 
 (Trix Adler. 
 1 Jeannette Adler. 
 
 Sophie (my maid). 
 
 Miss Kitchin (his typist). 
 
 Lettice (nursery-maid). 
 
 Sybil (farm). 
 
 St. John Herbert to Canon Oxborough. 
 
 Right-o, Captain, though I am afraid you 
 won't find me good for much. You ask about 
 the others. I should judge it is a poor look-out. 
 Crawford is capital on his day, but the Wick- 
 ford family have been snubbing him, the world 
 and the women are agin him, so chances are he 
 may refuse to play up. If I may be so imper- 
 tinent, I warn you against pastoral exhortation 
 in that quarter. The Duke you know. The 
 Irish groom is a little devil in the field, and a 
 monkey to run, but if the horse is ill, you won't
 
 THE STRIFE 13 
 
 have him. Iveagh might help, granted the boat 
 gets in, but you bet it won't. Besides he has 
 been enjoying fever, his wife tells me, so he may 
 be off it as much as Crawford. The coachman 
 is rotten. The valet is rank. My own fellow, 
 on the other hand, is rather a mighty man, and 
 inclined to give the young ladies a lesson. His 
 inamorata will be looking at him, need I say 
 more? And which of the rest of us, Captain, 
 will be in that happy position? Sometimes I 
 think we are rather a seedy lot. . . . 
 
 Joyce Pennant to Stephen Crawford. 
 
 You won't get that other girl, so it is no good. 
 She has put on the Puritan, Janet says, and is 
 staying at home. She smells a rat, very natural, 
 and I hear you have lost your appointment as 
 doer to the Duke. You are really off your luck, 
 aren't you? And here's Mad patronising you 
 in her letter, so she won't do. And I hear on 
 good authority the Frenchwoman is engaged. 
 And I shall drown myself, naturally, when I 
 have just had a taste of the Duke's champagne. 
 There 's a nice little froggy pond I know in the 
 park at Holmer. Will you come along down 
 there with me on Saturday night?
 
 i 4 JAMESIE 
 
 Sophie to the Same. 
 
 Je vous rends votre mot, Monsieur, intact. 
 Je suis fiangee depuis peu, engaged, a celui que 
 j'aime, homme de caractere et de courage, 
 n'etant pourtant pas gentleman officier de 
 cavalerie. 
 
 S. COLMAR. 
 
 The Dowager Duchess of Wickford to 
 Canon Oxborough. 
 
 Will you tell me exactly what is happening 
 at Holmer on Saturday? I understand you are 
 concerned. Elizabeth mentioned she had been 
 asked, and blushed a good deal about it. My 
 son has not given me the chance of refusing. 
 Yet I can hardly conceive you would be at- 
 tached to anything outre, though Janet lets her- 
 self be led away by the American set sometimes. 
 I heard Miss Adler mentioned by the children 
 as attending this function. ... If you can open 
 my eyes to the ins and outs of this business of 
 young Crawford, I should be thankful, too. I 
 can never catch Wickford for five minutes 
 nowadays. 
 
 Your affectionate sister, 
 
 GERTRUDE W.
 
 THE STRIFE 15 
 
 The Duke to the Dowager Duchess. 
 
 Excuse my being reduced to ink, Mother, 
 since I cannot make a minute to call, and I 
 know telephones trouble you. We have, not 
 asked you for Saturday, though you know a 
 room is open to you if you cared. It is the birth- 
 day rag in its extremest, chiefly to amuse the 
 kids. It is the Pennants and the Adlers, plus 
 Shere and Steenie, with the Canon and a girl of 
 sixteen to captain us, our elegant amusement 
 being to watch the men play left-handed against 
 the women right. What is more be licked, 
 Mother, so you had better not come. It could 
 hardly amuse you, and with the sort they are 
 there is no avoiding a noise. . . . 
 
 The Same to St. John Herbert. 
 
 It is kind of you, Herbert, to make the effort, 
 like you, and I hope it will not be bad for your 
 work. It is the merest rag, Jane and I are 
 ashamed of it. Times are bad, and between 
 ourselves, we have been put to it to keep the 
 thing up at all. Where I ought to be is Ireland, 
 but I cannot get off, and she is inclined to be 
 nervous. Young Crawford amused himself ex- 
 clusively beyond in drawing discredit on me,
 
 16 JAMESIE 
 
 and making himself anathema in the district. 
 I have had some very queer letters, and I have 
 not shown Janet the choicest ones. It is hard 
 for her, her brother being in fault, not but what 
 she is perfectly with me in dismissing him. That 
 is the one thing, in the whole tangle, we are sure 
 about, though what to do with the lad beats me. 
 I think he is rotten, really, yet I dare not tell 
 Jane. . . . Oh, the load it would be off me if I 
 could send my brother across, and for good. I 
 would like him to take it off me for good, Her- 
 bert. Tell nobody I said this, it is weakminded. 
 But it needs a character such as his, slick and 
 equal, easy-looking and untiring beneath, oh 
 untiring, new every morning, as the hymn 
 says. Courage, it all comes to that. A kind of 
 bread-and-butter courage, facing the music, 
 which Steenie has not. . . . 
 
 St. John Herbert to Lady Iveagh Suir. 
 
 A very nice letter from our duke, accepting 
 me. I am going to play cricket there, absurdly, 
 knowing that I can't. You have refused to do 
 the same, says Jamesie. It is a lack of courage, 
 I fear, Bess, bread-and-butter courage, 
 which I possess. . . .
 
 THE STRIFE 17 
 
 Lady Iveagh, to M. du Frettay, Paris. 
 
 Do tell me what you think about courage, 
 something has set me considering. Do you 
 admit several sorts, or is that nonsense? Is there 
 a French courage and an English courage? Is 
 there a common people's and a superior people's, 
 an every-day and a Sunday kind? Is there a 
 woman's and a man's? 
 
 Lord Iveagh to Lady Ail e en Suir (aged 4 ) on 
 
 a highly-coloured picture postcard from 
 
 Queenstoivn. 
 
 Here are all the horses you want. Let your 
 father know I may turn up a bit late, coming 
 this way, say for the second innings. Tim and I 
 can change. 
 
 The Duke to his wife, in haste. 
 
 . . . And now he informs me he is getting off 
 in Ireland. Getting off! And he tells the nur- 
 sery first. No, I am wrong, he tells the stable 
 first, swearing at Tim about the poney. When 
 I had made time to go to the port, and we had 
 reckoned him into the eleven, and made sure of 
 him for the girls, and Bess left hanging equally!
 
 i8 JAMESIE 
 
 I have said nothing, I will swear, this time, to 
 distract him from coming straight home, for 
 orders. I said for orders, Jane. Little he re- 
 gards me! He will know the whole blessed 
 boiling, beyond, before I can be level with him, 
 and Katie will be weeping on his shoulder, since 
 that is her habit with the men she likes, and her 
 relations striving who can lie the sweetest on 
 the subject of Steenie's crimes. . . . Janet, if 
 those two do not fight this time, my luck is bet- 
 ter than I ever thought it, and here if you please 
 is Bess between them too! That is two girls, 
 three, if Iveagh likes to pick up the cudgels for 
 Joyce, and I am much surprised if he lets any 
 attractive-looking weapon lie about when he has 
 seen that work beyond. He will be sky-high 
 simply, he who hates incompetence, and who 
 will drop in this manner into a situation which 
 is the devil's own. My great fear is, that finding 
 everything gone to glory, the building left, and 
 half the men swearing to shoot me, 1 and the 
 girls out on the roads, and the coastmen sleeping 
 on their revolvers, and ten men's work in the 
 office to do, he will wait and see it through, and 
 so score off the pack of us. It would be like him. 
 
 1 The duke exaggerates.
 
 THE STRIFE 19 
 
 Spalpeen! And him with the fever on him 
 still, and that climate the worst he could choose, 
 and a woman like his waiting for him patiently. 
 He does not deserve to own her, Stephen is right. 
 I am vexed with him sincerely. Oh, the bless- 
 ing to know he is at last in reach of a penny 
 stamp! . . . 
 
 The Duchess to Lady Iveagh. 
 
 My dear, I am so glad about your man, and 
 ashamed, my fault. Or rather, my family's. 
 But I am perfectly certain he will turn up, and 
 so will Conor be thinking it over, not because of 
 the cricket, nor of course because of you and 
 Jamesie, but because of the horse. Aileen was 
 crying all the morning, Nurse says, about Bis- 
 cuit, whereas Kells, whose fault it really is, 
 seems as indifferent as you please. He told 
 Nurse his uncle was coming back to see about 
 it, about his poney, the pretension of the 
 child. Really it is getting serious. If I believed 
 he said those things for the sake of talking, as 
 Conor does occasionally, but he is like my 
 family, prosaic and forthright. He says what 
 he means as exactly as ticking shows a watch: 
 and it is not always much more interesting, Bess,
 
 20 JAMESIE 
 
 though of course it shows Kells. I think before 
 this big treat I shall talk to him a little, and 
 mention how much pleasanter Jamesie's way of 
 taking things is, not assuming everything is laid 
 out for his advantage. Though of course this 
 party largely was, for if it had not been for dis- 
 appointing them, the extraordinary contretemps, 
 and extra worry it has been for Conor, would 
 have made me give it up. It is only our chil- 
 dren who regard our birthdays, is it? And I 
 feel something less than inspired for the mo- 
 ment, I own. . . . 
 
 Kells to the Duke. 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 Biscuit is if anithing worse, and won't eat, 
 which is the begining of the end. I am not to 
 see him till the last. Masters says Uncle Iveagh 
 will come Tim's hair. 
 
 The Duke to Kells. 
 
 It 's your own hair should have the combing, 
 and will, when your uncle hears the truth. 
 Walking 'him in the river heated, and forgetting 
 his blanket with it, oh, we found out. A nice 
 horse like that, better-bred than yourself is,
 
 THE STRIFE 21 
 
 where is the good of him and me taking the 
 trouble we did? Aileen shall have the horses 
 till you mend your ways. She '11 be a better 
 rider than you are anyhow. Now you talk small 
 for a bit. 
 
 Your father, 
 W. 
 
 Jamesie to the Same. 
 
 N.B. Private. Important. Mother says the 
 nicest for the Programme would be Aunt Janet's 
 Arms, not ours, done at the top, with a very little 
 gold, (i) Ours are so dull. (2) Peoples birth- 
 days their own. (3) Hard to paint antlers. 
 N.B. Aileen can do the goldening, if Nurse 
 likes. (Mother.) But perhaps I had better 
 this time, the thing been Public. (J. C. S.) 
 She can watch you Print. Oh dear, I 'm long- 
 ing to start!! Such lots to arrange. Grand- 
 mother came for ages this morning. She said 
 Father was tiresome, which Mother didnt 
 think. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 J. C. SuiR, F.L.S., etc.
 
 22 JAMESIE 
 
 Pelham (valet} to Francis. Extracts from two 
 letters 
 
 DEAR BLAKIE, 
 
 I enclose Tim's reply to Mr. Herbert, 
 which might have been cleaner, but he would 
 write himself. He is bound to boast, being on 
 that tack, though really in the cricketing line he 
 is nothing to you. He is at present much set up 
 having a letter from his lordship, and that out 
 of Ireland, where his lordship is, though the 
 tone of it is hardly flattering, my word! No 
 one but Tim would have read it aloud. His 
 lordship 's in a way, no wonder, the way they 
 use him. The Duchess wants him for her cricket 
 naturally. The Duke wants him for Miss Pen- 
 nants, says so openly, you would have died 
 hearing him to his mother in the hall. In the 
 stable he is wanted too, and I ask you, has his 
 wife no word? But that is always the way, the 
 people who can turn a hand, in this life, are 
 more in demand than the clever ones. Simi- 
 larly, if I was to ask you, private, which was the 
 more serviceable to his Grace's mother, Lady I. 
 or her Grace's maid, I wonder what you would 
 answer me. I think I know what Mr. Herbert 
 would, I seen him get so vexed about it. ...
 
 THE STRIFE 23 
 
 Your saying the ladies did the courting nowa- 
 days made us roar, and Green is with you, 
 though in the position I hold I have naturally 
 nothing to say. Nor Tim, he's never been 
 third in a light dog-cart, when Mr. Crawford 
 drove Miss Joyce. Nor have I noticed Miss 
 Kitchin's manners to the same gent when she 
 cannot for her life read something in his Irish 
 notes. As if he would look at her. Sophie I 
 believe has snubbed him, and perfectly right. 
 By the way, I am also to convey congratulations 
 from Sir George's man Parke, who was staying 
 here recently. I was to say from Parke Sophie 
 has the real Paris style lots of ladies try for, and 
 try in vain. Parke has travelled a bit, and knows 
 women, so I offer his remark at length as worth 
 while. Lady I. is his choice amongst our par- 
 ticular, as she seems to be yours. I tried to get 
 Sophie's views on this, but she dodged, being 
 French. She puts Lady I. in one box with the 
 Duchess, which is far from my own feeling, 
 very far. Though do not imagine I have a word 
 against her Grace, it is judging them by their 
 sex, as a man must at times. Lady I.'s friend- 
 ship with Mr. H. she finds odd, her husband 
 being away from her, while her terms with her
 
 24 JAMESIE 
 
 brother-in-law are what Sophie considers cor- 
 rect. The way that girl criticises and cuts up, 
 dragging the Duke into it. But we must re- 
 member, as Parke said very sensible when 
 Sophie had left, that it is their boast to equalise 
 everything, good and bad, in France. . . . 
 
 Tim Geoghan (groom] to St. John Herbert. 
 
 MR. HERBERT, 
 
 Id play and willing sir its but the matter of 
 the horse to hinder me. It is a good horse this 
 of Lord Kells and a delucate and it is a chanst if 
 he slips through our fingers before Ld. Iveagh 
 comes this last as much as my life is worth and 
 so he explained to me in his personal hand. 
 
 Coming to comparasons, if it was running 
 only we are on a level, but if it is bating his left 
 hand gives it him somewhat, but if it is dodging 
 and dubling Id easy take the lead. Wrestling I 
 can lay his lordship down always could, and the 
 Duke also, and him weak with the fever this 
 time would about compleat his case. Beyond 
 this it is a chanst but the ladies playing would 
 prefer his lordship this match being the Duch- 
 esses which is in the conversing style. 
 
 Respectfully yours sir, 
 
 T. GEOGHAN.
 
 THE STRIFE 25 
 
 Francis to Pelham. 
 
 Thanks for congrats. Let it be clearly under- 
 stood I will not have Sophie on Saturday hang- 
 ing about near Where that fellow is when I am 
 otherwise engaged. When not wanted among 
 the ladies she can easily retire or talk to the chil- 
 dren or what she wants. I may be in for some 
 time, more especially if I and the Canon get 
 together. He played for Oxford in the eighties, 
 Mr. Herbert said, and is still a fine old speci- 
 men. No more I cannot have her say a word 
 affecting Mr. Herbert or what he may choose 
 to do in the way of friendships ladies or else. 
 But about this being a particular matter I will 
 speak to her. It is only in view of your own 
 goodness to her in a nasty affair 1 I venture to 
 ask you, as it were, to lead the way. Experience 
 is what S. is lacking though she thinks 'herself 
 so up to date. This between you and me. Mr. 
 Herbert is Mr. Herbert, he is friends with all 
 the world. It is just his habit to be so, and even 
 French I should think would follow it, specially 
 seeing how kind and particular he was to her, 
 that day we all had at Cowes. 
 
 1 Stecnie?
 
 26 JAMESIE 
 
 Iveagh to Herbert. 
 
 Thanks for Congrats. I am not sorry for a 
 while to be done with the sea. Let it be clearly 
 understood I will not have Bess to the dancing, 
 or anywhere else that man would touch her and 
 myself not there. I have heard a little truth of 
 Crawford since I landed. Tell her I will come 
 to her when I have time, it depends on the little 
 horse, and Janet. No, do not tell her this, I am 
 writing and will arrange it. 
 
 I shall have work with that girl, 1 to get the 
 truth to her, and I have the deuce's own inclina- 
 tion this minute to write. Then you or he could 
 dish it up for her. I might have forgotten a 
 little how to talk to women, though to be sure 
 that one is straight. She shall have what she 
 asks and when she asks it, but I had rather any- 
 one else was the mes'senger. A man who can't 
 work and can't play had better be dead, but you 
 would not tell his sister that. I am sorry for the 
 girl he is engaged to. 2 
 
 As for the match, I may or may not be play- 
 ing, but if I am not, tell Oxborough Tim will. 
 Even if those asses don't kill the animal before 
 
 1 His sister-in-law. * Joyce.
 
 THE STRIFE 27 
 
 I get to it, there is no point in two of us stopping 
 out. You will kindly point out to my brother 
 that in this way he is still one to the good by my 
 coming, and that not improbably a better than 
 myself. He was always shaky on arithmetic. 
 
 He may even be two to the good, since if I 
 was playing, I would feel driven to whack 
 the ball, on general principles, at Stephen's 
 head. . . . 
 
 The Same to his brother, on a postcard. 
 
 What on earth has come over Joyce that she 
 asks me for four dances? I 'have wired I am 
 agreeable, but would like to be warned of the 
 game. 
 
 [The Duke's answer to the above had bet- 
 ter be spaced, since correspondence between 
 brothers is truthful. It may be noted in exten- 
 uation that they both knew Joyce from infancy.] 
 
 She has spared us the trouble of applying to 
 you. She is at the worst of a girl, outrageous, 
 and what is more, she means to 'have Steenie 
 yet. . . . You are in the happy position of the 
 fresh man. There is no more than that in it, 
 until you go against her. You are new to her
 
 28 JAMESIE 
 
 eyes, and may be out of the know, or with luck 
 she can manage to blind you. She is a pretty 
 girl. She will be worse to handle, this time, 
 than the horse itself that laid you down at Mon- 
 tevideo, the interesting occasion when you did 
 not get kicked. It is likely she will make love 
 to you steadily . . . and Mother means to be 
 there. I would as soon be flattered by a Bengal 
 tiger, just now, as Joyce. You should hear the 
 music alone she makes ; there is hunger in it, and 
 hatred for the whole of us, as is natural. . . . 
 Her sisters of course are no good, and Janet, 
 poor woman, a little tired of his failures lying 
 over the world. Joyce may well be the worst of 
 these, for things with her go deep. There is 
 more in her, being an artistic girl, than in Laura, 
 or in Linda Monk. Madeleine I have not met 
 at present, though I give it for what it is worth 
 that Joyce did her utmost to prevent her stop- 
 ping for the dance. My duchess out-managed 
 her, having the luck to know the schoolmistress, 
 and Joyce is sulky since. She will now, you ob- 
 serve, be overlooked by a little girl, to whom 
 she would be a 'model, naturally. It may be 
 unwise, of Janet. A nice lot they are ... Her- 
 bert says these years have been hard on girls. I
 
 THE STRIFE 29 
 
 cannot see why he limits it, seeing Jane has not 
 got her vote as yet. . . . More be token, if you 
 fall foul on the way of my other brother Craw- 
 ford, I am not concerned with it. I dare say 
 Shere will second you if it comes to the point. 
 I stand out in my best style, taking care of my 
 wife, and you are here to relieve me. Or rather 
 you are not here, bad cess to you, so instead of 
 saying the obvious, I am forced to write in- 
 decently. How is your temperature with the 
 nice bog-air, my little boy, and are you ever 
 coming back to us? Jamesie and I are stuck 
 here in the correct attitude, but can't keep it up 
 for ever. I am under fire, as I write, of his 
 disturbing eyes. . . . 
 
 The Duchess to the Same. 
 
 MY DEAR IVEAGH, 
 
 I am more sorry than I can say, treating 
 you like this, and I cannot even now explain how 
 it happened. It is exactly as if we had plotted 
 to prevent your seeing her. It is not that we do 
 not want her, or that Sophie and I have not both 
 done all we could. It comes of our selfishness, 
 which is extreme, and his relief, and your being 
 so reliable. And her shyness of course a little,
 
 30 JAMESIE 
 
 only we could with a decent effort have got over 
 that. We must have you at Holmer, and at 
 once, there is no other way of it. You must fag 
 for him like old times, and forget you are mar- 
 ried, please. I feel quite humiliated by such 
 bad management, but still see no way of putting 
 it right. . . . 
 
 Suir to his wife, extract. 
 
 Janet sounds tired, the way she greets me, 
 only you may be sure she never fails. He owns 
 himself she is thin, and small wonder, the life 
 she has, and the kids, and the conscience of the 
 woman, and that fellow to crown it. If I were 
 you, I would tell her she does too much. From 
 me it might come badly. . . . You go easy, as 
 I told you, and come to the park gate on Satur- 
 day night. I will do my best with the girls and 
 so on not to be late. It is convenient your being 
 so close, and for the very night, and an odd thing 
 all three of us should have had the same idea. 1 
 You can see the cricket out of the garden of that 
 house, no point at all in your moving beyond it. 
 Besides I may not be playing, and Tim 's not 
 much to see. . . . Never mind what Herbert 
 
 1 The three includes Bess's hostess.
 
 THE STRIFE 31 
 
 says, I have heard enough of him, these are my 
 own arrangements. ... I will send the boy to 
 you if I can dodge it, or you to him with better 
 luck, but if I cannot you will have to wait. You 
 are used to it. ... Do not believe his talk 
 against this place, there is none anywhere in the 
 whole world like it. This shivering I have is 
 only a little that was left over from my last bout 
 at the Canal. . . . 
 
 [The Canal I judge, with an awful effort, to 
 be Panama, probably. Owing to Iveagh's pesti- 
 lential habit of never naming things or persons 
 if he can avoid it, I refuse to go bail. S. H.] 
 
 The Duchess to her brother. 
 
 Steenie, listen: Is it through laziness, or some- 
 thing else, you are letting Joyce go? Or do you 
 mean to goad her into breaking it off, because 
 she never will. Never, never: she is not the 
 kind to. Ask Bess if you disbelieve me. You 
 will have to do it yourself, aloud, and you 
 know how that is regarded in our society, 
 
 JANET.
 
 32 JAMESIE 
 
 Stephen, to the Duchess. 
 
 DEAR J., 
 
 Jolly encouraging you are, but you need n't 
 bother. A girl like that is fit to look after her- 
 self. That is what I object to, partly, that she 
 goes rather far for me, knows too much, and is a 
 bit above herself, all told, with the attention she 
 has picked up lately. I don't care for it, and 
 made it clear. She will just splash about now, 
 for the show's sake, and finish decently. For all 
 her love of the police-courts, 1 I don't suppose 
 she will drag me in. Don't you go putting fresh 
 ideas into her, just when she is settling. Do you 
 hear? And don't say a word to your sister-in- 
 law concerning us, or I '11 cut loose. . 
 
 S. K. C. 
 
 The Duchess, at once. 
 
 My dear, please believe me! You say Joyce 
 knows too much. She knows nothing, barely 
 anything, of all a man and a gentleman would 
 teach her, take my word. Her knowledge is all 
 swept up, superficiality, what you call swank. 
 She makes the best of it, in self-defence, they 2 
 have to; but she would sooner be defended. So 
 
 1 W. S. P. U. * The Emancipated.
 
 THE STRIFE 33 
 
 would they all. She is clever, of course, she is 
 sensitive, passionate, too much so, she is fond 
 of you. She will take it hard if you shirk, 
 Steenie, it would be shocking. Tell me you will 
 stand to your engagement. 
 
 j. 
 
 Stephen, a lazy scrawl. 
 
 If she cuts up she may be quiet a bit. Don't 
 jaw anyhow, J., your husband does that. 
 
 Janet, after a pause. 
 
 I am waiting for an answer from my brother: 
 that was a cad. If that is so, I take my stand 
 with her, as a woman I am bound to. I should 
 ask you, as she will do, to send my last letters 
 back, but I hope I am mistaken. [Added in 
 a corner.] Anyhow, do not punish her if you 
 are tired of me. 
 
 j. 
 
 [He sent back the letters, and she looped to- 
 gether the little correspondence. She was four 
 years older than Stephen (says Herbert) I think. 
 Neither I nor the Suirs ever doubted her deep 
 love for him. Four years is enough to be and 
 remain the elder sister, careful and weariful, 
 throughout a life.]
 
 34 JAMESIE 
 
 Joyce to Stephen. 
 
 What about that walk I mentioned by moon- 
 light? Are you afraid? I should have thought 
 you would have learnt at an agent's office to 
 answer letters. A paid agent, and such a one, 
 even in Ireland, where they are always popu- 
 lar, I understand you did it in style. However, 
 I have an answer, and pretty smart, from the 
 one at present in occupation. He wants the first 
 four which is fairly cool, but I have not said no. 
 I suppose you know who I allude to? You had 
 better catch him, had n't you, before I make him 
 tell me tales. 
 
 Sophie to Francis. 
 
 My dear, my heart, we shall go out, it may be 
 permitted! Mr. Pelham spoke to the Duchesse 
 when I could not attempt. Never I cannot pro- 
 nonce your name, and with the Duchesse above 
 all I am interloquee. It is so wonderful to be to 
 see you. I will see you soon. And beneath the 
 skys, at night, all the country to us. Do you 
 understand this, English man, que je ne suis plus 
 moi, que je ne me reconnais pas, depuis que 
 1'amour de toi m'a prise. Why to be quiet on 
 this subject? Is it not, for us only two, the glory 
 of the world?
 
 THE STRIFE 35 
 
 Stephen to Joyce. 
 
 Suir answers letters, does he? Answers, 
 can't be much coolness, then, in taking what was 
 offered him first. You give yourself away, you 
 know, writing so hastily, though the idea was 
 good enough at starting. I own I don't care for 
 the man. My reasons for it, though, being on 
 public grounds, would not appeal to you. Suir 
 is one of the hole-and-corner Irish, skulking, 
 slippery, how I bar the breed. Wickford has a 
 bit of it, but he 's worse. And they may talk of 
 going back on his brother, but you should see 
 the way the people regard him there. He 's just 
 the stuff of which turncoats are made. You 
 would see if it came to war. And of course he 
 neglects his wife. I have nothing else against 
 him; and what I have is best kept dark. You 
 can give me two of his dances, if you like, I dare 
 say it would relieve him. By the way, do you 
 think that little sister of yours would give me 
 two? 
 
 Joyce to Stephen. 
 
 All right, curse you, I cheat him and do as 
 you tell me. He is a much better man than you. 
 Oh, Stephen, are n't you coming round?
 
 36 JAMESIE 
 
 [The terrible passion of this remains unan- 
 swered, Mr. Crawford finding other interests 
 as the match approached. There is reason to 
 think he took, by degrees, to his sister's kind 
 thought of cricket for his amusement. Simul- 
 taneously Suir, urged by the irresistible, changed 
 his plans.] 
 
 Aileen, in capitals. 
 Uncoo Pies (come) Bisciut cry dying Ailie. 
 
 Kelts to the Dowager Duchess. The author 
 seems to be practising a business style. 
 
 DR GRANDMOTHER 
 
 Nurse says I am to say that as Mother isnt 
 here we '11 be delighted to see you on Thursday 
 inst. next the Carriage to meet you as per yours 
 but perhaps I wont. There is Cricket Practise. 
 Uncle I. comes with luck late Friday inst. next 
 so youll see him. Telgrm encld. 
 
 Yr. affec. gr. son 
 KELLS. 
 
 The Same to Jamesie. 
 
 Oh Bother I! Grandmother is coming too 
 soon and spoiling everything. I had such lots 
 to tell you our Secret and Uncle Steenie making
 
 THE STRIFE 37 
 
 nets for Practise said I could help. Now Nurse 
 says Politeness and no Corner chatring. Oh 
 bother she may bring chocolate love to Aunt 
 Bess. 
 
 Miss Christina Johnstone (Nurse) to Lady 
 Iveagh Suir. 
 
 I do not know how far you wish Jamesie to 
 join with the gentlemen's amusements. It seems 
 young for him to begin. Kells I cannot easily 
 keep from his uncle, who has set up a place to 
 practise batting in the far corner of the poney's 
 field. Mr. Crawford has been coming down 
 almost nightly with Captain Shere and a man I 
 am told is a professional. He, at least, is not 
 company the Duke would wish Kells to keep. 
 Kells is at the pains to quote 'him, and that quot- 
 ing of his is already a trick I am trying to dis- 
 courage. It may well damage his originality. 
 Besides it cannot do the like of him good prac- 
 tising, even if it comes to playing, which I doubt. 
 The stable-men are down there too, and they get 
 Tim away from his duty much oftener than the 
 Duke would like. Not that I wish tale-bearing 
 and luckily Lord Iveagh will put an end to that. 
 But in the mean time a word from your Lady-
 
 38 JAMESIE 
 
 ship to Mr. Crawford concerning Jamesie might 
 open the way, if you think it suitable. More 
 would hardly be required, as Kells would soon 
 follow in his cousin's wake. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 C. T. JOHNSTONE. 
 
 [This document was not answered, for obvi- 
 ous reasons. Nurse, for all her diplomacy, did 
 not know the circumstances. Lady Iveagh's 
 son wrote to her on arrival, proving that a solu- 
 tion had been discovered without her. Only 
 first ] 
 
 The Duke to Pelham, marked "private," and 
 annotated by Herbert "I should think so! " 
 
 See to Lord Iveagh, will you? I can do with- 
 'out you here. He will perhaps get in to Holmer 
 late to-night without touching town, since that 
 is his new arrangement. He will be done with 
 the racket beyond, and not well with it, and 
 my mother is there. I '11 get down in time to- 
 morrow. 
 
 W.
 
 THE STRIFE 39 
 
 Jamesie to Lady Iveagh. 
 
 OH MOTHER, 
 
 Biscuit is dying and so I told Kells people 
 who knew him do not play cricket and games. 
 So Kells didnt. Oh dear it is an awful feeling 
 and Uncle Steenie laughed when I told him. 
 Mother they will shoot him Tim says it is crulty 
 not and the animal in that pain. And Biscuit 
 cant talk Mother. But I said it was Cowardly 
 been angry and then Tim said he hoped I 'd 
 speak for him having done his best. Oh dear so 
 I just tell you. 1 This night there were 2 gun- 
 shots when I listened but perhaps it wasnt. 
 Mother darling will you make him a carving 
 for his grave if he dies, long like the Greek 
 Chariots? I didn't tell Aileen about the gun- 
 shots. She is young, Nurse says, to understand 
 abt Death. 
 
 She answered this. 
 
 I have found a beautiful drawing for Biscuit, 
 but better than the friezes, because the horse in 
 mine is winged. That makes it an idea at once, 
 which battles are not. If he dies, I will model a 
 winged poney for Kells, a faithful promise. 
 
 1 This is Jamesie.
 
 40 JAMESIE 
 
 And shooting, darling, is a very easy death. I 
 mean shooting such as Tim or Father would 
 take care of, with such a beautiful horse. You 
 can absolutely trust them, absolutely. I hope 
 you remember sometimes that Kells is host, so 
 he is the person to propose things. And to talk 
 in French to Sophie. 
 
 [This shut Jamesie up, for he never by any 
 chance remembered that Kells ought to propose 
 things, taking the lead instinctively and invari- 
 ably, as his father did. The point of French, 
 however, came as an interesting reminder of his 
 accomplishments, as the next document in the 
 dossier shows.] 
 
 Jamesie to Denise Monteil, Paris. 
 
 CHERE DENISE 
 
 Je vous ecri's de Holmer ou mon oncle 
 habites, et Sophie ne m'aides pas beaucoup. Un 
 cheval est mourant malheureusement. Son nom 
 est Oatmeal Biscuit parce que de son couleur 
 pale-brune. Nous 1'avons aple * le premier jour 
 que Kells Fa etc donne. Sophie est franchise 
 elle va marier Francis. Vous aimez le Mariage 
 alors je mentione cela. C'est un secret particu- 
 
 1 Called, or christened.
 
 THE STRIFE 41 
 
 Her. Mother n'est pas ici, mais Grandmother 
 est malheureusement. Elle n'est pas comme 
 votre. Je vous envoye mon amour, Mademoi- 
 selle, et a Madame du Frettay mon compliment. 
 JAMES CONNELLAN Sum. 
 
 [This perfect specimen of the Irish gentle- 
 man was instantly answered in equal style.] 
 
 DEAR JAMESIE, 
 
 We have been so glad with Grandmaman 
 to receive your letter which consoles us. But 
 what, no word of your Father? And my uncle 
 waits ! How long it seem since we have to meet, 
 that is past like a dream. Life opens before us. 
 My uncle aproved much your letter whose per- 
 fection is remarquable. Here and there a con- 
 tresens but nothing enormous. See, let us be 
 friends ever between the countries, that is a la 
 mode. There is such surprise at the cours when 
 I say I like the Englishmen. Yet that is exact, 
 since you and your father are two, and the two 
 are sympathic. Your differences are agreable, 
 for except my uncle, the men of my family! Let 
 us leave the question and inscrite myself. 
 
 Very tenderly your friend, 
 
 DENISE.
 
 42 JAMESIE 
 
 [The next documents on record are two tele- 
 grams, " Es-tu la? " and " I am " from Lord 
 Iveagh at Holmer, the exchange of intimate 
 friends. M. Gabriel du Frettay then wrote (so 
 he declares) and voluminously: but the letter 
 is missing, as are many of those to Suir, when 
 not from his wife. And hers are hard to get for 
 other reasons. Such things as he kept in his 
 wandering life, he guarded jealously. Of his 
 arrival in his old home (says Herbert) I have 
 the choice of two accounts. Tim's to his sister 
 is the more " sympathetic," but Sophie's is so in- 
 finitely superior in style. Thus I translate her, 
 and have some pleasure in consigning Tim's 
 effusion, filthily written and execrably spelt, to 
 oblivion.] 
 
 Sophie, to her mother at Sevres. 
 
 The duke's brother, so much expected, has 
 now arrived. An interesting horse being indis- 
 posed upon his brother's premises, he goes there, 
 not to his wife. He passes the night with the 
 animal, by preference. I am not joking, 
 listen! 
 
 I come down to the country, in advance, with 
 M. Pelham : I to occupy myself with the masque- 
 dress, for the ball, which is long put away and 
 defraichie probably, M. Pelham to occupy him-
 
 THE STRIFE 43 
 
 self with milord Iveagh (quel nom) whose con- 
 dition will be the same, presumably, since he 
 has been travelling in tropical holes. In the 
 train I lay before M. Pelham my idea of a man 
 who leaves his wife and exquisite child to travel 
 after plants and insect horrors in bottles, and 
 obliges her to paint to earn money for the house- 
 hold in -his absence. Bon! Though well-ad- 
 vanced, my idea is not acceptable. M. Pelham 
 will have none of it, since his duke, it appears, is 
 devoted to this only brother. He says milord 
 is very clever, very decided in his judgements, 
 that her Grace his mother, equally a dominating 
 spirit, is jealous of his influence, and en fin, that 
 he absents 'himself in part, M. Pelham thinks, 
 not to embroil the family. Bon! It is also well- 
 stated, of its kind. I keep an open mind towards 
 each view, and proceed to investigation. Per- 
 sonal, hein? Since I have Francois, is it not my 
 duty to study his compatriots? 
 
 Milord, from the moment of his arrival, 
 makes himself remarked. I observe it. He has 
 an effect upon Tim, the groom, unheard-of, so 
 reducing. I am witness, in the kitchen, of Tim's 
 efforts among us to restore his amour-propre. 
 These Irish are singular types, yet engaging. I
 
 44 JAMESIE 
 
 tease Tim a little, and he responds, much. 
 There seems, despite the scenes they make to- 
 gether invariably, to be an understanding be- 
 tween him and his master. 
 
 Next arrives Green, from the dining-room. 
 There milord has quarrelled with M. Crawford 
 across the dinner-table, and drawn upon himself 
 the reproaches of his mother for impoliteness, 
 and Green, endeavouring to inform us of it, 
 curls up. 1 Here they do not greatly care for 
 M. Crawford. Next, milord retires to sulk in 
 the stable, announcing to the world his intention 
 of watching till morning beside the beloved ani- 
 mal, sooner than set eyes on M. Crawford 
 again. M. Crawford, equally enchanted by the 
 arrangement, repairs to the smoking-room, and 
 immerses himself in the enjoyment of the duke's 
 cigars. 
 
 Good. I think the situation of these gentle- 
 men over, and discover in it a certain injustice, 
 or inequality. Is milord, for all his caprices, 
 not the brother of the duke? Who then should 
 have that tobacco? I outline my idea of equality 
 to M. Pelham, who reproves me. He says I 
 have too many equal ideas. Perhaps I am in 
 
 1 Se tord.
 
 THE STRIFE 45 
 
 happy spirits because I shall see Francois, who 
 knows? Yet remark, I am divided by great 
 fear of the stable, those horses, their stamping 
 and their eyes. It horrifies me to see the little 
 Aileen embrace them. What, as I say to Nurse, 
 if the animal should bite? However, I sing a 
 little tune to disregard M. Pelham, and I make 
 a little turn, the duke's mother being in the 
 drawing-room, in case, by chance, M. Crawford 
 in the fumoir should be asleep. You are 
 shocked, ma petite mere, by these disclosures? 
 Yet observe : I am " engaged," English, for ever. 
 Does that not give one independence? Per- 
 fectly so. 
 
 In the smoking-room, success! Behold M. 
 Crawford, my acquaintance, beautifully elon- 
 gated in sleep : and behold, the duke's tobacco- 
 box on the table beside him. I take that tobacco- 
 box. Outside the door again, I recommence my 
 little tune. He would have been so pleased, so 
 pleased to see me, had he known! 
 
 In the stable, deception, on the contrary! You 
 will say it serves me right. First, it is dirty, 
 filthy, repugnant! When my idea arrived to 
 me, I had not thought of that. For a week, do 
 you see, it is a horse-hospital, and Tim not
 
 46 JAMESIE 
 
 naturally clean. Picture a gentleman, a duke's 
 brother, in such environment, no! Equality, 
 say I, but, for example, not with the beasts 1 
 
 Milord Iveagh differs with me. He had no 
 attention for me, not the slightest, he was at his 
 affairs. He had his horse, gazing at it. He 
 found the large eyes of Biscuit more attractive, 
 
 bonf Only when I spoke he turned his head, 
 and I saw how sulky, cross like a schoolboy, 
 cherishing the relics of his wrath with Tim. 
 He saw me, to be sure: and also the reason of 
 my disturbing him, possibly. Bah, je me fiche 
 of his ideas. I prefer my Frangois, so innocent, 
 so English, so imperceptive! He is not hand- 
 some at all, to be the father of M. Jamesie, our 
 adorable. He is not large, to be so dominating, 
 
 nor old, indeed. I saw he must have married 
 very young. He is like his brother, undistin- 
 guished. Francois is ten times better-looking. 
 M. Herbert himself is, at least in the face. 1 
 
 He took the tobacco I presented him, not 
 thanking me. He was smoking already, a cigar 
 of Tim's. How vulgar, when my sense of equal- 
 ity had discerned for him the duke's cigarette- 
 box! However, he took it, he did not refuse. 
 
 1 Oh, Sophie.
 
 THE STRIFE 47 
 
 Following that favour, he made use of me, to 
 fetch something for his requirements: and he 
 directed me sharply not to step on one place in 
 the straw. And there was a gun there, loaded, 
 oh, the horror! He will shoot the poor 
 creature, choose his minute and shoot it, when 
 it counts upon him. One saw its great eyes seek- 
 ing milord, remembering him, yes, loving him 
 marvellously. And its thin sides all wet, pant- 
 ing, shivering, suffering of course. I did not 
 know horses could be ill, like humans. . . . 
 Now I have come away from them, I cannot 
 forget. It has unnerved me, I cannot say: the 
 determination, the severity. I have decided it is 
 not right to capture, in that way, the friendship * 
 of an animal. It is not according to religion, 
 very probably. His wife could not approve of 
 it, I am sure. Still, I am content that I filched 2 
 the tobacco-box, because he has more claim to 
 it than M. Crawford, who makes his sister cry. 
 And I am glad he has appeared at last, for ce 
 petit chou* And also, though I write to you 
 very late, dear mother, morning almost, I have 
 not heard the gun. . . . 
 
 1 Amitie. * Chiper. * Jamesie.
 
 48 JAMESIE 
 
 Iveagh to Nurse, carried by Pelham. 
 Done the trick. Tell her. IVEAGH Sum. 
 
 Aileen, to Biscuit, helped by Nurse. 
 
 Jim and Ailie so glad you are weller dear 
 come soon. 
 
 A. E. S. 
 
 Nurse, to her sister in a London hospital. 
 
 I wish her Grace would let the children alone. 
 They have been perfectly good since Jamesie 
 got here on Wednesday, finishing their Pro- 
 gramme, and it is nice work for both, painting 
 and printing, and the will already there to do 
 their best. I have said nothing intentionally 
 beyond taking an interest and a word at times, 
 and Lord Iveagh when he came up as serious. 
 That arms Jamesie painted is the best he has 
 done. You should see his hand, as steady, and 
 sitting straight to it, no tongue out, as I tell 
 Kells. Let alone, they teach one another, which 
 is the safest way of teaching there is, as it comes 
 natural. . . . But do you suppose her Grace can 
 find a word to say for it? Titles and nonsense 
 at their age, Kells was half crying when he came
 
 THE STRIFE 49 
 
 upstairs. I told him on my own his mother 
 would like it better as he made it first. So she 
 would, poor little things, with the pains they 
 took, and the trouble about the poney already 
 they have had. . . . Lord Iveagh has saved that 
 poney's life, both vets said must be shot yester- 
 day. Sitting up with it, Masters said, foment- 
 ing and feeding it like an infant. But he was 
 always a wonder with horses, and a way with 
 him I have more than a doubt if that young 
 Hickson will get his bill paid now. . . . 
 
 [The next document is appropriately Kells' 
 Programme, the subject of so much intense and 
 secret confabulation. It was enclosed and com- 
 mented upon, in a letter from the Dowager 
 Duchess to a family friend at the upper end of 
 Egypt, with whom she preserved a full, stately, 
 and most publishable correspondence. The 
 Duke's mother was, needless to say, a more no- 
 table figure than either of her sons, and kept 
 them and their households well under criticism. 
 The only point where her attitude weakened 
 it is not uncommon in grandmothers was 
 towards the new generation, and especially the 
 heir of the house; though it is clear by copious 
 evidence she never let Kells discover it. 
 
 The programme was really a creditable work
 
 50 JAMESIE 
 
 of art, given the age of the pair who composed 
 it, just under and just over seven. More, it was 
 a labour of love, being for " mother," the mother 
 of the printer. It was strenuously spelt, with 
 much consultation of authority, and only quite a 
 few of the letters were wrong way round. Fi- 
 nally, it was illuminated, and " goldened," with 
 Jamesie's mother's gold paint. The edition de 
 luxe, of which the dowager owned one, was 
 limited to four copies, strictly.] 
 
 HOLMER CRICKET AFTERNOON, 
 
 1914. 
 
 30TH ANNIVERSARY DUCHESS J. OF WICK- 
 FORD'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Done by Kelts (Rt. Hon. K.C.B. etc.) assisted 
 by J. C. Suir (Hon. F.L.S., R.A. etc.) 
 
 2.10. Special Train. 
 
 2.45. Cricket Match, men left hand, ladys right, 
 Captains Elevens Rev. Canon Oxbor- 
 ough, Blue Oxford, Miss Madcap Pen- 
 nant, Schools England chalenge shield. 
 
 4.30. Tea. (Half-time.) 
 
 7. Supper (people under 16) 
 
 7.45. Dinner (other people) 
 
 9. Mask Ball, characters any, uniforms
 
 THE STRIFE 51 
 
 aloud, no dogs or children under 3 by 
 order, Kells. 
 
 GOD SAVE THE KING. 
 
 The Dowager, to Sir George Trenchard. 
 
 You see how we are engaged. My grandson's 
 details are so exact, that I feel further comment 
 is superfluous. The only note I need add is that 
 none of the times were kept. Fortunately 
 Lionel is here to keep me in countenance, other- 
 wise, I must have flinched, for fashion is increas- 
 ingly for the eccentric, and it leads even rational 
 people to do extraordinary things. Janet, I up- 
 hold, is rational : it is her strongest quality. She 
 is, most plain to see, a rock, amid the excitable, 
 hysterical girls of the period, who do their best 
 to draw her in their wake. But, suffragette as 
 she calls herself, playfully, she has always known 
 where to stop, of course her position helps 
 her. She and I are very much in agreement, as 
 soon as we come to talk seriously; and it makes 
 it the more astounding to see the flood of sheer 
 nonsense, of sheer froth, that a woman of any 
 wealth and style has to deal with nowadays. It 
 was a little to observe this side of things, and
 
 52 JAMESIE 
 
 rather against my son's inclination, that I came 
 down to her birthday celebrations. 
 
 Fortunately I was prepared, by some knowl- 
 edge of the world we live in. I think of you, 
 and what you would have felt. And it is the 
 women, I own it; I often think the majority of 
 the men are bored. My sons are not, of course, 
 nothing frivolous bores them: the Irish quality 
 adapts itself to the outre, to the indecent, I am 
 inclined to say. My elder son is better than he 
 used to be : one may say marriage has done some- 
 thing for him, and it is probably not his fault 
 that not the smallest grain of respect is shown 
 him by the girls. These Pennants, a quartette 
 whom you may remember, make fun of him 
 and Janet openly, of their domesticity; and the 
 married one, Mrs. Monk, is of course the worst. 
 (She is the Rosalind I used to be so nervous 
 about, with Wickford.) I do not think their 
 origin is anything remarkable, but they special- 
 ise in what we now call vitality, and what we 
 used to call by another name. I am inclined to 
 say the youngest is the best-bred: there is hope 
 for her, at least, as she comes from a good school. 
 However, she seems perfectly able to deal with 
 men. This is the Madcap of the programme; I
 
 THE STRIFE 53 
 
 told Kells, too late, that nicknames should not 
 be used. She is a tall child, plays exactly like a 
 boy in pads, with nothing to call a skirt, and her 
 sleeves rolled up, and she is burnt almost as 
 brown as Iveagh. Of course Lionel adopted 
 her. I saw him with his arm round her, when 
 she was finally bowled out, explaining to her 
 how she should have avoided it. This was all 
 very well, and acceptable no doubt, but, though 
 Lionel made a very good score for his age, this 
 Pennant child doubled it. She soared across 
 the century, as Herbert poetically said, and hit 
 Iveagh's and Lionel's bowling all about the 
 place. It was really extraordinary to see the 
 men, grown men, debating how to get rid 
 of her. Then Herbert's footman bowled her, 
 providentially. It may be the old Adam in me, 
 George, but I cannot see the men of my house, 
 even left-handed, beaten by a pack of Pennants. 
 The stable-men in, the field started a round of 
 applause as she walked out, and they did it 
 again when she shook hands with Lionel at the 
 end, very nicely, with a wide smile. She is as 
 ridiculously pretty as her sisters, though their 
 smiles, having practice, are less open-mouthed. 
 Of course the girls were beaten, finally.
 
 54 JAMESIE 
 
 [Herbert divides the letter at this point, in 
 order to insert the scores.] 
 
 The Ladies' Score, by St. John Herbert. 
 
 The Duchess, a trim 20, caught and bowled the 
 
 Duke, most appropriate. 
 Joyce, a tolerable 12, muckered others, bowled 
 
 Francis on sight. 
 Linda Monk, a duck, called by Shere " suitable." 
 
 Bowled Francis. 
 Laura, an indescribable 8, missed twice by 
 
 Iveagh, and caught by Shere. 
 Trix Adler, a transatlantic 23 (can't keep up 
 
 this alliteration). Caught rather nicely by 
 
 Wickford. Bowled Iveagh. 
 Jeannette, a painful incidental 8, what I mean is 
 
 the Canon and the umpire differed, l.b.w. 
 
 Bowled Iveagh. 
 
 [Interval for hair-dressing. All the field lay 
 down.] 
 
 Sophie, a French 6. Fell over wickets. Bowled 
 
 Francis. 
 Miss Kitchin, o. Disqualified for trying to kill 
 
 Kells. 
 Lettice, a touching twain. Caught Author, who
 
 THE STRIFE 55 
 
 is good for something. Bowled Francis as 
 
 usual. 
 Sybil, an English 18, entirely to leg, stuck in the 
 
 whole time, and would be there to-morrow, 
 
 were it not for the cows. 
 Madeleine, 104, five fours, ten threes, bowled 
 
 Iveagh, Oxborough, Timothy, yea Francis. 
 
 Finished Francis. Side out. 
 
 Total audited and re-audited, 201. 
 
 The Men's Score, by Miss Adler. 
 
 Captain Oxborough, 54. Caught Sophie, 
 
 bowled Mad. 
 
 Stephen, 30. Caught Sybil, full-length. 
 Wickford, 12. Runout. Very good-tempered. 
 Kells, o. Too bad. Bowled Laura, I think. 
 Herbert, o. Why, what shall I say? Bowled 
 
 Laura. 
 
 Shere, 7. Bowled Maddie, certainly. 
 Iveagh, 58. Bowled Maddie. But of course he 
 
 ought. 
 
 Masters, 5. All byes, owing to Linda flirting. 
 Pelham, 2. Bowled Linda, the only thing to do 
 
 with her. 
 *Mr. Blaikie, 156, not out, starred by Baedeker.
 
 $6 JAMESIE 
 
 Tim, 60. Snubbed by Iveagh, for a reason you 
 will see on comparing their scores. 
 
 i 
 The Dowager, in continuation. 
 
 The evening followed, and I should like to 
 say a word for my daughter-in-law: she cer- 
 tainly did what she could. But nobody could 
 have done anything with Iveagh. Iveagh has 
 chosen to come back this time by way of "Ire- 
 land, and has swept it all up again, accent and 
 all, I need not enlarge. He took the manage- 
 ment right out of Janet's hands, and my son's 
 also. The girls well and yet he did noth- 
 ing, that anyone could see. He pretended to be 
 ill, sat down by us and shivered at intervals. It 
 was simply that the Pennant crew got worse as 
 soon as he came near them, nothing but that. 
 I appealed to Wickford to restrain him, and 
 Wickford, looking quite comfortable, with 
 Aileen on his knee, said " What from? " So 
 I said, low of course, I was glad Elizabeth was 
 not present. And John Shere, who was sitting 
 beyond me disguised in an apron or something 
 said I should find few people to agree with me, 
 and asked confirmation from young Crawford, 
 who was playing with Kells. It is their letting
 
 THE STRIFE 57 
 
 the children in for such things that seems to me, 
 to say the least, unnecessary. Kells has a ter- 
 /ibly worldly-wise expression at times. 
 
 Well, at last Janet, pressed by me, took Iveagh 
 to task. She said she did not want to, joking, 
 but she perceived her duty, as Wickford did not. 
 The girl is tired, certainly, Elizabeth may be 
 right she does too much. I wish she would drop 
 some- of these committees, but I have spoken of 
 that. . . . Iveagh and she sat out a dance in her 
 bedroom. This may be taken to illustrate Janet, 
 who, though a particularly nice girl, is insen- 
 sible in certain ways. I should almost say hard 
 - let us call it stubborn. She thinks of one 
 thing at a time. . . . That room is the one that 
 used to be mine: but having resources that I 
 never had, she has enlarged it, thrown out a big 
 bay on the garden, with a view of the park, the 
 Avenue trees falling away to the left hand, very 
 prettily. Characteristically, she keeps the win- 
 dows wide open, wide, I have heard her 
 maid, who is foreign, complain of the draught. 
 Well, I do not know why I tell you all this, un- 
 less to account for Janet, illustrate her as it were, 
 since she is important to us: and also, that you 
 remember the old place, and will feel with me
 
 58 JAMESIE 
 
 for any changes, even for the better. Let me 
 proceed. 
 
 She came out after a very long time, at least 
 two dances, and having a good chance, I spoke 
 to her, for I really thought she had been unwise. 
 She forgets that eyes are on her. I said very 
 little, so far as I remember, giving her plenty 
 of excuse, saying it might be Iveagh's undoubted 
 resemblance to her own husband misleads her 
 at times. Well, on any ordinary occasion her 
 frankness would have accepted it, certainly, and 
 as it was meant She is frank, breezy, a 
 draughty northern girl. But no, she flamed 
 out, and told me, first, she would let nobody but 
 her own mother speak to her of things like that; 
 and next, that there was nowhere else in the 
 house to be quiet, which was certainly true. 
 But why should she need to be quiet? And then 
 she said he was her brother, ar-d turned away. 
 But he is not, Stephen is. Would she, I asked, 
 have done that same with Stephen? 
 
 She cried. I had not the least intention of 
 making her, in fact I could not have conceived 
 it. She is certainly not herself. She took Aileen 
 from Wickford to conceal it, but he saw, and it 
 is probable the child did too. I may have done
 
 THE STRIFE 59 
 
 wrong to speak. It is a commonplace that the 
 Scotch nature, which looks hard, is sensitive, 
 just as my sons' Irish nature, which looks soft, 
 can be as stiff as nails. I did not at all want to 
 hurt Janet. She is an excellent wife. And he 
 is very fond of her, I am glad to say. However, 
 when I tried to explain he passed me over, lay- 
 ing it no doubt, as I was inclined to do, to other 
 things. 
 
 The Duchess of Wickjord, to the Countess of 
 Kirkcudbright. 
 
 [Herbert had great difficulty in getting this 
 valuable letter.] 
 
 MOTHER DARLING, MY OWN: 
 
 It is late, or early, but I must write to you. 
 The house has gone to sleep. My babies are 
 safe, tucked up, my youngest with his arms 
 above his head, correctly, do you ever, in 
 these days, think of yours? 
 
 I have your youngest here, Mother, I am 
 sticking to him. I shall stick to him till he kills 
 me, as I sometimes think he means to do. Oh, 
 he is brutal, yes, to me, he has learnt nothing, 
 nothing, from all the women he has known.
 
 60 JAMESIE 
 
 And yet he has known such splendid ones, really, 
 beginning with you and finishing with Bess. 
 You have seen my artist sister-in-law, have n't 
 you? And Joyce, in this house, is another girl 
 with deep depths in her, things quite out of his 
 reach. I hope we have persuaded her to go to 
 Germany, and find in music some of what she 
 has lost in him. But for a girl like Joyce, meant 
 for marriage and the intensities, it is such a 
 second-best. 
 
 Well, it is all true. Conor's brother told me 
 the truth of it in this room this evening. It may 
 be he has told Conor other things, but I think 
 he has not they are both so sorry for me. 
 They are respectful for my shame. You see, 
 mother, they are honourable men. Gentlemen 
 I am sick of, the servants use it. And there are 
 honourable men, just dealers, among my ser- 
 vants, and there are true lovers too. My maid 
 had the choice of Steenie and one of these, and 
 she has chosen rightly. An honest girl, a clever 
 girl, knows by looking in Steenie's eyes. Pas- 
 sion itself stops in time. He has no faith in him, 
 he has no honesty with himself or God, he has 
 no courage, mother. Women find that out. 
 
 It is not only that Steenie has left undone in
 
 THE STRIFE 61 
 
 Ireland, scamped every duty he ought to per- 
 form, picked up people of his own sort to play 
 with, and spy-hunted, as they called it, invent- 
 ing charges like schoolboys, playing with fire, 
 as Conor rightly said. He has not the least idea 
 of the present real dangers, true problems, in the 
 other island, which my man and others are 
 working at, frantically, night and day. He was 
 desperately indiscreet, and silly, made bitter 
 enemies for all of us, and tired his own friends 
 at last. But it is not only that, nor even that he 
 cannot be trusted with women that we know, 
 alas. He cannot be trusted with money, mother. 
 Do not tell father ever, but it is the shameful 
 fact. 
 
 They say, these two who are so kind to me, 
 that the money is mine. Can you not see him 
 saying that, the man I married? Giving me 
 back the money to give to Steenie but no. 
 There is something in me will not take that 
 pretty argument, made to console me, to tuck 
 me up with consolation by their nice eyes. It 
 is not only man and wife, my goods being 
 Conor's. It is a much deeper-set thing in me, 
 which I see beginning to strive in my canny son 
 as well. I tried to explain it to Kells last Sun-
 
 62 JAMESIE 
 
 day, with Steenie in mind. There are official 
 proprieties, on earth : in some things we are all 
 soldiers, obeying little laws, hemming us in, by 
 way of practice, when the great call comes, for 
 the worse test of letting ourselves go. Have I 
 put that clearly? I don't think my boy followed 
 quite, but you are cleverer! Stephen is a bad 
 soldier a bad, bad soldier it is fearful to 
 say so, in our family. I tremble really lest 
 father should see this. Yet it is my strongest 
 feeling. His life is full of loose stitches. It 
 was such a chance for him, such a chance, my 
 generous man gave him: interesting work, fas- 
 cinating place and people, an income plentiful 
 even for him. And all he could find to do was 
 back-bite and cheat and amuse himself at others' 
 expense. Iveagh sat here, facing me in my own 
 room, and told me so. ... 
 
 The Servants' Hall, to Miss Madeleine Pennant. 
 
 Miss MADELEINE, 
 
 Your congratulations, Miss, to Tim and 
 Blakie are very acceptable, and we wish to have 
 the honour of drinking your health. It will 
 follow the Duchess's, as you will readily under- 
 stand, being her anniversary which the Duke
 
 THE STRIFE 63 
 
 allows. Your playing, if I may say so Miss, 
 and accepting of defeat far from deserved per- 
 sonally, does honour to an English education, 
 and we wish long life to you, and many more 
 Centuries hereafter to the credit of your Bat. 
 Mr. Herbert helped in this. 
 
 (Signed) A. J. PELHAM. DANIEL MASTERS. 
 FRANCIS BLAKIE. TIM GEOGHAN. 
 
 (Signed additionally) 
 
 WICKFORD. LIONEL OXBOROUGH. 
 
 SHERE. ST. JOHN HERBERT. 
 
 KELLS. IVEAGH Sum. 
 
 S. K. CRAWFORD. 
 
 Canon Oxborough, to the Rev. Frank . 
 
 DEAR FRANK, 
 
 I know the evolution of our younger world 
 interests you, and no one is more aware than 
 you how very careful one must be about putting 
 in an oar. I have had the opportunity here of 
 assisting at, and I trust helping in, a peculiarly 
 delicate situation. My tack in such circum- 
 stances is to go quietly, and preserve an easy 
 appearance: not "knowing," which is hopeless 
 with our young gallants, but equable; above all,
 
 64 JAMESIE 
 
 not to let myself be taken aback. The habit of 
 " scoring," especially over one's elders and bet- 
 ters, prevails exceedingly. My sister Gertrude, 
 a clever woman of her own date, does fairly 
 well, but she is too much given to taking the 
 pedestal. Thus confidences are granted me, and 
 constantly, which never come her way. 
 
 My nephews, being of the blood you know 
 there is very little of their mother in them 
 let things run with singular recklessness. The 
 result was, to put it shortly, we sailed uncom- 
 monly near the wind. How near, to bloodshed 
 even, I know from Wickford this morning, but 
 I had more than a winged hint or two in my 
 pastoral bag last night. 
 
 The day started with cricket I believe I 
 mentioned these young women had persuaded 
 me to bend my aged back above a bat again. It 
 was like old days, and I knocked up a decent 
 fifty, on a pitch nobody had taken the trouble 
 to put in order, since the fixture was regarded 
 as a farce. The girl bowling was a remarkably 
 pretty, capable little (etc.) dressed like a Diana, 
 and fairly deadly once she had found her length. 
 She bowled Jack Shere, a far from incapable
 
 THE STRIFE 65 
 
 player, at the third ball, and Jack's face was 
 really amusing to see when it took place. I 
 punished her, since it was my duty, and my 
 great-nephew ran for me when I could no more. 
 I was only out by a miracle, as you must grant, 
 the ladies' maid (French) happening to hold 
 the ball. 
 
 The heroine of our modern drama was the 
 young Diana's sister, a girl I did not especially 
 observe till she came down to dinner dressed. 
 The women on the field were fitly clad, and 
 pleasingly, in white to 'match the men. From 
 that minute I was prepared for other changes 
 yet scarcely for all that appeared. I had already 
 been told she was a Suffragette, and supposed 
 her the ordinary Rampant but there was 
 more than that. Something had gone wrong; 
 it seemed to me she had lost something, some 
 elementary control, which one takes for granted 
 in a woman in well-bred society. The kindest 
 reading is that she was really not responsible, 
 and I believe my nephew now inclines to that. 
 It is true she had a grievance, if you may call 
 it so. My hostess's brother, a handsome young 
 rascal, who turned up in the trappings of his 
 Training Corps, had lately thrown the girl over,
 
 66 JAMESIE 
 
 or threatened to a painful situation, but one 
 which as a rule appeals to a woman's pride. 
 Alas, pride is far to seek in the sisterhood nowa- 
 days. She tried first to pique him, by attending 
 to others, freely. Then, seeing him dancing 
 with her sister a second time, she suddenly lost 
 her head, and threw expressions about that she 
 may have learnt street-preaching with the com- 
 munity. We grew indignant. The poor little 
 girl had done nothing. I warned my nephew 
 to take steps. 
 
 Later, his son and heir, a bright youngster, 
 had been telling me in great detail the history 
 of his horse's illness of course all Wickf ord's 
 olive-branches ride. It seemed they had been 
 on the point of destroying it the day before, but 
 my younger nephew turned up and saved it. ... 
 About here, I became aware of Miss J gaz- 
 ing fixedly at us, across the bay of the ballroom 
 where some of us had retired to rest. (The 
 dance, like the cricket which preceded it, was 
 vaguely described as a " rag," and rest was occa- 
 sionally needful, even for the young and healthy. 
 Thus you can imagine what it was for young 
 Herbert, who is delicate, 1 and me.) J is a 
 
 1 I am not.
 
 THE STRIFE 67 
 
 girl of almost indecorous beauty, with a gay 
 pink colour, quite natural, red lips, and the most 
 wonderful eyes. I had hardly observed her eyes 
 before, till I met them in this manner. Her 
 head lay back, her arms along the chair, her 
 look transfixed as though she would have mes- 
 merised us, very singular. 
 
 " Poor little fellow," she said dreamily. 
 " Beauty, is n't he? Will you take me down to 
 see?" 
 
 " All right," says Kells. 
 
 " You '11 get a spanking if you do," I said 
 avuncularly. I had heard my nephew particu- 
 larly forbid him to go near the stable. 
 
 "J won't," says Kells. Little imp! 
 
 he was aware, of course, of an audience. 
 
 " How do you know that? " says Shere, and 
 so on. The girl lay listening in the same atti- 
 tude, and with the most absolute ease. As soon 
 as I saw a chance I moderated Jack, who is a 
 good fellow, but runs a joke to death when he 
 gets it. I explained to him the horse was a fine 
 one, and Iveagh, my nephew in question, quite 
 right to run no risks. 
 
 " But he 's Kells', is n't he? " says the girl. 
 She looked like a siren, eyes half shut. " Will
 
 68 JAMESIE 
 
 you take me, Kells? and save me from the 
 dragons the dreadful dragons? After all, he 
 belongs to you." 
 
 "Yes, Biscuit's mine," says Kells; but he 
 looked doubtful. The spanking was something 
 more than visionary, in his case. Finally, he 
 jumped up. " I '11 take you, come along," he 
 says, raffishly. 
 
 Well, I let them go, because I did not believe 
 he would do it. Wickford's children are in 
 order. But presently Iveagh himself came 
 down, and I began to realise, by the storm of 
 chaff that fell upon him, the rights of things. 
 This is Gertrude's younger son, the traveller 
 and tropical botanist, regarded by her as some- 
 thing of a mauvais sujet formerly but developed 
 and even distinguished since. He was and is a 
 mighty pretty rider elegant, to use their own 
 jargon. Unhorsed and brought to earth he is 
 an odd boy, a little rough, but no harm in him as 
 I have long proved. He is rather fond of me. 1 
 
 " She 's doing it to annoy," he observed in my 
 direction. " Tim won't let them past. I placed 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, won't he?" said Jack. "You should 
 
 1 This is true.
 
 THE STRIFE 69 
 
 have seen her. You '11 not deny Timothy has a 
 heart? " 
 
 " Then," says Iveagh, " it '11 be the worse for 
 him." And he sat down by me. 
 
 Not J ? " Jack chaffed. " Oh, do give it 
 
 J . Why, she was asking for it, was n't she, 
 
 sir? " I regret to say he appealed to me. 
 
 My nephew seemed uninterested. We fell 
 into family conversation apart, to which he pres- 
 ently attached his own little boy. When the 
 latter was leaving us, I said to him quite care- 
 lessly " I am glad your father did not have to 
 shoot the poney." 
 
 " Who spoke of shooting? " said my nephew 
 at once. He is not much of a talker, and had 
 been letting the child do it for him. It is an 
 especially attractive child, and Iveagh likes 
 " scoring " with it over his brother's offspring 
 when he can. (My Irish nephews " play " their 
 children against one another, publicly: they are 
 a comical pair.) 
 
 I told him Kells had done so lately; and pro- 
 ceeded, relaxing a little at the boy's departure, 
 to an anecdote of a horse of mine. Iveagh inter- 
 rupted me, to my surprise. He asked, did the 
 girl hear?
 
 70 JAMESIE 
 
 " Miss J ? Hear about the shooting? 
 
 Well, she was sitting just over there." 
 
 He considered a moment, looking about him. 
 " I 'd better see to it," he remarked audibly; and 
 amid a roar of laughter from Shere and com- 
 pany, he left the room. 
 
 Ten minutes later again, I observed Master 
 Kells slip by me on the staircase, and he was 
 crying. I tried to stop him, but he fled. Experi- 
 ence, alas, had pointed the 'moral from which his 
 great-uncle refrained. 
 
 [There is plenty more of Oxborough, says 
 Herbert, but I abandon him, with excuse, for 
 others. He evidently thought as he chatted with 
 his friend, he had fathomed everything at the 
 moment. As a matter of fact, he got little fur- 
 ther than his sister, that night. He fathomed 
 successfully, but it occurred the next morning, 
 when both the Suirs took him in hand, with 
 caution and courtesy befitting his dignified 
 estate.] 
 
 Tim Geoghan, to St. John Herbert. Disgrace- 
 fully dirty. 
 
 MR. HERBERT, 
 
 This is to tell you I am in fear of my life 
 with his Lordship having knocked a couple
 
 THE STRIFE 71 
 
 extra in my score as you notticed, and cannot 
 leave the Poney by command this night. And 
 here he sends me seeking his belongins with it, 
 so what in the name of unreason will I do? 
 Pleased as I am to serve I cannot be in two 
 places, nor in such necesities as he plants upon 
 me ast the undergrooms. It is unreason in him 
 he being beside himself surly not getting to her as 
 is quite to be understood. And yet he will have 
 the head of me if he discovers wrong and the 
 Ladies already disturbing us to look at the Ani- 
 mal women should know better tho nothing agst 
 Miss Joyce. But if you please prevent Ld Kells 
 bringing her with the nerves Biscuit has I would 
 be thankful. And if you please lend me Blakie 
 or wantin him come yourself for the intavel of 
 time I am absent looking up the gerl. 
 
 T. GEOGHAN. 
 
 [If only, comments Herbert, all witnesses were 
 as transparent as Tim, we documentaries would 
 have an easier time of it. There was no doubt 
 whatever who the " belongins " and the " gerl " 
 were, for I tested Shere on the spot, and he said 
 " Oh, the devil, one for Joyce." Yet of course 
 we had to take Bess seriously, though we still in- 
 clined to the frivolous, not to say ribald, concern-
 
 72 JAMESIE 
 
 ing the Pennants and Sophie. We had not yet 
 seen through Joyce, or rather through Suir. 
 Enlightenment in that quarter came later, see 
 Janet.] 
 
 The Duke, to Kells, delivered by Lettice. 
 
 You go along to bed, I don't care to look at 
 you. Sending Lettice to us after all this time, 
 instead of coming at once yourself. I have your 
 Mother's word for you it is unmilitary. 
 
 WlCKFORD. 
 
 Kells to . Written three times 'with a very 
 
 black pencil on the wall-paper of his own 
 room. 
 
 I hate him, Biscuit 's mine. 
 
 Madeleine Pennant, to a school-friend. 
 
 [Herbert calls the following a fine example 
 of true modesty and family form, and contrasts 
 it favourably with Oxborough's.] 
 
 Well, of all seedy fixtures, between ourselves, 
 and rotten shows on Joyce's part. I tell you I 
 shall be glad to be out of this. I thought Joyce 
 was ill when she fastened me to-night, she was 
 shuddering like a leaf. But it was rage, pure
 
 THE STRIFE 73 
 
 and perfect rage because I had not done what 
 was expected of me. . . . My dear girl, I can't 
 win a match against eleven men, even left- 
 handed, all alone: especially on a rotten pitch, 
 with all the rest spooning, and when one of the 
 opposite eleven happens to be able to play. It 
 does seem to me a bit stiff, but Linda seemed as 
 sick as Joyce, very nearly, though I can't say 
 Linda on the field did much to help. The natu- 
 ral result is I have had a sickening evening, and 
 my head aches now so I can't get to sleep. Linda 
 gave me a bottle of something, but you don't 
 catch me, I 'd smash it if I dared. I feel vicious, 
 which proves it can't have been a decent match. 
 Something was wrong with it and them. It was 
 a beautiful ball that got me out. . . . There is 
 an affectionate Churchman here, which of all 
 things I bar, they always paw you. I should like 
 to catch any other man trying it, but this hap- 
 pens to be the Duke's uncle. . . . The kids are 
 topping simply, and one of them the handsomest 
 child I ever saw. They cut his hair American 
 style, straight round his ears, and it flops when 
 he runs. And can't he run just! he ran for 
 his great-uncle. He is the only one without a 
 title, but they are quite common kids. I 'd have
 
 74 JAMESIE 
 
 stopped out to talk to them gladly. They are 
 quite an ordinary family, so far as anyone can 
 see, and on awfully good terms with one an- 
 other; which really, after ours ! There 
 we re 'two uniforms to-night, three if you count 
 the Duke, splendiferous to look at, and of course 
 thinking a lot of themselves having it on. Don't 
 tell Ann and Beaty, but sometimes, seeing the 
 sort of man you meet about, I wonder how our 
 soldiers would behave if it came to war. I en- 
 close the testimonial the servants gave me, and 
 I mark the signatures I most value. More you 
 will not get out of me : but I hope, when I am 
 Joyce's age, I shall be more just, that 's all. 
 
 [Francis, Kells, Herbert and Iveagh, were 
 the names Madeleine marked. She might have 
 added Shere, who got very cleverly between her 
 and Crawford. Linda, of course, failed her of- 
 fice utterly towards Madeleine, as she did 
 towards Joyce. 
 
 I proceed to Janet, again invaluable. She 
 starts with a first-class portrait, having declared 
 in preliminary that she cannot paint. Francis 
 too I was grateful to Meg Crawford for this 
 letter.]
 
 THE STRIFE 75 
 
 The Duchess, to her sister Meg. 
 
 We did the magnificent last night, and Iveagh 
 took care of our dignity. The blessing to be 
 done for, Meg, and when you have been dragged 
 through the dust, as Steenie has dragged me 
 lately! I have not had Conor's company, like 
 that, for ages past. You remember my brother- 
 in-law, don't you? if not I cannot help you. 
 Except for general adequacy, he does not matter 
 the least. He simply disappears beside his wife, 
 now a most beautiful woman. He has a little 
 down-look, sneaking rather, but do not imagine 
 shy, and he goes swinging about very lightly, as 
 Conor (alas!) used to do. He has a horrible 
 temper, no-particular manners, and the chil- 
 dren trust him utterly. He addresses me as 
 " Duchess " nicely, and speaks of me as the 
 woman or Jane. His own wife is the girl, that 
 is the difference. It has made my husband years 
 younger already having him. 
 
 I believe he saved us from awful things last 
 night, or St. John did, though what I have not 
 the least idea. Conor, who probably knows, is 
 quite satisfied all is well this morning, though 
 everybody else seems fagged. Iveagh informed 
 me, the only time I caught him privately during
 
 76 JAMESIE 
 
 the evening, that he had lost the trick of society, 
 and felt out of it, the girls had gone so fast. 
 But nobody would ever have guessed it. He 
 had this frightful situation. (I am slowly realis- 
 ing how unfair it was.) Jealousy, awful : a girl 
 jealous of her own sister, and that a little girl 
 of sixteen. Well, a jilt, that was Steenie, and 
 enjoying it, simply enjoying the suffering he had 
 caused. I could see him, with my eyes shut, tor- 
 turing. It was shocking shocking because it 
 was so sly. The little girl, heroine of the after- 
 noon, conscious and half crying, in a cruel posi- 
 tion not one of the men could bear to see that. 
 It was comical almost they all came to me, 
 one after another, and asked me to stop it stop 
 Steenie, you know. 
 
 Well, what else, for Iveagh? Oh yes, the 
 most beautiful and wildest girl making rabid 
 love to him I really can put it no other way 
 and shocking his own poor mother, who fell 
 upon me! Once he came near me, looking for 
 somebody, and I touched him, telegraphing as 
 it were my doubts. " Jolly, is n't it? " said 
 Iveagh, looking extremely sneaking, with his 
 eyes aside; threw a paper and a programme to 
 St. John, and joined the rout again.
 
 THE STRIFE 77 
 
 I had to leave it to him. I felt increasingly 
 stupid, paralysed by something, it must have 
 been fear. I think it was our brother's horrid 
 calmness, a kind of slack contentment, trifling 
 with the child and others; and the conviction 
 within me, nevertheless, that the whole un- 
 healthy turmoil turned upon him. He was not 
 even drinking, last night, and Iveagh was, and 
 Joyce against him oh me, that girl ! The parts 
 were wrong, do you see, the presences anyhow. 
 Steenie at his best looks so splendid, so appeal- 
 ing, not a figure on the field to-day to stand by 
 him, unless that of the crack player, Herbert's 
 man. 
 
 And that young cricketer stood near only to 
 contrast with him, to drive the inevitable con- 
 trast home. I saw him once, while I was play- 
 ing with Aileen, come into the hall. It sur- 
 prised me, for an absurd reason : I had given 
 Sophie most special leave to walk with him in 
 the park. They are lovers, proper lovers, just 
 engaged ; and much, much more rigid about ren- 
 dezvous than people like Steenie or Jack. I 
 called him to me, having a chance, and I said 
 as lightly as I could manage " I hope you 
 have not forgotten Sophie." For Steenie makes
 
 78 JAMESIE 
 
 one light-headed: one grows to think there is 
 no such thing as faith or honour in the world. 
 He said " Oh no, your Grace, I have not for- 
 gotten her," with just a little bit of smile in 
 speaking. The best kind of London English, 
 you saw at once, good heart with a touch of 
 irony: the British lion in London, you know, is 
 ironical, he smiles at himself. And off he went 
 again, no doubt to keep his appointment. A 
 man the relief ! . . . 
 
 [So much for the Duchess: now for the 
 Duke.] 
 
 The Duke to . 
 
 [Discovered on a ball of paper, covered with 
 ghastly objects intended for horses, tightly 
 gripped in his daughter's hand. Nurse, a pre- 
 cisian, returned it to Janet, who gave it to Her- 
 bert. He dates it 10.45, an ^ marks it " very 
 significant."] 
 
 Look here, this is going beyond a -
 
 THE STRIFE 79 
 
 Suir, to Herbert, being one of the documents 
 Janet mentions, which fell directly from his 
 hands into mine. It is scrawled on a half- 
 sheet of note-paper. 
 
 She will do for him if this goes on. Put a 
 guard on the gunroom, and send someone down 
 to the pond. 
 
 [The other bit of evidence is a girl's pro- 
 gramme, or note of dances, picked up presum- 
 ably in the course of " ragging," with the phrase 
 written across the top which finally opened our 
 eyes. The language used, and the fact that it 
 had been left for the public eye, would probably 
 have been of interest to a doctor, to one of 
 those doctors of to-day who deal with hysteria 
 in all its versions, but it is not publishable here. 
 It served its turn on the spot: and passed to 
 the Duke's safe charge, or safer destruction, 
 probably.] 
 
 St. John Herbert, to the world at large. 
 
 Well, odd though it may appear, I took Suir 
 seriously. I believed, first, that he would not 
 so have written, if he had not been in sight of 
 the end of his resources which in itself means 
 a good deal, for he is weirdly clever in the kind 
 of game. And next, I noticed that he came to
 
 8o JAMESIE 
 
 me from the direction of Janet, who was look- 
 ing both ill and anxious. The terms between 
 those brothers and their belongings, as Miss 
 Madeleine had divined, were remarkably true 
 and good quite trustworthy. I did my best 
 from that moment to back him as my hostess's 
 proxy: though still, in the nature of things, he 
 had all the stiffest work. Iveagh surprised me, 
 I may say, as much as his own mother. I dis- 
 covered the full depths of a quiet Irishman's 
 capacity for flirting that night. Nor was my 
 backing of much intrinsic value: since, owing 
 to habit, I soon fell back on Francis. 
 
 Forgetting Francis's engagement, I set him, 
 first, to find the keys of Wickford's gunroom, as 
 the simplest way to guard it. He tracked them, 
 by means of the butler, to the charge of Mr. 
 Crawford: and from Mr. Crawford's gentle- 
 manly pocket, into the void. 
 
 Francis to Herbert. 
 
 The missing one was in the stable, sir. His 
 lordship has it. The keys may be anywhere. I 
 won't lose sight of the door. 
 
 As for the rest of my directions, I went myself, 
 as the person best to be spared from the danc- 
 ing, down to the pond. I was prepared to think 
 it foolish to go, but I went. I met Shere at the
 
 THE STRIFE 81 
 
 stairfoot, and stopped to give him a hint he 
 hardly needed it and to send Janet a message, 
 in case she missed me. Jack offered to go to the 
 pond instead of me, as it was raining: kind of 
 him, all things considered : he is a good sort. 
 Joyce well, Joyce was something to him: not 
 only as Linda's sister, but something apart. We 
 laughed at Joyce and her causes a little, but she 
 was the most gifted of our circle, by a long 
 way: she was too startling, too streaming a little 
 personality to be easily spared : even had not her 
 immediate situation appealed to another instinct 
 in us which need not be emphasised. Joyce, at 
 her wildest, appealed by her simplicity. She 
 had abandoned herself, in the case of Crawford, 
 in the sight of all ; we all took shares, in conse- 
 quence, in her disappointment. It had to be so, 
 even though she disdained it. Simultaneously, 
 as Wickford wrote, she revolted against the lot 
 of us. Let her revolt! Such was the first feeling 
 of the Suirs: such was, or soon became, my own 
 opinion; such, as soon as I had given him words 
 for it, was Jack's. I thought of stationing him 
 as guard on the guns, and letting off Francis. 
 But then, I did not. Francis was safer, some- 
 how: Francis was more utterly safe. Possibly 
 I am a fool about Francis. So I just prepared 
 a few lies, for Janet. 
 
 And at the very moment, we heard Joyce be- 
 hind us.
 
 82 JAMESIE 
 
 " You spy you beastly little spy! Steenie is 
 right." 
 
 I saw the ineffable Shere start, and glance 
 back. She was looking magnificent, of course, 
 leaning low over the stairhead : a snake-woman, 
 fascinating consciously, while she waited to 
 strike again. 
 
 Iveagh answered her from a dozen stairs 
 below. " Well, what of you, going over to the 
 Germans!" 
 
 The Wickfords had been trying to persuade 
 Joyce to finish her musical studies at Munich, 
 which her engagement had cut short. I forget 
 if anyone mentions it in the letters. Jack knew 
 the fact, as I did. 
 
 " Jove, that 's good fighting! " he observed, to 
 me, waking from a momentary trance, 
 
 Madeleine, to the Duchess. 
 
 [Delivered by Laura. This is really ante- 
 dated, of course, to her previous letter, but for 
 the context is necessary here. It places Jamesie.] 
 
 Do you mind awfully if I go to bed? I have 
 got a bit of a headache, the sun or something. 
 Don't come after, I mentioned it to Linda, I 
 shall be all right. If he wants to know where 
 Joyce is, she is sitting on the conservatory step, 
 smoking Miss Adler is there. If he wants to
 
 THE STRIFE 83 
 
 know where his little boy is, I saw him in the 
 garden, and told him to be quick and go in, be- 
 cause it was beginning to rain. He said he had 
 a message to somebody in the garden, from some- 
 body in the house. Your brother, who was with 
 me, examined him : but whatever it was, he did 
 not let out. I did not think somehow his father 
 would have sent him, or you : so thought I had 
 better mention it. Goodnight. 
 
 MADELEINE P. 
 
 [The next two of the series are love-letters, 
 men's. The first is nicely written; the second 
 very badly indeed, in pencil, neither para- 
 graphed nor punctuated, flung off full tilt.] 
 
 MY SWEET HEART. 
 
 I could not come, you must excuse and be- 
 lieve me but such is life. Really and truly darl- 
 ing it breaks my heart to disapoint you, on my 
 honour I was on the edge of coming off. There 's 
 many a slip as you will discover like it, but this 
 is the worst I have had. Things are happening 
 you see which the gentlemen did not expect, and 
 Mr. H. so put out he has forgotten you may be 
 sure. I am here on duty by his lordship's choice, 
 and I cannot move, and you not to come to me
 
 84 JAMESIE 
 
 either, it is not safe. There is no danger (un- 
 derlined) only a squeak that might occur and 
 no allowing it in the circs being a lady. It is 
 just unfortunate (erased) blasted luck. I hope 
 our Score pleased you it was for your sake these 
 ladies are nothing to me. Mr. Jamesie will 
 bring you this, but do not keep him, he is wanted 
 upstairs. I love you and I will never fail you 
 after this one time so help me God. 
 
 F. B. 
 
 I cannot come darling, nor have you waiting 
 longer. Go back where you came from and let 
 Tim take you along the lane. I want you here 
 God knows but do not come into it, nor through 
 to the children without me, it is not safe. It is 
 a soul in torment he has presented me, and she 
 flirting powerfully, and the rest of us managing 
 to keep her thoughts engaged. She would be 
 embracing me at a word, and who am I to allow 
 her, with you waiting in the rain perhaps, girl, 
 life of me, as if I cared for them! I sat with 
 Jane lately in the room that used to be Mother's 
 in its ugly days, and from where I sat I could 
 look at the Avenue trees. It was rough on her 
 as I supposed, but she did not cry, anyhow while
 
 THE STRIFE 85 
 
 I had her, and Mother has tricks would do for 
 the proudest, as you know. Wanting me, before 
 now, do you not? Now put your hood on the 
 way I would have shown you, and dont let Tim 
 touch you, a finger of you, or I will slay the rest 
 of him as I did not last night. I do not deserve 
 you but no man does better. Believing that 
 firmly helps me to bear it. Till I see you. 
 
 I. S. 
 
 [Of the above it may be noted that Janet was 
 Bess's friend : and that she barely knew Joyce. 
 Thus, Suir told her what he believed would in- 
 terest her, more particularly.] 
 
 Pel ham to Francis. Written two days later. 
 
 Now you are gone, Blakie, I will tell you 
 something. I thought better not, so long as you 
 and he were in the house together, and also, I 
 own, I was in such an absolute rage. It was not 
 only the insult to a decent household, under 
 proper management, which I have not divulged, 
 least of all to Green, who would have felt it. 
 more than I did. There was also Tim's cocki- 
 ness, needing constant sitting on by the lot of us, 
 and beyond bounds when his lordship had
 
 86 JAMESIE 
 
 trusted him to go to the gate. Altogether my 
 temper was hardly in my holding, but this was 
 the worst. 
 
 Take it easy, won't you. He asked Sophie, 
 in my hearing, where she was going to sleep that 
 night. He did not know I was in hearing, hav- 
 ing come on her in the shrubbery, but I was tak- 
 ing a stroll to cool my cockles, owing to Tim. 
 I had not thought to have them raised again, and 
 in such a manner. 
 
 I believe even at my age I would have been at 
 him, for the girl is young, and there she was, 
 with no one to speak for her, but bless you, she 
 is French. They need no one to speak for them, 
 though Sophie is a thought slower than the last 
 we had. The Hon. C. had made a little mistake 
 you see, knowing the race she came of. He had 
 not reckoned for all races having their decent 
 individuals, as I could answer. The French are 
 the French, and I do not pretend to know them 
 widely. Eight times I have been with his Grace 
 to the Continental Paris, only eight times. But 
 to put the figure at its lowest, Sophie in herself 
 is an exception, and being engaged to you, any- 
 one should have known it. The girl has a head, 
 too, she did not cry. I stopped to hear it out
 
 THE STRIFE 87 
 
 naturally, and in the circs you will excuse me. 
 I knew you were tied to the gunroom, and so 
 did he. So did he, my boy. She let him have 
 it. Not in French either. Snatching about, as 
 it were, she got the words. They were rather 
 surprising words, but they did his business. Not 
 half. When he had gone I waited a bit and then 
 went to her, and there she was, calm and queenly, 
 sitting on a seat. Dressed in decent black as she 
 always is. Not panting even. And she had not 
 spoken loud. I just said "My dear, that's 
 all right. You can bet on us backing you." 
 Some stuff of that sort. And I advised her to 
 go in. 
 
 Nurse, to Iveagh. Delivered by Pel ham. 
 
 MY LORD, 
 
 Jamesie is in, heated and wringing of 
 course, but no harm done, and is wishful I 
 should explain. I said it was better he should 
 write a line to you, since it is the way of true 
 ease to unburden, and her Ladyship not here. 
 This I send by Pelham, but I should like to add 
 the affairs of the servants do not, as a rule, come 
 to the children's ears. I am far from liking it, 
 but Sophie is French. Knowing the French as
 
 88 JAMESIE 
 
 you are said to do I need not enlarge. The child 
 is rilled with admiration of the cricketing-score, 
 as children will be, which is how I suppose he 
 crossed with Mrs. Monk. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 C. T. JOHNSTONE (Nurse). 
 
 [Iveagh chucked me this with a whistle, notes 
 Herbert, but Jamesie's he concealed. I only got 
 it out of him, years after, by resorting to the most 
 ignoble devices. I own I began to believe he 
 had lost this necessary scrap of my evidence, but 
 Lord, no! He is exactly like a magpie.] 
 
 Jamesie, to Iveagh. 
 
 NURSERY 11.20. 
 
 To FATHER. 
 
 I was not lost in the garden. It was only 
 I had a mesage, French, rather difacult, I had 
 to get done. So that made another mesage, be- 
 cause she wanted it. So that made another mes- 
 a e (3) when I found him at last. And I had 
 to go round a Funy way because of Linda catch- 
 ing me, and so that was all right. So you see it 
 was nothing but business rather a particular Sort. 
 It was only u.8 by the clock when I came past 
 the last time. I have put it all in my Prayers, 
 for safety, but O is n't he a wonderful man!!!
 
 THE STRIFE 89 
 
 [The following opinion of Tim's, writes Her- 
 bert, has puzzled me a good deal as to its proper 
 placing in the chronicle. It is evidently what 
 the country has been waiting for, but I do not 
 mean that. It is not the least concerned with 
 Joyce, and barely with Bess, and only the cricket 
 episodically. Yet more perfectly than anything, 
 even a contribution I prepared by the pond, 
 which was extraordinarily beautiful, it lends the 
 romantic atmosphere. How did Tim do it, with 
 such material? Holmer park is really not much 
 to look at, and it was a particularly dirty night. 
 If I could but get hold of the " notes " of Katie's 
 referred to, they might help.] 
 
 Tim Geoghan to Pel ham. 
 
 I dare not for my souls sake tho it is thirsty 
 sorely come to the house, but you might send me 
 a drop of it down here by the boy. 
 
 I have seen strange things abroad this night, 
 and me walking simply to the lodge-gate and 
 back by the avenue way. I am not to say what 
 I saw at the end of it where the trees lean over, 
 but going down it was the Duke. It is not me 
 at this date can be mistaken in him tho he was 
 covered closely. I did not adress him tho I had 
 my thoughts. He would be low these days with 
 his London perplexities and the trouble he has
 
 90 JAMESIE 
 
 beyond there and Katie writing her notes to 
 him as indeed she has to all of us and Gerry her 
 brother outside himself with the Dublin Propa- 
 gand and him a loony since his third year when 
 the cart went over him and the small score he 
 made. 1 Coming back I saw him again and as 
 misbegoten was he saw me. And there I was 
 into it away from the Poney. I get sick of that 
 Poney from the pair of them. Do I not know 
 him I ast the Duke and the expression of his 
 features quite different since last night. 2 Send 
 some cake also if she is cuting it. I will drink 
 Blakie's health and he mine being separated, that 
 was the Grand Stand we made. 
 
 T. GEOGHAN. 
 
 Francis's evidence, collected by me, first-hand. 
 
 S.H. 
 
 " Oh yes, she came, sir: that is, she looked in 
 on us; not, you would say, with a fixed purpose, 
 only seeking suggestions, as it were." 
 
 " There was plenty in Wickford's gunroom," 
 I said. 
 
 " There were a good few guns, sir, and 
 tackle for them too. A beautiful collection the 
 
 1 The duke's small score. 2 The poney's features.
 
 THE STRIFE 91 
 
 duke has, with what he has given his brother 
 added for his games out there." 
 
 " For his game," I corrected, severely. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Francis. " That 's the large 
 game. Between them, you would say they could 
 sweep creation clean of game if they wanted to." 
 
 " Don't sneer, Francis. It 's not so easy." 
 
 " I never tried shooting," said Francis, rather 
 wistful. " And anyhow," he resumed, " that 
 night it was n't my job. The opposite was my 
 job. So I darkened in the billiard-room to be 
 on the safe side. I thought since it led through 
 to the smaller room, and his lordship had left 
 me to judge, that was my department." 
 
 " To be sure," I encouraged. " And Mrs. 
 Monk made no objection." Francis went on. 
 
 " So we both saw Miss Joyce's face appear, 
 by way of the passage, which was faint-lighted. 
 And her sister chose to be quiet, and I was 
 naturally." 
 
 " No doubt," I suggested, " you had been so 
 throughout." 
 
 " Pretty well," said Francis. " Except once, 
 when Mrs. Monk wished to meddle with the 
 guns. I mentioned that was against orders." 
 
 " Yours? " I enquired. Francis went on.
 
 92 JAMESIE 
 
 " l Who 's there?' said Miss Joyce, seeing 
 the glitter, very likely, on the diamonds her sis- 
 ter was wearing. ' Who do you suppose? ' said 
 Mrs. Monk. For they were sitting out that 
 night all over the place, sir. In the bootroom 
 I saw them and the bathroom. Why not the 
 billiard-room too?" 
 
 " Why indeed? " I said. Then I followed all 
 his meaning. " Oh, I see. Joyce thought it was 
 Crawford, with Linda." 
 
 " Who else should she think it was," said 
 Francis, " and her sister using that tone. It was 
 my idea Mrs. Monk did it expressly to bait 
 her." 
 
 "Shame!" I said. Francis was silent. 
 " Lucky it was n't Crawford," I suggested, " in 
 the circumstances." Francis agreed. " They 
 slanged one another, I suppose." Francis as- 
 sented, politely. "What did you do?" 
 
 " I interfered, sir, by means of a finger. I 
 cocked the light up on them sudden, a sudden 
 glare. Strong electricity is very dis-concert- 
 ing." (Dis-concerting, Francis pronounces it, 
 but he uses it right.) 
 
 " Was n't your presence a trifle disconcerting 
 too?"
 
 THE STRIFE 93 
 
 " Well, she looked odd, sir. She looked very 
 queer. She could not at once get the rights of 
 it, knowing no doubt her sister's ways. She says 
 to me very haughty after a moment ' You can 
 go.' Exceedingly well she did it. And I men- 
 tioned his lordship had asked me to wait for 
 him there, while he just took a look round at the 
 stable. I said him, rather than you, to be more 
 - influential. And she lost all that bright 
 colour, sir, it was striking. She felt bad for the 
 minute, knew she had been done. And I think " 
 he hesitated for a form of words " she saw 
 herself, sir. Not very nice for her, that was not. 
 Next instant she recovered, and went stepping 
 out." 
 
 " To have at Suir on the staircase," I said con- 
 tented. " Thank you, Francis. That is, I think, 
 sufficient. Were you alone when Jamesie came? 
 I mean, really alone?" 
 
 Francis assented. " I was allowing myself a 
 little smoke," he said, modestly. " Not nice to 
 see, things like that between sisters." 
 
 " Had you forgotten Sophie? " No reply 
 from Francis. I gazed at him a minute, recon- 
 structing the scene. I always enjoy looking at 
 him anyhow. " Could you have managed her? "
 
 94 JAMESIE 
 
 I posed him suddenly. " A madwoman, with a 
 loaded gun? " I put it strongly. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir," said Francis. " If you mean 
 physically." 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell you something," I returned. 
 " You were about the only one of us that night 
 who could." 
 
 " It comes of regular exercise, sir," said Fran- 
 cis indulgently. He is always considerate of my 
 defects. He turned over our team, visibly, for 
 a moment. Then he said " Mr. Crawford 
 could have managed her equally, if he had 
 had time." 
 
 Miss Kit chin, faultlessly typed on the Duke's 
 machine, to her bosom friend "Dodo" in 
 London. 
 
 I write, dearest, in unusual peace, both actual 
 and inward. Duty done, both to the Duke and 
 otherwise, including, Dodo, my duty to myself. 
 This is the festival, long looked for (etc.). It 
 has been a little wearing in the event. . . . He 
 looked in lately, seeking somebody, perhaps a 
 partner, possibly the Duke. I smiled, pausing 
 an instant, ready to satisfy. I thought he would 
 leave again, but no! Can you conceive a more
 
 THE STRIFE 95 
 
 trying test at the end of a tiring day? He had 
 changed from his white, and was in full accou- 
 trements. I excused him for wanting to be 
 looked at such a boy! He came in, patting 
 his gloves on. He spoke to me, as he has not 
 done directly since our conversation on the con- 
 dition of Ireland. Well, a new trouble appeared 
 at once, for I could not give him what he asked 
 for. I could not speak rashly about what I did 
 not know. One may speculate, but that is not 
 business. There is one's duty to one's principals 
 to be considered. The new Irish reports he 
 asked about I have not set eyes on, actually; for 
 Lord Iveagh, who brought them over, used to 
 be his brother's secretary, and turned me out 
 rather summarily when they were discussed. So 
 I pleaded ignorance, to Steenie. I said, really 
 I did not know. 
 
 " You 're lying," he said. " All women lie." 
 He looked pink, and a little savage, and split 
 the button off his glove! 
 
 " All women use needles," I said with a smile. 
 I produced my work-things, and held out my 
 hand. I am foolish, I cannot write of it. He 
 came quite close while I mended his button, and 
 sat, as I felt, looking me over. Closely, too.
 
 96 JAMESIE 
 
 " Have they told Janet? " he said. He meant 
 his sister, the Duchess. 
 
 " Told her what? " I said, giving the glove 
 back. I looked him in the eyes, I was able to. 
 He has those clear blue Scotch eyes, candid 
 oh, so young. After a minute he dropped them, 
 dangling his glove. 
 
 " Getting my buttons sewn on," he said. 
 " I 'm as poor as a rat now. That fellow 's done 
 me. He 's worked it wants my shoes. I sup- 
 pose you have heard." 
 
 " You mean," I said, electrified, " you are not 
 going back to Ireland? " 
 
 He looked at me a minute longer, then he 
 laughed. "Well, I'm dashed," he said. 
 " Wickford does n't tell you much." 
 
 After that he heaved himself up he is long 
 in the limb, Mr. Steenie and went, leaving 
 me in deep reflection. He asked me as an after- 
 thought if I had seen Mrs. Monk. I had heard 
 Mrs. Monk, using terms to her sister in the 
 billiard-room, however, I did not give my sex 
 away. She is one of us. Her sister, Miss Pen- 
 nant, is another, and does more, I believe, for the 
 Cause. I have heard Joyce is a fine speaker. 
 I should not have minded a word with her 
 but I could not catch her to-night.
 
 THE STRIFE 97 
 
 (Later.) Peace has sunk on the house, at 
 least my quarter of it giddiness reigns else- 
 where. It is true, the Duke does not tell me 
 much. Nobody does. Why is it? The Duke's 
 relation with me is official purely, not stiff ex- 
 actly, I do not mean that. He is rather an agree- 
 able person. His brother, who is far more arro- 
 gant, overlooks or looks round me. Yet his 
 manners to women other women verge on 
 the indecorous, as I have seen to-day. The 
 cricket-game to-day was a study in what, for 
 want of a better word, one may call the lax. 
 They do not regard me as a woman, Dodo. 
 Why? Have I lost all human semblance? But 
 this was worse, because, as Steenie noted, what 
 they kept from me was business. Not quite my 
 business, it is true. I am not by the terms of 
 my agreement supposed to touch the Irish cor- 
 respondence : the whole of the office work of that 
 is done " beyond," as his Grace invariably says: 
 done across the water Home Rule. Or was, 
 while the late agent was alive. The duke has 
 taken it more seriously lately: he is inclined to 
 meddle all round more than he did. But about 
 Ireland he is anxious, I happen to know from 
 allusions of hers. From nothing else: I have
 
 98 JAMESIE 
 
 not seen a paper this last time, though there are 
 stacks in the house, and I heard plenty of gossip 
 when Steenie came across before. Are they los- 
 ing trust in me? Do you think he could have 
 thoughts of changing? I wish I did not worry 
 so easily, but Lord Iveagh, anybody, might have 
 given him the idea. Seven years, I have been 
 with him it was the year of his marriage. I 
 am ageing, of course, but only for a woman. I 
 am not so very much older than the Duke. 
 
 (Later.) I have had two visits, unexpected. 
 The Duchess first appeared, and asked me if I 
 would not join the party in the hall. The hall 
 not the servants', she meant the dancing. Of 
 course I refused, though thanking her. She has 
 a look of him. She was wearing a picture-gown. 
 She is one of ours, as well, though not very 
 deeply interested still, I do respect her. She 
 was looking very tired too. She said before 
 leaving I really must not work so late. Conse- 
 quently, my own, I must shut up this, because 
 it is not working. And I did not confess to her 
 I was writing to my own dear girl. One so sel- 
 dom has a little peace like this the waste to 
 spend it in worrying! 
 
 And then then Nurse came, with that
 
 THE STRIFE 99 
 
 sweet Lamb on her arm, just nodding with sleep, 
 to say goodnight to me. Much too sleepy-bye 
 to play, though of course I gibbered a little. I 
 am silly about them, and Nurse, though grim in 
 appearance, knows. She is really an excellent 
 soul, though so Scotch. 
 
 " And show Miss Kitchin what you have got 
 for her," says Nurse. 
 
 " Horse," says the Blessed, with a seraphic 
 beam. " Ailie d'law." 
 
 " Rubbish," said Nurse, grabbing it. " Father 
 drew them, and not over-good at that. What 
 have we got here on the plate, tell her, Aileen." 
 
 They had brought me a slice of the Duchess's 
 birthday cake. A great slice. Oh yes, they are 
 kind people. 
 
 Nurse, to her sister in the hospital, next day, 
 relating. 
 
 ... So Aileen and I took the poor thing her 
 cake. She needs, I thought, something doing 
 for her, and the Duchess, I dare say, had the 
 same idea. Seven years she has been here, that 's 
 as long as myself, I came that year for Kells, 
 and yet hooks on to nothing. It is a pity, for 
 then they take to sentimentals, you may be sure.
 
 ioo JAMESIE 
 
 It is a woman she is chiefly sentimental with, a 
 woman she has half-married, you know the style. 
 Jokes about old maids as such I do not care for, 
 as I told Pelham. Besides, married you need 
 not be happy, look at that Mrs. Monk. There 's 
 a real beauty, half the men running after her, 
 and happy? You tell me! And I am unmar- 
 ried, and you, come to that, and look at us. ... 
 Not much hooking-on needed in my case. It is 
 all I can do to keep my floor to myself. I will 
 not have it, I told the Duchess. There is many 
 a house I know where flooding the nursery be- 
 times has been the beginning of the end. I am 
 responsible for these children, I pointed out to 
 her. Her own coming I do not mind. I let her 
 have Kells when she wants him, and at once, just 
 telling him to wash his hands. That 's a strong 
 rule of mine with the eldest born. And the 
 Duke I do not mind, though he picks out Aileen. 
 He picked her out for exhibition to-night. I 
 have had to be the kinder to Kells in conse- 
 quence. Lord Iveagh as a rule waits to be asked. 
 I send him one of the children generally. And 
 anyhow he is so seldom here, or anywhere in the 
 Christian world, that it is exceptional. Miss 
 Kitchin I ask to tea on a Sunday occasionally,
 
 THE STRIFE 101 
 
 partly for the good of the boys. For to teach a 
 boy politeness to women as such, you would not 
 pick out a pretty kind like Sophie. They mind 
 their manners with me, but again, that is differ- 
 ent. And even so, between ourselves, I have 
 work with Kells. He is at the naughty age, got 
 it badly. (She goes on for at least a page about 
 Kells, who was her problem.) 
 
 The worst of it is, she 1 is sentimental about 
 everything, about titles and the military too. 
 She gave us a coloured picture, " Forward 
 the Light Brigade," which I have never put up. 
 I do not care for such things before the chil- 
 dren's eyes, and besides, there is a horse rolling 
 over that would have done for Aileen. Their 
 grandfather in uniform is on the nursery wall. 
 I understand he was a good officer. Yet I dare- 
 say that is a weakness on my own part, since it 
 was printed in Edinburgh, and Kirkcudbright 
 is in his titles beneath. Kells is said to be like 
 him and his mother too, but T can't see it. He 
 is that side clear enough, and he will be tall 
 with his long feet. But I should be happier if 
 he did not first disobey, as to-night, and then be 
 afraid of the consequences. Afraid is the word. 
 
 1 Miss Kitchin.
 
 102 JAMESIE 
 
 My worst fear now is that he should get to hang- 
 ing too much about his uncle Crawford. (More 
 about Kells, and Steenie, Nurse was full of it.) 
 However, sufficient to the day. So long as he 
 and Lord Iveagh do not get across one another, 
 and fatally. I told Kells' father last night his 
 vanity would never survive a whipping, once for 
 all I said it, for it is a thing I have at heart. I 
 wish to guard against contingencies, for Kells 
 is naughtier at once when his uncle comes. He 
 has that little gleam in his eyes, cunning, that 
 I hate to see. (More about Kells.) Never, I 
 assured the Duke, by all my experience, whip a 
 conceited child. It is worse than cruelty, it is 
 useless. That should appeal to Lord Iveagh at 
 least. 
 
 My saying this conversation occurred last 
 night will show you. Being so completely out 
 of things, here in my own department, I had 
 no less than three visits from his Grace. How 
 is that? though two were short ones. At least 
 he apologised for keeping the children so late, 
 all very well, but he does not have them cross 
 to-morrow. There will be snarling, well I 
 know. . . . Well, and the second time, who do 
 you suppose came with him? Now I let you
 
 THE STRIFE 103 
 
 guess. Anyone else I should have been pre- 
 pared for better, his Grace's mother even, for 
 she comes at times. It took me quite aback. I 
 got up, dropping down all my stockings, which 
 his Grace picked up. " We are breaking every 
 law of the land," he says to me in his humorous 
 style. " She is here on sufferance, under my seal. 
 Just show her the kids and content her. Ten 
 minutes. Ten minutes by my watch, Bess." He 
 showed it her, and he went. 
 
 She took her cloak off when he had gone, 
 being wettish. I saw the case very easily. My 
 eyes, in this world, are not absolutely closed. 
 And I have had the special chance of seeing 
 Mr. Crawford's manners with Jamesie. He dis- 
 likes that child. 
 
 " I never answered your letter, Nurse," she 
 said. Well you remember? It put me out, 
 to remember how I had written it, having seen 
 what I have seen in the household since. I just 
 said some common thing and went on darning. 
 She is a simple lady, and never heeds that. She 
 makes Jamesie's clothes to the last button, and 
 though on the verge of the artistic, they are 
 properly made. I just paused long enough to 
 spread the cloak out to dry it: I had a bit of a
 
 104 JAMESIE 
 
 fire, Jamesie having been wet equally. His bits 
 of things were still hanging there, over the high 
 guard. 1 You may be sure she saw them. 
 
 " I 'm disobeying," she said, half-laughing, 
 and kneeling by the guard she bent her head 
 down on her hands, her elbows on the cloak. 
 Oh, talk to me of Mrs. Monk! And " How 
 'is he? " she said. 
 
 Well, I should naturally have thought she 
 meant the child. Would n't I? You might as 
 well ask, do I know married people. I have had 
 enough of them. That is the love of a life-time, 
 though both are very secret. Why, apart from 
 all else, you give me a child at close quarters, as 
 I have had Jamesie time and again when his 
 parents have been travelling, and I will answer 
 to you for the terms the parents are on. I prom- 
 ise to. 
 
 So I said what I could, though he had not 
 been up all day as it happened. He has had 
 enough to do, between ourselves, in his brother's 
 household, what with the party, and the poney, 
 and this Irish do on top which is bothering both 
 of them, it was hardly likely we should look 
 upon him. 
 
 1 Defence against fire, peculiar to nurseries.
 
 THE STRIFE 105 
 
 However, I gave her what I could. 
 
 But " What does he look like? " she pressed 
 me, her brows lifted, laughing at herself. So 
 I said soberly he looked as usual. It is true he 
 has had these fevers before now. But there - 
 no avoiding insincerity with such subjects! 
 " Has he been out in the rain? " she says. 
 
 She touched Jamesie's knickers as she said it, 
 but still she did not mean him. So there I was 
 again, for Tim said his lordship had been twice 
 to the stable, and an eye upon it all the evening. 
 That is how my lord Kells was caught out. So 
 I was just giving her a formal answer, round- 
 about as it were, when there was a sound behind 
 us. I might have guessed it! It is one of the 
 miracles of this world, I say it in all reverence, 
 a mother's voice. And yet she had been talking 
 so quietly, of intention, not to wake them. How- 
 ever, there we were. The child was on her, 
 speechless. 
 
 I was going to leave her, making an excuse 
 to go to Aileen, but she would not have it. She 
 told me across him that she had no time. It was 
 not easy for her to move, and that strong child's 
 arms all about her, but she said in his ear, 
 through his hair which was anyhow out of bed
 
 io6 JAMESIE 
 
 "I have got to escape" Making a secret of 
 it, she knows them. And sure enough, he half 
 let her go at once. You should have seen his 
 face, glorious, while she explained, and even 
 showed him a letter. Her husband's last letter, 
 with directions. Oh, she knows! 
 
 " Mother, how awful O how awful, 
 Mother," that was Jamesie. And he wrapped 
 her cloak all about her, half earnest, half play- 
 ing at it, even her face! You know the only 
 child. Getting on a chair to finish it, the pic- 
 ture they made, and her fine shape. If I have 
 a hard and fast rule in this life, it is to make 
 no difference for personal appearance, but there 
 are times when Jamesie does me. It is all I 
 can do not to look at him, to the disadvantage 
 of Kells. 
 
 The duke fetched her, on time as he said, 
 looking worried. " Come along," he said, rather 
 curt. I gathered somehow or other, Lord 
 Iveagh had been in the right of it, forbidding 
 her. He did not want her complicating. . . . 
 
 [This superb witness, notes Herbert, was as 
 exact as you would expect of her origins. Like 
 Nelson or George Washington, she could not 
 lie. " Complicating " was exactly what Bess
 
 THE STRIFE 107 
 
 did: precisely. She might have done worse, it 
 is true, had she stayed longer. She stayed a 
 quarter of an hour, by Francis's watch, and 
 passed twice through the back premises of the 
 house. We did not, however, entertain her un- 
 aware, not quite unaware to Steenie. Steenie, 
 who had done nothing at all, all the evening, 
 while we had been plotting and pettifogging, 
 feverishly, shifted. Everybody saw the altera- 
 tion occur, for he is not a type that changes 
 much. Besides, he had been so saintly. 
 
 He discovered she had been in the house, 
 heaven knows how, or the devil possibly, and 
 he attacked Francis. This again I can offer first 
 hand. 
 
 " Seen a woman come past here? " said 
 Steenie. Francis said he had seen several. " A 
 woman in a blue cloak." Francis allowed he 
 had noted one cross the corner of the billiard- 
 room passage. I gather he was a little bored, 
 watching round about the gun-room, by the way 
 he admitted, on duty, Steenie's curiosity. Linda 
 had done her best for him, but he was bored. 
 
 " Who was with her? " said Steenie. Francis 
 said it looked like the Duke. But the gent 
 gentleman, I beg his pardon had a wrap on, 
 because he had been taking the air, in the park. 
 
 " You 're lying," said Steenie, as usual. " It 
 was the other one. You don't take me in." 
 
 Francis took it easy. He told me Mr. Craw-
 
 io8 JAMESIE 
 
 ford did not like him, since the cricket. This 
 interested me, because I had not noticed any 
 jealousy in Steenie, at the time. But thinking 
 the scores over, it seems very probable. 
 
 Francis told him the party with the lady had 
 spurs. This was true Wickford had his cav- 
 alry uniform : one of his uniforms I forget 
 how many dukes have by nature. Anyhow, he 
 was wearing it, and wearing it well. 
 
 " The other has spurs, you ass," said Steenie. 
 This was also true, because Suir, assailed by the 
 children, had trumped up, with Pelham's skilled 
 assistance, a kind of gaucho-rig: the kind he 
 wore when the horse spread him on the Pampas, 
 and refrained from kicking him afterwards. 
 Suir had had to stand a good many allusions to 
 that equine act of charity during the evening 
 even from Kells. 
 
 This was all Francis told me of the interview 
 and its subject. Except that he saw the lady in 
 the cloak come past again, certainly in the 
 Duke's escort, fifteen minutes afterwards, and 
 that he did not inform Mr. Crawford. Conse- 
 quently, friend Stephen continued looking for 
 the angel, which was a pity for Joyce.] 
 
 DEAR Sum, 
 
 Joyce did come to the pond, but I hardly 
 think by her demeanour she would have done
 
 THE STRIFE 109 
 
 it. For one thing, she is a capital swimmer, as 
 good as Linda. For another, she had a very nice 
 frock on, which would have been spoiled. Fur- 
 ther, she was, when she noticed and spoke to 
 me, comparatively sane. She is an excellent 
 actress, anyhow; but that you would know from 
 her music. She strolled twice round, smoking, 
 before she saw me sitting in my poet's corner, 
 beside a blasted birch-tree, dreaming on the 
 smudgy skies. (I cannot call them starry.) 
 When she marked me she laughed, loud but not 
 inordinately, and said what fools we all were. 
 That was natural. I thought I would treat her 
 straight, being in the void as to the proper treat- 
 ment. I said, owing to her games, I had had 
 a beastly evening, and you had had worse. She 
 seemed quite interested, and far from displeased, 
 by the picture. She said she thought she had 
 given you rather a time of it, but she did not 
 seem perfectly sure. I thanked my stars, and 
 your special genius, because she longed to be 
 sure. She simply longed to. I said, did she 
 know she had kept you from Bess, and she 
 laughed louder than ever. I rose and shut off 
 the conversation, for fear, blank fear, of the 
 more she intended to say.
 
 i io JAMESIE 
 
 They know too much and too little, those girls. 
 It is, for the kind of fool I am, a soul-shrinking 
 combination. I know if I had the pluck to mas- 
 ter, and to marry her, she would make me quite 
 a decent wife: and a pretty, and a capable, and 
 I should like to make up to her too. But I can't, 
 I can't really. She must join the majority. 
 
 ["Who ever asked you?" was Iveagh's an- 
 swer to this, not unnatural, when he next came 
 across me, which was in some rather public 
 place, say a Promenade Concert, or the Picca- 
 dilly entrance to the Tube. I had by that time, 
 of course, regretted my outburst profoundly. 
 But he never let me forget it nor did Wick- 
 ford. Bother (as Steenie was given to ejaculat- 
 ing) those Suirs!] 
 
 M. du Frettay, into the middle of all this. 
 
 Why the four thousand devils do you not 
 'write? 
 
 The same, peacefully, some weeks later. 
 
 So that was all. Ah well, mon cher, let me 
 inform you, your sister-in-law wastes her pains. 
 You say Miss Joyce is musician. Good. And 
 she goes to Germany. Good. She falls into the
 
 THE STRIFE in 
 
 arms of the very sisterhood best fitted to undo 
 your work. Why, my poor friend, that is the 
 very place for herl She will be cherished there, 
 her disease also, since they cultivate it for the 
 so-called glory of their men. Down, then, with 
 their men's so-called glory? Perfectly, very 
 good, I range myself beside you; but note, that 
 by destroying that high-coloured and whooping 
 hysteria, you will destroy the essential elements 
 of their art as well. And no inconvenience in 
 that, you tell me? [He goes on for several pages 
 answering remarks his correspondent could 
 never have made. Then ] It is truly unfor- 
 tunate that while I was with you I did not 
 happen to meet her. So many interesting types 
 I noted in the corners of your London, but I was 
 too soon for that. In the arms of the immacu- 
 late policeman it has lately perfected itself, and 
 I absent, I absent, Iveagh! And twenty-four, 
 such that she would then have been seventeen. 
 Seventeen, unspoiled, pretty, say you? ... Eh 
 bien, when are you coming across?
 
 ii2 JAMESIE 
 
 Suir, to Trix Adler. Delivered by Pelham, 
 after his departure the following day. 
 
 I wanted to mention I was aware how you 
 backed me last night, though saying nothing. 
 You were with us, not against, and that was 
 much. A woman against last night, with the 
 state she was, and Linda, more shame to her, 
 spurring her, might just have spoiled the play. 
 You have that same thing beyond, 1 but it is bet- 
 ter managed. Anyhow there the men go round. 
 You will excuse this, and me cutting your three 
 dances. Next time, and granted my mother not 
 looking, I will make it up. 
 
 The Dowager, to Lady Iveagh. 
 
 MY DEAR ELIZABETH, 
 
 Our party is thinning now, and I have a 
 moment. I have been fully engaged helping 
 Janet with her houseful, as you will have 
 guessed. I may say you were missed, last night: 
 Janet's brother, Herbert, and the Adler girl, all 
 asked after you at different junctures, wishing 
 you were there. I am bringing James back with 
 me to-morrow, since Iveagh did not seem to 
 
 1 America.
 
 THE STRIFE 113 
 
 want him. At present he is engaged in writing 
 a French letter opposite me very busily. He 
 has the big dictionary and has not once applied 
 for a word. He is almost too independent. I 
 will look at the letter before it goes. 
 
 He and Kells were both rather troublesome 
 last night, overdone with all the excitement 
 probably. However, Wickford's treatment of 
 them showed anything but favouritism: indeed 
 the favour was mostly in James' direction. No 
 doubt he expected James' father to step in, but 
 Iveagh had too many other interests, as was 
 evident. Consequently Kells nearly broke his 
 heart in solitude, and is poorly to-day, and 
 James is particularly confident and contented- 
 looking. Do you not think you had better cut 
 his hair? He grows such a big boy, and is not 
 really an effeminate type. His trick of setting 
 the corners of his mouth reminds me often of his 
 grandfather. If you can meet me to-morrow 
 early, say two-fifteen, at Matching and Sel- 
 body's, I should be glad of your help with those 
 tiresome curtains. I must get that done. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 GERTRUDE W.
 
 ii4 JAMESIE 
 
 Jamesie to Denise. 
 
 CHERE DENISE, 
 
 C'etait le plus grand succes! Et ce finissait 
 avec le succes plus grand que tous, qui est Secret. 
 Kells n'est pas bien aujourd' hui. Ou bien c'est 
 le soleil ou bien le the, mais nous pensons le 
 dernier. La maladie est une chose terible. J'ai 
 vu Sophie et Francis dans le pare, vous raplez? 
 Le Frangais-anglais Manage. II faisait un 
 Siecle hier, et Madcap aussi. 156 pas sortez, 1 
 figurez! Father n'est pas Colere avec moi, nous 
 avons converse beaucoup apres dejeuner dans la 
 librairie. II a me donne le gros Dictionnaire, 
 pas a ennuyer Grandmother. II n'est pas 
 malade a mentioner. 2 II dit que je informe a 
 votre oncle qu'il va ecrire un de ces jours. Avec 
 notre cher amour et compliment. 
 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 1 Not out. ' "To mention," characteristic Suirism.
 
 PART II 
 
 THE TRUCE
 
 THE TRUCE 
 
 The Duchess, to her eldest brother in the 
 Guards. 
 
 Goodbye, old boy, and good luck to you. 
 Kells and I shall see you ride past. Keep an eye 
 on Steenie if it is done, but I do not ask the im- 
 possible. I remember how it was at Eton, in the 
 old days. Write when you can, Cardie. 
 
 YOUR SISTER J. 
 
 Nurse, to her sister in the hospital. 
 
 Goodbye, and good luck to you. No chance 
 of the station at that hour, I have my work to do. 
 It won't be such a bad climate, Lord Iveagh 
 says, he showed them in the big atlas this even- 
 ing, so interested, bless them, in everything con- 
 cerning me! Somehow it got me by the throat, 
 seeing Aileen. As if that can know what it is, 
 or what you will soon be seeing. Write when 
 you can, Maggy. 
 
 YOUR SISTER C.
 
 ii8 JAMESIE 
 
 Sophie, to her brother in the " genie." 
 
 Au revoir, mon petit, et que le bon Dicu te 
 garde. Aie soin d'ecrire regulierement a ta 
 mere, elle en mourra autrement. Les sapeurs 
 sont tout de meme moins exposes, 1'Angle- 
 terre est avec nous, et c'est pour la sainte 
 Patrie. 
 
 TA SCEUR S. 
 
 The Dowager, to the Canon. 
 
 Goodbye for the present, Lionel, and good 
 luck to you. You are doing no more than I 
 expected you to do. We may have doubts of 
 our other allies, but there is no doubt God is 
 with us, since this business of Belgium. Write 
 me to Boulogne when I tell you. 
 
 YOUR SISTER G. 
 
 St. John Herbert, to the Duke. 
 
 Goodbye, Wick, but I shan't waste tears on 
 you : and I must say you are playing Iveagh a 
 low-down trick. Get him something good at 
 the end of it, or I really shall believe you are the 
 ornamental one of the family. I doubt if you 
 will get much riding at this rate, unless it is rid-
 
 THE TRUCE 119 
 
 ing backwards. Still, here 's luck to the out- 
 come. Yours ever 
 
 S. H. 
 
 The Duke, to M. du Frettay, Capitaine, Pilote 
 et Chef d'Escadrille. 
 
 Good luck, Gabriel, you '11 be in front of us ; 
 and over us, won't you? and anyhow, at our 
 side. Perhaps the conception is Irish, but you 
 will appreciate the feeling intended. I am 
 playing my brother a trick you won't care for, 
 leaving him in my shoes beyond, 1 but I think, 
 with a historical effort, you will follow the 
 game. There is simply no one else I could de- 
 pend on for such a purpose. You 'd have 
 laughed the way I went at him, quite lost my 
 dignity, and him looking sidelong and sickened, 
 you know the style. It is only temporary, till 
 the backwash from the enlisting is over, and the 
 country quieted, so I soothed him; and promised 
 him any commission he likes in earth or heaven 
 at the end. He has taken it on him, taken it off 
 me as usual, and my bits of brothers-in-law 
 despising him for it, but you will not. Give him 
 a letter or two in his loneliness, will you not? 
 
 1 Ireland.
 
 120 JAMESIE 
 
 You may be sure his thoughts will be with 
 France. 
 
 Pelham to Francis. 
 
 So long, my boy, and good luck to you. I 
 wish to the Lord I could come along. Losing 
 the duke I am stranded, and yet where is the 
 good of my enlisting? So long, and don't worry 
 about this end. I '11 keep an eye on Sophie. 
 
 Madeleine's schoolmistress, to Madeleine. 
 
 Very well, my dear, your mother is the best 
 judge. If Miss Adler's ambulance has a va- 
 cancy, and you are such a practised driver, I do 
 not think a last examination should stand in the 
 way. You are very young, but many girls over 
 age look younger, and you have, as we know on 
 the field, a steady head. Why not you, as much 
 as the boys on the battle-ships? The cricket will 
 miss you next year, and your friends, and I shall 
 miss you too. I should have liked, for the 
 school's sake, to keep you longer: but the Red 
 Cross, the real one, Spenser's, stands first. 
 
 CHARLOTTE NAPIER.
 
 THE TRUCE 121 
 
 Joyce's professor, at Munich, to Joyce. 
 
 Auf Wiedersehen, liebes Fraulein, and may 
 the God of our common art have you in his 
 charge. I have arranged I hope that you get to 
 Switzerland without annoyance, fortunately it is 
 not far. Go quickly, take nothing, and lest 
 money lacks, pocket this. May the hour not be 
 far when you can repay me, but for the meeting's 
 sake only, for between us nothing is owed or re- 
 paid. I charge you with no letters, it is danger- 
 ous. If you meet in England or , in Paris 
 or , grasp their hand for me quietly. I 
 have travelled much, seen much, and am ageing, 
 but not blindly. Music, which is unity, which is 
 universality, lies stricken: but she will awake 
 again. 
 
 F. A. REUSS. 
 
 St. John Herbert, to the world at large. 
 
 To this fine echo of farewells, amid a sea of 
 work, and swirl of feeling did the strife repre- 
 sented by the Cricket Match come to an end. 
 Another strife, as ancient if less inevitable, swept 
 it off the scene. Less inevitable, all we thinkers 
 reflected with shame : not the fighters Janet's 
 brother Cardew flung his cap to the ceiling when
 
 122 JAMESIE 
 
 he heard the Germans had crossed the French 
 frontier. Cardew would not have prevented a 
 European War even if he could, and I hereby 
 whisper to the world he could not. He lacked a 
 few of the attributes reckoned essential to a pure 
 diplomacy. 
 
 But Cardew, though I shall quote him occa- 
 sionally, is not one of our actors. Of these, as 
 in the cricket match, let the ladies stand first. 
 The Dowager Duchess vanished in a fanfaron- 
 hade to France, with a small hospital completely 
 equipped. She ordered Janet to come with her : 
 but Janet, having seen the whole of her own 
 family, husband and three brothers, off to the 
 wars, refused point-blank and stuck to her chil- 
 dren. Nor would Janet let Miss Kitchin go, 
 she said she wanted her for Belgium. Bess, on 
 the other hand, was inevitably swept in by the 
 high command, though she was kindly allowed 
 to live in London, holding there the post of 
 provisioner to the Duchess's hospital of anything 
 she happened to need for the next nine months: 
 an appallingly laborious, and intensely ungrate- 
 ful task. I speak with feeling, since I entirely 
 lost Bess's society, which I had counted on of 
 course to console me for Francis. But her Grace
 
 THE TRUCE 123 
 
 the Dowager did not regard me. Bess had a 
 fund at the bank to manage economically, sev- 
 eral account-books (which Jamesie ruled for 
 her) and lived under a storm of telegrams. She 
 "did " for the dowager, as her husband in Ire- 
 land " did " for the duke, and by their doing 
 they were once more separated. 
 
 But what was that? Everybody was sepa- 
 rated. The customarily large English family 
 broke into fragments, just as the customarily 
 small French family crept close and crystallised. 
 English girls spread fan-like over Europe, in 
 the wake of the men. American girls, passion- 
 ately curious, with all their sympathy, needing 
 as much as any modern boy to " live the war," 
 followed and financed them. Trix, clad in a 
 brown leather jerkin and gaiters chiefly, drove 
 an ambulance-car " around " Paris in great 
 style : and moved on, as soon as she could, south- 
 eastward. Madeleine, bold and young bold 
 because young went behind her. Neither of 
 these two girls, both very pretty, and moneyed as 
 was evident, received either an insult or an offer 
 of marriage during the period of their ministra- 
 tion. I lay it to manner, see the Cricket Match. 
 Whereas Joyce I prefer to stick to documents, 
 in the case of Joyce.
 
 i2 4 JAMESIE 
 
 I insert here a conversation, noted during 
 those winter months, on an occasion when a cer- 
 tain number of our scattered society were col- 
 lected and talking commonplaces. We all spoke 
 platitudes and repeated one another, if you re- 
 member, the first winter of the war. 
 
 WlCKFORD. " You need n't be anxious about 
 Joyce, my wife says the war will cure her. She 
 is exactly the kind of case the war will cure." 
 
 BESS. " Why should it? " 
 
 THE DOWAGER. " What did you say, Eliza- 
 beth?" 
 
 SELF. " She said, why should it? " 
 
 WlCKFORD. " Well er I suppose my 
 wife meant cataclysms of the kind entail an 
 er volume of distress, world-wide, rather 
 lifts you out of your personal woes." 
 
 CANON OXBOROUGH. " Excellent, my boy. 
 Indeed ah exactly." 
 
 SELF. "Well now, Bess!" 
 
 BESS (blushing). "Janet has a high idea of 
 human nature. I should have thought it simply 
 added to them. I mean, troubles which are of 
 the nature of grievances permanent injustice 
 - are not so easily made away with. They 
 might of course be swamped for a time, by sym- 
 pathy or excitement. Is that what Janet 
 meant? "
 
 THE TRUCE 125 
 
 WlCKFORD. " Oh, talk to her." 
 
 THE DOWAGER. " Well, at least the girl came 
 back from Germany in a chastened frame of 
 mind, and has set to work with a will. One may 
 say with a passion " 
 
 WlCKFORD. " Don't, Mother. Leave it at 
 that." 
 
 CANON OXBOROUGH. " Eh, Wickford. How 
 so?" 
 
 SELF (Wickford stuck). "Leave it at will, 
 Duchess, that 's all. Passion lugs us back into 
 the personal again. (To Wickford.) Your 
 wife thinks Miss Pennant cured, then? " 
 
 WlCKFORD (confidential). "Oh well, Linda 
 said she was deep in with a doctor at the Cottage 
 Hospital." 
 
 THE DOWAGER. " Wickford, I am really as- 
 tonished you repeat such things and on such 
 authority. Linda indeed! " 
 
 BESS (earnestly). " I hope it's true." 
 
 EVERYBODY. " Hullo, Bess! " 
 
 SELF (Bess stuck) . " I think she means it 's a 
 more natural way to cure her, don't you, Bess? 
 I own, to me, Janet's way smacks of sentiment. 
 It seems a trifle well cumbrous, to evoke a 
 world-war for the purpose. You see, the next 
 step is to call the cataclysm providential, a 
 crowning mercy because it might cure people 
 like Joyce." 
 
 CANON OXBOROUGH. "Ahem. There is
 
 ia6 JAMESIE 
 
 a good side, one must not forget, even to 
 such " 
 
 SELF and WlCKFORD (rudely interrupting). 
 "There!" 
 
 To proceed to the men, Francis and Tim en- 
 listed simultaneously. Steenie took a commis- 
 sion in his brother's regiment. Shere went in 
 and stayed in, unlike the cricket-match. Self 
 scored a duck, that is to say was rejected with 
 contumely. Wickford fattened rapidly (Janet 
 told me) in the nice front seat his fortunes 
 granted him. Iveagh grew thin meanwhile in 
 his western retreat : not so much that he wanted 
 food as that he was out of focus. The fashion 
 of the times failed, for the first ten months, to 
 take him in. 
 
 The only people who were decent to him were 
 myself, I flatter myself, and Trixie. Trix 
 especially was a brick, because female opinion 
 was by no means indifferent to Iveagh. Mad- 
 ame du Frettay let him go, undiscouraged by 
 Gabriel. Janet, whom he particularly admired, 
 practically deserted him. She understood the 
 case, through her husband's agency, only, from 
 the minute when she had classed him, she left 
 him out. Janet came of an old military stock, 
 and the Great March caught her inevitably,
 
 THE TRUCE 127 
 
 swept her along. She carried Kells with her, 
 because, child as he was, her influence was 
 strongly on him, and her nature was his. She 
 never once wrote to Iveagh, fond though she 
 really was of him, during those nine months. 
 He was thus isolated from his London world, 
 for Bess was barely in it: and Bess, like himself, 
 was working night and day. 
 
 Of his work I am not going to speak here, 
 beyond a hint or two as foundation. Such work 
 as he undertook, as a rule, speaks in events, not 
 volumes. The estate was in one of the nonde- 
 script counties, politically, and near the coast. 
 His brother was a firmly-convinced loyalist- 
 unionist, and he, of course, represented his 
 brother. He had no choice, often, but to be 
 silent on his own sentiments. He learnt silence 
 not that he needed to learn it, having lived 
 the solitary life; and yet that supremely sensitive 
 people knew his sympathy perfectly: battering 
 him on every side, I learnt from Byrne, to get 
 it, which is their way. Byrne, a first-class wit- 
 ness on the spot, whom I shall quote later, said 
 he was the more loved for that little gloomy 
 manner of his, which was moreover part of their 
 memories; and that Iveagh, on his side, was the
 
 128 JAMESIE 
 
 crosser for their cajolery, which I well believe. 
 I pictured him often, raging in inaction, as the 
 accounts of the retreat came in the " racket," 
 as he and Wickford always called it: that awful 
 and affecting period when two great forces 
 stooped to conquer; as France, the land of 
 friendship, du Frettay's France, was steadily 
 engulfed. I wondered, often, that his best 
 friend should understand him so little: that 
 Janet, his wife's best friend, should do so. As 
 for Joyce But I prefer to stick to documents, 
 in the case of Joyce. 
 
 Steenie fell gloriously at Neuve Chapelle. 
 There was no doubt about the glory. See the 
 following: 
 
 The Earl of Kirkcudbright, to the Duchess of 
 Wickford. 
 
 MY DEAR CHILD, 
 
 Thank you for your letter, it touched me at 
 this juncture to see one in your hand. It would 
 have pained me, amongst the mass of letters we 
 have received, and are receiving, to have missed 
 my eldest daughter. We have not agreed about 
 Stephen, Janet; there were always elements in
 
 THE TRUCE 129 
 
 the boy women as such could not understand. 
 You worried, and I waited, that was the dif- 
 ference. Now, you see, when the moment came, 
 it needed but his country's call to slough off that 
 youthful skin. The youngest of us, the first to 
 fall, henceforth in front of his brothers. No 
 man of our house need be ashamed of him 
 personally I am proud and glad. We have a 
 most appreciative letter from his colonel, but 
 are a little surprised to hear nothing from Car- 
 dew. The references in the evening papers 
 helped your mother. She is bearing up wonder- 
 fully, but of course it has been a shock. . . . 
 
 Lady Kirkcudbright, to the same. 
 
 Oh Janet, Janet, how could you deceive me 
 about him? In my heart I knew it never did 
 him justice saw so little of him these last 
 years my Steenie, my poor boy. . . . 
 
 Sophie, to the same: from Sevres. 
 
 Madame la Duchesse permettra-t-elle que je 
 lui off re ma respectueuse sympathie? I saw in 
 the English paper here about M. Crawford.
 
 130 JAMESIE 
 
 Ah, the sad, the glorious times! Now for Ma- 
 dame's one it is finished, yet she has others. May 
 she be consoled and fortified in her sisterly suf- 
 fering. C'etait une belle mart. 
 
 My little one is better. He was projected by 
 the shell, and the nerve shaken, not broken any- 
 where. He will soon go back. Then I also re- 
 turn and promptly. Fortunately in Madame's 
 immediate situation so interesting, the mourn- 
 ing will be unimportant. May it be a little boy, 
 for Madame, to replace him! 
 
 Her most devoted 
 SOPHIE. 
 
 Cardew, to the same. 
 
 Hold up, old girl, here we are. One more 
 pull, and we are through with- it. It was all 
 right, ripping, could not be better. I send you 
 the details to date, so far as I can get them. It 
 is cleared right out of the path. For heaven's 
 sake write to the Mater, though I can't, I 
 feel as dead as a fish about it. The fact is they 
 have been so out of it, at home, these last years, 
 that I hardly know where I am. Anyhow my 
 head is going round, with the dead-stop it is, 
 and the ass one feels with idiots condoling.
 
 THE TRUCE 131 
 
 Women can put it on better, at these peculiar 
 moments. I will see to the business and so on. 
 
 Your brother C. 
 
 Janet, to her Mother. 
 
 Do not come to me, Mother darling. This is 
 your quiet time, and I shall be all right. The 
 fourth, you know, I am following in your foot- 
 steps. Only no, do not let Father wish that. 
 Cardie sends these facts, more worthy of cre- 
 dence, he says, than the colonel. Think of that, 
 and the first time, the earliest. It is the only, 
 only way. 
 
 Iveagh, to JVickford. 
 
 I saw Stephen in the Standard, that was a 
 good end for him. I am sorry for Jane, the 
 letters she will be getting. Will you tell her I 
 am sorry if you see a chance? 
 
 Cardew, to Wickford. 
 
 . . . and that makes the last. There is nothing 
 else serious, that can come to my father's ears. 
 Some bits of debts during the last days, but that 
 is squared by the news, I know the fellows. 
 There is the Irish girl, but your brother says he
 
 132 JAMESIE 
 
 is throttling her, good man. She is much the 
 worst of them, eloquent, it used to make the 
 Mater sick getting her letters, so you can guess 
 what it would be now. For the time she has 
 forgotten. ... It is jolly good of you, Wick- 
 ford. Of course, after Mother, it was the thing 
 that bothered me most. They simply do not let 
 me have the funds necessary to cover a thing like 
 this, and the pater goes off so easily. ... I say, 
 get in a word for me to Lady Iveagh, will you? 
 She seems to be sick with me, the letter I wrote 
 Janet. I never supposed anyone would look at 
 it. I dare say it read wildly such a weight off 
 the lot of us such a relief. 
 
 [Tire birth of the Duchess of Wickford's third 
 son w is announced, with correct war-time dis- 
 cretion, in the London papers.] 
 
 Car dew, to Bess. 
 
 DEAR LADY IVEAGH, 
 
 I am beastly sorry, on my word I am. I 
 had no idea J. was so near her event. One for- 
 gets, you know. I wrote to my mother, on the 
 spot, somehow, better than nothing. Of course 
 we knew J. cared for him, I mean, cared in the 
 sense of working; that is why we gave her the
 
 THE TRUCE 133 
 
 work. Steenie always had, from a kid, rather 
 belonged to her. Now, of course, having the 
 other 1 makes it worse. I wish I could write 
 better, but I only repeat what you said and spoil 
 it. I never meant she should lie to Mother, I 
 know she could n't, but she is smart at writing, 
 puts things so well. So do you, my word but 
 I don't wonder you are sick with me. 
 
 Would it be any good telling J. that Steenie 
 really thought a lot of her, because I happen to 
 know he did. I have a note he started, thanking 
 her for something: perhaps better not send it, 
 but you could say. He always made an excep- 
 tion for her when he was down on his luck, 
 feminine luck I mean. And look here, will 
 you give her my love, and Ronald's, and say 
 anyhow we appreciate her? And look here, for- 
 give me yourself? 
 
 [I regret, says Herbert, I cannot give Bess's 
 to Cardew which called forth this. Everybody, 
 not only Bess's own belongings, kept her letters 
 so closely. This may be because she wrote little 
 and briefly, even to Jamesie, so that her words 
 were of weight; or it may be other things.] 
 
 i Child.
 
 134 JAMESIE 
 
 The Duchess, to the same, note. 
 
 Dear, it is all right, perfectly. He is the utter- 
 est darling, though small. Nurse says if I am 
 good I may see you to-morrow. It is good for 
 me, really, the two things coming together, for 
 it forced me to think. He will have been born 
 into thought, not fury, like so many little war- 
 children. It was like you to come and leave 
 everything, when poor Mother was unable to 
 stir. You are the best, Bess, I feel you are sure 
 of things: Jamesie is very fortunate. I am still 
 weak, perplexed about Steenie. It was grand, 
 we were wrong possibly, probably, weren't 
 we? But, Bess, where he is gone, wherever he 
 is gone to, will he not begin again? 
 
 Katie Rochester, Castle Wickford, to Lady 
 
 Kirkcudbright; seized by Suir 
 
 before transmission. 
 
 Your ladyships Honour in her berevment will 
 surly let me come near with mine and tell you 
 of the sweet little child I have which is all he 
 has left behind him. Surly your ladyships 
 Grace will beleve my word it is his and none 
 others tho in this wiked place they make play to
 
 THE TRUCE 135 
 
 misbeleve. But ask Ld. Iveagh if it is true, and 
 me with a note from himself 1 admitting truth 
 and unwiling to penson me tho the Times so 
 hard. It is not your Nobility in her distress will 
 fail to grant my rights or preserve what is left 
 of him by a proper alowance this being a man- 
 child. Is the country and the Defense not needin 
 them? Will he not be a Soldier-boy as his Da 
 was the darling if he does not die on me as doc- 
 tor nos is possible his Ldship keeping me so low. 
 For the Holy Mother's sake you that was mother 
 to him in infancy . . . (And so on,) 
 
 Joyce, to the same. 
 
 How sweet of you to write I No one else has 
 thought of me, nobody, but it is so like his own 
 mother not to forget. I was longing to talk to 
 you, and yet telling myself that Janet would do 
 it better, and then your dear letter came! 
 
 Oh yes, it was a shock, a thrill extraordinary. 
 I am managing to do my work as usual, because 
 it is the only way, the only possible way. So 
 many are having their secret possessions shorn 
 away like this. We are no exception. I do not 
 
 1 Stephen.
 
 136 JAMESIE 
 
 suffer as you do from stupid uncomprehending 
 letters, because fortunately so few knew what 
 there was between us. So I can go on undis- 
 turbed, steadily. And proud. I keep a vision 
 of his face as it was that morning, and I keep 
 the scrawl of his last words to me. 1 Of course 
 write, dear Lady Kirkcudbright, if it is of any 
 comfort to you. I wish I could come to you, 
 but work ! 
 
 Your daughter for the moment, 
 
 JOYCE. 
 
 Madeleine, to Linda Monk. 
 
 Joyce may be writing to everybody, but she 
 has kept off me. Consequently, I should n't 
 mind knowing how she is taking it. I think 
 some of you might write something better than 
 a postcard at times. I do not suppose it is jolly 
 for Joyce, all things considered, any more than 
 for the Duchess I managed to write a line 
 to her. I thought Laura or somebody said 
 Ste,enie had been knocked out by that doctor in 
 the hospital J. was so keen on, or was that my 
 mistake? I am sure, you see, to put my foot in 
 it with Joyce unless you keep me up to date, she 
 
 1 This document I have not even looked for. S. H.
 
 THE TRUCE 137 
 
 is never at the same thing for a week together 
 since she got back from Germany. One man 
 one work, is what I should suggest for Joyce. 
 . . . Linda, I say, do stop her about the mourn- 
 ing, I can't stand that. If she expects me to, I 
 am not on, even to a band on my uniform, 
 thanks. I call that swank, and rather a nasty 
 sort. She ought anyhow to ask leave of the 
 family. 
 
 [Joyce's to Madeleine is missing] 
 
 Madeleine to Joyce. 
 
 Hold on! I can stand a good deal, but your 
 last was not nice to read. Linda most likely 
 misrepresented what I said, however for safety 
 I beg your pardon. About the mourning I take 
 back nothing, really I cannot swallow it; but 
 when I said " one man one work," I meant one 
 work (war-work) for every man (or woman), 
 exactly in the sense of " one man one vote." 
 Now is that clear? I did not mean one man at 
 a time, and one work at a time, which is how 
 you seem to have chosen to take it. I should not 
 have said that to you, because there are some 
 things I do not say. Not that you will ever
 
 138 JAMESIE 
 
 believe it. Do be decent, Joyce. Don't you 
 drop me, because I want somebody. Use your 
 imagination can't you see what it is, at the 
 end of a hardish day, in a foreign country, to 
 open a letter from England and find that? 
 
 M. 
 
 [Iveagh's to Joyce is missing] 
 
 Joyce to Iveagh. 
 
 Thanks for your interest. How are you feel- 
 ing now in your royal retirement. You live in a 
 Castle, don't you? I always understood those 
 ancient keeps were especially hard to attack. 
 No room even for a wandering arrow through 
 the little windows, on to the breakfast table, for 
 instance. Shere's best friend was blown to frag- 
 ments last week, while he was drinking a cup of 
 coffee, under his eyes. Pleasant, would n't it be, 
 to see your school-friend dispersed so unexpect- 
 edly. Still, I dare say you would take it calmly. 
 Jack seems to have had a bit of a jar. . . . You 
 do seem to be busy, to judge by your wife's 
 anxiety. Don't you break down, or whatever 
 will the country do? And just keep that beastly 
 girl from writing her beastly letters to Stephen's
 
 THE TRUCE 139 
 
 poor mother, will you? I should have thought 
 you would have had the sense to think of that 
 without me, however I offer you a hint. In case 
 you have missed Stephen's colonel's report, I 
 send you the cutting, his father had it printed. 
 They are putting a marble up in the church to 
 him, and allowing me to contribute, privately. 
 Publicly, of course, it would be too trying to 
 take part. . . . 
 
 Iveagh to Joyce. 
 
 I just wanted to set you right about the castle. 
 It was built about 1840, and is plastered par- 
 ticularly in the style. It would fall a little easier 
 than Antwerp. It is large and to spare, the win- 
 dows are big enough for rocks to come through, 
 or rotten eggs, or anything. I am sorry I wrote 
 at all, if it offended you. It might have been 
 better not. If you will excuse me you are lying 
 about Katie, I should say misinformed. Any 
 letters from her Stephen's mother refers to are 
 old ones, dating before I came on the scene. It 
 is not that I trust the girl, anything but, it is 
 simpler. I have the postmistress under my 
 thumb. That can be managed this side; and 
 Katie, owing to a young child, cannot easily get
 
 i 4 o JAMESIE 
 
 beyond my watching, or our post. You can be 
 easy as to that matter, really. . . . 
 
 Joyce, to Iveagh. 
 
 How dare you mention a child to me? How 
 exactly like you. Whose child is it? I hate 
 you. 
 
 j. 
 
 Iveagh, to Wickford. 
 
 I cannot do that girl Joyce, I am bound to 
 mismanage it. I dare say I should not have 
 started, considering what is past. It is very odd 
 of Lady K. to take her up, especially in Janet's 
 present situation, but I have long given up un- 
 derstanding them. 1 Bess and Janet are the only 
 two I understand. ... I am glad Jane is better 
 now, don't mention it. My claim on my wife at 
 present is nil, and Mother's you settled nicely. 
 I am sincerely obliged for that. Why does 
 Mother not get a proper manager, with the 
 money she has? There are lots of women out 
 of work, if I understand Trix Adler. Not but 
 what my own is out of work, myself having the 
 boy here, only Mother does not pay her for 
 
 1 Mothers.
 
 THE TRUCE 141 
 
 what she does. And besides I would not let her 
 take it if Mother did so now you know all my 
 feelings. 
 
 Jim is a good boy, and does his lessons and 
 jobs for me, and when I cannot see to him I let 
 him read at large. I do not know how many of 
 Father's books are really applicable to the situa- 
 tion, I have an idea the girl might object to some 
 of them, but what are you to do? They are good 
 books, if the history they contain is not true com- 
 pletely; and it is not more godless than the his- 
 tory we are constructing now. . . . 
 
 [Joyce's to Francis is missing: Linda had ap- 
 parently commissioned her to write with a con- 
 signment, in the first instance.] 
 
 Francis to Joyce. 
 
 Miss JOYCE, 
 
 I have not forgotten you Miss and thank 
 you for your letter, as also Mrs Monk for what 
 she has sent. The cake was excellent, and large 
 enough for a battalion, indeed most of ours en- 
 joyed it. Only perhaps I might say to you Miss 
 what I would not to her, not wishing to appear 
 ungrateful, that a young lady is already looking 
 after me. It is only knowing many to be worse
 
 142 JAMESIE 
 
 off, for Lady Iveagh remembers me also, I ven- 
 ture this, since equal all round is what we strive 
 for, I own very hard to get. I am told by one 
 who should know that the French army is cared 
 for less than ours is, and fond of eating de- 
 cidedly, so there would be no waste nor failure 
 to appreciate cakes like that. And some people 
 think the exchange nice between the countries, 
 as giving things a lift in a situation a bit tricky 
 like this occupation of ours. This last is my 
 own view solely, may be quite off, but taken as I 
 may say first hand. It seems a pity since we are 
 here so-called to help the French, and fighting 
 in the style they do, they should take against us, 
 what do you say Miss? Clever as you are at per- 
 suasion, 1 perhaps you can make your sister and 
 others as liberal see it, it might do good. 
 
 Yes, I saw about Lieutenant Crawford, a very 
 game end as good as any sportsman could de- 
 sire. I have not forgotten his playing that day 
 what anyone could see was the smart University 
 style. And good playing should make fair fight- 
 ing is what we are acustomed to believe. Still 
 it takes two to make a fair fight. The less said 
 of that the better after this Gas. Mr. Jamesie 
 
 1 Platform F. had heard her.
 
 THE TRUCE 143 
 
 writes me too from Ireland, and killing it is, I 
 can tell you here his letters go round. Mr. Her- 
 bert I know considers him out of the way. His 
 lordship I naturally can't speak of knowing little 
 of him but through Mr. James. 
 
 Herbert, to Francis, returning the above letter 
 to its author. 
 
 I should cut out the last sentence. No need, I 
 mean, to discuss every point Miss Pennant 
 brings up. Otherwise it is first-class, and could 
 offend nobody. Thanks for the confidence. 
 
 S. H. 
 
 [Joyce's to Shere is missing] 
 
 Shere, to Linda. 
 
 MY DEAR GIRL, 
 
 Much obliged for yours, sorry I had no 
 time to answer immediately. We have had a 
 bit of a scuffle here these last two days. I can 
 teli you the pate was appreciated, a very kind 
 thought. I have been tossing up about Joyce, 
 but have decided not to answer her. She is a 
 trifle excited, isn't she? And it's a rottenly 
 delicate situation. Silence is best. 
 
 Look here, why the devil does she drag Suir
 
 144 JAMESIE 
 
 in? That is what bores me partly. I can't get 
 a way on, somehow, writing about a thing like 
 that. What has he got to do with her, anyhow? 
 Was there really something between them? I 
 remember tossing up, that night at Holmer, and 
 deciding against, with Herbert's assistance. My 
 idea was, she was simply paying him out for 
 Crawford if you can't kick the driver kick 
 the next horse, that sort of idea. Only there 
 seems less point, somehow, in kicking him now. 
 However, this may just prove my ignorance of 
 the sweet lot of you, may n't it? Perhaps I will 
 have a shot, when I have rested a bit, at answer- 
 ing Joyce. [Shere did no/.] 
 
 As to that night at Holmer, it may seem odd 
 to you, but I cannot forget it. It comes clearer. 
 It may be because I felt a fool. I would n't go 
 as far as your word "indecent," Linda, that's 
 the kind of thing that only sisters say. But I 
 know I funked, before the end : I wanted to get 
 behind a door, and so did Herbert. And you, 
 if I remember, got behind one, anyhow I 
 could n't find you when I looked for you. Well, 
 I have something of the nature of gratitude left 
 to Suir, because he tackled it. He went at it 
 straight, I can't say more. I can't get what I
 
 THE TRUCE 145 
 
 want to stated, the fact is I feel rather rocky, 
 writing on the subject, even to you. If he turned 
 red rebel now (which after all is n't probable) 
 and went to quod, I could n't exactly despise 
 him, merely because your sister asked me. We 
 men form up in war-time, don't we? that is ex- 
 pected. Only, as soon as one of you flutters out 
 against us, somehow or other, in spite of the 
 beastly jam it is, the old formation exists. 
 
 [I am inclined to add, says Herbert, but that 
 it is so superfluous, Shere never wrote anything 
 like this kind of letter before: and above all, 
 not to Linda. It is merely another proof, if 
 proof were wanting, how we had all grown 
 years older, wearily older, in those few inex- 
 pressible months. 
 
 It was Bess who sent Jamesie to Ireland, at 
 the New Year, for Iveagh's good : just like her. 
 She naturally wanted Jamesie herself. It was 
 also for the good of my chronicle, for Jamesie 
 in a new country is an immense asset. He was 
 in three, I am thankful to say, before the end of 
 things. How many he had been in since his 
 birth, I should not care to state. He was born at 
 Durban, and was a travelled person, hence his 
 pleasing adaptability. Some of the following 
 passages are ante-dated to the death of Steenie, 
 evidently; but Jamesie never dated, and Iveagh
 
 146 JAMESIE 
 
 rarely, in private life. I suppose the true Suir 
 style is too spontaneous, bother them both!] 
 
 Jamesie, to Denise. 
 
 CHERE DENISE, 
 
 Vous etes parfaitment tort malheureuse- 
 ment, et votre oncle aussi. C'est difficile a dire 
 comment tort vous etes sans le Dictionaire ou 
 Father. Irlande est un excellent epatant pays, 
 et c'est notre. Ce ne sont pas Traitres ils sont 
 diferent qu' Anglais. C'est sotte a dire quand 
 vous savez pas. Pardon, jour apres voyage. 
 Beaucoup d'amourl 
 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 The same, to Francis. 
 
 Thank you very much for the Card and the 
 Joke. I showed Father, at Breakfast. Yes it is 
 a very Long Way. 1 I came over with the Horse- 
 less Earl (he is n't one realy) and looked out 
 hard for Submarines. I know what there like, 
 Nurse's sister at Holmer saw one that dived 
 right under her ship. It did n't want her then 
 been 2 Red Cross, but now they do. Is n't it 
 
 1 What can this joke have been? 
 1 See below.
 
 THE TRUCE 147 
 
 Horuble? So there wasnt a single Periscope so 
 fars I could see. After that I was sick. But 
 this side is very nice with a Library of heavenly 
 smelling books. I know lots of people. I know 
 Bridgie Haloran who is very Funy. I know 
 Tims at Holmers Family. I know Katie Roch- 
 ester a little not much. Are you learning French 
 Francis? When are you going out? With 
 salute 
 
 Yours truly 
 J. C. SuiR. 
 
 [Been. This mistake is invariable in the 
 Jamesie letters. It is strictly phonetic, " been " 
 what he heard. He elaborates the theme of 
 Katie in a letter to Kells, which Nurse confis- 
 cated, and then, in her immaculate style, sent it 
 to Wickford, who gave it me.] 
 
 I know Gerry Rochester Tim mentioned and 
 I know Katie a little. She calls Father Darling! 
 He says its the way of the girl and I 'm not to 
 go there often. Sometimes she 's angry then she 
 asks why hes not at the war. She 's got a baby 
 littler than ours. 1 I asked Father where its 
 father was privately (because you know now he 
 
 1 He shares with Kells.
 
 148 JAMESIE 
 
 might be dead) and Father said fighting in 
 France. So if Uncle Wick saw a soldier in an 
 Irish Regiment called that 1 it would probly be 
 him. Love to Nurse and Aileen. 
 
 Yours, 
 J. C. S. (Hon. O.T.C. etc.) 
 
 St. John Herbert, to Jamesie, experimental. 
 How is your father? 
 
 Jamesie to Herbert. 
 
 Father is well I think, I saw him laugfing. It 
 was about the Jumping Lesson. I wanted to 
 jump the Blackberry side of the Bohireen, be- 
 cause then I could be Cavalry charging a Barbed 
 Wire Entanglement (the Blackberries). Per- 
 haps they dont. Father said Id do fairly. Then 
 we went home. And in the evening oh dear! It 
 did hurt so all my legs and where I sit down. 
 Father seen it 2 said he was sorry. So I had my 
 handkerchief 2 and the Button came out too, 
 Bavarian, real, very like Gold, that M. Gabriel 
 sent me. I had kept it in my pocket but it rold, 
 under Col. Hamilton's chair. And so he looked 
 at it. And so Father did. And so after that I 
 
 1 Rochester. * Tears, I asked Bess.
 
 THE TRUCE 149 
 
 showed him all the Letters and the Field En- 
 velopes and everything, because he had time. 
 
 [Most significant, this. A Bavarian button, 
 delicately kept from Jamesie's father's observa- 
 tion, had escaped control. An alarming instant: 
 but Iveagh, cut off from the army, and conscious 
 of having over-jumped Jamesie, did not flinch. 
 He even found time to digest Jamesie's military 
 correspondence, enormous as I knew, including 
 the envelopes. How I envied him! I scarcely 
 dared show this letter to Bess. When I did she 
 let me have Iveagh's, like a good girl, to com- 
 pare with it] 
 
 Iveagh, to his wife. 
 
 I am sorry Bess, I overdid him. I forget the 
 age he is. It was partly the horse he had was a 
 fool, refusing for the fun of it, but I was worse. 
 He held up well through dinner, poor little gos- 
 soon, Hamilton being with us. Luckily he had 
 to leave early, or else he saw my vexation. My 
 temper is really not dependable. I let Jim into 
 the office where there was the leavings of a fire, 
 and he showed me all those blessed letters he 
 has collected exhaustively, in and out. The 
 terms he knows are surprising, and not so very 
 wild. Blakie and Tim and young Furniss all
 
 150 JAMESIE 
 
 write to him, not to say Cardew and Ronald * 
 and Shere. Having shown me the most of the 
 stuff, Jim dropped asleep on me. So I took him 
 to the room where he sleeps and a poor one it is, 
 I wish you were here to make things prettier. 
 And I undressed him, his head falling all ways, 
 and having a fair chance I looked. He is not 
 hurt to mention. I will keep him quiet by me 
 these next days. He gets soft with that London 
 life, my brother and I were harder. Perhaps I 
 should let him come back to you when that man 2 
 comes over, will I? I have been sulking like a 
 brute for a week, and Jim has the benefit. Not 
 a boy to be seen in the town, and the Geoghans 
 above themselves with Tim's performances such 
 that I fear to meet them. And even Katie is at 
 it now, on Joyce's lines, mentioning Crawford to 
 me unnecessarily. She tries to screw me up 3 
 with the high prices, I wish I had you to judge 
 a little. It is hard living naturally, and you 
 cannot reason with a girl like that, and she with 
 a baby at the breast. To be sure she soon forgot 
 and was loving me again, but that also has its 
 drawbacks. She darlings me before the Hamil- 
 tons, and I leave you to imagine how that lets 
 
 1 Janet's brothers. * Wickford. * Financially.
 
 THE TRUCE 151 
 
 me in. I do not let the boy to her often, though 
 she asks no better than to worship him as they 
 all do. ... This merely to tell you of the rid- 
 ing I am sorry, my dear. 
 
 [The situation of Katie, exactly wrong way 
 before as an Irish situation should be, curled me 
 up with artistic appreciation; not Bess, who 
 most probably did not follow it. Iveagh " left 
 her to imagine " in vain. She and Iveagh are 
 not the least alike, they are astonishingly op- 
 posed by nature, and he must have shocked her 
 Puritanism persistently, all the while he was 
 teaching her life. His sentiments in her are 
 now most easy to recognise: they are in a distinct 
 partition from her own, under his aegis, as it 
 were, and she studies them shyly at times, as she 
 would read in a library some good author's 
 broad book. Yet the teaching is complete, that 
 I can answer for; nothing really of life can take 
 Bess by surprise. 
 
 The war was a test for this real difference, 
 for they were at once asunder in opinion, and 
 widely. It was a wonder they did not quarrel : 
 Iveagh would have if she had let him. Bess 
 was linked on every side to the North Midland 
 Quakers: any war, for whatever cause, was to 
 her fundamental religious sense a disgrace to 
 humanity. She never got used to this, nor saw
 
 i^2 JAMESIE 
 
 it otherwise than at once loathesome and gro- 
 tesque. I rather agreed with her, on the main 
 issues, Iveagh did not. He could not, coming 
 of that race, his instincts were too primitive. 
 All his wife's relations stood out stiff against 
 conscription; and she owned a second cousin, a 
 city councillor aged forty, who was a distin- 
 guished example of what we now call a C.O. 
 Iveagh, who had been patient with her, for him, 
 struck at this point, and flatly forbade her to 
 name the gentleman in Jamesie's hearing. I 
 have the letter in which he said so. He went 
 the whole way, and threatened censorship of the 
 correspondence. It would keep Jamesie, he 
 said, awake at nights " dreaming of such deadli- 
 ness," and if he must read " such," he could read 
 the talking in the Pilgrim's Progress. The 
 literary side of me eagerly acquiesced in this: 
 so Bess, armed with her C.O., and his con- 
 troversy with his judges, carefully typed by a 
 serious society, was disappointed in both of us. 
 
 I proceed, with this preface, to the business of 
 the Bavarian Button. The Button figured, I 
 think without exception in all Jamesie's letters 
 to everybody, for a month at least. It is clear 
 his correspondents in the crack regiments did 
 not spoil him in the matter of souvenirs.]
 
 THE TRUCE 153 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, 
 
 I told about my Button to Joyce, and Mother 
 she said she would not keep a thing that be- 
 longed to the Beastly Bavarians. Mother are 
 they? And she said she would bury it and 
 stamp the earth over not carry it on a Pink Cot- 
 ton round my neck. 
 
 [Bess was awakened.] 
 
 Nobody [she replied], if they thought for one 
 moment, would say that a whole nation was 
 beastly, or any such stupid word. It could not 
 be true, because there are always the little 
 babies, and the children who can only believe 
 what they are taught, and the nice people every- 
 where, and the very helpless old. Not one of 
 these can be beastly possibly, any more than a 
 whole nation can be noble, or just. There were 
 Bavarians, I know, were particularly kind to 
 Joyce, only she has forgotten. It is her memo- 
 ries of that kindness that she wants to stamp the 
 earth over, darling. 
 
 DARLING MOTHER, 
 
 Mary Geoghan has polished up my Button 
 now and it looks like gold. She has a Helmet
 
 154 JAMESIE 
 
 Tim sent her, but not Bavarian. Father and I 
 went to the Fair to look at Farmhorses, and lots 
 of Men saw it smiling when they passed. I saw 
 a horse with a face you would have simply loved, 
 but Father liked the back legs of the other bet- 
 ter, so we bought him after lots of talking. 
 Father is funiest realy. We had dinner at the 
 Hotel. Mother why did Joyce forget? 
 
 War makes a difference [said Lady Iveagh]. 
 Think, if you had known and liked a Denise in 
 Germany, just as much as our dear Denise in 
 France, and then we had made war on her 
 people. Would you not have had to forget her? 
 Ask Father. 
 
 Mother, I did, and he says you can Shut it, 
 preechin. Mother I thought about her lots and 
 lots, simply all last night I was n't asleep. I 
 heard the stable clock three times. Its awful 
 still I do know now. Look here. I would just 
 write to her quitely and say Denise (not Dear 
 been Public) it is a great Pity your army tries 
 to fight us we are so strong on the map of the 
 colunies it will simply certainly all be killed. 
 So now that is all but Id like to know how you 
 all go on your uncle Gabriel been a German
 
 THE TRUCE 155 
 
 Aviator (you see he would) can just fly and drop 
 it as soons he sees some English soldiers having 
 Breakfast. It neednt have a stamp. Yours 
 without Im afraid much els after the Belgians 
 J.C.S. Well. Then Miss Kitchins friend could 
 sew it in a Prisoner's Sack and ask the Prisoner 
 geting it to post it if he saw a Box, because they 
 do exercise, so that would be settled and Done. 
 Im sorry that D smuged but it makes it so 
 awfuly long esplaning. I wish you were here 
 Mother. Goodnight. 
 
 From 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 [There is nobody, declares Herbert, but 
 Jamesie, who in forty- five minutes' steadfast 
 thinking (thank heaven that clock strikes the 
 quarters, I asked Iveagh), could have evolved 
 two several ways of eluding the neutral censor's 
 eye. The Avuncular Aviator is so divinely 
 simple that I am hanged if I do not believe it 
 must have happened. When I enquired of du 
 Frettay, he said, if it had not it was going to, 
 and I could tell Jamesie so.] 
 
 Look here, girl, will you shut it? It 's sicken- 
 ing. It will do for him in addition to the work 
 I give him, which is enough. He was as white
 
 156 JAMESIE 
 
 and large-eyed after thinking all that out for 
 you when he came to say goodnight to us, as he 
 was when Byrne fetched him over this last time, 
 and he sick off the sea. And all his arithmetic 
 done right as well, it is enough to finish me at 
 the end of a day's bothering to have to show a 
 kid to the world so well-behaved. When, I ask 
 you, did I deserve it? And then the men with 
 me got hold of the letter and roared, which made 
 it no better for him. It is not fair treatment. I 
 just took him and told him all the rubbishy 
 stories of moonlighting, ratting and thieving I 
 could think of for half an hour till I saw his 
 colour come again. And when I had him laugh- 
 ing at me I did not want to lose him, only I did 
 my duty by your memory. Do you remember 
 the age he is? How is a kid that size to catch 
 hold of questions that dish us all? Harping on 
 friendships, I tell you it will be nobody's fault 
 but yours if it turns into something else and we 
 have him in love with a French girl at seven 
 years old. I began young you may remember, 
 and my father also. Now perhaps you '11 drop 
 evangelising. And as if he needed it. I took 
 him to church on Sunday as you said, and the 
 lesson we had was inconvenient. I was certain
 
 THE TRUCE 157 
 
 he would have at me after, saw him loading up 
 for it, but luckily a hen came in. There is al- 
 ways that chance in the churches here, that the 
 poultry and such may save you. He talked 
 about that hen going home, and me encourag- 
 ing him feverishly. He only got on to the 
 Testament lesson towards the end of dinner, and 
 by then I had the courage in me to come down. 
 And then Byrne, who we went to see at Glentooly 
 says he is the picture of my father, with a San 
 Greal speciality mounted. San Greal! Fancy 
 my desperate feelings when myself had taught 
 him to ride. . . . 
 
 [Bess promptly weeded out the elemental in 
 the above, and flung it back at him.] 
 
 How can you suggest such things, Iveagh, 
 about Denise and Jamesie? It is you who do not 
 remember his age. Please be careful what you 
 say to him on the subject, he takes her so very 
 seriously. I told Janet, and she is just as dis- 
 pleased as I am. She says Wickford does the 
 same thing when she does not watch him. Have 
 you, Janet says, any suspicions of Aileen? 
 because she had rather know. You must have 
 been rather nasty, both of you, living in the
 
 158 JAMESIE 
 
 stables when you were seven, hardened and so 
 on, I do not the least want to hear about it. I 
 am glad I did not know you. Sir James seems 
 to have been telling shocking things about your 
 youth to Jamesie, so I warn you, he will not take 
 you for a model, at this rate, long. Censor my 
 letters if you dare, I shall go on doing it. It is 
 the only way to keep him respectable. I am 
 sorry about your trials, darling. Don't be 
 anxious about J., he is strong, and I perfectly 
 trust you. I can go on doing without him for a 
 little while. Has Katy got clothes enough for 
 that baby? Ask her. 
 
 E. S. 
 
 [This letter being too critical, possibly, 
 Iveagh did not hide it in a magpie hole. He let 
 it lie about his office at the Castle, and Sir James 
 Byrne picked it up. Byrne being of my own 
 profession, possessed no conscience. He read it 
 first, stole it second, and lastly, gave it to me. I 
 ought perhaps to say a word of Judge Byrne, so 
 many of the Jamesie letters mention him. He 
 was Jamesie's namesake and godfather, and 
 Iveagh's ally and sustainer through life. He 
 had loved and upheld Iveagh throughout his 
 unregenerate youth, seconding him vigorously 
 against his parents; and now it became a new-
 
 THE TRUCE 159 
 
 born delight to him to give Iveagh away to 
 Jamesie. He was a conscience-less person. It 
 was he brought Jamesie over to the snores of his 
 fathers, and put him, pastorally as it were, into 
 Iveagh's arms. " Iveagh and I," said Byrne, 
 " were shuddering with sentiment on the occa- 
 sion; but Jamesie was shuddering with some- 
 thing far else. He turned sick at the end, as 
 some children do, having looked out for sub- 
 marines happily all the way across. Being an 
 old bachelor, I was delighted to get rid of him, 
 but more than a little paralysed to see no woman 
 there. That is the way the boy always gets me, 
 for he took it on him easily. I saw how his wife 
 had trusted him, from that moment. He is 
 never afraid, Iveagh, never the least afraid." 
 Byrne was prejudiced, naturally: still, I set this 
 beside the Duke's " bread-and-butter courage," 
 as interesting. 
 
 I proceed to the " play," as Wickford always 
 called it, an incident taken with extreme calm 
 by the Irish section, though it produced an im- 
 mense stir, as shall be seen, in Jamesie's England 
 at the front. Jamesie, just so soon as action 
 comes along, steps into his proper shoes as hero.]
 
 160 JAMESIE 
 
 The Duke, to Judge Byrne, with enclosure 
 following. 
 
 Is the boy off it? He writes the weirdest 
 letters nowadays. Is there by any chance not 
 room for the two of us on my property? What 
 is he playing at, tell me kindly. 
 
 W. 
 
 f to the Duke, offered for the Judge's 
 commentary. 
 
 The clearing on the front 1 is going strongly, 
 so let you be at rest about it. You would be 
 surprised if you saw how nice, with that 
 woman's 2 money, we have made the town. 
 Most of the people are quite pleased, thanks to 
 Jamesie's persuasion upon their taste. He is of 
 use to me, the way he points out on his own the 
 artistic advantages, while I make play with the 
 drains and so forth. But it is needed nowadays, 
 since other things are not so easy. ... I am 
 sorry Adair is gone, and Werner odd to think 
 he was an Austrian originally. Ingestre's wound 
 is nothing, I have the doctor's word for it. He 
 is coming to Glentooly to recruit at Easter, what 
 
 1 River-front. * Janet.
 
 THE TRUCE 161 
 
 time Byrne has finally decided to let the fishing 
 and the house. . . . He asked me to join them. 
 I can't, of course, but the letter was very nice. 
 He is just the same, and he addresses me as it 
 might be anybody. He said the German ques- 
 tion was easier than this, 1 and would be shorter, 
 which is likely. The nature of the people is 
 easier. I had sooner deal with Bethmann Holl- 
 weg, any day, than with Bridgie Halloran when 
 she calls to mind Crawford's English fashion of 
 evicting her, and forgets the fact she is in a much 
 better house. It is the cats she regrets really, 
 they ran about the heather, and she never got 
 back more than six of them. It was the one true 
 cause of Patie Halloran's not enlisting. Now, 
 Bess would have found that out for me sooner, 
 would she not? It 's a hundred pities, for cats 
 and little things like that, I have not Bess with 
 me here. . . . Having remarked so much, I 
 come to business. If you get your leave long 
 enough, wait for a note before you come to me. 
 Do not mind the elegant telegrams we send you, 
 because the post-people see those. Only notice 
 what I say under cover, which I pray to Provi- 
 dence they do not see. I wish there were riders 
 
 1 Irish.
 
 1 62 JAMESIE 
 
 now for messages, or I had. a wireless station. 
 The chances are, at the time you mean, you had 
 better keep out of it. And yet Lord knows I 'd 
 like you for a lot of things. We are really get- 
 ting through some of it at last. Jim's regards to 
 
 the Generals. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 I. S. 
 
 Judge Byrne, to the Duke. 
 
 Come, man alive! Can you not read through 
 that how sorely you are wanted? Give him 
 your countenance at least in the work he is 
 doing, it is too hard on mortal else. You ought 
 to have shown your face long since, in Craw- 
 ford's time, as I told you persistently, and Janet 
 too. You have to come to the scratch, with the 
 fickle foolish people they are. The nettle will 
 tickle always until you grasp it, and properly, 
 which he is doing this long while in your name. 
 You are rapidly growing no more than a name 
 to them, and that is dangerous, and the harder 
 on him that his is a personality they are bound 
 to love. I am not afraid to say this to you, 
 Conor. . . . He was never less demented, I can 
 assure you, but he is bothered thoroughly, and
 
 THE TRUCE 163 
 
 believes every breath of trouble he hears. I am 
 not an optimist myself, but he is lower than I 
 am, being on a level with the reports that reach 
 him by every idle tongue. It is his misfortune 
 that being quiet he is good company, and gets 
 himself talked to, and too much. It is said that 
 Marvin is back in the country, and Rochester 
 that idle lad along with him, spreading disaffec- 
 tion to the soldiers, and anxious to have you 
 down. I believe sincerely there is nothing in it: 
 Marvin might keep that old grudge of his, but 
 Gerry is completely daft. He has long had 
 visions and what not, and it annoys Iveagh to 
 death how he hangs about Jamesie. . . . Lately 
 it seems he has inspired his sister in his interest, 
 at least from Katie the slut she has become Kath- 
 leen (so the boy himself told me) and does the 
 prophetess to such an extent that she neglects the 
 child. She has been injured by the English, 
 you will observe, such that the allegory would 
 be complete to admiration, were it not that most 
 of the neighbours know she was willing enough. 
 As for there being room for you, you need not 
 question it, so far as concerns him. He is being 
 daily as disagreeable as he can manage, and he 
 flings snubs abroad by the handful whenever he
 
 1 64 JAMESIE 
 
 does me the honour to ride out with me. But 
 what 's the good of it with a child like that at 
 the back of him? With the likeness to your 
 father he carries, and the little sweet tongue of 
 him, and the love of beast and man to boot? 
 Come along, shirker, come out of that army you 
 are so fond of. Do not let your wife or new 
 child or anything keep you from your plain 
 duty here. 
 
 Love to her and believe me 
 Yours 
 
 J. C. BYRNE. 
 
 [This impetuous apostrophe, from a man the 
 family respected, had its natural consequence. 
 Wickford got away for as long as he wanted 
 with shameful ease, and enjoyed a little holiday 
 on the farther shore. A dramatic interlude.] 
 
 Jamesie, answering Shere, punctual as ever. 
 
 DEAR CAPT. LD SHERE 
 
 Thank you for the Card with the Cannon. 
 We have had a shooting here, a real one. Uncle 
 Wick had stayed behind, talking about Kitch- 
 ener to Col. Hamilton. We were in the cart. I 
 was driving. Father told me to hold him, 1 and 
 
 1 The horse.
 
 THE TRUCE 165 
 
 he would clear the way round the Unlucky 
 Corner, because some times there are stones. So 
 he pretended I think. And next there were 3 
 shots, real, I heard them. And the Horse 
 wanted to see what was hapening. So we went 
 on, and there he was in the road ! And he woaed 
 because Father put his arm up lukily. I 
 could n't have him stopt 1 And I saw the Bleed- 
 ing. Lukily Uncle Wick came then, and said I 
 must drive on and tell them. So I did, and there 
 was nobody at the Farm! It was horubly dark 
 there. So I went on a " long, long Way " to 
 Glentooly, and there was a Doctor staying there. 
 And he was in Uniform, but he had time for us. 
 So he came with me. And he knew Father he 
 said. So that was all Right. Don't you like this 
 intrusting letter? With Salute 
 
 Yours truly 
 
 J. C. Sum. 
 
 Shere to Wickford, telegram from France. 
 
 Where are you? What is up? Have they 
 been gun-running in your country? 
 
 I
 
 i66 JAMESIE 
 
 Cardew to Janet, telegram from France. 
 
 What is this Jamesie tells Jack of shooting? 
 Is Suir hurt? 
 
 Francis to Herbert, postcard from France. 
 
 Do I understand from Tim Lord Iveagh is 
 hurt? I hope not serious. 
 
 Tim to Mary Geoghan, postcard from France. 
 
 Your last produced a shandy-dan, let us have 
 some more of it for the sake of love. We had 
 been yawning here. 
 
 Judge Byrne to Janet, telegram from Dublin. 
 
 Conor is quite well, has telephoned me. 
 Iveagh wounded slightly. Discredit all print 
 till we write. 
 
 Wickford to Janet, telegram from Castle 
 Wickford. 
 
 Get Bess to come here and bother Mother. 
 He is worked out. 

 
 THE TRUCE 167 
 
 Janet to the Dowager, telegram from London. 
 
 Accident Ireland, not serious. Doctor wants 
 Bess. Have sent Kitchin to replace till further 
 orders. Am writing. 
 
 Wickford to the interviewer, verbal message. 
 
 Make it clear, if you must, that the matter is 
 long known to us, the man a keeper dismissed for 
 dishonesty. It is an entirely private affair. 
 
 The Greatest of the Morning Papers, paragraph. 
 
 The Duke of Wickford was shot at on Satur- 
 day, while on a flying visit to his Irish estate. 
 That the attempt was prompted by an active 
 political agency, sustained by enemy funds and 
 propaganda, is denied. It is said to be the out- 
 come of a private grievance. Two individuals 
 suspected by the police are in custody. 
 
 The Dowager to the Duchess, telegram from 
 Boulogne. 
 
 Very well, shall have to come to London on 
 short leave. Warn Wickford.
 
 1 68 JAMESIE 
 
 The same, to the Duke, by letter. 
 
 Very well, a single explanation would do. I 
 really have no need of such flocks of excuses 
 from you and Janet. One would think I was a 
 tyrant, and unaware of the duties marriage en- 
 tails. It is perfectly right of Elizabeth to go, if 
 Iveagh requires her; and your supporting the 
 demand would make it the less avoidable, natur- 
 ally. I am far less inclined than you seem to 
 think to find fault with Elizabeth, who has 
 proved herself a remarkably reliable girl. 
 About the child, too, she really has a grievance. 
 It is extraordinary of Iveagh to take him away 
 from her and his education for so long. Break- 
 ing a child's habits in that way, apart from all 
 other drawbacks, is neither in accordance with 
 my principles, nor with those of your wife. 
 James would be much better quietly in London, 
 either with Janet, whose Nurse is trustworthy, 
 or with Elizabeth, who has plenty of time for 
 her own affairs. Even in this moment of Na- 
 tional need, I should not ask all a young married 
 woman's time, that is ridiculous. There was a 
 rush of course at first, but lifelong principles, 
 especially at my age, are not easily obliterated. 
 Please give Elizabeth the enclosed, containing a
 
 THE TRUCE 169 
 
 question or two about the bales, which Miss 
 Kitchin is unable to answer. I should like to 
 be sure of her at her London address by Wed- 
 nesday, if that is not asking the impossible. You 
 I fear I shall miss at this rate, since I only have 
 the two days. It is tiresome about Iveagh's 
 knee, I suppose that will put him off again. 1 
 How on earth did he manage to do it, unless 
 he was playing football with his gun? He al- 
 ways did have the most outlandish accidents. 
 
 The Duchess, to the same, carried all unaware 
 by Lady Iveagh. 
 
 No, dear, stay a little, it will make her hap- 
 pier. We are so absurdly shy, coming into the 
 colony, and would like, please, to get behind 
 you. Besides, it is the fair return. I can do 
 your mother perfectly. Stay, unless of course 
 you find yourself too dreadfully out of it, then 
 come back to us. Too sweet she is when I 
 called her and said I had cleared everything out 
 of the path for ten days, she turned as pink as a 
 bride. Though of course dreadfully busi- 
 ness-like. Now she will nurse him, with pro- 
 priety, and both will have such a nice time, get- 
 
 1 From service.
 
 170 JAMESIE 
 
 ting round you, and both, for the look of the 
 thing, would so much sooner you were there. O 
 sweet and lovely wall! Are n't you? Now say 
 I don't know them. 
 
 JANET. 
 
 [I got the scenery what du Frettay calls 
 the decoration of Wickford's play out of Bess, 
 who came back after the stated ten days, and 
 resumed work, demurely. I intercepted her as 
 soon as I could I think it was in a tea-shop. 
 She was looking well well is a good word : 
 and unprofessional, surprisingly. To anyone 
 who valued her on the serious side, as the Dow- 
 ager did, such a change must have been painful.] 
 
 " Have you got Jamesie? " I started natur- 
 ally. 
 
 " Not yet," said Bess. " I applied for him." 
 
 " Weren't your papers in order? " I said with 
 sympathy. " I say, why not try your marriage 
 lines? I ought to tell you, Bess, your mother- 
 in-law has been in town." 
 
 " No! " Bess looked humble at once. " Has 
 she, St. John?" 
 
 " Rather looking for you. Do you mean 
 they never told you? She was surprised to find
 
 THE TRUCE 171 
 
 so many of her own telegrams. She worried 
 Miss Kitchin like a rat, and she kept on wonder- 
 ing where Wickford was. She had an idea, 
 when she came over, her leave crossed with his." 
 
 Bess glanced at me. She was wearing her 
 Red Cross expression in honour of her mother- 
 in-law, which was very clever. 
 
 " Did you explain? " she said. 
 
 "Well as I could. Which did you walk 
 out with?" 
 
 " I did n't," said Bess. " I stayed at home. 
 Mine can't walk, to call walking." 
 
 " Can't he? Why not. I thought Marvin 
 shot him in the arm." 
 
 " So he did clean through. The most beau- 
 tiful thing," said Bess with sudden enthusiasm, 
 " you ever saw." She sobered. " But he kicked 
 his own gun in falling, and landed the charge in 
 the other knee ; at least, that is what Wickford 
 says. He says he lit a little flash and burnt him- 
 self. You may take it either way. Anyhow he 
 fell over several rocks, which habitually strew 
 the road; and the result of it all is well 
 
 " Not beautiful." I grimaced involuntarily. 
 " Duller for you, let 's say." 
 
 " It was horridly dull. I might n't touch it,"
 
 172 JAMESIE 
 
 " Did he hit you? " Bess nodded. Then she 
 looked aside. I saw I should have to make an 
 effort to get further. She does not tell me much 
 about Iveagh ever, and I doubt if she says a word 
 about me to him. She is an eminently cautious 
 girl. 
 
 " There was nothing for me, then," I sug- 
 gested, gazing at my notebook, which I had laid 
 beside me on the tea-shop table. She knows 
 about it, as Francis does. 
 
 " I am afraid not, St. John," said Bess, turn- 
 ing over her private knowledge. " It was n't 
 War. There was not a touch of khaki in it any- 
 where except Wickford's cap." 
 
 " What had Wickford's cap to do with it? " 
 
 " It was part of the pretending. Ask Jamesie." 
 
 " Bess, you are a tiresome girl! I believe you 
 have been having the time of your life, with the 
 two of them, in that divine place. It is divine, 
 is n't it?" 
 
 " Heavenly. I saw the place where it all 
 happened extremely paintable, all in crooks. 
 A crooked wall comes down to a crooked road, 
 which crosses a crooked gully by a broken 
 bridge. Not quite so broken as it was in their 
 father's time, Wick said they had begun to mend
 
 THE TRUCE 173 
 
 it. But it was n't very safe, and there was a nice 
 sign-post suggesting that motors should go back, 
 and round by the road. I don't suppose the 
 warning had ever been necessary, but it was 
 
 nice." 
 
 " Thank you," I said. " At least I am getting 
 on a little." 
 
 " They call it," Bess pursued, " The Unlucky 
 Corner. They all used to leap the wall there, 
 apparently for the pleasure of coming off. It 
 would have been instant death, with the gully in 
 front unguarded, for any but my husband's fam- 
 ily. It made me perfectly ill to think of Jamesie 
 trying it. But he is considered too young." 
 
 " I am glad of that," I said. Bess drew in 
 again, after her unusual excursion. " It sounds 
 a little awkward," I suggested. 
 
 " It is, a little. You have to turn in the air, 
 like a circus, if you want to get all four legs of 
 your horse to fit the road. The stones, always 
 in new places, make it more interesting. As a 
 rule, only mine managed it. What happened to 
 the others he did not say. I suppose," said Bess, 
 dreamily, " it was by old habit he expected an 
 accident there." 
 
 "Oh, he did, did he? Is yours superstitious?"
 
 174 JAMESIE 
 
 " Iveagh? Frightfully." She looked at me, 
 and closed up again. 
 
 " Hum. So he expected it. Invited it, pos- 
 sibly in Wickford's cap." 
 
 "Oh, St. John! What have you been 
 reading? " 
 
 " Jamesie's letter to Francis. He lost Fran- 
 cis's new number, and sent it here." 
 
 " Then I shan't talk," said Bess, with a bright 
 idea, " to people who read private letters." 
 
 And she did not. That was the end of it. 
 
 Jamesle, to Francis. 
 
 [" Been " the best expression of seven-year- 
 old rapture I ever read. Evidently Suir, when 
 he could do it, did it thoroughly.] 
 
 I will tell you a Joke, as good as yours. Pres- 
 ently I will. Now I have seen him (because I 
 have) its getting funier and funier until I simply 
 Had to turn headoverheels in a place [Blot.] 
 There now there 's a good bit of Sand in my 
 hair. Well its about our Shooting. You heard 
 all that stuff. Well he did pretend, in Uncle 
 Wick's Army * Cap ! He told me as an Awful 
 
 1 See below.
 
 THE TRUCE 175 
 
 Secret. They would n't if he hadnt, I told him 
 squeesing and he believed. And fetching the 
 Doctor was a Score for us he said all that. Oh 
 dear I did laugf. I was afraid he would be 
 diferent but he never is. Uncle Wick is been 
 fater but he isnt. This is a horuble Sandy Let- 
 ter this time cant be helped. Goodbye dear 
 Francis. 
 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 [Francis sent this letter back to me for ad- 
 miration, never guessing I could have opened 
 it en route : so that I had a chance of studying it 
 a second time. I think I speak open to cor- 
 rection the fact that the cap so used was 
 Army was a large part of the joke, to Jamesie. 
 He shared with Kells, and most other children 
 of the period, an awestricken veneration for the 
 outer symbols of war. It was, among other de- 
 lightful things, incredibly impertinent of his 
 father to use that cap. His references to the 
 " doctor in uniform " convey the same attitude 
 to the official world: an attitude which, by the 
 way, backs up du Frettay's contention that 
 Jamesie was not Irish, internally. 
 
 I proceed to what may be called the practical 
 witnesses, the Duke and the Doctor.]
 
 176 JAMESIE 
 
 St. John Herbert, to the doctor in question. 
 
 DEAR ASHWIN, 
 
 I do not want to waste your time, since I 
 hear you are just starting. Are the following 
 details correct as to Jamesie Suir's part in what 
 Wickford calls the " play " in Ireland? Am I 
 lifting him to the heroic place unnecessarily? 
 I want to keep proportion, if it is ever possible 
 in that blessed land. 
 
 Yours etc. 
 
 The doctor, to Herbert. 
 
 DEAR HERBERT, 
 
 You cannot exalt Jamesie too much for me. 
 It was a firstclass feat, because he was fright- 
 ened. He was aware of the risks, and still he 
 did the job, which another child would not. He 
 must have driven five miles, alone with a strong 
 horse, on a vile road, in dense shadow and thin 
 moonlight alternately. I did it just after him, 
 so I could reckon the chances exactly. When 
 John and I went out to him, he was terrified, 
 and in tears ; but he gave me his uncle's messages 
 lucidly, and entreated to show me the way. 
 From the minute he heard I was a doctor, he
 
 THE TRUCE 177 
 
 held on to me tight. The women wanted to 
 keep him at Glentooly. I took him, of course, 
 and got the chief part of the history out of him 
 as we drove. The duke is a singularly poor 
 hand at a tourniquet perhaps for a duke not 
 singular so we were at the bridge none too 
 soon. The rest of your details are all right. 
 John was witness to the scene on the Glentooly 
 drive, good enough for any novel. Apply to 
 him rather than the women about Jamesie. I 
 am fairly satisfied with young Suir, but would 
 rag him longer if I had time. Do not ask him 
 for my character. I hope the board will settle 
 him, when he gets there, and teach him his place 
 in the scheme of things. But I have small hope 
 of it, " pistonne " as he is. I am thankful to be 
 out of such rubbish. 1 Goodbye till the war 's 
 over. 
 
 Yours. 
 C. C. A. 
 
 [I applied, as advised, to Ingestre. I gave 
 him a broad hint, like Ashwin, to give me facts 
 and keep off philosophy, but as will be seen, he 
 barely managed it. He was wounded, after a 
 fair dose, which may account. I think, by in- 
 
 1 Medical boards.
 
 178 JAMESIE 
 
 ternal evidence, Suir must have fagged for him 
 at Eton.] 
 
 John Ingestre Esq., to Herbert. 
 
 Rather the best apparition you ever saw. 
 All in the Irish moonlight, against a pitch-black 
 pile of trees. He fell into the middle of dinner, 
 and turned us all out to admire him. He had 
 no use for us, though, only for Ashwin. Do 
 you want a description of Suir minimus? No. 
 He was crying, but not a bit confused. We got 
 his heredity right after the doctor was gone, and 
 while the car was appearing. Father started in 
 character by observing Iveagh had no right to 
 have a son of the age. I proved by Eton dates 
 Iveagh was welcome to, if he chose, and disap- 
 pointed Father. Then they proceeded to the 
 bilge Crawford put about London as to Suir 
 minor being a Sinn Fenian, and having refused 
 to enlist. So I settled that, being on the subject, 
 and disappointed them again. I let Father and 
 Major Burge unload the stuff they had accumu- 
 lated first, the women listening, religiously. 
 Women are so religious in this war, in the sense 
 of wanting to believe the indecently improbable. 
 Don't tell my wife I said that. Anyhow after
 
 THE TRUCE 179 
 
 that they listened just as religiously to me. 
 Since I have 'been out they do, that is the beauty 
 of it. Besides, I like Iveagh, sulky little beast, 
 and he always admired me extremely. He is 
 exactly fitted at this moment to be king of Con- 
 naught, and live in a cave. Suir minimus would 
 do him proud as an heir-apparent, would n't he? 
 Father said he was sorry finally, Major Burge 
 did not, which proves all sorts of things. Any- 
 how he is not the new army. I took the car to 
 the Unlucky Corner, a place I remember pain- 
 fully. Iveagh's custom was to show his guests 
 the way over, at fourteen years old. I did not 
 get the car quite to it, certainly, but I got within 
 hearing: then I blew my horn at intervals for 
 Ashwin's edification. Finally he joined me, 
 looking pretty fierce, with Suir minor, that is 
 mine, and the Duke in his shirt-sleeves. He had 
 taken off his tunic not to frighten the kid. 
 (Minimus was in the cart, during these per- 
 formances.) " It's like Cain I am," the Duke 
 observed to me pleasantly (I think he did) I 
 had n't come across him since Eton. I said he 
 was worse than the corpse, and I could n't admit 
 him into Father's car. He was ready to play 
 the ass as well, with relief. You see he had
 
 i8o JAMESIE 
 
 never known, for a whole hour, at what point 
 Marvin might not resuscitate amid the ferns, 
 and shoot again. No fun for him. . . . Asses 
 they are, blighters, not even able to shoot a duke 
 down. Oh Lord, it 's Ireland all over that. No 
 one wuld have regretted Wickford. Not that 
 he is a bad fellow, but another of the same sort 
 would have done as well. You have only to 
 tack a title to him, send him to France which is 
 the fashion, and get somebody to brush his hair. 
 Like Alice in Wonderland. 1 
 
 I haven't any more, of moment. Oh yes, I 
 forgot to say Gerry Rochester got in later to 
 Glentooly, a bad second to Suir minimus, and 
 was received tenderly by the girls. They gave 
 him my dinner, mine, and he finished all the 
 whisky. When I said he was a criminal, a con- 
 niver at manslaughter, together with a maniac, 
 they were incredulous, or indifferent. They 
 said he was " so Irish." There you are. Eng- 
 lish sentiment has been the ruin of this country, 
 not Irish,, they have n't any. All the drivel in 
 their modern literature, which is largely drivel, 
 we have mixed in. No wonder they want to get 
 rid of us. ... 
 
 1 I asked Ingestre to explain this, but he forgot.
 
 THE TRUCE 181 
 
 The Duke, to Judge Byrne. 
 
 [Note Anyone who likes may skip the fol- 
 lowing, which is merely the facts. As a per- 
 sonality, Ingestre truly says, nobody would miss 
 Wickford. I thank thee, Ingestre, for teaching 
 me that word. It must be why my instinct is to 
 leave out most of his letters. 
 
 S. H.] 
 
 MY DEAR BYRNE, 
 
 We were both wrong and he right: this by 
 way of prologue before I answer your telegram. 
 
 He is anything but killed, and contented to 
 have got round me, only in great pain from his 
 knee. Marvin shot him clean through the left 
 shoulder, how near extinction I dare not think, 
 and falling he got mixed with his own gun, 
 which he had steadied against the bridge, so as 
 to pepper the other leg. To make all complete 
 he jarred the same knee badly as he went over, 
 complicating what might else have been an easy 
 case, easy I mean considering he was aimed at 
 by Marvin and himself, both very tidy marks- 
 men, in the course of a single night. I did not 
 observe the lower details at the time, being fully 
 concerned to stop the bleeding above, which I 
 did not specially succeed in as I lack the first-aid
 
 1 82 JAMESIE 
 
 tricks every kid of fourteen knows now. My 
 sister-in-law, just arrived, is grieved at my igno- 
 rance, and Ashwin stronger than grieved. In- 
 deed it is a pity for the boy, since he cannot spare 
 it, being already worked out with my business 
 as you said. I thought as sure as I write this I 
 should have him dead on my hands before the 
 doctor came. I would very probably have killed 
 Marvin in my rage, only Rochester, realising 
 the mistake, did me the favour of knocking him 
 out with the butt of the gun. After which util- 
 ity, Gerry turned to helping me as much as a 
 half-bake can help. Such are our conspirators 
 in this forgotten country. 
 
 As for the little play on the bridge, I will 
 make no remarks as you know Iveagh. So far 
 as I can pick up from Jamesie (himself being 
 useless and scorning my natural emotion) it was 
 a bit of sheer divilment of the old sort. He was 
 driven by the great need to prove me wrong. 
 I had been mocking him at the station about 
 Marvin, and to Jamesie's face, which was rash 
 of me. He said little, though while we drove I 
 saw he was looking about. We had (what was 
 twice over a providence) a quiet horse, chosen to 
 instruct Jim in driving. With the kind of ani-
 
 THE TRUCE 183 
 
 mal Iveagh chooses for himself, we should have 
 been utterly done. Hamilton crossed us at the 
 turn to Dunshaden, and exclaimed at me. I got 
 down to speak to him. Iveagh let the child 
 drive on, since the light was bad, and there 
 might be stones at the corner. At least, that was 
 his excuse. Since, I am certain he reckoned, if 
 an accident happened, on its happening there. 
 (He may also have reckoned on his own immu- 
 nity. Set him up. I am extremely vexed with 
 him still, and the more the more I think.) The 
 cart drew up short of the corner, as a fact. Jim 
 says he " pretended " if you follow that nursery 
 expression. When I got out to Hamilton, I had 
 left my odd clothes in the cart. My lord sang 
 out to Jim to wait till his " father" came, as he 
 was going forward to look for stones. He took, 
 for this purpose, my cap on him, and my coat 
 across his shoulder. Likewise I suppose he 
 primed his gun, fit for any rabbits he should 
 chance to see. He stood on the bridge to observe 
 the scenery, especially in the bottom of the glen, 
 what light there was full on him. There is no 
 doubt in my mind that he thanked God when 
 Marvin's gun spoke out, since it proved him 
 right against me. That it went through his own
 
 1 84 JAMESIE 
 
 arm was an after-thought. And he calls himself 
 parent to that nice respectable child! 
 
 There was a second report, and the echo, as 
 I reckon. You will find Jim says three. But 
 both the last were drowned by Gerald's yelling 
 as he leapt upon Marvin really horrid it was. 
 I am not going to begin to account for Gerry's 
 proceeding, I leave it to you, Judge, with your 
 deep knowledge of the country, and my own dis- 
 qualifications. If Marvin had got me, I sup- 
 pose, in his lovely fervour, Gerry would have 
 put in another shot. How he spotted the mis- 
 take is a mystery, unless my brother spoke or 
 challenged. That may be. Anyhow, he downed 
 the big keeper in no time, and later, Marvin 
 was quite hard to find among the fern. It is 
 true, I heard him groaning while I attended to 
 Iveagh, but I was singularly uninterested. Ex- 
 cept for Ashwin, he might have groaned all 
 night for me. Personally I thought it was 
 poaching, naturally. I vaulted the wall lower 
 up * the road to get down to the scrimmage 
 quickly. I had been walking quietly after the 
 cart. I half throttled Rochester, dragged him 
 off Marvin, and requested politely to learn what 
 
 1 Is this English?
 
 THE TRUCE 185 
 
 was the sport. Gerry only jabbered his rubbish, 
 pointing at the bridge, which looked empty. I 
 can tell you it was not nice. I called, and Jim 
 answered me, bless his little voice. " Father is 
 here, I think the horse has found him." How 
 I got up to the bridge do not ask, for the gully 
 in a bad light is beastly. Gerry shadowed me 
 with infernal ease, though I could have done 
 without him. However, he was sober enough 
 when he saw the blood, and had the sense to 
 fetch water, though with a deliberation that dis- 
 tracted me, fearing as I was to see the boy go 
 out on my hands. I have had a few bad turns in 
 France this winter, but none approaching it 
 how could I? And yet it was a near thing, ow- 
 ing to that cursed exhaustion, Ashwin said. 
 
 The luck of getting his own doctor was be- 
 yond hope or wonder. I could not believe it 
 when he told me it was Iveagh told me, be- 
 fore he fainted the second time. I thought he 
 was raving: yet there was the probability, not to 
 mention even at the last gasp it is he has all the 
 sense. . . . Ashwin was at Glentooly, for the 
 end of the week, gone to have a look at Ingestre's 
 wound before he moved east, there was the fact, 
 a fluke if you like. But barring a second
 
 1 86 JAMESIE 
 
 fluke, I would never have got him, though I 
 primed the idiot, and posted him off. I had 
 already despatched the child to the farm. You 
 will see by Jim's account how he found the farm 
 untenanted, and did not come back, but forward 
 on his own by the Glentooly road. How many 
 children would have gone forward, at that point, 
 after the shots, and in the darkness, with a horse 
 and cart to manage? How would my fine Kells 
 have figured, in that situation? I have a cursed 
 patronising letter from Kells, that curled Iveagh 
 up, but did not amuse me. The contrast is 
 humiliating, as is the rest of it. I am used to 
 being humbled, in this company, but I am 
 glad to be here. You were right to make me 
 face death and destruction to get the facts. Are 
 you aware his best friend has cut him dead for 
 six months, and he only mentioning it casually, 
 as if it were the commonest thing? I never 
 thought it out for him, for an instant, though 
 even so, I doubt if I would have spared him. 
 The style of the place, the way every blessed 
 thing is engineered and under weigh, managed 
 even better than his boasting. That is him, is it 
 not? he betters his boasting, always: which is 
 what Kells does not.
 
 THE TRUCE 187 
 
 [The following suggests that Lady Aileen 
 was in clandestine correspondence with her 
 father's groom.] 
 
 DEAR AILEEN, 
 
 I drove him 5 miles (English) that is i 
 mile and 4 miles, to Hallorans then Glentooly. 
 I have found out by the map. He did pull! 
 Father says it is not Driving to be Draged. But 
 I did really because once he wanted not to seen 
 Stables. Please tell Tim when you write as I 
 have no time for Proper letters. 
 
 Your loving 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 [The next called forth all his efforts.] 
 
 DEAR JAMESIE, 
 
 We should be glad to know here how Lord 
 Iveagh is if you have leisure for a nice account. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 NURSE. 
 DEAR NURSE, 
 
 I just waited a day because Mother came 
 sudenly! She is splendacious in white with Red 
 Crosses (Uncle Wick said splendacious). 
 Father told her to go back to her Militry, but
 
 1 88 JAMESIE 
 
 she didnt. She is staying a Week! Time to see 
 everything. Oh dear, I 'm glad. 
 
 Father's arm is nothing but his knee is n't, that 
 is a longer Job. He says he can't ride for nuts 
 and his Comission will probly be Cavalry. I 
 think that serous and so does Mother, but Uncle 
 Wick says there is n't any Cavalry now. My 
 Doctor goes on coming in Uniform Father 
 does n't want him specially. He told him so! ! 
 I think that is enough to be Court Martialed but 
 it is his knee. Dear Nurse goodbye now. 
 
 Your loving 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 Kells to the Duke. Unspeakably badly typed on 
 the Holmer machine. 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 I am being secretry in Miss Kitchin's ab- 
 sense. Mother says " I may try." I frwrd Grd- 
 mother's letter abt Aunt bess. Last night Aileen 
 and I thought of something good for uncle 
 Iveagh choosing horses for the ARMY because 
 he does it well. I am trying all the Stops ? ! . . 
 with love : ; 
 
 [KELLS.]
 
 THE TRUCE 189 
 
 The Duke to Kells prompt. 
 
 MY DEAR SON, 
 
 I have something to say to you privately,. 
 When you think out uses, by night, for my rela- 
 tions, and wish to confide in me, do not drag 
 your sister into it. It is better to stand alone. 
 You are quite right, your uncle would choose 
 horses for the army excellently well, as he has 
 done for his ungrateful nephews before now. 
 Shall I tell him, when he is better, your sugges- 
 tion? Up to now he has only administered our 
 estates (yours in prospect) past all praising, and 
 saved my life. Are you aware of this? Is it of 
 any value to you? Answer this. 
 
 Your father, 
 WlCKFORD. 
 
 Kells to the Duke, autograph, elegant. 
 (Private.) 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 (i) Yes, Mother told me. (2) I am very 
 glad he was instead of you because of the Army 
 and besides I am glad otherwise. It is all for 
 the best. I write this unknowing to the children. 
 
 Your afectionate son, 
 KELLS.
 
 190 JAMESIE 
 
 Jamesie to Kells. 
 
 Uncle Wick didnt laugf at your letter the 
 last time but Father simply culapsed. Mother 
 was surprised because she was doing him then. 
 So she had to start again but she saw the letter 
 and liked it too. I read the other one. You do 
 type nicely do me one next with lots of stops. 
 We are getting on Splendidly here. Whats the 
 other Baby like? Mother went to see Katie's, 
 I took her, and Katie was that time polite only 
 staring. Of course that was the I rst time she saw 
 Mother. Love to Nurse and Biscuit and Aileen, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 J. C. Sum (R.I.C., etc.) 
 
 M. du Frettay, into the middle of all this. 
 
 Pourquoi les quatre mille quelquechoses tu 
 t'embusques comme a? 
 
 Iveagh, to M. du Frettay. 
 
 Keep it in, I 'm coming. I might have to wait 
 a little while till I have another leg, and the girl 
 has done playing with my shoulder. She does 
 it very well considering, but I doubt if I could 
 shoot a rabbit as yet. Rifle-shooting with the
 
 THE TRUCE 191 
 
 right arm only is a thing I left out, but as luck 
 has it I am able to write, so you will get the 
 benefit. I suppose you have an address these 
 days, you give no sign. Or are you in the sky 
 continuously, and that is why your blessings drop 
 upon me unsigned, and nothing at the top of the 
 paper? However, I recognised the style, so did 
 he. I looked for your last, or rather she did, 
 but could not find it, if it was ever there at all. 
 It is true I leave the things in the office about a 
 bit, as she observes, but only so as to fall under 
 my eye when I want them. So I send this by 
 way of your people, with Jim's. 
 
 Come down a little to see me, when I am in 
 Paris, because the chances are I will have some 
 time off, the sort of thing he is getting me. We 
 had just been settling, when your compliments 
 came, for the next year or so none of us will have 
 much to do. The girl means to come over too, 
 being overworked by my mother in London. 
 We have talked it out, since she is here, and 
 agreed for the boy's education it would be ad- 
 visable. It is a pity for him to stick too long in 
 one place, even if the place is a good one. He 
 has got on a bit here. He rides as well as most 
 kids, and drives quite decently. I would not
 
 192 JAMESIE 
 
 have time though these next months to see to 
 him, so she will do it. And Gabriel, see here. 
 Let your mother not let on to my mother if the 
 shopping-places in Paris are better than in Lon- 
 don, because that would dish us entirely, Bess 
 would be roped in again. There are things now 
 you can't refuse, I mean if you are a woman. 
 He or I would send Mother to glory if she 
 fagged us that way, but she cannot. Wickford's 
 wife herself has had a struggle of it. Well, ow- 
 ing to these outside things, Bess has had to stay 
 at pen's length of us the entire winter. 1 It is not 
 natural for a boy the age Jim is, I saw how he 
 met her this time, and I have had enough of it. 
 I want my wife now for my purposes. She can 
 help in the hospitals, if she wants to, that is her 
 own look-out. But my mother overdoes things, 
 you may remember, especially at the first go-off; 
 and she expects all women she meets to be as 
 bustling (erased) as busy as herself. 
 
 The Duke, to the same. 
 
 [As I guess, previous to the last, since the 
 Duke dates his letters.] 
 
 1 Cf. his mother's opinions.
 
 THE TRUCE 193 
 
 Will you shut it, du Frettay, chucking your 
 insults about the place? I tell you he is simply 
 not fit to stand the sort of thing. It was himself 
 informed me you were jesting, or you would 
 have heard of it. I am a little concerned in this, 
 you notice, being responsible. He turned as 
 white as you please, and frightened Bess: and 
 he took good care to observe it was foolery be- 
 fore he handed it to me. Just as well, for the 
 joke, in my judgment, is not a good one. I 
 would have thought you had learnt, by now, it 
 is easy to say things which it is better not to 
 write, and especially not upon a postcard. 
 However, if you care to know the rights of this. 
 . . . [He proceeds to relate, somewhat more 
 baldly than to Byrne, the contents of this sec- 
 tion.] Iveagh will never tell you himself, so I 
 had better do it. The truth is, I should not have 
 thought it necessary, if I had not seen that card. 
 And I should not have seen the card if he could 
 have concealed it, or rather the shock it made. 
 So now you know my ideas. . . . Do not believe 
 the papers, English least of all, on the subject of 
 Ireland. Wait till I find you, wherever it next 
 happens to be, and I will inform you myself, 
 can take his opinions, but salt them well,
 
 i 9 4 JAMESIE 
 
 for he has not half my reading. He goes, in 
 political matters, generally speaking, on what 
 he and Jamesie pick up at the Fair. . . . 
 
 M. du Frettay, at leisure, to Wick ford. 
 
 Ce n'est pas embetant ce que vous me racontez 
 la. C'est chicment plus amusant que ce qu'on 
 presente de mon cote, egalement lugubre et 
 fade. . . . 
 
 M. du Frettay, immediately, to Iveagh. 
 
 MON CHER PETIT, 
 
 It is true? Thou occupiest thyself, as 
 Wickford has just told me, in crocking 1 thy 
 knee of the perfect rider, by dint of constituting 
 thyself sole guardian of his interests against a 
 swarm of emissaries boches? It must be truth, 
 since the Daily Mail sustains me in the sublime 
 supposition. You will shortly come and recount 
 all that to me, will you not, without the ordinary 
 interpolations of your elder brother, whose re- 
 stricted outlook always did fatigue us. Show 
 him this, that he may see, until I have time to 
 write to him, how little I value his high moral- 
 
 1 Fouler.
 
 THE TRUCE 195 
 
 ity, compared with the vigorous truths culled 
 by you in the agricultural reunions, and daz- 
 zlingly expressed by Jamesie to my niece Denise. 
 I find that little green goose of a Denise, by the 
 way, poseuse like the majority of her kind, has 
 not done your son the honour to reply to him 
 lately. Whence this idea arrived to her pos- 
 sibly at the school she frequents it is useless 
 to inquire, but by way of my mother I have re- 
 proached her briskly for her laziness. Not that 
 Jamesie gains much by her snobbish letters. 
 Sapristi, the education of our girls! . . . Let 
 my Lady Bess come soon, for so long past my 
 mother has needed her: and observe, the third 
 floor flat where my library is housed stands now 
 untenanted. Parbleu, she might even dust my 
 books! This occurs to my pen, as I write, but 
 do not tell her, merely our most graceful mes- 
 sages. Seriously, it would be a solace to me to 
 know my mother under her eye, since she frets I 
 fear, in secret. Enfin, since we all want her as 
 soon as we think of her, let her arrive, and rap- 
 idly: but do not stay yourself, for the love of 
 Heaven, upon a hot terrestrial horse! No, no, 
 you are too good for it. Come up, it is the only 
 way, I assure you, to be cool, and to see things.
 
 196 JAMESIE 
 
 This European occurrence is large, as it were 
 voluminous. As an artistic ensemble, you get 
 nothing whatever from down below. Accept 
 the presentation of Wickford, naturally, and 
 together with it as many good horses as he will 
 give you. Stay there a month or two for cour- 
 tesy's sake, then make a fuss 1 about some detail 
 in the equipment, exchange, and come up with 
 me. Not with me, precisely, but parallel. We 
 are more separated, alas, by this new regime, 
 than we were of old. But at least you know the 
 elements. And what the devil is the good of a 
 duke for a brother, if you may not choose your- 
 self your occupation? In the aristocratic con- 
 stitution of your imperial army you are certain, 
 with such backing, and an expletive or two, to 
 have what you want. It is not even as though 
 we were up to date, we have gone back centuries. 
 You have but to eat the filthy food they give us 
 here to be certain of that. Invite me to your 
 popote or whatever it is if you see a chance of 
 contiguity. Having heard something of your 
 commissariat arrangements, I am all for the 
 Understanding in the question of food. I em- 
 brace as many of you as will accept it, or as you 
 
 1 ReclamiT.
 
 THE TRUCE 197 
 
 yourself will allow me to embrace. This I think 
 takes aim * at the entire family as at present 
 assembled. 
 
 Thine always, 
 G. DU F. 
 
 Jamesie, to Sophie. 
 
 CHERE SOPHIE, 
 
 Vous serez intresse a savoir que nous aliens 
 en France. Quel domage que vous ne venez 
 pas voir Francis! Pas justice qu' une Famille 
 Anglaise va et non vous. Mother dit, avez-vous 
 Messages ou n'importe chose, ou si votre Poilu- 
 frere a Permision voulait il venir nous voir? 
 Moi deja j'invite Francis mais il dit Permisions 
 Frangais a Paris sont plus commune. Faut con- 
 naisser beaucoup de Generals comme Father 
 pour avoir 1'autre. C'est domage, n'est ce pas? 
 Denise n'est pas Colere avec moi parce que main- 
 tenant elle recomence ecrire simplement Quan- 
 tites, comme habitude. C'est bonne chose que 
 j'ai jamais arreter! Je vous aime parce que vous 
 reponsez toujours directement, meme petite 
 Envelope gris. Prochain lettre avec Timbre 
 
 Viser.
 
 198 JAMESIE 
 
 Frangais figurez! Quoi veut dire c.a Fouler 
 dans Denise's lettre? 
 
 Avec compliment Mademoiselle, 
 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 Sophie, to Jamesie. 
 
 MONSIEUR, MON CHERI, 
 
 Cela me desole que vous partiez, bien qu' a 
 une pareille destination. Vos visites nous man- 
 queront a tous, a Holmer et a Londres. Dites 
 a votre Maman que je n'ai rien pour le moment, 
 en la remerciant bien de sa bonne pensee, et 
 d'ailleurs, je crois, le transport de lettres est 
 defendu a la douane. Je suis contente que la 
 petite amie ne boude plus (bouder c'est bien 
 frangais!) et que my lord va mieux ces jours-gi. 
 " Fouler " est un peu votre " sprain," mais famil- 
 ier, et s'il s'agit de votre papa, inexacte. Fils 
 de scientiste, vous choisiriez plutot 1'exacte ex- 
 pression. Dites alors pour lui le grand mot 
 Blesse, c'est largement merite, et cela vous 
 plaira, je pense. Bon voyage, Monsieur, que ma 
 Paris bien-aimee soit bonne pour vous. 
 
 Votre bien devouee. 
 SOPHIE.
 
 PART III 
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 
 
 FRANCIS was wounded for the second time 
 towards the close of 1915. 
 
 That was a difficult winter, that finished for 
 France in the long agony of Verdun. Spirits 
 were sinking, prices rising, fractiousness and 
 recrimination the order of the day. Even our 
 British Tapleyism, justly celebrated, was hard 
 put to it to find comic relief. French realism 
 made no effort to do so. The weather opened 
 cold in January, then relaxed and took in turn 
 to every sort of hysteria, as though encouraging 
 humanity to do the like. Storms from every 
 quarter of the compass shook the seas, seething 
 already with the hellish inventions of man. 
 Various blizzards adorned the month of Febru- 
 ary, and a record gale of wind devastated the 
 English midlands in March. More and more 
 irritably, all that season long, France questioned 
 English proceedings, and critical Paris espe- 
 cially. But the satire she shot was occasional,
 
 202 JAMESIE 
 
 absent almost, for the preservation of her own 
 proud attitude absorbed her quite. The blight, 
 the leprosy still clung to her, strong rooted ; she 
 whose only pride was to be perfect, stood defiled 
 in the world's eye, with the very gesture of 
 loathing, pushing it away. How could she 
 really have time for us, whose own time was 
 limited? Her partners were but her tools, 
 means to her end for the time being. France 
 rested not, spared not, spoke not which was most 
 wonderful; she husbanded and herded, such as 
 was left her, her eyes upon the clock. 
 
 So I have gathered from du Frettay's con- 
 versation since the epoch; and it was out of this 
 self-same rigour of public affairs, that Corporal 
 Blakie's private troubles arose. They had for 
 some time back been accumulating, but I only 
 realised them when he reached England, and 
 the surgeons set him free. Francis had been 
 rather badly treated, this time, by fate and the 
 faculty, so he was allowed an interval. He was 
 too modest to talk of his sufferings : or possibly, 
 being wounded below the waist-line, too polite. 
 I doubt if I should ever have gathered what was 
 wrong from his own accounts, and the doctor 
 was taciturn: so I left the hospital, and had a
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 203 
 
 belated Christmas dinner with Janet, who 
 immediately told me. She had been deluged 
 with exact information, in overwhelming termi- 
 nology, at every stage of Francis's inner history, 
 by Sophie. 
 
 It was from the Duchess, too, that I learnt the 
 facts about Linda. Linda was scheming, at 
 Francis's discharge, to have him down to her 
 cottage convalescent home in Surrey. This 
 struck me as an excellent idea, as also Janet: 
 but the subject himself was less certain, I found. 
 Francis, better in body, was suffering from what 
 Sophie and her like called the " cafard," after 
 weeks of hospital. 
 
 " It is as you think," said Francis, depressed. 
 " I 'd as soon stay in London if you would have 
 me. I don't suppose it will be for long." 
 
 " Or at Holmer," I said to cheer him. I 
 should mention that, barring an uncle at New- 
 market, he was a man without belongings or 
 appendages : which was probably why his nurses 
 liked him so. 
 
 " I dare say they would have me at Holmer," 
 said Francis shyly. " But somehow, until I 
 marry her, I 'd rather not. It is not quite 
 natural."
 
 204 JAMESIE 
 
 It was not: it was disgracefully out of nature. 
 I leant nearer. 
 
 " My dear man, why do you not marry 
 her? Why have you not been married, all this 
 time?" 
 
 " We settled not," said Francis, still looking 
 away. " It would have lost her her place, and 
 it seemed her parents did not want that. It 's a 
 good one." 
 
 " Of course it 's good," I echoed feebly. 
 
 "And Sophie, she's French. That is, she's 
 bound up to her parents, though her father 's 
 not easy. And he does n't care for the English," 
 he added, lowering his tone a little. " I Ve 
 an idea, he does n't care specially for me. That 
 is, the idea of me. He has not seen me, of 
 
 course." 
 
 " How could he not care for the idea of you? " 
 I argued. 
 
 Francis smiled, tolerant. " That 's you, sir. 
 Just look at me. I had a good place, but you 
 observe I Ve lost it. I Ve only corporal's pay 
 at present; and though what she calls the loca- 
 tion is larger than what a corporal's wife would 
 get in France, it would not touch what her 
 Grace gives her, not from the parents' point
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 205 
 
 of view. Added to that, times are hard get- 
 ting harder and they would have to give up 
 her ' dot.' " 
 
 " You are * cale,' Francis," I retorted. " If 
 you talk French, I shall. I can do it as well as 
 Jamesie." 
 
 Francis smiled again, and more freely, glanc- 
 ing at the letters that lay by him. We had all 
 learnt by this time, be it remarked, that he was 
 the person to apply to, for facts about the Suirs, 
 for the reason that Jamesie favoured him pe- 
 culiarly. Bess was never any good, on the sub- 
 ject of her own affairs ; she was really an annoy- 
 ing correspondent; but hardly a detail of domes- 
 tic life came amiss to Jamesie, once he had found 
 the right man to apply them to. And was not 
 Francis, who had lately tended and adorned my 
 modest hearth, under the eyes of Jamesie taking 
 tea, most evidently that person? Thus we now 
 applied to Francis, as to our young friends' 
 foreign circumstances. 
 
 " They have met the brother, I think," said 
 Francis, alluding to Bess and Jamesie, whose 
 letters lay uppermost in the sheaf he was finger- 
 ing. He had drawn some very nice ones this 
 time, even Shere had sent him a message, by
 
 206 JAMESIE 
 
 Linda. His was a double event; to get a Cor- 
 poral's stripe, and then be bowled over for the 
 second time, even in this eventful generation, 
 calls for commentary. " But not the old people, 
 they live a bit outside the town. Sevres 
 would correspond to Kew or Hampton Court I 
 dare say. Not but what Lady Iveagh would go 
 over, if I specially asked: but I see no point in 
 putting her out. Sophie seemed to expect it of 
 her " 
 
 "Did she indeed?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. It would have been Sophie's idea 
 of the nice thing for Lady Iveagh to do." A 
 touch of London humour showed for the mo- 
 ment. " I did n't argue the point. I put it 
 Sophie's own way, saying her Ladyship would 
 have enough, living in a small way as Mr. 
 Jamesie speaks of, and the afternoons in the 
 hospital, and Mr. Jamesie's self who is not to be 
 forgotten, not to mention her husband taking 
 to flying just when she thought she had him 
 safe. . . . Altogether, I just put it to Sophie as 
 I told you, there was no point in her Lady- 
 ship's putting herself out." 
 
 " And did Sophie accept the judgment? " 
 
 " I can't say, sir. I told her by letter, as usual.
 
 \ " 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 207 
 
 I can only hope she takes what I say in that 
 fashion right." 
 
 I turned it over. " And what about her let- 
 ters? " I queried. " Is her English improving? " 
 
 " Not the least," said Francis, gathering sever- 
 ity. " She is convinced she speaks English to a 
 fault, sir. And yet she constantly says I misread 
 her, and what she meant to say was as plain as 
 plain. It is n't, sir, not always. And so so 
 we waste time." 
 
 I thought about it anew. It was hard luck on 
 them, undoubtedly; it was the common, cruel 
 luck. True, at the best of times, this pair had 
 had to trust to correspondence largely; but it was 
 different. With our minds at Peace, even simple 
 lovers of two nations can find pen-room for their 
 passion, witness the earlier letters of this col- 
 lection ; apart from the fact that when the Wick- 
 fords were in London, little safety-valve meet- 
 ings, walks and whatnot, continually occurred. 
 Peace simplifies, and straightens. War compli- 
 cates, and crumples up. " It is the nature of 
 War to widen, not to approximate." Ay, but 
 not enemies only. It widens friends, it widens 
 allies, lovers themselves are not secure from 
 it. It puts its cursed disintegrating touch on all.
 
 2 o8 JAMESIE 
 
 " It comes right when you are together," 
 I prompted, in the direction of Francis, who 
 had his face on his bent elbow. (He was 
 lying full-dressed on his hospital bed.) He 
 nodded. 
 
 " And down in the country," I insinuated, 
 " she could come to see you any time. I should 
 be surprised if such things as visiting hours 
 existed, with Mrs. Monk on the committee. 
 You remember what her idea of rules at cricket 
 were." Francis did. " I might motor Sophie 
 down, for instance, on Sunday. Does she like 
 the country? " 
 
 " She knows nothing about it, sir," said Fran- 
 cis, lifting a weary face, and seeking severity 
 where he could not find it. He wanted to be 
 severe on Sophie, because he was wearying after 
 her: her pretty freshness, her French fastidious- 
 ness, her absurd didactic airs of impotent youth. 
 He, with all knowledge now garnered of the 
 world's evil, did not at all want Sophie to know 
 things : so he elaborated. 
 
 " It 's as much as she knows, if she knows a 
 robin. She 's afraid of horses, and openly, 
 she has fits of course at cows. She regarded 
 Sybil at Holmer as a monstrosity, you remem-
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 209 
 
 her Sybil? The one with the red neck that 
 placed them all to leg." 
 
 Did I not remember Sybil? Gosh! I said I 
 recollected her. 
 
 " She 's doing two men's work on the farm 
 now, Pelham told me," said Francis. " She 
 works for her country all right, twelve hours 
 daily, from five to five. How 's that, sir? " 
 
 " Not out," I admitted. He ceased for a 
 moment, admiring the point: noticing it, no 
 doubt, to repeat to Pelham. I had the full gaze 
 of his nice clear eyes, with the shock behind 
 them, which is to be seen now in so many of our 
 soldiers' faces. Of course, in spite of the little 
 European casualty intervening, Francis remem- 
 bered the cricket-scores as well as I did. 
 
 " Well, she was n't? " He pondered the great 
 truth I had stated. " His lordship all but 
 fetched her once, it was a wily ball. Me she 
 beat, completely. Com-pletely. . . . Well, to 
 resume, sir, Sophie, she runs from Sybil's cows, 
 and makes fun of her complexion, but she takes 
 to her cream very kindly. She is n't any thinner 
 than when I saw her last." Evidently, there 
 was a reproach conveyed ; he was driving home 
 the comparison with Sybil's twelve-hours' day.
 
 aio JAMESIE 
 
 " I hope she is not otherwise," I said. 
 
 " She 's about what she was, sir," said Fran- 
 cis, in a colourless manner, concealing an un- 
 reasonable pride in Sophie, past and present. 
 " Whereas the Duchess, she 's as thin as you 
 would expect, trailing round to her sales and 
 soldiers' clubs and Belgians. There you are 
 again." 
 
 "Belgians?" I asked. 
 
 " That 's it. Her Grace gives Sophie some 
 bits of work with the Belgians, which to a girl 
 having the language you would say would be 
 simple. But no, she despises them." 
 
 " Never," I said. 
 
 " Yes, sir: contempt it is. I put it to her. I 
 said, your equality is only inside your own coun- 
 try then, I said. There 's none of necessity with 
 outside nations. I could n't help just that. I 
 happened to remember Lady Iveagh with her 
 arms full of those dirty little Belgian babies, 
 like one of those statues of Charity 
 
 " Hospitality," I corrected quickly: because I 
 did remember Bess. 
 
 "That's right, sir." Francis welcomed the 
 substitute. " I used charity, but I have an ob- 
 jection to the term. And so would those Bel-
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 211 
 
 gians object, and rightly, after their doings in 
 our favour. . . . However, there you are. No 
 altering by argument Sophie's national view of 
 them, as being like herself, but different. And 
 as getting a trifle too much attention in Eng- 
 land," added Francis, London humour appear- 
 ing again, " while the claims of her own army is 
 left out." 
 
 " These girls and their ignorance," I moral- 
 ised finally, when he had dilated a little more on 
 Sophie's general short-comings. " Strikes me I 
 shall have a lot to teach her, when I take her to 
 the country." 
 
 "You, sir?" 
 
 " As I mentioned. I shall quite enjoy that 
 drive, going down." 
 
 " All right," said Francis after an interval. 
 
 After that, we discussed my own prospects in 
 the Army. Francis thinks about as much of my 
 turn for military service as he did for my crick- 
 eting capacity. However, he is kind to me. He 
 gives me hints.
 
 212 JAMESIE 
 
 Francis, to Sophie. 
 
 DEAR SOPHIE, 
 
 We have a very nice little place here, and it 
 is reached more easily than I supposed from 
 London. Care in excess fit to amuse you if I 
 disclosed it, there was even a lady (Miss Laura) 
 sent up to fetch us down. Now I am able to 
 walk, and even ask for a ticket, little though 
 they may think it, and my mate, (that is Furniss 
 I introduced you) a dab with his crutches knock- 
 ing me on my feet. However, indulgence is the 
 order of the day, and I 'm not denying a rest 
 with some green to look at was grateful, and I 
 slept after that little outing better than I have 
 for some time back. It's odd how its the nights 
 bother you being then it all comes back I sup- 
 pose, and you cant get level with the alteration. 
 Its this changing to and fro, however easy man- 
 aged, trench-work to hospital-drill, for all they 
 say it is confusing, same as two lives might be, 
 undigested. Now for fear of writing too stiff 
 for you I will mention little facts. For instance 
 these sheets are better than the London sheets, 
 needlework on the pillows such as even you 
 would not sniff at. And I have flowers, hot- 
 house, that is Mrs. Monk. I now hear her hus-
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 213 
 
 band is something in the City. And what you 
 had best not tell others our butter is Butter and 
 our milk is Milk, not concentrated. Miss Joyce 
 in her White looks well, and seems spirited. 
 She is less regular than the other ladies, which 
 makes her liked because looked for. Chances 
 are with so much to occupy her she will live that 
 sorrow down. 
 
 Now goodnight darling, this is out of orders 
 which is the other orders following me. Here 
 there are none specially. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 F. B. 
 Sophie to Francis. 
 
 Mon coeur, I am happy to know you are ar- 
 rived and shall see you Sunday without fault so 
 wait me. How did that Furniss knock you on 
 your feet it was negligent extremely when you 
 can hardly stand. My dear, speak not of nights 
 to me, now the Duchesse and I reach * one an- 
 other the papers, with the news of France. Yet 
 hers are officers protected, their sectors little 
 exposed or near the trouble region. Only her 
 M. Ronald approaches possibly, while mine 
 much more, and further east it is Enfer unen- 
 
 1 S'arracher.
 
 214 JAMESIE 
 
 durable. More in every letter it is feared now 
 they must give. It says openly in Paris. How 
 can they hold, alone, unhelped, those multi- 
 tudes against them? Why do you not aid, you 
 rich, you easy, the dozens I see each day here 
 drinking in the London streets. No, I cannot 
 understand it, do not speak to me! Ours they 
 die like flys, in all senses I hear misfortune. 
 Well then, I impatient, I go there, I devote my- 
 self for the brave blesses of France. There is 
 none but that for a woman, it is the right, the 
 convenable, the Duchesse and my father must 
 accord. 
 
 Ecoute, cheri, I have now made three nceuds 
 of tulle for the Duchesse, a thoughtful opera- 
 tion. And thinking I decided this. I ask the 
 enormous Grace that I make on her stove on 
 Saturday a consomme de legumes, the only 
 thing that is right for your condition. I fill this 
 in a closed pot I saw in that cow-woman's dairy. 
 I cover it with a napperon from my own cor- 
 beille. It is cleaner for you than that nasty beef, 
 which is all the English think of. I shall pre- 
 sent my soupe, before all your ladies, with per- 
 sistance. You are to me. Bon ! As for the cos- 
 tume of infirmiere, as worn by such as pink Miss
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 215 
 
 Pennants it is desecration. I forget which is 
 Miss Joyce, 1 but all are equal, loud and pink. 
 A fine French face for the veil alone is indi- 
 cated, necessary. Bon! All this I considered 
 to the end, while I arranged the Duchesse's 
 noeuds. 
 
 Repose-toi bien, mon petit, a bientot, 
 
 SOPHIE. 
 
 Madeleine Pennant to Linda Monk. 
 
 DEAR LINDA, 
 
 I went to tea with the children again, Lady 
 Iveagh very kindly asked me, guessing perhaps 
 I might be lonely, since Trixie has gone east. 
 Not but what the ambulance-girls are decent, 
 and Jeannette meets me as often as she can for 
 lunch. However, that is not the point of the 
 moment, which is a message from Jamesie. He 
 was frightfully interested to hear the names of 
 those two men you were getting down. He 
 knows both as usual, I never knew such a 
 child. It seems the corporal is the same man 
 that knocked us all into fits on the Holmer 
 cricket-field. It struck me as rather a weird 
 
 1 ?
 
 216 JAMESIE 
 
 chance, unless you knew already. Or perhaps 
 Joyce did? Anyhow to make all safe Jamesie 
 composed this for you. It is not a proper letter, 
 I think its name is a Public Note. He told 
 me he only knew you a little, and you might 
 " easully " have forgotten him. Hence of course 
 the formality. He is more killing than ever, 
 now he is half or a quarter Frenchified. I don't 
 know which is sweetest, his little Irish accent in 
 English, just like his father's, or his Eng- 
 lish kind of downrightness in French. And the 
 way he bears with the rather intense little 
 French girl, taking her in while she talks, and 
 then managing her with a word or two, just 
 brilliant. He has about the only mother in 
 the world who would not be in open hysterics 
 about him. She isn't, she just listens, never 
 smiling, or only at the right things. It is the 
 only way of course with a clever kid, but in her 
 case heroic. I told her so. He is so original, 
 don't you know. He really has all sorts of ideas, 
 on his own, of how things ought to be. You 
 should have seen how he looked at the car, and 
 then at me explaining it. I can't describe the 
 manner, it 's princely. I feel it in his father 
 too, but nobody else I ever mentioned it to seems
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 217 
 
 to agree with me, so I keep it dark. Don't tell 
 
 Joyce anyhow. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 M. M. P. 
 
 Jamesie to the same. 
 
 MRS. MONK. 
 MADAME, 
 
 This is only to say that 26134 th Bat- 
 talion Staffs T. F. Corporal F. Blakie hap- 
 pens to be the Man called Francis who made the 
 Enormous Score for us (against you) at the 
 Holmer Cricket Afternoon, June (I have for- 
 goten) 1914 A.D. He belonged to Mr. Herbert 
 at that time, now to K. of K. under H. M. King 
 G. Thinking it might interust you all to know 
 this Ladies. 
 
 I am with Salute, 
 
 J. C. Sum, 
 (Paris, France.) 
 
 Francis to Herbert. 
 
 Did you know Miss Joyce does play really 
 beautiful? I should not like to say what we all 
 thought of it when she began. We did not want 
 her to stop, but did not know how to tell her so, 
 for she was playing to quite a few of us, if you
 
 2i8 JAMESIE 
 
 understand me, on a piano in the parlour which 
 the Chaplain sent in. I think she was afraid of 
 boring us, for she went off to other things, songs 
 and so on, which most of us knew rather to com- 
 pletion, 1 as one may say. She had said she 
 would not play us German music (not that we 
 should have known the difference) so it was 
 Beetoven who was n't exactly German she said 
 she played. I am not sure if I spell his name 
 right but you will have heard of him probably. 
 I seemed to have heard something of it once on 
 a gramophone, can't say not being much acus- 
 tomed, would n't like to be sure. But it did you 
 good more than pints of medicine, that it did, 
 and other men who were with me said the same. 
 It is a great gift, is n't it, sir? Furniss said she 
 must be a professional, playing like that. One 
 of us, almost a kid he is, cried, but he is pretty 
 shaky after a third operation on his eye, so he 
 can't stand much. . . . What I thought was 
 this. If you would tell Furniss and I some 
 things by name to ask for in the Beetoven style, 
 we might catch Miss Joyce again that way. If 
 we just go asking for music at large, chances are 
 she will play those songs. . . . 
 
 1 Repletion.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 219 
 
 [I hastily turned over my musical acquaint- 
 ance, on receipt of this rather exceptional re- 
 quest, and sent the letter on to Iveagh, who had 
 knowledge at least reaching beyond gramo- 
 phones. Iveagh, who had by this time picked 
 up an air-pilot's qualifications, to gratify du 
 Frettay, and was working, by no means so 
 picturesquely, on his friend's lines, temporised 
 as usual; but he was sufficiently amused by 
 Francis, it eventually proved, to undertake his 
 education. This he did by way of Laura Pen- 
 nant, who was musical, though in a quieter way 
 than Joyce, and with whom, in ancient and easy 
 days, before he had a wife or a war to disturb 
 him, Iveagh had been to concerts irregularly. 
 " Get your sister to play this, not mentioning 
 me," he directed Laura, " and I will tell every- 
 one, by Blakie's manner of swallowing it, just 
 how Blakie is." 
 
 Laura also enjoyed herself. She applied the 
 test via Joyce, and reported results to the R.F.C. 
 in France. Francis had thought the Grieg 
 Lyric Fragment " taking," had listened politely 
 to the Freischiitz Overture, and had stammered 
 in inexpressive ecstasy over the Pilgrim's 
 Chorus. Iveagh and Laura agreed that he was 
 pretty bad, and proceeded to lay fresh snares for 
 him in great contentment. Iveagh had rather 
 forgotten Laura, but she came back to him. She 
 had, unlike Joyce, a nice feminine handwriting.]
 
 220 JAMESIE 
 
 Iveagh, to Laura. 
 
 My good girl, that was not the way to have 
 him. Of course he liked anything the first time 
 he heard piano and fiddle too. You were just a 
 pretty extra, and the way your fingers fooled 
 about in the show-piece amused him. You 
 ought to have hoofed Joyce, that time, and 
 played him some common tune, Irish for choice, 
 which would have proved what his sense of 
 shape was good for. Chances are he has none, 
 and it is only the more yearning chords and 
 catchy rhythms get him, and of course seeing 
 the nice way she and you agree about it (for 
 once in your lives) sitting above him in your 
 best clothes. . . . 
 
 Janet, to Joyce. 
 
 Just a line, with Mother's love, I have her 
 here at Holmer. She wished me to tell you 
 particularly she is so delighted to hear you have 
 taken to music again. She hankered often, she 
 says, to hear you play while you were with her 
 in the spring, but she so perfectly understood 
 your feeling against it at that time, even though 
 it might have given you relief. You will come
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 221 
 
 and play to Mother one day, won't you, before 
 she leaves me, she does want to see you so? 
 Come before you practise yourself back into the 
 austere regions of professionalism, where noth- 
 ing is ever to be found for domestic use. She 
 loves it. It would be good for Kells to listen 
 too, he is just beginning. Her love to you 
 
 Yours affectly., 
 
 J. W. 
 
 I did tell Linda, did I not, that her nice Cor- 
 poral is engaged to my most particular maid? 
 Please be kind to him! 
 
 The same, to the Duke. 
 
 DARLING, 
 
 I wish I had not such an odiously suspicious 
 mind. It is partly Mqther here, making me 
 writhe, poor dear, by the way she talks of Joyce. 
 And here is Joyce simultaneously surrounding 
 those poor convalescent boys (Blakie one) with 
 a circle of siren fascination (you remember 
 Uncle Lionel called her a siren) in the form of 
 soft music after high tea! Well, you remember 
 what a dangerous moment, even if one has re- 
 turned from no wars worse than football!
 
 222 JAMESIE 
 
 Blakie powerfully impressed he said in his 
 last she looked like a spirit in white and 
 Sophie jumpy, who wonders! I have given J. 
 what might be called a strong lead, I hope not 
 too flagrant, with Mother's innocent assist- 
 ance. It is funny, but it aches: because it tugs 
 at the roots of Steenie. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 j. 
 
 The Duke, to Janet. 
 
 You had better call off Iveagh, he is in it, 
 encouraging Laura, and I am not sure John 
 Ingestre is not too. Disgustin' behaviour in 
 married men, but exactly like these musical 
 philanderers. . . . 
 
 Linda to Shere. 
 
 I am much too sick of the world to write, and 
 only send this so that when you next feel pennish 
 you will know I asked. I am sure I only wish I 
 had Joyce's joie de vivre, that girl is extraor- 
 dinary. She is plunging now, hard all, into an 
 international incident, over that rather stupid 
 good man Blakie, who has been engaged this 
 long while, as I told her, to Janet Wickford's
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 223 
 
 French maid. It is a silly business, and the man 
 I always thought, though decent-looking, a 
 dunce. It surprised me rather you remembered 
 him. Herbert does naturally, and he seems 
 somehow tacked on to the Iveagh Suirs as well. 
 You should see the Parisian post he has, nowa- 
 days. I always wondered if that girl l was a 
 flirt at bottom. I never caught her out yet, nor 
 did Joyce, but here she is corresponding regu- 
 larly with a ranker behind her husband's back: 
 and goodness knows what may not have hap- 
 pened in his absence heretofor. Herbert, of 
 course, being a man no woman would look at 
 twice (trust Iveagh) is as innocent as a babe. 
 He would never dream of such a combination 
 as conceivable, however attractive the man. 2 
 Of course he is half in love with her himself, 
 but not in any style to feel the pang of jealousy. 
 Oh, I am so sick of things, I wish you would 
 write me, I am utterly wretched here. Why 
 can't I fight, I 'd give anything to, I 'd not do it 
 worse than Herbert. If only I could lose my 
 head, be jealous, anything, but I can't get up 
 a spurt now, even about my Redfern frock. 
 What 's the use, beasts, none of you here 
 
 1 Bess. * Oh, didn't I, Linda?
 
 224 JAMESIE 
 
 to look at me. Nothing but gaping Tommies 
 and that [Shere tore off the rest.] 
 
 Tim Geoghan to Francis: what may be called 
 the other side. 
 
 What do you want turning Corporal for, as 
 well as the Medal? That will give me the 
 deuce's own disturbance getting up to you, when 
 I was certain this fine while I was safe ahead. I 
 am sorry for you being out of it now, for things 
 are merrier. [Censor.] I hear you are vexed 
 about the gerl I could have promised you, the 
 mistake is ever to get tied to one of them, as I 
 told his lordship lately. 1 Could you not guess 
 the pair of you this would be the high time of 
 all existence, for the free easy man with not one 
 of them at his tails? And yet any of them in 
 your arms at a wink O it is yourselves I am sorry 
 for indeed and him marrid equaly. ... I had 
 a letter from himself recently and he flying 
 about at the moment or perhaps closely before 
 writing to me. It was a good letter and an in- 
 tumate. That flying is a great thing and a good 
 idea he had to change, for he takes the horses 
 too hard, it is a difference in us. That was the 
 
 1 ?
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 225 
 
 way he came down on me, as you may remem- 
 ber, so unbridled and unreasoning, for forbar- 
 ing to overtask myself in the matter of his 
 brother's stable, as he regarded it. But there 
 was the rule behind. Horses and gerls it is the 
 same, you are lost if you take them to heart, so 
 I have asured his lordship, and he crying alone 
 on the sand-dunes beyond at Jerry's demice 
 when a little young boy and none but myself 
 would nottice it. To be sure Jerry was a good 
 small horse and a neat for the jumping but not 
 an Imortal Soul to him, nor few women, and to 
 take both biterly as he will do is a mistake. 
 Pelham will have let you know that Miss F 
 as came before Miss Bess for him and a beau- 
 tiful tricksy bit of. . . .* That little Lady 
 Aileen is a grand child the knowledge of her 
 and the sweetness. It will be a lucky man one 
 day as gets her, sending me her Photograph 
 mounted and gracious, if it were only for having 
 the likes of Her one day I might tack on. . . . 
 
 Pelham, to the same. 
 
 My boy, I may as well mention S. is getting 
 jealous. Before I go farther it is as well to dot 
 
 1 Censor (private).
 
 226 JAMESIE 
 
 the eyes. It did her no good I may say coming 
 down, those ladies of yours were a trifle too 
 goodlooking. And the misfortune is, down 
 here 1 one may say they are already known. 
 They all know what Miss Pennants implies, a 
 bit too much in the old days, and consequently 
 such as Green and Masters try to make play 
 with former knowledge, and poke fun at S. 
 which is rash as I take it. I tell them French is 
 French, and Allies or none there are limits. It 
 is just as well her Grace takes her back to Lon- 
 don soon, more doing there and less time to 
 gnaw memories as one might say. Everything 
 here reminds her of that evening. How she 
 waited for you, just the place in the Shrubbery, 
 and He came, and You failed her, owing to 
 what? To who, I should say. Well, she guesses. 
 All I need say is, S. is not far out. Now do you 
 take me? It is silly enough. She pointed her 
 questions at me, sharp as a needle, during a 
 walk last night in the garden. Of course I said 
 Miss J. was off her head, visible to all and 
 sundry, about another gentleman; but that, S. 
 argues, would not prevent Miss J. being seen 
 by you. There is no denying either she was 
 
 1 Holmer.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 227 
 
 visible. S. makes something, with reason, of the 
 dress Miss J. wore that night. Well, I won't go 
 into those ideas of hers on English fashions in 
 the evening, we have had them frequently, and 
 anyhow it is over now. The Duchess wears 
 black, and high, even for the Albert Hall affair 
 with the Royalties: not one of her beautiful 
 gowns since that blessed first of August has seen 
 the light. No ornaments nor ermine even, she 
 goes further than some of the Princesses, 
 Sophie herself told me so. And I myself heard 
 the Duke trying to argue her into the ermine 
 for some show or other, when he was over last. 
 But she is as stiff as a rock internally, though she 
 did not let out her purpose at once. That is 
 woman, that is, she knows those ermines become 
 her, and she can just stand being told so by her 
 husband at some length, though she rejects them 
 finally. 
 
 Well, to come back to S., there you are. That 
 Miss J. went far enough, even for the Stage, 
 that night, was obvious to the meanest eye. At a 
 Picture Palace she 'd have been censored easily. 
 I could see her old Grace before dinner disap- 
 proving, and the Canon, as it were, commenting. 
 And Captain Shere said it was less a Mask than
 
 228 JAMESIE 
 
 an Unmask, and the Duke said later, in the kind 
 of diplomatic way he has, that all things reck- 
 oned with, or reckoned without, his brother had 
 done well not to let his wife be there. This 
 represented my own feeling, as the Duke often 
 does, exactly. He has a very nice judgment 
 where what I may call the qualities of females 
 are concerned. It was more delicate than Capt. 
 Shere's, and quite as fetching for her really. 
 Well, and is it likely Sophie missed? She was 
 extra neat herself that evening to correspond. 
 To be sure she was wrapt up in her own affair 
 too much even to criticise, at the time being, 
 but took note unconscious as women will, and 
 makes use of it now. And I could n't exactly 
 deny you had an interview with Miss J., when 
 charged, being as how you told me. And 
 Sophie, before the end of the garden-path, with 
 her handkerchief out, pressed to her mouth, 
 both hands clutched in it, the stage-trick to the 
 life, little idiot! I informed her she was one, in 
 various ways, but what is the use of it? You 'd 
 best have been married by this, my boy. . . .
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 229 
 
 Jamesie, to the same. 
 
 DEAR CORPORAL F. B. (FRANCIS BLIGHTY) 
 
 I am glad she has been, at last. Arent you? 
 She told us. The letter was to Mother but I saw 
 Sentences where she pointed, and there it was, 
 Francois, Francois, simply Millions of times! 
 That 's the Soup they make for the Blesses, 
 Mother says. How didnt it Slop, in the 
 Carriage? I asked Mother to make us some, 
 then I can be a Grand Blesse at a Poste de 
 Secours, and Denise do Pansements, which she 
 loves, only it Tickles. So I don't let her often, 
 or I kick her sudenly, not to hurt. She knows 
 Tipperary, pretty well, she always goes wrong 
 in the hard place. So I told her to practise, on 
 her Grandmaman's Piano, but she says she has 
 not played since the War. Well!! Still I 
 didn't say anything, though of course been in 
 the same House sometimes you can hear. I 
 wish we had one. 1 Kells does Music now and 
 French with a new Mademoiselle. Sophie 
 made us Laugf, what she said about her to 
 Mother. She is a Belgian, from Antwerp! 
 
 Yours aftly., 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 1 Piano.
 
 230 JAMESIE 
 
 P.S. I forgot to say Madcap came to tea 
 (in Uniform) and took my Note (rather Pub- 
 lic) to Linda, in case she had forgoten Corporal 
 who you were. J. C. S. 
 
 Laura Pennant, to Iveagh. 
 
 DEAR IVEAGH (May I?) 
 
 I am surprised you think we make ourselves 
 smart to play to the soldiers, personally I should 
 not care to at all. Joyce sticks to her uniform, 
 (though I do really think she has too much 
 colour to look well in it), but I wore just any- 
 thing, since I cycled over from my school, and 
 my hair came down in the Humoreske 1 as usual. 
 Between ourselves nowadays I feel distinctly 
 out of it, the girls have been so busy since the 
 war, Joyce especially, and I have done simply 
 nothing! Of course I had my teaching, which 
 cannot be neglected just because the Germans 
 are hammering at our front, and what is more, 
 I had to take on an extra bit of music-work the 
 wretched Fraulein left. (By the way, they have 
 proved she was a spy, and the girl she especially 
 made up to was some sort of distant connection 
 of Admiral Winkle's, fancy! Of course now 
 
 1 A violin piece.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 231 
 
 they see the reason of it. It is really a Provi- 
 dence she is a particularly musical girl, and 
 quite uninterested in naval affairs.) To come 
 back to the Hospital, I hope I have done every- 
 thing you told me. I have nothing specially 
 new to report. It is wonderfully hard to draw 
 anything out of the dear men, though one can 
 see their feeling is as nice as nice. But so ter- 
 ribly respectful! The girls they have helping 
 are an interesting gang, resting, most of them, 
 since it is an easy place. There is a doctoress 
 belonging who has been in Antwerp and Bel- 
 grade and Monastir, all under bombardments, 
 and another frightfully brainy girl who is both 
 nurse and journalist (think of the work of it) 
 smokes like a chimney, and when they cleared 
 her out of Serbia had ever such fun with the 
 Italian officials trying to get back. I forget if 
 she did finally, but she started by boat at mid- 
 night several times. She must be a born liar, 
 by name O'Neill oh, I beg your pardon! 
 But they are rather imaginative, are n't they? 
 ... So there I was, with no experience, and 
 nothing to say for myself, as shy! Luckily I 
 sat by that nice man Blakie, who really is a dear, 
 he tried so to make me comfortable though of
 
 232 JAMESIE 
 
 course he is frightfully in request And another 
 he introduced me, a blind boy, the most pathetic 
 thing! I just confessed to them I was nobody, I 
 had never nursed in Alexandria, nor stuck in 
 Serbia, nor farmed, nor filled shells even, 
 just the everyday life with the kids. My dear 
 boy, they simply froze on to me. Joyce was 
 rabid. . . . 
 
 [I feel uncertain, says Herbert, what to say 
 of the above, it is such a monument of Pen- 
 nantry. From the " May I? " at the beginning, 
 to the " shy " at the end it is arrant rubbish : no 
 Pennant was ever shy, and Laura had always 
 called Suir by his first name, having known him 
 as long as Joyce. Possibly Laura did not convey 
 such a clear and cutting impression as her sisters, 
 and that is why she fell back on the feminine 
 pose, at a distance. I chiefly remember her 
 as bowling furiously at one's ankles, or eye- 
 glasses, or anything vulnerable, the while Made- 
 leine, with equal fury, bowled dead on one's 
 middle stump. Beyond this, I give the word of 
 one experienced, there was not a pin, in phy- 
 sique, to choose between them. However, Suir 
 happened to be "grousing" (English for 
 "cafard "), so she fetched him easily.]
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 233 
 
 Iveagh to Laura. 
 
 My dear L., don't you go skidding about the 
 world, you stop at home where the old work is 
 still wanted. It may be middle-class, or perhaps 
 I am getting decrepit among these asses, but I 
 agree with Blakie. Not that you asked for my 
 ideas. 
 
 I have not a word against the Red Cross, nor 
 any man, Lord forbid, but I keep having that 
 idea that where we want women most is in the 
 rear, for the defence. We want them to keep 
 things decent, with the kids above all, and we 
 want you to let us know, by wireless or anyway, 
 from time to time, that the tidy life still exists. 
 Things as they used to be, because we have not 
 improved them. We will not for some time do 
 better than the England of the last volume, the 
 England I used to know. As for my own coun- 
 try I shall become profane by stages if I speak 
 of it, so writing to a nice girl like yourself I 
 desist. People now come to me, or anyhow to 
 Herbert, and say gasping there were abuses. 
 We were all sitting smiling on the craters of 
 several volcanoes, they say. All I can say is I 
 had sooner that way than as at present on a neat 
 collection of active ones, which are ruining even
 
 234 JAMESIE 
 
 the decent things there were. It is not as if men 
 (and women, for my mother's generation did 
 wonders) were not giving their life-blood to 
 rectify what was wrong before the crisis. It is 
 not as if craters, when decently treated, all hands 
 to it, need of necessity break out I have sat 
 myself on several volcanoes without special in- 
 convenience, unless that I might have liked a 
 second pair of breeches to keep out the cold. 
 Make an allegory of that if you see the way, I 
 do not at present. Society may have been deca- 
 dent a bit in England, and certainly in France : 
 but we were not at the end of our resources, nor 
 likely to be, God knows we are much nearer 
 now. And if it was waking up, however we 
 needed it, I cannot see we have gained much, as 
 a few millions have done lately, by waking up to 
 discover yourself in splinters, or dead. 
 
 I may not be writing sense, my brother says I 
 do not always, and my mother says other things 
 about my style and habits that are sadder to know. 
 Also the weather is ghastly, and we are in for- 
 gotten kind of quarters a proper pig would 
 protest against. (That last was a nice sentence, 
 aliteration * and so on, take note of it.) I have 
 
 Sic.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 235 
 
 no time to compose as a fact, I only set out to 
 say that one thing, keep in front of the kids at 
 all costs, do not let this beastliness or bad feeling 
 touch them if you can help. We will thank 
 you surely, above all such of us as have them * 
 ourselves. None of us could go on for a day if 
 we did not feel that, we are keeping the next 
 lot clear of it, clean of it is the word. If it is 
 fighting for my boy's future I will do it will- 
 ingly, and fall if required, none readier. But 
 we cannot do what we want even, do you see my 
 argument, unless you girls will fall in and help 
 us behind. . . . 
 
 The Duchess, to Lady Iveagh. 
 
 BESS DEAR! 
 
 We are so sorry to give Iveagh away, but 
 he is having the loveliest musical flirtation with 
 Laura, and we do so wish, Sophie and I, that 
 he would turn his attention upon Joyce. Could 
 you not get him to? We do not know what to 
 think about her, Sophie and I, and we grow 
 terribly uncomfortable. I assure you I suffer 
 for it, for my tulle butterflies have lost all their 
 character, and my hair-waves seldom settle 
 
 Children.
 
 236 JAMESIE 
 
 right, not to mention such a tragic little face in 
 the glass behind me, that I cannot, though I fain 
 would, believe it is only Verdun. It will shortly 
 be a French situation a trois, all complete, if 
 someone nice and Irish does not help us. I am 
 sure he would, if you asked! A musical flirta- 
 tion is such a delicately insinuating, attractive 
 thing. And so safe, Bess ! Nothing is so safe, it 
 is better even than the literary variety, which 
 often, as you know, gets rather disagreeable at 
 the end. The musical sort is fierce, but friendly : 
 he has only to tell her that Moussorgsky or one 
 of the latest makes him sea-sick: and they will 
 soon be at it, furiously delighted with one an- 
 other, and Joyce will forget Francis. Now do 
 you perceive our deadly anxiety? 
 
 I think, really, it is the poor dear man being 
 weak: weak in body, and disillusioned. It has 
 been an unmentionable ordeal for our nicer 
 men. They went out so kind and hopeful, espe- 
 cially those of the first lot, because of course the 
 first harvest drew all the knightly spirits, the 
 gentle quixotes who in England eternally exist. 
 I know he must be that by what St. John thinks 
 of him : St. John is a person who ought to know. 1 
 
 1 I salute the Duchess.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 237 
 
 But my dear, what kind of an awakening has it 
 been for quixotes, an everlasting awakening 
 from island dreams of romance. I think, often, 
 the moral suffering in simple spirits has been 
 fearful, worse than the physical, their poor 
 minds too have been scorched, and blinded, and 
 gassed. Gassed into apathy, or blinded into 
 bitterness, and, since the British kind is masked 
 and silent, good jolly clergymen like Uncle 
 Lionel are helpless before it, and the most per- 
 ceptive doctors, like Ashwin, are helpless too. 
 Our men are such babes, oh, they are, Bess! 
 Trix says the Americans from the West, should 
 we drag them in which heaven forbid for 
 their sake are tenderer still. Well, is it any 
 use opening their eyes, by horrors like this? I 
 suppose your elderly young French friends 
 would say it is. I am inclined to say it is not, 
 because nothing so out of their own life and 
 nature can be possibly right Consider the ant 
 and the beaver and things of that sort. They 
 each find the environment that is good for them, 
 don't they? Will you kindly extract this thought 
 for me, and illustrate it, and enlighten me? I 
 really have no time in this whirl to think, in 
 terms of ancient reasoning. It is just emotion
 
 238 JAMESIE 
 
 on emotion, crushing one, till one's brain is a 
 blank. . . . Nurse's sister seems seriously ill, at 
 Salonika. I told Kells, but he is in the Prepara- 
 tory School condition of kicking at Nurse, and 
 he only looked sulkier. I wish he felt things 
 more, she is so devoted to him, and he repays 
 her so rarely, though he can be sweet. . . . 
 
 Lady Iveagh, to the Duchess. 
 
 I will hand on your suggestion about Joyce to 
 Iveagh, but I don't think, somehow, it will 
 work. About poor Nurse, I am sorry, I am 
 writing to her separately. Oh, the bravery of 
 those women, I mean the Nurse's sisters, but 
 I won't exclude the Holmer Nurses too. She 
 wrote Jamesie the jolliest kind letter only yes- 
 terday, with news of everybody, children and 
 animals, just because she discovered that Kells 
 forgot. 
 
 About Francis, yes, I grant all that, only I 
 think the trouble comes much more from the 
 other side. Should a thousand Joyces catch him 
 dreaming, or drowsing, or discouraged, they 
 would not alter his fidelity. I shall not speak of 
 this theory to my French friends either, they 
 might call it sentiment or cant, like yours. They
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 239 
 
 call English conviction cant, just now, rather 
 easily, perhaps because we take so long really to 
 be convinced of things ! And when we are they 
 are cross again, because nothing will stir it, even 
 mockery. It is all heavy to them, drowthy, and 
 they are so graceful and light, gliding over what 
 they do believe, for conversational purposes. 
 Of course conscientious objectors could not exist 
 over here: they would all have died long ago 
 of mockery, and been buried appropriately, 
 without any flags. 
 
 However it may be, I feel it in my bones, 
 about Francis. I don't know much, Janet, but 
 I do know lovers, and I gave him my hand upon 
 it, long ago. I have always found it hard to 
 believe he was not a Northcountryman. I think 
 with that -ie he must be, but let that pass. It is 
 far more likely Sophie would give him what 
 you call the go-by out of pique, or her parents' 
 prodding, which I think by signs in her letters 
 has increased of late. She is terribly inclined to 
 succumb to them to save what she sees as a life- 
 time of worrying, since she cannot see herself 
 shaking free of them once for all. She is under 
 her father's shadow still, and dare not give it up 
 for Francis's, will not trust herself to him. If
 
 240 JAMESIE 
 
 she ever really had, I am certain he would have 
 swept her away from you and everybody, made 
 her marry him, taken her once for all. Because 
 he would be very, very good at taking, though 
 not mentioning it up to the moment when he 
 leads the assault, if I may judge by that decora- 
 tion. But she cannot let go of her moorings on 
 this 1 side, very natural for so young a girl, in 
 another country, and most of all natural now. 
 The strain 2 is at its worst now, I won't en- 
 large on it, because it is just a fever symptom. 
 I will do what I can, dear. Anyhow I have 
 friends in France. . . . 
 
 The same, to her aunt, evidently a close con- 
 fidante, a friend of du Frettay's, and a per- 
 son of her own 'way of thinking. 
 
 There is no doubt about the Entente under 
 this roof, Ernestine. You can tell anybody who 
 asks you, here it is quite all right. 
 
 I forgot if I explained the full origins of our 
 coming here? G. 3 may have done so, or (still 
 more likely) you may have guessed. Our little 
 flat, on the fourth floor of the house at Passy 
 where his mother lives " au premier," was taken 
 
 1 French. 2 Anglo-French. * du Frettay.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 241 
 
 and furnished, five years since, by her for her 
 son's menage. He and his wife lived in it, as 
 you know, for eighteen months, then it was over, 
 together with all his mother's hopes for them. 
 Madame du F. kept the flat on though, just as 
 it was, for him to work in, when he wished to be 
 quiet, all his papers and mechanical plans are 
 here. (You remember how neat he always was 
 at Hatchways, it makes me ashamed of 
 Iveagh on top of him!) When he was mobil- 
 ised, of course, it fell free again, and she offered 
 it, as soon as we came to Paris, to us. 
 
 Well, that is the background of my story. She 
 has been worrying cruelly about G. who has 
 missed a letter, she has had nothing at all 
 from him for five days. Janet or I can bear that 
 at need, this French mother cannot possibly. 
 Since he first went off he has never failed to 
 write every other day, except when " en permis- 
 sion," which is to say under her eyes. Picture 
 her feelings then, and who dares say without 
 foundation? Gabriel is what they call an "ace" 
 here, a great adventurer of the air, always just 
 on the hither side of recklessness, and he is in 
 one of the eastern " secteurs " at present, where 
 there is scope enough for such. Well, she wired
 
 242 JAMESIE 
 
 to Iveagh at once when the post brought her 
 nothing, and he wired back, I am sure as 
 promptly as he could, but he had no help for 
 her. She wired to G.'s headquarters, no 
 answer. Perhaps chiefs are bored with mothers, 
 I can't say. I was down with her all yesterday 
 afternoon trying to comfort her, to think of 
 reasons, the weather, anything, but nothing 
 did her any good. She told me, sitting like a 
 Fate, that he was dead, that she had known he 
 would be, that all the others were, all the 
 others! So ghosts gathered thick about me, in 
 the dull snowy light, through the French veiled 
 windows, you know how they muffle every- 
 thing in their rooms. My tongue clove in very 
 despair of righting them, young ghosts, so many, 
 so dear, and why not ours? 
 
 Late in the evening, mine came back. Sud- 
 denly, he had the night, he had been in 
 Paris all day. I did not ask about it, I never do. 
 He came up, quick and soft, past her door: not 
 daring to go in to her, since he had nothing. 
 He guessed from her telegram what her torture 
 must be. I dared not go either, it was so late, 
 after nine: and I did not want to, Ernestine. 
 We talked in whispers, not to wake Jamesie:
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 243 
 
 we never expected her to come. Besides all her 
 feelings about the flat I mentioned, the stair- 
 flights bother her. Still, she has the key of 
 course: and I suppose we missed the click of the 
 outer door. 
 
 His wretched knee was aching, having been 
 standing about all day at the Ministry. I was 
 rubbing it, most domestic, indecorous, every- 
 thing, he was sitting in Gabriel's chair. I 
 had not thought what it would be for her, 
 should she come, because I would not think of 
 her or anybody. I just wanted to be happy at 
 all costs, and shut out others' tiresome suffering. 
 That is how we are getting now. . . . Only I 
 could n't, quite. Perhaps because my boy was 
 pale, resting above me, letting me play with 
 him, as he calls it, looking at me, yes, but not 
 thinking about me enormously. I knew he was 
 not. I tried to pull his thoughts away from G. 
 by any means, the usual. . . . Then she came. 
 
 I believe it was telepathy, the thing never 
 quite out of nature. He just turned his head, 
 you could see the flash pass between them. You 
 know she has been jealous of him often, which 
 made it more wonderful. I had him tight by 
 the leg, he could not move to meet her, an old,
 
 244 JAMESIE 
 
 dignified French lady, I never behaved so 
 shockingly in my life. She took his head so 
 sweetly, and kissed him, and said " That is 
 right, my dear, let her look after you," as if 
 he had been G., and she pretended she had 
 come to look at Jamesie, and went on, leaving 
 us there. 
 
 Trespassers on her hearth, her sacred places, 
 you know what it is to a French mind, 
 Iveagh cried. ... It is the whole agony comes 
 home to you at such moments. Multiply that 
 on her face by a million, by two million, awful ! 
 And useless, that is the curse. Because this 
 morning both letters have come, one after the 
 other, and it was nothing but an upset of the 
 courrier, owing to the storm. Everybody's 
 mothers had been tortured, Ernestine, owing to 
 a little weather, that is war. And everybody's 
 wives. While I 
 
 Francis, to Herbert. 
 
 Can you tell me why Sophie has stopped writ- 
 ing, for more than a week now, nearly ten days? 
 It 's not her brother, is it? Because I do hear 
 the losses are heavy for all the Daily Mail rather
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 245 
 
 gives the other side. I hope it is not missing, 1 
 that would do for her. Excuse shortness, they 
 have rather stopped me off. 
 
 Herbert to Sophie. 
 
 [Abominably rash, but I was anxious.] 
 How dare you stop writing to Francis? 
 
 Nurse to Lady Iveagh. 
 
 I got a talk with Sophie as you suggested, and 
 tried, having been primed by Pelham, to dis- 
 cover what was wrong. She used to trust me 
 considerably at one time, but lately, one thing 
 and another, she has rather drawn away. She 
 seems to suspect everybody, though I am sure I 
 can answer for Pelham and others, they have 
 tried to be kind to her. It is the papers partly. 
 She cannot stand the way they patronise and 
 show off her army, as though this time of trial 
 was a pretty play. I agree with her, some of the 
 papers seem less than serious, considering the 
 number of people in the deeps, as it were, who 
 are bound to read. For we can none of us keep 
 off them, even if we dislike the taste 2 as many 
 
 1 Posted "Missing." Which sense?
 
 246 JAMESIE 
 
 do, and I suppose they profit by it. ... Well, 
 the girl was stiff with me, and seemed offended 
 with Mr. Herbert sorely. She classed it as 
 English rude of course, forgetting however a 
 gentleman he might have his feelings too. 
 Sometimes I think they are much stiffer about 
 classes really, than we are, at any rate have it 
 more on their minds: she will not believe it 
 could be, in Mr. Herbert's case, the feeling al- 
 most of a friend. 1 I said Mr. Herbert would 
 have written that exactly if Lady Meg or Miss 
 Laura say had been in question: and had he 
 thought of S. for one moment as servant, he 
 would have been more roundabout and polite. 
 But no, she will only take it as a direct offence 
 and set-down directed to herself. ... I read it 
 chiefly as a kind of national soreness, varied by 
 jealousy of Miss Joyce as to the fore in Blakie's 
 letters, more than anything against Blakie per- 
 sonally. Jealous is jealous, no doing much to it, 
 yet I may have served for something. She 
 knows about Maggy having taken this fever 
 nursing a French officer: which may account 
 for her taking me as well as she did. . . . 
 
 1 To Francis. Needless to say, this practised psychologist is right.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 247 
 
 Lady Iveagh to Nurse: extracts from two letters. 
 
 I am so sorry about Maggy. Did you know 
 Miss Beatrix was out there? Her sister whom 
 I told is cabling to her to send you news. If it is 
 outside the town a little, Trix has a car, and 
 need never think twice about telegraphing ex- 
 penses ; and she is so kind. . . . Thank you, that 
 was exactly my own feeling about Sophie. A 
 little jealousy, and a national soreness: she is 
 punishing him for others, I do not believe in the 
 heart of her she doubts him at all. It was ex- 
 tremely kind of you to make the effort, I hope 
 you did not go up to London on purpose for 
 that? But perhaps, as Kells' mother talks of 
 him growing out of all his clothes, it was some- 
 thing much more important! ... I know what 
 you mean, they do worry a little here about 
 equality, considering that it is the leading Re- 
 public, where the rights of man were clearly 
 demonstrated, once for all. I suppose that is it, 
 knowing themselves a model they get self- 
 conscious, at least among the weaker ones: so 
 that it becomes more " I am as good as you," 
 than " you are as good as I," which is so much 
 pleasanter. And anyhow it is a pity to think 
 too much about it. I am sure you always ad-
 
 248 JAMESIE 
 
 mitted the Duchess was as good as you, Nurse, 
 didn't you, in the matter of Kells? You have 
 not anything to reproach yourself with. . . . 
 However, the papers do show us at our very 
 worst, certainly. I saw one the other day, by I 
 suppose our greatest living journalist: who 
 managed (very cleverly) to suggest first, that 
 the poor wretched German prisoners, disap- 
 pointed of the victory promised them, and sick 
 with the slaughter as everybody must have been, 
 were not properly grateful to English woman- 
 hood nursing them: and next improved it to 
 English ladyhood, as making the case still more 
 shameful! I lit my fire with that newspaper, 
 gladly; and I said while I did it " So perish 
 all snobs." Jamesie heard me, he is in bed 
 with a cold. 
 
 [These two correspondents are sure of one 
 another's humour, I should like to remark. It 
 must be the Northern sympathy again. Bess 
 jests in all security, even on the solemn subject 
 of Kells. And I know, first-hand, that the 
 Wickford nurse vastly enjoyed her letters.]
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 249 
 
 Miss Kitchin to the Duke. 
 
 Would it be too inopportune if I begged your 
 Grace to have an auditor, professional or other- 
 wise, to check the books of my Funds? It seems 
 her Grace 1 has found a considerable deficit at 
 her end, and it is hard in the present congestion 
 of trade and traffic from my end to check the 
 error. Not that her Grace accuses me at the 
 worst of anything more serious than careless- 
 ness, and it might be so, though I have done my 
 best. But even so you will understand that 
 neither do I want to fall foul of the tradesmen, 
 overtaxed as they all are, unless quite necessary; 
 nor should I like, if doubts there are of my full 
 competence and conscientiousness in this impor- 
 tant work, such doubts to remain nebulus for an 
 instant. I had sooner resign my post complete, 
 however regretful to sunder the last link of my 
 old connection with your Grace's household. 
 Yet it must come some time, and nothing would 
 pain me more than that such separation should 
 be forced or under a veil. . . . 
 
 1 The elder.
 
 250 JAMESIE 
 
 The Duke, to Iveagh, enclosing the above. 
 
 Will you see to this? It is Mother teasing the 
 poor old cat probably, the customary thing. I 
 suppose by a forced separation she means being 
 scruffed, and no doubt that is what Mother is 
 trying for. But I had sooner not, if it is all the 
 same to Mother, since she still does a piece 
 of my business, decently. Let her know that I 
 have always been contented with her, which is a 
 fact, and would need something stronger than 
 Mother's word for it to believe she was cheating 
 Mother, still less the hospital funds. Have an 
 auditor, or whatever you like, anyhow take it 
 off me, there 's a nice little lad. . . . 
 
 Iveagh, to the Duke. 
 
 Oh bother you, just when I had a little peace. 
 I don't like booting a cat-fight any more than 
 you, more especially when I have got a game 
 knee. Besides I thought the idea was I should 
 make war for the time being. Is there no get- 
 ting rid of them * in this world anyhow? That 
 one always made my heart sink, to look at her 
 disadvantages, though dishonest is not one of 
 
 1 Women.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 251 
 
 them. I suppose I will do it, some time. I will 
 ask you to pay my journey and my dinner, not to 
 mention divert B.'s loving attention off me, 1 if I 
 have to go to Boulogne. . . . Look here, would 
 you like to answer this in exchange, because I 
 am resisting the seduction. If you do not see 
 your way to, tear it up, I trust you. Anyhow do 
 not let the women know. 
 
 [The letter enclosed was from Joyce.] 
 
 The Duke to Iveagh, postcard. 
 Have you any more of that sort? 
 
 Iveagh to the Duke. 
 
 I might have. Be easy, I '11 not die of it. She 
 has a down on me, you may remember, and each 
 time she feels the symptoms of a fresh one, she 
 remembers me again. I think it is some law of 
 nature, but which I would not like to tell you. 
 My own tidy woman has not feelings of that 
 kind in her, has yours? 
 
 1 Question of leave, probably.
 
 252 JAMESIE 
 
 Joyce, to Iveagh. 
 [This letter I have censored myself. S. H.] 
 
 I am surprised you have not written me on the 
 theme your family is raving about, but perhaps 
 you are acting this time through your wife. 
 Linda, who notices writings (having had a good 
 deal of dodging of the sort with Reginald l to 
 do) told me she had hardly missed a day with 
 F. B., who really does not particularly want her 
 intervention. However, if, as I think, it is still 
 you who are the invisible controller of my des- 
 tiny, you had better drop it, because it is now too 
 late. You would not stop my marrying him if I 
 chose to, nor snubbing him if I chose to, and he 
 is rather a bore. Even now he is, following me, 
 and leaving flowers on the key-board, and he 
 might bore me to extinction later on, worse than 
 Linda's. It 's only the splash it would make 
 among all you infernal nice people would amuse 
 me to witness. I can see Janet's mother . . . 
 with her face drawn to her boots, and your wife 
 being kind to us ... and the Frenchwoman 
 sharpening a razor, and you cutting me cut- 
 ting me, would n't you? Rank lot of snobs and 
 
 1 Monk.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 253 
 
 shirkers. . . . We played the Kreutzer last 
 night, beastly Boche rubbish it is ; and first and 
 last I knocked Laura out, did not allow them 
 to hear her. I heard Carreno * play that trick 
 once on quite a swell violinist, man of course, it 
 was lordly. Then and there I swore, when I 
 next had the chance, to do it myself. For the 
 moment all the decent-looking artists are fight- 
 ing so I can't. It seems rather hard to sacrifice 
 a sentimental little drab like Laura what do 
 you think? however I decided to. ... It 
 was nice in the garden afterwards, the sweets of 
 victory. I let him have my hand, no more, 
 Bess's principles could stand that, could n't 
 they? and Linda's. Oh, Linda's loftiness 
 really makes me die, when I remember what 
 lies behind it. How I hate her. . . . That is 
 how it is going to be now, a heave and shudder 
 through half a dozen households, as soon as you 
 let a man take your hand. You are getting so 
 precious, my dears. For such of you as manage 
 to save your lives (I speak with confidence) it 
 will be worth it. Won't it? Are you still ob- 
 serving, spying that is? When are you next 
 coming home? 
 
 1 Teresa.
 
 254 JAMESIE 
 
 The Duke to the Duchess, pensive. 
 I think you can be easy in the long run about 
 Blakie. He is standing out against Joyce at her 
 best, combined with the Kreutzer sonata which 
 must be hard on him, and driving the girl so 
 frantic by passive resistance that she would even 
 have my brother now if he asked her. Don't 
 tell. The trouble is that he is not on, not after 
 Ireland, it is a pity for her. ... I am not so 
 sure the war being good for her infirmity. It 
 would be more the contrary, since she has the 
 brains to argue it, in spite of all. I always said 
 there was a lot in her. ... If Iveagh were on 
 the loose I am not at all sure I would not send 
 him to marry and make what he calls a tidy 
 woman of her, during his next leave. Or you 
 might send him, he would obey a whistle of you. 
 Did it ever strike you how obedient he is to us, 
 all things considered, I mean, granted he was 
 a rank rebel in infancy? Just at times it comes 
 home to me, remembering; I must have trained 
 him very nicely. He has taken Mother off me in 
 this matter of the accounts with only a little 
 curse or two, though he cannot like it. I had 
 nightmares about that, before I thought of him. 
 I shall be sorry when the war is over and he
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 255 
 
 returns to his tropical parasites again, for I 
 would as soon keep a parasite of his sort blood- 
 sucking upon me, and that is the fact. ... 
 
 The Duchess to the Duke, pert. 
 
 . . . You sound so disgustingly languid in 
 your last, a kind of Turk with a hookah 
 (corpulent) that I have a very good mind to 
 whistle Iveagh of Mother and Miss Kitchin, 
 and where would you be then? . . . 
 
 Madame du Frettay, to Madame Colmar. 
 
 MADAME, 
 
 I write on the part of a young English- 
 woman of my acquaintance, Lady Suir. She, as 
 I gather, is interested in the young man fiance 
 to Mademoiselle your daughter, who is of the 
 household of her belle-soeur in London. Lady 
 Suir is afflicted, it appears, by the strain that 
 has produced itself in their relations, and asks 
 herself its origin, since your amiable daughter 
 had for this young man an affection appearing 
 to all her surroundings truly sincere. I was 
 greatly indisposed, as you will understand, to 
 meddle in the affairs of others, especially in a
 
 256 JAMESIE 
 
 matter so remote from my own preoccupations 
 of the foyer, in which each of us at the present 
 hour is so painfully bound up. But, Madame, 
 arrives the claim of friendship! This young 
 Lady is truly distressed. It seems she knew the 
 young man, as it were, personally, enough to 
 realize in him qualities out of the common run, 
 such as to assure your daughter's satisfaction 
 and even good fortune in her married life. Note 
 that I repeat her: my own counsel I would 
 never venture to advance. You, and only you, 
 are qualified to judge, in the matter of your 
 daughter's happiness. It may be Monsieur her 
 father has for her other plans. My ignorance 
 is perfect of your circumstances : and in writing 
 thus I blindly obey the dictates of friendliness, 
 emanating from her urgency at my side. She 
 works in the hospitals daily, but were it useful, 
 would be happy to visit you at Sevres. 
 
 Be so good as to excuse, Madame, this in- 
 trusion of a feminine unknown, and to believe in 
 my most distinguished feelings. 
 
 C. DU FRETTAY.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 257 
 Monsieur Colmar, to Madame du Frettay. 
 
 MADAME, 
 
 Your distinguished attention has greatly 
 honoured us, but alas! what can I say? These 
 matters, with a stranger, however gracious and 
 amiable, are not to be debated. My wife and I, 
 be certain, deplore the entanglement with a 
 foreigner, and malentendu resulting, which 
 render our daughter unhappy for the time 
 being, though, as we hope, not lastingly. 
 Sophie is young. She has an excellent position. 
 The young man did well in enlisting, and is 
 exempt, be convinced, from our attack. Yet it 
 is probable he has been spoiled a little by the 
 life of comparative ease and plenty, with per- 
 mission a volonte, which is ordinary, I am told, 
 in the ranks of the British army now resident on 
 our soil. He returns for a slight wound to his 
 native shores, and flirts with his nurse! What 
 would you? it is nature: at any ordinary time 
 one smiles. But my girl with her only brother 
 in the anguish of our own front lines cannot for- 
 give him. It is nature, and the nations. And 
 think: should a rupture on a larger scale (which 
 none can contemplate willingly) ever occur, 
 how she will discover the benefit of her painful 
 decision now!
 
 258 JAMESIE 
 
 Madame, I beg you to agree to the expression 
 of my most hot-foot * homages. 
 
 A. COLMAR. 
 
 Madame du Prettay, to her son, enclosing the 
 above two letters. 
 
 MON CHERI, 
 
 Write for the love of heaven to this female, 
 or to the man attached to her, I can no more. 
 Your fine wit will know best how to dispose of 
 his argument, if he has one, my own logic gropes 
 in vain. Are we, by any chance, on the verge of 
 war with the English? I had not noticed it in 
 the newspapers, but nothing would surprise me, 
 and if it were to be truth, one would not see 
 the signs. I am besotted 2 with cold and calam- 
 ity, and the thought of you in your insufficient 
 coat. Oh my little one, why wouldst thou not 
 order the superior one of English leather I 
 recommended, thy chest, I think upon it 
 night and day. . . . Still, answer these weari- 
 some persons if thou hast a moment, because our 
 sweet Bess has it at heart, and that angel 3 in 
 tears almost. He has an inexpressible cult for 
 the man in question, a cult of the cricket-field, 
 
 1 Empresses. * Abrutie. * Jamesie.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 259 
 
 perfectly English, especially since it is what any 
 other than Bess would have directed upon her 
 husband, with care. Jamesie regards Iveagh as 
 comrade, rather, as a comical comrade, a 
 view dating probably from the Irish days. It is 
 varied by an occasional doubt of his temper, if 
 varied at all. It is true, one would not easily 
 exalt Iveagh to the heroic posture, yet there is 
 thou, had Jamesie wished for an object! Is 
 there not most evidently thou? My beloved, 
 now listen to me. . . . 
 
 [Maternal advice of the most intimate and 
 intricate succeeds, such as was going by shoals, 
 through every post, to the horizon-blue heroes 
 on the Verdun field. It was not those mothers' 
 fault if, in the most awful engagement of the 
 war, prolonged under a horror of snow, with 
 the mortally stricken lying out for days and 
 nights under drifts where even the magnificent 
 devotion of a crippled ambulance could not 
 reach them, those heroes were not completely 
 comfortable.]
 
 260 JAMESIE 
 
 Gabriel du Frettay, to his mother. 
 
 MY BELOVED MAMMA, 
 
 Listen, I have seldom been better, you have 
 no need to fuss. 1 Can you not remember in the 
 Alps how a few pints of snow never came amiss 
 to me? Our good little rascal 2 is on the way 
 to getting us out of it, be reassured ; and we shall 
 yet see that monkey's beak 3 the laughing-stock 
 of Europe. 
 
 In the meantime I am philosopher. I play 
 upon my flageolet de douze sous 4 Bess brought 
 me from London. I regret now to have re- 
 proached her the reckless expenditure. It 
 showed a just appreciation of what might be 
 needful in the interludes of a National Defence. 
 I spent last evening, which had been otherwise 
 intolerable, in teaching a Saxon prisoner the 
 Marseillaise. I thought, how wholesome for 
 that wretched underling of a ruffling autocracy. 
 But sapristi! the ass knew it already. More, 
 he had always deemed it a German tune. One 
 of his compatriots had used it, it appears, to help 
 out his addled music. What, are they occupying 
 even our airs at present? I am enquiring who 
 
 1 T'inquieter. * General Petain. 
 
 3 The Kronprinz. 4 Sixpenny whistle.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 261 
 
 the donkey is, that later we may suppress him. 1 
 . . . The discovery of this rape alone disheart- 
 ens me, dearest Mother. 
 
 A propos, I have seen to your individuals: or 
 rather, I have dealt with their daughter, I am 
 convinced successfully. Put the little problem 
 from you, will you not? And do not speak of 
 the Suirs, I beseech, you drive me wild with 
 irritation. Iveagh sends little notes to me here, 
 which are treasures of expressive unimportance, 
 when readable. His brother, now, worries one: 
 but he, as companion, is adorable; never, since 
 my first dog, have I known a better. Naturally, 
 he was the same to Jamesie, and naturally, 
 Jamesie's gratitude is adequate, being a gosse of 
 sense. An imaginative child asks only to be 
 upheld, and uninterrupted. Iveagh has a genius 
 for both. He won his wife, so far as I remem- 
 ber, chiefly by turning his back upon her. It is 
 true his back view is agreeable; still, it would 
 never have occurred to me as a means in itself 
 sufficient, especially with so desirable a girl. 
 Enfin your imperceptive and earthy observa- 
 tions, dearest Mother, have simply made me 
 long for his society. . . . 
 
 1 Robert Schumann.
 
 262 JAMESIE 
 
 [We are informed by Bess, notes Herbert on 
 this, that Madame du Frettay was inclined to 
 be jealous of her son's affection for Suir. 
 Between sympathy for his mother, and loyalty 
 to his friend, M. du Frettay in daily life was 
 driven to walk a tight-rope : a literary feat 
 which, to judge by specimens like the above, he 
 enjoyed particularly. 
 
 An inter-ally, inter-army exchange on post- 
 cards took place about this period.] 
 
 Who is Sophie Colmar your people are inter- 
 ested in? Sacred weather here. G. 
 
 I have not a notion. Try it a little longer 
 next time. The weather is forsaken utterly. 
 1.8. 
 
 Forgive me, I was elbowed at the time. She 
 seems to be attached to her Graciousness your 
 sister-in-law, and affianced to a cricketing- 
 gentleman. 
 
 Done it. That would be the pretty girl that 
 caught the Canon out, and none of us able to 
 grin at it. I did not speak to her, as it hap- 
 pened, but Janet has a nice kind about her, you 
 may be sure. The man is a good man, twice 
 wounded. Are you all right? 
 
 How the everlasting? Twice wounded?
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 263 
 
 And the hussy plays loose with him? Sapristi 
 and sacred thunder, I am bored like the deuce. 
 I proceed to write to her. 
 
 What is that about writing? I would not, if 
 I were you. When the man is better, he will 
 explain himself and ease the situation. I am not 
 stirring a finger in it, thpugh the Duchess asked 
 me by Bess to do so. We sit loose, we do not 
 play it. I '11 desert if this wind goes on. 
 
 The censor missed that. Do not be impatient, 
 mon petit, and do as you are told. Personally, 
 I tell others. Here is my letter to my com- 
 patriot, Mademoiselle Colmar. Read, before 
 you expedite to wherever her Grace is at pres- 
 ent in residence. It is thus the citoyen addresses 
 the citoyenne, in time of war. 
 
 Gabriel du Frettay, to Sophie Colmar. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE, 
 
 You have no idea who I am, but my ad- 
 dress is Verdun. Thus I speak to you from an 
 apex no Frenchwoman will regard as incon- 
 siderable, and with a weight since I may be 
 dead tomorrow absolutely parental. 
 
 Mademoiselle, I venture to place myself upon 
 terms of compatriotism (a word I have in-
 
 264 JAMESIE 
 
 vented) and to beseech a hearing. Lady Eliza- 
 beth Suir, who is the wife of my dearest friend, 
 has forwarded me a communication from your 
 excellent father, which makes me rage in the 
 obvious though innocent marks it bears of an 
 ignoble propaganda boche. There is no bad 
 blood at the present time between us and the 
 English our upholders, on the chance of which 
 he seems to speculate. The thing is not, and 
 could not be, for reasons historical, economical, 
 and sentimental which I have fully explained to 
 him. Fully: I have made a special study of the 
 relations of these countries. Also it delights me 
 to enter so unexpectedly into an exchange of 
 views with so manifestly intelligent a personage. 
 Thus 
 
 Mademoiselle, I implore you (since I may be 
 dead tomorrow) to trust, as I have always done 
 in this matter, the dictates of your heart alone. 
 In a world literally deluged with lies of all 
 sorts, with the Censor's eye staring daily at the 
 agony and love we poor devils send by post, 
 there is no safety but in proximity, and in the 
 hearts that speak. If your affianced is wounded 
 and cannot claim you, go to him instantly. Ar- 
 riving there, exact the tete-a-tete, though Kitch-
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 265 
 
 ener himself were present, hold his brave hand, 
 and look in his (probably) unimpassioned eyes. 
 You will know then, and then only, the truth 
 which, if it is as I think, his letters could in no 
 case conceivably express. And you will have 
 the solace in addition of diddling 1 the boches, 
 the censor, and Kitchener comprehensively. 
 
 Mademoiselle, I am silent, perhaps for ever. 
 Forgive me, hein? 
 
 Your friend and well-wisher, 
 G. DU FRETTAY. 
 
 Iveagh, to Gabriel. 
 
 Well, you know best, " perhaps for ever " 
 seems to me a trifle thick. Could you not have 
 added your photograph, and shot a little hole 
 through it with your revolver? I like the last 
 thing, that is like you. At that point, if I was 
 the girl, I would begin to wonder if I had not 
 been wrong right through. However it may 
 do the trick. I send it to Holmer, an address 
 you might have guessed, if you had not been so 
 vain of it. 
 
 I. S. 
 
 1 Dejouer.
 
 266 JAMESIE 
 
 ] ante si e, to Iveagh. 
 
 [Occurring somewhere among the last set, 
 goodness knows where, and answered, I will 
 warrant, without precipitation. As usual, being 
 both undated, the pair throw out my calcula- 
 tions.] 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 Its postavely awful. What do you suppose 
 we ought to do? You see, Sophie told Nurse 
 she would n't Marry him simply, and she did n't 
 esplain at all ! Mothers sure it is n't Aunt Janet. 
 I thought Sophie might have been wanted, 
 sudenly, and so Marriage rather dificult for the 
 Time been, but Mother thinks not. There 
 arent so many Parties since the War. Father 
 I cant think what to tell him if she hasnt. Oh 
 it is a Fix! Mother says better not write to any- 
 body, even Nurse, as it is a kind of Secret, par- 
 ticular, belonging to Sophie. But she wouldnt 
 mind your knowing she said. 
 
 Your loving 
 JAMESIE.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 267 
 Iveagh to Jamesie. 
 
 DEAR JIM, 
 
 Jolly good for you to draw up a bit, your 
 custom nowadays is to let loose on the world too 
 easily. I give you my word for it, secret sorrow 
 is quite a common thing. Lots of matters don't 
 bear talking of, not only nowadays, there is a 
 censor behind-scenes called Manners will not 
 allow it. Which is as much as to say, mind him 
 and hold on to your tongue, especially where a 
 man and woman are in question. 
 
 Having said so much, I may mention that the 
 present shine you tell me about is Moonshine 
 probably. It will all go over before you have 
 licked the halfpenny stamps for next month's 
 correspondence, which will take some time at 
 the present rate of postage, three apiece. You 
 tell me how much money you save while you 
 are resting, and I will give it you back to buy 
 a wedding-present for Sophie. 
 
 In the meantime I have a job for you. You 
 can take this pen to the Avenue de 1'Opera to be 
 mended for me, and you can write a single letter 
 with its assistance, before you send it back. 
 
 Yours with love, 
 
 I. S.
 
 268 JAMESIE 
 
 Lady Iveagh to her husband dated. 
 
 I wish you would not write such things to 
 Jamesie, you are too tiresome. Not that he does 
 not love it, since it comes from you, he car- 
 ried it into every corner of the house, like a 
 kitten with its first bone, to think about it in 
 different atmospheres, but really, it is not on 
 his level at all. Were you ever a real child 
 yourself, and if not, whose fault was it? I am 
 sure it was not Sir James', because he always 
 agrees with me. Jamesie is at this moment writ- 
 ing a letter to him, I think on Irish affairs, with 
 your cured fountain pen. The letter, because 
 of the pen, is public, Iveagh. You see the won- 
 derful influence on Jamesie you allow to waste. 
 
 Iveagh to Janet, enclosing Gabriel to Sophie. 
 
 DEAR DUCHESS, 
 
 Do not set me on to Joyce, because I cannot 
 do her. The fact is very simple that she dislikes 
 me, with reason, one being that I frightened 
 her, that night, unnecessarily. I never told 
 Conor I did, because it is a very bad show by 
 our way of thinking. You will guess it is ani- 
 mals I am referring to, forgive me, Jane.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 269 
 
 What I send is something better for the pur- 
 pose probably. You will have heard of the man 
 from Wickford. He is a man anyone would 
 trust the knowledge of, and the form and so on, 
 and what is more he is her own sort, French. 
 The chances are the girl will take him rightly, 
 but if I were you I would let her look at it alone. 
 When she has done curling you, or whatever it 
 is, I have forgotten. Or rather I never knew, 
 since Bess never had a maid, except myself, by 
 the same token, once for a week in the Soudan. 
 That was when one of my best-behaved animals * 
 walked out and stung * her. I cured her arm, 
 and I pinned her hair till it was well, but it was 
 a painful incident. 
 
 I saw Ronald on Saturday. I do not know 
 what he was doing up this end, but he looked in 
 about tea-time, and I had an interval, so we con- 
 versed. He had his pockets stuffed with news- 
 cuttings he had collected for my benefit about 
 Ireland, and I let him read some, because in a 
 fashion it is interesting, one would sooner know. 
 Then I read him Byrne's last from the spot, 
 which was unkind of me. He told me how he 
 was going to take to flying instead of motoring, 
 
 1 Surely not a horse?
 
 270 JAMESIE 
 
 in order to be well ahead, after the war. I hope 
 he will not be well ahead into the next world, 
 because he has no gift for machinery. How is 
 Arthur? 
 
 Yours obediently always 
 
 IVEAGH SUIR. 
 
 Janet to Iveagh. 
 
 Thank you. Sophie took it perfectly, though 
 I own I was a little nervous. Her eyes looked 
 brighter, next morning, and she is wearing the 
 letter from Verdun openly in the front of her 
 frock. I think it may do what you call the trick, 
 the same you did with Joyce or was it Bis- 
 cuit? anyhow with poor dear Miss Kitchin 
 now. Are you given to frightening your female 
 belongings? because I never noticed it, per- 
 sonally. Of course Bess may have done so, all 
 alone with you and the animals in the Soudan. 
 
 Arthur l is very well, thank you, though daily 
 uglier, but it is such an interesting ugliness. 
 Conor says he is like you, but at present even 
 your Mother protests. Arthur may be going to 
 be the wit of the family: he gives me a wink 
 sometimes that suggests more things than he 
 
 1 The youngest Suir.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 271 
 
 will at present divulge. It was nice of his uncle 
 to ask after him, poor duckling. He had an 
 unlucky entrance into the world. 
 
 Which reminds me, Mother (mine), who is 
 still devoted to Joyce, trusts in her last that J. is 
 not going to commit an indiscretion, and throw 
 herself away, so she has got wind of it too. (It 
 is funny how it matters what Joyce does, I sup- 
 pose that is what they call personality, or is it 
 temperament?) Mother says she is so " ro- 
 mantic," and explains it to me carefully as a 
 " reaction " : I suppose from the strain it was to 
 Joyce screwing herself up to Steenie's level. 
 Oh dear, mothers! I know I shall be just as bad 
 with Arthur, one of these days. 
 
 Jamesie's French to Sophie is too wonderful, 
 he reminds me of the clever statesmen's chil- 
 dren of the eighteenth century, the little Pitts 
 and Foxes who grew up to be distinguished men 
 themselves. They managed two languages dip- 
 lomatically, or three, as our little Royalties of 
 course do now. Only the difference! You 
 are very fortunate to have him, Iveagh. My 
 children, you see, though very nice, are not en- 
 tertaining (except Arthur). Jamesie entertains 
 everybody, even Ronald, who is not easily
 
 272 JAMESIE 
 
 amused. I am glad you saw the old boy. Good- 
 bye, dear, and be careful. I am sorry about that 
 nasty knee. 
 
 JANET. 
 
 Dialogue, self and Francis, noted later, but 
 'wanted here. 
 
 " Was it true you took Miss Joyce's hand? " 
 
 "When, sir?" 
 
 " One evening, when she and Miss Laura had 
 been playing, rather a long thing." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, that. The middle tune was a 
 good one, as good as a hymn almost. We 'd have 
 encored that for certain, if they had n't gone on." 
 
 " All right, I '11 tell Miss Laura. Don't ob- 
 scure the issues, Francis. Did you? " 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, I took her hand. In the garden, 
 you mean." 
 
 " That 's it. Politeness, was it? " 
 
 " No, sir, by no means. It was that music, I 
 think." 
 
 "Gratitude, eh?" 
 
 " No, sir, far from it. I was as bad as Miss 
 Joyce, that was all." Pause. " I was nearly 
 gone, all but. Only I swore I would not let her
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 273 
 
 know how near I was. Matter of pride, sir. I 
 was sick after it." 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " Since you asked. Of course, my wound got 
 me low down. And I was pretty sick in the 
 other sense of waiting, well, some time before 
 that. It was the effect of patience, partly. And 
 there she was, well, you know what she is. 
 And that music, getting at you unfairly." Pause. 
 " I suppose," said Francis, very, very gravely, 
 " they took me below the belt. Same as we are 
 doing the Germans, sir." 
 
 " What? " 
 
 " Sorry," said Francis. " That 's not my joke, 
 it 's one of Furniss's. Matter of the blockade, 
 sir, the hunger blockade. Just part of our 
 idle talking. We 'd have preferred to keep it 
 an open fight." 
 
 " But Kitchener did not consult you? " 
 
 " It was n't Kitchener, sir. I gather the All- 
 iance does not countenance it." (All-iance and 
 #//-ies, Francis said.) " Kitchener had no 
 choice." 
 
 [Self, flabbergasted.] " I say, may I repeat 
 that joke to Lady Iveagh? " 
 
 " Oh, her Ladyship would have heard it,"
 
 274 JAMESIE 
 
 said Francis, tolerant. " I told Mr. Jamesie in 
 writing, long ago. He likes a joke." 
 
 " Did he follow it? " 
 
 " I should n't wonder," said Francis, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 Trix Adler, at the end of a charming letter to 
 
 Wickford, 'which he chose to say had 
 
 nothing to do with me. 
 
 . . . and the moral of that is, as the Duchess 
 said (not yours), that men and women are not 
 so easily alterable, in or out of War. . . . 
 
 [Of course I should have taken the above as 
 motto to my whole collection, if Wickford had 
 not been such a stickler in withholding it. I 
 here and now apologise to Miss Adler for mak- 
 ing so little use of her excellent correspondence. 
 It was just bad luck that she was cut off, by her 
 own adventurous spirit, from the main body of 
 actors in my history.] 
 
 Janet, on Sunday. 
 
 [I have displaced this letter, but it dates itself 
 for the curious. It interested (and amazed) du 
 Frettay, and it was he who obliged me to put 
 it in.]
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 275 
 
 I have been thinking much of Steenie and 
 pre-war times: dipping in the past, since 
 Mother is here. Dear Mother, she is wonder- 
 ful, so young, unused, dependant, in spite of 
 all. For the first time I have taken her, Mother 
 of mothers, into my philosophy. 
 
 Think, Bess. Where was the meaning, really, 
 of that convulsion of our times, those bitter 
 battles, bitter feelings, we certainly used to 
 know. Is it over? Must it not arise again? It 
 cannot really have been solved, so easily I The 
 vote? oh, rubbish 1 It was never that. We 
 are going to get that, are n't we, for a set of 
 reasons that sound as empty to me as did those 
 with which they refused it us, some time back. 
 There is much, much more in it than Parliament 
 ever speaks of, because it is an infinitely bigger 
 thing. It beats Parliament. It smiles at coali- 
 tions against a German enemy, does n't it? Be- 
 cause the Enemy is always there. . . . 
 
 Even in the struggle of our generation, Bess, 
 the Enemy was both sides : exactly as he is in the 
 struggle with the Germans now. Half of us 
 were our own enemies : I do not exempt myself, 
 nor mother. Lots of our so-called enemy 
 Man were nothing of the sort, think of the
 
 276 JAMESIE 
 
 men fate has given us. Now I am going to 
 moralise. . . . Girls like Joyce and company 
 were not in fault, they had the root of the mat- 
 ter, stood the racket bravely. Men like our men 
 were not in fault, they had the root of the matter 
 too. It is by the light of nature, not anything 
 acquired in Parliament (good gracious!) that 
 Conor grants me the right to have, exactly in his 
 measure, no more and no less, my finger on the 
 facts of life. Steenie was in fault, St. John, 
 - Mother as well. Mother, sweet as she is, has 
 been spoiled at others' expense her whole life 
 long. She is a devoted wife, and she filled her 
 nest with us, to Father's glory, so her business 
 was done, and she sat to be worshipped, a moth- 
 erly saint. Wick wants to spoil me now, in the 
 same way, for the same reason, because I have 
 filled his nest. So does Iveagh, horridly: real 
 men are given to it. But I will not. To fulfil, 
 and stop, is never a woman's destiny. She must 
 be ready to go under what she has made. 
 
 You remember the way Joyce (darling!) used 
 to dilate on the " kept woman." Mother is that, 
 I am, you are, Joyce will be. But there are 
 ways of being it. Mother has a little obstinate 
 smile at times (you mentioned it in Mme. du
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 277 
 
 Frettay) which only thoroughly spoiled people 
 wear. Even in wartime she wears it! secur- 
 ity, since she has her place. No war of races 
 or classes can touch it, are we not here, Craw- 
 fords, to prove what she has done? One of us 
 is missing, truly: she has lost a son by the war. 
 She is adored the more for it. But, Bess, 
 he was less hers than mine. I dare to say this to 
 you. We were a model Scottish family, and I 
 was the top of it. It was I worked for those 
 boys, suffered for them, not Mother. All the 
 later travail for Steenie, the bitterest, most in- 
 glorious, the real-est, was mine and Cardie's. 
 Really, Mother in her well-won security just 
 abstained. 
 
 Bess, the first thing I loved in Wick was that 
 he noticed this, he saw it from the moment he 
 entered Mother's house. He worshipped at her 
 with the rest, he admired Meg, but he noticed 
 the facts of me. How many men would pick up 
 at a glance, like that, the burden of an eldest 
 daughter? Always straining, as I was, when 
 Mother was receptive and queensome. How 
 many men regard a woman for her doing at all, 
 more especially that kind of doing, not paid 
 work, but toiling at life. " Unsentimental," that
 
 278 JAMESIE 
 
 was what Mother called him : all our Scots, over 
 women, are sentimental extremely: we are 
 
 theories, not things to them, look at ! I 
 
 never thought Conor could want me, I thought 
 on instinct he was making for Meg. She had 
 nothing to do but be nice, which she is, dear 
 Meggie. I made friends with him, as one must: 
 and with yours (whom he lugged in) just as 
 promptly. New brothers, a trifle more subtle 
 than mine, they were. And then, all unfore- 
 seen, he picked me up, raised me high, above 
 Mother herself. (Of course Mother imme- 
 diately changed, I was quite another thing to 
 her.) The rest of it! I swore then and there, 
 for that rest he gave me, rest in his real interests 
 I never would. I would go on and on, never 
 exist, even for him. Never sacrifice, even to 
 him, new interests, views and opinions, arising 
 about me. Never, never, steal from Aileen, as 
 Mother in all her beautifulness, stole from me! 
 Don't tell them, will you? Because I love 
 pretending to be honourable and rangee in nice 
 men's eyes. I love queening it: I even like being 
 a duchess, dreadfully. But, until I see things 
 fairer to all women, here on earth, I will not be 
 rangee in my own eyes, nor honourable least of
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 279 
 
 all. I decline, Bess. I am too happy too 
 blest too privileged. Mother, in all her royal 
 progress to romantic contentment, never ad- 
 mitted that! 
 
 Cardew, Ronald, Shere, du Frettay, and a few 
 generals, to self, Suir, and Lady Iveagh. 
 
 What 's the matter with Jamesie? What has 
 dried up the infant? Why is n't he writing? 
 
 Jamesie to the Dowager Duchess in pencil, 
 but well written. 
 
 DEAR GRANDMOTHER, 
 
 I am in bed with a cold. Mother says I 
 had better not have the ink, for reasons, and 
 Father's gold Pen has gone back. It went 
 wrong, and he sent it, and I took it to a Gentle- 
 man in the Avenue de 1'Opera, who shook it, 
 and so it was all right. Was n't it clever? I 
 expect Father had shaken it Hundreds of times. 
 Perhaps it was the Bombardment did it, I said, 
 and He * laugfed. He has heaps of pens from 
 the Front to manage. Nurse's sister at Holmer's 
 better, you '11 be glad to hear. Nurse said Trix 
 
 1 The Gentleman.
 
 280 JAMESIE 
 
 told her, by Cable. Must n't it have been ex- 
 citing, when it came! These are Exciting 
 Times. Denise thought her Uncle was dead 
 once, because he stoped writing. Did you think 
 I was dead when I stoped writing, Grand- 
 mother? l Because it was only Father! Oh he 
 is Funny, never mind. The 3 Green Stamps on 
 this envelope I stuck on weeks ago. Then he 
 suddenly came on Leave (i Night) and said 
 he had never meant you. Your safe! So here 
 we are ! 
 
 Your affectionate grandson, 
 JAMESIE C. Sum. 
 
 Jamesie to Aileen. 
 
 [NoTE. The Fitzmacloshlies were a family 
 of eighteen or so, who belonged by right of in- 
 vention to Jamesie, but were shared in a cousinly 
 and secondrate fashion by Kells.] 
 
 DEAR AILEEN, 
 
 I am writing to you about the Fitzmaclosh- 
 lies, because There safe. Once Starfreeda (thats 
 the 3rd youngest, next to little Magnesia, and 
 Baby, who's the youngest of all) wanted to 
 
 1 Joke, tentative.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 281 
 
 marry somebody. So Sandwich (thats the Fitz- 
 macloshlie who preeches) said you had better 
 not, because his Grandfather was probly a Ger- 
 man. So Badger (thats the nice one, who was 
 back on Leave) said Hard Luck! But Star- 
 f reeda did marry him. So the Police exiled her 
 to an Island (there were Oysters luckily). So 
 then Badger found his Grandfather was n't one, 
 after all. So then the Police fetched them back, 
 and gave him an English Uniform, and a Per- 
 mis de Sejour, and a Laisser-Passer in the Zone 
 de Guerre. This is all as true as true, Parole 
 d'Honneur! 
 
 Your loving 
 JAMESIE. 
 
 The same to Kells, containing an interesting 
 sketch of the centre of European civilisa- 
 tion, as seen in late February, 1916. 
 
 DEAR KELLS, 
 
 I am sitting outside a Restaurant with 
 Father, not Mother because Men sit here. He 
 will see this letter perhaps. There are 5 Poilus 
 in Casques (Blue) sitting at this table. They 
 are drinking coffee, like us. Whatever I said 
 they laugfed, so I let Father. He talks French
 
 282 JAMESIE 
 
 (rather) J well. Once with Mother I saw a 
 Chasseur Alpin in the Champs Elysees, who 
 Saluted me! She said because I stared. I don't 
 think he minded. Perhaps Father won't have 
 another Leave for ages, because he won't ask. 
 M. Gabriel says he could with Piston. 2 Oh 
 dear only one Walk it is awful never mind. All 
 the big dogs are muzled here and look fright- 
 ened naturally. The Dust-boxes stand out in 
 the road, and the little dogs get in when the 
 Chiffonniers have finished. I expect the Trans- 
 port has taken the Dust-cart horses, because the 
 snow has practicly all gone, nothing but MUD. 
 Love to Everybody, 
 
 Yours, 
 J. C. Sum (R.F.C., etc.). 
 
 [This leave of Iveagh's seems to have been an 
 eventful one.] 
 
 Jeannette to the Duchess. 
 
 I do not think you need be concerned, my 
 dear, about your sister-in-law's domestic capac- 
 ity. Mad and I met Jamesie on a car to-day, 
 the Henri-Martin car, one of the last left run- 
 
 1 Erased by the Censor. 
 
 2 Untranslatable, "interest in high places."
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 283 
 
 ning, and continually en panne. 1 He was all 
 alone, hands clasped between knees, affably 
 studying the ciphers on every uniform in sight. 
 There is never an Embusque escapes his eagle 
 eye, I '11 warrant! He had been seeing his 
 father off, short leave I gathered ; Lady Iveagh 
 not attending them because of a domestic upset. 
 Report as follows to Madeleine: " It 's the next 
 Femme de Menage gone off to the Metro, rather 
 suddenly. She thinks the pay is better, and it 
 probly is. That 's the fourth since Christmas 
 not counting the one who went as soons she came 
 before she even took her shawl off. Mother says 
 she likes it. She and Father cooked the dinner 
 cas-ully. And I 'm goin' to do the washing-up." 
 
 The Dowager Duchess to Lady Iveagh. 
 
 I hope James is all right: he speaks of a cold. 
 Kells of course has colds continually, but I never 
 remember James being in bed even for a day 
 before. I always took your word for it he had 
 inherited none of the Wickford weaknesses. I 
 hope the air of the quarter you have chosen is 
 not too damp for him. I seem to remember 
 Passy being under water in the time of the 
 
 1 Breakdown, the motorist's term.
 
 284 JAMESIE 
 
 floods. It is extraordinary to reflect nowadays 
 how stirred we all were about that. The 
 weather is appalling here, 1 such gales, and in 
 England worse; however I am aware the In- 
 telligence Department asks us not to exchange 
 views about such things, for what object, they 
 know best. I really wrote to ask if you would 
 order me the following (list) . Being matters of 
 common family life, and not even surgical, that 
 idiot Kitchin seems afraid to ask for them. 
 Really I shall soon think such women should be 
 married by force, at least for a month or two, in 
 order to rub their noses against realities. I have 
 to put up with her since (Grievances). He 2 
 cannot be very seriously occupied where he is, 
 that he is able to interfere to such an extent in 
 Wickford's affairs. And why on earth should 
 he forbid poor little James to write to me? 
 Except for the word " laugh," which James 
 never gets right, his English spelling has im- 
 proved remarkably. It is creditable, since he is 
 learning another language. 
 
 1 Boulogne. * Iveagh.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 285 
 Trix Adler end of a letter to Iveagh. 
 
 ... I am sorry to hear from Janet that you 
 have quarrelled with your mother again. 
 
 Iveagh to Trix. 
 
 I have not quarrelled with her, I have merely 
 proved to my own satisfaction and his that Miss 
 Kitchin is in the right of it. Of course he knew 
 in advance she would be, having had the ac- 
 countant's training, whereas Mother merely 
 came through Girton and so on, and that some 
 time since. . . . However I had the papers 
 here, both hers and Mother's, since you are 
 aware he gives me the dirty work as a rule, 
 particularly where a little breeze or two is prob- 
 able. And the Boulogne set that is Mother's 
 feminine in the extreme, conducted in three 
 inks and bristling with question-marks, touching 
 to handle for anyone that knows her ways. And 
 sure enough the oversight was at her end, merely 
 an ought left out in the preliminary finals, mak- 
 ing it look as if Miss K. had welshed ninety 
 pounds, and that poor peaky female acquitted 
 entirely. Well, how would I not tell her so? 
 There is her living depending on it and lots to
 
 a86 JAMESIE 
 
 come, whereas Mother's future, what there is of 
 it, is certain to be comfortable. I cannot see her 
 coming on the world with both of us to back her, 
 and so I consoled her when she complained of 
 me. . . . 
 
 Miss Kitchin, in her genuine hand of write, 
 barely known to her employers, to Iveagh. 
 
 DEAR LORD IVEAGH, 
 
 Can I ever thank you enough? Your 
 brother says it is to you I owe my reinstatement, 
 and that nice little summary of accounts. I had 
 never supposed my books were without blemish, 
 indeed; one has not the time one would wish 
 with three Funds running, all (thank heaven) 
 so prosperous, and the shopping as well, which, 
 being the least accustomed, is, I own, the most 
 onerous part. I had warned her Grace that 
 bargain-hunting and matters which the conven- 
 tional woman loves, were foreign to my clerical 
 habits, and calculated to confuse; and when the 
 mistake occurred and she charged me with it, I 
 was so overwhelmed that I could but lay it to 
 the discomposing effect of that. Your wife will 
 support me, I am sure, in the assertion that shop- 
 men are steadily more bad-tempered. They
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 287 
 
 dislike bargainers in these days, it is too easy to 
 understand why. It is every man for himself, 
 is it not? We all know what it is now to make 
 the ends meet, or to endeavour to do so. And 
 for this 1 reason, as well as the honour of my 
 profession, you must let me thank you again. 
 
 It is justice, may I say, that we ask for. There 
 seems to me so much generosity, rather sloppy 
 generosity, going about the world. But a little 
 stroke of justice, cool and clear, like that, at 
 exactly the right moment, builds one up almost 
 to the old level again. One has hopes then, that 
 when all this rather wearing wash of sympathy 
 and so on is over, something more solid will be 
 left. . . . 
 
 [" A jolly nice letter," said Iveagh when he 
 gave me this, he had actually kept it. " It 's 
 clear enough cricket is her weakest point."] 
 
 Sophie to Francis, in a little grey envelope, en- 
 closing a portrait of General Petain. 
 
 DEAR FRANCOIS, 
 
 Here is a card from my brother Louis. 
 You will be please to know he goes well and 
 
 1 Poverty?
 
 288 JAMESIE 
 
 they will hold them. It says in Paris now 
 largely that Petain will hold. The head is 
 chiffonnee a little that I wear him in side my 
 frock. Yet not for long since the hard carte 
 showed itself where the soft paper letters do not. 
 
 SOPHIE. 
 
 Francis to Sophie. 
 
 MY DARLING, 
 
 Thank goodness I can say no more. Whose 
 paper letters have you in your frock? Unless 
 mine, generals or no, you are to burn them. 
 Marching orders. See? 
 
 FRANCIS. 
 
 Sophie to Francis. 
 
 MON CCEUR, 
 
 Sois sage, ne t'emballe pas, ne te fais pas, as 
 now they say. Voyons ! He who I have in my 
 frock is very, very handsome, more beautiful 
 than Miss Joyce, with the blue eyes, the fine 
 features, and ecoute! he is lost for five days. He 
 come back with his biplan, what blessing for his 
 mother. Hein? Monsieur Jamesie inform me, 
 by permission he says. Cher petit chou, he dare 
 not speak of you, he writes not. Shall I come 
 see you soon?
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 289 
 Francis to Sophie. 
 
 MY SWEET HEART, 
 
 What is all this about? Who is the 
 blighter? His eyes won't be blue very long 
 when I get my feet again. Come down and tell 
 me all about it, I want you. 
 
 F. B. 
 
 Sophie to Francis. 
 
 No, my eyes to me are ugly I have cried too 
 much. Yes, perhaps well, but tell me first if 
 you eat your dinner, man, and if you see Miss 
 Joyce. Quick, tell me. 
 
 Francis to Sophie. 
 
 B Miss Joyce. Why do you make me say 
 
 what the Censor objects to? I hear her, since 
 nobody can help it, when she takes to plunging 
 on that eternal piano. I wish they would give 
 us back our Gramophone, at least that only turns 
 on when asked for. Who is that air-man you 
 talk of darling? I never knew what it was in 
 those fellows get the women, the little wings on 
 their pocket probably. They don't have nearly 
 the time we infantry do I can tell you. It can't 
 be his lordship, can it? You would never keep
 
 290 JAMESIE 
 
 him on your heart, would you, Sophie? Look 
 here, I shan't eat a scrap of dinner until you tell 
 me, that is fact. 
 
 Kells to Jamesie. 
 
 We had a rotten game of Rounders to-night 
 because of those French. With two of them I 
 dare say I should have expected it. Mademoi- 
 selle really wants to learn and its high time 
 Gerald 1 did, but Mile, can't run far without 
 getting pumped, so I asked Sophie specially for 
 Gerald to see what a Rounder was. If she 'd 
 bowled decently I 'd have shown him. But 
 while I was explaining the rules she was singing, 
 and just when I was ready for Gerald she picked 
 him up and ran away with him down the path. 
 Mile, went after to jabber at her, and there I 
 was with Aileen! A jolly way for the children 
 to learn the game! I thought Nurse might help 
 when she came out, but Sophie went and kissed 
 her, as if it was absolutely the ordinarest thing! 
 I can tell you Nurse looked redish still she kept 
 her Hair and took Gerald to bed. So I said I 
 had better put the lesson off considering all 
 things, and told Aileen to put the things away, 
 
 1 The third Suir, aged three.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 291 
 
 and Sophie she 'd better get strait before she 
 went to Mother, and then I went in. 
 
 Aileen to the Duke. 
 [Immaculate, helped by Nurse.] 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 We all played Rounders it was Lovely. 
 Gerald fell down but Sophie stopped him (cry- 
 ing) till Nurse came. I love Sophie more than 
 Lettice. Mother says I may be Bridesmaid be- 
 cause Kells and Jamesie and Gerald and Arthur 
 can't. They are boys. Kisses to Uncle Cardie 
 and Uncle Ronald and Uncle Iveagh. . . . 
 
 [So speaks the sole maiden of the Suir con- 
 tingent, already modestly aware of her status 
 amid the clan. There will be a fine arch of 
 swords, one of these days, at Aileen's wedding: 
 Tim's Irish instinct was right. A simple scar- 
 city may be the plain cause why the Woman's 
 Right was so easily upheld in that ducal family.] 
 
 Francis to the Duchess. 
 
 YOUR GRACE, 
 
 We are getting married the end of this 
 month, 1 since you make no objection Sophie 
 
 1 March.
 
 292 JAMESIE 
 
 says and I shall be easily on my legs by then, 
 which is all I ask. The actual day we leave to 
 your convenience and she is prepared in all to 
 abide by your advice. But since you ask my 
 ideas, and Mr. Herbert agrees with me I place 
 them down. When I go back, which cannot be 
 long, her fancy had been to come and visit her 
 parents, and then find some work in the hos- 
 pitals to do. But I argue this, she would see me 
 oftener if she stayed this side, odd though it 
 may seem, that being her Ladyship's experience. 
 It would be by no means easy to reach Paris not 
 being an officer even, and more she is used to 
 England now. Nor I could not get leave to 
 travel along with her so little gained to my 
 thinking. I count on the fact she will be Eng- 
 lish herself by then. 1 So since in your Grace's 
 kindness you offer to keep her, I think far best, 
 and what is more her earnings would replace 
 her with her parents somewhat, that seeming to 
 be her father's line. As for short visits to them, 
 though I should like to fall in for Sophie's sake, 
 with the Sea as at present I don't like to think 
 of it. So in short that is my decision that she 
 stop. If the old people like to come across to 
 
 1 Joke.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 293 
 
 her well and good but I doubt it. French don't 
 mobilise so easy as us, used to colonies and so on. 
 Yet one thing more if your Grace will excuse 
 such length, and it is not asking too much. It 
 would be a pleasure to me and a pride if Canon 
 Oxborough would marry us. I have not got 
 over at his age facing the horrors of War. It 
 was better even than Captaining our Cricket, 
 though that was sporting truly. Would your 
 Grace and those as know him judge and refuse 
 beforehand if asuming too much in this. With 
 respectful thanks for all your goodness to her. 
 
 Yours obediently, 
 F. BLAKIE. 
 
 The Duchess to the Canon. 
 
 DEAR UNCLE LIONEL, 
 
 Do you remember Francis Blakie, one 
 summer, a Century and a century since, 156 not 
 out against the girls? Well, he is marrying one 
 of those same girls, my little French maid who 
 fell over her wickets. You might have forgotten 
 her (though pretty) but you would not him. 
 He is now a still greater man, a convalescent 
 Corporal in the Staffs, and he requests you as a 
 peculiar favour to marry him. Is there a chance
 
 294 JAMESIE 
 
 of it, at Holmer, first days of next month, or last 
 of this? Of course we should love to have you 
 there, on whatever excuse. I am sending Wick 
 to Paris for the purpose of bringing off Bess or 
 Jamesie, one or the other. Mother (his) will 
 probably be over too. Aileen is to be brides- 
 maid, in a frock full of windows. Now, Uncle, 
 can you resist? 
 
 P.S. Conor may bring off Iveagh's beau- 
 tiful French Captain too, if he is handy, and 
 resting. A blue uniform would complete my 
 little maid's romance, and I do want it to be 
 nice for her, since they have been through 
 tribulation. I don't ask you if you know M. du 
 Frettay, because all the family does, but me. 
 Conor, though he calls him a rotter, simply 
 pores over his letters, written in slangy French 
 and classic English alternately; and Ronald, 
 who looked at him once in Paris in pre-war 
 days, was seriously struck by his " form." 
 
 The Canon to the Duchess. 
 
 MY DEAR JANET, 
 
 Resist? Is it likely? Why, bless the man, 
 what does he mean by not asking me in person?
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 295 
 
 Using a woman as a cat's-paw after a show like 
 that, I had thought better of him (let him see 
 this). I will shake hands with him first, and 
 marry him second, and kiss the bride third if he 
 is not careful. Remember her? Are you aware 
 what you are saying, Janet? She caught me out. 
 Never mind, I forgive her, and her whole nation 
 as well, since this magnificent resistance. They 
 have caught the lot of us out. One of our boys, 
 to one of their girls? Why, I feel quite cheered 
 by the prospect. We only need our young 
 scoreswoman, what was her name, to be (as 
 Farrar puts it) an entire and perfect chrysolite. 
 Where (by the way) does that quotation come 
 from? If it is the Bible, Scotchwoman, don't 
 tell my parishioners I asked. 
 
 Your affectionate uncle, 
 
 LIONEL OXBOROUGH. 
 
 [Scrawled in later, and with a wearier handJ] 
 
 Du Frettay, now, I met him twice. Read 
 yours again. First, Iveagh brought him to call 
 in my working-morning, and he told me several 
 things new to me about the English Church. 
 Smart young rascal, trying to catch the old man
 
 296 JAMESIE 
 
 at every turn, but he did not. Next was at a 
 school-treat you must have heard of, which 
 turned into a fairy-tale, as things did then. Du 
 Frettay might have stood for the fairy-prince, 
 too, only the princess fell to Iveagh. Pretty 
 girls, pretty follies, Janet. Spring then, was n't 
 it? and they call this spring! Cruel, cruel. 
 " Fled is that music do I wake or sleep? " 
 
 L. O. 
 Denise to Kells. 
 
 [Evidently Kells admired this letter, see 
 later.] 
 
 MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS, 
 
 I desire with Grandmaman to thank you 
 and your Mother profondly that you invite me 
 with Jamesie to the Mariage of my compatriote 
 Mademoiselle Colmar, but Alas! Such joy I 
 am oblige to refuse. I find not easy to inter- 
 rump my Studies nor my Sadness of days, 
 though it is true my Uncle en Permission for 
 the moment enjoys your gracious Father's so- 
 ciety. Yet we see already the end of his term 
 expire with trembling. I promise him I will 
 leave no more his Mother's side. The Future is 
 dark. Thus I will see part Jamesie with desola-
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 297 
 
 tion, regret, but firmness. Must women not also 
 hold the post? 
 
 With salutation most heartfull to your sister 
 also, 
 
 I inscrite myself, 
 DENISE MONTEIL. 
 
 Gabriel du Frettay, to the Duchess. 
 
 MADAME, 
 
 The enclosed disgusting composition seems 
 to be the best my niece can improvise; but in 
 mere self-defence I must add a word to it. The 
 reference to myself I trust I need not say is pure 
 invention; my mother would not miss Denise to 
 speak of, whereas your nephew she will miss 
 regularly when the hour of his accustomed read- 
 ing comes round. It is extraordinarily kind of 
 you and characteristic of the remembered hos- 
 pitality to ask her. Had I myself the requisite 
 permission, who more willing to escort her, and 
 make the acquaintance of Wickford's Duchess, 
 of whose charm and wisdom from Iveagh I have 
 heard so much! With what eagerness would I 
 revisit the loved corners of Holmer and of 
 Hatchways, with what satisfaction would I
 
 298 JAMESIE 
 
 dislodge this trumpery Amazon from her ped- 
 estal! My countrywomen's attitude has been 
 admired, but mon Dieu! attitude is not every- 
 thing. It is towards yours one looks for acts, it 
 is still you who possess the signal martyr. . . . 
 Wickford's family, his daughter also, I fain 
 would see: see alone, for I am afraid of chil- 
 dren. Jamesie's English beauty, sane and 
 straight, has been the solace of this my short 
 breathing-interlude from the senseless indecency 
 of our life beyond. I fear my pen, like my 
 tongue, halts in English nowadays. Excuse me, 
 hein? 
 
 Yours obliged and devoted, 
 
 G. DU FRETTAY. 
 
 [So the " sadness of aays " creeps into every- 
 thing, even his careless gallantry. But the fol- 
 lowing is free from it.] 
 
 Document, indescribable. 
 
 To DEAR FRANCIS AND SOPHIE (illuminated). 
 Congratulations from the Suir family. 
 
 I can trust Jim to make remarks for me. 
 Good luck to you, Blakie. 
 
 I. S.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 299 
 
 We are sorry, Sophie, for its rather def raichie 
 condition. 
 
 E. S. 
 
 It had to go to the Front and Father kept it. 
 I painted the dear Francis and Mother painted 
 the Sophie. She made Lilies and Roses, and I 
 made the Flags. M. Gabriel wanted to help, 
 but we did n't let him. He is sending his Photo- 
 graph. We have simply Dozens too in case of 
 the Police. Father says Perhaps I may come 
 he will see about it Francis. So au Revoir Mes- 
 dames and Gentlemen, vive la Patrie! 
 
 N.B. I would have put Debout les Morts 
 and On les Aura, 1 but Mother would n't let me. 
 JAMES CONNELLAN SUIR. 
 
 [I pause, says Herbert, because I doubt my 
 courage as documentary. Would not that serve 
 well enough, as the end of our romance? How- 
 ever, I sort the remainder, since du Frettay 
 urges me.] 
 
 1 Parisian catchwords of the period.
 
 300 JAMESIE 
 
 Controversy, Kells and Jamesie; which must 
 have occurred quite early in this section, to 
 judge by the date of Bess's letter attached. 
 It 'was this letter, given me by Kells' nurse, 
 'which spurred me to hunt up the corre- 
 spondence. Jamesie begins: 
 
 I was talking to Sandwich * once, and Sand- 
 wich said, just supposing we had lots of lives. 
 And just supposing you died in this one, and 
 woke up and found yourself a German, what 
 would you do? Would n't it be horrible? Be- 
 cause you would think about the Belgians and 
 Miss Cavell and the Lusitania and the tumble- 
 down Churches and Gassing and Liquid Fire 
 and heaps of things. Well! I couldn't say 
 much. Its only to be hoped we wont, I said, so 
 longs we 're English. So Sandwich said 
 further, 2 Yes. Only we have to be decent Eng- 
 lish here and now not just go one better than 
 the Germans. So I told Francis what he said 
 and F. B. said it was a bit of All-Right! (It 
 was Mother realy.) That's all that happened 
 that time. 
 
 J. C. S. 
 
 1 The serious Fitzmacloshlie, who preeched. 
 
 1 Sandwich always "says further," while Badger's style is brief.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 301 
 
 Kelts magnificent. 
 
 I don't think you 'd better mix the Fitzma- 
 closhlies, who are Old Pretending, with serous 
 things. Theres only one thing, according to us, 1 
 you could do if you found yourself a Boche, as 
 per contra your letter, that would be to shoot 
 yourself with your Enfield and be found by 
 your orderly in the morning, dead. Then it 
 would be seen to be something like Roman His- 
 tory, and the corspondent coming by would 
 make a story or perhaps a Despatch about it, 
 when it was known who you were. 2 
 
 Yours, K. 
 
 [Jamesie dreamed about this, which demon- 
 strated, I cannot but think, the Duke's son's 
 Irish blood.] 
 
 No but look Here [he started fresh] Sand- 
 wich, who is awfully like Mother in what he 
 thinks at times, said further, this. If you woke 
 up a German, you would be proud of been a 
 German, every bit as proud as Lady I. and Cor- 
 poral F. B. to be English (because Sandwich 
 knows them) or Private T. G. to be Irish, or 
 M. le Cap. du F. to be French, or Miss T. A. at 
 
 1 The Clan Crawford. * Kells.
 
 302 JAMESIE 
 
 Salonika to be Stars and Stripes. (That was a 
 kind of joke for Sandwich, because he makes 
 them like Uncle Lionel not very f uny but People 
 laugf.) Well! I said I 'd tell my Cousins but 
 he must n't be suprised if you were different. 
 Because such is Life! Mother modeled in snow 
 on the balcony a White Rabbit sitting up. You 
 simply cant think how heavenly it was till its 
 Ears went because I kissed them too hard. 
 
 J. C. SuiR. 
 
 I simply can't help it about the Fitzmaclosh- 
 lies [added Jamesie artlessly in a postscript] 
 they are always saying things and I have to 
 listen I hear them different voices. Father 
 asked how Badger was the other day. Hows 
 Badger he put. Because he knew he had been 
 Wounded rather Bravely never mind. 
 
 J. C. S. 
 
 I Ve given up kissing rabbits [Kells went off 
 at a tangent] and girls except my Silkworms 
 occasionally. I explaned to Aileen. And I 
 wont have Biscuit kissed by her now he 's my 
 Charger, anyhow I don't believe he likes it 
 really. She must do without us both. I only 
 might perhaps her, like Uncle Ronald does
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 303 
 
 Mother, when I 'm home on Leave. And even 
 then its more Mother Ive noticed. Its quite 
 easy to let her and not to, I have tried. 
 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 KELLS. 
 
 P.S. Aileen 1 wants to know how Badger 
 was wounded. 
 
 Lady Iveagh to Kelts. 
 
 Dear, do you mind my answering? Jamesie 
 did not even read it. Partly he was at St. Ger- 
 main, and partly I did not want him to when 
 he came back. I looked into your envelope to 
 get news. I don't want him to follow your ex- 
 ample, and pretend to kiss his mother, letting 
 her do it. I have known men go through life 
 letting women do the loving and the slaving, but 
 they are men who make England no better. 
 Perhaps they treat England their Mother in the 
 same way, taking all and paying nothing, or 
 paying with pretence. As for their own special 
 Mother no! Kiss her, will you, for me to- 
 night? 
 
 Love from us, yours, 
 
 E. S. 
 * ?
 
 304 JAMESIE 
 
 ' 
 Nurse to her recovered sister at Salonika. 
 
 I grant Lady Iveagh has got in with Kells 
 where I could not. I grant it freely. She got 
 him on his own ground, Patriotism, and there I 
 never thought of it. He hid the letter and pre- 
 tended it was nothing, but he was excited all 
 day, and at night I found him in a state. 1 It is 
 nerves I know well enough, half his scenes are 
 that. I am fearful always with such natures. 
 Making out to disdain me and' his mother too, yet 
 he will never have the strength to do long with- 
 out someone. I soon had it, 2 putting his 
 mother and England together for him, I call it 
 genius. And the Lamb he can be when he likes, 
 so simple, and that 's the real child, I tell every- 
 body. I fetched his Mother finally, having 
 asked him. You could see her relieved as much, 
 poor woman, she has cares enough. She talked 
 to him some time. She and Jamesie's between 
 them have settled my fears for some time to 
 come. I can only pray to be allowed to carry 
 it on. ... 
 
 [And when the Scotch nurse said Prayer, she 
 meant it. She spent much upon Kells. 
 
 1 Crying. 2 Kells' confidence.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 305 
 
 I pass on. Shere was smashed up in the first 
 week of March.] 
 
 Joyce to Jeannette. 
 
 I have an idea of crossing to Paris presently, 
 to look about me, so warn Mad in case she seizes 
 the occasion to clear out to Salonika, and leave 
 me her car. I have several reasons for coming. 
 One is the secret service, since Reuss gave me 
 some messages once which till this minute I had 
 forgotten. And though I have no special desire 
 to oblige a Boche, senile and sentimental always, 
 overfed then, but thin as I hope by this time, 
 still it might be rather alluring tracking his 
 acquaintance down. They are probably cele- 
 brated people; also if I managed well, I might 
 be taken for a spy. I should rather fancy my- 
 self as a German Jewess, because I have known 
 some fairly handsome ones. Another reason is 
 that unadulterated English Tommies make one 
 bilious. A taste for hymn-singing, and shar- 
 ing the hymn-book with her, is at the root of 
 all their characters. I don't wonder the Conti- 
 nent calls us uprighteous hypocrites the least; 
 because you can't be uprighteous, being a man, 
 without being a hypocrite, can you? Except
 
 306 JAMESIE 
 
 over your side, 1 where they go one better still. 
 No, France is the land for me. I have thought 
 so ever since this time last week, when I hap- 
 pened to see the photo of that young aviator 
 Maddie mentioned, the one that knows Bess 
 Suir. I now understand from Wick that he has 
 long been dying to know me impersonally. 
 He told Iveagh so, and Iveagh never informed 
 me, little rat. ... I never yet conducted an 
 impersonal interview, any more than in the old 
 days I could ever manage when the Captain 2 
 suggested I should make an impersonal appeal. 
 It always grew personal at once, as soon as I 
 caught the eye of the man in the street. Bless 
 him, and how he came after me, gaping, O 
 the dear old days! 
 
 My last reason of all is Linda, who will cer- 
 tainly, if this goes on, make an all-fired ass of 
 herself over Shere. From the minute she heard 
 Jack was broken up, and would never be any 
 good again, her one squirrel-in-a-cage idea has 
 been to chuck all, arid join on to him. She may 
 or may not poison Reginald first. The bother 
 is, Reggie is frightfully sorry for her, oh 
 Lord, the idiotic situation it is, can women 
 
 1 America. 2 Feminist camp.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 307 
 
 never see things straight for an instant? What 
 will she gain by making a fool of herself over a 
 dying man, who does n't want her, so I have 
 had a set of the usual scenes with her, when all 
 I want is to get in a corner and cry about Jack. 
 What are the men all doing, getting knocked 
 about? It is spoiling everything, and I fail to 
 see the sense of it, anyhow just as I did. The 
 colour has gone out of it, and the style, proof, 
 I have to chuck up things rather, and go to 
 Wickford about it, since he has got some decency 
 and common-sense. Monk has n't either. . . . 
 When it comes to a pass like this, you must have 
 men, confound it. And a kind that see with you, 
 as that lot do, without fussing and climbing on 
 pedestals, and raking up the past. I wish he had 
 a little more finesse and originality, that 's all, 
 he always strikes me as rather a second-best. 
 And yet I do loathe a touch-me-if-you-venture, 
 this-style-and-no-other man, I suppose I may 
 be hard to satisfy. Wickford is recalled, or has 
 recalled himself, about this Irish ferment, which 
 is worse than appears (Janet told me privately) 
 . . . look out how you use my facts; and that 
 is why he offered to bring over Mad's protege, 
 the kiddy Suir. I shall pin him if I possibly
 
 308 JAMESIE 
 
 can for an interview : he will be in demand, but 
 he may have time for me. I hope he does not go 
 on to Ireland instantly, bother politics, what 
 do they matter compared with a question like 
 this? Think of Jack as he was, and think of 
 Linda I won't say how and think of Regi- 
 nald, snivelling almost. At the worst I shall be 
 driven to go to Janet: and Janet is jealous of 
 me, and oh, she is Scottish-pie. 1 . . . Anyhow, if 
 Linda insists on crossing, she does not cross with- 
 out me. I shall be coming along with her. And 
 I ask you as a neutral, Jeanie, as a neutral in 
 the old scrap 2 and the new scrap, to cover up 
 the move. 
 
 Jeannette to Joyce. 
 
 Why, that is good, and we shall be as pleased 
 to see you both! But, my dear, she never will 
 get to him, and for two reasons. One is that he 
 cannot see anybody. Mad knows from a girl 
 in the hospital. Another is, Linda is neither 
 relative, engaged to him, nor bears his name. It 
 is not so easy for the casual female to pass the 
 guards on the serious cases. It is not like the 
 novels: now every doctor in the universe is a 
 
 1 Pious. * Joyce classifies as I do, evidently.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 309 
 
 little clay god : with a temper instead of a heart 
 attached to him, since they are driven most to 
 death. Bedside incidents, and she could hardly 
 avoid it, are barred by the faculty anyway. She 
 had much better wait, till these same little gods 
 settle about him; better, I mean, than hanging 
 about the hospital bureau, which looks badly, 
 and is useless, and would worry her life out. 
 Give her my love and Mad's, and say we will 
 keep the eye of a neutral lynx upon him, and 
 wire you regularly. Any friend could ask that, 
 I am bulletining Beatrix on the subject. Still, 
 being in England, I will address the wires to 
 you. But don't let her think for a moment we 
 should not love to have her come. 
 
 [Joyce alludes above to Ireland. Ireland lay 
 at the back, of course, of all these latter develop- 
 ments, with which the letters deal. The con- 
 stant preoccupation can be tracked in the Duke's 
 sober epistles, and it has the touch of despera- 
 tion, always, in Iveagh's. He could stand no- 
 body on the subject : unless perhaps Byrne. He 
 snubbed his brother, was rude to me, and out- 
 raged (as I understand since) Ronald Craw- 
 ford's best feelings. As for Tim, to Francis, 
 that scape-grace free-lance was sardonic, or in- 
 different, until he stopped being either.]
 
 3 io JAMESIE 
 
 Iveagh, in a temper: to his wife of course. 
 
 Will you answer this, or get Wickford? I 
 suppose he has the leisure for it, fooling round 
 the theatres with you and Gabriel. He had 
 better, for if I do at length I will let myself 
 go. I do not feel as saint-like now as I did 
 when I sat in his office over there. I feel wild 
 at times. I have my reasons. She * is right 
 enough, there is no sense in the scheme of things. 
 She is right every word she says, and you can 
 tell him so. He had better preach a little to 
 her, just as it takes him, I give up. I thought 
 that man 2 would get through somehow, being 
 nothing of any particular value to them beyond. 
 What's the good of taking him? He could 
 never do even his own business properly. His 
 manners to his family were not select. It is only 
 I wanted him in the life, cheeking me, not an 
 ugly corpse. I call this a useless business. I 
 have broken my little flash-light. 
 
 I. S. 
 
 Look here let the boy write to Mary, he has 
 something of the angel left in him [added 
 Iveagh hastily]. 
 
 1 Mary Geoghan. * Tim.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 311 
 
 [Whether Jamesie did or not, I cannot say. 
 If so, it remained treasured too closely in those 
 hands " beyond " to come my way. Mary's own 
 I have, and Bess's about it. The Duke's to 
 Mary, after a pause, I discard, though kind 
 enough. It is a statement of his political faith, 
 and any reader of intelligence can guess the sort 
 of thing. I am not concerned in this collection 
 with politics, except Jamesie's. And his were 
 fitful, thank the Saints!] 
 
 Mary Geoghan, Castle Wickjord, addressed to 
 Lord Iveagh Suir. 
 
 Will your lordships darling help my poor 
 mother or else your ladyship I write to the pair 
 of you asking you of your goodness to forgive. 
 Tim is gone from us, and it is not only the 
 Money failing us nor himself who being the 
 last was close to her mind for all his pranks and 
 absense, it is the trouble of it in our present 
 Case. For has he not given his heart's blood 
 for the army that is opressing us, and why 
 would he have gone so far away to die in a foren 
 land for a foren cause when his own needed him 
 for Her delivery? Where is the sense of it that 
 speak of Belgium? All countries has their 
 wrongs and some may speak of it and call aten-
 
 312 JAMESIE 
 
 sion and others drag themselves in exile or in 
 captivation for no more an Act than kissing their 
 country's flag. Where is the reason if there is 
 anny in all of it darling, you that had the heart 
 for us this long while if the Soldiers have not 
 changed you which I pray but do not beleve. It 
 is out of the vally of Death we turn to you who 
 must remember at least our will for loyalty, that 
 has seen your ladyship our pride in him and 
 striving to beleve and trust when not too over- 
 taken as at present time. 
 
 Dutifully, 
 
 MARY GEOGHAN. 
 
 Dearest, I am sorry dreadfully [wrote Bess, 
 picking truth out of two words in her husband's 
 scrawl]. I am glad you answered her, even if it 
 was only a line or two, though his was certainly 
 very nice. He showed it me. Only all I could 
 think of was how much nicer yours would have 
 been if you had said all you wanted to. As you 
 would have, if you had been sitting saint-like 
 in the untidy office out there, and she had come 
 to you crying. That 's the worst of you, you are 
 much more afraid of paper than you are of 
 people, I told Wick, and he agreed. It is
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 313 
 
 that she wants too, poor darling, tragic she is. 
 Oh, those are the tragic people! The mothers 
 and sisters of the happy warriors, fighting with- 
 out a back-thought in a cause they are sure of, 
 are blest in comparison. ... I hope you have 
 not broken all your things, throwing them about 
 while you felt like that. Or was it only the flash- 
 light? J. is sending you another. [Lady Iveagh 
 added] Aileen will mind. 
 
 Iveagh to Aileen. 
 
 Will you write to me, darling, now Tim has 
 gone forward? I '11 never be so good a soldier, 
 but I am as good a horseman as he was. Send 
 me a line. 
 
 IVEAGH Sum. 
 
 Aileen to Iveagh not helped by anybody. 
 
 I write to you dear not to cry have all Tims 
 horses and Fathers and my I made one eting 
 Grass for Uncle Ronald I love you kisses from 
 
 AILEEN. 
 
 Iveagh to Aileen. 
 
 Thanks, that 's the ticket. Send me a picture 
 next and I will be better because my knee hurts. 
 
 IVEAGH Sum.
 
 3 i4 JAMESIE 
 
 [Fury among the Crawfords at the front. 
 Cardew writes recriminating to Wickford, and 
 Ronald solemnly appeals to Janet. He could 
 bear Suir's attitude on Ireland, says Ronald, 
 but Aileen was another thing. The picture of 
 the horse, did Janet observe, had been intended 
 for him, Ronald, it had his name on it. Now 
 Suir had got it, and said it was a very good 
 horse, and would not give it up. It was not as 
 though he could really ride, wrote Ronald, with 
 his knee in its present condition, unless, of 
 course, he had exchanged from the cavalry on 
 false pretences. It was the usual, pestilential, 
 Suir Swank with girls that Janet knew about. 
 ..." I do, dear," said Janet] 
 
 Kells to Jamesie. 
 
 Well of all Side! Heres Aileen made up a 
 song now about writing to Uncle I. and nobody 
 else but her being alowed to. I like that. I 
 told her I would here and now if I happened to 
 have to about anything special like for instance 
 Biscuit's cough. He did have one the other day 
 when he had been eating bullrushes. And now 
 of course I can't ask Tim. So I just send this bit 
 to put along with yours, or not if he is waxy, be- 
 cause then I can tell the child its gone. Lettice
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 315 
 
 says Green says Mother told Grandmother he is 
 in a Precious Wax about your coming with 
 Father when he is n't alowed to. Well of course 
 Father is first in Requirment considering the H. 
 of Lords. Were as I should say the Aviation is 
 more useful where it is. I only mention this to 
 you, you need n't show him, besides he probably 
 knows it which is why he Grouses. I hope you 
 will come I say no rotting because its about time. 
 Theres my Birthday too though no one seems 
 to think of it. That French kid writes decent 
 letters. Say we 're sorry and all that because 
 I Ve no time 1 for writing French. 
 
 Yrs etc., etc., 
 KELLS, K.C.B. 
 
 [It was about the 8th or 9th Wickford came 
 over, his knowledge being, as his son said, " in 
 requirement " at headquarters. He looked wor- 
 ried a bit as was natural, otherwise superbly 
 well. He had acquired something of the snap- 
 pish manner of the high command, which strove 
 with the Irish current of his customary speech 
 rather amusingly. I lunched with him at his 
 Pall Mall Club, now in exile like most of 
 them, and I took Corporal Blakie, who was 
 of course presentable anywhere. It had been 
 
 1 ?
 
 316 JAMESIE 
 
 one of my particular and private designs to get 
 the Suirs and Francis into contact. So far, they 
 linked together by their womenkind only; ex- 
 cept officially, as it were, on the cricket-field, 
 they had never met. The trouble was, Wick- 
 ford was the Suir who constantly came over; 
 and he, though he recognised Francis's claim 
 politely, was a Duke.] 
 
 " Have you got Jamesie? " I started naturally. 
 
 " I have," said Wickford. " How are you, 
 Blakie? Nobody else, I am afraid, Herbert." 
 
 I said I did not expect her, mendaciously. 
 
 " Jim," said the Duke to both of us, " is 
 planted at Holmer with my lot, till my mother 
 goes back. Whether or no inclusive of the wed- 
 ding." He shifted his eyes. " Sorry, Blakie." 
 
 " Don't mention it, your Grace," said Francis 
 gravely. " I hope Lord Iveagh is well." 
 
 " Well, that 's it, he is not specially. It 
 might be this business beyond, affecting him. 
 He 's been harrying all and sundry, a fair bit." 
 He glanced at me. " Iveagh 's grousing, I 
 can't make him out. He might not have liked 
 letting me have the infant, wantin' his skilled 
 supervision to see things nice enough. What 's 
 the joke?"
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 317 
 
 " Is n't the divinity hedging a duke enough 
 for him?" 
 
 " It is, just," said Wickford. " Only just. I 
 told him his best hope was to have another, then 
 he need n't be so inordinately vain of this one." 
 His eye moved to the wounded. " Are ye not 
 sitting down? " 
 
 We did so, for a moment or two. It was nice 
 to be talking to a Suir again ; one gets to the roots 
 of things with them so quickly, dukes or other- 
 wise. I found I could ask immediately what I 
 most desired to know. 
 
 " Is he vexed with Bess? " 
 
 " No, no : Bess has her business. He sent her 
 word by me she could stay." 
 
 " Perhaps he hoped, nevertheless, you would 
 persuade her." 
 
 Wickford looked at me surprised. " Janet 
 said that. What has got you both? Why 
 would n't the boy tell me so, if he wished it? 
 None would have been readier than I to per- 
 suade her. You don't doubt that? " as we 
 laughed. 
 
 " No. It 's a pity Janet was n't there, that 's 
 all. She might have ventured to overrule him." 
 
 Wickford owned she might.
 
 3i8 JAMESIE 
 
 "Why did Blakie smile at me?" he de- 
 manded, across the luncheon-table, when he had 
 done the nice thing by Francis, and Francis had 
 gone. 
 
 " He 's a bridegroom : you must excuse him." 
 
 " Come off, why did he? " said Wickford. 
 The pair have an easy trick of interrogatory, 
 casual as it were, that gets you before you know. 
 I told him. 
 
 " I daresay he was reminded, as I was, of a 
 former conversation. Something he had heard 
 about you." 
 
 " About me? Blakie had heard? " 
 
 " Yes. Not at all to your discredit. Only 
 that you were in Iveagh's hands. Under his 
 thumb, was the expression." 
 
 The Duke took it easy. " Oh well, I may be. 
 She is not." 
 
 " She is more so, if you mean Janet. Only 
 she is not allowed to know it. That 's his art." 
 
 " Is it indeed? " Wickford considered, in the 
 interludes of carving duck. " That was a 
 woman said it," he next observed. "Was it 
 Joyce?" 
 
 " Oh, well done." I congratulated. " Joyce 
 it was. Whatever made you think of her? "
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 319 
 
 " Why should n't I think of her? She is not 
 easily left out. As a matter of fact, I got a letter 
 from her this morning. Do you mean she dis- 
 cussed my brother with Blakie? " 
 
 " I am afraid so. Discussing is hardly the 
 term for it, either. She dismissed your brother's 
 character." 
 
 " Public character? That is Steenie." 
 
 " Private as well." Interval. Wick's bird 
 engrossed him, to the exclusion of Iveagh, and 
 all else. 
 
 " Was this the musical occasion? " he next 
 asked. 
 
 " That 's it. What a lot you know. After the 
 Kreutzer, in the garden. She let fly at him 
 finally, Francis said: I suppose, for Francis's 
 benefit." 
 
 " I like that idea, discussing him for the ben- 
 efit of Blakie," said Wickford, disapproving. 
 He settled to the duck, and dropped the 
 Duke. " It 's a mania the girl has. She did so 
 with Shere. It appears now, my brother took 
 her by the scruff once, in the course of conversa- 
 tion. Just shook her and left her, no more, 
 only now it is clear to himself he should have 
 avoided it. He ought to have steered clear be-
 
 320 JAMESIE 
 
 tween that course and kissin' her, so he informed 
 me, indeed it is obvious, because she en- 
 joyed it nearly as much. As a second-best the 
 sensation was agreeable. She cannot forget the 
 remembrance of it. That," finished Wickford, 
 " would be Joyce's kind." 
 
 " Thank you," I said. Really, one got on, 
 with Wickford. " Well, Iveagh has done for 
 himself." 
 
 " I feared so," said Wickford, sympathetic. 
 " Is she in love with him? " 
 
 " I said he had done for himself, Wickford. 
 I told you she took away every rag of his char- 
 acter, did I not? " 
 
 " She might think him better without it." 
 The Duke's mouth gave a little twitch. " So he 
 would be I should n't wonder. She 's a girl of 
 taste." 
 
 " I believe you both admire her," I observed. 
 
 "We do," said Wickford. "And what is 
 more, it is rather tempting to a man a man of 
 Iveagh's sort to take her up. It would need 
 some attention, but it is tempting. It would be 
 worth it. I mention this between ourselves." 
 
 " Is he in love with her? " I chaffed. 
 
 " He is not, more pity for the girl," said
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 321 
 
 Wickford. " But he would like to see her 
 sensibly settled. We both would, the way 
 she goes frisking about beyond the pale." 
 
 " The paling," I substituted. " Are you quite 
 sure it is a biped we are discussing, Duke? " 
 
 He laughed simply: but I saw his eyes. He 
 had that kind of affection for Joyce, flattering 
 really: for it meant, she impressed him first as 
 being beautiful, and wild, and young. I should 
 like to have had Iveagh's impression to lay 
 alongside, because he knew Joyce rather better; 
 but he never talked so easily. 
 
 " Did the girl get at Bess? " he inquired pres- 
 ently: chiefly, as it seemed, to make conversation 
 over the duck. He was not greatly concerned 
 about it. 
 
 * ( She pitied Bess's ignorance, knowing 
 herself so much more of men and travellers." 
 A glance. " Am I to tell you? Francis said it 
 was a good case she made out, capable. She 
 struck him as a clever girl." 
 
 " She is so," said Wickford. " And she ought 
 to be in your trade, according to my wife. She 
 has the gift for it, forensic. You never heard 
 her in the streets?" 
 
 I said I had not had the pleasure. He re-
 
 322 JAMESIE 
 
 mained concerned with Joyce, for all I could 
 do. I pushed Francis's claim. 
 
 " Blakie," I said, " seemed to hanker a little 
 to state the other side." 
 
 "What, defendin' him?" Wickford was 
 duke again. 
 
 " He said he had an inkling about it, though 
 arguments failed." Sniff from Wickford. "He 
 said as a rule a woman's attack on a man is not 
 worth listening to, but this was well-managed." 
 
 u Fascinatin' ! " Wickford looked at the ceil- 
 ing. " I suppose he reads Tit-Bits" 
 
 " Will you be quiet, Wick? He reads Shaw 
 and Bergson, among other things. He has an 
 excellent taste in literature. He listened on this 
 occasion largely in my interest, to report to me." 
 
 " That 's it. Regular scrap-heaps of scandal, 
 you advocates are. Go on." 
 
 " I shan't, if you are so unpleasant. He said 
 your brother was the right subject, to begin 
 with." 
 
 " What does he know about ? " 
 
 " He bowled along with him. Sit still. He 
 said his lordship was all there, nothing too 
 much, and nothing missing, as it might be in 
 cleverer gentlemen."
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 323 
 
 " Golly! " said Wickford, attracted. " That 
 was one for you." 
 
 " I am very much afraid it was. He said in 
 addition that do sit still, Wick, no doubt it 
 was true enough about travellers and tropical 
 climates; that you get beyond all laws there, 
 that it is common sense you do, except 
 human." 
 
 "What's he mean by human laws?" shot 
 Wickford, sitting still. 
 
 " That 's what I wondered. And human 
 laws, added Francis, there are n't any, not ac- 
 cording to Miss Joyce." 
 
 The Duke laughed. " What did you say? " 
 he asked soon. 
 
 "Well, to tell the truth, one finds it hard, 
 these days, to stick up for the existence of human 
 laws." I looked, and his eyes followed me, to 
 the casualty page of the Times. 
 
 " Shere 's wounded, by the way," he said sud- 
 denly. " That girl Linda has got a knock. . . . 
 Herbert, it is queer the man finding that to say, 
 for it 's true enough, in my brother's case. It 's 
 not a man without laws for himself, and bitter 
 ones, can come through a life such as his has 
 been, without losing by it. I grant that. Would
 
 3 2 4 JAMESIE 
 
 it be that Blakie meant by human laws, every 
 man's law for himself in horrid circumstances?" 
 
 " I gathered it would be that exactly, because 
 of the sequel. I asked Francis, did he think 
 himself, after his experience, that there were 
 human laws? " 
 
 " To be sure." Wickford fell in quickly. 
 " He has been in something hotter than tropi- 
 cal. He could judge a bit." 
 
 " Francis said, there was nothing he was surer 
 of. Did I think a War, he said, which was 
 Politics, (I should not like to convey his con- 
 tempt), can touch a question of that sort? Did 
 I think Religion could, Wickford? His Hu- 
 manity was much beyond." 
 
 " Beyond religion? " 
 
 " Before, if you will. Did I think, he said 
 finally, unless he believed in Human Law, he 
 could dare to do what he was doing next week." 
 
 " Returning to France, is it? Oh, marriage! " 
 His tone altered oddly. He had been strain- 
 ing to follow me, now he was on his own 
 ground again. 
 
 " Exactly. He is badly in love, and has been 
 for two years back. He is allowed by the 
 powers of the day to get well enough to marry
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 325 
 
 her, in order to leave her almost immediately. 
 And his first thought is to invoke human laws, 
 not kick at the military ones that are tormenting 
 him. How is that? " 
 
 " It 's about the thing," said Wickford. He 
 heaved himself up, between the courses, and 
 went to the hearth. " You know, our men are 
 like that. They put us to shame, out there, at 
 every turn, and all round the basket. Talk of 
 the turn-over, often I think our best chance is 
 to let them come uppermost. It is the best 
 chance for the future, among other things." 
 
 " Just so." I looked at his back view, which 
 is as nice as Iveagh's, perhaps more prosper- 
 ous. " Not that you are doing much harm at 
 the top, en attendant." 
 
 " Oh, come off it! I am an arrogant fool. I 
 wish I had had the sense to talk to him lately; 
 but I cannot, I have not the gumption, nor the 
 training for it. The boy does it best." He 
 waited, gathering himself for an effort really 
 across his pride. " Look here, will you tell me 
 what Blakie's feeling was you mentioned, in 
 Iveagh's favour, when Joyce set on him? I 'd 
 like to know." 
 
 61 He called it an inkling, not a feeling. I was
 
 326 JAMESIE 
 
 certain it would be the counter-charge, against 
 Joyce's character. By all the instincts of my 
 dull and dangerous calling, Wick, I thought it 
 was bound to be. But it was n't, it was 
 Jamesie." 
 
 " I was wondering if it would n't be," said 
 Wickford gently. " Oh, Lord! " 
 
 A solution by Jamesie. 
 
 I had been reading [wrote Jamesie to me out 
 of the blue] lots in the Library about the Irish 
 Kings. They were good Kings. In those times 
 we could read properly, in Grandfather's Li- 
 brary, heavenly smelling. I loved that Place. 
 I think it would be right to have a King there, 
 friends with King George, like Uncle Wick. 
 But perhaps the Horseless Earl 1 would be bet- 
 ter, because he knows Judgement 2 and Religion. 
 This is a Public letter from Paris (last) because 
 I have Uncle Wick's Army Pen. 
 
 J. C. S. 
 
 1 Byrne. * Justice?
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 327 
 
 Feuilleton, by Jamesie: reported by Bess and du 
 Frettay in collaboration, and brought over 
 to show us by Wickford. It occurred in 
 Madame du Fret fay's drawing-room. 
 
 JAMESIE. " Once, when Badger Fitzma- 
 closhlie met a lady on the front called An- 
 gele-" 
 
 MADAME (shocked). "My child, there are 
 no ladies on the front." 
 
 GABRIEL. " Above all, not called Angele." 
 
 JEANNETTE. " She is invariably a femme-de- 
 chambre in a first-class boarding-house." 
 
 JAMESIE. "Well, when he met her, and 
 meant to marry her, he found he could n't, pos- 
 subly. Why do you think? " 
 
 GABRIEL. " Because he had a rendez-vous." 
 
 MADELEINE. " Because he was married al- 
 ready." 
 
 JAMESIE (beaming). "Yes/ Only he had 
 forgotten about it, why do you think? Because 
 he had a little, weeshy bit of obus in his brain." 
 
 GABRIEL (to his mother). " All is well. He 
 met her on the front, but in a hospital." 
 
 MADELEINE. " Luckily he remembered in 
 time, Jamesie. Was it the doctor helped 
 him?"
 
 328 JAMESIE 
 
 JAMESIE. " Yes, getting it out. The very 
 minute it was out, he es-plained to Angele " 
 
 BESS. " In French, I hope." 
 
 MADELEINE. " He would have to get over 
 the ether." 
 
 JAMESIE. " Yes, he did. He got over it very 
 well." 
 
 GABRIEL. " And out of it" 
 
 BESS. " Is that all about Badger, Jamesie? " 
 
 JAMESIE. " Not quite. Because he went 
 home to Blighty, as you 'd es-pect. And he saw 
 in London the person he was really married 
 to " 
 
 JEANNETTE. " What was her name? " 
 
 MADELEINE. " Lady Badger, of course. Go 
 on, Jamesie." 
 
 JAMESIE. " And so, he told her. And so she 
 she thought it better to write to Angele." 
 
 GABRIEL. " Evidemment, espece d'episto- 
 laire." 
 
 MADELEINE. " Public? " 
 
 JAMESIE. " Rather public." 
 
 GABRIEL. " Diplomatic, hein? What did 
 she say? " 
 
 JAMESIE. " Oh well, there is n't much to say 
 about such things, is there, Mother? She
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 329 
 
 said she just said ' Mademoiselle, que 
 voulez-vous? c'est la guerre." 
 
 [Jamesie, I think I may say looking back, was 
 completely happy at Holmer. The " scrap " 
 that occurred there, inevitably, concerning him, 
 was over his head.] 
 
 Gabriel du Frettay to Herbert our first 
 exchange. 
 
 Will you excuse, Monsieur, my addressing 
 you without other preliminaries in these par- 
 ticular times? You will be very kind to reas- 
 sure me by a word that Suir's son is well. He 
 is in the strangest fever, and will display it to 
 nobody, unless by hints and outbreaks probably 
 unconcerned with his preoccupation. I never, 
 personally, thought him strong enough to do 
 this wearing work. He is sleepless also from 
 that crock-knee he had which has never cured 
 completely owing to his culpable impatience to 
 disregard it, which adds to his nervousness. 
 I do not attempt Wickford, whose fuss about 
 nothing is familiar to me: I do not appeal to 
 the little Duchess, because I do not know her, 
 though perchance you might. I do not ap- 
 proach the mother of Suir for a multitude of
 
 330 JAMESIE 
 
 reasons, each better than the last, though it is a 
 matter, to my French taste, in which the mother's 
 word would serve peculiarly. Nothing would 
 induce me to disturb his wife. Get my friend 
 Jamesie to write to him would be the simplest, 
 for on his own part he refuses to write. He does 
 not write to me till I have bombarded him to 
 the verge of insult, which was useful. But I 
 offer the word of a friend that he is wretched ; 
 and (may I add in a safe quarter) any mental 
 distraction, for our actual calling, ought not to 
 be. ... 
 
 Herbert to du Frettay. 
 
 DEAR DU FRETTAY, 
 
 I have heard much of you, so shall not 
 apologise further for the unconvention. I gath- 
 ered from Wickford his brother was out of 
 temper, which is nothing novel. It is Ireland 
 probably, since he has a rooted conviction, never 
 of course expressed, that if left to himself he 
 could govern that country. I will not tell Wick- 
 ford your opinion, nor Janet, for a reason 
 you will scoff at. She believes in " second 
 sight." What is more, I have heard her assert 
 that her brother-in-law has the faculty, almost
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 331 
 
 to the degree of her own Highland mother, who 
 is remarkable. Thus in these times we cannot 
 afford the work that would be made of it. To 
 shut one's eyes and prophesy evil is a safe spec, 
 nowadays, and hardly worth giving money for. 
 Anyone with the faintest sibylline capacity, 
 ought as a matter of course to be off their heads. 
 Jamesie is well, bonny, and eats like a Trojan. 
 His knees are both there, being black when I 
 saw them with scouting in the shrubbery, or 
 acting as a warhorse to carry Aileen, or both. 
 He had sent a postcard without prompting to 
 his father, and I gave him another to send to- 
 morrow. He " really-and-truly " has no time 
 for letters. He is perfectly resigned to coming 
 back when they want him, wedding or no. 
 Iveagh is a little ass. I wondered too that the 
 boards passed him, and twice over. His own 
 doctor would never have done so, as I happened 
 to know. Only he looks smart and slick, and 
 has that traveller's knack of passing muster 
 (they have to learn it) which would carry him 
 into Hell if he chanced to turn curious as to 
 the parasites there. The only place it will never 
 take him to is Heaven, his friend Byrne agrees 
 with me. Do not for your life let him know I
 
 332 JAMESIE 
 
 wrote you about him, he and I are forever on 
 the verge of duelling as it is. Excuse haste in 
 this. 
 
 Yours, 
 ST. J. HERBERT. 
 
 [Du Frettay to Bess's aunt is missing.] 
 
 Bess's aunt to her postcard. 
 
 What is it, my dear child? G. seems anxious. 
 Is your husband vexed? The child is perfect, 
 needing nobody, creating joy for himself and 
 others, es-ploring with Kells and Kaffir l down 
 in the Hatchways wood. 
 
 Bess to her aunt. 
 
 It is nothing but that I am a Fool, and he un- 
 selfish utterly. He hoped I would go with J., 
 longed for it, I know too late; I ought to have 
 guessed that he would not say. I might have 
 known he would never force my conscience, nor 
 let Wick cajole me, when he would not. In- 
 stead, he cleared all round me, as he used to do 
 in the forest, snicking off the snaky creepers, 
 and he left me free. And I thought of my silly 
 
 1 Iveagh's dog.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 333 
 
 soldiers, and I did not think of him, one proper 
 minute, or set myself to imagine, through Wick's 
 description of his nasty sulks, what he must have 
 wanted. As if I don't know them. 1 ... Of 
 course if I had seen him, for one second if 
 he had come, touched me, it is the curse of 
 reports and writing we are condemned to live 
 on now! We are not made for it, he and I, we 
 can't manage, St. John and suchlike 2 had 
 better give us up. It is not Wick's joking about 
 him, or his careful little notes, careful and 
 creeping, on padded paws, going about me with 
 a longside look to make me comfortable that 
 I want, Ernestine. It is his self oh, I am 
 dreadful. Sometimes I think Janet is right, 
 after all, I only love Jamesie through him. . . . 
 
 [Perhaps I had better remark, lest Lady 
 Iveagh's images startle the unwary, that she 
 was, as artist, a passionate student and devotee 
 of the cat-tribe. Personally, I loathe the crea- 
 tures. Nor, I will say for him, is Suir the least 
 like one. He, and Jamesie too, are much more 
 like (say) a reclaimed jackal, or a decent sort 
 of dog. But I venture to guess it was intended, 
 in Bess's letter concerning him, for a compli- 
 ment] 
 
 1 The sulks. 2 Oh, Bess!
 
 334 JAMESIE 
 
 Iveagh to the Duke extract. 
 
 When I said a fortnight I meant a couple of 
 weeks, and I supposed Mother did too. She 
 dropped remarks my way about " military ex- 
 actitude." I am also on to that. Jim's leave is 
 up the twenty-second, which date his mother 
 wants him. Colonel - - at Boulogne may not 
 want Mother as much, I can't say. She wants 
 to stretch a point for Kells' birthday, is n't it? 
 I have no doubt so does Jim. Only he will do 
 what his mother tells him, and no other, see he 
 is warned. The wedding we cannot manage 
 anyhow, tell Blakie. . . . All Bess asks is to 
 know where and when Mother gets off with the 
 boy, so she can meet and pick him up. I have no 
 objection to Mother welshing him across to 
 Boulogne on his Majesty's service, or for the 
 glory of God, or whatever else she is engaged 
 on, especially as in those cases I would n't have 
 to pay. But if she lowers herself to the level of 
 
 the common crowd, and gets into , I had 
 
 better know. Not even she can alter the geog- 
 raphy-books, nor patch up the train-service be- 
 tween the ports. I am tired considering it. Let 
 Mother make her own arrangements. ...
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 335 
 
 The Dowager Duchess to Sir George Trench- 
 ard now in East Africa. 
 
 Iveagh is extraordinary. His vanity and self- 
 sufficiency, used as his brother is to him, really 
 weary Wickford out. Now I leave you to judge, 
 George. . . . Wickford brought the child over 
 (James) who is really quite a sensible child, 
 and more docile than anyone would expect of his 
 parentage. He is not the least afraid of Lionel, 
 and often comes of his own accord and talks to 
 me. . . . Well, it was arranged he should go 
 back to France when I did: and instantly, 
 Iveagh chose to make a fuss about it; merely 
 because I have, on mature consideration, 
 changed my date. Poor little Kells put in a plea 
 for his birthday, and since his birthday deserves 
 at least as much attention as the nuptials of the 
 ladies' maid, I decided to stretch my own holi- 
 day to include it, merely a few days. I sig- 
 nified as much to Colonel at Boulogne, and 
 
 to Elizabeth in Paris, who was making her ar- 
 rangements to meet James at the port. She 
 merely has to adapt her plan to mine. Iveagh, 
 apparently, flew out, and sent his brother the 
 strangest letter, simply bullying in tone. How 
 Wickford bears it I cannot see. I had not been
 
 336 JAMESIE 
 
 intended, of course, to see this document: but 
 owing to rather a fortunate accident, I did. 
 Miss Kitchin, the superannuated female typist, 
 is down here, supposed also to be holiday-mak- 
 ing, owing to an attack of so-called neuritis in 
 her hand. Being an old fuss, she makes a point 
 of sorting Wickford's post for him every morn- 
 ing. What happened was he left her this one of 
 Iveagh's to hand on to Janet, " the Duchess," 
 he said. Kitchin gave it me. Then she began 
 floundering, of course, in apologies to every- 
 body. I stopped her off. I told her not to dis- 
 turb herself, for it was just as well I should know 
 my sons' views. I did. Iveagh's wording was 
 highly characteristic, I need say no more. It 
 was both disrespectful, and profane. Lionel 
 was really shocked, when I told him. He wrote, 
 I am glad to say, at once, I carefully re- 
 frained. Shortly after, Iveagh sent back what I 
 suppose he meant for an apology to me. . . . 
 
 Canon Oxborough to Iveagh. 
 
 MY DEAR BOY, 
 
 Are you well-advised to write to your 
 Mother, as I understand you did in your last? 
 It is not to be supposed you do not trust her.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 337 
 
 Have you forgotten for how many years of your 
 own youth she escorted you and Wickford (al- 
 ways an important person) safely across the 
 Irish sea? You are nervous and fretful, your 
 brother says out of sorts. Now listen : I myself 
 am accompanying Gertrude to Boulogne, since 
 I want to have a look at my poor boys * again, 
 and she invites me. I fit it in before the wed- 
 ding, at which I officiate. Will you accept me, 
 for Jamesie, and perchance apologise to her? 
 
 Iveagh to his mother, unusually 'well written. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, 
 
 That is all settled then, he comes along with 
 you and Uncle Lionel. It was only his travel- 
 ling alone I did not like to think of. You would 
 not have let Wickford at that age. 
 
 The Dowager to Sir George Trenchard, post- 
 script to the letter quoted before. 
 
 James is going on with the Pennant girls 
 finally. Lionel is far from well, and I shall not 
 stir till I see him better, nor allow him to travel 
 at all. It is lucky this pair of girls going, since 
 
 1 Soldiers.
 
 33 8 JAMESIE 
 
 the child knows them, and since (between our- 
 selves) I should not care to have Elizabeth wait- 
 ing about in a foreign port. She will only have 
 
 to come round to instead. I have wired to 
 
 Colonel at Boulogne to see that she has no 
 
 trouble about it. This, George, may be the last 
 from me for some time. . . . 
 
 Jamesie's postcards from Holmer. 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 Oh this is a Heavenly old place. It 's dif- 
 ferent from France here. There is a new 
 Groom, polite, with clean hands. Aileen says 
 the horses like him so it seems all right. I wish 
 you were here to jump me on Gypsy, but can I 
 with Him? I wrote a Public letter to Mr. H. 
 from Paris sudenly. Oh was n't that a waste of 
 
 stamps! ! 
 
 J. C. S. 
 
 DEAR FATHER, 
 
 This is No. 2 Mr. H. gave me. I write 
 Round and Round it just for a change. We are 
 all well except the Baby who rather squeels. 
 Nurse says its his Tooth. Uncle W. says he 's 
 like you. Well! I think I am because Mr.
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 339 
 
 Transome * said so. He has not gone to the 
 War such Lots to do. I saw your uniform in his 
 book he showed me. Can you read this weeshy 
 finishing? 
 
 Your loving J. 
 
 DEAR MOTHER, 
 
 They are both here. It doesnt matter now 
 on a post card does it? I heard his Bans in 
 church to-day, 3rd Time of Asking which is 
 Last oh Mother! Don't you think the Preacher 
 must be glad to feeling him so brave? It was 
 here you know he played Cricket and Uncle 
 Lionel knows him 2 and besides all the men and 
 Pelham who were looking know. So it is n't 
 like a common Wedding, is it? Goodnight, 
 darling Mother. . . . 
 
 [Not quite like a Common Wedding, Jamesie, 
 with such love behind it : but it took place with- 
 out you. 
 
 Shere (I hurry to close) died before Linda 
 ever reached him. His was not a " belle mort," 
 like Steenie's, far from it: though no doubt the 
 " little clay gods," his doctors, did their best. 
 Nothing, in those stilted mansions of science, in 
 those stinking amphitheatres of surgery, can be 
 
 1 Wickford's tailor. * The Preacher.
 
 340 JAMESIE 
 
 " fine " in that French sense. It was drawn out, 
 most undramatically; but the tears, when the 
 end came, were neither few nor difficult for 
 Jack. 
 
 Linda made a rush for it, reckless of every- 
 thing, wild at the news he could not wait for 
 her; but she never accomplished even that stage 
 of honest feeling, fate came first. 
 
 Joyce followed, close up to her, " covering 
 the move" in her careless language; that is to 
 say, on the top of a woman's courage, so much 
 of which is frittered in saving faces, where faces 
 had far better not be saved. Linda's was lost, 
 of course, irrevocably; still, it is singular, sig- 
 nificant to me, that in the most selfless act of 
 Joyce's life, she should have been just concerned 
 in doing that. She kept, for all her splendour 
 and her self-assertion, the woman's fragile out- 
 look, poor little Joyce. 
 
 Jamesie I cannot do it, it breaks me 
 Jamesie went down with them in mid-Channel, 
 with his mother waiting at the port beyond: 
 with an hour or two's journey between him and 
 safety, a long life-time of safety, surely promised 
 him in her arms. 
 
 Wait! Why this outcry upon me? Jamesie 
 was not singular. Hundreds, thousands of chil- 
 dren, no less than he in life and promise, in 
 worth and preciousness, have been so choked of 
 late uncomplaining, uncomprehending the thing
 
 THE MEETING-GROUND 341 
 
 that grasped them, these unutterable years. 
 Stand back from our tragedy then, and keep 
 your breath for other oracles, who, if you im- 
 plore them properly, may answer in time. 
 
 What had Jamesie to do with the fiend in- 
 carnate that killed him, the slashing, grasping, 
 cowardly fiend that spreads nets and mines upon 
 the Eternity's open seas? / do not mean Ger- 
 many, Germany is not what we are making for. 
 Or rather, and fearless of an ungenerous re- 
 sponse, I put to our Enemy here and now this 
 question. . . .]
 
 APPENDIX
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 HERBERT went forth to the slaughter himself, before 
 he had time to collect the final letters, order the 
 former ones, or to revise the fragment given above. 
 He left me, du Frettay, on the French side (in both 
 senses) to finish the recital, and offer to the world 
 of Jamesie such letters as were not too sacred, 
 they are rather hard to find. 
 
 That I cannot speak of it at length will be ex- 
 cused, for I was through it, at my friends' side. I 
 witnessed that long agony, a night and a day. Even 
 as my own mother's had been, which once she con- 
 soled, that agony was uncertainty, blank uncer- 
 tainty as to their son's fate. For six-and-thirty 
 hours, we three in concert, on either side the water, 
 could not discover whether the lost child were 
 Jamesie or no. They thought he might appear 
 again to them, their angel, wet but radiant. . . . 
 
 The rescued passengers, rejoiced to be quit of the 
 damaged boat, lied, inflated, dribbled invention, as 
 always occurs; never does the fundamental silliness 
 of humanity overpower one, as on these occasions. 
 What could such ape-like existences import the 
 world, in any case, prolonged or otherwise? Added 
 to this, others of the lost returned, one witnessed 
 meetings. Suir's name is easily misprinted, he told 
 me, and easily misheard. Children, such as his was,
 
 346 JAMESIE 
 
 do without their second name. Walking the slopes 
 of earth, the morning slopes, one is very sufficient. 
 . . . Lastly we met the tired man who looked him 
 in the eyes and told him, set him at rest. Rest! 
 Oddly enough it is Wickford's face under the lamps 
 that I remember. The blow glanced, as it were, 
 betraying them. Wickford, the weaker-minded, had 
 been able to deceive himself. 
 
 Miss Pennant, who was saved, completed it; she 
 was too exhausted to recount at first. Her sister 
 had gone down, as it seemed, nobly, holding up the 
 boy. That was a " belle mort," I grant you, Her- 
 bert, you that scoffed at our knightly term. It 
 seems these girls were " record " swimmers : that 
 Mrs. Monk, who was drowned, had taken many 
 prizes in her maiden days. That is a most rightful 
 talent in the English, sea-surrounded: and I like to 
 record it of her, even while it served not to save 
 Jamesie's life. 
 
 I sift these last letters idly, the fighters, the phi- 
 losophers, men and women, weak and strong, the 
 finished kind and the unfinished: and I ask myself, 
 as Herbert did, amid so many tragedies, the cata- 
 ract of a whole generation down the smooth chute 
 to death, is it worth it? Yet, through the few 
 pages he left me, his meaning pierces dimly, for all 
 are in agreement. People wide asunder in sex, in 
 intellect, in sympathy, echo one another, even to 
 absurdity. One speculates whether a whole world 
 might not echo, in a not too-far period? Is it so 
 unthinkable? Our children are not our own, in the 
 sense of being slaves to our prejudices. Even now
 
 APPENDIX 347 
 
 they are growing up, and, granted we refrain from 
 touching, they will question in time. How far are 
 we to risk their displeasure, their bewilderment, 
 their wonder, worst of all? I can see him wonder- 
 ing, seeking a little already, in his first sunlight, 
 Jamesie. 
 
 Enough, it shatters me. I suppose I am out- 
 wearied. It is frightful, the mere thought of such 
 judges watching us, outside, God of Battles, 
 any sort but that! It is not fair, this experience, 
 to a mere man, a simple soldier, which, in my coun- 
 try's martyrdom, is all I ask to be. See only these 
 young knights that follow, their palpable disarray! 
 And if it undoes us, do you see? what of the 
 women ? 
 
 Car dew to Ronald Crawford. 
 
 Where are you ? I 'm nowhere. On my honour, 
 Janet's telegram turned me quite green, the men 
 noticed it. I managed to say a kid had gone, that 
 settled them, though some looked pretty black. 1 
 They '11 fight the better for it. I simply can't think 
 about Suir, Wick is as bad in this instance, and as 
 for her it 's foul, you know. Any other be- 
 cause he was coming on so. He really was, it would 
 surprise them, I dare say, if I could show him some 
 things I recently had. I was looking over them 
 to-night, kept all but all, which is more than I do 
 yours, old goat, or Mother's either. But I can't 
 
 1 A Scotch regiment.
 
 348 JAMESIE 
 
 do it, it knocks me. Look here, I want to hear 
 facts, but not from females. Can't say how I see 
 this a man's job; anyhow, men have to avenge him. 
 After all, turning it over, one might sooner write 
 to him direct, he might allow for one, more than 
 Janet's. He might follow that 's all I can think 
 of, anyhow. Just let us know where you are. 
 
 Ronald to Cardew. 
 
 I wrote to him, managed to get a line together. 
 Perhaps I know him a trifle more than you. I said 
 nothing but the common rot, no point. It 's all such 
 a [Ronald uses language] beastly bloody jam, Shere 
 was right about it. Jam was his word. . . . He 
 was smashed, you know. Suir said so to the old 
 parson, used the word. They have not told her, 
 she keeps Joyce Pennant's version, which is a grain 
 more bearable, that the kid was " unconscious " in 
 Linda's hands, and drowned so. But a fellow on 
 deck saw it happen; some block or spar loosened 
 in the first explosion swung free and fell on a boat- 
 load, knocking him right out, and rocketing him 
 with some others into the sea. You bet that man 
 found out the facts, I should n't like myself not 
 to let him have the rights of things. Grim death, 
 can't you see him at it? That girl Linda flung off 
 her things, and streaked straight after, threw her 
 life away. A clean header, like I have seen her 
 often at the baths. There 's no end to the girls. 1 
 Several people saw her catch him, and that was all. 
 
 1 Compliment.
 
 APPENDIX 349 
 
 They were never seen again, and the boy was dead 
 anyway. Suir is sure of it, Joyce could not tell 
 him, or would not, sickened, poor lass, but he is 
 sure by everything. The parson was splendid, went 
 straight to them: Wickford's mother was utterly 
 broken up. She had a notion she was responsible, 
 somehow, and that is why Iveagh went home. 
 Janet said she was afraid of him, his mother, I 
 mean: which altogether, considering some of the 
 scraps you and I have witnessed, seems a very queer 
 thing. The fact is she is on her last legs probably, 
 and he knows it, Janet will tell us some time. 
 J. was on the spot as usual, doing nothing, which 
 was the only earthly thing for her to do. . . . No, 
 I shan't write to women, I don't feel exactly like it. 
 You '11 never guess who I chose, the Frenchman. 
 Iveagh showed me him once, and he seemed all 
 right, at first view anyhow; so I risked it. I send 
 you what I got from him English. Mine was 
 French. It made me think of one of the Latin 
 fellows, Virgil or somebody, that 's his form. It 's 
 decent. 
 
 R. 
 
 [I forebear to give Lieutenant Crawford's French 
 letter: which, however, was " gentille," like himself. 
 I marked him, on the occasion he mentions, as a little 
 enormous Scotch gentil-homme.] 
 
 DEAR MR. CRAWFORD, 
 
 I have received your note, whose request for 
 news so far as I am able I comply with. She is 
 wonderful, working as before : my mother was help-
 
 350 JAMESIE 
 
 less to persuade her to cease, when she returned 
 from , the last hope gone. Suir had a tem- 
 porary break, but he is better: he was already, as 
 you know, far from well. Wickford is shielding 
 him ably, as of old, in their schooldays; and I try 
 not to quarrel with that family tradition, or trick 
 of servitude, to which his talents seem destined, and 
 which, at such a juncture, carries him from his wife's 
 side, home. By the munificence of the general 
 
 B , to whom his " groupe " was attached, he is 
 
 permitted nine days of rest, nine, with voyages. 
 No doubt a funeral would have made it a fortnight. 
 We may not mourn now, it seems, even for a star 
 like that. 
 
 There is no speaking of what it means to him, 
 truly, nor comparing. It seems ordinary to say that 
 he would have offered his own life twenty times, 
 we all knew it, did we not? But the easiest, I have 
 learnt, is never asked of that sort. It is always, 
 while we fool or fritter the time, at grips with the 
 eternals, out of sight. I thank you for your sym- 
 pathy. I would that by any suffering of my own 
 I could ease him, but it is useless to ask. You will 
 excuse this awkward utterance. 
 
 Yours obliged, 
 
 G. DU FRSETTAY. 
 
 [Cardew returned it to his brother with the com- 
 ment, "Star is good." Good? It was Milton. 
 Yes, and the " forehead of the morning sky," just 
 after. The forehead of the sky, that was Jamesie: 
 his regard, fresh and mystic. . . . Yet I ask you, 
 even in this distress I cannot avoid: is that country
 
 APPENDIX 351 
 
 not evidently exceptional that can produce, at either 
 extreme of its verbal expression, Milton, and 
 Cardew? 
 
 I subscribe to the following, and I thank the 
 writer.] 
 
 YOUR GRACE, 
 
 Sophie and I do not venture to express our 
 feelings, but our happiness is dashed goes without 
 saying, and could you in any way convey to his 
 lordship your brother our sympathy in his great 
 affliction, it might seem to come as a relief. As it 
 is we are weighed down by a Debt, I can call it no 
 other, to Mr. James' graciousness in minding about 
 us, in caring about us so continual, and in blessing 
 of us as he did to the last. It is not my own feel- 
 ing only, for I compared with her, and it is hers 
 as much. If anything, ever, we think, can make 
 sweet goodwill between the countries, all so different 
 by nature and origin, it is spirits like that. 
 Your respectful servants, 
 
 F. AND S. BLAKIE, LONDON. 
 
 * 
 
 [He enclosed every atom he had ever received 
 from the child, for the father's eye to see.] 
 
 Bess, O Bess, what shall I say? I dare not 
 come near you, you would curse me, and rightly, 
 for being alive. Linda is gone with him, that is all 
 I can think of, not that I cared for Linda. I 
 saw where they were, had been, I tried to go 
 after, I had a belt. But the men would not let me. 
 They would take care of me. They always do.
 
 352 JAMESIE 
 
 Oh God, I wish I had done what Linda did. 
 Why could n't I ? I must be a coward really. You 
 should hear them talk of her here, the Lieutenant 
 too : and I always despised her. Maddie says she 
 would n't have either, but that 's bedside, of course 
 she would. Though never that style. Linda was 
 like a snake diving, I suppose you never saw her, 
 Herbert has. I see them with my eyes shut 
 going down down both of them. Beautiful, 
 were n't they both ? It was all orchestral. I say, 
 Jack would have liked it. Do you think she dived 
 to Jack? 
 
 Then there is yours, immense : and I behaved 
 like an ass to him to-day. I could n't get a word 
 out : but he frightened me, looking like that. How 
 nice M. du Frettay is, watching him. I love them 
 grave. 1 They were miles beyond me, miles. Just 
 being decent like that to a fool. Only I felt all the 
 time how he must be loathing me. You know, it 
 does make it difficult. 
 
 One thing more, was n't there? I am afraid we 
 teased him : teased him in the cabin, but he was 
 sweet. Manners, Maddie is right. I think I was 
 jealous of Mad, the way he spoke of her. He was 
 fond of her, really, Bess, will you tell her so? 
 I can't, though she is here. She is a good kid, she 
 is better than I am, she has worked more : I have 
 enjoyed it. 2 I tried to see it all as music, a new 
 sort, ripping, showier than Strauss. But it is n't, 
 it is not, it is rank. Reuss wrote so, they all knew 
 
 1 I 8 La guerre, confession: et elle ose le dire!
 
 APPENDIX 353 
 
 it, the old ones. It is the wrong side of music, 
 weakening, wallowing, that leads to Hell. It is n't 
 even new, it 's as old as the monkeys. But what is 
 the use, talking to you ? Only say you are not angry, 
 you say it: though I shan't believe you. Either 
 of you. I can't write any more. 
 
 [I refrain from comment the girl's state of ex- 
 haustion is apparent. I am assured she is neither 
 stupid nor heartless, for all she tormented my friend 
 by her evasions, during the interview of which she 
 speaks. Iveagh assured me of it, even if I had not 
 made certain observations myself. One excused her, 
 easily : I could even contemplate conversing with her, 
 in a state of sanity: only it appears to me unlikely 
 that " the Lieutenant " (whom we both observed) 
 will give me the opportunity.] 
 
 Sir James Byrne to Iveagh: fragment of an 
 otherwise unquotable letter. 
 
 The method of life proves itself daily. It neither 
 alters the good, nor glorifies the bad: and the best 
 it wastes steadily. 
 
 Herbert to her ditto. 
 
 You guarded him well through our tumult: now 
 give him to us, we need him. He will better us as 
 a witness, when the time comes. He is the first 
 argument.
 
 354 JAMESIE 
 
 John Ingestre Esq., to him. 
 
 Remember? Freshness, fitness, temperateness, 
 clarity, what they call innocence, was n't it? And 
 that nice unconcern they have, not indifference ex- 
 actly, but using us for their ends. So real and 
 rational, good Lord, compared with our present 
 practices. . . . Look here, you bear with romanc- 
 ing. We had lately, after nine hours' unremitting 
 cannonade, a thunderstorm. A great washing glory 
 it was, ordinary sort, loud perhaps by the Lord's 
 standard, nothing by ours. By contrast with our 
 viciousness and vulgarity, what you would expect. 
 Anyhow I loved it so, that it woke me, hastily. I 
 saw our entertainment as it is, and I said so, not 
 quite out of the Scriptures. This here is a superb 
 convention, superbly played, but it is n't anything 
 really. It stands for nothing. Respectable people 
 can't even look at it, except to look beyond. I saw 
 straight, that once, and I classed it. You are noth- 
 ing but a pack of cards. 1 
 
 Iveagh's doctor in the East weeks late, naturally. 
 
 Remember him? One stores such memories. I 
 still can feel his little gripe on me, lively and com- 
 pelling, and his laughter and shyness, that sunny 
 morning, when I let him come to you in Ireland, 
 after his great emprise. And then he would tell us 
 nothing of it, for all our prompting, would he? 
 Only choked you carelessly, and smote you with his 
 
 1 Quotation.
 
 APPENDIX 355 
 
 clenched fist for your improbable surmises. Rather 
 hard, I was a little nervous at his forcefulness : 
 though I noticed you were not. You would have let 
 him finish you, that day , you told me as much 
 afterwards. Have you forgotten that? . . . Only 
 do not now. Be careful, my dear boy, for your 
 wife's sake. I am a little fearful you should follow 
 him, out of simple curiosity. . . . The dreams in 
 your last interested me. I was hardly surprised by 
 my daughter's cable, closely following, carrying this 
 news. 
 
 The Duke to the Duchess. 
 
 [In answer to some challenge, Public, hein? 
 that I fain would see. It inconveniences me extraor- 
 dinarily to be unacquainted with this lady: and I 
 trust, when the war-map is rolled up and put away, 
 and Wickford has a little time to spare from his 
 meals, he will recollect his duty to the Alliance, and 
 introduce me.] 
 
 I do not think, during the present ghastly state of 
 things, which holds the promise of ghastlier daily, 
 and not much else, we men in respectable thinking 
 countries have ever tried to hold the women in. 
 Why? because we are afraid of you. Do what 
 we will, you are still doing in schools, and nurseries, 
 and at prayer-time (I do not say church) the bigger 
 half of the business. More power to you, my dear: 
 often, I think, without the thought of you to bridge 
 the gulf we are digging, we should break. Because 
 we are not as bad as you think, you mistake us : or 
 rather you did of late years in the excitement of the
 
 356 JAMESIE 
 
 moment. We do not necessarily think ourselves 
 inspired because we can, by the infernal efforts of 
 millions, organise ruin to this extent. It is grinding, 
 black necessity that drives us: common duty, com- 
 mon humility, may I say, lit up by a little light of 
 family pride. But if you and the women we are 
 guarding see a bigger light ahead, a better pride, 
 as Bess does, make for it: never say we selfishly 
 held you in in critical times: particularly when it is 
 you have a little time to think. I have my religion, 
 enough for this one life, I own it; but if you get 
 Kells a better one or Aileen I may be talking 
 rot, but I own this thing has shaken me badly: and 
 Bess's face, when he brought the worst to her, and 
 she said, though she held for her life to him, 
 thoughtfully as a worker does "I think he was 
 all right." I give it her, I give it both of them. 
 Surely, darling, we who argue glorifully that none 
 of our heroes who fall powder-black and bloody to 
 the elbows are " wasted," may let them argue as 
 much of little Jim. . . . 
 
 [The Duchess pondered, wept, and worked him 
 into her plans. Of this I am positive, although her 
 " public " letter, owing to Wickford's stilted cor- 
 rectitude, has eluded my grasp.] 
 
 Miss Madeleine's schoolmistress to her. 
 
 The answer is simple, my dear, do not resign 
 yourself. Resignation is the last thing they can ask 
 of us, though our service and our silence they may 
 claim.
 
 APPENDIX 357 
 
 Miss (?) Rochester, Ireland, to Iveagh. 
 
 It is not the sea can keep him, darling, with the 
 bursting ugliness that is shaming it; and it is not 
 God's Heaven would interest him nowadays with 
 shadows shooting at you, and the nightbirds flitcher- 
 ing about. There is nowhere safe for a child the 
 like he was but our hearts that are hot to withhold 
 him : and this one, of a mother's that is, though sin- 
 ful, will share him with you best. 
 
 [Suir corrected the above, which I had nearly re- 
 fused, in my ignorance. I now find that no other 
 will stand after it, unless perhaps one.] 
 
 LADY IVEAGH, 
 
 I cannot speak to you, my lady, in your sorrow 
 as people like the Duchess can, who with children 
 of their own know the pain of bearing them, and 
 keep that pain in their hearts concerning them until 
 the end of life. But I do know, with your leave, 
 a little of the other trouble of training them, and 
 all children I have had near me I watch develop 
 with a little of the mother's eye. It is a joy when 
 they succeed, a grief when they fail, as it might 
 be that of their first teacher in some sensible school. 
 But yours, my lady, was more than that to me. 
 Partly because of his kind heart and amusing ways, 
 but more because when I had him, it was largely 
 in his mother's absence, which you will understand. 
 I might play your ladyship's part to him a little 
 without self-blame or fear of unfairness; and in 
 those times, no doubt, he managed to catch and hold
 
 358 JAMESIE 
 
 me such that hearing what the Duke said that 
 dreadful morning broke me down. Fortunately as 
 his kindness would have it we were alone, for I 
 could not have kept up before the servants. I loved 
 the child, I will not say better than Kells, who has 
 taken more of my effort, but equally. I feel for 
 you and his lordship in your sorrow more than these 
 poor lines can say. May God help you and grant 
 you consolation in your work for others, as He will 
 surely. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 CHRISTINA T. JOHNSTONE. 
 (Nurse.)
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES 
 
 COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below. 
 
 BookSlip-35wi-9,'62(D2218s4)4'280
 
 UCLA-College Library 
 
 PR6037S568J 
 
 L 005 755 020 4 
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 PR 
 6037 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACIUTY