JENNY
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 NOVELS 
 
 THE SIN OF ATLANTIS 
 
 THE LIVING BUDDHA 
 
 THAT FAST MISS BLOUNT 
 
 THE NONCONFORMIST PARSON 
 
 ISRAEL RANK 
 
 BELLAMY THE MAGNIFICENT 
 
 LORD CAMMARLEIGH'S SECRET 
 
 NIGHTSHADE 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF BEAUTY 
 
 CAPTIVITY 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 THE EDUCATION OF ELIZABETH 
 BELLAMY THE MAGNIFICENT 
 BILLY'S FORTUNE 
 AFTER MANY DAYS 
 
 In collaboration with Mr. W. J. Loelt 
 IDOLS
 
 JENNY 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 Her laugh would wake me just as now 
 
 it kills me 
 
 That little giddy laugh with which she 
 thrills me." 
 
 LONDON; 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED 
 
 PATERNOSTER HOUSE. E.C, 
 1913
 
 JENNY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 SUCH people as find London dull in August 
 must be without resources of their own. 
 They must be mere puppets worked by the 
 social machinery, with no capacity for stepping 
 outside their strictly conventional mode of life, 
 or for seeing that mass of variety and opportunity 
 for living which lies around them. The month of 
 August to such as really love London is all too 
 short. It passes like a dream a dream of rest 
 and surcease from contact with those whose per- 
 petual presence has become incapable of furnishing 
 further surprise in the meal of life. To the true 
 lover of London, it is the one month of the year. 
 It breeds a new attitude of mind. The social 
 derelict, whether he be in London of his own choice 
 or from the inability to get away from it, seems 
 to find in it a new city. In a sense, it is a question 
 of mental suggestion, it is like going for a holiday. 
 This may have something to do with the assump- 
 tion of a straw hat and a blue serge suit, which in 
 themselves constitute a distinct vacation. The
 
 2 JENNY 
 
 August derelict knows that it would be quite 
 useless to go a-calling, for no one would be at 
 home. With a certain delicious sense of peace, he 
 has visions of his friends either scurrying over the 
 Continent, falling over Alpine precipices, working 
 hard to enjoy themselves at some French watering- 
 place, or striving to persuade themselves that 
 yachting is a pastime which furnishes, after the 
 first two days, anything in the shape of recreation. 
 If the derelict wishes to enjoy himself, he can at 
 his ease, and without hurrying out too early in 
 the morning, mount an omnibus and drive awa}^ 
 through miles of fascinating and strange suburbs, 
 procuring amusement, if he be of an observant 
 nature, all through the journey into the heart of 
 Surrey, Middlesex or Hertfordshire. If he can 
 put up with the preliminary horrors of Liverpool 
 Street, a day in Epping is the most select thing 
 imaginable, for he will certainly not meet anyone 
 he knows, and such company as he may come across 
 will have the well-bred ease that is most often to 
 be found amongst the lower classes, and sometimes 
 amongst what are known as the best people. 
 
 Even creditors, from one cause or another, seem 
 to agree to a truce, and the ordinary business cares 
 of life remain in a state of suspended animation. 
 To the vast majority, to whom an August holiday 
 out of London has never appeared as even a 
 remote possibility, August is a month which is 
 honoured by taking things more easily than usual, 
 notwithstanding the fact that its tradition as the 
 warmest month of the year is an exploded myth. 
 But even August has its warm days when the 
 heat is tropical and a certain languor of move-
 
 JENNY 3 
 
 ment and thought overtakes the Londoner, perhaps 
 the more marked because he is usually dressed 
 for a temperature ten degrees lower. 
 
 It was the close of a tropical day in August in 
 the year 1878, that Henry Everard left his cham- 
 bers in Jermyn Street in the cool air of the evening 
 to take a stroll about the streets of London, which 
 possessed for him, as for Doctor Johnson, a greater 
 fascination than anything else in the world. They 
 furnished him with an endless and quiet enjoy- 
 ment an enjoyment which, unlike most of the 
 delights of the great City, did not demand a 
 rigorous payment in health and spirits. 
 
 Successful novelist and dramatic author, he was 
 kept in London by the rehearsals of a burlesque 
 which, stepping aside from his usual habit of the 
 higher drama, he had written for the Oddities 
 Theatre. He found it considerably more trying 
 to the nerves than his own regular work. The 
 creation of characters of flesh and blood was not 
 the same strain as this interminable and inconse- 
 quential arrangement of scenes all made sub- 
 servient to the glorification of some particular 
 artist. As he set forth on his walk, he cursed 
 for the thousandth time the cupidity which had 
 induced him to accept the burlesque manager's 
 substantial offer instead of following his better 
 judgment and refusing to be drawn into an en- 
 vironment in which he found himself entirely out 
 of the picture, and at the mercy of a manager 
 who, though good-natured enough, regarded his 
 author as of little more importance than a 
 chorus-girl, and certainly of less importance than 
 his stage-manager.
 
 4 JENNY 
 
 Turning in at the north-west gate of the Green 
 Park, Everard struck across towards Buckingham 
 Palace, picking his way amongst the people who 
 lay about on the grass listening to the band. The 
 strains of the Barcarolle from the Contes d'Hoff- 
 mann soothed his disturbed nervous system, and 
 by the time he had reached the Mall the irrespon- 
 sibility of the scene around him had relaxed the 
 feeling of tension, the almost intolerable tension, to 
 which he had been strung up. He walked across 
 the Mall and entered St. James' Park, and, skirting 
 the waters, arrived on the bridge which commands 
 one of the prettiest views in Europe. Seen from 
 this point of vantage, the ugliest palace in the 
 world looks almost poetical, whilst the Foreign 
 Office and Whitehall, behind green trees, and 
 athwart waters dotted with sylvan islets, look 
 like fairyland. Pausing for awhile on the bridge 
 to enjoy with many others a scene which can 
 never pall, he left the Park and struck out through 
 Westminster in the direction of Chelsea Embank- 
 ment. Old Westminster was then a much more 
 fascinating place than it is now. Thirty years has 
 made all the difference, no doubt with very much 
 advantage to the health of the community. 
 Those who knew it, however, before the hand of 
 reform had swept over it cannot but regret the 
 slums which lay at the back of the Abbey, 
 admitting that of course, from the point of view 
 of morals as well as of health, the change is for 
 the better. 
 
 The variety and teeming life of the London slum 
 must always appeal to the mind literary. It is so 
 full of suggestion and subject-matter. On such an.
 
 JENNY 5 
 
 evening as this, when all windows and doors were 
 open, and such of the inhabitants of Dean's Court 
 as were not in the street were hanging out of the 
 windows, it was a sight full of animation. Everard 
 stood watching it with intense interest, not a detail 
 of it escaping him. There was the fat woman with 
 Hogarthian and ill-covered bust hanging out of 
 her casement and shouting pleasantries to the 
 thin, over-clothed woman opposite, who was 
 watering a little row of dusty geraniums out of a 
 broken jug, heedless of the fact, till a scream of 
 hideous remonstrance arose from below, that 
 most of the water was descending upon the occu- 
 pants of the doorstep. Up against the begrimed 
 blank wall at the end of the court, which made it 
 a cul de sac, a crowd of boys was gathered, one of 
 their number patiently tossing a ball at a little 
 pattern marked on the ground. Suddenly, with 
 a wild cry of excitement, they would scatter, 
 and a boy would pick up the ball and fling it 
 violently at one of his companions. Then the 
 mystery of the game was complete, except for the 
 inevitable squabble which accompanied every 
 point scored and which had to be adjusted before 
 the game could be proceeded with. To an acute 
 observer there was a singularity about the assem- 
 blage in Dean's Court which a psychologist would 
 have detected with amusement. There were 
 middle-aged men and women, young married folk, 
 old people, babies, and boys and girls of all ages, 
 but the youth and the maiden were scarce. They 
 were away in the parks and gardens, or in secluded 
 nooks, learning lessons in life. 
 As Everard, having taken in the scene, was about
 
 6 JENNY 
 
 to move down a short cut to where the river was 
 indicated by a small plantation of masts above the 
 Embankment, a man and a boy with a barrel-organ 
 came to a full stop a few yards down the court, and 
 struck up an infectious dance tune. In a minute 
 the place was alive with dancers. The girls, taking 
 it as a serious business, formed themselves into little 
 rows facing each other, and advanced and receded 
 with that preternatural gravity which only the 
 English dancer wears. The boys danced irregu- 
 larly, breaking off every now and then to perform 
 some piece of horse-play, or to disturb some girl 
 in her terpsichorean exercises. Now and then 
 a middle-aged man and woman with self-conscious 
 laughter would advance and do a few steps, 
 loudly encouraged by their contemporaries, returning 
 breathless to the pavement after a very short 
 experiment. 
 
 Everard possessed a gift, and a gift which is 
 very much rarer than is supposed. He could detect 
 the exceptional in physical beauty and personal 
 fascination. It is true that most people can detect 
 this when it is in its proper environment, well- 
 placed, well-posed, and receiving its due of atten- 
 tion and recognition. But Everard could detect 
 these qualities in their potential stage. Two years 
 before, returning home one night from the Borpugh, 
 he had walked into a cheap tobacconist's for a 
 light for his cigarette. He had seen a raw youth 
 behind the counter, and had at once recognized 
 that he had an exceptional physique for a certain 
 line of part. This youth was now the Antinous of 
 the stage, playing poetical juveniles as if he had 
 been born and nursed in a centre of breeding
 
 JENNY 7 
 
 and culture. Everard had also discovered Irma 
 Charteris probably the best pathetic actress of her 
 time. He had met her as a nursery-governess in a 
 remote country-house, and had heard her read a 
 fairy story to her pupils. He had many other 
 remarkable discoveries to his credit. 
 
 As he watched the dancers, he noticed a girl of 
 about sixteen come out of a little side courtyard 
 with a skipping-rope in her hand. She stepped into 
 the middle of the court and began to skip in time 
 to the music. Her dancing was not particularly 
 good, although her manipulation of the skipping- 
 rope was certainly clever, and must have been the 
 result of a great deal of practice. At first she 
 danced with her back to him, and he was struck by 
 the delicacy of her physique. The fineness of her 
 ankles and the smallness of her hands and feet 
 were at once noticeable, while the black hair which 
 hung in glossy curls to her shoulders suggested, 
 together with the poise of her head, a class 
 different from that of the children by whom she was 
 surrounded. Automatically, as he watched, she 
 turned in her dancing and faced him. 
 
 " Good lord, she is pretty ! " he murmured, with 
 a strong emphasis on the verb. He watched her, 
 fascinated, noticing that by degrees the other 
 dancers stopped to watch her also. The more 
 he looked the more he became aware of her excep- 
 tional quality in all those respects of which he 
 could judge without having spoken to her. Not 
 precisely putting the fact to himself, he marked 
 that she possessed that particular attribute of 
 unconsciousness which belongs to those who are 
 born with the power of commanding attention
 
 8 JENNY 
 
 and admiration. She was finally the only person 
 left dancing, and gave no sign that she was aware 
 of the fact. 
 
 " Go it, Jenny ! " screeched a boy with red 
 hair, pale face and gleaming green eyes, adding 
 to a companion, as Jenny for the hundredth time 
 twisted her skipping-rope into a coil above her 
 head : " She ain't missed one yet. Ain't she 
 
 lovely ? " The conjunction of the oath with 
 
 the adjective was superb in its sincerity and 
 innocence. 
 
 At that moment a woman came out of a house 
 close by with a basket on her arm. Jenny, 
 seeing her, and as if it were part of the dance, 
 wound the rope round her wrist with a flourish, 
 and, passing from her steps to a walk, came 
 along with her towards Everard. As they passed, 
 Everard listened eagerly for her voice. Had it 
 been coarse and of the gutter there would have 
 been a certain bizarre attraction in the combination 
 of extreme beauty and commonness. It was 
 almost with a sigh of relief that he heard her 
 speaking hi a light, musical contralto. She passed 
 him without seeming to be aware that someone 
 very distinguished in comparison to those around 
 was watching her attentively. As for that, 
 Everard was a distinguished-looking person in 
 whatever society he might be he had that supreme 
 consciousness of his own apartness "which is 
 peculiar to some people, and carries with it no 
 suggestion of affectation. As the girl passed 
 she broke into a laugh. It was then that the 
 full measure of her fascination dawned on Everard. 
 His instinct on first catching sight of her had been
 
 JENNY 9 
 
 perfectly true ; she was the exceptional in all 
 respects. In another minute she had disappeared 
 down a side-street with her companion, and the 
 children of the court, as if it had been a real Court, 
 and the restraining presence of Royalty removed, 
 took up the dance again with renewed vigour. 
 
 Everard went on his way, reflecting deeply. 
 Ideas which he could not quite formulate were 
 striving for cohesion in his brain. The sudden 
 seeing of this girl meant something for him, and he 
 could not for the moment define what it was. She 
 had been sent, not for him he saw that clearly 
 enough but she was to be in his life. " How ? 
 how ? " he kept on asking himself. Suddenly, 
 having passed Chelsea Bridge and being in a quiet 
 spot on the Embankment, with the opal river flow- 
 ing beside him, he paused as if further movement 
 were impossible till he had solved the problem. 
 Opposite to him was Battersea Park, a long, low 
 line of foliage, growing more solid and black with 
 the coming of night. A silent file of barges was 
 slipping mysteriously down the river, on which 
 still lay a faint touch of green and silver. He 
 was thinking how all things had their complement ; 
 the night itself was in the light contralto stage, 
 later its voice would become deeper, but at present 
 it matched the raven hair, pale face and peculiar 
 voice of the girl with the skipping-rope. Suddenly 
 he started, realizing what he wanted of her. 
 
 In his innocence or rather, because he was 
 quite incapable of taking the point of view of 
 the manager for whom he was working he had 
 created of " Morgiana " in The Forty Thieves, 
 quite a distinct, artistic character. The part
 
 iu JENNY 
 
 had barely a dozen lines, but it required a girl 
 of great and child-like beauty to speak them. 
 The manager regarded Everard's view on the 
 subject as being of no importance. He had 
 offered him his choice of half a dozen golden- 
 haired banalities, all of whom Everard had 
 objected to. Finally he had forced on him a 
 plump, red-haired maiden, beloved of the gallery 
 and the stalls, and all Everard's objections to 
 her had been overruled. That very morning she 
 had been absent from rehearsal, sending a note 
 to say that she had consented to honour a 
 wealthy young stock-broker with her hand and 
 heart, and that, of course, she must now think 
 of her new position, and the social dignity re- 
 quired of her. She added, what was no doubt 
 a source of intense delight to her, that if 
 they declined to cancel her contract, her future 
 husband was quite well off enough to pay any 
 damages which might be considered fair. The 
 manager swore and returned a curt answer that 
 such damages as would be considered fair were 
 not worth mentioning, putting into greater 
 verbiage Everard's comment that she obviously 
 owed him five shillings. 
 
 Everard, secretly delighted, recommenced his 
 tactics of objecting to everyone, in the faint hope 
 that the right person would come along. Un- 
 doubtedly the girl with the skipping-rope was the 
 absolute creature he wanted, and somehow he had 
 a conviction that, in spite of all that might be 
 said against it, she would be able to do what was 
 wanted. She was inexperienced enough to sur- 
 mount the difficulties ; for on the stage more than
 
 JENNY ii 
 
 elsewhere a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. 
 Yet, sure as he was, and enthusiastically as his 
 brain had accepted the idea, the reaction came, 
 and he grew depressed at the difficulties which 
 he saw ahead. He would be scoffed at for even 
 thinking of picking a child out of a slum and 
 putting it before a London audience and a 
 West-End audience at that in a leading part. 
 He racked his brain for a precedent, and could 
 not think of one. Even the find in the tobacco- 
 nist's shop had undergone months of hard 
 drilling, and Irma Charteris had been sent into 
 the provinces to learn the A B C of her work. 
 But this child had something which neither of 
 them had possessed. He wondered if his suscepti- 
 bility, with him as largely artistic as it was 
 physical, had blinded him to certain shortcomings 
 which would be obvious to the purely commercial 
 mind. 
 
 Later he turned his steps towards Piccadilly, 
 and ate a light supper at one of the large 
 restaurants. Looking round at the women and 
 girls present, and keeping a severely critical mind 
 at work, he was still able to maintain that either 
 his memory was playing him false or that the 
 girl with the skipping-rope was really a great 
 beauty. 
 
 By the next morning, assisted by the sobering 
 sensations of the breakfast-hour, he had almost 
 dismissed the idea from his mind. He took 
 his way to rehearsal, prepared, with a sigh of 
 resignation, to accept the substitute who would 
 be suggested by the manager a substitute who 
 would, no doubt, give him absolute neuralgia.
 
 12 JENNY 
 
 By the time he had reached the stage door he 
 had quite determined to put the extravagant 
 notion of the evening before out of his mind. 
 During that tedious waste of time, however, 
 which seems inseparable from all things theatrical, 
 and which invariably precedes nine rehearsals out 
 of ten, he found himself discussing the matter 
 with the manager. 
 
 Now with all his defects, Mr. Jack Howard was 
 essentially a big man, and eminently receptive of 
 new ideas. He did not make the mistake of 
 smaller people and dwell upon the secondary diffi- 
 culties of any scheme until they had become in- 
 superable and primary objections. When Everard 
 mentioned Irma Charteris and the tobacconist's 
 assistant, he determined at any rate to see the 
 girl, but with the tact some described it as heart- 
 lessness for which he was notorious, he forbore to 
 tell the substitute who was to read the part that 
 she would only play it if they could not get some- 
 body better. Everard and Howard lunched to- 
 gether, and afterwards, having sent in a note to the 
 stage manager to continue the rehearsal without 
 them, they took a cab and told the man to drive 
 in the direction of Westminster. The burlesque 
 manager had reasons for not being entirely 
 sceptical. He was accustomed to see young 
 ladies of the humblest beginnings blossom into 
 affluence. Some did it fairly well, some did it 
 badly, very few did it superlatively ; still, his 
 standard was not as high as Everard's. He had 
 not conceived the creature of rare distinction, the 
 tropical bird on its lonely spray, who was 
 Everard's ideal. They rattled past the Abbey,
 
 JENNY 13 
 
 lying like a huge grey pachyderm in the intense 
 heat. Arrived at Dean's Court, the manager 
 manoeuvred his great bulk out of the cab and 
 looked round curiously. 
 
 " She must be something wonderful if she can 
 rise superior to this/' he said, in a voice which 
 had always a suggestion of complaint in it. 
 Adopting something the manner of street singers, 
 they walked slowly down the centre of the court, 
 looking from right to left, and ever and anon at 
 the windows above, as if they expected to have 
 pennies thrown them. 
 
 " These have been good houses in their time," 
 said the manager, always with the note of com- 
 plaint in his voice, " and," he added, " they'd be 
 good houses still if it wasn't for the people in 
 them." 
 
 Half a dozen or so very small children accom- 
 panied them in their walk to the end of the court, 
 as if they were a show and might be expected to 
 begin at any moment. Indeed, there was a 
 certain similarity in bulk between the manager 
 and a gentleman who was in the habit of visiting 
 the court periodically, the custom of the gentleman 
 in question being rapidly to divest himself of a 
 light great-coat, and produce a small square of 
 carpet on which he would twist himself into extra- 
 ordinary positions, ranging from one resembling 
 a toast-rack to a very nearly perfect imitation 
 of a tea-pot, capping the entertainment by breaking 
 a solid bar of iron across his knee. Expectant of 
 these delights, the children kept a fixed glance on 
 Everard's companion. 
 
 " Do you see her ? " said the manager, turning
 
 14 JENNY 
 
 to Everard as if he suspected the girl they had 
 come in search of to be a creature of the other's 
 imagination. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What shall we do ? I don't much fancy a 
 house-to-house visit. I shall look well going from 
 door to door asking for the girl with the fine eyes 
 at my time of life, shan't I ? " He gave a loud 
 laugh, which so delighted an infant at his feet 
 that she answered it with a shrill cackle of enjoy- 
 ment. The only effect of this duet was that the 
 head of a slatternly woman was thrust out of 
 a third-story window. Amazed at seeing two 
 middle-aged gentlemen standing in the court with 
 apparently no object whatever, she arranged herself 
 in a comfortable position and remained leaning out 
 to await further developments. Howard turned to 
 Everard for some suggestion, but Everard had none 
 to make. Suddenly he clutched Howard's arm. 
 
 " There she is ! " 
 
 A little figure in a skirt many sizes too large for 
 her, and with a loaf in a piece of newspaper under 
 her arm, was advancing towards them. 
 
 " Good lord ! " exclaimed the manager. " You 
 don't mean to say that ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. Wait till you see her face." By 
 this time the girl was passing them, and the 
 manager placed himself in her path. Surprised, 
 perhaps a little frightened, she glanced up at him. 
 Even the most fearless inhabitant of such a 
 district has a bogey in the shape of detectives and 
 police officers. For a moment Howard was sur- 
 prised into silence. Telling the story afterwards 
 and of course it lost nothing in the telling he
 
 JENNY 15 
 
 always declared that his first impulse had been 
 to say : " You little dear ! " and his second to do 
 what he did, which was to take off his hat. Then 
 they stood looking at the girl, and the girl stood 
 looking at them. 
 
 " Where do you live, my dear ? " 
 
 She looked at the burly form above her, and a 
 faint smile rose like a background behind her 
 puzzled expression. 
 
 " At number eight." 
 
 " Have you got a father and mother ? " 
 
 " My mother's dead, and my father drinks." 
 
 Everard detected at once the peculiar use of 
 the possessive pronoun, which rounded off her 
 remark and made it sound: so different from the 
 usual formula. > 
 
 " And what do you do*> " 
 
 The puzzled expression grew stronger and a 
 certain mistrust gathered in her eyes. It was 
 obvious that she thought she was being questioned 
 with no friendly intent, and she answered with 
 growing reserve : " I'm in service." 
 
 Everard glanced down at the skirt and won- 
 dered what kind of house it was that could afford 
 a servant and tolerate such a garment. 
 
 " I saw you dance yesterday with your skipping- 
 rope," he said. 
 
 This was more alarming than ever; they had 
 evidently been watching her. 
 
 Mr. Howard grasped the fact that they must find 
 out some responsible person with whom they could 
 deal. 
 
 " Is your father at home ? " 
 
 " No, he's round at the 'bus stables, or " she
 
 16 JENNY 
 
 paused doubtfully " he may be in the public- 
 house." 
 
 " Is that his tea ? " 
 
 " No, that's Mrs. Goodchild's bread. I always 
 have my tea with her." The presence of aitches 
 was bewildering. 
 
 " Who's Mrs. Goodchild ? " 
 
 The girl looked as if that were a question quite 
 beyond her power of answering, but she thought 
 for a moment, and then said : "I stay with her 
 when father's drunk." Then she pulled herself 
 together with a certain decision and walked past 
 them, disappearing into the smaller courtyard 
 from which Everard had seen her emerge the day 
 before. 
 
 " What do you think of her ? " 
 
 " Well, she's one of the prettiest girls I've ever 
 seen. There's nothing flashy or common about 
 her. And what a sweet voice ; it's like music 
 it's like a 'cello. Let's go and see this Mrs. 
 Goodchild." 
 
 The children, who had watched the conversa- 
 tion between the two men and Jenny, had by 
 this time come to the conclusion that from the 
 point of view of entertainment Everard and his 
 companion were a couple of impostors. They 
 retired to a doorstep some way off, where they 
 could survey possible developments without the 
 fatigue of standing up. At the disappearance of 
 Everard and Howard into the smaller courtyard 
 they stampeded across the road and stood hi the 
 entrance. 
 
 The court in which Howard and Everard found 
 themselves was an extraordinary place, and seemed
 
 JENNY 17 
 
 to have no rhyme or reason for its existence. 
 It formed a square, surrounded with squat, 
 delapidated tenement houses. The two men, 
 again at a loss, stood looking round, when they 
 caught sight of Jenny's scared face at a window 
 opposite. 
 
 " There she is ! " They made for the door 
 and knocked. It was opened by a woman very 
 different from what might have been expected in 
 such a neighbourhood. Poorly dressed, there was 
 yet a refinement about her which was unmis- 
 takable. The hair, that barometer of class, was 
 done neatly, and everything about her was 
 strictly clean. Even as he looked at her, Everard 
 felt that she required explaining. She possessed 
 the remains of considerable beauty, which not even 
 a certain wateriness of the eyes and the too high 
 colouring of the cheeks could hide. The mouth 
 was strong and firm almost too firm, as if its 
 rigid compression was the result of a perpetual 
 appeal to her strength of will. Everard's keen 
 perception where individuals were concerned at 
 once carried him to a conclusion with regard to 
 her. " Has been a drunkard and has got over 
 it," he said to himself. There was defiance in the 
 woman's manner, and obvious distrust in her 
 glance. She only held the door open sufficiently 
 to be able to speak to them, and was evidently 
 ready to answer in no very friendly manner. 
 Everard saw that the thing to do was to come to 
 the point at once. 
 
 " We believe you can give us some information 
 about the little girl who came in here ? " 
 
 " What information ? "
 
 1 8 JENNY 
 
 Everard proceeded. " The fact of the matter is, 
 this gentleman is Mr. Howard, the manager of the 
 Oddities Theatre. I am the author of his new 
 piece. That little girl has precisely the appear- 
 ance we want for a certain part. I saw her dance 
 yesterday, and I believe that she is so peculiarly 
 fascinating that she coufd be made quite a success." 
 
 Everard had been led on to lay the whole matter 
 before her, grasping, as he proceeded, that she 
 was quite able to follow and understand what he 
 was talking about. When he had finished Mr. 
 Howard murmured, " That's it, that's it," in a voice 
 palpitating with apparent injury. 
 
 The woman stood looking at them with contracted 
 brows. It was obviously too great a proposition to 
 be settled off-hand, and she was at a loss to know 
 what to do. Everard was not a man to whom it 
 was possible to be rude, and the manner of both the 
 men was too courteous and deferential for offence 
 to be taken. Jenny, listening over the banisters, 
 caught the words " dancing " and " yesterday," 
 and wondered what she had done that she should 
 be thus hunted down. To her horror and amaze- 
 ment, instead of hearing Mrs. Goodchild give the 
 strangers a bit of her mind and shut the door 
 in their faces, she heard her ask them to step 
 upstairs. 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild was between two difficulties : 
 she was either compelled to discuss the matter 
 before a growing audience in the court, or to 
 invite the strangers into her own apartment, which 
 might breed grave scandal in the minds of the purists 
 of Little Dean's Court. She chose the latter, and 
 risked the damage to her character.
 
 JENNY 19 
 
 The men stumbled up the little dark staircase, 
 and almost fell into a room in front, surprisingly 
 light, pleasant and clean. It was a bed-sitting- 
 room, and the furniture was scanty. A small 
 island of carpet lay in the centre of the well- 
 scrubbed boards. On a deal table in the middle of 
 the room was a pile of sewing on which the woman 
 had been engaged. The walls were bare of pictures, 
 and there was no ornament of any kind except 
 a small, cheap clock on the mantelpiece and 
 a couple of vases, which, though inexpensive 
 enough, could not have been chosen by a person 
 with a common mind. 
 
 They found Jenny in retreat behind the bed, 
 with a considerable look of fright in her eyes. Mrs. 
 Goodchild at once reassured her. 
 
 " There's nothing to be frightened about, Jenny ; 
 these gentlemen don't want to harm you. Won't 
 you sit down ? " 
 
 She indicated two chairs for the men, and 
 seated herself without any apology for the poor- 
 ness of her dwelling. With all her apparent firm- 
 ness of mind, there was a certain hesitancy about 
 her movements, as in the case of those who 
 have recently recovered from some shattering 
 illness. 
 
 " Her father," she began, "is an ostler. Good- 
 hearted and kind to her in his way, except when 
 he's under the influence of drink." 
 
 " Would it be of any use discussing the matter 
 with him ? " 
 
 " I am afraid he is rather beyond discussions. 
 He can just do his work, but it is more by force of 
 habit than anything else."
 
 20 JENNY 
 
 The more they talked the matter over with this 
 woman, the more puzzled Everard grew as to who 
 and what she could possibly be. She furnished 
 no clue beyond the fact that not once did she utter 
 the least excuse for the circumstances by which 
 she was surrounded. After a minute or two, she 
 took up her work and went on sewing. " You must 
 excuse me, but my time is very valuable," she 
 said in explanation. 
 
 When they had put the whole matter before her, 
 with all its obvious advantages to Jenny, who sat 
 on the edge of the bed quite reassured, though not 
 fully comprehending a discussion that was so vital 
 to her, the woman paused for a moment in her 
 work and looked at them squarely. " There is 
 another side." 
 
 " Quite so," said Everard gently. 
 
 " And a side," continued Mrs. Goodchild, " which 
 would be particularly dangerous where there is 
 no very responsible guardian." 
 
 " There's yourself ? " suggested Mr. Howard, 
 who had not contributed much to the discussion, 
 but was eminently interested. 
 
 There was a long pause. The woman bent her 
 head and went on sewing. Everard judged by 
 certain evidences that her silence was dictated 
 as much by a rush of feeling as by reflection on 
 what Howard had said. 
 
 " I have no manner of right to control her 
 actions," she answered at last. " Besides, although 
 I have had a good deal to do with her, and I have 
 done what I can for her, she is of a very decided 
 nature. One hardly realizes her firmness, because 
 she rarely argues."
 
 JENNY 21 
 
 " How old is she ? " 
 
 " Nearly seventeen. I don't think you need 
 consider the father, except to get his formal consent 
 in case she should like the idea." 
 
 " Then you don't entirely disapprove ? " said 
 Everard. 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild turned to the girl and held out 
 a few coppers. " Jenny dear, would you mind 
 running down the street and getting some sugar ? " 
 
 Jenny came from behind the bed, took the money 
 and disappeared. Mrs. Goodchild then spoke 
 rapidly, as if anxious to lay the whole case before 
 them during her absence. 
 
 " This girl, you must understand, is not inno- 
 cent, she is pure." Here she hesitated, as if seeking 
 for an appropriate description. " She is a Diana 
 of the slums." 
 
 " And very nice too," said the manager plain- 
 tively, by no means clear as to the full application 
 of the phrase, but hazily feeling that it was meant 
 as a compliment to Jenny. He shook his head 
 slowly and approvingly, with the air of a great 
 moralist whose ideals had been particularly 
 realized. Everard was struck by the peculiarity 
 of so unexpected a description ; then for the first 
 time he noticed a certain little row of books on a 
 table at the further side of the bed. Even from 
 where he sat, he could see that they were select 
 volumes, the essence of a life of reading. 
 
 " ' Diana of the slums.' What a name for a 
 comedy ! It ought to come in useful for you, 
 Everard," wailed Howard. 
 
 " If she remains where she is," Mrs. Goodchild 
 resumed, " she has one of two courses open to
 
 22 JENNY 
 
 her to go into service, or to marry one of these 
 young men that one sees about here." Then 
 she put down her work and thought very deeply. 
 " It has been a pleasure to me to educate her 
 beyond her surroundings. Sometimes I think I've 
 done wrong. She is extraordinarily quick " 
 then she paused again, her brows contracting more 
 and more. " I think there is a fate about these 
 things, don't you ? " she said, turning more 
 especially to Everard. " One can't account for 
 it. To be frank, I don't believe she will stay in 
 her own class of life, whatever course is taken. 
 With her beauty she will run risks, and yes, I 
 think it will be wiser for her to take this chance. 
 She has the advantage, or disadvantage, I don't 
 know which it is, of having seen most of the dread- 
 ful object-lessons that vice can afford. There is 
 one person I should like you to consult, though," 
 she went on quickly, " and that is Father Hawthorne, 
 the Vicar of St. Aloysius. He will at once put 
 his finger on the right spot. He is one of the 
 broadest-minded men I have ever met." 
 
 " The father is a cypher, I take it ? " said 
 Everard. 
 
 " Absolutely. He will do whatever is suggested, 
 and be only too glad of a few shillings a week from 
 her earnings. Will you go and see Father Haw- 
 thorne at once ? I won't say anything further 
 to her till you've spoken to him." 
 
 " We will go at once," said Everard, and they 
 rose. 
 
 " One moment," said Mrs. Goodchild, as they 
 reached the door. " Supposing she is a failure. 
 She will have been introduced to a class of life for
 
 JENNY 23 
 
 which she is unfitted, and then you see she may seize 
 at any means to keep herself there." 
 
 But here Mr. Howard stepped in. He had 
 made up his mind that he wanted Jenny. He 
 now fully grasped Everard's idea of Morgiana as 
 a little maid-of -all- work, dressed almost like a child, 
 in a pinafore. He had retained his position as 
 an enormously successful manager precisely because 
 he was always guided by his first impressions, and 
 those first impressions had never ceased to be the 
 impressions of the boy in the gallery. If he heard 
 a tune which pleased him he did not stop to analyse 
 it, nor did he ask himself whether his judgment 
 was likely to be belittled because the tune was of 
 the cheapest. As it pleased him, he was sure it 
 would please the people for whom he catered. 
 He had arrived at the pitch of wanting Jenny, 
 and he was determined to have her. 
 
 " My dear lady," he moaned, " you don't imagine 
 any harm's going to come to a dear little girl like 
 that ? " He waved a fat hand of horror at the 
 mere suggestion. 
 
 " If you catch a girl of that age and put her in 
 front, she'll always make a success of some kind, 
 and if she isn't the catch-on we expect, we'll have 
 her taught to sing and dance and give her a nice 
 little part in the next piece." His voice undulated 
 with emotion and apparent sincerity. Emma 
 Goodchild, despite a keen instinct for character, 
 was quite carried away by this big boy, who looked 
 at her with large, humid blue eyes as his imagina- 
 tion roved over the future it would be his pleasure 
 and joy to prepare for Jenny. Had she had any 
 suspicion of the endless succession of promising
 
 24 JENNY 
 
 girls who had been hoisted into prominence, and 
 placed on the pinnacles of notoriety, only to be 
 pushed into the abyss when the vantage-point was 
 wanted for somebody else, she would have been 
 horrified. 
 
 " She'll be all right," he complained, as he 
 descended the stairs. " She'll be all right," he 
 added, like the echo of a sob, as he made his exit 
 into the court. 
 
 Emerging into the larger street in Westminster, 
 they met Jenny, whose face broke into a delicious 
 smile as she passed. Mr. Howard was by this 
 time taking a leading part in the proceedings, and 
 looked upon Mrs. Goodchild and the priest as 
 superfluities in the transaction. He stopped and 
 planted himself in Jenny's way. 
 
 " Have you ever been to a theatre, my dear ? " 
 
 " No, but I've been to a music-hall." 
 
 " Did you like it ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was lovely." 
 
 " How would you like to go on and do the same 
 sort of thing sing and dance ? " 
 
 Jenny's eyes opened wide. " I don't know," 
 she said. 
 
 " Well, think it over, my dear, think it over." 
 He patted her head, looking the picture of benevo- 
 lence, and, to do him justice, feeling it. 
 
 They went on their way to the Reverend Father's 
 dwelling. They fortunately found Father Haw- 
 thorne at home, sitting in a bare, refectory-like 
 room, robed in his cassock, and drinking a cup of 
 afternoon coffee while smoking a cigarette. He 
 listened to what they had to say, and did not take 
 long to make up his mind.
 
 JENNY 25 
 
 " I quite agree with Mrs. Goodchild that she will 
 not remain where she is, and that this is not a 
 chance that should be thrown away." He was 
 much impressed by the stately benevolence of Mr. 
 Howard, who had a way of sympathizing with 
 another person's point of view which was very 
 ingratiating. " Shall I see her father for you ? " 
 he asked, leaning back in his chair, and putting the 
 tips of his long, delicate fingers together. 
 
 Mr. Howard's extraordinary instinct led him to 
 explain early in the interview that he was a Roman 
 Catholic, and he addressed the Anglican cleric as 
 Father with a ready and tactful recognition of 
 Anglican orders. 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble." Mr. Howard had already 
 made up his mind as to the best way of dealing 
 with Jenny's parent, and Father Hawthorne quite 
 endorsed Mrs. Goodchild's opinion that there would 
 be no difficulty in that direction. 
 
 " Mrs. Goodchild could buy her a few clothes, 
 I suppose ? " said Mr. Howard. 
 
 The priest looked at him keenly, but for a 
 moment he made no reply. 
 
 " One hardly expects to meet a woman like her 
 in such surroundings," said Everard tentatively. 
 
 " Mrs. Goodchild is a woman for whom I have 
 the highest respect," said the priest. 
 
 Everard and Howard botn waited, expecting him 
 to go on. They were intensely interested in Mrs. 
 Goodchild, in connection with whom they had 
 both sensed the same feeling of mystery. If they 
 expected the priest to satisfy their curiosity, they 
 were very much mistaken. He did nothing of the 
 kind, but said slowly :
 
 26 JENNY 
 
 " Yes, I think Mrs. Goodchild is quite to be 
 trusted." 
 
 Everard, with his ready imagination, which, if 
 at times it carried him far in advance of facts, 
 led him as often to the absolute truth, wondered 
 whether Father Hawthorne might not have had 
 something to do with her reclamation. He had got 
 it firmly into his head that she was a gentlewoman 
 who had come down in the world through drink. As 
 they rose, Mr. Howard produced a five-pound 
 note. " As I have possibly got a find in one of 
 your parishioners, Father," he said, " may I con- 
 tribute five pounds towards helping the poor of 
 your parish ? " His voice quavered with pathos, 
 as with a certain stateliness he placed the note 
 on the table. 
 
 Father Hawthorne was touched, and said gently : 
 " I will take it in the spirit hi which it is given." 
 
 From the priest's house, they returned to Mrs. 
 Goodchild. They found her and Jenny at tea. 
 Mr. Howard declared that if he could be pro- 
 vided with a cup, he should enjoy it very much. 
 
 " Now, my dear," said Mr. Howard, " this gentle- 
 man saw you dance and thought you had got the 
 right sort of idea for what we wanted. We'll 
 rehearse you to-morrow, and if we think you can 
 do what we want, you'll play this part. I'll give 
 you five pounds a week for the first month, and a 
 two years' contract at fifteen pounds a week after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Suppose you don't want her for this part after 
 all ? " asked Mrs. Goodchild. 
 
 " She can stay on at two pounds a week as a 
 pretty girl, and we'll teach her to do something."
 
 JENNY 27 
 
 Jenny had no views about money at all. She 
 could count in twopences, but she had very 
 seldom been called upon to do anything else, so 
 the magnificent offer passed, as it were, over her 
 head. 
 
 " She can't go to rehearsal as she is," said Mrs. 
 Goodchild. 
 
 Mr. Howard produced a pocket-book and took 
 out four five-pound notes. " I don't know whether 
 you can afford the time, but if you'll spend fifteen 
 of that in making the little girl presentable " 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild took the money. 
 
 Everard liked the complete lack of servility 
 with which she accepted her part in the scheme. 
 As she was about to put the money into a 
 small purse, she paused. 
 
 " We haven't really asked Jenny's consent," she 
 said with a smile, as she turned to the girl. 
 " Jenny, do you quite understand what is 
 suggested ? " 
 
 The child, for she was little more, rose and 
 went over to her friend. ' Yes, I think so," she 
 said with a smile, and in a voice from which all 
 shyness seemed suddenly to have vanished. 
 ' They want me to sing and dance, like those 
 people at the music-hall. You remember when 
 I went with Ginger ? " 
 
 " Ginger's a great friend of hers," explained 
 Mrs. Goodchild ; " and he's a very nice boy. 
 We're very fond of him, aren't we, Jenny ? " 
 
 " He's all right." The phrase was typical of 
 her slum education. The young people of the 
 class among whom she lived very seldom gave 
 enthusiastic expression to their likes and dislikes.
 
 28 JENNY 
 
 When they say that he or she is "all right " it 
 speaks volumes. 
 
 "And you think you'll like it ? " 
 ' Yes, if you're with me, not unless." 
 This brought them to the point which they had 
 all ignored. The girl couldn't go on living where 
 she was, and she must be looked after. To launch 
 a child of her age upon the world without a guardian 
 of some kind was out of the question. Howard 
 and Everard knew, of course, that there were 
 hundreds of people who would have been only 
 too glad to look after her for a consideration, but 
 would they be the right people, and how was the 
 right person to be found ? The very best people 
 for the position would be those who, of course, 
 would have nothing to do with it. If Mrs. 
 Goodchild would not help them, it was difficult 
 to say where they were to look next ; yet, poor 
 as was the living she was making, it was quite 
 evident that she could not be asked to give it up 
 for something which would have no certainty of 
 permanence. Mr. Howard would have had no 
 objection to offering her some post in the theatre, 
 as an under housekeeper, or an assistant wardrobe- 
 mistress, or anything which would give him an 
 excuse for using her in the way he desired. But 
 somehow, he felt this was not the proper way to 
 approach her. Everard, on his side, came to the 
 conclusion that if she were living here out of sight 
 of the world, however poor she might be, there 
 must be a good reason for it, and he felt it might 
 be difficult to move her. 
 
 " I will see that you are started, Jenny," said 
 Mrs. Goodchild, " but I am afraid "
 
 JENNY 29 
 
 " If you don't come, I shan't go. If I'm not 
 to be with you, I don't want it." 
 
 Howard was secretly delighted. He saw that 
 this was bound to play into their hands. Mrs. 
 Goodchild looked intensely troubled, but evidently 
 hardly knew what to say. She did not attempt 
 to argue with the girl, and Everard saw that 
 her point of view had been right, and that it 
 would have been useless. Decision was the domi- 
 nant note in the girl's character. 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild's hesitation was a long one. 
 She had clearly no desire to accept the position, 
 and if she did so, the men felt it would be out of 
 a wish not to stand in Jenny's way. At last she 
 raised her eyes and looked at Everard and Howard. 
 
 " Very well, I will help to the best of my ability." 
 
 They shook hands with Mrs. Goodchild and 
 Jenny, and went away, stumbling down the dark 
 stairs. 
 
 " I wonder," said Everard, as they once more 
 stood in the sunlit court, "whether we have allowed 
 ourselves to be carried away by the novelty of 
 the thing ? " 
 
 Mr. Howard was not subtle. He didn't even 
 take up the remark ; he was busy arranging in 
 his mind how to get the best advertisement out of 
 the situation. They entered their cab. 
 
 " We mustn't let 'em know," he said, " exactly 
 where she came from, but we must work the story 
 for all it's worth. We shall have to stand by her 
 in the theatre, or the others'll claw her to death. 
 You know what I mean, try and spoil her 
 nerve." 
 
 Everard had got what he wanted, and, as is
 
 30 JENNY 
 
 the case with most idealists, was now beginning 
 to feel a little nervous. He was not like the other 
 man, and he had a very real conscience on this 
 matter. You cannot put the oak back into the 
 acorn, and he knew perfectly well that whatever 
 happened, Jenny could never be the same again. 
 She would have been taken out of the sphere in 
 which she had lived, and to be satisfied with it 
 any more would be an impossibility. 
 
 " I suppose that woman will know how to dress 
 her ? " said Mr. Howard. " She seems quite like 
 a lady." 
 
 " She is one," said Everard quietly ; " there's 
 no mistake about that. She will dress her all 
 right, it's the one thing I'm quite sure of. The 
 only probability is that she will perhaps bring her 
 to us looking a little too quiet." 
 
 When they returned to the theatre the rehearsal 
 had been dismissed, and Everard strolled back to 
 his rooms. He would have liked to return to 
 Little Dean's Court to see how matters were pro- 
 gressing and to offer his assistance, but he felt 
 that Mrs. Goodchild would probably only find 
 him in the way. So he possessed his soul in 
 patience till the next morning. 
 
 He arrived at the theatre punctually, although 
 experience had taught him that there was little 
 use in being in time. 
 
 A broiling day in August is perhaps the only 
 kind of day on which the stage of a theatre is really 
 pleasant. The comparative chill of it is quite 
 refreshing. The stage was crowded as Everard 
 passed through the iron door which led from the 
 front of the house. To those in authority to
 
 JENNY 31 
 
 avoid the stage door is to avoid the possibility of 
 great importunity. There are generally a large 
 number of applicants ready to waylay the author 
 or the manager. Mr. Howard was not at the table 
 by the footlights, and glancing swiftly round 
 amongst those on the crowded stage, Everard 
 was unable to see any sign of Mrs. Goodchild 
 and Jenny. Groups of overdressed young ladies 
 were chattering and laughing. Here and there 
 members of the company were studying their parts, 
 whilst in a corner two leading artists were re- 
 hearsing a duet and dance. From somewhere 
 in the front of the theatre came the sound of a 
 piano and men's voices singing a chorus. Everard 
 lit a cigarette and began to talk to the stage 
 manager, asking what had occurred at the rehearsal 
 the day before. 
 
 " We've engaged a Morgiana," said Everard. 
 
 " Why, isn't Miss Bray to play it ? " 
 
 " No ; she was only reading in case we couldn't 
 get somebody else." 
 
 The stage manager looked a little perturbed. 
 He had been somewhat premature in conveying 
 the information to Miss Emmeline Bray that she 
 owed her promotion to him, and she, being a lady 
 with a temper, might perhaps conclude that she 
 owed her deposition to the same source. 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 , For the first time Everard realized with a shock 
 that he had not the remotest idea of Jenny's 
 surname. 
 
 " I've forgotten her name," he was compelled 
 to answer. 
 
 " She's not anybody well known, then ? "
 
 32 JENNY 
 
 " No." He was not clear in his mind as to 
 how far Mr. Howard would wish it to be known 
 that Jenny was entirely without experience. 
 
 " Miss Bray won't be very pleased." 
 
 " People who come on the stage," said Everard 
 cynically, " are taught the truth about themselves 
 in a way which occurs in no other profession. It 
 is the force of circumstances." A commissionaire 
 approached the table and asked him if he would 
 step up into Mr. Howard's office. 
 
 Wondering if something had gone wrong in the 
 matter of Jenny, he ran up two flights of stone 
 stairs and passed into the manager's outer office, 
 where half a dozen clerks were at work. He was 
 at once shown through into the inner office, a 
 large, luxuriously furnished room, with a low oak 
 roof, many unexpected corners and a general air 
 of comfort and homeliness, in which the great 
 office desk in the centre seemed somewhat out of 
 place. Sun-blinds were drawn to keep out the 
 glare. 
 
 As Everard entered, Mr. Howard was seated 
 on the edge of his desk smoking a cigarette, his 
 face wreathed in smiles. Mrs. Goodchild, in a 
 plain black jacket and a somewhat thick veil, 
 more obviously well-bred than ever, was seated 
 in front of him, and, standing by her side, evidently 
 very pleased with something Mr. Howard had said 
 to her, and showing her wonderful teeth in a radiant 
 smile, was Jenny. But what a Jenny ! It may 
 be quite true that beauty unadorned is adorned 
 the most that is to say, to be absolutely un- 
 adorned and in the nude is certainly a test of real 
 beauty but the simple garments which Mrs.
 
 JENNY 33 
 
 Goodchild had selected had transformed Jenny 
 amazingly. A small, pale blue tennis hat was on her 
 raven curls, and the simplest little dress in the 
 world looked, in the way it had been put on, as if 
 Jenny had been accustomed to wear the creations 
 of a French dressmaker all her life. Everard 
 had been quite right ; there was that curious dis- 
 tinction, that genius for all things in personal 
 appearance which marks the real beauty. It was 
 amazing that this child, who had never had a 
 really new dress in her life, should produce such 
 an effect ; and, what was more curious, that she 
 should be so sure of the effect as to be apparently 
 unconscious of it. 
 
 Everard and Howard looked at each other 
 and laughed, and Jenny continued smiling, for 
 she was perfectly certain of one thing, they were 
 not laughing at her. The more she was looked 
 at, the better she bore the inspection. 
 
 ' You're a great success, Jenny." Everard 
 turned to Mrs. Goodchild and said, as he shook 
 hands with her, " She was lucky to have someone 
 who could so surely choose for her." 
 
 Jenny passed the little bag which she held in 
 her right hand to her left, and shook hands with 
 Everard. " I am glad I look all right." 
 
 " I thought, Everard," said Howard, " that you 
 would put her through her lines, explain to 
 her what the part is, how the cues are marked, 
 et cetera. I'll leave you to it and go on to the 
 stage. Have you brought your skipping-rope, 
 my dear ? " 
 
 Jenny's face fell. She did not like to be 
 discovered in any lack of forethought.
 
 34 JENNY 
 
 " That's all right/' he said reassuringly. 
 " We'll send out and buy one. I don't suppose 
 we shall want it to-day." He left the room, still 
 smiling at Jenny, and Everard turned to Mrs. 
 Goodchild. " I expect you are wondering a 
 little what's to become of you during the re- 
 hearsals ? I hope you will look upon me as a 
 person to whom you can come in any difficulty." 
 He had no intention of letting Mrs. Goodchild 
 think that she was to be ignored now that Jenny 
 was more or less launched. 
 
 " I wanted to tell Mr. Howard about her father 
 He makes no objection at all, and is quite agreeable 
 that she should live somewhere else with me for 
 the present. You see," she said confidentially, 
 for Jenny had drifted over to the other side 
 of the room where some illustrated designs of 
 costumes were lying, " he's shrewd in his rather 
 muddled way, and he knows that her nature is of 
 gold, and that she will never forget him. Indeed, 
 I think he is looking forward to a halcyon time. 
 It is selfish, perhaps," she added, " but I am think- 
 ing of myself. My position is an invidious one, 
 and may become untenable at any time." 
 
 " I have thought all that out," said Everard, 
 " and I am going to make a proposition to you, but 
 not just at this moment, if you don't mind." He 
 turned and looked at Jenny, who was still examining 
 the illustrations. " I am the most responsible for 
 this experiment," he said in a low voice, " and 
 I want everything to be done that can be done. 
 I am going to contribute my mite towards Jenny's 
 career, so will you come and have tea with me 
 this afternoon at my rooms in Jermyn Street,
 
 JENNY 35 
 
 and we will get to know each other thoroughly ? " 
 He walked over to where Jenny was standing. 
 
 " These are pretty/' she said, showing him four 
 sketches of Morgiana in four different costumes. 
 
 " Those are what you will wear." 
 
 " Are they ? " An expression of keen pleasure 
 crossed her face. 
 
 " Of course I daresay they will be a bit altered 
 to suit you." He then explained the part to the 
 girl. 
 
 " I told her the whole story of All Baba last night. 
 I told her three times, so she quite understands," 
 said Mrs. Goodchild. 
 
 " That's splendid," replied Everard. " Now, do 
 you understand what a burlesque is ? " 
 
 " I found that a little difficult to explain," inter- 
 posed Mrs. Goodchild, " but I told her it was 
 making a thing funny by putting it in an unexpected 
 way." 
 
 " That's it," laughed Everard. " Well, Jenny, 
 you see we tell the story of " Ali Baba and the 
 Forty Thieves," and we mix it up with all sorts 
 of ideas about the present day for instance, in 
 the first act you will be dressed just like a little 
 servant-girl of to-day, in a print dress and 
 cap ; but there, again, it won't be like that of 
 a real servant-girl, because it will be made in 
 the most beautiful way and of beautiful stuff. 
 In the other acts you wear these dresses." He 
 then took the MS. of the piece and began to read 
 some of the part. He explained her entrances 
 to her, and took her once or twice through the 
 scenes where she was concerned. " Now we will 
 go down on the stage. Whatever you do, speak 
 
 3*
 
 36 JENNY 
 
 up," were his last words as they left the room. 
 " I think you had better come too, Mrs. Goodchild. 
 I'll find you a corner." 
 
 They went down the stairs, through the iron 
 doors on to the stage, which was now more crowded 
 than ever. A piano was going in a corner, and 
 three people in the centre of the stage were singing 
 a trio. Everard took Mrs. Goodchild to a chair 
 in a far corner down by the proscenium, where she 
 could see everything and was quite out of the way. 
 He noticed that, almost as if by habit, she pulled 
 her veil closely over her face. He had hardly 
 placed her before there was a pause on the stage, 
 and somebody said " Where's Miss Bray ? " But 
 Miss Bray, furious, had retired from the theatre, at 
 any rate for that day. The stage-manager, who 
 had arranged for Sunday on the river as the reward 
 for securing the part for Miss Bray, regarded Jenny 
 with a malevolent eye. 
 
 " More chickens," he reflected ; " ain't women 
 good enough for 'em ? " 
 
 " We've got a new Morgiana," said Mr. Howard. 
 " Here she is. Take your place there, my dear ; 
 never mind your not knowing the dance." 
 
 There was a perceptible stir amongst the groups 
 round the stage. Evidently Howard had made a 
 point of finding out Jenny's surname, for he intro- 
 duced her " Mr. Gibbons, our stage-manager, 
 Miss Jenny Oldcastle. Miss Parry, Mr. Frank 
 Dickson, Mr. Fred Belmont, Miss Jenny Oldcastle." 
 The four looked at her hi some surprise. She 
 was so absolutely unlike anything they had ever 
 seen before. Miss Parry scanned her searchingly, 
 eager to detect a possible rival and ready to take
 
 JENNY 37 
 
 measures accordingly. She knew that to be a 
 good artist was not sufficient to retain one's 
 position. Extraordinarily vivacious and a really 
 clever woman, she had more than once been 
 obliged to direct all her intelligence and strength 
 towards the discomfiture of rivals, in which, so 
 far, she had been successful. Her hasty in- 
 spection of Jenny apparently convinced her that 
 there was nothing to be feared. Jenny had been 
 primed to say, should anybody ask her if she 
 had been on the stage before, that she hadn't 
 done much, and to leave it at that. If she were 
 unable to defend herself from the inquisitiveness 
 of her colleagues, she must put up with the conse- 
 quences. The stage-manager had been let into 
 the secret by Mr. Howard, and had been told that 
 she must be made a success of. 
 
 " You're in this quartette, my dear. Just listen 
 to it with the others." The quartette was gone 
 through again ; Jenny thought the music very 
 delightful and longed to join in. Her confidence 
 was such as could never by any chance be 
 possessed by anyone with experience of the 
 theatre. She was absolutely ignorant of the 
 thousand - and - one disagreeables which were 
 possible. She expected everybody to be as pleased 
 with her as she was with herself. The moment 
 she was brought into prominence, the rest of 
 the company crowded down to the side to get 
 a good look at her. Some of them passed through 
 the iron door and stood at the side of the stalls, 
 although in such a position as to conceal this 
 infraction of etiquette from the stage-manager. 
 The first thing they audibly remarked on was her
 
 38 JENNY 
 
 genuine childlikeness. Then, because there was 
 no getting away from so palpable a fact, there 
 was a very general admission of her beauty, and 
 perhaps, although it was difficult to put it into 
 words, of her curious apartness as regards style. 
 " She doesn't look as if she could do anything." 
 " Perhaps she can't ; it isn't expected of some 
 people." 
 
 The quartette was taken through again, and to 
 the surprise of the stage-manager, Everard and 
 Mr. Howard, Jenny joined in, with a little smile 
 of pleasure at getting it right. There was nothing 
 remarkable in the singing voice most certainly 
 nothing that suggested that she could ever be a 
 singer. But she came in at the right moment so 
 firmly, her pipe, withal that here and there it 
 was a shade out of tune, was so bright and 
 cheerful, that it was absolutely right. More voice, 
 more musicianship, would somehow have destroyed 
 the effect. 
 
 " Oh, I am Morgiana, 
 The giddy little Turk. 
 
 I scrub the floor, 
 
 And mind the door, 
 And do the daily work." 
 
 She actually got a good many steps of the dance 
 right, and smiled in such a happy, confiding way 
 at Miss Parry, that the burlesque diva, in order to 
 show her exactly what to do, lifted her skirts and 
 exaggerated the steps, Jenny imitating her with 
 a surprising lack of confusion. 
 
 When the quartette made their exit, Frank 
 Dickson, the king of comedians, lifted her in his 
 arms as she stumbled, and they all arrived at the
 
 JENNY 39 
 
 side, Jenny in the centre, and one of themselves 
 in a way that established her position as nothing 
 else could have done. 
 
 Mr. Howard put his thumbs in his armholes and 
 leaned back with a pleased smile. It would not 
 take him very long to forget Everard's share in 
 the discovery of Jenny. Everard turned to him 
 with an inquiring glance, and the stage-manager, 
 feeling that a discussion was about to take place, 
 turned round and stood facing them. 
 
 " She's no great dancer, she's no great singer, 
 and she is never going to be any great actress, 
 but for all that she's just ' it.' All the girls who 
 sing will wonder how she gets there without singing ; 
 and all the girls who dance will wonder how she gets 
 there without dancing ; and all the girls who can 
 act will wonder how she gets there without acting ; 
 but she'll get there all right." 
 
 " It's charm and personality," said Everard, 
 " but I don't suppose I could have seen all that 
 at a glance." 
 
 " Ah," said Howard, leaping hi and seizing the 
 opportunity to plant himself as the chief actor in 
 the discovery, " I saw it all at once." 
 
 " Liar ! " murmured the stage-manager to him- 
 self with some humour. He knew his master. 
 
 The only danger was of spoiling Jenny. Before 
 lunch she was absolutely at home with them all. 
 Mrs. Goodchild, .watching her, wondered if she 
 were already forgotten, but she was reassured 
 when Jenny came to her at lunch-time. Miss 
 Parry, who had not noticed Mrs. Goodchild, 
 had invited Jenny to go with herself and Frank 
 Dickson, but Jenny declined * with a tact which
 
 40 JENNY 
 
 might have belonged to a woman of forty. Everard 
 would have taken them out to lunch, but he thought 
 it was better for them to find their own feet. 
 
 In the afternoon Jenny was taught her song. 
 She was only to have one. At present it was all 
 play to her, and, as Howard put it, there was no 
 reason why this first production should not remain 
 so. 
 
 It was rumoured that Mr. Howard had found 
 her singing in a very tenth-rate music-hall almost 
 a public-house. It was lucky for Jenny that 
 she came into the rehearsal somewhat late barely 
 ten days before the production of the piece, and 
 that what with first band rehearsals, dress- 
 rehearsals, and the trying on of costumes, the 
 time was so agreeably broken up that she was 
 never once bored. There was one more ordeal 
 to be gone through from Howard's point of 
 view before he was sure that he had got what 
 he expected. She had yet to have the footlights 
 turned on her. 
 
 " She may look everything we want," he said, 
 " till she's made up." Therefore he awaited her 
 first entrance at the dress-rehearsal with consider- 
 able trepidation, but if Jenny had looked lovely 
 before, there was a glamour about her in the arti- 
 ficial light of the theatre which was extraordinary, 
 the more so as she never seemed to lose her essential 
 childishness. 
 
 The day of the first rehearsal, when she and Mrs. 
 Goodchild had gone to tea with Everard, they had 
 been made perfectly happy by him as to the future. 
 An idea had struck him by which Mrs. Goodchild 
 could be made to a certain extent independent of
 
 JENNY 41 
 
 the situation which Jenny had created. He asked 
 her if she would like to do some copying work for 
 him. The notion was evidently grateful to her. 
 
 " And there are other sources where I could 
 perhaps find you some more." He added, in an 
 undertone so that Jenny could not hear, " I 
 suppose the money Mr. Howard gave you melted 
 away yesterday ? " 
 
 " Most of it," said Mrs. Goodchild, " but I think 
 we shall be all right." 
 
 " After the piece opens you will be quite happy, 
 but in the meanwhile you must have everything 
 you want." He handed her an envelope. 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild hesitated. 
 
 " You need have no feeling in the matter. You 
 must remember that it was I who first found 
 Jenny, and my reputation for judgment is at 
 stake." He would have liked this calm, restrained 
 woman to confide in him, but she was the last 
 person on earth into whose affairs it was possible 
 to pry without encouragement, and as to who she 
 was and where she came from, Mrs. Goodchild 
 was absolutely silent. That she had fought a long 
 fight he was more and more sure every time he saw 
 her, and the more he looked at her, the more he 
 saw that she had been, if not beautiful, exceedingly 
 handsome. As to her age, it was almost im- 
 possible to guess. Her hair was grey, in parts 
 almost white, and the lines upon her face, many and 
 deep as they were, were not altogether those of 
 old age at least this was the impression gained 
 by Everard. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Goodchild, " that copy- 
 ing manuscript is very difficult ? "
 
 42 JENNY 
 
 " You won't find it so," said Everard, with a 
 smile. 
 
 The third day Mrs. Goodchild did not go to 
 rehearsal, but sat in the new lodgings in Pimlico, 
 which were heaven to a woman who had been for so 
 long shut out from the comforts to which she had 
 obviously been accustomed. She had a great deal 
 to do for Jenny, for it is wonderful how many things 
 there are to be considered in the most elementary 
 wardrobe according to the creed of a gentlewoman. 
 
 Despite the fact that Mrs. Goodchild had done a 
 very great deal for her, the girl still had many 
 lessons to learn. It was surprising, not only how 
 quickly she learned, but how instinctively she 
 realized what had to be learned. There was 
 always a peculiar self-possession and lack of 
 hurry in her manner of approaching a social 
 difficulty. With her large brown eyes grown 
 preternaturally grave, she would observe care- 
 fully and look all round the subject, and then 
 cross-examine Mrs. Goodchild on any possible 
 complication which might arise in regard to it. 
 She would not have been what she was if her 
 sense of selection had not led her to choose the 
 best. Once, when they were seated at tea on 
 her return from rehearsal, she began to laugh with 
 an intense sense of inward amusement. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, Jenny ? " 
 
 " I'm laughing, Mummy dear, at what I used to 
 think was a swell, and what were the best people." 
 
 "Do you think the people at the theatre are 
 the best people ? " 
 
 Jenny shook her head. " Oh, no. At least, 
 that Mr. Ponsonby, who plays a small part, anyone
 
 JENNY 43 
 
 can see that he's tip-top, and, of course, Mr. 
 Everard's a gentleman ; but the others well, 
 
 there's nothing common about them, but " 
 
 The subject was a delicate one, and it is perhaps 
 just as well not to record the conclusions Jenny 
 arrived at.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE day of the first performance arrived. 
 Jenny had the distinguishing quality of suc- 
 cessful artists ; she was ready in every detail. This 
 was due as much to her own work and foresight 
 as to the help she had received. Nothing can be 
 further from the truth than to suppose that 
 successful actors and actresses are slipshod in 
 their methods. It is the second-rate who wait 
 for what they are pleased to call inspiration, and 
 who come hopelessly to grief at first performances 
 because they don't know exactly where they are 
 going, and what they are going to do. 
 
 Jenny had been thoroughly well advertised. 
 Already there was a mass of photographs in 
 costume ready to flood the market with, although 
 perhaps even Mr. Howard's idea of the success 
 she would make was not as optimistic as the 
 event justified. 
 
 The house was filled with the audience that 
 delights in this class of piece. The Press, that 
 gloomy phalanx which ought never to be allowed 
 at a first night, monopolized the greater part of 
 the stalls. The gallery and pit were crammed 
 
 44
 
 JENNY 45 
 
 with the adorers of the principal artists. The 
 boxes were occupied by those who, when the 
 management was shaky, were likely to come for- 
 ward and help to put it on its legs again. Chief 
 amongst these, and occupying the stage-box, was 
 the Duke of Glamoys, looking as magnificent as 
 ever. 
 
 How this man could display a zest for so frivolous 
 a form of entertainment after the surfeit he had 
 had of life was almost incredible. He was over 
 seventy, but looked alert and as handsome as 
 he had done for the last thirty years. He was 
 a great noble, typical of the Victorian Era. 
 
 He had been a duke almost from his birth, and 
 one of the richest dukes in the kingdom. As 
 Louis XV. accepted his kingship, so the Duke of 
 Glamoys had always accepted his pre-eminent 
 social position. He could have conceived of no 
 other setting for himself. Brave, chivalrous, and 
 with a magnificent physique, he had possessed a 
 virtue which left him at seventy-two with the 
 capacities of a young man. This saving virtue lay 
 in the fact that he was not greedy of the pleasures 
 of the table. He had nothing whatever of the 
 glutton he was in all things an epicure. At his 
 zenith, before the aesthetic movement, he had been 
 a worshipper of the beauty of life without canting 
 about it. He had been loved by some of the 
 most beautiful women of his day, both in and out 
 of society. His Duchess, whom he had married for 
 purely family reasons, he had admired enormously, 
 but he had never professed to be in love with her, 
 and she had never expected it. She had died a 
 great many years before, leaving one daughter,
 
 46 JENNY 
 
 now married, a dragon of the Evangelical virtues, 
 who knew all about her father's past, and whilst 
 paying him on the one side all the deference and 
 duty due to a parent of great position, regarded 
 his laxity in certain matters with horror. With 
 such imagination as she possessed she constantly 
 dwelt on the time when he should be too old to 
 dance the dance of death any longer, and when in 
 the space between this time and his dissolution 
 opportunity would be given her to snatch his soul 
 from the burning. If she could have seen it there 
 would, to her, have been something terrible in this 
 scene at the theatre ; a crowded and brilliant 
 house regarding with interest the presence of this 
 man of seventy-two, with his enormous reputation 
 and appetite for pleasure. But from the Oddities 
 Theatre to Lady Sarah Brent was a far cry. 
 
 The conductor had, amidst applause, taken his 
 seat, stroked his fine black beard, and lifted his 
 baton. The orchestra broke into a tune which 
 would be on all the barrel-organs in a few 
 weeks. Then the curtain lifted, and the piece 
 began. As one by one the favourite stars made 
 their appearance, there were loud bursts of 
 applause. Then, when Hassan asked " Where is 
 Morgiana ? I want my boots," Jenny appeared. 
 Mrs. Goodchild's heart was in her mouth, and her 
 spirits sank, for of course there was very little 
 applause, only a few of the people connected 
 with the theatre indulging in a mild demonstration. 
 But she aroused curiosity at once, and she had 
 not been many minutes on the stage before her 
 extraordinary prettiness was realized. She took 
 the most childlike pleasure in the entertainment,
 
 JENNY 47 
 
 a pleasure which was infectious. There was 
 something big about her, child as she was, 
 which set her quite by the side of the leading 
 people. Towards the end of the first act she had 
 a scene with the comedian in Hassan's kitchen, 
 and so helpful had the comedian found her at 
 rehearsal, that it had developed far beyond its 
 original limits. The extraordinary infectiousness 
 of her laugh, however, had not dawned upon those 
 who had rehearsed her. The Duke of Glamoys 
 could not help thinking of two lines from a trans- 
 lation from the French by an English author : 
 
 " Her laugh would wake me just as now it thrills me, 
 That little giddy laugh with which she kills me." 
 
 When the curtain fell on the first act, Jenny 
 was a favourite. A little while after the curtain 
 was up on the second act she sang her song and 
 did her skipping-rope dance. All those girls 
 who had been waiting years for their opportunity, 
 and w r ho were jealous of her, were quite justified 
 in their objections. There was nothing in it or 
 rather, there ought to have been nothing in it ; but 
 if there were nothing in it, why, when Jenny 
 paused at the wings before making her exit and 
 stood with her skipping-rope swinging in her hand, 
 and smiling with an absolute certainty that the 
 audience was going to like her, did the house come 
 down with a thunder of applause ? She certainly 
 had had the good fortune to have a haunting, 
 delicious little dance tune written for her, but 
 this could not be the whole explanation. However, 
 there was the fact. Mr. Howard made a note at 
 once she must have an opening song in the first
 
 48 JENNY 
 
 act, and she must sing a duet with one of the 
 comedians. These with the trio and quartette in 
 which she took part would make the audience 
 think she was doing quite a lot. Towards the 
 end of the piece, when, having danced a few more 
 steps before the leader of the Forty Thieves, she 
 suddenly threw the skipping-rope round his neck 
 and strangled him, the audience was more 
 than ever delighted with her, not to speak of the 
 way she made them laugh when, with childlike 
 glee, she poured boiling oil on the forty thieves 
 themselves. At the conclusion of the evening 
 she was called for as loudly as the most accom- 
 plished artist on the stage. Miss Parry, who 
 had made a great success herself, and who realized 
 that Morgiana could in no way compete with her, 
 appeared to take a tenth call, leading Jenny, as 
 who should say, " No one is so pleased with the 
 triumph of this sweet child as I myself." 
 
 Not even her success was able to make Jenny 
 feel that anything unusual had happened. She 
 did not know why, but she felt it was bound to 
 happen. Mr. Howard stood over her, beaming 
 with delight, and moaned : " You're a good little 
 girl a good little girl ! " theatrical success was 
 about the only goodness he understood " and 
 I'll give you a nice piece of jewellery to-morrow." 
 
 Everard bent and kissed her on the cheek, saying, 
 " Thank you," and sent them home in a hansom, 
 Jenny clutching two huge bouquets of flowers 
 which Everard and Howard had sent to her 
 dressing-room. 
 
 It was an absurd, monstrous event, an unearned 
 reward, unaccountable. Here was no training,
 
 JENNY 49 
 
 no experience, only the mere capacity to arrive. 
 What shall the Socialist do with the unearned 
 increment of genius, of physical beauty, of achieve- 
 ment ? Ten per cent, cannot be taken off kisses 
 earned by a beautiful profile or magnetic charm; 
 yet caresses are more envied than money. 
 
 They went back to the Pimlico lodgings, and 
 somehow, looking back on the evening, Jenny 
 became more excited than she had been during the 
 performance. She wanted to know exactly what 
 people had said about her in front, how they had 
 liked the piece in fact, every detail. Looking 
 at her, Mrs. Goodchild was astonished to see how 
 far her outlook had travelled during the past three 
 weeks. It was almost incredible. She seemed to 
 talk, act, and think quite differently from the 
 little girl who had trundled about the court in a 
 woman's skirt. 
 
 " Fancy, Mummy ! To think of it ! Who 
 could have thought of it ! There is no reason 
 why we shouldn't be happy all our lives now, is 
 there ? " 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild said nothing. It is almost im- 
 possible to convey to youth the futility of its 
 dreams; and if it were possible, it would hardly 
 be wise or fair to do so. Having left the excited 
 child to toss upon her pillow for a full hour before 
 she went to sleep, Emma Goodchild went back 
 to the sitting-room, and sat looking at the summer 
 moon which rose over the river. Her mind went 
 back to a scene brilliant with a real and solid 
 brilliance beyond anything Jenny had seen that 
 evening. Rows of spacious reception-rooms lined 
 with historic pictures, and hung with magnificent
 
 50 JENNY 
 
 chandeliers ; servants in rich liveries moving about 
 among beautiful women blazing in jewels, and 
 men wearing orders and decorations. Amid all 
 this she saw a woman so unlike herself as she was 
 now that she hardly recognized her, a woman 
 consumed with rage and jealousy, yet still with a 
 right to her place amongst these exalted and 
 splendid surroundings. Then she saw her a few 
 hours afterwards, an outcast all thrown away 
 by her own act. The years that followed of 
 misery and humiliation flowed in upon her like 
 a black ocean of horror. She rose and covered 
 her face with her hands, standing thus a long 
 time, tense and immobile, before she shut the 
 window on the summer night, and with tired foot- 
 steps and a face grey with suffering, ascended the 
 narrow stairs to her bedroom above.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IF he happened to be in town the Duke of 
 Glamoys always sat in the royal box on the 
 first nights of productions at the Oddities, and 
 a luxuriously furnished sitting-room behind it was 
 set aside for him. After the performance of The 
 Forty Thieves he sat for some time talking to one 
 or two friends who had been with him. Mr. 
 Howard finally came to him to hear his opinion. 
 He had a great regard for the verdict of this 
 man who had seen everything in the shape of 
 burlesque for over fifty years. 
 
 " It's very good indeed, Howard, very good. 
 I wonder how much longer theatres will be able 
 to stand the increased cost of these productions ? " 
 
 " People want it, and we've got to give it to 
 them." 
 
 " Kate Parry is as young as ever. She really 
 is quite marvellous. Five years ago she showed 
 distinct signs of ageing. They do when they're 
 about forty, and then they get young again." 
 
 " How old is she ? " asked Lord Moorshott, 
 a youngster of about twenty-three, a great-nephew 
 of the Duke's. 
 
 5i 4*
 
 52 JENNY 
 
 " Old enough for charity to draw a veil," said 
 the Duke, raising his hand in an admonitory 
 manner. Moorshott, who regarded him with 
 veneration, dropped the subject. It was the 
 Duke's peculiarity that behind all his capacity for 
 enjoying the lighter side of life, he possessed that 
 something which gives a man weight and influence. 
 His tact could be depended on. It was difficult 
 to conceive anyone regarding his views or wishes 
 lightly. 
 
 " That's a wonderful find of yours, Howard," 
 continued his Grace, fitting another cigarette 
 into a plain amber holder, " quite a wonderful 
 little girl." 
 
 " They are going to make a fuss of her," moaned 
 Mr. Howard. " I knew they would." 
 
 "I'm a little surprised that the house generally 
 should have liked her so much. Her beauty is 
 of a very untheatrical type." No one would have 
 imagined, from the way the Duke spoke, that 
 Jenny had stirred him as he had not been stirred 
 for many years. He was a little ashamed of it, 
 for he was too clear-headed to imagine for one 
 moment that a child of that age could regard him 
 in any other light than that of quite an old man, 
 and he had still romance enough left in his com- 
 position to dislike being reminded of this point of 
 view. 
 
 Mr. Howard saw that the Duke would like to 
 meet Jenny, and made a note of it. 
 
 The men talked for some time longer, and when 
 the Duke rose to go the attendants in the house 
 were covering the gallery and dress-circle front with 
 sheets. The Duke had put a good many questions
 
 JENNY 53 
 
 with the purpose of finding out exactly who Jenny 
 was and where she came from. Mr. Howard had 
 answered at length, without saying anything much 
 to the point. 
 
 The Duke turned to his great-nephew : 
 
 " What did you think of the Morgiana, Moor- 
 shott ? " 
 
 Moorshott had admired her, but was somewhat 
 too young to appreciate the exquisite sincerity of 
 Jenny's style. At his age, tinsel, by its very pre- 
 tence, has something more attractive than genuine 
 gold. He still admired oleographs, and thought 
 women with expression in their faces jaded. 
 Jenny, on the other hand, had too little artifice. 
 " She's all right." The tone was dubious. 
 
 " You didn't think her very wonderful ? " 
 
 " No, I don't know that I did." 
 
 " At your age one doesn't go to the theatre to 
 see something quite fresh. I suppose I was the 
 same when I was twenty-two, but it is so many 
 years ago that I really can't remember." The 
 grand old pagan leaned back in the carriage and 
 closed his eyes. He had a habit of taking a little 
 rest whenever possible. He declared the secret of 
 vitality to be in the trick of relaxation. 
 
 Glamoys House, was in St. James' Square, an 
 imposing edifice with a Jacobean front, which, 
 however, gave no notion of the spaciousness of 
 the building which lay behind its blackened fagade. 
 Glamoys and his nephew ascended the steps and 
 passed into the large, bare stone hall, which had 
 something of a chilling and depressing effect. It 
 retained this atmosphere even when the great gilt 
 sconces which surrounded its massive walls were
 
 54 JENNY 
 
 alight. Passing through the hall, the Duke led the 
 way down a broad passage, which seemed to grow 
 more intimate and comfortable, till they entered 
 a large, wainscoted room at the farther end, 
 through the open windows of which the summer 
 night seemed to come to them with the perfume 
 of flowers. 
 
 " Help yourself," said the Duke, as he sank into 
 a deep chair and lit a cigarette. 
 
 Moorshott took a cigar from a box on the side- 
 table. " Can I give you anything, sir ? " he said, 
 hovering over a table on which were glasses, 
 syphons, and decanters. 
 
 " A little seltzer- water and a sandwich." 
 
 Moorshott handed him the seltzer-water and 
 the sandwich, helped himself, and took a seat 
 opposite. 
 
 " I am not keeping you up, am I ? " 
 
 " Good heavens, no ! I don't know, but men 
 don't seem to have the stamina they had. They 
 seem to want such a lot of sleep. Perhaps 
 it is because I am growing tired myself, and too 
 old to do what I used to." He said this as only 
 a man with no sense of age could have done. 
 " It's strange," he continued, " the number of 
 people I've seen come and go at that theatre. 
 I wonder what becomes of them all." 
 
 " Do most of them end badly ? " asked Moor- 
 shott. 
 
 " End badly why should they ? The great 
 percentage of them end damned well. I suppose 
 the middle classes have to have some excuse for 
 such a reprehensible state of things, but certainly 
 most of the girls at the Oddities are very much
 
 JENNY 55 
 
 better off at the end of their careers than if they 
 had stayed at home and married in their own class 
 of life. There's a great deal of nonsense talked 
 about them, too. I doubt if they're much faster 
 than the female population in a country village, and 
 they soon learn to take care of themselves. My 
 reading never convinced me that our conventional 
 notions of morality are particularly necessary to 
 a nation's greatness. By the way," he said, 
 waking up to the possibility, " don't let me 
 keep you here if you've anything better to 
 do." 
 
 The young man laughed. " It's only you, 
 Uncle, who would have thought of anything like 
 that. I haven't anything to do." 
 
 " Why, what's the dear girl doing ? For at 
 your age, there always is a dear girl of some kind. 
 Only take care that she isn't too dear." 
 
 Moorshott laughed. " There isn't anybody 
 particular at the moment." 
 
 Glamoys turned restlessly in his chair, and his 
 thoughts wandered almost before his nephew had 
 finished answering. He was unable to forget the 
 small figure standing in the centre of the stage at 
 the Oddities, and giving that delicious little laugh 
 which had enraptured the house. " Do you 
 believe in women ? " he asked Moorshott, after 
 a pause, feeling that it was necessary to make 
 conversation. 
 
 " Oh, there are good and bad," answered Moor- 
 shott. 
 
 " I daresay you're right," answered the Duke 
 dryly. 
 
 Moorshott was not a brilliant conversationalist,
 
 56 JENNY 
 
 and although Glamoys was fond of the boy and 
 kept an eye on him, he was not sorry when he 
 rose and took his departure for his chambers in 
 the Albany. 
 
 After Moorshott had gone the Duke sat for a 
 long time thinking, and always Jenny dominated. 
 Once he laughed to himself laughed out loud 
 for he saw the absurdity of it. An old man of his 
 age sitting and dreaming of a child of sixteen. 
 What a dreadful old satyr the world would think 
 him. He wondered if many other men of his age 
 would be capable of such an emotion, and if it 
 were a usual thing of which they were afraid or 
 ashamed to speak ; possibly. He supposed that 
 his life had been such as to leave him more sus- 
 ceptible than most men ; or should it have been 
 otherwise ? One could never be dogmatic about 
 these things. He had intended leaving town 
 the next day ; indeed, his presence hi London in 
 September was unusual. He had been brought 
 to town by the death of a near relative, 
 whose kinship demanded the courtesy of his 
 presence at the funeral. The Duke was a great 
 stickler for etiquette in these matters. It was 
 his perfect social tact which had made society bear 
 with his moral delinquencies. He never grew 
 careless about such things as concerned the dignity 
 and honour of his order, and had never failed to 
 take part in any of those formal functions to which 
 his birth and standing entitled him. He had 
 always kept on excellent terms with the Court. 
 He believed that any dereliction in such matters 
 was a gross betrayal of trust. 
 
 He was curiously wakeful. Again and again
 
 JENNY 57 
 
 he found himself thinking of the child with her 
 skipping-rope. 
 
 Perhaps the knowledge that he could still feel 
 in this way was not altogether disagreeable. His 
 sensations were like those of a traveller who had 
 suddenly passed from a harsh, rude climate into a 
 summer sea. The great adventure of life had 
 always seemed to him to be love. He was instinc- 
 tively in conflict with the warped creed of his age 
 on the subject, which held that drunkenness, 
 vulgarity, and brutality were all more excusable 
 than an uncommon capacity for loving. 
 
 He had been tacitly granted the license which is 
 given to men whom the world admits to have 
 a big consciousness. His great reputation as a 
 landlord and as a fine sportsman struck a balance 
 in his favour with the British public when they 
 were reminded of his emotional career. 
 
 Besides, he had never been heartless. No woman 
 whom he had loved ever appealed to him in vain, 
 and none pf them were ever heard to speak other- 
 wise than well of him ; he was always benevolently 
 interested in them and theirs. Once and once only 
 had there been a groan from the crowd. A woman 
 he loved, but with whom his relations were quite 
 innocent, came to him one night for refuge from 
 her husband's cruelty, and he kept her with him. 
 Her husband, a Catholic, refused to divorce her, 
 and she died in the Duke's house two years after 
 of a broken heart. 
 
 All his life he had been accustomed to get what 
 he wanted, and yet he felt a diffidence and shyness 
 about the pursuit of this new toy which he could 
 not quite understand. Perhaps it was that his
 
 58 JENNY 
 
 feelings were more involved than he knew. Such 
 ladies from the lighter side of the drama as he 
 had had to do with of late years had not in the 
 nature of things touched him nearly : it had been 
 merely a certain patronage on his part, with a few 
 presents. Although there had been a great many 
 women who would have been quite willing to enter 
 into his life, notwithstanding his age, which, 
 after all, discounted things, the Duke was far too 
 naturally dignified to make himself ridiculous. 
 
 He did not go north the next day, and though 
 he was not at the second night of the piece at 
 the Oddities, he was there the third night and 
 the fourth night. 
 
 As for his introduction to Jenny, it took place as 
 it was bound to do, considering that he only had 
 to ask for it ; and the attraction of this child for 
 him grew stronger every time he visited the 
 theatre. 
 
 Jenny had heard his name mentioned more 
 than once. Miss Parry expressed the opinion that 
 he was " an old dear." 
 
 " Although he's never looked my way. But 
 he's a great deal more fascinating than most of 
 the young 'uns." 
 
 " But he's quite old, isn't he ? " asked Jenny in 
 some surprise. 
 
 " He's old enough to be a great-grandfather, 
 and he rides to hounds like a boy." 
 
 Jenny was rather -"ague as to what riding to 
 hounds might be, and promptly asked. This was 
 a characteristic of hers. She never attempted to 
 cover up her ignorance. A grave, reflective look 
 would come over her face as she bent all her
 
 JENNY 59 
 
 powers towards gaining as much knowledge as 
 possible concerning the subject. Her memory was 
 extraordinarily retentive. 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild did not fetch her from the theatre. 
 She had carefully considered the matter, and had 
 come to the conclusion that in Jenny's case it 
 would have amounted to affectation. A girl 
 who had learned to protect herself from the 
 boys of a London slum was either capable of 
 taking care of herself or had no intention of doing 
 so. 
 
 One evening after the performance, Jenny, coming 
 out of her dressing-room, which opened on to the 
 stage, passed Mr. Howard and two men who were 
 standing by the now extinguished footlights. The 
 thing was admirably done. They were waiting 
 for her, but there was no appearance of it. Jenny 
 was conscious of a tall figure of great dignity 
 bending over her with an august courtesy ; a 
 presence which, as it were, enveloped her in an 
 atmosphere of well-bred charm which was new 
 to her. 
 
 With absolute ease the Duke began to make 
 conversation with her, and no one could have 
 guessed that he was stirred. 
 
 Miss Parry was leaving her dressing-room at the 
 moment. Mr. Howard crossed the stage and 
 stopped her for a few words about the business of 
 the theatre, giving the Duke time to make friends 
 with Jenny. He then brought Miss Parry to 
 where Jenny and the Duke stood. The Duke was 
 too accomplished a tactician not to turn to Miss 
 Parry at once with compliments as to her evening's 
 performance.
 
 60 JENNY 
 
 " We're getting it right, Duke ; another week, 
 and the piece will go like anything." 
 
 " I am sending you some flowers to-morrow 
 evening." He had only just thought of it. 
 
 " Now that is nice of you," chirped Miss Parry, 
 knowing full well that the prospective bouquet was 
 cover for the same attention to Jenny. 
 
 " What do you think of our Morgiana ? " she 
 asked, and then continued before the Duke could 
 answer : "I think she's wonderful. Just as 
 though she had been at it all her life, isn't it ? " 
 
 The Duke privately tmought it was precisely 
 what Jenny's performance was not like, but he 
 agreed and went on ahead with her to the side door, 
 which the stars were privileged to use, bowing her 
 into her brougham with courtly grace. 
 
 " How do you go, my dear ? " asked Mr. Howard 
 in his anguished tones. " In a hansom ? " 
 
 A crawling hansom drew up, and Jenny drove 
 away. Her instinct was not deceived, for all that 
 the Duke had only addressed half a dozen sentences 
 to her. They were great friends already, and she 
 knew it. The smile seen in the gaslight as her 
 hansom drew away from the pavement assured 
 her of it. 
 
 " Like most really great stage beauties, she is 
 more beautiful without the footlights," said the 
 Duke to Howard as he stepped into his carriage, 
 offering to drop the theatrical manager if they 
 were going the same way. 
 
 Miss Parry had driven away to her house in St. 
 John's Wood. She and her husband, a comedian 
 of French extraction, had a model kitchen leading 
 out of the dining-room, a miracle of white tiling
 
 JENNY 61 
 
 and shining pots and pans, quite apart from 
 the kitchen used by their servants. It was their 
 especial toy, where they prepared wonderful 
 little suppers for themselves and their guests, and 
 here the Duke himself had eaten kidneys done 
 after a recipe of Monsieur Gavet's Miss Parry 
 was Madame Gavet at three o'clock in the 
 morning.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 " T 'VE met a duke," announced Jenny, entering 
 
 1 the sitting-room where Emma Goodchild 
 sat~ waiting for her, a light supper ready on 
 the table. 
 
 " A duke what duke ? " asked Emma, her 
 mind at once picturing some young rake who had 
 engineered an introduction. 
 
 " The Duke of Glamoys." 
 
 " But he's quite an old man." 
 
 " Quite. They say he's seventy." 
 
 " He's more than that," answered Emma 
 decisively. 
 
 " Why, do you know him ? " asked Jenny in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Of course not, but everybody knows of him." 
 
 "He is -very handsome," said Jenny, " and he 
 seems to me to be wonderful. He's not like other 
 old men. He seems quite strong, and," she added, 
 with amazing ingenuousness, " he smells lovely." 
 
 Emma laughed aloud, but she understood what 
 Jenny meant. 
 
 " He ought to be worn out, if anyone is," she 
 said.
 
 JENNY 63 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 The question was difficult, and she answered 
 somewhat lamely. 
 
 " He has had a busy life." 
 
 " Do dukes have busy lives ? " 
 
 " My dear, men of great wealth are as busy as 
 stockbrokers." 
 
 " I always thought people made money so as 
 not to be busy." 
 
 " They may make it with that idea. They soon 
 find out their mistake. I have always understood 
 that the Duke is a thoroughly all-round man, and 
 does his duty, even if " 
 
 Jenny was too occupied with her own thoughts 
 to notice the abrupt way in which she broke off. 
 The Duke had left a towering impression. 
 
 " Fancy, Mummy," said Jenny, eating her 
 chicken and salad with as little affectation and as 
 much delicacy as if she had known nothing but 
 gentlefolk all her life. " Fancy my being friends 
 with a duke. It is funny," isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is unexpected." 
 
 Jenny laughed ; the wonderful little laugh which 
 was her greatest asset. 
 
 " I used to feel honoured if young Mr. Higgins, 
 the rent-collector's son, spoke to me." Then she 
 laughed again. " Am I getting what you call a 
 snob, Mummy ? " 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 " Is the Duke married ? " 
 
 " His wife is dead. She has been dead for 
 forty years." 
 
 " There was a dukess " began Jenny. 
 
 " Duchess," corrected Mrs. Goodchild.
 
 64 JENNY 
 
 Jenny looked at her doubtfully, wondering if 
 Mrs. Goodchild were laughing at her. "Dukess" 
 to the untutored sounded more natural than 
 " duchess." Seeing that Emma was serious, she 
 corrected herself. 
 
 " There was a duchess who came to our night- 
 school. She was like Mother Gamble at the winkle- 
 stall, only fatter and cleaner. She didn't wear 
 an apron, of course, but her face was jolly and 
 kind." 
 
 Emma Goodchild laughed. 
 
 " Breeding isn't just a question of good looks, 
 Jenny." 
 
 " The Duke's good-looking." 
 
 " He always was." 
 
 " Have you ever seen him ? " asked Jenny 
 sharply. 
 
 " Oh, years ago. He was a great figure about 
 town." 
 
 Jenny was silent and thoughtful. She had 
 once begun to question Mrs. Goodchild in an 
 unthinking, childish way about her past. She had 
 not repeated the experiment. Still, she often 
 wondered about her. She could remember a 
 very different Emma Goodchild from the one she 
 knew now. She recollected a woman who used 
 to reel along Dean's Court with an inflamed face and 
 in slatternly attire, apparently without a vestige 
 of self-respect. She remembered the change with- 
 out being aware of her own share in it. Indeed, 
 it had amounted to no more than developing an 
 affection for the woman who, when sober, satisfied 
 an instinctive taste for a greater refinement than 
 was to be found around her.
 
 JENNY 65 
 
 One winter evening Jenny had come across her 
 leaning up against the corner of Dean's Court, 
 with the boys of the neighbourhood jeering at her. 
 The lamplight fell on a face which should have 
 appealed to pity, so pathetic were the attempts to 
 preserve some semblance of dignity. It of course 
 had its comic side, and this served the turn of 
 the young roughs. 
 
 Jenny, who knew most of the boys by sight, 
 elbowed her way through them and, calling on her 
 champion, Ginger, to take the other side, helped 
 the drunkard back to her rooms, where she sank 
 helplessly on to the bed in a deep sleep. 
 
 " My, she don't 'arf keep her place nice," said 
 Ginger, looking round by the dun light of the 
 candle. 
 
 Jenny had seen it look nicer, but it was true 
 that the simple cleanliness of the place was a 
 surprise. 
 
 " I'll get 'er clothes off and put her to bed," said 
 Jenny, moving Ginger towards the door. 
 
 " You ? " , 
 
 " Why not ? Father's on night duty. P'raps 
 I'll stay with her." 
 
 And Emma, waking up in the morning as the 
 winter day dawned, wondered how she came to be 
 in bed. She had no recollection of undressing. 
 Her mouth was terribly parched. The public-house 
 round the corner would probably be open by now 
 for the men driving the market-carts. She made 
 a move to see if there were any more coppers left 
 in her pocket, and to her astonishment felt a small 
 hand held out unconsciously to detain her. She 
 turned round to find Jenny's head pillowed at her
 
 66 JENNY 
 
 side. The child, disturbed by the slight movement, 
 half awoke, and nestled closer to her. 
 
 Till full day Emma lay, now and then turning 
 her eyes on the sleeping child at her side. Jenny, 
 she knew, had no mother. With absolute confi- 
 dence the girl had lain down by her side, sure that 
 her place would not be questioned. Once Emma 
 pressed the little hand tha', rested on her arm. 
 As she lay gazing at the whitewashed ceiling, a 
 wave of returning moral strength seemed to roll 
 over her. She was saved. Jenny had adopted her, 
 and compelled her protection. 
 
 Gradually Jenny had come to look upon this 
 room where Emma lived as her home. Emma 
 taught her to sew and to improve her reading 
 and writing. It was wonderful how sympathetic 
 a companion she found her. She began to wonder 
 if the drunken little ostler at the omnibus stables 
 could really be her father. She showed a ready 
 appreciation of good books, and of ideas superior 
 to any she could possibly have met with in the 
 slum life she had been accustomed to. By 
 degrees their life together became a singularly 
 happy one in its way. Emma took Jenny's 
 religious teaching in hand and Father Hawthorne, 
 who had made more than one attempt to get on 
 terms with Emma, seeing them at church, de- 
 scended on the couple and insisted on being 
 treated as a friend. 
 
 One evening, soon after, Emma had a long 
 talk with the priest, a talk which comforted her 
 greatly. 
 
 " There are more loves than one," he had said 
 gently as he let her out, " and you, at least, have
 
 JENNY 67 
 
 someone who loves you and trusts you. Depend 
 upon it, Jenny is a gift to you from God." 
 
 That was four years before, and now they were 
 sitting in the Pimlico lodging. How strange it 
 all seemed. 
 
 " I like the Duke, Mummy." 
 
 " Do you ? " 
 
 " Very much." The tone was decided. 
 
 It was the tone which Emma Goodchild knew 
 there was no gainsaying. 
 
 A few days afterwards Jenny announced that 
 the Duke wanted to take her for a drive. 
 
 " And he wants to come and see us," she added. 
 
 Emma looked up startled, objection in every 
 feature. 
 
 Jenny's face fell, for though she had taken a 
 liking to the Duke and had determined to be 
 friends with him, it would be awkward if Emma 
 offered an absolute obstacle as far as she was 
 concerned. 
 
 Emma knew it was not the least use pretending an 
 authority which she did not possess. As Jenny had 
 no sense of intended wrong in the matter, she would 
 not be influenced by it. 
 
 " Do you think it wise ? " 
 
 " I can't see why not," said Jenny gravely, 
 taking up her position without the least show of 
 petulance, but perfectly prepared to do battle 
 reasonably. It was this reasonableness which 
 made it difficult to deal with her. It revealed 
 so many weak spots in the axioms of conventional 
 authority. 
 
 They argued the matter, and inwardly Emma had 
 to admit that she was getting the worst of it.
 
 68 JENNY 
 
 " A friend like that, so much above you. He 
 will unsettle you." 
 
 " As far as that goes, Mummy, the Oddities 
 was far above me, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " Why does a man like that want to be friends 
 with you ? " 
 
 " He likes me." 
 
 Emma felt a delicacy in pointing out that, con- 
 sidering the disparity in position between them, 
 such a friendship was suspicious. 
 
 " Don't you trust me, Mummy ? " asked Jenny, 
 coming and standing in front of Emma. 
 
 " Yes, oh yes. I shouldn't be here if I didn't." 
 
 " Then why mustn't we be friends ? " 
 
 " People will talk." 
 
 " Do you mean the people in the theatre ? They 
 talk as it is of everybody." 
 
 " I don't only mean the people in the theatre. 
 Remember you are quite a celebrity. He is a 
 man of great position. You live in the public 
 eye." 
 
 " I can't see that it matters what people say." 
 
 The eternal cry of youth, which it is almost 
 impossible to answer. It is so difficult to inculcate 
 a surrender to public prejudice as a moral lesson, 
 and public opinion is always public prejudice 
 when it conflicts with our wishes. 
 
 Emma felt herself beaten before the argument 
 was well begun. She was acute enough to perceive 
 that though it was evident that Jenny liked the 
 Duke, there was in her mind the opportunity 
 involved of coming into contact with the select ; 
 and in the case of things animate or inanimate, 
 Jenny was always swift to seize such opportunities.
 
 JENNY 69 
 
 It was possible by putting the objections at their 
 crudest that Emma might have carried her point, 
 but she felt the victory would have done as much 
 harm as good. 
 
 " And you will let him come, Mummy ? " 
 Still Mrs. Goodchild hesitated. What could 
 she say more ? She could give no reasons for his 
 not coming, beyond those which would not appeal 
 to Jenny, which, indeed, her nature was incapable 
 of understanding. It was quite impossible to 
 suggest any danger with regard to a man of the 
 Duke's age. It would have been a discussion 
 altogether too unpleasant, and yet she knew him 
 by reputation ; indeed, years before, she had met 
 him more than once. But that was another 
 story. It was not likely that he would recognize 
 in Emma the woman he had met years before as 
 an equal. On the other hand, to put it on the 
 ground that the Duke's wealth and position made 
 an acquaintanceship undesirable would not appeal 
 to Jenny. It was precisely because these limita- 
 tions did not affect her that she was where she was. 
 She was one of those creatures who fly to the top- 
 most branch with absolute ease. Her mind was 
 entirely un-snobbish. Besides, Jenny's career was 
 the stage, and she had a right to such friends 
 as she was able to make. Mrs. Goodchild realized 
 that she would either have to give up her charge 
 or put up with such a state of affairs. Well, she 
 would, if need be, give up her charge at any moment, 
 if a suitable person should be found. Had she 
 been quite honest with herself, she would have 
 admitted that this sacrifice, although she would 
 have made it had it been for Jenny's good, was
 
 yo JENNY 
 
 the last thing that she desired. It would have been 
 a culminating anguish in her life. 
 
 The Duke came to fetch Jenny for her drive, but 
 Emma was unable to see him. She was really 
 unwell with violent neuralgia, which attacked her 
 at times and rendered her quite helpless. 
 
 " You mustn't think it is because she doesn't 
 want to see you she really is ill," Jenny ex- 
 plained. 
 
 The groom moved not a muscle as Jenny came 
 down the steps. There might have been nothing 
 singular in the Duke's companion, and the fact 
 that she had been discussed already in half the 
 servants'-halls in Mayfair would not have been 
 perceptible to the closest observer. The man 
 holding the horses never moved his eyes to the 
 right or the left, and the lad who stood by the 
 steps was equally impassive. Yet they had both 
 made a special journey to the Oddities to see this 
 new flame of the Duke's. In their eyes it consti- 
 tuted a greater claim to respect than if he had been 
 the president of missionary or foreign Bible societies. 
 Amongst themselves Glamoys was known as a 
 regular old sport. He could do many things which 
 would have rendered lesser men ridiculous. To 
 one who was such an authority in the political, 
 sporting and racing worlds, and whose opinion 
 besides carried weight in more than one department 
 of art not that his servants thought much of this 
 such little incidents seemed the finishing touches. 
 Once only, when the second man sprang up behind, 
 did his eyes meet those of his colleague, and they 
 exchanged the shadow of a smile a smile with pride 
 in it, as if they shared in the glory of a liaison the
 
 JENNY 71 
 
 meaning and purpose of which they had entirely 
 misunderstood. 
 
 The phaeton turned out of the little Pimlico 
 street. Every landlady was at her window, and 
 every landlady's maid-of-all-work keeping her 
 company. The free action of the splendidly- 
 matched horses gave Jenny a delightful feeling of 
 exhilaration. They swept across Ebury Bridge 
 and along Sloane Street, taking the road which ran 
 by Knightsbridge Barracks. As they passed the 
 Park gates, an old gentleman, seated well back in a 
 victoria, suddenly leaned forward and gave the Duke 
 a beaming salute. 
 
 " That, Jenny," said the Duke, " is the Prime 
 Minister." 
 
 Jenny looked vague. She was not at all clear 
 as to what a prime minister was, but, instead of 
 attempting, as an inferior intellect might have 
 done, to conceal her ignorance, she said, " What is 
 a prime minister ? Is it anything to do with 
 chapel ? " 
 
 The Duke proceeded to enlighten her. He gave 
 her quite a little lecture on the Constitution, and 
 was astonished to find that she took an intelligent 
 interest and was not bored. The lecture lasted 
 till they reached Hammersmith Broadway. Jenny 
 had never been as far as this in her life ; it 
 was all strange land to her. She had never 
 been in the country; she had never seen the 
 sea. All that she knew of the country was 
 Hyde Park, St. James' and the Green Parks, 
 and that most delightful of all parks for slum chil- 
 dren, Battersea Park. All she knew of waters 
 was the river Thames from Charing Cross to
 
 72 JENNY 
 
 Chelsea. On one occasion she had been going to 
 Epping, but the outing had not taken place. 
 
 As the full extent of her limitations dawned upon 
 the Duke and he glanced down at the well-bred- 
 looking little beauty beside him, he was amazed. 
 It was perfectly true that every now and then she 
 said something which would have been a horrible 
 solecism had it proceeded from a really common 
 mind. If by any chance she misplaced an aitch, 
 she restored it to its proper place without worry 
 or flurry, treating the better-class English which 
 she had learned much as if it were a foreign 
 language which she was anxious to speak perfectly, 
 but felt no disgrace at not being completely 
 mistress of. 
 
 " Would you like to see the sea, Jenny ? " 
 
 Jenny nodded. " Very much indeed." 
 
 " Shall we go and see it on Sunday ? We could 
 go down to Brighton by an early train. No, we 
 won't go to Brighton, we'll go to Hastings." 
 
 " Shall we take Mummy ? " 
 
 " Of course," said the Duke, " but I don't believe 
 she'll come." 
 
 " Perhaps she won't," said Jenny, a little dis- 
 appointed. " She doesn't like going out." 
 
 The Duke was disappointed too. He knew 
 pretty well what people would say at seeing Jenny 
 much with him, and he had welcomed the idea of 
 her having a chaperon who was quite presentable, 
 and who was a guarantee for the respectability of 
 a somewhat peculiar connection. 
 
 They bowled across Barnes Common and up 
 Roehampton Lane and entered Richmond Park. 
 Jenny gave a cry of delight. She began to appre-
 
 JENNY 73 
 
 ciate what the country might be like. It was an 
 exquisite morning, and though there was still a 
 freshness in the air, the atmosphere had a certain 
 mistiness which told of heat to come. The park, 
 with its green expanses, wooded places, and fern- 
 covered dells, was a source of absolute joy to Jenny. 
 She had no idea of pretending she had seen any- 
 thing of the kind before, and it did not strike her to 
 conceal her surprise and rapture from the two 
 automatons seated at the back. She gave a sigh 
 of disappointment as they emerged from the 
 Kingston gate on a row of suburban dwelling- 
 houses. Then again she became interested. Why 
 couldn't she and Mummy live in a house like these ? 
 There was one with a most beautiful little garden 
 in front, all red with geraniums, and a baby in its 
 perambulator at the gate, being made ready to 
 go into the park, while the young wife in a 
 white apron gave her final instructions to the 
 little maid-of-all-work, who was no doubt nurse 
 when the early-morning housework had been 
 done. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be lovely to come and live here ? " 
 
 The Duke expressed himself to the effect that 
 it would be very pleasant indeed. " But wouldn't 
 you sooner live by the river ? " 
 
 " Oh no." 
 
 Then he remembered that the river she knew 
 was the London river. An idea struck him. In- 
 stead of turning to the left towards Esher, he 
 drove straight through Kingston, across the bridge, 
 and turning to the left again, drove along a 
 number of lanes. On crossing Kingston Bridge, 
 Jenny had gazed in amazement. It was late
 
 74 JENNY 
 
 September, and the river was still gay with 
 pleasure-boats, whilst, although the vogue of 
 houseboats was not what it became later, they 
 could be seen, here and there in shady places, 
 gaily painted and bright with their display of 
 flowers. 
 
 This was a very different river from anything 
 which Jenny had conceived. Young men with 
 stalwart arms were propelling light, gracefully- 
 built skiffs through the water, smiling and 
 chattering to the girl or male friend lolling in the 
 stern. 
 
 It would indeed be pleasant to be rowed like 
 that. She wondered if the Duke could row. He 
 seemed to do all the things that young men 
 did, and without effort. 
 
 " Can you row ? " she asked. 
 
 " I used to. I rowed stroke in the Oxford 
 Eight." 
 
 This sounded cryptic, and had to be explained 
 to Jenny. 
 
 After they had driven along the lanes for some 
 time they came to a large gate in a high wall. At 
 a word from the Duke one of the men sprang down 
 and rang. After awhile the great gates with a lamp 
 swung above them opened, and the lodge-keeper 
 appeared. 
 
 Protruding over the wall by the gates was a 
 board, on which was written the announcement 
 that this noble residence was for sale. The gate- 
 keeper, surprised to see the Duke, threw both of 
 the doors open wide. As the carriage passed in 
 the Duke paused and said to the lodge-keeper : 
 " Take that board down at once, Brown," adding,
 
 JENNY 75 
 
 " Wife and children all right ? " The man 
 beamed. 
 
 " Very well indeed, thank you, your Grace. 
 Mrs. Brown is up at the house." 
 
 They bowled along a drive up to the front door 
 of a large white house. 
 
 " We're going in here, Jenny, for a little." 
 
 The other man sprang to the horses' heads after 
 having rung the bell, and, helping Jenny down, 
 the Duke and she waited inside the pseudo- 
 Greek portico. The door was opened by Mrs. 
 Brown. 
 
 They passed into a spacious hall with a great 
 deal of furniture -in it, and staircases branching 
 off on each side. 
 
 " Open all the windows, will you, Mrs. Brown ? " 
 
 Then the Duke stood and looked round, and 
 he was silent for what Jenny thought quite a long 
 time. Perhaps he had forgotten her presence 
 for the moment ; perhaps he saw, coming down 
 the staircase, the ghost of a beautiful woman, a 
 woman he had once loved, whose memory he loved 
 still. Had Jenny been other than she was, he 
 would not have brought her to this place, and 
 could she have known it, it was the greatest com- 
 pliment it was in his power to pay her. His 
 Duchess had never entered it. For a great many 
 years the house had been untenanted, yet fur- 
 nished from cellar to garret as it had been in 
 former days. He remembered the wrong he 
 had done this woman, the midnight flight, the 
 wild night ride to Portsmouth, the gaining of a 
 yacht but two hours in advance of a furious hus- 
 band, of the wonderful days in the South, where
 
 76 JENNY 
 
 he and she wandered through Syria a long way 
 in those days themselves, and a perfect happi- 
 ness. He remembered the return to this house, 
 and how she had drooped. Shame was a thing 
 she found difficult to live with when the first 
 ecstasy was over, yet she never loved him less. 
 Later, he remembered a young man arriving 
 post-haste from town and entering the hall with 
 a face white with foreboding. He saw himself 
 take the stairs four at a time, frantic with 
 remorse and penitence for even a momentary 
 neglect, and enter a room above with fevered 
 haste, only to find it the dwelling of peace and 
 death. These things the Duke remembered, as 
 he and Jenny stood in the great cool, dim hall. 
 After a little he led her down a corridor, and, 
 opening a beautiful old mahogany door, mag- 
 nificently carved, they entered a curiously-shaped 
 circular room, where the furniture was under 
 white sheets, now being rapidly removed by the 
 housekeeper. There was .a large bow window, 
 which had been thrown wide open, through which 
 the morning sun blazed with an almost overpowering 
 effect, and there, in front of them, was the most 
 beautiful garden Jenny had ever seen, and barely 
 a hundred yards off, the river, like a ribbon of 
 silver, with a lawn of velvet leading to a landing- 
 stage. 
 
 She did not know that what they were really 
 looking out on was a large backwater which made 
 for privacy, and that the land immediately opposite 
 was an island which belonged to the house. There 
 was a bridge connecting the island with the 
 garden.
 
 JENNY 77 
 
 When the Duke had started out with Jenny that 
 morning, a visit to this house had been the thing 
 farthest from his mind ; yet somehow he had a 
 pleasure in standing there with her which he 
 would have considered inconceivable. From over 
 the large mantelpiece a full-length portrait of the 
 woman he had loved smiled down on Jenny as if 
 she were glad to see her there, as if she were wel- 
 coming her, and it seemed to the Duke as if, through 
 the house associated for so many years with pain- 
 ful memories, he heard a laugh a light, clear 
 laugh, driving away sad thoughts. 
 
 Then they went into the garden, and Jenny ran 
 up and down by the river as if she would never 
 tire of its delight. After a while he took her over 
 the house ; such great, lovely bedrooms there were, 
 and everything else on a scale which Jenny had 
 never experienced. And yet, delightful as it all 
 was, she was not in the least bit silenced. It 
 seemed quite right that things should be like 
 this, that the world should be a beautiful place, 
 and that ugly things should be put out of sight. 
 
 After a while they went back to the house, 
 where the Duke was met by a perspiring little man 
 in a black coat, who listened to certain instructions 
 given in rather a low tone, and who seemed never 
 tired of saying " Quite so, your Grace," and when- 
 ever he said " Quite so, your Grace," he made a 
 bow, and when the Duke shook hands with him 
 he was evidently so impressed that he managed 
 to be shaken hands with, and not, as it were, to 
 shake hands himself, obviously anxious to eliminate 
 from the proceedings any touch of familiarity 
 on his own part.
 
 78 JENNY 
 
 " If you get a telegram from me saying go 
 ahead," finished the Duke, " you can proceed. 
 But, at any rate, don't put up the board again. 
 I may want the place next summer." 
 
 " Quite so, your Grace." 
 
 They drove away, and the Duke was silent for a 
 few minutes. " How would you like, Jenny, to 
 spend a little holiday in that house ? " 
 
 " Oh, I should love it, and I am sure Mummy 
 would love it too." 
 
 " Let's try and persuade her, shall we ? " 
 
 They drove on through Bushey Park and out 
 on to the broad road by Hampton Court Green. 
 They then had lunch lobster and because in 
 those days people drank wine as a matter of 
 course, Jenny had a glass of champagne, which 
 made her feel a little uncomfortable. Then the 
 Duke took her over the Palace. There were not 
 many people about, and the State Rooms were seen 
 at their best. The Duke explained things to 
 her, told her who had built it, who had lived in 
 it, who had altered it. Then they had tea, from 
 the partaking of which the Duke excused him- 
 self, but Jenny had a lovely meal shrimps 
 and tea and watercress. And then they drove 
 back. 
 
 What a day it had been ! In some way it was 
 even a more important day than the one on 
 which Everard saw her dancing in Dean's Court. 
 She had seen what life might be what the life 
 of some people was, and it struck her as being de- 
 lightful, but not strange. Perhaps strange in a 
 way, but at any rate she had never once felt out 
 of place. She accepted the companionship of
 
 JENNY 79 
 
 the Duke without question. They seemed to have 
 become good friends so naturally that it never 
 struck her that there was anything incongruous. 
 Why should it ? She knew nothing of the Duke's 
 social atmosphere, or, as it were, his poise before 
 the world. She was too inexperienced to have 
 even put it to herself that this man, old enough 
 to be her grandfather, could be regarded as a 
 possible moral danger, or that, advanced in years 
 as he was, his fascination might be effective. In 
 her adolescent mind, as is the case of most young 
 people, love-making was a question of courtship, 
 because, although she knew a very great deal more 
 than young girls of her own age brought up in 
 respectable society, she still did not associate even 
 things that she knew with her own life. It was 
 precisely because she could not be approached 
 as an ordinary girl of her class that she interested 
 the Duke so much. She accepted his attentions 
 with an absolute confidence that infected him 
 with her own mood. And so they drove back to 
 London in the growing dusk of the early autumn 
 evening, a quaint couple for the psychologist. 
 
 The Duke turned to the little figure seated at 
 his side. He felt no incongruity at a man of his 
 age being seen driving with this little favourite 
 of the stalls and gods at the Oddities. Perhaps 
 it was because all his life he had done this kind of 
 thing, and it had in a way become second nature. 
 " Do you like being with me ? " he asked. 
 
 Jenny looked up happily. " Of course." 
 
 " Oh no, there isn't any ' of course ' about it. 
 I am a very old man a Methuselah " 
 
 " What's Methuselah ? " asked Jenny.
 
 8o JENNY 
 
 " Methuselah was the oldest man that ever 
 lived. That's something to have been, isn't 
 it? " 
 
 " Shall I call you Methuselah ? " 
 
 " No, I'd sooner you didn't do that," said the 
 Duke, laughing. " But what I mean is that you 
 must say at once if you find me dull " 
 
 " At once ! " assented Jenny mischievously. 
 
 " I shan't be a bit offended." 
 
 " I don't know how anybody could find you 
 dull." 
 
 The Duke thought to himself that either this 
 was the most beautiful compliment an old man 
 had ever had paid him, or that Jenny was the 
 most consummate little trickstress. A man with 
 a past like his has to pay for his discoveries in 
 female psychology. When the real compliment 
 comes along, he finds it difficult to receive it whole- 
 heartedly and ingenuously. 
 
 " That's very charming of you, Jenny. Very 
 charming indeed." 
 
 Instinct prompted Jenny to say something 
 which came from her heart. She touched the 
 Duke's arm lightly. His eyes turned and met 
 hers. She looked into them with a radiant smile, 
 and said : 
 
 " I mean it." Then she added : " We've had 
 a lovely day." 
 
 And the Duke believed her. It was as if the 
 accumulated cynicism of years had been brushed 
 away by the light touch of an angel and it was 
 given to him again to have faith. 
 
 Jenny did not know that there were few men 
 of his age who could have gone through such a
 
 JENNY 8 1 
 
 day and such a drive. This tour de force she took 
 as natural. 
 
 He left her at the door of her rooms. She was 
 to drive with him again on Sunday. They had 
 settled that.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MRS. GOODCHILD was alone. Jenny had 
 gone to rehearsal. The morning was 
 warm, and she was at the window with her 
 work-table, an old-fashioned thing, a sort of 
 rosewood well, set on three legs, which she had 
 taken possession of. 
 
 As she worked she was thinking deeply. It was 
 true that from earning a few shillings a week she' 
 was now in a position of comparative comfort, 
 but there was a factor in the arrangement which 
 disquieted her the more she thought of it. She 
 was practically at the mercy of a child's tempera- 
 ment. She loved Jenny and believed in her, but 
 who could foretell how a nature would develop 
 under such circumstances ? If it suddenly went 
 off at a tangent, as female characters have a way 
 of doing, what was she to do ? 
 
 She could never desert her, that she knew. How 
 deep a hold the child had on her nature no one 
 knew but herself. If, however, things turned out 
 badly, her own position might become an equivocal 
 one. She sighed deeply as she bent over her 
 sewing, 
 
 82
 
 JENNY 83 
 
 This friendship with the Duke of Glamoys was 
 not a thing which could be treated lightly. She 
 had consented to the drive, but the situation 
 would have to be grasped. The measure of 
 Jenny's danger was the measure of her fasci- 
 nation. 
 
 A hansom rattled up to the door, and as she 
 glanced out of the window, she saw the top of a 
 well-kept tall hat disappear up the steps. 
 
 A few seconds after, the landlady, palpably in 
 a flutter, announced the Duke of Glamoys, getting 
 the words out with a sort of gasp, as if their 
 unaccustomed splendour choked her. 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild rose in surprise and alarm. 
 She forgot Jenny for the moment, feeling only that 
 for the first time for years she was in contact 
 with the world she had known, that she was being 
 intruded upon. 
 
 The Duke realized that his appearance without 
 having sent up his card was an offence, and hastened 
 to apologize. He ended by asking if he might 
 sit down, as he wanted to speak to her on an 
 important matter which concerned them both. 
 
 " You have come to talk to me about Jenny ? " 
 
 The Duke was somewhat surprised at the 
 ease of her manner. He was accustomed, as are 
 those of his rank, for people of a different class to 
 be a little overwhelmed, but Emma Goodchild 
 received him with that consciousness of equality 
 which is the most difficult thing in the world to 
 pretend to. 
 
 He was somewhat at a loss how to begin. Jenny 
 had described Emma as " dear Mum, who takes 
 care of me." Once she had said with reference 
 
 6*
 
 84 JENNY 
 
 to some question which had arisen : " Mum wouldn't 
 let me do that she is a lady," which had conveyed 
 to the Duke the idea of a woman with pretensions 
 to gentility. 
 
 So in the presence of this quite natural and 
 well-bred manner, he had to reconsider his line 
 of action. 
 
 He wanted Jenny to spend the rest of September 
 and the month of October in his house by the 
 river. As usual he meant to have his own way, 
 but the mere personality of Emma Goodchild, 
 before she had even opened her lips, constituted a 
 barrier. He felt that this woman knew him, knew 
 of him, and was on the defensive. 
 
 He meant no harm, however, and he was inspired 
 by his good intentions to put matters simply. 
 
 " I am an old man, Mrs. Goodchild." 
 
 Emma Goodchild looked at the alert figure before 
 her, and her eyes wandered from the well-groomed 
 head and the trimmed moustache to the carnation 
 in his button-hole. She drew her own conclusions 
 but made no reply. 
 
 The Duke smiled hi the way peculiar to him when 
 he was suddenly confronted with the ridiculous side 
 of himself, but he went on bravely. 
 
 " Miss Oldcastle has roused a very great interest 
 in me. Mr. Howard has told me all about her, 
 where she was found, who she is, in fact, every- 
 thing." 
 
 " Did he tell you where he found me, Duke ? " 
 
 There was no trace of anger hi the voice, no 
 resentment in fact, but the Duke flushed. 
 
 " I assure you " 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild broke in.
 
 JENNY 85 
 
 " I am not offended, nor hurt," she said with 
 a faint smile. " I am not egotistical in these 
 days. I only want to know." 
 
 " He did tell me." It was absurd to assure 
 this woman that it was of no moment. She would 
 have treated such a remark with indifference. 
 
 The Duke saw that it was best to come straight 
 to the point. Quite seriously, for he really 
 believed it, he told Mrs. Goodchild that his 
 fondness for Jenny was purely paternal, that he 
 wanted to do all he could for her, and that he would 
 be glad if Mrs. Goodchild and Jenny would accept 
 the loan of his house on the river for the remainder 
 of the summer. " I am glad I've got it all out 
 in one speech. It forms at any rate a basis for 
 argument." 
 
 And argue it they did. Emma Goodchild, on 
 her side, did so without kid gloves. She made 
 many objections. The Duke met her at every 
 turn. 
 
 " Whatever happens," he said, bending forward 
 and speaking with great seriousness, " a beautiful 
 child like that will have temptations rained upon 
 her. There will be no price too high." 
 
 " Marriage," suggested Emma. 
 
 The Duke winced and she was quick to notice 
 it. The idea of Jenny belonging to another hurt 
 him. Why should it if his feelings were purely 
 platonic ? 
 
 " If a good match offered itself no one would 
 oppose it, would they ? " 
 
 " You might be considered an obstacle." 
 
 " If a man is really in love he tries his luck." 
 
 " That is true."
 
 86 JENNY 
 
 " I want to join forces with you in looking after 
 her. That is really my position." 
 
 " Do you think the world will look at it in 
 that way ? " 
 
 Perhaps the Duke had had some idea before he 
 entered the room of dispensing with Emma Good- 
 child. He would not have been surprised to meet 
 the usual harpy ready to take the girl's beauty and 
 attraction to the best market. Five minutes' 
 conversation revealed to him the secret of Jenny's 
 manner, the perceptible growth in her towards the 
 best. He realized that Mrs. Goodchild was indis- 
 pensable. If he could succeed such an ally would 
 preserve the girl as his companion, and, ridiculous 
 as he felt it to be, he desired her to be with him ; and 
 in order to salve his conscience he told himself that 
 his one object in life should be to place her properly 
 to arrange a good marriage for her. He would 
 leave her a fortune, a quarter of a million, if things 
 turned out as he expected. He would give people 
 clearly to understand that she was in the position 
 of his ward. It may have suggested itself to him 
 that if he were so well intentioned towards her 
 it would be kinder to keep entirely in the 
 background. There are sacrifices, however, which 
 are not made, and this was one of them. 
 
 " The public will always say the worst of a girl 
 who comes before it in that way." 
 
 " Is that your experience ? " 
 
 He felt the implication that his public was not 
 necessarily the whole public. 
 
 " You don't trust me ? " he asked at length. 
 
 " I don't say so." 
 
 " I give you my word of honour " he began.
 
 JENNY 87 
 
 Mrs. Goodchild looked up quickly. The speech 
 was accompanied with a certain magnificence 
 of manner. 
 
 " If you give your word of honour, Duke, I 
 trust you at once." 
 
 He felt she had been too clever for him. He 
 would have liked to take back that speech. It 
 had closed the door, barred and bolted it, on much. 
 He concealed a certain anger at having been led 
 into making it. 
 
 " Then I may tell them to put Glamoys Lodge 
 in order ? " 
 
 " I must put the matter to Jenny first. I will 
 write you a line to-night." 
 
 He looked at her curiously. Emma wondered 
 if he remembered her face and grew alarmed. 
 Then she dismissed the idea. He had sat next 
 to her at dinner and had been in her box at the 
 opera once, twenty years before. 
 
 " I hope we shall be friends, Mrs. Goodchild." 
 He smiled. " Our position will be a little curious, 
 but I think we have tact enough to manage." 
 
 Then he talked of Jenny. He was never tired 
 of doing so. He talked of her as a boy might have 
 done of his first love. At least he talked of her 
 as much. Emma sat and listened. Every now 
 and then there came through the window the 
 impatient stamp of the waiting horse or the spas- 
 modic jingle of its bells. She was wondering what 
 made this man so essentially young, what gave 
 him the capacity ior taking an attitude which in 
 any other man would have been absurd. 
 
 " You see," he said, " it was a dangerous career 
 on which to launch any girl as amazing as Jenny."
 
 88 JENNY 
 
 " We had reckoned on that, but everyone has 
 a right to their chance. What was open to her ? 
 The career of a maid-of-all-work, or a navvy as 
 a husband." 
 
 The Duke gave a little shudder. The picture 
 was so impossible as a setting for Jenny. 
 
 "And then," went on Mrs. Goodchild, "we had 
 to deal with genius." 
 
 " You don't think her a great actress, or that she 
 will ever be one, do you ? " asked the Duke 
 quickly. 
 
 " She has precisely those qualities which will 
 prevent it," said Mrs. Goodchild. " She has too 
 much instinct for the facts of life. No, in speaking 
 of genius I meant her capacity for personal beauty, 
 for it is a capacity, even if the raw material be a 
 gift, and, above all, her genius for social progress." 
 
 " I understand. You are quite right. No 
 environment seems to disturb her. That charity 
 benefit she played for at the Melboroughs, she 
 was quite in her element, which dear Miss Parry 
 was not." 
 
 Emma Goodchild smiled. "It is deliberate, 
 and self-conscious. She knows what she is doing." 
 
 "So I have discovered, and it is the more 
 incredible." 
 
 They talked on, never tired of their subject. It 
 was besides for Emma a great refreshment to 
 be in the company of the Duke. 
 
 As he talked to her he wondered more and more 
 who she could be. A dozen almost imperceptible 
 touches revealed that she was quite at home in 
 the nuances of his world. He realized the reason 
 of much which had puzzled him in regard to Jenny,
 
 JENNY 89 
 
 Left alone, Emma wondered if she had made a 
 mistake. She did not see how she could have 
 acted differently. She could not think or act as 
 if Jenny were an ordinary girl. As for her own 
 part in the business, what did it matter what 
 could her reputation matter ? The most evil 
 things would be said. She would appear as the 
 girl's purveyor in certain eyes. She was con- 
 vinced, however, that Jenny's innocence would be 
 her best weapon, and that the Duke would be a 
 powerful barrier to the attentions of younger men. 
 
 As she was reflecting deeply the maid entered 
 to say that there was a young man called Bellew 
 below. 
 
 Of all people in the world, Ginger rejoiced in 
 the name of Bellew. Where his parents had 
 obtained it, and whether they had a right to it, it 
 was impossible to say, but he was exceedingly 
 particular about the spelling and pronunciation of 
 it. Indeed, like many people who possess some- 
 thing which they regard as exceptional, he was 
 inclined to measure other people's value in relation 
 to it. He was inclined to look down upon Jones, 
 Smith and Robinson, however well-to-do they 
 might be. Ginger was the only person in Dean's 
 Court who had been entrusted with Jenny and 
 Emma's address. The departure of Jenny had been 
 the grief of his life so far. He had worshipped her 
 as a divinity, yet with the idea of one day possessing 
 her, for human beings have a way of believing in 
 miracles. He knew her value, for in Dean's Court 
 the loss of virginity was more usual than its re- 
 tention, and no breath of scandal had ever touched 
 Jenny.
 
 90 JENNY 
 
 He had seen, however, that from the moment of 
 Mr. Howard's appearance on the scene his chance 
 was gone. He had too high an opinion of Jenny's 
 capabilities to believe otherwise. 
 
 He entered hastily, his face white and excited. 
 
 " Jenny 'ere ? " 
 
 " No, has anything happened ? " 
 
 " 'Er father " He paused, feeling that the 
 
 tone in which he had said " her father " was a 
 sufficient indication of tragedy. 
 
 " Is he dead, Ginger ? " 
 
 " Killed, 'bus run clean over 'is 'ead. 'E was in 
 the narrer way, comin' into the yard a 'bus 
 swung round the corner, 'e was too drunk to be 
 slippy, and it was over in wunst. Never even 
 'ollered ; awful, ain't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I'll tell Jenny, and later we'll come round. 
 Where is he ? " 
 
 " In the morchually, by the church." 
 
 " Very well. Won't you sit down, Ginger ? 
 You look white." 
 
 " Carn't stop, Mrs. Goodchild. 1 come in my 
 dinner 'our. It give me a bit of a turn." He 
 paused, and then added, " I seed Jenny the other 
 night ; at the theaytre." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; what did you think of it ? " 
 
 " Grand, ain't she ? Gettin' on, ain't she ? 
 Suppose she won't know me soon." 
 
 He looked at Emma dubiously, a little patheti- 
 cally. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Ginger, Jenny will never 
 outgrow her old friends." 
 
 " I believe yer right. Still, it 'urt a bit, seein' 
 her like that, but I likes to see her gettin' on I
 
 JENNY 91 
 
 likes to see it," he repeated, as if trying to conquer 
 unworthy feelings and convince himself he was 
 speaking the truth. 
 
 "I'm sure you do." 
 
 Ginger went away, promising to look out for 
 them near the " morchually." 
 
 " She carn't see 'im." 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 The business of telling Jenny of her father's 
 death was easier than it would have been in 
 most cases. Her nature was too frank to pretend 
 to an affection which she did not feel, but 
 she was shocked, and displayed a certain tender- 
 ness for the memory of the drunken old reprobate, 
 who had often left her to suffer cold and hunger 
 sooner than let his craving for drink go unsatisfied. 
 
 Emma had her own views as to the genuineness 
 of the old drunkard's fatherhood. Various state- 
 ments had reached her which left little doubt in 
 her mind as to the facts of the case ; still, it was 
 one of those comic episodes which show how 
 purely artificial are the conventions of life. 
 
 The man was buried decently. There were quite 
 a number of wreaths, including one from the 
 omnibus company. It was extra large, perhaps 
 on account of there being no widow and orphans 
 to claim damages. Jenny's well-made black dress 
 was the admiration of Dean's Court, but her tear- 
 lessness was considered hardly seemly. Thus 
 the last link with Dean's Court was broken. 
 
 There was henceforth no one to say her yea or 
 nay, only Emma's advice, which she could accept 
 or reject as she thought fit. 
 
 Jenny did not play for a week, and Miss Bray,
 
 92 JENNY 
 
 who had consented to return to the theatre as her 
 understudy, took her place. 
 
 The stage-manager and certain disappointed 
 people in the theatre declared her to be an 
 immense improvement. " But then," they added, 
 " you're an artist." So poor Miss Bray bounded 
 and smirked and squawked, and the stage-manager, 
 who told her it was heaven to see somebody who 
 could do something with the part, was taken into 
 favour again, and her own particular friend, the 
 Honourable Arthur Jervois, stood about in the 
 bar, and asked his friends if they'd seen Nell in 
 her great success. Then Jenny returned and Miss 
 Bray's dream of being asked to take the part 
 permanently was shattered. 
 
 Jenny and Mrs. Goodchild had spent the week in 
 making themselves comfortable at Glamoys Lodge. 
 Everard was one of the first to hear of what was 
 proposed, and he did not approve. 
 
 "It is no use protesting, Mr. Everard. I know 
 all that can be said against it, but Jenny has made 
 up her mind." 
 
 " Surely she is not so obstinate." 
 
 " It is not obstinacy. She has argued it all out. 
 You quite understand that I should not stay with 
 her one moment if I were not sure that there is 
 nothing wrong." 
 
 " But what inducement can the Duke have ? " 
 
 " He cannot resist Jenny or rather, for the 
 suggestion came entirely from him, he finds her 
 necessary to him." 
 
 " And she ? " 
 
 " Curiously enough, she is perfectly happy with 
 him. It is the strangest friendship in the world."
 
 JENNY 93 
 
 " Does she realize what people will say ? " 
 
 " She says she does not mind what people will 
 say." 
 
 " Yes, but she is such a child." 
 
 " I told you from the first that you would not 
 find her easy to understand. I always have a 
 great difficulty in opposing her. I have a feeling 
 that she has vision, that she sees further than 
 most people, and yet she is quite level-headed. 
 Much as she likes me, she would have gone to 
 this house, whatever I said, because she wants to, 
 because she has a feeling that it is her way. 
 Do you follow me ? " 
 
 As an author, the psychology of this appealed 
 to Everard. 
 
 " But the Duke of Glamoys," he objected. 
 
 " The Duke has given me his word." 
 
 " If he has given you that, everything but the 
 appearance of things is all right." 
 
 " We must let that go. Jenny insists." 
 
 Everard was puzzled. For a moment he won- 
 dered if Emma were capable of consulting her own 
 interests before those of Jenny. He put the idea 
 aside, however, as unworthy. Whoever this 
 woman was, whatever she had been, not once since 
 Everard had known her had she shown aught 
 but the most devoted unselfishness to Jenny's 
 interests. 
 
 It was not the best tune to take possession of 
 a house on the river, but Glamoys Lodge was not 
 in the nature of a habitation which was intended 
 solely for the summer. Jenny accepted her new 
 position with the greatest appreciation but with 
 perfect equanimity. Those who did not know
 
 94 JENNY 
 
 her and the essential loyalty and affection of her 
 nature might have accused her of a certain social 
 priggishness. 
 
 Scandal at the theatre was rife. Two parties 
 were at once formed. Those who believed the 
 worst, and those whose instinct inclined them to 
 the truth. 
 
 There were those who would have been only 
 too glad to accept the attentions of the Duke on 
 any terms, and these, of course, were loudest in 
 their denunciation of the infamy of the pro- 
 ceeding. A girl of seventeen and a man over 
 seventy ! 
 
 " Over seventy ? " said Miss Bray, rouging her 
 cheeks violently with a hare's foot. " Much nearer 
 eighty ! It makes me blush." She added several 
 extra blushes in honour of the occasion with the 
 hare's foot. 
 
 " My grandma remembers him in the old days. 
 She went down to the ' Star and Garter ' with him 
 when she was in the ballet at the opera. But 
 perhaps there's nothing in it." 
 
 " Nothing in it ! " screamed Miss Bray, almost 
 ferociously. She turned to the looking-glass again, 
 and, dabbing her face feverishly, said, " You make 
 me laugh." 
 
 " My grandma says he had a way of being kind 
 to girls just for kindness." 
 
 " Then I should think your grandmother has 
 some jewellery she can't account for." 
 
 This subtle attack went over the head of the 
 other girl, a fat, placid creature, born, so to speak, 
 in view of the footlights. 
 
 " My grandma " she resumed.
 
 JENNY 95 
 
 "Oh, bother your grandma," retorted Miss Bray, 
 wrought up to the highest pitch of fury. 
 
 Even placidity was roused. 
 
 " You're jealous, my dear," the placid one said 
 smoothly, and with an amount of good humour 
 which made the remark doubly exasperating. It 
 is ever the unanswerable jibe. Indeed, to answer 
 it is to admit the suggestion. 
 
 Miss Bray flounced downstairs in order to be 
 in tune for the few lines she spoke when the open- 
 ing chorus was over. She met Jenny in the passage, 
 and her temper having reached the point at which 
 she was not mistress of herself, she flew past her, 
 sweeping her out of her way. The action might 
 have been an accident, but Jenny knew it was 
 not. She looked after the incensed lady with 
 wide-open, brown eyes which grew thoughtful 
 as she returned to her dressing-room. She did 
 not reproach Miss Bray, but she managed to convey 
 to her in an intangible way which awed that good 
 lady that it must not occur again. 
 
 The Duke was seen very little at the Oddities. 
 In fact, when Jenny and Mrs. Goodchild were 
 installed at Glamoys Lodge he left them to them- 
 selves for a whole month. The portrait in the 
 dining-room remained undisturbed. Emma knew 
 the story of it, and she realized that its continued 
 presence was a compliment. 
 
 The Duke taught Jenny to ride. 
 
 " Ever been on a horse, Jenny ? " 
 
 " Any number of them." 
 
 The Duke looked surprised. 
 
 " How is that ? " 
 
 " 'Bus horses I used to ride them in and out
 
 96 JENNY 
 
 of the yard. They were darlings ; all horses are 
 darlings, aren't they ? " 
 
 The sentiment appealed to the Duke immensely, 
 and he was more than delighted when he found 
 that she had a natural genius for horsemanship. 
 
 " Took to it like a young duck to water," he 
 told Mrs. Goodchild after Jenny's first lesson. 
 " She's got a wonderful seat, and nerves of steel." 
 
 His interest in her grew. The occupation of 
 teaching a nature which was capable of such rapid 
 progress was fascinating. Whatever traces of her 
 early upbringing had remained were dissipated 
 as her world became full of the sunshine of things 
 which were congenial to her. 
 
 The sense of companionship which grew up 
 between them was extraordinary. He felt, how- 
 ever, that she was busy selecting with unerring 
 instinct what he should teach her. She assimilated 
 from him facts, details of social procedure, and 
 nuances which it was obvious from her after- 
 conversation and conduct she did not forget. She 
 announced her ignorance on subjects about which 
 she wished to be enlightened with a grave dignity 
 which imparted the effect of a young and in- 
 experienced monarch seeking guidance from her 
 prime minister. 
 
 She never trifled with the Duke's dignity, 
 however, as a vulgar mind might have done. 
 Emma noted her progress and her bearing with 
 growing admiration and wonder. She had always 
 believed in her and had all faith in her, but her 
 development was beyond expectation. What sur- 
 prised her also was the unvarying care with which 
 she went through her task at the theatre.
 
 JENNY 97 
 
 As regards her dressing, she had had, of course, 
 the initial good taste of Emma to help her, but she 
 brought more to it than was given her. The 
 quiet ease of her taste was its most noticeable 
 feature. 
 
 She accepted the Duke's kindness as though it 
 were the most natural thing in the world, though 
 without displaying any lack of gratitude. 
 
 In the finest natures there is no jargon about 
 dependence, although they value independence 
 above everything in the world. It is only small 
 natures which cannot accept without a sense of 
 inferiority, just as only big natures give without 
 patronage. In the larger mind there is too great 
 a sense of equality. That is why an aristocrat 
 finds it easy to be affable to a crossing-sweeper. 
 
 " Treat 'em as equals," said the Duke one day, 
 discussing the desirable thing in dealing with social 
 inferiors. " Treat 'em as equals." 
 
 " I've adopted you, Jenny," he said one day. 
 " I've adopted you, and, after all, I've no one 
 else. My daughter Sarah is married to an evan- 
 gelical confederate." 
 
 Jenny looked at him with wide-open eyes. 
 
 " Oh, it's not a new kind of Hottentot nothing 
 so nice. He's an enormously rich landowner, who 
 
 spends most of his money on the Low Church " 
 
 he paused. " I see you don't understand." 
 
 "Is he a friend of Father Hawthorne ? His 
 church is low." 
 
 " Low in that sense has nothing to do with the 
 height of the building. Brent looks upon Father 
 Hawthorne as an agent of the devil." 
 
 " Then he doesn't know him."
 
 98 JENNY 
 
 " I fancy not. Let me give you a brief history 
 of the English Church. It will be amusing. The 
 Church of England is the most astonishing re- 
 ligious structure in the world. It is the supreme 
 compromise between belief and expediency. It is 
 the most subtly-designed machine for keeping the 
 priest in order. He is a state official. He teaches 
 divine knowledge as the member of a department. 
 Bishops are appointed not infrequently by an 
 atheist." 
 
 " What's an atheist ? " 
 
 " A man who believes in God too much." 
 
 Then the Duke descended from the airy heights 
 of persiflage, and explained an institution in which, 
 at heart, he sincerely believed. Jenny's brows 
 contracted as she listened carefully to the detailed 
 explanation given picturesquely. The Duke was 
 inwardly amused. Explaining the Church of 
 England to a little actress on horseback ! Incon- 
 gruities pleased him. 
 
 Jenny, however, listened with intense gravity, 
 as if it were the most important thing in life. 
 She was determined that she would understand 
 the current conversation of educated people. 
 
 She had one or two falls in using phrases which 
 she did not quite understand, but in her deter- 
 mination to know she would not allow herself 
 to be daunted. 
 
 The spectacle of the magnificent old roue riding 
 about the neighbourhood of Kingston with the 
 beautiful star of the Oddities by his side was the 
 joy and scandal of the district. 
 
 He was foolish, no doubt, but he had an idea 
 that the real innocence of the affair would gradually
 
 JENNY 99 
 
 impress. With his knowledge of life the assumption 
 was unpardonable. People believe what they want 
 to believe, and the situation was too interesting 
 not to take root in imaginative minds. 
 
 Jenny, of course, had other admirers. 
 
 There were many of the younger generation 
 who considered that if the Duke had nothing 
 better to do than to pluck fruit intended for youth, 
 he had better seek the family mausoleum. 
 
 " It's not playing the game," said my lord of 
 Sark and Alderney, a fair, anaemic youth of twenty- 
 two. " He ought to give us young 'uns a chance." 
 
 " What young 'uns ? " asked his dear friend 
 Chummy Lemon lazily. 
 
 " Why us, of course." 
 
 " I don't suppose it ever struck him you were 
 young," answered the friend of his heart. " Per- 
 sonally I put you at two thousand on the day of 
 your birth, and you've aged a century for every 
 year since. It's your antiquity that's so attractive, 
 but young girls don't collect curios." 
 
 " You know what I mean." 
 
 " No, I don't." 
 
 " Then you must make a study of yourself." 
 
 It was the very few for whom Jenny did not 
 possess glamour. Perhaps women admired her 
 even more than men. She was born with the gift 
 which her own sex detect at once as the supreme 
 test of the place a woman will take in the scheme of 
 female beauty and charm. She concealed the art 
 by which her outward individuality was built up. 
 Her nature was free from the ostentatious. Her 
 colleagues at the theatre were always wondering 
 why she did not appear in the jewels which the 
 
 7*
 
 ioo JENNY 
 
 Duke must undoubtedly have given her. Her 
 simplicity annoyed them, and seemed to them 
 an affectation. Jenny had grasped the cardinal 
 social principle that education is not a question 
 of what one knows but what one is. 
 
 There were even those who declared that she 
 was the Duke's daughter. 
 
 The most persistent attempt to capture her was 
 made by a young Jewish millionaire, who, super- 
 latively handsome and accustomed from childhood 
 to buy everything he wanted, imagined that youth 
 and superior wealth might get the better of old 
 age and strawberry leaves. 
 
 So they might have done had Jenny's character 
 been what he supposed it to be, and had her ideals 
 been only such as he was capable of understanding. 
 He could not conceive that what money cannot 
 buy is more important than money, a lesson which 
 the children of earth have not yet apparently got a 
 glimmering of, for all their wanderings. 
 
 > Isaac Salmano, a Portuguese Jew by descent, 
 an aristocrat of the Ghetto, conceived an extra- 
 ordinary passion for Jenny which found almost 
 immediate expression hi a gift of pearls and 
 diamonds so magnificent that Hilda Long, the 
 dancer, who was present in her dressing-room when 
 Jenny opened the case, exclaimed involuntarily : 
 
 " Good God, my girl, he's sent you his fortune ! " 
 
 Jenny stood looking at them in wonder and 
 amazement. The beauty of the ornament ravished 
 her. 
 
 " Put it on," said Miss Long. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " 
 
 " Aren't you going to keep it ? "
 
 JENNY 101 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 " Won't the Duke let you ? " 
 
 Jenny received this tactless remark with that 
 curious insulation of self which was at her command 
 and which was her great strength. She did not 
 reply, but the way she moved about the room 
 said as plainly as words that it was not a question 
 of the Duke and that she was responsible for her 
 own actions. 
 
 " Have you met Salmano ? " 
 
 " He gave me fifty guineas for a programme at 
 that benefit last week." 
 
 " What did he say ? " 
 
 " I don't remember." 
 
 This answer was made up of two sides of 
 Jenny's character her sense of honour, which 
 always made her loyal even to those people she did 
 not like, and her natural diplomacy, which some de- 
 clared to be not quite a nice trait in one so young. 
 This diplomacy often kept her quiet where mere 
 youth would have been garrulous. 
 
 " He could marry you," said Miss Long sagely. 
 
 ; ' Why, I don't even know him," laughed 
 Jenny. 
 
 " Hilda Graham only met Teddy Silchester 
 on a Sunday afternoon on the river, and the 
 Saturday after they were married by special 
 licence, and she was Lady Silchester." 
 
 " I should want to know a man better than 
 that." 
 
 " No, you wouldn't, not if you knew you were 
 in love with him." 
 
 ' But how could I know that in a week ? " 
 
 " Love at first sight is the only kind of love
 
 102 JENNY 
 
 which lasts, and in that case there's no question 
 of getting to know, when you know you know." 
 
 Jenny thought that if everything people said about 
 Miss Long were true, she should be an authority. 
 
 " The messenger's waiting, Miss," said the 
 dresser, a woman who six months before would 
 hardly have asked Jenny into her humble abode to 
 take a cup of tea. 
 
 She handed a receipt for Jenny to sign. 
 
 " Do the parcel up again, Mrs. Evans." 
 
 " Oh, I should wait till to-morrow," protested 
 Miss Long. 
 
 " Why, it might give a wrong impression." 
 
 " Well, you have got a will " 
 
 Here Miss Long dived from the room, in response 
 to a frantic appeal from the call-boy. 
 
 Salmano, sitting in the stalls, half hoped that 
 Morgiana would beam upon him almost from her 
 entrance, but she never looked his way, and in the 
 final scene when, discovered to be the Sultan's long- 
 lost daughter, she appeared in royal raiment, the 
 necklace was absent. He swung out of the theatre 
 in a tempest of evil passions, and, being a man of 
 strong will, ground his teeth with the determina- 
 tion to secure Jenny if possible. 
 
 " I'll marry her if necessary." He quite believed 
 that this would ensure success. " She looks half 
 a Jewess as it is," he added, throwing a sop to his 
 race-conscience. 
 
 With the loss of dignity incidental to infatuation 
 he walked past the stage-door, in the full con- 
 sciousness that those hanging round it knew him 
 well by sight, and also knew that he had no business 
 in that direction.
 
 JENNY 103 
 
 The Duke was seated in his brougham by the 
 stage-door, and the soul of Salmano grew even 
 more sick at the sight. 
 
 "Horrible! Horrible!" he murmured. "She 
 can't Ue worth much." 
 
 Yet, however little she was worth, he had been 
 willing to open the campaign with a forty-thousand 
 pound necklace. 
 
 Before he had gone a dozen yards there was the 
 sound of little feet behind him, and a small hand 
 was laid on his arm. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Salmano, I saw you pass and I felt 
 that I must thank you." 
 
 His heart was in his mouth, and his face grew 
 radiant. 
 
 " Then you are going to keep it ? " 
 
 " Oh, but I couldn't. It is beautiful, but I really 
 must not accept it." 
 
 The words were a little stilted, a habit of Jenny's 
 when she was excited and the strain on her English 
 grew tense. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I can't, but I am very grateful. Good-night." 
 
 She was gone and Salmano was in torture. 
 
 He could not ignore the wonderful tact with 
 which she had passed by the obvious meaning of 
 such a magnificent gift. It might have been a 
 ten-guinea ring she was refusing. There was 
 something supremely distinguished about the way 
 it had been done. It was like a great lady dis- 
 missing an impertinence with grace and charm, 
 out of consideration for the offender, converting 
 the offence into a mere mistake. 
 
 Perhaps Salmano felt that a certain patronage
 
 104 JENNY 
 
 in his attitude had been delicately resented and 
 turned against himself, without exactly knowing 
 how. He tried to think that she had refused the 
 jewel because the Duke had either given or 
 promised her a better. 
 
 " An old fool like that would give her anything," 
 he reflected savagely as he turned the key of his 
 gorgeous rooms off St. James's Street. 
 
 Then he sat down and wept tears of rage and 
 sorrow and, being alone, strewed ashes on his 
 head and wrung his hands as his ancestors had 
 done in times of woe in far Palestine. There was 
 no need to preserve the fiction implanted by his 
 public school training that he was a cold-blooded 
 English aristocrat. No Arabian donkey-boy 
 robbed of a handful of coppers could have raved 
 more. 
 
 He did not give up the game, but he knew that 
 the quarry was not for him. To cover his defeat 
 he found himself automatically siding with the 
 party, a small one who declared that the Duke's 
 interest in Jenny was paternal grand-paternal. 
 It saved his vanity. 
 
 The Duke was touched by the fact of Jenny 
 returning the jewel so promptly. It was in accord- 
 ance with the character he had believed her to 
 possess. In explaining his armorial bearings to 
 her she had been much impressed by the motto of 
 his house " Loyal en tout." Incidentally, the 
 mention of this motto had led to French lessons. 
 
 At times the Duke was extraordinarily amused 
 at the method with which Jenny set herself to 
 learn the social code, a thing which most people 
 would no doubt be ready to assert cannot be taught.
 
 JENNY 105 
 
 She reduced it to a positive science. When she 
 came across a new fact in this social science of 
 hers, whether it was a shibboleth or a matter of 
 civilized conduct, she paused and surveyed it ; 
 she then informed herself by questions and examina- 
 tion as to its nature, and after full inquiry as to 
 its treatment by the best authorities she tackled it, 
 with outward calm but unsuspected inward turmoil. 
 
 The Duke was far from wishing her not to enjoy 
 herself, and Jenny liked entertaining. She gave 
 luncheon-parties at Glamoys Lodge, parties which 
 were somewhat of a surprise to such habitues of 
 the Oddities as were invited. 
 
 Teddy Barham, whose idea of Bohemian society 
 was a relaxation of such social tone as he had been 
 accustomed to, declared that he might just as 
 well be in Chesham Place with his mother and 
 sisters, and wondered where in the name of heaven 
 Jenny got her ideas from. 
 
 " We all drove down feeling thoroughly jolly and 
 she received us like a princess." 
 
 " Wasn't that joUy ? " 
 
 " I don't want to be a snob," retorted Teddy, 
 " but I've been received by real princesses, and it 
 isn't any particular novelty. I say at once that 
 I expect a burlesque actress to be rowdy. I shan't 
 go again." 
 
 But he did. He went to see Jenny whenever he 
 got the chance, and ended by falling in love with 
 her, and having to go round the world to get over it. 
 
 " She puts on a lot of side," said Moorshott to 
 Miss Parry. 
 
 Miss Parry, whose position made her superior 
 to jealousy, answered crisply : " What nonsense
 
 106 JENNY 
 
 you men talk. We women are supposed to be 
 spiteful, but I don't think we are half as bad as 
 you are." 
 
 Moorshott looked at her in some astonishment. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Here's a girl who declines to be merely a 
 holiday-maker for you, so that when you've done 
 sufficient mischief you can scuttle back into your 
 own camp, and you positively resent it. One 
 would think you had as much right to her as your 
 grouse and partridges that she'd been preserved 
 by one of your gamekeepers." 
 
 " Then what's she doing at the Oddities ? " He 
 flushed crimson as he realized what he had said, 
 but Miss Parry surveyed him with the quiet unction 
 of one into whose hands her prey has been delivered, 
 and she proceeded to make a meal of him. For 
 half an hour she raked his lordship fore and aft. 
 He was not to imagine that artists could be treated 
 as if they were something quite different from 
 humanity. She could not imagine where his class 
 got their idea from that the stage was a sink of 
 iniquity. Having defended the morals of her 
 profession, Miss Parry carried the war into the 
 enemy's country and skirmished with spirit up 
 and down his lines. Compared to women in smart 
 society actresses were so she declared models 
 of decorum, and she ran through a string of titled 
 dames to prove her point. 
 
 Moorshott, who was privately unable to see that 
 it mattered one way or the other, was glad to get 
 away. 
 
 It was perfectly true that women as a rule sym- 
 pathized with Jenny's attitude more than men.
 
 JENNY 107 
 
 They came more quickly to see that it had in it no 
 conscious snobbery. Indeed, it was impossible to 
 accuse Jenny of snobbery. On the contrary, she 
 had the true aristocratic indifference to class. 
 Ginger took tea in her dressing-room, to his intense 
 confusion and shyness. A large party of chil- 
 dren from Dean's Court came down to Glamoys 
 Lodge and bore away the trophies and presents 
 from a Christmas-tree which was surely the most 
 wonderful ever seen. Emma suggested that the 
 Christmas-tree might be set up in the church 
 schoolroom. 
 
 " That is just where even you don't understand 
 us gutter-children," laughed Jenny. " Gutter- 
 children are quite happy in their gutter, and you are 
 quite right in saying that they would be much jollier 
 and happier in the church schoolroom, but it 
 wouldn't be the same wonderful thing to talk 
 about. Ordinary people are much happier with 
 each other on their holidays, but they would give 
 it all, and be made wretched and uncomfortable 
 and shy, for the opportunity of saying that they 
 had dined with the King." 
 
 " You are too clever, Jenny," laughed Emma, 
 " you go too fast." 
 
 She puzzled everyone more or less, and yet her 
 character was quite direct. It was they who, 
 looking for side issues, lost sight of the straight 
 line of it a very usual mistake in a cynical 
 world. 
 
 The amount of work which she managed to get 
 through in her process of self-education was extra- 
 ordinary. She studied French, jnusic and litera- 
 ture with absolute ferocity, not because she was
 
 io8 JENNY 
 
 particularly anxious to be proficient, but because 
 she realized that to know about them was a 
 necessity. 
 
 The Duke was amused and pleased. There was 
 something in this attitude which lent to the situation 
 a dignity which at his age, had Jenny been the 
 average child of the light theatre, might have been 
 lacking. He was in a sense responsible for it, for 
 once, in the earliest days of their acquaintance, 
 he had remarked how very far a little education 
 went, but that it was absolutely necessary to 
 have this little. 
 
 " Of all the people who learn French only the 
 few can make a practical use of it. As regards 
 music, thank heaven, the days of the incompetent 
 performer are numbered." 
 
 " Do you think I shall be an incompetent 
 performer ? " 
 
 " You will never be a remarkable musician." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because you don't come to life from the point 
 of view of the emotions from the point of view of 
 heart." 
 
 ' You mean I am heartless ? " 
 
 " Not at all. The emotions have quite an 
 important place in your life, but had life been for 
 you a study in emotions there would have been 
 somebody in Dean's Court." 
 
 The Duke had appeared one sunny morning 
 at the top of that fashionable residential quarter, 
 and had gazed with distaste at its stunted oblong, 
 its terraces of dilapidated Georgian dwellings, 
 and at the high, greasy stucco wall at the 
 end
 
 JENNY 109 
 
 It was very interesting to him ; it was mar- 
 vellous. How had Jenny developed such qualities 
 in such surroundings ? 
 
 Yes, Jenny was inexplicable. She was genius. 
 The Duke had suspected from the first that the 
 stage was a means which had come to hand and 
 which would by no means be an end. That she 
 was instinctively moving to a definite goal he was 
 sure. 
 
 " Do you think you will marry an actor, Jenny ? " 
 he asked one day slyly. 
 
 It was characteristic of her loyalty that she did 
 not at once deride the idea of marrying a member 
 of -the profession to which she owed her success, 
 but it was quite obvious from the glance she gave 
 the Duke that she had no intention of doing 
 anything of the kind. 
 
 Calculating Jenny sounds, no doubt. It is 
 paradoxical that this quality of calculation is 
 considered a defect in youth, whereas if youth 
 fails it is precisely the lack of this quality which is 
 blamed. It is assumed that its possession argues 
 want of heart. 
 
 " Whom would you like to marry, Jenny ? " 
 
 " How can I tell ? " 
 
 " I suppose you have ideas." 
 
 " Who would marry me, Daddy ? I've no family." 
 
 " That may be an advantage." 
 
 " Yes, but what I mean is that no family would 
 have me." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I'm common." 
 
 " I haven't noticed it, but perhaps you're a 
 better judge than I am."
 
 i io JENNY 
 
 " You know what I mean. I couldn't go to 
 Court." 
 
 ' Your being common is no bar to that." 
 
 With exquisite ingenuousness Jenny had revealed 
 the class into which she expected to marry. The 
 Duke turned away to hide a smile. The flight had 
 been swift beyond description. 
 
 ' Things are changing rapidly, Jenny. Very soon 
 no doubt, leading actresses will be as important as 
 Duchesses." 
 
 ' You're laughing at me." 
 
 " Not at all. Why shouldn't it be so ? After 
 all, a clever woman using her talents is better than 
 a stupid woman misusing her opportunities." 
 
 ' Yes, but it wouldn't be much good being in 
 society if everybody was in it." And she laughed 
 deliciously. 
 
 " That's it, we are all exclusives at heart, aren't 
 we ? " 
 
 " I don't know what you mean ? " 
 
 " Particular, very particular. You're so very par- 
 ticular and dainty about life. You want the best." 
 
 " That is why I chose you as a friend." 
 
 " I call that hitting below the belt, Jenny," 
 answered the Duke, with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 The Duke's conversation invariably fascinated 
 her. If she did not always understand what it was 
 about it sounded beautiful. It moved her to in- 
 definite mentalities, as music moves the artist to 
 vague emotions. 
 
 " I thought I chose you, Jenny." 
 
 " We chose each other. After we had been 
 introduced I realized that you had meant something 
 to me from the first."
 
 JENNY in 
 
 " You are getting very deep, Jenny. In fact 
 occult subtle." 
 
 " What is subtle ? " 
 
 " A person is subtle who is delicately far-seeing 
 in design. You flatter with premeditation." 
 
 Jenny did not pursue. The Duke was going too 
 fast, and she always knew when she had culled 
 as many facts as she could digest. 
 
 Now and then when she was angry to the rare 
 extent of expressing her emotion she would sud- 
 denly flash out with a harsh intonation or a rough 
 gesture, which more amused the Duke than other- 
 wise, but which left her vexed with herself beyond 
 measure. These displays, however, grew fewer and 
 fewer. 
 
 The world busied itself with the extraordinary 
 combination, as it was only natural it should ; that 
 is to say, the world which lay outside those circles 
 which were included in the theatrical circumference. 
 Balham as well as Bayswater was interested. It 
 was the irony of the situation that in this quite 
 innocent case the Duke's name became coupled 
 with Jenny's more than it had been with that of 
 any other woman. 
 
 They were, perhaps, with the exception of Emma, 
 the only people who were unaware of the extent 
 to which they had interested the public. There 
 was the peculiar magic of genius about the affair, 
 and like most matters of genius, its power to 
 compel attention was inexplicable. 
 
 It was wonderful the number of things they 
 found to do that first winter. The Duke was 
 astonished and delighted to find how much took 
 on a new interest when seen in her company. They
 
 ii2 JENNY 
 
 went to picture galleries and museums. He took 
 tickets for any music which he thought might 
 interest her, or, coming to see her point of view, 
 which he thought she ought to hear. Jenny, with 
 a seriousness which would have been comic to the 
 understanding onlooker, viewed much and listened 
 to much which was not altogether amusement, 
 which, indeed, she found dull. 
 
 The winter passed, and Emma found it difficult 
 to believe that this self-possessed, beautiful girl, 
 who accepted with perfect ease so much that 
 wealth and taste could give, was the frightened 
 maid-of-all-work who had burst into her room 
 in Little Dean's Court with the news that two 
 " splits " had followed her, and she wanted to 
 know what she had done. 
 
 The change was incredible, but it was there, 
 palpable and visible.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 JENNY experienced that delight which the 
 coming of spring in London gives us when 
 we are young and things are well with us. 
 The tension of winter relaxes. Our being, like the 
 ground, thaws, and we ourselves slowly unfold, as 
 it were, in the growing warmth. 
 
 Emma wondered if Jenny ever regretted any 
 of the old life. There may be corners even in the 
 most squalid memories which give rise to senti- 
 mental longings, but she never heard her talk of 
 Dean's Court except as a phase which was less 
 real to her than her present one. Perhaps it was. 
 Perhaps the real Jenny only gave a little of her- 
 self to that period from an instinct that it was 
 ephemeral. In addition, it was curious how little 
 her stage life counted in regard to realities. 
 
 In all this there was, as Emma knew, no lack 
 of heart. She was of an impulsive generosity 
 when moved, and that she was truly pitiful 
 was demonstrated by the fact that she gave 
 to the repulsive and destitute, and not to the 
 superficialities of picturesque poverty. 
 
 She had already been handed the part she had 
 
 113 8
 
 ii4 JENNY 
 
 been cast for in the piece which was to follow The 
 Forty Thieves at the Oddities. It did not excite 
 her any more than her theatrical career as a whole 
 excited her. Her success had come so easily, and 
 she had become so sure of her personality, that 
 she was quite without nervousness as to whether 
 her first success might not be followed by a 
 failure. She realized that performance had little 
 to do with it ; that there were girls who could act 
 better, sing better, and dance better, but that 
 there was not one who could be sure of the 
 applause which always came when she stepped 
 upon the stage, or who could second the efforts of 
 the comedian with such a delicious laugh. 
 
 She herself was infectious of delight, and she 
 knew it. 
 
 But success was her handmaid. 
 
 Her new song was whistled everywhere ; but, 
 then, all that chorus could do to impress its tune- 
 fulness on the audience was done, and as a 
 crowning touch the comedian came to her help 
 with a concertina and two costermongers' caps, 
 one for her and one for himself. 
 
 Perhaps it was Derby Day which first showed 
 Jenny what a celebrity she had become. Miss 
 Parry, who was a respectable married woman 
 with a husband on show, chaperoned her. The 
 other ladies of the party were a singer from 
 grand opera, who had been a great beauty before 
 her figure and voice both developed to abnormal 
 proportions, and the two daughters of a famous 
 dancer, themselves studying their mother's art. 
 Neither against mother or daughters had there 
 ever been a breath of scandal.
 
 JENNY 115 
 
 The Duke was not so foolish as to suppose that 
 Society would deem his coach-load of Bohemians 
 the more respectable because its members were 
 so in reality, but it was a comfort to him to 
 know it. 
 
 Moorshott and three or four other men com- 
 pleted the party. 
 
 Moorshott drove most of the way, but near the 
 downs the Duke took his place and tooled his 
 coach on to the course. The excitement of the 
 arrival gave Jenny a foretaste of the day's 
 enjoyment. 
 
 It had been grey and cloudy on starting, but as 
 they passed on to the downs the sun came out in 
 full glory. There were audible murmurs of " the 
 Duke of Glamoys " from the crowd as they came 
 up the hill. 
 
 By the English crowd the Duke was chartered 
 to do as pleased. The genuine London crowd is 
 absolutely unsnobbish and likes to see a great 
 noble using his wealth humanly and with enjoy- 
 ment of the good things which are going. It has 
 a keen eye for the real value of the sentimental 
 philanthropist, and on the whole prefers the man 
 who has the courage of his pleasures. 
 
 The spectacle of the grand old roue handling 
 the ribbons with an ease which might almost have 
 been mistaken for carelessness, a carnation in his 
 coat, and his hat with its rakish and slightly old- 
 fashioned brim, was something they could under- 
 stand. It was certainly something they could 
 sympathize with. The dark-eyed beauty at his 
 side was such a natural adjunct to what they knew 
 of his Grace that the crowd would have felt 
 
 8*
 
 ii6 JENNY 
 
 cheated had some perfectly-placed great Society 
 lady been there instead. 
 
 A murmur of admiration which was almost a cheer 
 arose from the crowd as the coach took its place. 
 
 Moorshott managed such wagers as Jenny made. 
 The Duke did not bet. He had no views on the 
 subject, but it didn't interest him. 
 
 It was the public's day, for the favourite won, and 
 Jenny found her ten pounds turned into thirty. 
 Moorshott had been much amused at the serious- 
 ness which she had brought to bear on the subject 
 of her bets. Most young ladies of her world 
 expected to be paid if they won, and to hear no 
 more of the matter if they lost, but Jenny watched 
 her account as if it had been her profession, and 
 asked so many questions that by the end of the 
 day she knew quite a great deal about the racing 
 world. 
 
 It was her first taste of those pleasures the 
 original flavour of which can never be recaptured. 
 Epsom Downs never again look quite the same as 
 they do on the day of our first Derby ; the pageant 
 never again blazes to the eye with the same 
 splendour and enthralment. 
 
 Soon after lunch she made a rapid descent from 
 the coach. 
 
 " I can see a friend of mine." 
 
 She had caught sight of Ginger, who had 
 tramped to Epsom the day before and had slept 
 on the Downs. 
 
 She knew that he had seen her, and was pur- 
 posely sparing her the trouble of recognizing him. 
 He was astonished to find himself suddenly 
 accosted by her.
 
 JENNY 117 
 
 The incident was nothing, except that it did her 
 good feelings credit. It was an astonishing fact, 
 however, that the whole action was so naturally 
 and easily done that it possessed a dignity which 
 robbed it of any lack of consideration for those on 
 the coach. The Duke was not on the coach at 
 the time, but as he was returning to it he saw 
 Jenny on the outskirts of the crowd, talking to 
 her friend. 
 
 He stopped and looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 " This is Ginger." 
 
 The Duke had, of course, heard all about him. 
 He greeted him affably and exchanged a few words 
 with him before returning with Jenny to the coach. 
 " Had anything on the favourite, Mr. Bellew ? " 
 The " Mr." and the remembrance of his name 
 decided Ginger in the Duke's favour. 
 
 " Just a bit, my lord." 
 
 " Then we're all in luck, aren't we ? " laughed 
 Glamoys, as he stood a little aside whilst Jenny 
 said good-bye. 
 
 " Nobody can say you forget your old friends, 
 Jenny." 
 
 " Why should I ? One of these days I am going 
 to make Ginger a present of a greengrocer's 
 business." 
 
 " Why a greengrocer's business ? " 
 
 " Because it's the business he understands." 
 
 " Then we'll see about a greengrocer's business 
 for him a little later on." 
 
 All day long there were a certain number of 
 people who stood near the coach and frankly stared 
 at its occupants as if they had been a show. As 
 the stars of the Oddities, they were interesting
 
 ii8 JENNY 
 
 to the crowd, but it soon became apparent that 
 it was Jenny who was the chief attraction, a fact 
 which made her a little nervous, as Miss Parry, 
 who was perfectly genial providing she knew she 
 was playing the chief part, was apt to become 
 unpleasant if she found someone else was getting 
 ahead of her with the audience. Jenny need not 
 have been afraid. The cheerful egotist at her side 
 was incapable of realizing that she was being out- 
 shone ; she could only measure in encores. 
 
 It was not only the crowd that stared. 
 Fashionable women insisted on being escorted back- 
 wards and forwards past the group so that they 
 might get a good view. 
 
 " Astonishingly effective, without being in the 
 least bit vulgar," pronounced old Lady Balaclava. 
 Her reputation was slightly worse than that of 
 most of the town demireps, but she had managed 
 to hold her position to a green old age the Lord 
 only knew how. 
 
 " No other man of his age could do such a thing 
 without being ridiculous," she concluded, bowing 
 affably to the Duke as she passed.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AS for the Duke, having undertaken Jenny 
 without any very clear idea as to how it 
 was all to end, even perhaps with some suggestion 
 at the back of his mind that it could end as 
 others had done, was compelled to admit to 
 himself that he was caught in his own trap the 
 trap of the paternal, fraternal or platonic, the trap 
 which women know so well how to set which, 
 to do them justice, is set in self-defence. 
 
 The Duke could not have made love to Jenny 
 the thing had become impossible. She had thrown 
 herself so entirely on his generosity, she had 
 accepted him with all the confiding innocence of 
 a child who is taken by the hand to a shop to buy 
 sweets. 
 
 She was quite sure that her liking for him and 
 her affection for him were great payment. Not 
 that she was sordid enough to put it in this way, 
 but the egotism of a great nature which knew 
 itself gave her this conviction. Emma and the 
 Duke must be made happy ; this was the most 
 important thing in life, and any question which bore 
 on this found her alert, resourceful, and full of 
 
 119
 
 120 JENNY 
 
 patient tact. Had the Duke made love to her, it 
 is conceivable that she might, with a concealed 
 sadness, have conceded much to make him happy, 
 but though she would not have let him see it, 
 it would have spoilt everything. Nothing could 
 ever have restored the thread of the fairy tale. 
 It would have been a fairy tale no longer. There 
 would have been no miracle. The giant would 
 have killed the fairy prince on his way. It would 
 have been a kind, good giant as far as he went, 
 but a giant who looked at everything from his 
 own point of view, and not hers. 
 
 Yet the Duke's passion for her was great. It 
 astonished him. Perhaps because he was human 
 it flattered him that he still possessed such strength 
 of feeling. 
 
 " Not all ashes," he murmured gently with a 
 smile, as he reflected on it, and once he added : 
 " It is well to be able to drink champagne the last 
 thing at night, but is it wise to do so ? " 
 
 " The last thing at night." He supposed the 
 end could not be far off, and yet he felt extra- 
 ordinarily young. Was death a huge mistake 
 into which life had blundered ? The idea pleased 
 him. Obviously death was a mistake. 
 
 Jenny knew as well as he did the moment when 
 it had become impossible for him to suggest any- 
 thing between them. That moment, for all his 
 nice sense of honour, was not when he had given 
 his word to Emma. For men of all shades of 
 loyalty have a habit of forgetting when the sun 
 in the heavens strikes too hot. It was a moment 
 which was passed without their knowing, undis- 
 tinguished by an event, unmarked by compact.
 
 JENNY 121 
 
 The transition had been too subtle for definition, 
 but the transition had taken place. 
 
 Emma felt it almost as soon as they did. A 
 curious, added happiness came to all three with 
 the knowledge. A joyous confidence reigned where 
 there had been a certain sense of strain. 
 
 The experiment had been successful from the 
 point of view of their united consciences. It 
 was impossible for her to see into the womb of 
 time. No, not a moment in advance of the 
 present can we foretell. The next instant may 
 shatter the world or hurl it into the bosom of the 
 sun. Character and circumstance frustrate our 
 plans. 
 
 She sometimes wondered how it would end. 
 The Duke might, with his health and physique, 
 live till he was ninety. 
 
 Would he willingly see another man take Jenny 
 away, even in marriage ? 
 
 The Duke was too fine a gentleman not to do 
 everything in his power to make the position 
 absolutely comfortable and smooth. Jenny, 
 although she called him Daddy, had too much 
 tact and was too intuitively cognizant of his 
 character, to treat him other than as a comrade. 
 She knew the weak side of him, if weakness it 
 were, namely, the objection to the consideration 
 of old age as a thing to be put out of the way in a 
 fireside arm-chair.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WITNESS to Jenny's many aptitudes but to 
 her lack of dramatic genius, the Duke 
 debated at times whether there were any point 
 in her remaining at the Oddities, where she 
 every day became more and more identified with 
 a career it was obvious she would never shine in 
 except by force of her delicious personality. 
 
 He discussed the matter with Emma Goodchild. 
 They were never tired of talking of Jenny's future. 
 Emma was of opinion it was better to leave her 
 where she was. 
 
 " People who rise as she has done should be kept 
 thoroughly occupied. You and I, Duke, count for 
 much in her life, but she is too young not to want 
 more." 
 
 " But the people at the theatre don't convince 
 as far as life is concerned. You know what 
 I mean." 
 
 " Perfectly ; but what other society is open to 
 her ? A husband might force the gates of those 
 places which hold the elect, no one else could. 
 All other testimonials are suspect." 
 
 The Duke hurriedly left the subject. He did 
 122
 
 JENNY 123 
 
 not want to be reminded that perhaps he was 
 doing Jenny an injustice by allying himself openly 
 with her. 
 
 " She gets on with the people at the theatre." 
 
 " That is because she has so much tact." 
 
 " Possibly. Still, Miss Parry and she are great 
 friends, and it is another interest." 
 
 So Jenny remained where she was, and, curi- 
 ously enough, took very few holidays. She hardly 
 left London at all. The second year she was 
 at Glamoys Lodge she found the river quite 
 sufficient. 
 
 Moorshott, who had come to the conclusion, 
 after keen observation, that nothing could be more 
 respectable than the household at Glamoys Lodge, 
 was very fond of Jenny and used to take her on 
 the river a great deal. Once only, on a Sunday 
 evening in July, when the sky was wonderful with 
 stars and the air balmy and warm, did he attempt 
 a little love making. No great lady, accustomed 
 all her life to ignore what it was not convenient 
 to see, could have passed it over with more well- 
 bred ease. 
 
 " I wonder where the devil she gets it from ? 
 He can't have coached her in that." 
 
 The idea of the Duke rehearsing her in the 
 possibilities of such a scene was delicious. 
 
 " She plays the game with the old 'un," he 
 reflected, and could not resist giving her her share 
 of credit for it. 
 
 So the summer went by, and the winter came, 
 and the second spring, and the third summer 
 since the miracle in Jenny's life, and she was nine- 
 teen and a half. At times she would remember
 
 i2 4 JENNY 
 
 the hot midsummer nights in Dean's Court with 
 the population out upon the doorsteps and her- 
 self content to chatter with some group of boys 
 and girls in the shadow of the grimy wall that 
 formed the blind alley. It was surely a dream. 
 It was impossible she could have had such a child- 
 hood. Why should she have been singled out for 
 such promotion ? It made her feel that behind 
 the ever-changing comedy of life there was an 
 irresistible purpose pulling the strings by which 
 the puppets were worked. Father Hawthorne 
 came down and lunched with them sometimes. 
 He would sit in the garden with Emma and talk 
 till it was time for Jenny to give them tea. 
 Exquisitely gowned, she presided over a tea table 
 the equipage of which would have bought up the 
 whole of Dean's Court. He would murmur, " We 
 have not seen the end of the miracle vet."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IT was August, and Jenny was undoubtedly run 
 down. She had grown languid, and some of 
 the life and radiance had gone from her eyes. 
 
 At the first word of the matter from Emma 
 Goodchild the Duke took alarm and called in a 
 celebrated specialist. 
 
 To consult so much eminence was, in the case 
 of Jenny's indisposition, like breaking a butter- 
 fly on a wheel. Sir Eminent, however, only 
 prescribed eight weeks at the seaside. " A quiet 
 spot with no attractions," he said, shaking a long 
 white forefinger at Jenny playfully. 
 
 " There must be no fatiguing amusements of 
 any kind, no frivolity. Do you think you can 
 stand that for eight weeks, dear young lady ? " 
 
 " I shall like it much better," answered Jenny 
 gravely, and in a voice which made Sir Eminent 
 jump out of his insinuating manner and pull him- 
 self together. His attitude had been the one he 
 was accustomed to assume in dealing with young 
 ladies of the class to which he believed Jenny 
 belonged. 
 
 He escorted her to the door as if she had been 
 
 125
 
 126 JENNY 
 
 a duchess, and the little bow and smile Jenny 
 gave him suggested that he was forgiven for 
 making a pardonable mistake 
 
 Emma arranged the matter. She took in her 
 own name a parsonage close by x the sea-shore 
 on a little-frequented part of the*: south coast. 
 Jenny's identity was not to be revealed. The 
 Duke promised to take them down and then 
 leave them to themselves. 
 
 It was evening when the Duke, Emma and 
 Jenny arrived at the little terminus of Seaborough. 
 They had left a -broiling day in town, but as the 
 train sped south the weather changed. When 
 they alighted on the somewhat exposed platform 
 on the rising ground at the back of the town 
 the wind blew strong and fresh. The fly rattled 
 down the High Street, and suddenly, at a bend of 
 the road, the sea was revealed. The tide was 
 rolling in across a great expanse of sand with 
 growing fierceness. The sky-line was grey above 
 the miles of white horses. 
 
 The Red House lay beyond the town, and the 
 way to it was along a white road which skirted the 
 shore. The pungent smell of seaweed was in their 
 nostrils, and they passed within a few yards of 
 wild rocks round which the sea was swirling and 
 breaking. The spray flung up by the force of the 
 waves was scattered wide by the rising gale. The 
 seabirds, driven landward by the storm, circled 
 above their heads, uttering their weird and plain- 
 tive cries. They looked like grey ghosts in the 
 evening light. 
 
 Around the parsonage stretched wild common- 
 land, except where the sea-shore itself ran for a
 
 JENNY 127 
 
 short way by the garden wall at the back of the 
 house. 
 
 The evening was chilly, and Emma and Jenny 
 were glad to see the comfortable dining-room 
 with a fire alight. Jenny had been in grander 
 houses, but this was the kind of house she knew 
 nothing of. On the walls of the dining-room hung 
 several oil paintings of undistinguished merit, 
 pictures of naval and military officers and parsons, 
 hunting squires, and portly merchants. Their 
 own servants had preceded them, after having 
 been given strict instructions that they were 
 to talk of Mrs. Goodchild as the tenant, and not 
 to mention Jenny's name or the Duke's. 
 
 The wind grew more violent every moment and 
 raved and howled round the house like a wild 
 beast. Jenny, never having experienced such a 
 thing, indeed never having known what an awesome 
 thing wind could be, was considerably alarmed 
 and asked them if this sort of thing was usual. 
 
 They reassured her. 
 
 " Do people ever get used to it ? " 
 
 " The wind is a curious thing. Some people 
 love it, other people's nerves are completely 
 destroyed by it. I don't think the young mind 
 it much. People who have sad associations with 
 the sea must dread it." 
 
 " It sounds like great guns, doesn't it ? " 
 
 " I was wrecked once," said the Duke medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 " I didn't know you had ever been a sailor." 
 
 " Neither have I." 
 
 " Do tell us about it." 
 
 " I was yachting in the South Pacific. It was a
 
 128 , JENNY 
 
 large, comfortable steam yacht. We carried a 
 French chef, and one evening, just as we were 
 finishing dinner, we ran on to a reef and knocked 
 a hole in the bottom. The weather was beautiful. 
 She began to sink, however, and we all got into 
 the boats and made for a tiny island, where we 
 sat under two or three palm-trees in the moonlight. 
 The French chef wept bitterly at his dinner having 
 gone to the bottom. When day came the tide 
 had receded and our vessel lay high and dry. 
 We managed to mend the hole and we all helped 
 to pump her dry, and when the tide came in she 
 floated and we went on our way." 
 
 " It wasn't a very grand shipwreck." 
 
 " No, it was a quiet, gentlemanly affair. 1 
 believe some of the people worked it up intro- 
 duced a storm all hands to the pumps a raft 
 and other accessories but in reality it was as I 
 told you." 
 
 " I don't think, Daddy," said Jenny reflectively, 
 " you would have been at your best with a goat, 
 a parrot and a man Friday." 
 
 Jenny thought she would never get to sleep 
 amid the rattling of casements and the continuous 
 roar outside, but she did, and slept soundly. 
 
 When she awoke the next morning the sun was 
 shining in at the window a glorious midsummer 
 morning sun, rollicking in purple splendour from 
 the east across a sea which had forgotten its rage 
 of the night before, and now caressed the shore 
 lovingly. 
 
 Jenny was young. She did not, as older people 
 do, debate the advisability of early rising. She 
 did not, like them, reflect that if she rose at six
 
 JENNY 129 
 
 she would be worn out at eleven, and regretting 
 the necessity of foregoing the splendour of the 
 morn, go to sleep again. She was, like all young 
 people, generous of her strength and gave herself 
 to life wherever she found it. She leapt from the 
 bed and going to the window peeped through the 
 blinds. She uttered a cry of delight. The tide 
 was out. Miles and miles of golden sands and 
 beyond the sea. The sea seemed the illimitable. 
 Away to the left inland was an ocean of yellow 
 gorse. She pulled up the blinds and threw the 
 large windows wide open. Slipping off her night- 
 gown, she stepped into the bath which lay in the 
 middle of the room. What a world it was. There 
 was always something new and wonderful to enjoy. 
 In half an hour, to the surprise of an early house- 
 maid, she was in the hall. She stepped out on to 
 the verandah, and, descending the steps, ran across 
 the lawn to the gate which opened on to the shore, 
 heedless of the fact that her boots were imme- 
 diately soaked in the dew-drenched grass. In 
 another minute she was scampering across the 
 sands to the sea. The delight of that first com- 
 munion with it was never forgotten ; it never could 
 be forgotten, being the prelude to so much music 
 in her life. Scattered about the waste of sand 
 were patches of rock, some low, lying half buried 
 in sand, others quite formidable, and overhanging 
 or enclosing pools in which she might have bathed. 
 She debated doing so, but she was a child of the 
 city, and a little afraid. 
 
 She wandered about, amazed at the life which 
 she found in the crevices and pools. The 
 innumerable crabs which seemed to go so 
 
 9
 
 130 JENNY 
 
 awkwardly, and yet covered the ground so quickly, 
 the shrimps shooting in the clear, shallow water, 
 and the thousands on thousands of limpets hiding 
 their faces in the rock as if they had done something 
 they were ashamed of. There were star-fish lying 
 about the beach and jelly-fish taking all the colours 
 of the rainbow in the morning sun. 
 
 She wandered on and on, till finally she was 
 surprised, on looking at her watch, to see that it 
 was half-past eight, and that from where she stood 
 on the extreme point of a high rock the rectory 
 was no longer visible. 
 
 She looked around with a quiet sense of enjoy- 
 ment. They would guess where she was, and 
 there was no need to hurry. She would rest 
 and then go back. How delicious it was. The 
 water ran gently in and out of a tiny bay at her 
 feet. The incoming tide made the submerged 
 seaweed sway with a graceful life. She wondered 
 if the high tide in its comings and goings swept out 
 the inhabitants of these miniature lakes or if the 
 same families kept to the same spot. She knew that 
 if you moved the limpet an apparently inanimate 
 and thoughtless creature a mile from its home it 
 would return and attach itself to the very spot 
 from which it had been taken. She had read 
 that somewhere. 
 
 Sitting on the edge of a rock she took courage 
 and, pulling off her shoes and stockings, dipped 
 her feet gingerly into the water below. It was 
 colder than she had expected and she drew them 
 up again with a little laugh. Then she allowed 
 them to swing in the clear jade of the water. 
 
 She remembered, with a little gurgle of delight
 
 JENNY 131 
 
 at the absurdity of the contrast fishing for 
 tiddlers in St. James's Park with an eye on the 
 alert for the unsympathetic park-keeper. How 
 vast she had thought those waters. 
 
 As a child, she had seen many pictures of the 
 sea, but they had never given her a hundredth 
 part the measure of its illimitable glory. Those 
 haze-veiled headlands drawn in soft, dream-like 
 tones held all the beauty of the world. Far away, 
 against the horizon, a steamer passed slowly down 
 the channel. A light breeze stirred the heavy 
 warmth of the midsummer morning, and a little 
 sailing-boat, which had been rocking past her at a 
 snail's pace, began to move with the quickening 
 life of the wind in its sails. 
 
 The breeze fell after a few minutes, and Jenny 
 watched the sails flap idly against the mast. Then 
 they sank into the boat, and the figure blue- 
 jerseyed and red-capped which had been sitting 
 in the stern rose and began to pull back towards 
 the headland. 
 
 Jenny put on her shoes and stockings and went 
 back over the rocks. As she neared the sand she 
 saw that the incoming waters had nearly cut her 
 off. Indeed she was compelled to jump two or 
 three newly created canals of varying width in 
 order to reach safety. This gave quite a spice of 
 adventure to the morning's outing. It was nearly 
 ten o'clock when she ran up the garden path to 
 find the Duke breakfasting on the verandah. He . 
 looked up with a smile. 
 
 " Up early ? " 
 
 " It's been simply lovely." 
 
 Jenny sat down to breakfast chattering about 
 
 9*
 
 132 JENNY 
 
 her adventures. Now and then her laugh, which 
 had lost none of its beauty, rang out into the 
 sunlight. 
 
 The change and the novelty had added a radiant 
 freshness to her. The Duke could not help noting 
 how utterly unspoilt her beauty was by her theatre 
 experience. 
 
 A cat belonging to the establishment, which had 
 hitherto kept out of sight no doubt annoyed at 
 the intrusion of strange people looked up once or 
 twice when she laughed, and finally deciding that 
 she was a person to be encouraged, rose and rubbed 
 himself against her dress. Jenny lifted him up 
 and hugged him with the affection she felt for all 
 things on that morning. 
 
 " I wish I had brought Toby." Toby was her 
 dachshund. 
 
 " Toby is better where he is, and he might become 
 a beach-dog, and then not all the affection he has 
 for you would hold him to his domestic duties." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " If you should see an unattached dog in a chronic 
 state of dampness, and with a certain wild glare 
 in the eye, don't notice him or your life here will 
 be a misery. He will never again leave you. If 
 he follows you and lays a stone in a gentle, modest 
 way at your feet, beware of him, his wiles are many. 
 If you touch that stone you will let loose the devil 
 in him. The air will be filled with maniacal shrieks 
 of joy, and probably the six other beach-dogs which 
 are always lurking somewhere at a seaside place 
 will hear the signal that a victim has been found, 
 and will appear in the offing, galloping to the hunt," 
 
 Jenny laughed.
 
 JENNY 133 
 
 " Why, Daddy, what a long speech ! " 
 
 " Oh, you don't know the beach-dog," he said, 
 with mock melancholy in his voice. 
 
 How nice the Duke looked in his light homespun 
 and a straw hat. How different he was from all 
 other men of his age. He sat on the verandah 
 smoking a cigarette, with his coffee beside him, 
 and Jenny thought she had never seen him look 
 so attractive. Why could they not always be 
 together like this, on a summer morning by the sea, 
 with Emma moving about in the house behind them. 
 Why must all things have an end ? 
 
 The Duke caught her eye fixed upon him, and 
 she went over and sat by him, and passed her arm 
 through his with a glad smile. 
 
 " Isn't it jolly, Daddy ! " 
 
 " It's very, very nice." 
 
 She drew a little closer to him, and rubbed her 
 cheek against his sleeve. The smell of the tweed 
 and the cigarette were pleasant. 
 
 The Duke was happy, but he gave a little sigh. 
 Perhaps he, too, was thinking how quickly things 
 change, how soon for him things would change for 
 ever. 
 
 " Must you go back on Monday, Daddy ? " 
 
 " I am afraid so." 
 
 " What a nuisance ! " 
 
 " And I shan't see you for five weeks." 
 
 " Oh dear ! " 
 
 " It will be a nice rest." 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 There was silence for a minute or two. A score 
 or so of people were dotted about the wide expanse 
 of sand. The broad blue sea was in front, and
 
 134 JENNY 
 
 to their left a grove of pine-trees, through which 
 the clear sky shimmered like azure water over the 
 miles of gorse. 
 
 " Where shall I bathe, Daddy? " 
 
 " That is all arranged. A bathing-tent will be 
 put up so that you can use it when you like. You 
 notice, very few people come this side of the 
 house." 
 
 " Fancy your thinking of a little thing like 
 that." 
 
 " It's the most important thing of all when you're 
 at the seaside. Next year, if we're alive, we'll go 
 to Trouville." 
 
 " Is that nicer ? " 
 
 " There is no such thing as a seaside place in 
 England, from the point of view of gaiety. They 
 are only fit for children." 
 
 " Then why didn't we go to Trouville ? " 
 
 " Because, you know, Sir Eminent forbade it. 
 We are here for rest. You may read novels." 
 
 " You know that any of those girls at the theatre 
 would be bored to death in ten minutes here." 
 
 " I suppose they would. Does that mean you 
 will be ? " 
 
 " I hope not," laughed Jenny. 
 
 " You wouldn't like somebody to stay with 
 you ? " 
 
 " I don't think so. You know, Daddy, you 
 mustn't think me a snob." 
 
 He laughed. "No. I don't think that; but 
 we are all snobs, Jenny, in some way or other. 
 Snobbishness originally meant the aping of gentility 
 by vulgar folk. It now means the worship of 
 conventional virtues. Riches and rank are the
 
 JENNY 135 
 
 chief conventional virtues, therefore snobbishness 
 is used chiefly in relation to them." The Duke 
 blew a whiff from his cigarette and added apologies 
 for being pedantic. 
 
 " What is pedantic ? " interrupted Jenny 
 quickly. 
 
 " Being pedantic is the presence in your con- 
 versation of more words and erudition than is 
 necessary for your meaning. I'm becoming a 
 positive Dr. Johnson." 
 
 " Who's Dr. Johnson ? " 
 
 " Jenny, you were to leave your studies behind 
 you." And the Duke rose hastily. 
 
 " Who's Dr. Johnson ? " insisted Jenny, laughing 
 and holding on to his coat. 
 
 " Dr. Johnson was the most lovable English- 
 man who ever died for I suspect his complete 
 lovableness in life. He wrote a dictionary." 
 
 " Wrote a dictionary how awful ! " 
 
 " He was a soft-hearted bully, and he's a 
 standing example of the superiority of character 
 to achievement." He stopped. 
 
 " Go on," said Jenny, clapping her hands 
 enthusiastically. " I don't know what it all 
 means, but it sounds lovely." And, laughing like 
 two children of the same age, they passed down 
 into the garden. 
 
 Emma watched them from an upper window, 
 wondering for the hundredth time at the strange- 
 ness of it all.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 r I ^HE Duke left them, and Emma and Jenny 
 1 settled down to a peaceful existence, which 
 Jenny was a little surprised to find did not 
 become in the least bit tedious. To Emma it was 
 heaven. At Glamoys Lodge, however courteous 
 the Duke, and however smoothly things went, 
 there was the taint of artificiality, and Jenny's 
 daily departure for the theatre accentuated it. 
 But here they were in a sense in their own home. 
 
 She and Jenny spent the pleasantest hours they 
 had yet known together wandering by the sea-shore. 
 One evening Jenny passed a youth in tan boots, 
 blue jersey and red cap running a small boat from 
 the sands into the water. She stood for some time 
 watching the little cockleshell as it gradually got 
 under way. Then she remembered it was the 
 same boat and youth she had seen the morning 
 after her arrival. She was too much alive to be 
 indifferent to the fact that the young man in the 
 boat was well-built and handsome. There was 
 something about him, too, which interested her, 
 and the next day she found herself scanning the 
 sea to see if the boat was anywhere about. It 
 
 136
 
 JENNY 137 
 
 was not, but a day or two afterwards she met 
 the young man at closer quarters. 
 
 The High Street of Seaborough possessed a 
 score or so of shops. They were nearly all of an 
 old-fashioned, high-class kind, most especially 
 Hibbert's, stationer and lending-library. The 
 Miss Hibberts, the descendants of a long line of 
 high-class stationers, presided over the business 
 with the dignity and breeding of cultured gentle- 
 women, and Mrs. Goodchild had remarked to 
 Jenny, on their first visit to obtain books, that 
 it was a pity the type they represented was 
 dying out. 
 
 Jenny liked going there, and was received by the 
 Miss Hibberts with much favour. She usually 
 spent quite a long time discussing books with them, 
 and they spent a fair amount of time in discussing 
 her, for she puzzled them, but they never connected 
 her in any way with Jenny Oldcastle, the burlesque 
 actress, although they knew the name well enough. 
 Jenny always gave the name of Goodchild to the 
 people in Seaborough. 
 
 One hot afternoon she went into Seaborough to 
 change her books. 
 
 The bookshelves were at the back of the shop, 
 and, with a smile at the Miss Hibberts, who were 
 both engaged, Jenny passed through. She did 
 not at first notice that someone else was choosing 
 a book. A tall young figure was standing with its 
 back to her, going through the volumes of Miss 
 Braddon. As she laid down the books she had 
 brought, the young man turned towards her and 
 their eyes met. Jenny recognized him at once 
 as the youth of the boat.
 
 138 JENNY 
 
 As is the way with two unacquainted young 
 people whose hearts go fluttering when they meet, 
 they made a studious pretence of ignoring each 
 other. They ignored each other so persistently 
 as to make it obvious, but in such cases there is a 
 kind of inspired feeling that sooner or later an intro- 
 duction is bound to come. The promised by heaven 
 generally know each other at a glance. Jenny, 
 having selected her books, passed into the outer 
 shop and registered them at the counter. 
 
 The young man, with a novel in his hand, was 
 behind her whilst she was doing this. At the 
 moment of her departure she raised her eyes to 
 his and looked at him gravely. She was not pre- 
 pared for the effect of those blue eyes upon her, 
 and in some confusion she let one of the books fall. 
 He picked it up and for the fraction of a second 
 their hands touched. In an ordinary way she 
 was unconventional enough to have entered into 
 conversation, but somehow this young man roused 
 all that there was of Diana in her and that 
 was a great deal. 
 
 She walked home with a strange sense of joy. 
 Why should this youth in the top-boots and jersey 
 disturb her ? Not that she objected to being 
 disturbed. It was the surest sign of the sense of 
 attraction she was suffering under that she let the 
 thing have its way. 
 
 She looked for the boat more than ever, and now 
 it was generally to be seen. Sometimes they 
 passed each other. Once she was with Emma, 
 who remarked on the exceeding good looks of the 
 young man. He interested her very much and 
 she turned to look at him. The next day there
 
 JENNY 139 
 
 was a light breeze and the cockleshell was early 
 afloat. 
 
 Jenny did not bathe in the morning, but hi 
 the afternoon she went down to her tent at a 
 moment when the tide was neither too high nor 
 too low. 
 
 From her tent she could see the young man in 
 his boat. The little skiff bobbed and ran over 
 the waves like a seabird. Ever and anon the 
 swaying of the white sail revealed the red speck 
 which she knew to be a cap. 
 
 The little boat shot out to sea as she entered 
 her bathing-tent. She dropped off her waterproof 
 cloak and stepped out on to the sands. Without 
 looking again in the direction of the boat, which 
 she might have noticed was now nearer the shore, 
 she ran across the strip of sand and entered the 
 water. It was deliciously warm, and she set 
 herself seriously to the work of developing her 
 swimming. After a prolonged effort she rose to 
 her feet triumphant. She had swum fully a dozen 
 yards. She could swim, there was no doubt about 
 it. She tried again and was again successful. This 
 was splendid. She couldn't understand why she 
 had been such a long time learning. It must 
 surely be a mere question of acquiring the knack, 
 for now it seemed singularly easy. 
 
 For some minutes she continued her experiments 
 in order to make sure that there was no mistake. 
 Then she never remembered exactly what hap- 
 pened afterwards. All that she could recollect 
 was that there was no longer any foothold, that she 
 could not regain the ground, that around her the 
 sea seemed to have become vast, and to be flowing
 
 140 JENNY 
 
 swiftly. She gave one piercing scream and sank. 
 Then all around her was a wall of shining chryso- 
 prase, through which she was being carried with 
 incredible speed, the sound of thunder in her ears. 
 Then again she was on the surface, struggling for 
 breath. As she felt herself sinking something dark 
 appeared to her blurred sight. A strong, cautious 
 hand seized her bathing-dress by the collar at the 
 back, and then she fainted. A few minutes later 
 Emma, looking from an upstairs window, saw 
 half a dozen people at the edge of the water. A 
 couple of them waded quickly out, and the figure 
 of a man staggered towards them with a burden in 
 his arms. 
 
 The moment of that horror remained with her 
 always. The wondering if it were Jenny's dead 
 body which was being borne towards the house, 
 and all that it meant if it should be so. 
 
 She met the procession half-way across the 
 acres of smooth sand which lay between the house 
 and the sea. 
 
 A boatman was offering to help the young 
 fisherman who held Jenny in his arms. 
 
 " It's all right I can manage. She's as light as 
 a feather." 
 
 There was a shining in his eyes as he spoke, 
 which Emma remembered afterwards. At the 
 time she put it down to excitement. 
 
 " She's only fainted, you know," he gasped to 
 Emma, as he came up to her. 
 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 " Quite ; I got her before she went under the 
 second time." 
 
 He staggered up the steps on to the verandah
 
 JENNY 141 
 
 and laid her on a lounge-chair. The group followed, 
 and they all stood watching as Jenny came to with 
 little sobs and gurgles, which, for all his reassuring 
 statements, turned the youth in the fisherman's 
 jersey white with apprehension. Emma, knowing 
 more about fainting than he did, was quite com- 
 forted by these signs of vitality. 
 
 With a final splutter Jenny regained conscious- 
 ness, and with a shuddering sob clutched Emma 
 as in a vice. 
 
 " Emma, I was drowning I was nearly drowned." 
 She clung to her, unconscious of the group 
 watching. 
 
 " I think she will be all right now," said Emma. 
 " She ought to be taken to her room." 
 
 "I'll carry her," said the youth, who was 
 standing in a pool of water on the stone floor of 
 the verandah. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " 
 
 He picked Jenny up as if she had been a feather- 
 weight, and followed Emma through the dining- 
 room into the hall, and upstairs. 
 
 " I really am all right now," protested Jenny 
 weakly, but she made no effort to get upon her 
 feet. 
 
 She really was much better by the time she 
 reached her room, and was more or less able to 
 look after herself. 
 
 Emma insisted on her deliverer taking off his 
 wet things, and their being sent down to the kitchen 
 fire, although he declared he was constantly wet 
 through, and it was of no consequence. 
 
 Nevertheless, he allowed himself to be persuaded. 
 Emma sent him a flannel petticoat, a pair of
 
 142 JENNY 
 
 stockings and a bath-gown to put on in the mean- 
 while. The effect was somewhat Japanese but 
 quite decent. 
 
 In this costume he was asked a little later to 
 come down and have some tea, and found Jenny 
 in an exquisite frock of white serge, looking still 
 a little pale, but otherwise quite recovered. 
 
 He came just inside the door and stopped in 
 surprise, having expected only to find Emma. He 
 was not at all sure that he would have consented to 
 appear before Jenny, at what he considered to be a 
 great disadvantage. As a matter of fact, although 
 Jenny laughed, and he laughed, and finally they 
 all three laughed with the greatest enjoyment 
 at his quaint appearance, he looked singularly 
 handsome. 
 
 Emma, who had at first taken him for a fisher- 
 man, had realized her mistake on hearing his voice. 
 Now she was looking at him curiously, with that 
 vague wonder which comes over people when they 
 meet someone who is of special meaning. 
 
 " I am afraid I look an awful sight, don't I ? " 
 
 " You look quite nice." And the colour came 
 back into Jenny's cheeks from the exhilarating 
 effect of her laughter. 
 
 " My name is Burne. Sir Alaric Burne." 
 
 There was a silence. The young man stood 
 by the door looking at Emma and she at him. 
 The far-off shout of some lad down the long 
 waste of shore came to them through the hot after- 
 noon sunlight. Then Emma, her heart beating 
 wildly and with a ghastly smile round her mouth, 
 managed to get past him out of the room. She 
 murmured something about seeing that his
 
 JENNY 143 
 
 clothes were dried. Strange to say, neither Sir 
 Alaric nor Jenny noticed the extraordinary shock 
 which his name had been to her. They were 
 too much occupied with each other. 
 ' You've saved my life." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " 
 
 " It isn't nonsense. At least, my life isn't 
 nonsense to me. I think it's most important." 
 
 " Of course you know I didn't mean that. I 
 meant that anyone might have done it if they had 
 happened to be there." 
 
 " I don't see that. People don't always save 
 people who are drowning." 
 
 " Those who can swim do." 
 
 " You must swim very well. Did I struggle ? " 
 
 " Just for a second. I don't know what I should 
 have done if you had struggled much." 
 
 " Would you have let go ? " 
 
 Their eyes met. They both coloured and the 
 question went unanswered. 
 
 The maid brought in the tea. 
 
 " Mrs. Goodchild hopes you will not wait for 
 her, miss." 
 
 Alaric glanced up in surprise. 
 
 Knowing Emma's dislike to strangers, Jenny 
 did not attach importance to her absence. She 
 was a little surprised, however, at Emma having 
 gone away without thanking Alaric. She was 
 puzzled, and now remembered how suddenly she 
 had left the room. 
 
 She seated herself at the tea-table. 
 
 " Do you take sugar ? " 
 " Oh, a lot." 
 
 " What do you mean by a lot ? '*
 
 144 JENNY 
 
 " Three lumps." 
 
 " Big ones ? " 
 
 " A big one, a medium one, and a little one." 
 They both laughed with childish appreciation. 
 They were in the mood to see gaiety in all 
 things. 
 
 Jenny had quite recovered and was feeling 
 hungry. They sat on each side of the table eating 
 buttered toast and cake as if they had known each 
 other all their lives, but with a vague sensation of 
 miracle around them which lifelong friendships 
 do not bring. 
 
 He thought her the prettiest girl he had ever 
 seen. He had not the remotest idea of her identity, 
 and would have been amazed to hear that she was 
 a burlesque actress. 
 
 She had that in her voice which he was accustomed 
 to in the women he knew the vocal atmosphere 
 of class which no ugliness of tone can destroy. 
 Her manner was perhaps just a little masterful and 
 broad for so young a girl ; but it seemed to add 
 distinction. Perhaps she was an heiress. He knew 
 an heiress who had something of this self-reliance 
 but she was not beautiful. 
 
 Jenny thought it great fun, sitting down to tea 
 with someone who believed her to be just an 
 ordinary girl. 
 
 " This is a jolly nice cake." 
 
 " You really like it ? " 
 
 " Rather." 
 
 " And you're not saying it out of politeness ? " 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " There, I made it," said Jenny triumphantly, 
 " and cook said it would be like lead."
 
 JENNY 145 
 
 " She's jealous. It's as light as it can be." 
 
 " So I told her." 
 
 They went over the adventure again and again. 
 Every detail of it was fascinating to them. 
 
 " Supposing I had gone under three times, and 
 you had dived and hadn't been able to find 
 me!" 
 
 " I say, don't be gruesome ! " He turned a 
 little pale. The idea of that sweet face being borne 
 away in the green depth of the sea made him shiver. 
 " I must have some more cake. You've quite 
 upset me." 
 
 "I'm so sorry." Jenny cut a huge slice, quite 
 flattered to see her handiwork so much appreciated. 
 
 Alaric munched it contentedly, looking round 
 the room. 
 
 Suddenly a photograph on a side-table caught 
 his eye. 
 
 " I say, what a ripping photograph." 
 
 It was a photograph of Jenny, taken in a simple 
 'muslin frock, looking her loveliest. There were 
 no theatrical photographs in the room, and she 
 was glad of it. The note of the theatre would have 
 seemed out of the chord. She had never before 
 felt this swift dislike to her professional atmosphere. 
 
 " Do you like it ? " she asked. 
 
 " It's exactly like a picture. At least, it's exactly 
 like you and a picture too." 
 
 "It is a good one, but then they always take 
 the best photographs." 
 
 Jenny realized after she had spoken how full of 
 suggestion the remark was. She was about to 
 say, "I am an actress," but something kept her 
 silent. 
 
 10
 
 146 JENNY 
 
 He looked at her curiously. He, too, felt that 
 the remark required explanation, but had not the 
 knowledge of life to know why. He could only 
 ask : 
 
 " Do you often have your photograph taken ? " 
 " Fairly often." 
 
 Sir Alaric looked thoughtful. The people he knew 
 had their photographs taken about once 'u two 
 or three years, and a great many of them not that. 
 
 " Do you know, I've never had my photograph 
 taken in my life, but then I'm not good- 
 looking." 
 
 " Aren't you ? I should have said you were." 
 
 Sir Alaric laughed. 
 
 " It's very nice of you to say that, but you 
 needn't, you know. I don't think it matters 
 whether a fellow is good-looking or not, so long as 
 he can take care of himself." 
 
 It was one of those pseudo-manly generalities 
 which English boys are brought up to repeat, 
 parrot-like, and which are absolutely false. 
 
 Jenny looked thoughtful. She was apt to 
 examine remarks for what they were worth. 
 
 " I think looks tell even in a man." She paused, 
 and then added : "Of course, looks tell just as 
 much as any other gift, whether in a man or a 
 woman." 
 
 " I suppose you're right, but one never thinks of 
 it " 
 
 " That's an awfully nice little boat of yours." 
 
 " Isn't she she's like a bird. I wish " he 
 
 stopped and flushed a little. 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I was going to be rather cheeky, I'm afraid."
 
 JENNY 147 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I was going to say that I wish you would let 
 me take you for a sail." 
 
 " Why shouldn't you ? " 
 
 Again he felt a little surprised. He was too 
 bewildered and fascinated by her charm to think 
 the least evil, but her independence and frankness 
 were a note to which he was not accustomed in 
 girls of her age. The freedom about her almost 
 startled him. 
 
 " May I ? " 
 
 " I should love it. I know I'm a good sailor, 
 because I've been out on a rough sea." 
 
 Alaric felt a twinge of jealousy. He longed to 
 ask with whom it was she had gone a-sailing. 
 
 " The old boatman who took me out said I was 
 a born sailor." 
 
 " If you'll trust yourself with me, I'll take no 
 end of care of you." 
 
 " If it's rough I'll wear oilskins and a sou'-wester, 
 shall I ? I should like to sing a song in oilskins 
 and a sou'-wester." 
 
 " Sing a song ? " 
 
 He was not allowed to finish Jenny simply 
 dodged the question. 
 
 " Have some more cake." 
 
 At that moment the maid came in to say that the 
 gentleman's clothes were quite dry. 
 
 Alaric drank his tea, and ran upstairs, leaving 
 Jenny to reflect seriously. 
 
 When he came down in his blue fisherman's 
 jersey with his hair brushed he looked so handsome 
 that Jenny's heart gave a jump. 
 
 As for Alaric, every time he looked at her she 
 
 10*
 
 148 JENNY 
 
 grew more dazzling. Her glitter passed through 
 him like sunlight. 
 
 He remembered his manners, and took up his cap. 
 
 Jenny, with true feminine artfulness, did not say 
 " Oh, don't go," but kept him talking about one 
 thing and the other for quite a long tune. Sir 
 Alaric paused before a photograph of the Duke. 
 
 " I say, what a handsome old chap." He bent 
 forward and looked at the signature, " Father." 
 
 " Is that your father ? " 
 
 Then Jenny did a thing which she could never 
 afterwards quite explain. She answered " Yes, 
 that's Daddy " and left it at that. 
 
 " May I look at it ? " He lifted the Duke's 
 photograph off the table. 
 
 " I say, he does look a swell, doesn't he ? Have 
 you any brothers and sisters ? " 
 
 " No, and no mother." 
 
 Alaric laid the portrait down. " I haven't a 
 father or a mother. I can't even remember 
 them." 
 
 " That's very sad, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose it is ; but my aunt is an awfully 
 good sort." 
 
 They went on to the verandah and stood for a 
 few minutes after he had shaken hands, and then 
 shook hands again. Then they went down to 
 the garden gate and stood there in the growing 
 dusk. 
 
 With strong steps he struck out across the sand 
 to where his boat lay. 
 
 Jenny stood watching him as he disappeared 
 into the twilight till he became a shadow passing 
 over purple patches of wet sand, a ghost moving
 
 JENNY 149 
 
 against the white-lipped violet of the evening 
 sea. 
 
 Above, Emma also strained her eyes to follow 
 his fading figure. Her son, whom she had schooled 
 herself never even to attempt to see. Oh, the 
 music of it, the music which had so much of pain 
 in it the deep chords of which were an agony.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 JENNY was so happy that she hardly thought 
 of anything but herself and Alaric. The 
 eternally recurring miracle had been wrought, 
 and she was in its midst. 
 
 " You know, Mummy, it was very lucky he was 
 about. I might have been drowned." 
 
 Emma forced a smile. 
 
 " You would have been, to a certainty." She 
 would see that vision till her dying day, although 
 she had not been a witness of it. The two beings 
 she loved most on earth struggling for life in the 
 deep waters. 
 
 " Do you know, Mummy, I heard him say 
 once I don't know how I heard, but I did 
 ' I can't do it, I can't do it. Oh, my God, help 
 me ! ' " 
 
 Poor Jenny's voice suddenly broke. She had 
 been too excited till now to remember this part of 
 it. She put down her knife and fork and came over 
 to Emma, throwing her arms round her neck with 
 that curious childish unconsciousness which was so 
 irresistible to the older woman. Emma felt her 
 tears wet against her own cheek. 
 
 150
 
 JENNY 151 
 
 " Wasn't it awful, Mummy ! Supposing it had 
 happened ? " 
 
 She clung closer, and Emma held her with a 
 sudden, virile strength. After a minute Jenny 
 went back to her seat. 
 
 " Do you like him, Mummy ? " 
 
 " Yes " A pause, then with a little decided 
 
 nod of her head, wholly artificial, had Jenny known 
 " Yes, I like him very much." 
 
 " I'm so glad. We'll ask him to tea again." 
 Then suddenly, with a terrible thump of her heart, 
 Jenny remembered what she had said about the 
 Duke's photograph. For a moment she felt almost 
 sick at the thought of what she had done. She 
 had not till now realized its full meaning. She had 
 said " Yes, that's Daddy," almost as a joke, and 
 now she realized what it meant to have left the 
 statement uncontradicted. She sat staring with 
 wide-open eyes till Emma asked her if she were 
 ill. She pulled herself together and managed to 
 finish the meal without arousing any further 
 questions. Then she went and walked up and 
 down the garden path in the moonlight and thought 
 the matter out. At least, she did not think it 
 out, because she soon found that reflection on the 
 subject was a circular tour, and that she always 
 returned to the same place. 
 
 It was with a terrible sense of disloyalty to 
 the Duke that she realized that there had come a 
 time when, to say the least of it, their relations stood 
 in the way. 
 
 She would not care to tell Sir Alaric that she was 
 a burlesque actress living under the Duke's protec- 
 tion. She knew the Duke called her his ward, and
 
 152 JENNY 
 
 so far she had never cared in the least what people 
 said. Innuendoes without number she had heard, 
 but the whole situation had been such a promotion 
 for her that it had never occurred to her that a 
 time could arrive when its disadvantages might 
 appear to outweigh its advantages. 
 
 She was beginning to realize the importance 
 of the unknown quantity, not so much of the un- 
 foreseen as that which experience has not taught 
 us to foresee. 
 
 What a difficult world it had become. But for 
 the Duke she would never have met Alaric. So 
 far, however, she would not have foregone the 
 Duke for Alaric. Yet the very fact of her being 
 with the Duke made the friendship of which it 
 was the result difficult. 
 
 If they met again he must be told. Perhaps in 
 the meantime he would find out. 
 
 This thought was the most torturing of all. 
 
 As she undressed an idea struck her. She would 
 simply say to him laughingly : 
 
 " By the way, did you think the portrait of 
 the Duke of Glamoys was a portrait of my 
 father ? " 
 
 He would look at her inquiringly and she would 
 go on : 
 
 " It struck me you might think so, as I called 
 him Daddy. I am an actress at the Oddities, you 
 know, and he adopted me. He is the Duke of 
 Glamoys." 
 
 Then Jenny's sense of humour came to the 
 rescue, and for all her worry she laughed. She 
 had heard equally ridiculous explanations, and 
 she had seen them received with apparent
 
 JENNY 153 
 
 credulity, but only in the presence of the person 
 who delivered them. 
 
 She went to sleep, however, with that optimism 
 on the subject which is one of the compensations 
 which Nature allows us at the end of the day and 
 which is her narcotic. 
 
 Always to-morrow the miracle will happen.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 JENNY awoke the next morning with the 
 knowledge that her life had changed. She 
 could think of nothing but Alaric Burne. 
 She looked out of her window, almost sure that 
 she would see the little boat, early as it was ; and 
 it was with that sharp sense of pain which the 
 smallest disappointments bring when we are in the 
 process of falling in love that she looked east and 
 west in vain. 
 
 She breakfasted alone. Emma was indisposed 
 and remained in bed. 
 
 The truth of the matter was that the poor 
 distracted mother had paced her room through 
 the long night in a mental agony impossible to 
 describe. All that she had schooled herself to 
 forget had come upon her overwhelmingly. 
 
 She had accepted ostracism and oblivion as her 
 punishment. She had been glad for her son's 
 sake that it should be so, and now how hand- 
 some he was ! how everything she had dreamed 
 he might be when he lay a babe a few days old at 
 her side ! That he should have come to this 
 splendid manhood unaided by her, with no memories 
 
 154
 
 JENNY 155 
 
 of her, with no deep, abiding instinct of gratitude 
 to her for life and care ! She was obliged to choke 
 back the sobs which convulsed her. The aban- 
 donment of grief in the silence of her own room 
 was terrible. Her window was wide open, and 
 the night, framed like a picture, faced her, a 
 melancholy nocturne. An orange moon rolled 
 across a violet sky, and a golden way shimmered 
 over the wet sand. Tense, with clenched fingers, 
 Emma sat and watched the coming of dawn. She 
 saw the pearl-grey flush with rose, the sheaf of 
 fiery spears flash over the horizon, the splendour 
 and the glory of the morning. 
 
 No woman had ever been more severely punished 
 for a fault never really committed. She wondered 
 if her son thought her dead. No one had ever told 
 her. There had been no one to tell her. She had 
 done what she thought best for the boy and had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Jenny came to her, and found her in a darkened 
 room, asking only to be left alone. 
 
 " No tea, Mummy ? " 
 
 " Well, just a cup of tea." 
 
 This was said more to save argument, but Jenny 
 brought the tray herself and fussed a little to 
 show she was sympathetic, and then left Emma 
 lying with the drawn blinds gently waving in the 
 sunlit breeze. 
 
 Jenny had intended to ask Emma's advice 
 about the incident of the Duke's photograph, or 
 rather, she persuaded herself that she had so 
 intended. At any rate, the moment was not 
 propitious, and she afterwards felt a little 
 aggrieved, quite sure that had Emma been well she
 
 156 JENNY 
 
 would have told her and that all subsequent diffi- 
 culties would have been avoided. People become 
 very sophistical when they are in love. Jenny 
 finished her breakfast, and having made sure that 
 Emma wanted but to be left alone, set out for a 
 walk along the shore. She carried a book, her 
 intention, so she assured herself in a whirl of self- 
 deception quite unusual with her, being to seek 
 out a quiet spot and spend the morning reading. 
 
 But the quiet spot was apparently difficult to 
 find. She wandered along by the margin of the 
 sea, where she was well in evidence. 
 
 There was no sign of Sir Alaric. Jenny won- 
 dered if the events of yesterday had meant nothing 
 to him, whether he had forgotten. No, he had 
 asked her to go a-sailing with him. He would 
 hardly have done so if he had never meant to see 
 her again. However, she did not care. It didn't 
 really matter. All the same, the summer sea 
 grew a little leaden and there came a chill into 
 the balminess of the breeze. How empty the 
 morning seemed. She would go back and bathe. 
 No, she would walk on to the headland. She 
 had never been so far. 
 
 Then her heart gave a great thump, and she 
 wondered who it was had just come down from the 
 cliff some way ahead of her. 
 
 Of course it was Alaric coming towards her. 
 Her heart fluttered wildly, ecstatically as did his 
 also, had she but known it. We never credit the 
 beloved with as much passion as we experience 
 ourselves. Be it man or woman, the lover always 
 rejoices in giving something more than is received. 
 
 Just because lovers are wise enough to know
 
 JENNY 157 
 
 the value of the game of love-making, she pre- 
 tended not to see him, but walked away towards 
 the margin of the sea. 
 
 When she had done this she was overcome with 
 fear lest he should think she was avoiding him and 
 was not desirous of his company. He, however, 
 came after her. He waV|o happy at rinding her 
 that he forgot to be sen-conscious, and quite 
 believed she hadn't seen him. 
 
 " I say am I in the way ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! " 
 
 " I wondered if I should see you." 
 
 He was quite frank. He was not a girl, and 
 did not think his market value would be enhanced 
 by an affectation of coyness. He had come to 
 find her, and he told her so. 
 
 He turned back with her, and they fell into 
 conversation at once. 
 
 Alaric introduced his rough-haired terrier 
 Dingo, who was duly patted. Dingo gave a wriggle 
 from his head downward, which ended in a pro- 
 longed waggle of his tail, by way of showing his 
 appreciation. 
 
 Alaric Burne was singularly fresh. At twenty- 
 two he had had no sex experience, a much rarer 
 thing than is generally admitted. It was the more 
 singular in his case because he had a full appetite 
 for sensation, but it simply happened that for 
 many reasons he had not become fully aware that 
 the meal of life was served. He had, for all his 
 present radiant health, been an invalid for a good 
 many years. 
 
 ' You wouldn't think it, would you ? " he said, 
 in telling her of this. " My aunt always thought
 
 158 JENNY 
 
 I should peg out. Then all of a sudden I came to, 
 as it were, but it was rather late in the day." 
 
 " How was it managed ? " 
 
 " My aunt found a doctor who said, ' Cut medi- 
 cine, and let him run about bare-footed and bare- 
 headed. It'll kill or cure him.' She took the risk, 
 and here I am." 
 
 " Yes, you're very much here," laughed Jenny. 
 " I don't think I ought to go any further," she 
 added. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Emma Mrs. Goodchild, might not like my 
 going so far without her." 
 
 She had never till now felt any diffidence at 
 going miles by herself, but somehow her instinct 
 prompted her to make the remark to Alaric. 
 
 Then she pulled herself together. She must 
 tell him that the Duke was not her father. She 
 must let him know who she really was. The 
 matter must be settled once and for all. 
 
 Somehow, however, she did not tell him. She 
 allowed the golden morning to slip away. Perhaps 
 he would have tea with them that day, or the next, 
 and then Emma would say something which would 
 show him the true state of the case. Then if he 
 
 chose not to come again At this thought the 
 
 morning became a little less golden. As a matter 
 of fact, she would not at all have liked the truth to 
 come out in this way, but she was concerned in 
 delaying the moment of revelation. Her feeling 
 that Alaric was so far a conventionalist indeed, 
 that he had had no chance of being anything else, 
 and would regard the whole situation as an insur- 
 mountably unpleasant one was growing.
 
 JENNY 159 
 
 He was the last person in the world with whom 
 she could insist that she was the Duke's ward. 
 He must either accept the statement or leave it. 
 If it killed her, she could not have attempted to 
 prove the truth to him. 
 
 Their conversation turned to the conduct of 
 some girls whom they passed, and who, accom- 
 panied by some young men, were behaving 
 rowdily. 
 
 " I've seen those girls about often," she said. 
 " They're pretty, aren't they ? " 
 
 " Flashy sort of creatures. Actresses, I should 
 think." 
 
 Alaric had been to the theatre but very few 
 times, and he had the most elementary notions of 
 what an actress was in regard to the social system. 
 At any rate, he would have considered it quite 
 impossible for any belonging of his own to be such 
 a thing. In 1880 only half a dozen actresses 
 had any sort of position, and young men of 
 Sir Alaric's class did not encounter them as a 
 social factor. 
 
 " Don't you think an actress might be quite 
 nice ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; in her way." 
 
 " What do you mean, ' in her way ' ? " 
 
 It struck him as being a little curious that she 
 should start a serious discussion on the subject. 
 
 " Well, they're not quite the sort of people you 
 want about." 
 
 Jenny was not indignant. She knew that he 
 was only repeating the shibboleths of a class which 
 never comes into contact with the stage, and 
 knows nothing about it. She did not pursue the
 
 160 JENNY 
 
 subject. They wandered back, the morning 
 having passed in an incredibly short space of 
 time. 
 
 He left her at the gate. They were both 
 without being aware of it watched by the woman 
 at the window. 
 
 Alaric and Jenny were now in that state of mind 
 when every moment spent away from each other 
 was a fever of anxiety. 
 
 Jenny lived with her eyes on the long line of 
 shore. Alaric haunted the village, the cliffs, and 
 the sea. 
 
 They always met in the morning, and once or 
 twice he came in to tea. 
 
 He thought it somewhat strange that Mrs. Good- 
 child should never spend more than a few minutes 
 with them, and that she always rose and left them 
 on the plea of having something urgent to attend 
 to. Had Alaric been more sophisticated it would 
 have struck him as being still more peculiar. Jenny, 
 by this time in a fever as to what she should do, 
 was becoming more and more hopelessly involved 
 in the lie every day. To a nature as naturally 
 frank and truthful as hers, the situation was be- 
 wildering. She did not recognize herself in the 
 girl who was building up such tissues of invention, 
 compelled to build them up or to come swiftly to 
 a confession which appalled her, not so much 
 because of what she had to tell, although that 
 was bad enough, but because of the deception she 
 had practised. She despised herself utterly. 
 
 When she was alone with Alaric she forgot about 
 it, and gave herself up to the delight of falling deeper 
 and deeper in love.
 
 JENNY 161 
 
 All the formalism which she had been intent on 
 acquiring went overboard. Had he been a rich 
 young man about town who had stopped her at 
 the stage-door it would have been the same thing. 
 She had fallen in love. 
 
 There were no compromises, no desire that he 
 should be any different, no half-uttered thought 
 that things were impossible because of this or 
 that. She gave herself to him unreservedly, al- 
 though he had never whispered a word of love to 
 her. She was his, his to make or mar, to do what 
 he liked with, and she gloried in her vassalage. 
 She wondered if those young girls who used to 
 wander away from Dean's Court with the lover's 
 arm ostentatiously round their waist felt as she did 
 now. Ginger had wanted to behave like that. He 
 had wanted her to belong to him, and she had 
 laughed. She felt sorry for Ginger now. 
 
 Yet Sir Alaric was utterly unlike the man she 
 had always thought she would marry. 
 
 He was to have been at least thirty. He was to 
 have been tall and stately. Dignity, the thing 
 Jenny prized most in life, was to have been his 
 dominant characteristic. 
 
 Sir Alaric was dignified and he was handsome, 
 but in quite a different way. His hair was almost 
 the colour of mahogany ; his lips were red, and 
 he had no moustache. 
 
 She laughed when she thought how different all 
 this was from what she had pictured to herself. 
 She had fallen in love with a youth, a thing she had 
 always thought undignified, and yet she would not 
 have had it otherwise. He told her all about him- 
 self by degrees. 
 
 ii
 
 1 62 JENNY 
 
 " My mother left my father when I was quite a 
 baby ; and no one knows where she is." 
 
 He did not spring this confidence upon her 
 abruptly ; it came into their conversation as they 
 were sitting on the far rocks at low tide 
 
 He had been telling her how he had lived with 
 his aunt since he was three years old. 
 
 " She's been wonderfully good to me. I was 
 an awful little crock, as I told you, and must have 
 been a howling nuisance." 
 
 It was on this that Jenny had asked about his 
 mother. 
 
 " My father died soon after she left him." 
 
 " He must have felt it terribly." 
 
 Alaric looked thoughtful. 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think so. I say I'm 
 afraid he drank. It all sounds rather dreadful, 
 doesn't it ? " 
 
 Now was Jenny's chance. Against such a 
 record she could play her own card, but she looked 
 at Alaric's frank, well-bred face, and felt that 
 somehow she would be in the wrong. What she 
 had heard did not in any way bring Alaric down 
 to the level of what he would deem her to be. She 
 let the opportunity pass, if opportunity it were. 
 
 Every day the situation grew more difficult. 
 Again and again she tried to tell him. As she 
 lay down in her bed at night it seemed a simple 
 thing to do. It was absurd to make such a difficulty 
 of it. He would understand. Yes, she would tell 
 him all about it as they walked together round 
 Boulder Point and into Safety Cove. She had 
 nothing to be ashamed of. Surely he would not 
 think the worst of her. He would believe. Oh
 
 JENNY 163 
 
 yes, it would all be quite easy, and she would sink 
 to sleep comforted. 
 
 In the morning, however, she would remember 
 the conversation they had had about actresses, 
 and his grotesque conception of them. The stupid 
 lie would swell to its true proportions, perhaps 
 beyond them, and weigh down her soul with horror. 
 She was courageous ; but once she found herself 
 whimpering, and pitying herself for having got into 
 such a tangle. She realized what the confession 
 would mean to him. She could see him leaving 
 her, going away up the cliff-path out of sight for 
 ever, and she alone below with a broken heart. 
 
 Terrified into silence by such a prospect, she 
 allowed the days to drift by, enjoying her 
 happiness, and hardly daring to peep into the near 
 future where stood Nemesis
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 r I ""HEY went picnicking together more than 
 1 once. Alaric made the fire and fetched 
 the winkles, and Jenny boiled the water and made 
 the tea. Then she produced cut bread-and-butter, 
 cakes and jam-sandwiches. No meals had ever 
 tasted half so good to either of them as these teas 
 eaten under the great, jagged rocks, with the after- 
 noon sun throwing long shadows across the clean, 
 white sand. Dingo imparted comedy to the 
 proceedings by circling round the teacloth and 
 sitting up for tit-bits. 
 
 Dogs and animals must wonder why human beings 
 require such an amount of food, whilst they are 
 so strictly dieted. 
 
 After tea Alaric would light a cigarette and lean 
 back, with his cap, if he happened not to be in 
 sailing kit, tilted over his eyes. Once Jenny read 
 to him a short story by Ouida, " A Dog of Flanders," 
 and Alaric at the end of it, who was fond enough 
 of Dingo at all times, was seized with an access of 
 sentimental affection and nearly squashed the 
 life out of him. Dingo, when released, with 
 characteristic sweetness of nature, stood on the 
 
 164
 
 JENNY 165 
 
 sands and wagged his tail to show that even such 
 violence of affection left no bad feeling. Then 
 of a sudden he grew hysterical, and treated the 
 patch of sand between the rocks as if it had been a 
 circus, tearing round and round at full speed, till 
 he made them so giddy that Alaric threw his cap 
 at him. 
 
 " Poor Dingo, did they throw a nasty cap at 
 him ? " and Jenny in her turn hugged him to 
 her bosom. 
 
 At one of these picnics they had their first 
 serious quarrel. How it came about was difficult 
 to say. Everything had gone quite smoothly, 
 when, all of a sudden, they found themselves in 
 the midst of it, with Jenny, very dignified and quiet, 
 putting away the tea-things, whilst Alaric, with 
 tight lips and a flushed face, stood moodily by. 
 
 " I'm sorry," said Alaric jerkily and rather 
 defiantly, although what he was sorry about he 
 had no very clear idea. 
 
 " Really ! " said Jenny, straining at the strap 
 of the tea-basket, as if it presented difficulties. 
 
 " Let me do that." 
 
 " No thank you." She fixed the strap and raised 
 the basket. 
 
 " You can't possibly carry it." 
 
 " I am going to carry it " a strong emphasis on 
 the " going." 
 
 " I shan't let you." 
 
 But Jenny had the basket, and when he touched 
 it she said, " Don't do that, please," in such a 
 tone that he was compelled to let go. 
 
 " Good-bye, Sir Alaric." She moved off quickly, 
 leaving him petrified with alarm.
 
 1 66 JENNY 
 
 She had gone about a hundred yards when his 
 eye fell upon a book. She had forgotten her 
 novel. This, at any rate, gave him an excuse for 
 following. 
 
 For all her apparent dignity, Jenny would have 
 given anything to turn back, but of course, as she 
 was the girl, that was impossible. 
 
 Then she heard him running ; no doubt he 
 was hurrying after her to apologize. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said very stiffly, " but 
 you have forgotten your book." 
 
 " Oh, thank you." 
 
 He did not apologize, but stood there without 
 speaking, and it was impossible for Jenny to move 
 on without seeming brutal. 
 
 Somehow, however, they did leave each other, 
 and Jenny, with a sinking heart, felt that there 
 must be at least two hundred yards between them. 
 
 Then she realized that Dingo was with her, 
 keeping close by her side. 
 
 " Go back, Dingo," she said quietly, but Dingo 
 declined, and in answer to further commands to 
 return to his master, rolled over on his back with 
 his four legs in the air, where he remained gazing at 
 her with supernaturally solemn eyes, as if to say 
 " You can't get the better of this." 
 
 Alaric's whistle, at first casual and spasmodic, 
 was now heard. Dingo took just as much notice 
 as showed he had heard it. 
 
 " Go back, Dingo ! " 
 
 Dingo, evidently quite sure of his line of conduct, 
 did not move. 
 
 Alaric's whistle now grew stern and insistent. 
 There is nothing calculated to make one look
 
 JENNY 167 
 
 so ridiculous as one's dog when he follows the 
 enemy. 
 
 Jenny hurried on, and Dingo, as if to say, " For 
 heaven's sake, let us escape this way for your life," 
 hurried on ahead of her. 
 
 Jenny stopped. Alaric's whistle grew nearer ; 
 he was evidently in pursuit, ostensibly of Dingo, 
 perhaps of her. 
 
 He appeared with a face full of wrath at his 
 humiliation, and, making a dive at Dingo, seized 
 him angrily by the collar and raised a whittled 
 hazel switch he was carrying. 
 
 " If you touch Dingo, I'll never speak to you 
 again." 
 
 " I thought you weren't going to do that in any 
 case." 
 
 Jenny ignored this allusion to her inconsistency. 
 
 " I wouldn't revenge myself on a dog." 
 
 " Who's revenging himself ? I'm punishing 
 him." 
 
 " What for ? " 
 
 " Disobedience." 
 
 " At any rate, he isn't rude. He has the good 
 manners to see me home." 
 
 " I said I was sorry." 
 
 With true feminine tact and so as to avoid too 
 much concession, Jenny put the basket down and 
 began to exercise her wrist as if it ached. 
 
 Alaric made for the basket. 
 
 " I told you it was too heavy." 
 
 In his hurry he tripped over a piece of tough 
 seaweed and measured his length. This built a 
 little bridge of laughter. 
 
 " That's a punishment," said Jenny,
 
 1 68 JENNY 
 
 " All right. I'm punished," assented Alaric, 
 rubbing his leg, which was quite unhurt, in order 
 to be sure of sympathy sufficient to carry him 
 back into favour. 
 
 By the time they reached the house the quarrel 
 was entirely forgotten, but the incident left Jenny 
 more than ever wretched. Who was she, she asked 
 herself, to complain of anybody's conduct ? She 
 was a miserable, underbred, deceiving little gutter- 
 snipe, and her true breed was finding her out.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 EMMA watched her son with greedy eyes. 
 Whenever she could obtain a sight of him 
 without being seen she would stand at her bed- 
 room window, a pair of field-glasses hi her hand. 
 She saw him descend the path from the cliff-top 
 to the sea-shore, and she saw Jenny come out of 
 the group of rocks at the base of the headlands 
 to meet him. Sometimes she watched them as 
 they sauntered through the hot afternoons by the 
 edge of the sea, now and then running hi shore 
 as some wave, more ambitious or playful than its 
 fellows, flowed far inland. 
 
 Sometimes the hour passed when he should have 
 appeared at the cliff-top, and then, half an hour 
 later, the little sailing-boat would come bobbing 
 and curtseying round the further headlands, 
 and Emma's soul would rejoice as well as 
 Jenny's. 
 
 Emma had such confidence in Jenny, had known 
 her so well under such very definite temptation, 
 that these meetings of which she was supposed to 
 be ignorant did not alarm her at all. 
 
 They did not alarm her until she noticed 
 169
 
 170 JENNY 
 
 feverishness about Jenny's happiness, a strain of 
 suffering which ought not to have been there. 
 
 Then she became alarmed, and began to wonder 
 if she had been mistaken in Alaric. She knew that 
 quite nice boys, otherwise full of good-nature, will 
 break a girl's life with all the unconsciousness of 
 a child tearing up a rag-doll, and be quite ignorant 
 of the harm they have done till, with the poor 
 fragments before them, come bitter, unavailing 
 regrets. 
 
 She was, however, enlightened as to the cause 
 of Jenny's unhappiness, for on the evening of 
 the picnic and the quarrel she was astonished to 
 hear sobbing in Jenny's room. She went to 
 her at once, and Jenny poured out the whole 
 story. 
 
 Emma saw how a real tragedy for the girl had 
 grown out of a momentary weakness. 
 
 " There is only one way out of it, Jenny," she 
 said gently. 
 
 " Yes." Jenny was too clear-headed not to 
 have grasped this. It was just this palpable fact 
 before which she had recoiled. 
 
 Then for a space Emma could only remember 
 that it was her son who had been deceived, and 
 she broke out into a harshness of tone Jenny had 
 never heard from her before. 
 
 " It was cruel to deceive a nature like his, cruel. 
 You shouldn't have done it." 
 
 For all her self-possession and curious delibera- 
 tion of mind, Jenny could be terrified by the idea 
 of losing the affection of those she thought be- 
 longed to her. Emma was only made aware of 
 how she had spoken by finding a pair of arms
 
 JENNY 171 
 
 round her neck, clasped tightly as if their owner 
 feared she might fly away for ever. 
 
 " Don't. I can't bear it if you turn against 
 me." 
 
 The words were little, the passionate pathos 
 in them was all. Jenny had suffered too much 
 the last few days not to feel utterly forlorn at the 
 idea of her chief refuge thrusting her away. 
 
 Emma was not proof against this display of 
 outraged confidence. 
 
 " I am sorry, Jenny ; I didn't quite mean that ; 
 but it must be put right, and at once." 
 
 " Yes " in a low, strained voice. 
 
 "It is just one of those things which makes 
 everything look black. 
 
 " He will think me bad and wicked." From the 
 way Jenny said this it was obvious that her whole 
 happiness was bound up in Alaric thinking 
 otherwise. 
 
 " He has known you long enough for that to 
 be impossible." 
 
 " The longer I've known him the worse it makes 
 it." The reply was typical of Jenny's mode of 
 thought. She was not apt to spare herself. 
 
 " I feel dreadful." Jenny nestled her head 
 against Emma's side. 
 
 " But when a man loves a woman " 
 
 Jenny started as if she had been shot. The 
 words thrilled her with a magnetic shock. To 
 hear Emma say this was music. 
 
 " Emma, I never said " . 
 
 " But of course he does," said Emma, with a 
 low, musical laugh. She was just beginning to 
 see the full beauty of it from her point of view.
 
 172 JENNY 
 
 There had been a recompense prepared for her. 
 The care of her boy's love, perhaps of his wife, 
 had been given into her hands. It was passing 
 strange and wonderful. 
 
 It was so wonderful that for the moment her 
 mind had passed the quagmire into which Jenny's 
 unpremeditated deception had brought them and 
 was in the beyond. Just for the moment she for- 
 got everything but the possibility of holding their 
 children in her arms, and her heart burned at the 
 thought. 
 
 Jenny thought she was trying to find a way 
 out of the difficulty, and left her in silence for a 
 little, looking out into the deep violet of the 
 summer night. 
 
 At last she asked gently : 
 
 " What made you think that Sir Alaric ? " 
 
 Emma smiled into the darkness. 
 
 " I have seen it in his face." 
 
 Emma forgot for the moment how she had 
 avoided Alaric. She faced it, however. 
 
 " I have watched you together more than you 
 have known." 
 
 For a moment Jenny was hurt. She had not 
 been trusted; she had been watched. This was 
 just what her nature could not brook. In spite 
 of her guilt she asked a little sharply : 
 
 " You have been watching us ? " 
 
 " Yes, in a way," was the reply. Then Emma 
 went on : "I knew Sir Alaric's mother in the 
 old days. She was a friend of mine, and I am 
 interested hi him." 
 
 Jenny sat up. In all her acquaintance with 
 Emma she had never received so much confidence.
 
 JENNY 173 
 
 Of course she had always known that Emma was 
 of the best breed ; the more she had seen of the 
 right people the more she had realized this. 
 
 She waited for her to go on. Perhaps something 
 exciting was coming. 
 
 Emma, however, did not say anything further, 
 and Jenny was compelled to follow it up. 
 
 " Is that why you were so angry just now ? " / 
 
 " Perhaps." Then, with energy, Emma added : 
 " Tell him the truth at once, Jenny. When a 
 man loves a woman, he longs to believe the best 
 of her. It will be difficult at first, but truth rides 
 down every obstacle. Go to Alaric." 
 
 At the way in which Emma spoke the name 
 Alaric Jenny gave a slight movement which 
 showed that she was surprised. 
 
 " Tell him that you have deceived him, and 
 tell him why. If you tell him yourself he will 
 believe you. If he finds out from others he never 
 will. Tell him yourself, Jenny." 
 
 This was beyond Jenny. It ought not to have 
 been, considering her strength of mind, but it 
 was, and she said so. 
 
 " You must, Jenny, you must," reiterated 
 Emma. Then she took the girl in her arms and 
 said pleadingly : " Don't break his heart, don't 
 break his heart." 
 
 " Oh, when he knows who I am, and what people 
 say about me, he will despise me." 
 
 " At first, perhaps." 
 
 Emma talked to her for a long time, trying in 
 every way she could think of to strengthen her. 
 She saw the hidden motive in Jenny's deception, 
 the reason she had hardly confessed to herself,
 
 174 JENNY 
 
 the fact that she could not, because she was a 
 woman, forego the joy of hearing him say that 
 he loved her before she told the truth. Instinct 
 had warned her during their first conversa- 
 tions that he would have looked on her with 
 totally different eyes had he known the truth. 
 Emma also realized this, but as woman to woman 
 she knew it was the thing to be kept in the 
 background. 
 
 She left her at last, Jenny having promised to 
 try and tell Alaric. 
 
 Emma had much to examine herself on. She 
 was trying to analyse her conduct from the point 
 of view of an outsider. 
 
 How little she knew of her son. How little 
 she had been content to know. No, content was 
 not the word. It was truer to say that she had 
 schooled herself not to know. In the years past 
 she had suffered acutely at this divorce between 
 herself and her natural functions as mother, but 
 time blunts the edge of all sorrow. It must be so, 
 or we could not live. Till her boy had stepped 
 again into her life, bearing Jenny in his arms, she 
 had been firm in her intention to let things remain 
 as they were. 
 
 She wondered what her husband's sister not the 
 least of her trials during her short married life 
 was like nowadays. She had been some years 
 older than her brother. She must be nearly 
 sixty now. Perhaps she had grown softer with 
 time. Alaric did not talk or look as if he had been 
 brought up by a hard woman. She had heard 
 him talking to Jenny in the evening twilight whilst 
 she had sat at the other end of the verandah, and
 
 JENNY 175 
 
 he seemed to be quite happy at home. Emma was 
 too big to resent this, as some mothers who had 
 gone out into the wilderness might have done. 
 
 She looked out of her window towards the head- 
 land, which lay a black mass in the moonlight. 
 On the other side of it dwelt Alaric and her sister- 
 in-law. She knew Miss Burne too well not to be 
 sure that there would be the most strenuous objec- 
 tion to anything like an engagement between 
 Alaric and Jenny. Emma could quite appreciate 
 all the objections, if with her greater experience 
 of the many strata of Society they did not appear 
 as great as they might have done in former days. 
 
 Behind nearly all our actions there is some 
 personal motive unconfessed, often not even self- 
 revealed, and Emma saw that for Alaric to marry 
 Jenny would mean that in a sense her son would 
 be given back to her, even if he should never know 
 who she was. 
 
 Then, with true feminine sophistry she declared 
 that there was no need for him ever to know who 
 she was, even if it should be necessary to reveal 
 the truth to Miss Burne. 
 
 She was quite ignorant as to what they had 
 told Alaric about her. Perhaps they had led him 
 to believe she was dead. She did not know how 
 much Alaric had told Jenny of his life, for with 
 her usual reticence Jenny had repeated practically 
 none of his confidences.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AS for Alaric, he was quite sure that Jenny 
 was the only girl in the world for him. He 
 had always been impressionable, and had fallen 
 in love in a boyish way with many of his aunt's 
 visitors. But with Jenny he felt it was different, 
 and he was right. He was just at the age when 
 men fall in love most easily and most strongly. 
 
 She had stirred the manhood within him. He 
 felt ashamed of the aimlessness of his life and of 
 being so tied to his aunt's apron-strings. He 
 had never thought of it before. He had been 
 dependent upon her from childhood. He had 
 seen so little of the life of other youths. Owing 
 to his health it was only of late that he had 
 blossomed into the young man of promise. He 
 was feeling his feet years later than other young 
 men of his age. He was determined to speak 
 to his aunt about Jenny. He made up his mind 
 to do this as he wandered home along the shore 
 in the late evening. 
 
 He was in no hurry to reach home. If his aunt 
 wondered why he was constantly away towards 
 Seaborough she did not question him, quite realizing 
 
 176
 
 JENNY 177 
 
 that he was now too old for that. She made guesses, 
 of course, and even wondered if the attraction were 
 the girl he had picked out of the water. Of the full 
 measure of his conduct on that occasion she had 
 no idea. He had described it as quite a trivial 
 affair. " My boat was there, you know, and I 
 had to wade a bit." She didn't know that he 
 had risked his life to save Jenny. He had 
 described her in such a way as to convey the 
 impression of a gentlewoman. 
 
 " The old father looks no end of a swell. Like 
 some old duke, or like what an old duke ought 
 to be." 
 
 " He was there as well, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. She showed me his photograph." 
 
 " Does he do anything ? " 
 
 " I don't know I shouldn't think so. Doesn't 
 look like it. They seem to have no end of money. 
 Seems to manage her own money in a funny sort 
 of way." 
 
 Miss Burne laughed. " What do you mean by 
 ' a funny sort of way ' ? " 
 
 " Rather like a grand duchess." 
 
 " I didn't know you knew any." 
 
 " I don't, but that's what she's like." 
 
 Miss Burne reflected that Alaric's estates could 
 do very well with an heiress. 
 
 The whole acquaintance sounded all right. 
 Alaric would not have talked of it so openly had 
 it not been quite respectable. She would have 
 offered to call, but she knew that young people 
 do not always like their friendships intruded 
 upon by their elders and that it is unwise to be 
 premature. 
 
 12
 
 178 JENNY 
 
 Perfectly happy when he was thinking of his 
 love for Jenny, he would clamber out to a far 
 rock, and, perching himself above the waters, 
 give himself up to dreams ; and as he sat looking at 
 the glory of the west the full joy of it would come 
 upon him. The opal sea lapped at the rocks, 
 making low music in the serene evening air. 
 Behind him the cliffs threw lengthening shadows, 
 and over the western waves the sky was glowing 
 with the embers of the day. 
 
 Alaric was young for his age. His long isola- 
 tion had kept him so, but his mind had of late 
 sprung forward as if suddenly conscious of the 
 intense movement which was in the world. His 
 weakness had become his strength, and he was 
 at twenty-two a cleaner, purer creature than most 
 young men. As is the way in youth, he was 
 egotistical about his emotions, and believed this 
 new inrush of amazing feeling was a thing 
 peculiar to himself. Youth, with all its capacity 
 for feeling, sees little but the mask of those 
 around it, and only when too late does it realize 
 what other people are capable of. 
 
 He was passionately, madly in love with Jenny, 
 but he could not have analysed her. It is not 
 given to the young to do that. He knew that 
 they two made entrancing music, and it was 
 sufficient. 
 
 Of course no one had been in love as he was 
 in love this went without saying. The supreme 
 felicity had been reserved for him. He no more 
 than any lover was conscious of the absurdity of 
 this attitude. He could not conceive that these 
 subtle thrills, these wild upspringings of joy, were
 
 JENNY 179 
 
 human heritage as much as the glory of earth, 
 sea and sky. Youth knoweth its own love, no 
 other. 
 
 Of course there is genius in the world of love, 
 just as in all other forms of energy. There are 
 those who hold that Don Juan's nemesis is that 
 he can never understand women. Those who 
 believe this are fools, sacrificing truth for a high- 
 sounding generality. But one can exhaust a taste 
 for virtue, just as one can exhaust a taste for vice, 
 and with exhaustion things are put at their true 
 value. 
 
 Alaric had the makings of a passionate and 
 intense lover. Most people talk contemptuously 
 of the love of young things as if it were of 
 no account, a thing to be ruthlessly set aside ; 
 but what would they not give to sense again 
 those fierce vibrations which turn everything to 
 cyphers of absolute joy ? Never again is the 
 soul quite so free to move in its own world of 
 rapture. 
 
 He gave himself up to the luxury of thinking 
 of Jenny as his wife. He seriously reflected on the 
 possibility of there being any objection to himself. 
 She was obviously wealthy, and she was beautiful 
 and charming enough to marry anyone. The 
 beloved is always, even when she is not like Jenny, 
 a thing of beauty. By the time he had fully re- 
 flected ori the matter he had come to look upon 
 himself as almost ineligible. Eight thousand a 
 year and a place it was difficult to keep up need not 
 necessarily be great attractions to her, apart from 
 the fact that she loved him. Did she love him ? 
 He had no right to think so, no absolute ground 
 
 12*
 
 180 JENNY 
 
 to go on. Yet he did think so never in his heart 
 of hearts did he dream it could be otherwise. 
 
 He was too young, had had too little reason in 
 his life to cultivate secrecy, not to be somewhat 
 ingenuous in the matter with his aunt. 
 
 True, he began by talking as if it were the most 
 ordinary of friendships, but he talked too fre- 
 quently of Jenny and dwelt too much on her 
 perfections for his aunt to be deceived. 
 
 Miss Burne somehow felt it would be a good 
 thing for Alaric to marry early. She knew his 
 temperament to be highly-strung and chivalrous, 
 but he had grown full of energy of late and 
 lacked the training of a public school. The 
 discipline of married life would be a good thing, 
 from her point of view, for her outlook on life was 
 strictly limited to the family. 
 
 Besides, she believed in early marriages, and her 
 instinct in this matter was probably right. Whole- 
 sale deviations from such a rule are exotic and 
 unnatural. It may not be possible for many 
 young men to marry in early manhood ; it was 
 obviously desirable that those should do so who 
 were able. 
 
 The more she heard of Jenny the more favourably 
 impressed she was, and the better the impression 
 the greater comedian Jenny would appear to have 
 been when Miss Burne heard the truth. Poor 
 Jenny had not foreseen how far-reaching would be 
 the malignancy of her deception. 
 
 " She's dignified, you know that's what I like 
 about her, aunt." 
 
 " And no woman can have a greater virtue," 
 agreed Miss Burne warmly.
 
 JENNY 181 
 
 " I wish you knew them." 
 
 " Do you think they would like me to call, 
 Alaric ? " 
 
 " Yes. I'm sure they would." 
 
 This was young and tactless on his part. 
 
 " I am driving into Seaborough to-morrow 
 afternoon." 
 
 " I will meet you at the library and take you 
 on." 
 
 " You are quite sure that they won't consider 
 it an intrusion ? You would like me to know 
 them ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " No ' of course ' about it." 
 
 Alaric half thought of telling his aunt of his 
 love for Jenny, but decided to wait till they had 
 met. Miss Burne, he was sure, could not be 
 otherwise than favourably impressed by her. The 
 male seldom reckons with the fact that it is just 
 the things men admire in women which women, 
 by the nature of things, do not. Men are good 
 judges of effect ; they are not connoisseurs in 
 points. 
 
 " Have they ever spoken about anybody you 
 know or know of, Alaric ? " 
 
 " I don't think they have." 
 
 He forebore to mention that he had seen hardly 
 anything of Mrs. Goodchild. Somehow he felt 
 that her constant absence might not reflect very 
 favourably upon Jenny in the eye of a stranger.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE next morning Jenny walked into the 
 post office at Seaborough before breakfast 
 and telegraphed to the Duke : 
 
 " If possible come at once." 
 
 He would understand that it was urgent. She 
 had never come across anything which he could 
 not understand. She always felt quite safe with 
 him. 
 
 In case it should seem a little selfish of Jenny 
 to call a man of the Duke's age to her side at a 
 moment's notice, it must be remembered that the 
 Duke had never pleaded a single privilege of age 
 and had laid his time fully at her feet. She would 
 not deceive again. Never again in her life would 
 she tell or act a lie. Her experience had been 
 too deeply humiliating. Even if Alaric did not 
 care for her she must tell the Duke. Her own 
 experience of the crooked path had taught her : 
 
 What a tangled web we weave 
 When we practise to deceive, 
 
 and hers was not a nature which could possibly 
 live in an atmosphere of deception. 
 
 182
 
 JENNY 183 
 
 Emma did not mention the matter at breakfast, 
 neither did she allude to it again during the morn- 
 ing, but Jenny knew that she was relying on her 
 strength of mind. Emma only asked : 
 
 " Is Sir Alaric coming over to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so. By the way, I've telegraphed 
 for Daddy." 
 
 " To the Duke ? " 
 
 " Yes, I want him." 
 
 Emma quite understood. She saw that apart 
 from the predicament in which Jenny found her- 
 self, she wanted the Duke to know everything 
 as soon as possible. This seemed hopeful, and as 
 if she intended to clear the matter up. 
 
 Jenny expected an answer to her telegram, but 
 none came. Perhaps the Duke was away. It 
 was not likely, however, that the telegram would 
 be long in reaching him. Then for the first time 
 it entered her mind that he might be ill. She had 
 never thought of illness in connection with him, 
 but now she realized what it would mean if he 
 were really ill. 
 
 Someone had once said in her hearing that the 
 Duke would probably live till he was ninety, and 
 it had never till now come upon her that, after all, 
 he was an old man, and that an illness might 
 mean his breaking up. 
 
 Once, on a Sunday evening in the spring, they 
 had paced the river walk at Glamoys Lodge, and 
 he had told her his views on life, and death, and 
 faith. 
 
 " Sinners and I suppose in the eyes of the rigid 
 I should be considered one are supposed to fear 
 death, but I cannot think I shall be afraid. I
 
 1 84 JENNY 
 
 do not conceive God as an eternal setter of traps ; 
 and I don't believe morality, real morality, is any- 
 thing like the thing the puritans would have us 
 think it. How can anything be right which pro- 
 duces ugliness ? I believe in the first Jplace that 
 though in a sense we are always in the presence of 
 our Creator, yet in another sense we are millions 
 of years from Him. As regards this life I should 
 like to sink away, my dear, with your hand in mine 
 and your laugh, that wonderful laugh, in my 
 ears." 
 
 A less intuitive nature would have burst into a 
 banal protest against this talking of death, but 
 Jenny pressed his arm and drew closer. 
 
 She remembered this conversation with a feeling 
 of terror that he might be ill, and that he might 
 be with people who would not let her go to him. 
 Her heart almost stopped at the thought of such 
 a thing. 
 
 Alaric came in the early afternoon, and Jenny 
 and he walked into the garden. Emma, who had 
 heard his arrival and had seen them pass through 
 the garden gate, was convinced that Jenny meant 
 to tell Alaric the truth. 
 
 Her heart gave a thump as she thought of the 
 ordeal through which her darling had to pass. 
 
 But the afternoon wore away and Jenny had 
 not confessed. They had wandered aimlessly 
 about the shore, happy enough to be with each 
 other. More than once Jenny had had to avoid 
 one of the traps which her own lie had laid for her 
 at every turn yet she did not confess. She 
 brought Alaric in to tea and then she made her 
 great effort.
 
 JENNY 185 
 
 Emma had kept out of sight. She knew that 
 if Jenny were forgiven she would fly to her like 
 a bird with the good news. If the matter ended 
 badly she would hear of it quite as soon. 
 
 " You seem awfully quiet to-day," said Alaric, 
 watching Jenny across the table. 
 
 " Do I ? " 
 
 " Yes ; is anything worrying you ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little ; no, not a little, a great deal." 
 
 " Perhaps I'm getting a nuisance ; beginning to 
 bore you." 
 
 " Oh, no ; what makes you think that ? " 
 
 " Well, you know, you seem to be accustomed 
 to all sorts of clever people." 
 
 " I don't think I am." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; one can tell that by the way you 
 talk. I've never done anything, you know. I 
 sometimes think that perhaps you despise me for 
 being such an idler." 
 
 " I think you ought to do something." 
 
 " I know. I intend to. Of course there's my 
 property to look after that will take up a fair 
 amount of time, but I should like to do something 
 else too." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Oh, the army, or diplomacy, or something. 
 You see, these things would all have been pro- 
 vided for in the case of any ordinary fellow. Still, 
 I've no doubt I shall always find plenty to do in 
 looking after my own affairs. Lots of fellows 
 leave those things too much to agents, and I don't 
 approve of that." 
 
 Jenny understood. The Duke had, during his 
 many educational talks, taken her over the ground
 
 1 86 JENNY 
 
 of his duties, and she had smiled at the difference 
 between what a man in his position has to get 
 through and the idle life which most people think 
 he leads. 
 
 " And then, Jenny," he would conclude, " there 
 is philanthropy. I don't believe in philanthropic 
 schemes much. They do as much harm as good, 
 but they take up quite a lot of time, and one is 
 put up as a figure-head a somewhat absurd 
 figure very often for every kind of undertaking 
 which mawkish sentiment, compounding with its 
 own conscience, can devise." 
 
 Alaric spoke again of his boyhood and his long 
 illnesses and his sudden and wonderful building 
 up towards health. 
 
 " Everyone who knows me says it's the most 
 extraordinary thing they have ever come across." 
 
 " But who was it put you right ? " 
 
 " A bonesetter." 
 
 Jenny looked up with an almost comic alertness 
 of inquiry. She wondered for the moment if 
 Alaric were joking and were inventing a name. 
 
 " What is a bonesetter ? " 
 
 " Well, this man was something more than a 
 bonesetter. He discovered that I wasn't properly 
 fitted together, so he pulled me out and pushed 
 me in and screwed me down till I was quite in 
 place." 
 
 " But why didn't the doctors do it ? " 
 
 " Because they don't know as much about this 
 sort of thing as they should, and they would like 
 to prosecute the bonesetters. They say their cures 
 are no cures. Doctors are frightfully narrow, you 
 know. They've got a sort of star chamber called
 
 JENNY 187 
 
 the General Medical Council, where they condemn 
 people to professional death without a free-born 
 Englishman being able to appeal to the law of 
 his own country." 
 
 " And did the bonesetter cure you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and one of these days the doctors will 
 steal all these fellows know and say they found 
 it out." 
 
 " How do you come to know so much about all 
 this ? " 
 
 " The chap who cured me put me on to it, and 
 I've read a lot. It's one of the few things I do 
 know a little about. Do you know, when I'm a bit 
 older and I've got my hands well on the rudder of 
 my own ship, I'm going to see if I can't get the 
 youngsters in my villages taught something about 
 their own bodies. I shall pay a couple of lecturers 
 to go round. If you come to think of it, the state 
 of ignorance we live in is absurd." 
 
 He found himself talking quite earnestly, and 
 paused, flushing with the self-consciousness of the 
 young Englishman who has been betrayed into a 
 serious speech of any length, but Jenny was inter- 
 ested. She had not heard him speak like this 
 before and could not understand why. 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 But the flush remained in Alaric's cheeks and 
 he was silent. He was thinking how wonderful 
 it would be if it should be Jenny to stand by 
 his side and help him in such a work. 
 
 Then before Jenny, who had now made up her 
 mind that the time had come when she must tell 
 him the truth, could speak, Alaric had lost his 
 self-control and was pouring out his love in a torrent
 
 i88 JENNY 
 
 of words, a mixture of idiomatic English and 
 sentimental sublimation. 
 
 " I daresay you don't think I know my own 
 mind, but I do. I couldn't ever love anyone else, 
 I couldn't." 
 
 Jenny was silent. In her soul was an awful 
 horror, for she realized that this was just what 
 should not have happened before he had been told 
 the truth. It was the supreme betrayal. The 
 abyss yawned before her. 
 
 "I'm sorry," she gasped. Then she stopped. 
 Alaric, white with excitement, was standing before 
 her with clenched hands. He was quivering from 
 head to foot with the desire to take her in his 
 arms. At the words " I am sorry " he reeled a 
 little. She couldn't mean that she didn't care 
 for him. That was impossible. He would not 
 believe it ; not for one moment did he believe 
 that she had been playing with him. 
 
 " Do you mean that you don't care for me ? " 
 
 " No." The great eyes faced him steadily. 
 
 " Then you do love me ? " His voice broke a 
 little on the last two words, but the look in her face 
 was sufficient answer. He took her in his arms 
 and, trembling from head to foot, kissed her. 
 
 There was a long silence, and for a few minutes 
 Jenny gave herself up to the ecstasy of it. For 
 some time he could say nothing but " Jenny," 
 at intervals of taking her hands and pressing them. 
 He held her to him and kissed her, growing bolder, 
 each kiss being a little surer and stronger than the 
 first one he had laid upon her lips. 
 
 After a time he spoke of his aunt. The fact 
 that Miss Burne was at that moment on her way
 
 JENNY 189 
 
 to see her hardly penetrated to her brain, for she 
 was making a desperate effort to tell him the truth. 
 
 " There is something very important I want to 
 tell you " but he hardly heard her. 
 
 " I am to meet my aunt at the Library. May 
 I bring her here ? We won't tell her everything 
 to-day. Don't let us tell anybody for just a day 
 or two." 
 
 In a little while he was gone, with the permission 
 to bring his aunt, and Jenny was alone with thoughts 
 of a headlong flight to London, and even dark 
 thoughts of the deep, deep sea. If only she could 
 die. If only the earth would hide her ! In the 
 stress of his excitement Alaric had heard nothing 
 of her attempted explanation. 
 
 Then, at the very height of her despair, there came 
 the sound of carriage-wheels outside and a voice 
 in the hall asking for her, and her friend was with 
 her. The sudden sense of safety was tremendous, 
 and she flew to him with an abandonment he had 
 never seen her display ; all the outworks of dignity 
 were thrown down. She was treacherous, dis- 
 graceful, and horrible, but he would understand. 
 He would give her back some piece of self-respect 
 from the wreck. Then again there was the joy of 
 knowing that he was well, still the alive, perennial 
 creature whom she knew. 
 
 " Why didn't you come and meet me ? Didn't 
 you get my telegram ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " I sent it from the club." 
 
 " I thought you were not in town after all 
 or " Jenny hesitated a little " that you were ill." 
 
 The break in her voice touched the Duke.
 
 190 JENNY 
 
 " Where's Mrs. Goodchild ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 There was no time to lose. 
 
 " Daddy, don't let them take your things off 
 the cab." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " I will tell you why after." 
 
 The Duke, wondering a little, gave the order, 
 and then closed the door. 
 
 ' What's the matter ? Something has hap- 
 pened." 
 
 ' Yes, I must tell you quite quickly." 
 
 He knew her too well to do other than wait. He 
 noticed that she kept away from him as she spoke. 
 
 " The other day, Daddy, that is, about ten days 
 ago, I was nearly drowned, and I was saved by 
 Sir Alaric Burne." 
 
 " Sir Alaric Burne ! " The Duke, who had sat 
 up as she told him of her narrow escape, repeated 
 the name thoughtfully. 
 
 " There was a Lady Burne who bolted I 
 remember." 
 
 " It was his mother." 
 
 " Then he's a youngster." 
 
 The Duke looked at her keenly, and Jenny came 
 at once to the point. 
 
 " The first day he was here he asked whose 
 photograph that was, and " 
 
 She paused. Told like this, it sounded without 
 excuse. There was no time, however, to help 
 herself as she went along. She must for the 
 moment be content to tell the bare facts. There 
 was the danger of Miss Burne and Alaric coming 
 upon them, and the mere thought of such a situation
 
 JENNY 191 
 
 made her heart leap into her throat. She inter- 
 rupted her story abruptly. 
 
 " I want you to take me back to London at once." 
 
 " At once ? " 
 
 " Yes. Let us drive to the Junction and catch 
 the express." 
 
 " But there must be a very good reason for 
 this ? " 
 
 " There is." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " I will tell you as we go along." 
 
 Then she remembered his age, the sudden journey 
 he had taken in reply to her telegram. She saw 
 the fatigue with which, in spite of the excitement 
 caused by her inexplicable utterances, he sank into 
 an arm-chair. She was filled with remorse and 
 tenderness. 
 
 " Oh, Daddy, forgive me. I will never be selfish 
 again ; but do let me tell you all about it in the 
 train." 
 
 The Duke looked at her with a sudden sharpness 
 of glance a slight stiffening of his poise. " We 
 are not running away, are we ? " 
 
 Jenny, brought face to face with the truth, was 
 silent. Her eyes fell, but she nodded. 
 
 " From what ? " 
 
 She looked helpless. The minutes were flying. 
 
 " Won't you let me tell you as we go along ? " 
 she pleaded. 
 
 A smile which was not all a smile flickered 
 about the lips of the Duke. There was a firmness 
 behind it which told Jenny she would have to give 
 reasons for flight. 
 
 " From what ? " he repeated.
 
 192 JENNY 
 
 Jenny tried for the last time to make flight 
 immediate and sure. 
 
 " Won't you let me tell you as we go along ? " 
 
 The eyes were humid, and the appeal in Jenny's 
 face full of a caressing charm. She rarely con- 
 descended to tricks, and they were consequently 
 almost irresistible, but an intuition, perhaps the 
 essence of enormous experience, bade the Duke be 
 careful. 
 
 " No, I'm afraid that won't altogether do," 
 he said, checking a movement towards the door. 
 " I don't care about running away until I know 
 what I'm running away from." 
 
 Jenny protested with both hands, but the Duke 
 continued : 
 
 ' You see, it might be better not to run away 
 at all. Come, tell me quickly." 
 
 Jenny was singularly clear-headed, even at this 
 moment. It was her character always to recog- 
 nize the inevitable and make friends with it. Still, 
 she hesitated. To tell the truth, and such a life- 
 influencing, complex truth affecting the Duke, as 
 well as herself and Alaric, was not altogether fair 
 to the subject itself. The Duke grew a little im- 
 patient. He justly felt that lack of trust was the 
 one thing he did not deserve from Jenny. 
 
 " Good lord, little girl, can't you trust me ? " 
 
 There was something in the tone of the voice and 
 in the remark which brought her to her senses. 
 The idea of the Duke thinking she did not trust 
 him was intolerable. 
 
 She commenced quickly. 
 
 " Sir Alaric Burne saved my life, and he's been 
 here several times."
 
 JENNY 193 
 
 The expression on the Duke's face changed. 
 There was no mistaking the meaning of Jenny's 
 simple statement. Their eyes met, and Jenny's 
 did a thing they were not apt to do. She was not 
 the girl to make ignoble appeals. Nevertheless, 
 there were tears in her eyes as she looked, straight 
 as was her wont, into the Duke's. 
 
 " Daddy " she said abruptly, and stopped. 
 
 There was what seemed a long silence. A slight 
 expression of pain stole over the Duke's face. 
 Presently he said gently : 
 
 " I see, the fellow's fallen in love with you." 
 
 Jenny answered " Yes " quite simply, without 
 even a shadow of the conscious smile that such 
 avowals are usually accompanied by. 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 Then indeed Jenny turned her face away, 
 partly because she had an idea of what this con- 
 fession meant to the splendid old man before her. 
 The Duke came over and, taking her face into both 
 hands, looked at her earnestly. 
 
 " I see I understand." 
 
 Even at that moment of hurry the sense of loss 
 was keen. It was hardly perceptible, however, 
 as he continued in an almost cheerful voice : " Well, 
 it was bound to happen at some time or other, 
 wasn't it ? " 
 
 For a moment Jenny wondered if he were 
 picturing Alaric as a young man of birth and wealth 
 who thought her good enough to fall in love with, but 
 not good enough to marry. She continued quickly : 
 
 " He has asked me to be his wife." 
 
 The Duke had hardly thought it could be other- 
 wise. His experience of Jenny prevented the idea 
 
 13
 
 i 9 4 JENNY 
 
 that she was likely to play a part in a love-story 
 which was derogatory to her dignity. 
 
 " Good, and of course there are difficulties. 
 Relations who don't see things in the same light. 
 Well, we must see what can be done." The Duke 
 began to look round the matter as well as he could 
 with the material at his command. Then he 
 realized that Jenny's impatience was growing 
 momentarily, and that time had been proclaimed 
 the essence of the situation. 
 
 " But why are we running away ? " 
 
 " Because because he doesn't know who I 
 am he thinks " She stopped, feeling un- 
 utterably helpless. Still the moments were flying, 
 and an explanation which would carry them out 
 of the house and on the way to London was impera- 
 tive. If she could only get the essential point 
 out, the rest would be easier. 
 
 " You mean that, like silly children, you've 
 been quarrelling ? " 
 
 " No, we haven't quarrelled. It's worse than 
 that. You must be told the whole truth, only 
 it's so difficult." 
 
 " Growing afraid of me ? " 
 
 " He doesn't know who I am. Oh, it's so diffi- 
 cult. I feel so mean. You'll despise me, Daddy." 
 
 The Duke began to think the matter must be 
 serious, and he said gravely : 
 
 " I'm a pretty old stager, Jenny. I think I can 
 understand most things. Come, put your hand 
 in mine." 
 
 Jenny drew away from him, with her back to 
 the light. 
 
 " No, I'll tell you standing here, and afterwards
 
 JENNY 195 
 
 you can tell me to go back to my gutter, and I 
 shall understand." 
 
 For a moment the Duke thought the offer of 
 marriage was compensation tendered for an injury. 
 At the thought a surprising change came over him. 
 The great, keen blue eyes flashed, the delicate, 
 almost womanish skin grew purple and then white, 
 the thin nostrils dilated furiously. 
 
 " If he's behaved like a blackguard, I'll " 
 
 The phrase, coming from the lips of the Duke of 
 Glamoys, might have impressed a cynic of his own 
 period with amusement ; but men are curious 
 things, and other men must respect their property, 
 whatever acts of piracy may have distinguished 
 the profligates' career. 
 
 " No, no, you mustn't say anything against 
 him." She went on quickly. " The first day he 
 came, directly after he had saved my life, he asked 
 whose photograph that was, and all of a sudden I 
 felt the difficulty of explaining I had never felt 
 shy about it before I realized what people say 
 for the first time. And before I knew what I 
 was doing" here Jenny, true to her character, 
 faced the Duke as she confessed her treason " I 
 said that you were my father." 
 
 The Duke's lips moved as if he had inadvertently 
 tasted something exceedingly bitter, whilst his 
 eyebrows went up in amazement. 
 
 " Your father ? " he repeated. 
 ' Yes," said Jenny, in a little crushed voice 
 which she hardly recognized as her own. 
 
 The Duke allowed the exceeding bitter taste 
 to pass a little before he replied. " Thankye," he 
 said at last dryly, " thankye." 
 
 13*
 
 196 JENNY 
 
 The answer was crushing in its irony and 
 breeding. 
 
 " Was that quite fair to me ? " he added. 
 
 " I know. I've thought it all out since. I beg 
 your pardon." 
 
 For a moment the Duke sank below his level, 
 and asked : 
 
 " What did you do it for ? " 
 
 To a man of his experience the reason must have 
 been only too obvious. Jenny was disappointed. 
 She was accustomed to his seeing all round a sub- 
 ject at once. She felt as if a support on which she 
 had counted had been knocked away. 
 
 " Because I think I knew at once " With 
 
 an effort she tried to choke back her tears, but she 
 was wretched and frightened, and her sentence 
 finished in a great sob. 
 
 Her tears were ten tunes the more effective in 
 that she had never used them unfairly. The slight 
 sternness which her confession had produced in 
 the Duke's attitude melted. " Never mind about 
 me, Jenny; I begin to understand." She turned 
 and laid her hand in his. He at once commenced 
 to make things easy for her. 
 
 " I think I can follow it all. You felt at once 
 that you loved him, and as we all do when we are 
 in love, we make absurd mistakes such absurd 
 mistakes." 
 
 Before such kindness and generosity the flood- 
 gates of Jenny's contrition were opened. Very 
 tenderly Glamoys took both her hands in his, and 
 drew her head on to his shoulder. 
 
 " Don't cry, my dear ; I can't bear to see you 
 cry," he said gently.
 
 JENNY 197 
 
 " Oh, Daddy, what a dear you are, and what a 
 beast I am ! " 
 
 " Well, I won't say that ; but I can't say you've 
 much to be proud of. But why are we running 
 away ? " 
 
 " This afternoon Sir Alaric asked me to marry 
 him, and I tried to tell him the truth, and some- 
 how I couldn't and I said ' Yes ' without telling 
 him, and then he told me his aunt was coming to 
 call this afternoon, and," said Jenny, looking at 
 the Duke with a fear in her eyes which was almost 
 comic, despite the situation, " she's coming here. 
 She may be here at any moment." 
 
 Glamoys saw it all now. 
 
 " I see, and then the truth would have to be 
 told, of course." 
 
 He smiled, and added with a touch of his usual 
 humour : "I begin to see why we are running 
 away. I begin to feel like it myself. But don't 
 you think it will be better to face it ? " 
 
 Even as he made the suggestion he gave a 
 wry smile as he saw himself trying to impress the 
 incredulity of Alaric's aunt and the passionate 
 resentment of Alaric. Jenny did not protest ; 
 she only answered sadly : 
 
 " I couldn't. I wish I could. I will write and 
 tell him everything and then " 
 
 " Does Mrs. Goodchild know ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I only told her yesterday." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I know what you are going to say, but you are 
 wrong. She's been about the whole time. You know 
 how she manages to look after one without being 
 actually there. There isn't anyone to blame but me."
 
 198 JENNY 
 
 " I didn't mean that," said the Duke hastily ; 
 " I have absolute faith in Emma Goodchild." 
 
 He thought deeply for a moment. As he had 
 suggested, his first instinct was to stay and clear 
 the matter up for better or worse, but Jenny's 
 untruth had created an ugly situation, which grew 
 more ugly the more he thought of it. It made 
 every explanation suspect ; indeed, the more things 
 were explained the blacker they would look. 
 
 " Couldn't you say it was a joke ? " 
 
 " Daddy ! " 
 
 " No, of course not. That would make it look 
 worse than ever." He reflected again deeply. 
 After a minute or so, during which Jenny watched 
 him with a strange fluttering in her throat, he 
 turned to her and said decisively : 
 
 " Get your things on and we'll start at once." 
 
 " You are very good to me." She made an 
 impulsive movement as if she would have kissed 
 his hand. 
 
 " Tush, go along ; we've no time to lose." 
 
 Emma, unnoticed, had crossed the lawn from 
 the shore gate and was in the room before Jenny 
 could leave it. 
 
 She had been wandering among the rocks, and 
 had a mass of purple seaweed in her hands. She 
 had come to hear Jenny's news, and there was a 
 bright light in her eyes. Was it evil or well with 
 her ? The joy of having had her son so near her, 
 daily within view, often in her presence, had, in 
 conjunction with sea air and midsummer weather, 
 almost driven away the look of care and unhappi- 
 ness which had hung over her. The Duke came 
 forward and shook her warmly by the hand.
 
 JENNY 199 
 
 " How well you look, Mrs. Goodchild ! We are 
 just going." 
 
 He was almost as impatient to be off as Jenny 
 had been, and so came at once to the point. 
 
 " Going ! " 
 
 " Jenny tells me that you know everything." 
 
 Jenny interposed hastily : 
 
 " Emma does not know that Sir Alaric's aunt 
 may be here at any moment. She is coming to 
 call on me," she explained to Emma. 
 
 Neither of them noticed the sudden pallor in 
 Emma's face, or if they did, they put it down to 
 her perturbation at this new development in Jenny's 
 affairs. 
 
 " You are advising Jenny to run away ? " 
 
 " Well, I think it is better to get a little 
 time to think things over, don't you ? " 
 
 " It will look very bad," she answered. Her 
 first inclination was to get them away as soon as 
 possible. It would be out of the question for her 
 to allow Miss Burne to recognize her without some 
 preliminary explanation. Her intention had always 
 been to disappear quietly when the crisis arrived, 
 and possibly to take the Duke into her confidence 
 in order to make the thing easier. 
 
 As things were developing, she foresaw that she 
 would be left to explain to Miss Burne. Even 
 that was better than having a terrible scene into 
 which her own exposure might impart bitterness, 
 if not a sense of horror, as far as her son was 
 concerned. 
 
 " Jenny has told me her point of view, 
 and I think she ought to be allowed to act on 
 it."
 
 200 JENNY 
 
 He felt the excuse to be a little weak, and frankly 
 admitted the second part of the difficulty. 
 
 " There's another point, you see. I don't quite 
 know what sort of figure I should cut before the 
 boy's aunt. It might be comic. On second 
 thoughts, I am quite convinced that I should look 
 ridiculous. I think we had better go. You need 
 not see Miss Burne." He realized the possi- 
 bility of Emma thinking it somewhat selfish that 
 she should be left to face the situation unaided. 
 ' You are not necessarily involved. You can let 
 the maid say that Miss Oldcastle has had bad news 
 and has returned to London." 
 
 Jenny laid her hands imploringly on Emma. 
 
 " I must go, Emma, I must." 
 
 Without waiting to hear the matter argued 
 further, she left the room. 
 
 " I hope you don't think I'm a coward in this 
 matter, Mrs. Goodchild." 
 
 The Duke so obviously felt uncomfortable and 
 at a loss that, remembering all his consideration 
 and kindness, Emma sank her own feelings and 
 tried to make the flight as dignified for him as 
 possible. 
 
 " You know this young man, this Alaric Burne ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Do you like him ? " 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " Do you think he will make her happy ? " 
 
 "If it comes to that, I think they were made 
 for each other. I can see that it was just one of 
 those things which might happen quite naturally." 
 
 " You mean what she said about my being her 
 father ? "
 
 JENNY 201 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Things will be difficult very difficult." He 
 looked at her as if for endorsement of this view. 
 
 " About as difficult as they could be." 
 
 " It must be arranged somehow. It must be. 
 We can't have Jenny's happiness interfered with. 
 Do you know anything of the aunt ? " 
 
 " She lives not far from here." 
 
 " I knew his father. Killed himself with drink. 
 His wife ran away." 
 
 " I have not seen his aunt." There was not 
 time, or she would have been almost inclined to 
 take the Duke into her confidence and tell him 
 everything. Next to Father Hawthorne he was 
 the one person she could have trusted in the 
 matter. 
 
 " I am afraid Jenny has unwittingly given us 
 all away." 
 
 " Yes ; and yet she is hardly to blame." 
 
 " I am to blame. I should have benefited her 
 less ostentatiously. There," he concluded, as he 
 heard Jenny approaching, " it's no use arguing 
 about the past. That has never been my way. 
 We must do the best we can for the future. The 
 world was made for futurists." 
 
 The carriage drove away, not to the town 
 station, but to the Junction, four miles off, where 
 they could board the express. 
 
 Emma was left in the house alone. Her heart 
 beat rapidly as she realized that her sister-in-law 
 and her son would soon be at the door. 
 
 Should she see them ? Not together, that was 
 impossible. She had no desire that her son should 
 meet her at such a moment of stress. It would
 
 202 JENNY 
 
 complicate his young life too much. Too much 
 bitter truth taken at once shatters the ideals of 
 the young. It does more, for ideals are like the 
 rag dolls of childhood ; they are beloved to the 
 end when almost all semblance of shape and 
 meaning has been battered out of them ; they 
 stand for more than wax. True souls with faith in 
 salvation carry their ideals to the grave reverently, 
 in the hope of laying their dolls before the eternal 
 throne, and seeing them blossom in a new and 
 more beautiful youth. 
 
 But more sorrow than is good to know may 
 check growth instead of encouraging it, and this 
 truth the mother soul in Emma grasped. 
 
 She must see Miss Burne alone ; at least, till 
 she had her assurance of silence. 
 
 She remembered Miss Burne as a spinster of 
 thirty-four, of decided views, sure of the divine 
 origin of conventions, sure that disagreement 
 with them was divided between precocity and 
 affectation, both extreme forms of wickedness. 
 From the little that Alaric had let fall it would 
 appear that she had mellowed. Perhaps the care 
 of a child for nearly twenty years had softened her. 
 
 They had disagreed always ; but Emma was 
 no longer the inexperienced young wife whom 
 Miss Burne had found it so easy to put hi the 
 wrong. 
 
 There was a ring at the bell, and the maid came 
 to say that Miss Burne was in the drawing-room. 
 
 " Is Sir Alaric with her ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 Emma was puzzled. What had happened ? 
 However, it was fortunate.
 
 JENNY 203 
 
 " If Sir Alaric should call, show him in here." 
 She went to the drawing-room, but even with hei 
 hand on the door she half drew back, wondering 
 whether it might not be better to leave Miss Burne 
 in ignorance of her identity. Then the need of 
 explaining Jenny, her position and her conduct, 
 and of asseverating her innocence impressed itself 
 imperatively. 
 
 She must let her sister-in-law have the whole 
 story from beginning to end. She was quite aware 
 that, apart from the question of deception, Alaric's 
 aunt would deem an actress of any kind much 
 more a burlesque actress quite unsuited to become 
 Alaric's wife. She might conceivably welcome the 
 duplicity which Jenny's conduct had displayed as 
 triumphant evidence of bad character. Poor 
 Jenny had indeed put herself in a false light and 
 done herself every possible injustice. 
 
 Pulling herself together, Emma walked into the 
 room, and stood before her sister-in-law awaiting 
 recognition. 
 
 Miss Burne advanced with a pleasant smile. 
 She had no doubt of why she had been asked to 
 call, and she was prepared to treat Mrs. Goodchild 
 as colleague, both of them working for the 
 good of the young people. This was, of course, 
 providing everything was satisfactory. 
 
 She was by nature a woman of strong and 
 direct impulse, but she had so often done harm 
 by her early lack of reflection that experience 
 had taught her wariness and circumspection. 
 The matter was too serious to be handled 
 hastily. She had more than once thought out 
 her line of conduct when Alaric should make
 
 204 JENNY 
 
 some such announcement, and had always been 
 determined not to make the mistake, if she could 
 help it, of driving him on by opposition. 
 
 The description he had drawn of the dis- 
 tinguished old father, the quiet and restrained 
 duenna, and the well-dressed girl had impressed 
 her favourably. 
 
 ' You know, aunt, her clothes are just ripping, 
 but somehow they are as quiet as they can be. 
 You can't help looking at her hair, it's so well 
 done, and yet it isn't a bit showy." This all 
 sounded like the presence of wealth and good 
 breeding, and if this were the case there was no 
 great harm done. 
 
 Still, the judgment of young men when they are 
 in love is apt to be faulty, and she recognized the 
 fact that for a young man of his position Alaric 
 knew singularly little of the world. 
 
 Before Emma's entrance she had been ex- 
 amining Jenny's photograph, and had been 
 favourably impressed. It was a likeness in which 
 there was no possibility of detecting the burlesque 
 actress. 
 
 Yes, Alaric was right as regards her beauty. 
 She was decidedly startling, and with a certain 
 freedom and independence of personality which 
 was puzzling. 
 
 The fatal portrait of the Duke was standing near, 
 and Miss Burne had just time to glance at it before 
 Emma entered. It bewildered her, she could not 
 say why ; indeed, she was not altogether conscious 
 of being bewildered, only of a sub-conscious 
 wonder. 
 
 She had put out her hand and had begun to
 
 JENNY 205 
 
 speak before this ghost from the past struck her 
 dumb. 
 
 She thought she must be dreaming, that it was 
 an uncanny and distorted likeness of the woman 
 she had known. The thing was incredible. Emma 
 Burne was dead had been dead for years. 
 
 " You are right, Isabel ; I am Emma." 
 
 " Emma ! " 
 
 Miss Burne spoke the word in a voice of low 
 wonder. Emma did not at first reply. The last 
 time these two women parted it had been in anger. 
 It was not a little owing to her sister-in-law that 
 Emma had walked out of her husband's house and 
 irretrievably wrecked her life. 
 
 Not that Miss Burne was a hard woman or a 
 woman prone to evil intentions, but she was a 
 woman quite definite, not only as to what she 
 thought she ought to do, but as to what she thought 
 other people ought to do. 
 
 For all her strength of mind, she was for 
 once rendered helpless . by bewilderment. She 
 could only look at Emma with eyes wide and 
 questioning. 
 
 " I did not want to meet you, Isabel. I did not 
 intend to meet you ; but as we have met, I had 
 better explain everything." 
 
 " If you please," said Miss Burne slowly. 
 " Alaric will be here in half an hour. He wanted 
 me to see you first." 
 
 " Miss Oldcastle has gone to London." 
 
 For the first time Miss Burne saw trouble in 
 the direction in which she had been interested, 
 and she stiffened dangerously. She was in an 
 atmosphere of sinister surprises.
 
 206 JENNY 
 
 " There has been a very wrong state of things 
 existing without my being aware of it," began 
 Emma. 
 
 Miss Burne's mind was becoming more and 
 more confused. Interested as she was in Alaric 
 and Jenny, she could not help wondering what 
 the life of this woman had been since they parted. 
 The change was so dramatic. She had seen her 
 last a beauty, in the most exclusive social set. 
 How had she lived since that time, and what had 
 that life been to mark her face with such deep 
 evidences of suffering ? 
 
 Alaric would be there soon, however, and she 
 pulled herself together in order to have a full 
 knowledge of the situation. 
 
 Emma went on. 
 
 " Alaric knows very little of the world, Isabel." 
 
 " Very little, I am glad to say." 
 
 Emma wondered why anybody should be glad 
 to say that, but she continued : 
 
 " He might otherwise have heard of Miss Old- 
 castle before he met her." 
 
 Miss Burne looked at her sharply. 
 
 " Who is Miss Oldcastle ? " 
 
 " You may have heard her name." An idea 
 struck her. As the shortest way, she took up a 
 paper with a paragraph about Jenny in it, and 
 handed it to her sister-in-law. Miss Burne read 
 it slowly, and with a growing tension of feature. 
 At last she put it down. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that this is true ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is best to tell you the unpleasant 
 side first." , 
 
 Miss Burne ignored the suggestion that there
 
 JENNY 207 
 
 might be a pleasant side to such a revelation and 
 asked : 
 
 " But her father ? " 
 
 Then came the hardest part of Emma's task. 
 She was obliged to tell of Jenny's deception. 
 
 " It was not her father. It was the Duke of 
 Glamoys." 
 
 Then Miss Burne remembered something of the 
 story vaguely at first, and gradually clear-cut, 
 she remembered fragments of after-dinner chatter 
 by some ladies of high rank over a photograph 
 of Jenny. 
 
 " I don't know whether it's true. It's quite 
 extraordinary, the infatuation of a man like that 
 for a child," the Marchioness of Colthurst had 
 said. 
 
 " My husband tells me it's quite paternal," 
 Lady Brinkwater had replied. 
 
 There had been a discreet silence. It was not 
 exactly what people wanted to believe. The same 
 photograph was now on the table by Miss Burne's 
 side. 
 
 " You are the companion of this Miss Oldcastle 
 and she is Jenny Oldcastle the actress ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Miss Burne sat looking at Emma in silence, what 
 she had been told piecing itself together as parts 
 of a general conspiracy which only her unexpected 
 appearance on the scene had thwarted. She at 
 once came to an obvious conclusion that Emma's 
 present position was the result of a life of sin, 
 that when she had gone out of their lives it had 
 been into the vortex of indulgence and depravity. 
 But our lives, broadly speaking, are written in
 
 208 JENNY 
 
 our faces, and what Isabel was trying to read into 
 Emma's face was not there. 
 
 " Do I understand that you have countenanced 
 the deception of your own son in this matter ? " 
 
 The possibility of this particular accusation had 
 not occurred to Emma, but it struck her like a 
 blow. " How dare you ? " 
 
 Miss Burne was a little surprised at the vehe- 
 mence of the reply. The implication had seemed 
 to her inevitable. " Then what am I to under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " Will you tell me first what you really think 
 is the case ? " 
 
 " I think you wanted your son, and you used 
 this girl as a decoy." 
 
 Emma gazed at Miss Burne steadily, but made 
 no reply. It was an accusation which outraged 
 her too much for refutation. 
 
 " The Duke of Glamoys, with the best intentions, 
 put Miss Oldcastle in an invidious position. He 
 looks upon her as an adopted child. He did not 
 foresee that the world would not accept that 
 point of view." 
 
 " He has had sufficient experience to have 
 avoided such a mistake." 
 
 " The girl is partly to blame. She naturally 
 seeks the best. She was brought up in the gutter. 
 She refused to see the danger." 
 
 " You must have seen it." 
 
 " I warned her." 
 
 Emma felt the explanation to be futile. It 
 wanted something ; it wanted an intimate know- 
 ledge of Jenny. 
 
 " She fell in love," she went on hurriedly,
 
 JENNY 209 
 
 " and then for the first time realized the mistake 
 she had made." 
 
 The story was too bare in the facts. 
 
 " You are to understand, Isabel, that Jenny 
 Oldcastle is not at all the sort of person you think 
 her. If I did not believe absolutely in her good- 
 ness I should not be here." 
 
 This way of speaking of a burlesque actress 
 seemed to Miss Burne strained. It was not her 
 fault that she did not know better. Women 
 of her class forget that they only hear of 
 the private life of those who make themselves 
 notorious. 
 
 Emma had an advantage in dealing with her 
 sister-in-law of which she herself was not alto- 
 gether conscious. Isabel Burne remembered her 
 as a singularly truthful woman. She remembered, 
 also, the character of the brother who had been 
 Emma's husband. She had always had the un- 
 comfortable knowledge that however much the 
 woman before her might have sinned, she had been 
 bitterly wronged. 
 
 She considered, however, that her statement 
 as regards Jenny would require strong confirmation. 
 She began to suspect treachery everywhere. She 
 knew the strength of her sister-in-law's character, 
 and realized that if she had made up her mind to 
 carry the matter through she would do so. She 
 remembered the way in which she had taken her 
 revenge. There had been no hesitation, only a 
 just resentment. 
 
 " If Miss Oldcastle is all you say, is it not very 
 extraordinary that she should have practised 
 this deception ? " 
 
 14
 
 210 JENNY 
 
 " It is all very difficult to explain." 
 
 Miss Burne was about to remark that she should 
 imagine so, but checked herself. She was impressed 
 by her sister-in-law, in spite of herself. " I am 
 listening." 
 
 Poor Emma hardly knew how to begin. It was 
 necessary to create the atmosphere of Jenny for 
 Miss Burne. 
 
 " There is not time to put the whole matter 
 fairly before you as it should be put. I can only 
 make a statement, which you can believe or not, 
 as you please." 
 
 ' Why has she left for London ? " 
 
 " She has run away." 
 
 " And left you to face the matter ? " 
 
 " No. She feels that there can be no explana- 
 tion ; that she can never expect to be believed. 
 It is entirely of my own free will that I am seeing 
 you. Till you were here, in the house, I had not 
 made up my mind to see you. It is better so, 
 however." 
 
 " She was going to leave Alaric without an 
 explanation ? " 
 
 " She is going to write, telling him everything, 
 and leave him to judge for himself." 
 
 " Do you suggest that this is in any way a 
 suitable match for him ? " 
 
 Emma was silent. She hardly knew what to 
 say. Something of the caste spirit in which she 
 had been bred influenced her attitude, notwith- 
 standing all that Jenny was to her, notwith- 
 standing that in a sense she could not imagine 
 anyone more v suited to Alaric. There were, of 
 course, the many difficulties which it was im-
 
 JENNY 211 
 
 possible to ignore. People bred in purple and 
 fine linen never become absolute democrats. 
 
 " I cannot answer that with a mere yes or no. 
 You must get it clearly into your mind that Jenny 
 is not the woman you have thought her to be. 
 That is the first thing." 
 
 " And Alaric. Have you forgotten him ? " 
 Miss Burne was one of those women to whom 
 the feelings of outsiders must always be very far 
 subsidiary to the interests of any member of the 
 family. Most women have the family feeling 
 more intensely developed than men. This is 
 natural. With Miss Burne the feeling was a 
 passion. 
 
 She would have been quite unable to understand 
 her sister-in-law's devotion to an outsider. It 
 must, to her mind, necessarily run counter to 
 her affection for her son. 
 
 " Do you think people are ever likely to accept 
 Miss Oldcastle, even if what you say is true ? " 
 
 Emma answered unhesitatingly. " With such 
 a nature as Jenny's all things are possible. Her 
 character tends naturally towards what is good, 
 and her social ability amounts to genius. Oh, I 
 admit the whole situation is extraordinary, almost 
 beyond credibility, but I am glad of one thing, you 
 know absolutely the whole truth. That is why 
 I made up my mind to see you. There is nothing 
 hidden and what you know is the absolute 
 truth." 
 
 Almost a smile came over Miss Burne's face. 
 From her point of view the truth could not have 
 been worse than it was. 
 
 They sat in silence in the rapidly darkening 
 
 14*
 
 212 JENNY 
 
 room, waiting for Alaric. Miss Burne felt worn 
 and exhausted. Her life since she had had charge 
 of her nephew had been a very quiet one, singu- 
 larly free from even those excitements which occur 
 in the most humdrum lives. Her house, during 
 Alaric's precarious childhood, had been almost 
 cloistral in its quiet and solitude, and this shock 
 was to her shattering. 
 
 A breeze had risen and the tide was high. The 
 waves were falling on the shore with a growing 
 crescendo. 
 
 " I don't wish Alaric to be told of me, Isabel." 
 
 Miss Burne sighed with relief. She had feared 
 that Emma would step into his life. 
 
 Her memory went back over the years. She did 
 not deny that the woman in front of her had 
 been badly used. She had judged her harshly, but 
 at that time most of her judgments were matters 
 of prejudice. She had not considered how pitiable 
 had been the fact of the young wife in the hands 
 of her brother, a man with a quite insane love of 
 pleasure, who had surrounded her with every 
 imaginable temptation, and who had laughed at 
 and boasted of her capacity for strong drink until 
 it was too late. 
 
 Like his class, he had mistaken mad jealousy for 
 outraged honour, and had driven from his door 
 the girl whose mind he had debauched and whose 
 habits he had ruined. 
 
 Miss Burne's conscience had not been easy on 
 the matter. During the years which had passed 
 since then she had confessed to herself that the 
 outcast wife had been allowed to drift because she 
 had been condemned as an utterly worthless thing.
 
 JENNY 213 
 
 These things passed swiftly through her mind as 
 they sat waiting for Alaric. 
 
 Then the front-door bell rang and the hearts of 
 the two women who sat in the shadows beat more 
 rapidly. The door opened, and he came in joyously, 
 came in upon them sitting with their misery, 
 and knew at once that something dreadful had 
 happened. 
 
 Miss Burne rose and went towards him. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " he said, looking from 
 one to the other. 
 
 " Jenny has gone to London, Sir Alaric." 
 
 " Gone to London ? " The look of apprehension 
 on his face deepened. 
 
 " Let us go home," said Miss Burne a little 
 tremulously. 
 
 " What has happened ? " asked Alaric again 
 without moving. 
 
 " Miss Oldcastle is writing you from London," 
 said Emma, moved by a desire to help Miss Burne 
 in her obvious distress. 
 
 " You have seen her ? " asked Alaric, turning 
 to his aunt. 
 
 " I was too late, Alaric." 
 
 The atmosphere was so electric, the voices of 
 the two women so strained, that Alaric would have 
 been dense indeed had he not realized that some- 
 thing unforeseen and tragic had occurred. 
 
 " I think what there is to know you had better 
 learn from your aunt," said Emma. 
 
 She would have given worlds to have had him 
 to herself, to plead Jenny's cause with all the 
 power at her command. It would have been, 
 apart from the service to Jenny, an entering into
 
 214 JENNY 
 
 her son's life which must have been a strange, 
 sweet happiness. 
 
 She remained silent, however, even a little cold, 
 it seemed to Alaric. Miss Burne guessed the 
 tumult that was raging in the poor mother's 
 breast, and was anxious to be gone. 
 
 " You are quite sure Jenny will write to me ? " 
 he asked falteringly. He was but a boy, and the 
 acute disappointment had brought a lump into his 
 throat. He was too little versed in the ways of 
 the world to have reckoned with serious obstacles. 
 He had accepted his love-affair and its fullness of 
 joy hi a spirit of boyish optimism, sure that it 
 would come to an ecstatic fruition. 
 
 Now he felt chilled, for the pleasure he had 
 planned had eluded him. He felt like a child 
 whose holiday has been spoiled by the drenching 
 rain. However, it was impossible to remain in the 
 house in the presence of Emma's impassiveness. 
 It would have seemed like forcing his presence 
 upon her. 
 
 He took his seat beside his aunt in her stately 
 chariot, for if Miss Burne was content to be un- 
 ostentatious in a general way, there was certain 
 furnishing which she considered indispensable to 
 her position. As they wheeled out into the high 
 road Alaric turned a gloomy face to her. 
 
 " She told me she cared about me, Aunt Isabel. 
 I suppose it was some serious news which took her 
 back to town. It will be all right to-morrow. She 
 will write to me directly she arrives." 
 
 Miss Burne said nothing. The carriage was not 
 the best place in which to explain matters. 
 
 Her silence still further depressed him.
 
 JENNY 215 
 
 Miss Burne was acutely wretched at what she 
 had to tell Alaric. Further, she was not sure 
 that it would be effective in putting an end to 
 the whole affair. Jenny's flight might merely 
 be a clever ruse to draw him after her. Possibly 
 the Duke had arrived unexpectedly, and immediate 
 abandonment of the present battle-field was the 
 only way of carrying on the campaign. The more 
 she thought over the story Emma had told her, 
 the less she was inclined to believe it. The Duke 
 was known to be a glittering debauchee. The 
 world had always excused him, because he did 
 the work of his position ; she did not excuse him 
 he and his kind were anathema to her. They 
 had ruined her brother. This is the kind of pleasant 
 fiction indulged in by women like Miss Burne to 
 account for the evil doings of their male belongings. 
 There is always an active conspiracy ; they never 
 attribute the catastrophe to its real causes. 
 
 When they reached the house she drew Alaric 
 into the library, the room which they chiefly used, 
 and where the lamps were already lighted. 
 
 " Alaric," she said gently, " you have been 
 deceived. Miss Oldcastle is an actress from the 
 Oddities Theatre in London. She is very notorious." 
 
 It was in her nature to tell him the whole truth, 
 and it was certainly better than beating about the 
 bush. He looked at his aunt and laughed, a queer 
 little laugh, intended to show that her statement 
 was ridiculous and that he did not believe it. 
 
 " Did Mrs. Goodchild tell you that ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 It was a thing which seemed strange and remote. 
 Jenny an actress ! Yet even as he laughed he
 
 216 JENNY 
 
 felt it to be true. It explained many things by 
 which he had been unconsciously puzzled. Her 
 air of authority, as of one who was accustomed 
 to be considered, was consistent with the theatre 
 star. She was not what his idea of an actress had 
 been he had conceived an actress to be all powder 
 and tawdry clothing, a social gipsy at a glance. 
 He had certainly never imagined that she could be 
 fastidious, distinguished, with a low, light con- 
 tralto voice which was more beautiful than the 
 speaking voice of any well-bred woman he had 
 ever met. 
 
 " You think I would not marry an actress ? " 
 
 " She deceived you, Alaric." 
 
 " She will explain that. Perhaps she could not 
 help herself. Her father " 
 
 " She has no father, Alaric." 
 
 " No father ? She showed me his photograph." 
 
 " That was not her father it was the Duke of 
 Glamoys." 
 
 Alaric looked at his aunt blankly. His face 
 became a mask expressionless. The remark " It 
 was the Duke of Glamoys " stunned him. A great 
 woe like a wave rolled towards him. He tried 
 to push it back, and as it towered threatening 
 above him he put out both hands. The next 
 moment it had fallen, and he was struggling for 
 breath and foothold in the deep waters which 
 turbulently boiled about him. 
 
 He seemed to have had a sort of nightmare, 
 and after a few seconds' giddiness he found him- 
 self staring at his aunt out of the middle of a great 
 horror which enveloped him like a mist. 
 
 " Aunt ! "
 
 JENNY 217 
 
 There was a note in his voice such as she 
 had heard from him during his childhood when 
 some bewildering pain had him in its grip. Poor 
 Miss Burne broke down. Her whole self was 
 wrapped up in Alaric, and as she saw the growing 
 agony in his face she felt his grief as if it had been 
 her own, and anger with the cause flamed up 
 within her. 
 
 Alaric was quite experienced enough to know 
 what was implied in his aunt's tone as she spoke 
 the Duke of Glamoys' name. 
 
 " It can't be," he said huskily. " It can't be." 
 
 His aunt was silent. She was wondering whether 
 she should say indeed, whether it was part of her 
 business to explain what Emma had told her, 
 that the relations between Jenny and the Duke 
 were purely platonic. She saw, however, that it 
 would be dishonest not to give the girl such chance 
 as she had. 
 
 " For myself, Alaric, I express no opinion, but 
 Mrs. Goodchild says that there is nothing but 
 friendship " 
 
 Suddenly Alaric rose and went from the room. 
 His aunt's tone did not suggest that she believed 
 Emma, and his sudden and full realization that 
 he had been duped made him see everything at 
 its worst. 
 
 For the next two hours he paced his room in a 
 tempest of grief and rage, alternately cursing Jenny 
 and the Duke. 
 
 He could not find any excuse for Jenny, or any 
 belief in her. She was viewed in the light of 
 everything he remembered of the past. She had 
 been laughing at him, and, strange to say, youth,
 
 218 JENNY 
 
 which has less cause to be sensitive on this point, 
 is always more so than age. 
 
 He did not attach much importance to what 
 Mrs. Goodchild had said about platonic friend- 
 ship. If this were the case, why had she deceived 
 him with what seemed now he could look back 
 on the incident the swiftness and deftness of 
 practised duplicity. It was horrible, and he shook 
 his fist with rage. 
 
 Yet, unconsciously, he was trying to find some 
 way of getting back to an indulgent attitude. 
 Gradually the Duke emerged from the chaos, 
 monstrous, hideous, as men past middle age who 
 are not hypocrites or impotents appear to inex- 
 perienced youth youth always sure of its sovereign 
 right to pleasures. 
 
 Jenny as a victim that was the only solution, 
 indeed the natural solution for a lover. Somehow 
 Jenny's personality did not quite respond to the 
 suggestion. She evaded her place in the pictures 
 which his imagination drew of the process by which 
 the Duke had secured her. His wealth had done 
 it, of course. This would not do ; a hundred 
 little touches of character made the machinery of 
 this method creak. The glamour of the Duke's 
 position combined with his wealth ; but there again 
 the argument was at fault. Jenny obviously loved 
 culture and disliked vulgarity, but mere position 
 would not have tempted her. She was a curiously 
 inexplicable person from the standpoint which had 
 just been revealed. There was nothing for it but 
 to fall back on the Duke as an arch villain a 
 man it would be a service to kill. 
 
 Alaric was capable of suffering tortures of
 
 JENNY 219 
 
 jealousy that jealousy of a thing we love which 
 we are taught to consider virtue. 
 
 Twice he attempted to dress and join his aunt 
 at dinner, but finally the tumult of his misery 
 overcame him, and he silently descended the 
 stairs and stole out of a side door, driven by the 
 imperative necessity of being alone. 
 
 Miss Burne ate a solitary dinner. She was too 
 tactful to send up to him. He was better fighting 
 his battle alone. Later, she stole up from the 
 smaller drawing-room where she usually sat after 
 dinner, and knocked at his door. There was no 
 answer, and she opened it. His room was empty, 
 and she guessed what had happened. She 
 suffered acutely, as we all do when we realize how 
 little of the lives of those we love we can enter 
 into, how truly far away we are from each other. 
 
 In Alaric's state of mind the hours pass quickly. 
 The storm of suffering destroys all sensation of 
 time. He tramped the country round through 
 the early hours of the night ; it was the only way 
 of easing the agony within him. He had known 
 much physical suffering, although, with the elas- 
 ticity of youth, he had put the memory of it behind 
 him ; yet somehow this seemed worse, perhaps 
 because the pain we have is always worse than the 
 pain we might have had. 
 
 When in the early dawn he found himself before 
 the house again, it seemed to rise spectrely out of 
 his night of suffering as almost a strange place. 
 He could not have said where he had been, well 
 as he knew the neighbourhood. 
 
 He had a confused recollection of wandering
 
 220 JENNY 
 
 through woods and fields where the dew sopped 
 beneath his feet, of a steady, dogged tramp along 
 high roads which seemed vaguely familiar. For 
 the greater part of the time he appeared to be 
 existing in the delirium of a fever when everything 
 is seen through a veil, or as if experienced under a 
 narcotic. 
 
 He sank on to a garden seat by a small 
 artificial fountain whose waters splashed with a 
 cheerful pertinacity into the basin beneath. His 
 eyes were tired, and he wondered how the 
 morning could rise in such beauty when he was so 
 wretched. A mermaid in stone pursued a young 
 fisherman round the basin, and Alaric remembered 
 Jenny's dark hair like a patch of fine seaweed 
 floating just below the emerald surface of the 
 water. He remembered the ecstasy of that sudden 
 sensation of her in his arms, and how the blood 
 had surged in his brain as his hand had clasped 
 the warm, sweet breast. 
 
 " Oh, Jenny ! " he moaned, and buried his face 
 in his hands. Then he added with sudden change 
 to fierce anger, " Damn her ! Damn her to hell !" 
 
 He had spoken her name in every variety of tone 
 during the night. He had even at times spoken 
 it gently and caressingly with an appeal in his 
 voice, as if praying her to show him that it was all 
 a bad dream. His feet ached in his boots, sodden 
 with dew. He had a great longing for air about 
 his limbs. He rose and went down the path which 
 led to a stream running through the park, out of 
 sight of the house. 
 
 As he took his clothes off something of his 
 misery seemed to fall from him. The pool in
 
 JENNY 221 
 
 which he bathed was deliciously cool, and he swam 
 from shore to shore, almost forgetting the bitter- 
 ness that was upon him. 
 
 He sat on the wet green sward with the sun 
 filtering down through the trees from the east, 
 and felt comforted by the new day, as is the wont 
 of distracted human beings. By and by the 
 growing heat warmed him through, and, overcome 
 with fatigue, he slept. 
 
 It was nearly nine o'clock before he re-entered 
 the house. On the way to his bedroom he saw a 
 letter addressed to him lying on the hall table. It 
 was in an unknown handwriting, but he knew from 
 whom it was at once. Curiously enough, he had 
 never seen Jenny's handwriting. He took it with 
 a beating heart and hurried to his room. 
 
 There, with locked doors, he read it again and 
 again. She must have written it directly she 
 reached town. It was just a short description of 
 herself, her career, and how everything came to be 
 as it was. Her pride spoke throughout, and while 
 admitting to the full her fault, she was not on her 
 knees. She felt the subject a difficult one for her 
 to discuss, and this was obvious in every line of her 
 letter. There are always in human relations con- 
 cealed factors which one side avoids, and it was 
 the experience of life implied in Jenny's conduct 
 which the feminality of Jenny declined to place 
 on the table. Her intuitions told her exactly where 
 Alaric stood in these matters, and she felt that 
 with his boyish prejudices he would regard every 
 fresh evidence of her knowledge of forbidden things 
 as witness of her capacity for guilt. 
 
 The lie had been told, it had been persisted in.
 
 222 JENNY 
 
 It left its trail over all. She apologized for it, but 
 it was not to be further discussed. This was where 
 the battle royal would be raged, round the standard 
 of her privilege to be above the law. He would 
 conceive that as she had sinned, he was at liberty 
 to carry the inquisition into her whole character ; 
 she, with a woman's instinct, would decline to be 
 dissected, knowing that it must breed contempt 
 without gain of any further knowledge. Then 
 because he could not have his way and tear her to 
 bits, he would persuade himself that she was 
 guilty. 
 
 The affair would certainly develop, for each 
 according to temperament had the lover's genius, 
 which tortures itself in flames. 
 
 For a little Jenny's letter calmed him. She 
 loved him so much, at least, she asserted. She 
 explained why she had gone to London. Firstly, 
 to spare his aunt a scene ; secondly, that he might 
 have his opportunity of giving her up. This 
 much she declared was only fair. A third reason 
 she frankly admitted she had been afraid. She 
 had played the coward. 
 
 Unreasonably Alaric told himself that if she 
 really loved him, she could not have suggested 
 the excuse of giving him his freedom. Lovers 
 do not want to be treated reasonably ; they desire 
 to be loved passionately and recklessly. 
 
 So that Alaric's surcease from the pangs of 
 tortured love was not for long. 
 
 He breakfasted with his aunt, and managed to 
 conduct himself with such self-control that Miss 
 Burne began to wonder if he had not accepted 
 what was, in her opinion, the inevitable.
 
 JENNY 223 
 
 She knew nothing of Jenny's letter, or she might 
 not have judged so hastily. True to the instincts 
 of her class, she hated interfering except when 
 absolutely necessary, and then it was a thing to be 
 done with as little officiousness as possible. 
 
 Now that it was too late, a neighbour who drove 
 over that afternoon told her that Alaric had been 
 seen about Seaborougli with Jenny Oldcastle, 
 the Duke of Glamoys' protegee. 
 
 " I admire his taste, Isabel. She is delicious, 
 quite a little patrician to look at, and absolutely 
 unlike an actress in her ways. I wonder where 
 Alaric met her ? " 
 
 " He tells me she has returned to town." 
 
 " Then you knew all about it ? What a nice boy 
 Alaric is. No nasty secrets. At the same time, 
 it is rather dreadful, isn't it ? that old man, and 
 a girl who suggests Psyche." 
 
 '' Alaric saved her life," said Miss Burne, 
 selecting another colour of silk from her work- 
 basket. 
 
 " So I heard, and that's how it came about." 
 
 Miss Burne looked up sharply. The last 
 remark suggested that people were coupling Alaric's 
 name with Miss Oldcastle in no acceptable way. 
 
 " Who would have thought that Alaric would 
 grow into a strong young man and go about saving 
 distressed maidens. I do hope, dear, he hasn't 
 fallen in love with her ; but there, our young men 
 have to go through this sort of thing, don't they ? 
 My experience is that the richer they are the 
 sooner they get over it. That is only natural. 
 They learn to value the thing at its true pro- 
 portions."
 
 224 JENNY 
 
 " Perhaps," murmured Miss Burne a little 
 frigidly. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I didn't know it was as bad as 
 that," answered the other, quick to resent what 
 she imagined to be a snub. " Your voice is an 
 absolute tragedy." 
 
 Miss Burne slew the incipient scandal as far as 
 she could with a pleasant laugh. 
 
 " Oh, that's right," continued her tormentor. 
 " It's what is to be expected of a boy, good-looking 
 and rich. In a year or two some nice girl of his 
 own class will put matters right. I wish he and my 
 Sybilla could hit it off." 
 
 The lady had no pride about saying this. 
 Sybilla was pretty and an heiress. For Alaric's 
 sake Miss Burne preserved her amiability. 
 
 The lady, who had heard of Alaric and Jenny 
 taking tea on the beach together several afternoons 
 running, went away without the satisfaction of 
 feeling that she had been the bearer of disturbing 
 news.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 AS for Alaric, his unhappiness increased with 
 the hours. The world was empty of what 
 it should have held, and full of misery. The 
 jealousy which grew upon him was quite beyond 
 his control. He was not sure that the thing which 
 he considered he had chosen from all the world 
 was his, and the thought was hell. The shrine he 
 was heir to had been desecrated, and his rage ebbed 
 and flowed unceasingly. At one moment he told 
 himself that the only thing to do was to kill the 
 Duke. He might be hanged for it, and that would 
 embitter the whole of Jenny's existence. She 
 could never be happy again. That was the savage 
 part of him which wanted her to feel that he was 
 a power. Such is the curious way of love. The 
 really passionate lover does not desire the happi- 
 ness of the beloved as a thing apart from his 
 own. He desires happiness together or misery 
 apart. 
 
 Jealousy will have its fling' in all natures, and 
 it was this quality which rose most prominently 
 to the surface. His imagination ran riot amongst 
 the possibilities should Jenny be telling a lie, 
 
 225 15
 
 226 JENNY 
 
 should she be the creature the situation argued 
 her to be. 
 
 It must be true that she was such a creature 
 He laughed sardonically. He was not the oaf she 
 took him to be. She had played her part wonder- 
 fully. Well, she was an actress, and that was 
 natural ! 
 
 Poor Alaric laboured under the delusion that 
 a successful theatrical star is necessarily possessed 
 of histrionic gifts. 
 
 That she should have been laughing at him 
 that was the bitter part ! By degrees her letter 
 became of little value. He persuaded himself that 
 he did not believe it. Had it been true she would 
 have left the Duke. 
 
 He waited two days before he called at the 
 rectory to see Mrs. Goodchild, but she had gone. 
 The rectory was closed, the blinds drawn, pending 
 the return of its inmates. 
 
 He wrote a wild letter in reply to hers, full of 
 madness and misery. Of course he told her he 
 never wished to see her again, that he never would 
 see her again, when the mere idea of such a thing 
 was torture. It was strangely at variance with the 
 cry which would break from his lips as he wandered 
 in the grey, drizzling rain by the sea at evening. 
 
 " Jenny, I want you, I want you." 
 
 He wept for her during the night as a lost soul, 
 and woke in the morning with a dumb aching at 
 his heart. His aunt watched him, silent and 
 helpless, during the most unhappy week she had 
 known since the flight of his mother. 
 
 Then, just as she had come to the conclusion that 
 unofficiousness had its limits, he disappeared. He
 
 JENNY 227 
 
 took an independent line of action which was new 
 to him, and, packing a bag, left one morning before 
 she was up, for London. 
 
 She could not resent this. After all, he was his 
 own master, and on reflection she saw that the way 
 to nurse this intolerable romance was to brood over 
 it. It was obvious he had gone to London to try 
 and see Jenny, but in London he must also make 
 other friends. He must distribute himself over a 
 larger area, and in this there was hope. Indeed, 
 Miss Burne rather comforted herself with the 
 theory that the whole thing was the result of 
 inexperience and would take its true proportion 
 as Alaric saw more of life.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 I 7*EW really know London. To anyone who 
 L desired to make an absolute study of it 
 there would open up a lifetime of adventure. 
 It speaks to the inquiring soul in a richer 
 and more copious language than any other capital 
 in the world. 
 
 London meant to Alaric a black coat and a tall 
 hat, a town get-up, not too smart ; that was left 
 to the cosmopolitans, over-smartness not being 
 necessarily vulgar, but antagonistic to that peculiar 
 ease of appearance which marks the English 
 gentleman. 
 
 In the seventies and eighties nobody who con- 
 sidered good form at all went about in anything 
 but a tall hat and black coat. A straw hat might 
 be worn through August. At all other times a man 
 without a tall hat and black coat was considered 
 eccentric. 
 
 To Alaric at the present moment London meant 
 Jenny. It was a world of theatres, illicit connec- 
 tions, and wicked, wealthy, and high placed old 
 gentlemen, who led young maidens astray. The 
 place was garish with infamy. The poor lad's mind 
 
 228
 
 JENNY 229 
 
 was for the time diseased, and he had reduced him- 
 self to a condition when the world had a bad 
 outlook. 
 
 Jenny's photographs were in the shop-windows 
 by hundreds, and he was obliged to admit that 
 they were free from the tawdry. 
 
 He went to look at the outside of his house in 
 Cavendish Square, let to a fashionable physician. 
 He had dreamed of living in that house with Jenny, 
 and he turned away disconsolately. A dozen times 
 he made up his mind to go and see her, to pour 
 out his rage and jealousy upon her. A dozen times 
 he changed his mind. 
 
 He took a stall for the Oddities with a half- 
 expectation of seeing her on the stage. He was 
 weirdly curious to see her behind the footlights, 
 to note how she bore the setting of pinchbeck. 
 He wondered how she would feel if he rose and 
 denounced her ; he even planned such a denuncia- 
 tion in his mind with great circumstance, for there 
 is no sublimated nonsense which youth in love 
 will not picture. A glance at the programme told 
 him that she was still out of the bill. A fair 
 doll with a smirk was taking her place. 
 
 " I wonder/' said a well-groomed youth near 
 him, " when Jenny Oldcastle is coming back. 
 She's absolutely the thing, you know." 
 
 " Gone for a long holiday, I suppose. No need 
 for her to overwork herself. Glamoys sees to 
 that." 
 
 Alaric whitened. He had a difficulty hi re- 
 straining himself from falling upon the speaker and 
 gripping him by the throat, but he controlled him- 
 self, and when the mad impulse was over reflected
 
 2 3 o JENNY 
 
 that, after all, the youth was only repeating the 
 scandal of the town. 
 
 " Nothing in it, they say. Father and daughter, 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 " Grandfather and granddaughter," laughed 
 his neighbour. 
 
 " Great-grandfather and great-granddaughter, 
 if it comes to that," was the brilliant retort. 
 
 That a woman could be so talked of constituted 
 guilt in Alaric's eyes. The scene on the stage swam 
 before him in a mist flecked with flashes of 
 bright colour. The orchestra crashed mere noise 
 into his ears. He rose and went out, unable to 
 bear it. 
 
 The band was playing the song which Jenny 
 had made famous, and the strains pursued him 
 through the heavily carpeted corridor into the 
 street. A girl, pretty and quite modest in appear- 
 ance, gave him a sidelong smile, not at all the 
 brazen smile that report would lead people to 
 believe is necessary to her calling. 
 
 He was young, he was miserable, and the situa- 
 tion of the girl struck him as being infinitely 
 pathetic. With a shudder he thought that Jenny 
 no, he could not imagine such a thing. He went 
 back. The girl met him with a faint smile of 
 welcome. 
 
 " I want to give you this, please," he said, and 
 passed two ten-pound notes into her hand and 
 walked quickly away. The action he could not 
 say why comforted him enormously. It made 
 him a little tender towards Jenny, for whom, since 
 his arrival hi London, his feelings had risen in a 
 crescendo of resentment.
 
 JENNY 231 
 
 Perhaps his loneliness had accentuated his 
 morbid mood. 
 
 At one moment for he was young and desper- 
 ately in love he contemplated suicide. It was 
 his desire to be in her life. She must feel remorse 
 when she heard that his dead body had been found 
 in the dingy hotel bedroom. 
 
 He did not commit suicide, but found himself 
 on his way to Kingston, with a sudden determina- 
 tion to see her again at all costs. He went down 
 in a hansom, which he left at the gates of Glamoys 
 Lodge, and walked resolutely to the front door 
 without giving himself time to think. The one 
 thing which would have made him pause he took 
 no account of the fact that he was seeking an 
 interview with her in another man's house, in the 
 house of the man he regarded as the incarnation 
 of Satan. 
 
 The servant, leaving Alaric in the morning- 
 room, went to see if Jenny were at home, and Alaric, 
 left alone, took stock of Jenny's gilded cage. There 
 was certainly no evidence of a riotous life ; the 
 servant was quiet and respectful, and the large 
 Persian cat lying in a patch of sunlight was quite 
 respectable too, more respectable perhaps than 
 an English cat would have been. Alaric grew a 
 little white as he waited, and his heart beat fast. 
 Would she refuse to see him ? Was the Duke in 
 the house a thought which only just came to 
 him. Perhaps she would send Mrs. Goodchild to 
 him. Now that he was there he almost hoped 
 that she would. 
 
 The servant returned to say that Miss Old- 
 castle would see him. He followed into the
 
 232 JENNY 
 
 drawing-room, which was at the back of the 
 house. 
 
 In a few minutes Jenny opened the door and 
 came in. For a moment Alaric was melted towards 
 her, and his first impulse was to take her in his 
 arms and bear her away from this ogre's castle 
 at any cost. 
 
 She looked very lovely, but there were great 
 shadows under her eyes, and she had grown curiously 
 wan. No lover can be insensible to such a 
 compliment. 
 
 He looked at her quickly and then fixed his eyes 
 hi front of him. He was determined she should 
 not play the fool with him again. 
 
 " How do you do, Alaric ? " She held out her 
 hand. "It is nice of you to come and see me." 
 
 Then he realized the weakness of his position. 
 She had not asked him to come. It was he who 
 had sought her out. 
 
 He was not to be cheated of his due, however. 
 She should know that he was not the eternal fool. 
 The lie she had told him lashed him like a whip, 
 and his anger surged up again. There was a 
 silence. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you, Alaric." She spoke quite 
 humbly. 
 
 " Really ! " It was boyish satire, but she loved 
 him, and it hurt horribly. She knew she had been 
 in the wrong. She wanted to make every allow- 
 ance for him. She was honest by nature ; she was 
 deeply humiliated by what she had done, and she 
 wanted him to know it. Besides, she was a woman, 
 and humility became her. Above all, she wanted 
 him to realize that she claimed no rights.
 
 JENNY 233 
 
 " I thought perhaps you wouldn't come that 
 you would never speak to me again." 
 
 She breathed a little quickly. The self-abase- 
 ment was not pleasant, even to Alaric, but it was 
 done, and she was not called upon to go further. 
 
 Alaric was obdurate. 
 
 " Perhaps that was what you wanted." 
 
 " Alaric ! " Still some apology in the voice, 
 and little self-assertion. 
 
 " I suppose I ought not to have come. It would 
 have shown greater pride if I had kept away." 
 
 " But you got my letter ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I explained everything." 
 
 " You admitted everything. That was easy ! " 
 
 The note of Jenny's voice changed a little. 
 " Do you think so ? I didn't find it easy. I 
 didn't find it easy at all." 
 
 Alaric had read somewhere in a cheap novel of 
 a man who married a gentle creature of apparent 
 breeding, who one day flung out at him like a 
 drab, revealing her true character and origin. 
 He wondered if Jenny were capable of such a 
 thing ; if her attitude were all acting, and if behind 
 the finely polished exterior there lay potential 
 tornadoes of horror avalanches of slime. 
 
 " I am glad of that." He laughed bitterly. 
 " What a fool you must have thought me." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 He felt a certain brutality developing within 
 him. 
 
 " I mean, what a fool you must have thought me 
 when I swallowed lie after lie, as many as you liked 
 to tell me."
 
 234 JENNY 
 
 " You mustn't say that, Alaric." She touched 
 the flanks of her pride very gently with the 
 spur. 
 
 ' You mustn't say that," she repeated quietly, 
 with some of the gentleness gone out of her 
 voice. 
 
 " How you must have laughed ! " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why did you do it ? " 
 
 This appeal softened her again completely. " I 
 told you how it happened in my letter. I am sorry 
 if you don't believe me." 
 
 " You really expect me to believe that ? " 
 
 " What I said was true. If you don't believe 
 me I can't help it. I thought perhaps you would 
 understand, that you would see things as they 
 are. That you don't is my punishment." 
 
 The last words came out with an effort. 
 
 " And what about my punishment ? " 
 
 " Don't you see, Alaric, that what I said was 
 said on the impulse of the moment ? I wanted 
 you to think well of me I suddenly found it 
 difficult to explain, and then when I wanted to 
 explain, the lie I had told made it almost impossible 
 for me to put things right. And I never 
 
 thought " she was about to say " I never 
 
 thought we should love each other," but instead 
 she gave way completely for the moment, and, 
 clasping her hands, said simply, " Oh, Alaric, please 
 believe me." 
 
 Alaric was almost on the point of surrendering, 
 but again the whole ftorror of things as he con- 
 ceived them to be surged up in him, and he went 
 along the fatal road of insult.
 
 JENNY 235 
 
 " A horrible old man ! " 
 
 Jenny started as though she had been shot. Her 
 first impulse was to ask Alaric to go, but instead 
 she said sharply : 
 
 " I won't listen to that, Alaric. I won't listen 
 to it." 
 
 The defence of the Duke stung him into fierce 
 rage. He was to be deceived, to be reduced to 
 wretchedness, but the feelings of this old debauchee 
 were sacred. It roused him into fury. 
 
 He came over to her and his eyes blazed into 
 hers. 
 
 " Do you know, I don't think a woman like you 
 ought to be allowed to live ? I could kill you 
 myself. I shall never believe in a woman again as 
 long as I live." 
 
 She met his gaze unflinchingly, looking so un- 
 utterably lovely that his senses ached. 
 
 " You won't understand." 
 
 " That is what I want you to understand. That 
 is why I have come here to-day. I understand 
 everything. Good heavens do you think I can 
 be made to believe more lies ? Go on let me hear 
 them they will amuse me. Tell me more about 
 your father." 
 
 " Alaric, don't ! You are cruel and you are not 
 like yourself." 
 
 " Who has made me different ? " 
 
 " Why do you talk to me like this ? " 
 
 " Because I love you still, I suppose," he said, 
 with a little sob in his voice ; " and because I 
 want to make you suffer as v I have suffered. I love 
 you do you hear ? I love you. I ought not to 
 admit it. I ought to have more pride, but I don't
 
 236 JENNY 
 
 believe people in love have any pride. I suppose 
 it pleases you to hear me say I love you ? Why 
 don't you answer me ? " 
 
 " I'm glad you love me still, Alaric." 
 
 " Yes, I love you, but it's not the love I thought 
 it was. It's a low, beastly sort of love. The sort 
 of love you've been accustomed to." 
 
 " Oh, how dare you ! It's not true ! " 
 
 "It is true. Do you think you're going to get 
 rid of me like a dog, and not hear the truth ? You 
 shall hear it." 
 
 A faint smile of scorn was playing round her lips. 
 He interpreted it as amusement, the result of 
 gratified vanity. 
 
 " Don't laugh at me. Don't dare to laugh at 
 me." 
 
 He stamped his foot almost childishly. 
 ' You had better go, Alaric. You will say things 
 you will regret all your life." 
 
 He laughed wildly. 
 
 " Regret having told you what I think of you 
 never ! I shall be glad of that." 
 
 " No ; if you care for me at all you will hate 
 yourself for having wronged me. I didn't think 
 it was hi you to say such things." 
 
 He seized her wTists, but she made no effort 
 to free herself. She looked at him coldly. He 
 could hardly have said afterwards if her gaze were 
 pity or contempt. 
 
 " No, you thought me too shy. I'm not shy 
 with you now, am I ? I know you. I'm not the 
 first man who has taken you in his arms, but they 
 couldn't love you as I love you, whoever they are 
 I don't care if there were ten thousand others.
 
 JENNY 237 
 
 Come, let's begin again on the footing you do 
 understand. Why don't you answer ? " 
 
 The great brown eyes continued their examina- 
 tion of him as if he were some strange being, and 
 she were measuring his possibilities. 
 
 " You do understand." 
 
 " You are mad ! " 
 
 The voice was hard and sounded unemotional ; 
 an insult under the circumstances. 
 
 " Women make men mad." The tone was a 
 little ashamed. 
 
 " I told you a lie and I am ashamed and sorry; 
 but I want to know whether you intend to believe 
 that what I tell you now is true." 
 
 " A woman who could live a lie as you did 
 cannot expect to be believed." 
 
 " You think me vile ? " 
 
 And in a moment of insanity Alaric flashed 
 out : 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Jenny stood for a moment still as death. 
 
 " Let me kiss you," he said, seizing her ; " you 
 owe me something. You've made a fool of me. 
 Give yourself to me. That damned old man will 
 never know." 
 
 He knew that he did not mean a word he was 
 saying. He did not even want to insult her. It 
 was as if some demon were speaking out of his 
 mouth. The words came in a torrent, almost 
 epileptically, and he ended with a laugh 
 theatrical, ineffective but for a certain gasp of 
 pain at the end of it. 
 
 Then something was looking at him he had not 
 seen before, a something terrible, which had never
 
 238 JENNY 
 
 been Jenny. The power which was in her for a 
 moment dazzled. It was not all rage which trans- 
 figured her, although rage was there. It was 
 primarily scorn, such a lightning scorn as that 
 with which goddesses must have slain the pre- 
 sumption of mortals. That she, who had carried 
 her virginity triumphantly through a London slum 
 when the excuse of poverty was keenest, that she, 
 who had grown purer on a life which coarsens 
 most women, should have had this epithet hurled 
 at her was devilish. Only a thunderbolt could 
 answer, something to slay, to strike dumb, and 
 this Jenny, out of the white heat of her resent- 
 ment, hurled. Alaric tried to utter an apology, 
 a wild cry of abject sorrow, but his tongue clave 
 to the roof of his mouth. She did not even order 
 him to go, never to come in her sight again. She 
 left him, closing the door quietly, but its closing 
 was the barring of heaven's gates for ever. He 
 felt himself falling, falling as the angels of old must 
 have fallen, with horror in his soul. 
 
 He stood for a moment dazed. He was the 
 injured party, and yet Jenny had all the honours 
 of war. He at once set down her handling of him 
 to her wickedness, her training. 
 
 " I suppose they are all like it," he murmured 
 brokenly. He knew in his inmost heart he was 
 talking nonsense, and had anybody been present 
 the futility of it would have sounded pathetic. 
 
 The sunlight shone garishly on the white and 
 gold panelling of the room. It was the first cold 
 day of the year, and the old ship-logs on the fire 
 sent up blue and violet flames. 
 
 It was all quite different from what he had
 
 JENNY 239 
 
 expected. He was obliged to confess that every- 
 thing about her confirmed Mrs. Goodchild's version 
 of her. 
 
 Somehow he found himself back in London with 
 the full intention of taking the next train home. 
 It was all over. The thing was ended.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE late afternoon found him gazing aimlessly 
 at a bag which was not yet packed. To 
 go home was like cutting himself off for ever 
 from Jenny. There was a great comfort in being 
 in town with the possibility of seeing her. So 
 long as this condition of affairs lasted he was on 
 her horizon at least, and though he would not 
 confess as much to himself, there was the faint 
 hope of a way out, of a reconciliation of fire. 
 
 He was still thinking of his journey back when 
 the somewhat stale-looking waiter brought him in 
 a card which he delivered with a certain added 
 ceremony to his usual mechanical actions. Baro- 
 nets they were not unused to, lords stayed there 
 at tunes, but dukes, real dukes of great wealth 
 like Glamoys, were rare, if not unknown. As 
 Alaric read the name his heart beat furiously and 
 the colour flew to his face. 
 
 He had never met a duke, although there were 
 dukes and duchesses pendant on collateral branches 
 of his family tree, and his own position was just 
 as good for social purposes as theirs. He was about 
 to answer, " Tell him I'm not at home," when his 
 
 240
 
 JENNY 241 
 
 breeding changed the remark to, " Tell the Duke 
 I'm not at home " ; then again the something 
 which a position like the Duke's commands caused 
 him to change it once more to, " Tell his Grace 
 I'm not at home." 
 
 The waiter almost hesitated. Who was this 
 chevalier of twenty odd to say " No " to one of the 
 greatest nobles in the kingdom ? Knights and 
 baronets were all chevaliers to this benighted 
 foreigner. He knew not the glamour shed by 
 hereditary glory, and that never as a nation will 
 the British bow the knee to honours besmirched 
 by effort . 
 
 The man departed and watched the Duke's face 
 as he delivered the message, waiting for the slight 
 curl of the lip which should have shown noble 
 contempt for this boyish impertinence. Instead, 
 the Duke smiled, hi a gentle, kindly way, and 
 sitting down, wrote a few lines which he asked the 
 waiter to take up to Sir Alaric. 
 
 In reply Alaric descended to the dingy private 
 room into which the Duke had been shown. 
 
 His heart beat somewhat faster as he entered. 
 Perhaps at the back of his mind he had an instinct 
 that his attitude towards the Duke was unjust. 
 It was not surprising that he was nervous. He 
 felt the disadvantage of his own youth and inex- 
 perience, of the other's tremendous reputation. 
 
 This all gave him a defiant attitude when he 
 meant it to be sceptical and contemptuous. 
 Realizing his incapacity to convey the particular 
 effect desired, his temper immediately became on 
 edge. 
 
 " Sir Alaric Burne ? " 
 
 16
 
 242 JENNY 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I am the Duke of Glamoys." 
 
 Alaric did not answer, but gazed at the Duke 
 with an expression of tragic gloom. 
 
 " First of all I should like you to understand 
 that Miss Oldcastle is quite ignorant of my visit 
 here." 
 
 Alaric was still silent. 
 
 " Shall we sit down ? " 
 
 " I would rather stand." 
 
 ' You won't mind my sitting down ? The 
 struggle for youth is nearly over, and I get 
 tired." 
 
 Alaric made a perceptible sound of anger. 
 
 " Come, Sir Alaric, keep your temper with me 
 for a few minutes, and then perhaps you will keep 
 it altogether." 
 
 " Why did you wish to see me ? " 
 
 Glamoys gave an almost imperceptible sigh of 
 impatience. It was not pleasant to have to endure 
 the rudeness of this love-sick boy. Still, for Jenny 
 he would have done more. He allowed no trace of 
 irritation to appear in his voice. 
 
 " You will perhaps believe me when I tell you 
 that the happiness of Miss Oldcastle is the most 
 important thing in my life, and " 
 
 It was difficult, almost impossible, in such a 
 conversation to avoid touching Alaric on the raw. 
 The Duke's remark sounded to Alaric like a piece of 
 insolent cj-nicism. He broke in with white lips. 
 
 " What has this to do with me ? " 
 
 " Please listen." The Duke paused the young 
 gentleman was obviously ready to explode. His 
 imagination was a fuse electrically charged. The
 
 JENNY 243 
 
 Duke did the wisest thing under the circumstances 
 and came within striking distance. 
 
 " Miss Oldcastle has told me that she was 
 foolish enough to give you a wrong impression as 
 to my relations with her." 
 
 Alaric drew himself up as if ne had been shot. 
 
 " Your Grace ! " He moved towards the door. 
 
 The Duke hardly raised his voice, but his gently 
 spoken, " Patience, Sir Alaric," kept Alaric in 
 the room. 
 
 " Because of that deception you have drawn, 
 I fancy, a wrong conclusion." 
 
 There was a pause. Alaric threw his head back 
 and his short upper lip became shorter. The 
 Duke met his fiery glance with absolute calm, 
 and continued, " Yes, Sir Alaric, an absolutely false 
 conclusion." 
 
 Alaric realized that a display of temper to this 
 experienced old man of the world was of little 
 use. He imitated, as far as he could, the other's 
 restraint, and asked coldly : " What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 The Duke made the slightest gesture of protest. 
 
 " Is there any need for a further explanation ? 
 Is it quite fair to ask for it ? " 
 
 The jealous rage and fury seething within 
 Alaric prevented his preserving an appearance of 
 phlegm for long, the thing he most desired. He 
 answered haughtily : 
 
 " I suppose you must have some meaning, but 
 I don't follow you." 
 
 The Duke could have smiled at these theatricals, 
 but for his being very much alive to their serious- 
 ness for the boy. He continued, striving to give 
 
 16*
 
 244 JENNY 
 
 as little offence as possible to a mood which was 
 determined to find it : 
 
 " Sir Alaric, you are in love with Miss Old- 
 castle, and I think you would make her an excellent 
 husband." He knew there was danger in such a 
 blunt statement, but it was best to get it over. 
 
 " Thank you," answered Sir Alaric, with a 
 magnificent display of irony. " Good God ! " he 
 added, almost to himself, as if the splendid insolence 
 of the remark had taken his breath away. 
 
 " The way I put it may seem a little abrupt, but 
 I want you to understand the position exactly." 
 
 " What position ? " 
 
 The Duke was quite aware that in tactfully 
 allowing Alaric to make a certain display he was 
 drawing him into a discussion. 
 
 " By the position I mean the relations in which 
 you, and I, and Miss Oldcastle stand to each 
 other." 
 
 " I am interested to learn that you and I stand 
 in any relations." 
 
 Alaric's remarks were becoming more and more 
 heated. The presence of the Duke exasperated 
 him. According to all the canons with which he 
 had been brought up, the ancient roue should 
 have shrunk from the direct gaze of shining 
 youth. Instead, he found someone who seemed 
 morally quite at his ease. It was disconcerting. 
 Alaric could only put it down to cynical heart- 
 lessness and a conscience which had predeceased 
 its owner. In addition, the Duke's good humour 
 was unendurable. 
 
 " Come, Sir Alaric, there is nothing to be gained 
 by our barking at each other. It doesn't help us.
 
 JENNY 245 
 
 I understand you asked Miss Oldcastle to be your 
 wife." 
 
 Alaric gave a sharp, mirthless laugh, intended 
 to convey how entirely he agreed that such a thing 
 had been highly humorous. The Duke flushed 
 faintly. An insult to himself might be passed 
 over ; an insult to Jenny was under the circum- 
 stances unpardonable. He had expected Alaric 
 to see this. His voice was a little harder as he 
 proceeded. 
 
 " And that when you discovered who she was 
 you concluded that the deception she had practised 
 was intended to cover a state of things which did 
 not exist." 
 
 " It seems to me that that is a question for 
 Miss Oldcastle and myself to settle." 
 
 " Which you have attempted to do with very 
 little success. 
 
 " It is still our affair." 
 
 " I don't agree. Miss Oldcastle stands in the 
 relation to me of a ward." He waited for Alaric 
 to challenge the statement, but somehow Alaric 
 did nothing of the kind. He continued, after a 
 pause : "If your feelings towards Miss Oldcastle 
 have utterly changed, I have nothing more to say. 
 If, however, you cannot assure me that you are 
 no longer in love with her " 
 
 Alaric grew insolent. 
 
 " Why should I assure you of anything of the 
 kind ? What right have you to ask me ? " 
 
 " I have told you," answered Glamoys. Never- 
 theless he tried another line. 
 
 " I admit my position is very difficult." 
 
 " Very difficult. I can well believe it."
 
 246 JENNY 
 
 The Duke grew impatient. He rose and walked 
 to the window. It was not easy to bear with this 
 young man. His lack of any knowledge of the 
 world put him in a matter of this kind where a boy 
 of seventeen would have stood. The Duke began 
 to wonder what had fascinated Jenny, undeniably 
 handsome as the boy was and, of course, a gentle- 
 man. He was a little disappointed. He had 
 expected more of her fastidiousness, if not from 
 her judgment. He made a final attempt to get on 
 terms with the youth and moving towards the 
 mantelpiece stood with his back to it, facing 
 Alaric. 
 
 " Sir Alaric, I am a man old enough to be your 
 grandfather. You will, I hope, not think that 
 I wish to patronize you when I say that I have 
 seen more of life than most men. Position and 
 wealth enlarge a man's opportunities just as they 
 limit a woman's. It is because of my greater 
 experience that I am sure Miss Oldcastle's happiness 
 would be safe in your hands." 
 
 He paused, wondering how he had come to say 
 this and somehow to believe it. The natural 
 sweetness of his nature made him energetic in trying 
 to put these young people right with each other. 
 Alaric did not answer him. What the Duke was 
 saying was sheer hypocrisy ; to his mind it was 
 impossible it could be anything else. As the 
 Duke continued his voice grew softer. 
 
 " Love only comes to us in perfection once in 
 our lives. Believe me, it is the great thing by which 
 our lives are tested. No wise man laughs at the 
 loves of young people. Only those who are 
 playing at being wise despise the sunshine of life.
 
 JENNY 247 
 
 Man has grown into the habit of torturing himself 
 for a happiness he can't be sure of, and lets go by 
 the joy that can be his if he will only grasp it. 
 Therefore be sure that you are acting wisely 
 that this anger of yours is not merely an expression 
 of injured vanity." 
 
 There was a silence. Alaric did not answer, 
 and the Duke concluded almost tenderly : 
 
 " Be sure of that, Sir Alaric ; be sure of that." 
 
 Alaric's nature was naturally impressionable 
 and under any ordinary circumstances the Duke's 
 speech would have played with effect on his 
 temperament, but when he thought of this man 
 and his rights over Jenny, he hated him. 
 
 " I will be sure of that. I should be glad to 
 know by what right your Grace presumes to 
 patronize me. My family is as good " 
 
 The Duke raised his hand in protest. This was 
 descending to the ridiculous and the vulgar. 
 
 " Genealogy will not help us, Sir Alaric. Cupid 
 has none." 
 
 " You are too clever for me." The meaning 
 was obvious that the Duke was too full of worldly 
 cunning. 
 
 " I ask you to treat Miss Oldcastle fairly. She 
 is her own mistress. She is not in need of appro- 
 bation from either of us unless she seeks it. 
 Her private fortune " 
 
 Alaric gasped with rage. 
 
 " Her private fortune ! " 
 
 " I said, her private fortune." 
 
 " How dare you ! How dare you make such an 
 infamous proposal to me." 
 
 The words were spoken with such fury, with
 
 248 JENNY 
 
 such an utter lack of self-control that the Duke 
 was amazed. He was for the moment bewildered. 
 
 " Infamous ! " 
 
 ' You think because I've no experience of the 
 world that I don't know what all this means. It 
 is infamous." 
 
 " Am I to understand, Sir Alaric, that you doubt 
 my word ? " 
 
 " It seems to me that you forget that you are 
 speaking to an English gentleman." 
 
 " That was my impression." 
 
 " Then you have strange notions. You dare to 
 insult me by proposing to buy me because you 
 want to rid yourself of an encumbrance of which 
 you have grown tired." 
 
 " An encumbrance of which I have grown tired ? 
 I don't follow you." And it was true. The Duke 
 could hardly believe that anyone could have the 
 audacity to make such an accusation to his face. 
 
 Alaric, however, was beside himself with rage. 
 Had the Duke been a young man he would have 
 been at his throat. He was white to the lips, and 
 quivering from head to foot. "Is it necessary 
 to keep up the pretence ? At any rate you may 
 be sure of one thing. I see through it." 
 
 But the Duke was almost equally roused. 
 
 " Are you accusing me of attempting to pay you 
 to oh, I won't say it ! " He put the insinuation 
 aside with a gesture of disgust. 
 
 " Yes, I do think that ! " 
 
 " Then, by God ! " 
 
 The Duke made a movement and seized the cane 
 which he had left upon the table. He had some 
 thought, clear-headed as he was, of whipping this
 
 JENNY 249 
 
 youth there and then. He controlled himself, 
 however. As far as he was concerned he had no 
 further desire t<3 propitiate Alaric. 
 
 " At the cost of seeming ridiculous I regret that 
 gentlemen are not permitted to settle their quarrels 
 in an effectual manner. I can only say that the 
 lady is well rid of a man who could suggest such 
 a thing of the woman he loves." 
 
 " I did not accuse Miss Oldcastle of knowing of 
 your offer." 
 
 " Offer ! It is not in my power to make any 
 
 offer " He broke off with a gesture of anger. 
 
 " At any rate I do not now. regard you as fit to 
 be Miss Oldcas tie's husband." 
 
 " Not fit ! If you only knew what I think of 
 men like you. Men whose lives have been one 
 long horror." 
 
 Again the Duke was roused almost to violence. 
 
 " I am an old man, or " 
 
 " Yes, you are damned old, and damned 
 horrible ! " 
 
 The insult was so outrageous, so vindictive that 
 it silenced both men for a moment. Alaric could 
 not be otherwise than ashamed at having uttered 
 it. 
 
 The Duke's anger had entirely disappeared. He 
 took up his hat and stick. 
 
 " You are a vulgar fellow, Sir Alaric ; a very 
 vulgar fellow." 
 
 No man less sure of himself could have left the 
 room with such a perfect absence of confusion in 
 his manner. 
 
 p ^Alaric felt that he had not scored, that he had 
 in no sense come off with honour or dignity, and
 
 250 JENNY 
 
 that if what he had said were repeated to Jenny 
 she must inevitably despise him. He had only 
 made himself feel ten times more miserable, and 
 had by his display of rage degraded himself in 
 the sight of the man he would have given anything 
 to have impressed. 
 
 He sat for a long time looking at the blank wall 
 which faced the window. It seemed to be typical 
 of the condition at which his life had arrived 
 a point beyond which there was nothing. Youth 
 is like that. It is emotionally not nearly so 
 optimistic as age. Its tragedy is always the final 
 one. Its romance is always the last. 
 
 After a long time he rose with a weary sigh. 
 It was all over. Jenny was a thing of the past. 
 Life might never be the same again, but he must 
 put all thoughts of her away. And this he said 
 to himself knowing that he should do nothing 
 of the kind.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 IN the meantime the Duke was driving rapidly 
 towards Kingston. His face was set and 
 angry. Once he murmured : 
 
 " To insult her to insult her ! We shall see. 
 We shall see ! " 
 
 The words were spoken with determination as 
 if he had made up his mind as to some strong 
 course. 
 
 He had not told Jenny of his intended visit 
 to Alaric. He was quite sure that her pride would 
 have raised the strongest objections. He had 
 hoped to play the part of the benignant parent, 
 and the first flash of anger over, his sense of humour 
 was too keen for him not to smile over his dis- 
 comfiture. He had dreamed of putting matters 
 entirely right with Alaric, and of bearing him back 
 in triumph to Glamoys Lodge. " I must indeed 
 be getting old," he murmured with a smile, 
 " to interfere it isn't like me. Officious old 
 ass ! " 
 
 Good judge as he was of men, he over- 
 estimated Alaric's manner towards himself as a 
 test of character. Perhaps, however benevolent 
 
 251
 
 252 JENNY 
 
 his intentions, he was not sorry that the boy 
 should have put himself at a disadvantage. 
 
 He did not know that Alaric had that morning 
 been to Glamoys Lodge. Had he done so, and 
 had he been acquainted with what had happened 
 between him and Jenny, he would have conducted 
 his interview differently, if he had entered upon 
 it at all. 
 
 He found Jenny in a state of artificial self- 
 control. Her pride had been fully roused. She 
 was prepared never to mention Alaric's name 
 again. The things he had said were things she 
 told herself she could never forget. The desire 
 was in her to strike back. There was nothing 
 mawkish about her and she would have liked to 
 make him feel her power to avenge herself. She 
 greeted the Duke with a brave smile. 
 
 " I have seen your Sir Alaric," he said as he sank 
 a little wearily into a chair by the fire. 
 
 " How did you know him ? " The remark had 
 only conveyed to Jenny that the Duke had met 
 Alaric in the street. 
 
 " I went to see him. I called on him at his 
 hotel." 
 
 Jenny looked at him startled. 
 
 " How did you know he was in London ? " 
 
 " That I found out by accident." 
 
 " He was here this morning." 
 
 It was the Duke's turn to look surprised. He 
 had not reckoned with Alaric's visit to Jenny. 
 Perhaps his seeking him out had been a blunder. 
 
 " I told him that you knew nothing of my 
 visit." 
 
 Jenny sighed with relief. It would have been
 
 JENNY 253 
 
 too humiliating if, after what had occurred in the 
 morning, Alaric had deemed her capable of sending 
 the Duke as an ambassador. 
 
 " Jenny," said the Duke with sudden energy, 
 as the memory of Alaric's insult came over him, 
 " don't think any more about him. He's not 
 worth it. He's " 
 
 Jenny came over and put her hand on his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Hush, dear. I'm not going to think any more 
 about him, but don't abuse him." 
 
 " I didn't think it possible that any man would 
 have dared to say such things to me." 
 
 There was a pause. It was almost dark. 
 
 The servant came in and shut up the room. 
 The Duke asked for a brandy and soda. Whilst 
 it was being brought they sat in silence. 
 
 When they were alone again Jenny came and sat 
 beside him on the couch, putting her hand m his. 
 
 " You must get over this, Jenny," said Glamoys 
 gently. 
 
 " I mean to. You mustn't think, Daddy, that 
 I haven't any pride only you see I was to 
 blame." 
 
 "No, I am the one to blame. I should have 
 made things clearer to the world." 
 
 " The world believes what it wants to believe. 
 I " 
 
 There was a little break in her voice, but the 
 Duke felt a stiffening of the muscles of the arm 
 leaning against him. 
 
 " Does it hurt very much ? " 
 
 The tenderness and understanding in the voice 
 broke Jenny's power of restraint. She laid her
 
 254 JENNY 
 
 head down on his shoulder, crying gently. Thus 
 they sat for quite a long time, he stroking her hair 
 and comforting her as best he could. 
 
 " Don't cry, my dear. We'll make it up to you 
 somehow. Your heart shan't be broken for a 
 damned " 
 
 " Don't. Oh, don't ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon." He waited till she was 
 calmer, holding her hand in his, and pressing it 
 comfortingly now and then. 
 
 At last there was complete silence between them. 
 He was thinking deeply thinking of what Jenny's 
 future would be when he was gone. He had felt 
 quite justified in leaving her a fairly large fortune. 
 His only daughter was enormously rich, both by 
 reason of her mother's fortune and her settlements. 
 He was too just, and had too strong a sense of his 
 position, to do anything which might cripple his 
 heir. The money he was leaving Jenny was his 
 own to do as he liked with. With all his splendour 
 and love of life he had never been other than a 
 shrewd man of business, and he had been brought 
 up as a child, like most of his class, to say no 
 when necessary. 
 
 Jenny would be rich, very rich, taking into con- 
 sideration that she would have no responsibilities. 
 Nevertheless, her position would be difficult. He 
 felt somehow that with the advent of Alaric her 
 theatrical days were over, however her love affair 
 might end. 
 
 He had the utmost confidence in her capacity to 
 fill a responsible position, but he would have given 
 a great deal to see her married, and to see her 
 married to a man who would place her socially.
 
 JENNY 255 
 
 He had, through the difficulties which surrounded 
 the situation, seen a happy future assured for her. 
 Alaric would come round. He knew several noble 
 dames who, on his giving his word of honour that 
 they might do so, would stand sponsor for Jenny. 
 Great social position had been achieved by a small 
 greengrocer's daughter without a character. He 
 had more than once taken the lady, a countess, 
 in to dinner with the most brilliant company. 
 The lesser aristocracy and plutocracy might try 
 to scotch Jenny's career, but they would be bound 
 to accept her if her poise and conduct were unim- 
 peachable. As far as that went, Jenny had enough 
 manner to carry off the position of a duchess 
 and 
 
 He stopped at this point and sat up. The 
 insults Alaric had hurled at him rankled. He 
 would give everything he had to show the young 
 man how high in respect he held Jenny. Was it 
 madness to dream of doing such a thing ? For a 
 great idea had come into his brain. 
 
 " Jenny," he said gently, " there's something 
 I've never quite explained something which I 
 don't think you've ever quite understood." 
 
 " Yes, Daddy, what is it ? " 
 
 " Do you remember the first night I met you ? " 
 
 " Why of course." 
 
 " What friends we were at once You trusted 
 me directly do you remember ? " 
 
 " Yes, Daddy, why ? " 
 
 " I was so bewildered. It was almost as if my 
 springtime had come again. We old people have 
 these dreams sometimes." 
 
 " You're not old, Daddy. Everyone says you're
 
 256 JENNY 
 
 the youngest man in England for your age, and 
 the comic papers all call you the Young Duke." 
 
 " The comic papers, do they ? That's very good 
 of them. You see, it's their business to be 
 funny." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " As I said, we old people dream of spring some- 
 times. We laugh and dance and often imagine 
 ourselves in love again and sometimes make our- 
 selves ridiculous, until we notice the clear, happy 
 eyes of youth looking at us with contempt." 
 
 His tone was sad, just a little bitter. 
 
 " Don't talk like that, Daddy. It hurts me." 
 
 " I was a foolish old man once, Jenny, and I 
 fell in love with you." 
 
 There was a long silence. Jenny took his hand 
 in hers and kissed it. All the gratitude for what he 
 had done for her, and all the tenderness she felt for 
 him were in that kiss. 
 
 ' You have seen something of the world, and 
 you will understand what I mean when I tell you 
 that the test of my love for you was that I could 
 never bring myself to offer you the love of a wicked 
 old man like myself." 
 
 " Don't, you mustn't. You are great, and 
 very good. I understand." 
 
 " Jenny, he called me ' damned old, and damned 
 horrible.' ' 
 
 It was strange that the Duke, with his armour of 
 pride, should feel the remark of a boy beside him- 
 self with rage so acutely. 
 
 " He didn't dare ! " 
 
 It was crude, but I daresay he was right." 
 He paused and looked reflective. " Do you know,
 
 JENNY 257 
 
 I can see you now as I saw you the first night we 
 met, trying to dance." 
 
 " Trying to dance ! " laughed Jenny. 
 
 The Duke's voice was full of whimsical pathos 
 as he answered : 
 
 " You couldn't dance, my dear. You can't 
 dance now, and I don't think you will ever 
 dance." 
 
 " They used to think I could dance in Dean's 
 Court." 
 
 " No, my dear, it was you they loved, not your 
 dancing." 
 
 " Oh, I can dance a little." She was laughing 
 through her tears. 
 
 " Yes, yes, a little. I don't know what it was 
 that took me by storm." 
 
 " Don't you ? " she said, nestling to him. 
 
 " Yes, I do know. It was your laugh. Your 
 little giddy laugh, as the poet puts it : 
 
 ' Her laugh would wake me just as now it thrills me, 
 That little giddy laugh with which she kills me.' 
 
 I am a fortunate old fellow to cross the river Styx 
 with that laugh ringing in my ears." 
 
 " Why do you want to cross the river Styx ? " 
 " I don't, but it's the river that divides the ways 
 of life and death, Jenny. Death is the only true 
 lover old people have. Perhaps, after all, death 
 is more beautiful than life. It may be that is why 
 her face is veiled she is too beautiful to look 
 
 upon " He broke off and after a short silence 
 
 said : 
 
 " I ought to tell you that I more or less asked 
 that young man to marry you."
 
 258 JENNY 
 
 " Oh, how could you, alter the things he had 
 said to me ? " 
 
 " I didn't know of them, and I was thinking of 
 your happiness." 
 
 " I have forgotten him." 
 
 " As usual the person who interferes turns out 
 to be a general nuisance. I have not often made 
 that mistake. My object has been to leave to 
 every man his own life." Jenny sensed the amuse- 
 ment in his voice as he continued : " Perhaps that 
 is easy when one is very rich. But life should be 
 easy. There is no real reason why it should be 
 difficult." 
 
 " We don't want him. I have never met any- 
 one so kind and good as you are. You are always 
 picking people up who have fallen down." 
 
 The Duke made a comic gesture of dissent. 
 " No, I won't have that. I'm not a philanthropist. 
 I've not sunk so low as that." 
 
 " Oh, yes you have. You have been doing good 
 all your life. You don't know, but I've noticed 
 things. Why, your daughter, Lady Sarah, who 
 I'm told belongs to half the societies in London for 
 doing good, doesn't do half the good in a year 
 which you do in a day." 
 
 " Sarah is strenuous. But why drag in Sarah ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 The Duke rose to go. 
 
 " I'm dining with Crawchester quite quietly. 
 He can't stand more than one person in the room 
 at a time. Poor old fellow so very old and 
 fifteen years younger than I am by the clock." 
 
 She went out into the hall with him. The Duke 
 looked back at her as he drove away. She was
 
 JENNY 259 
 
 standing in the brilliant light thrown by the hall- 
 lamps. She looked wonderfully beautiful ; a 
 change had come over her. A beautiful woman, pale 
 and worn with her first great sorrow, had replaced 
 the sheer sweet loveliness of the child. 
 
 Very imperial she looked, too. He could not 
 help noticing how she was gaining in splendour. 
 
 " She can't go back," he murmured, thinking of 
 the theatre. " She's gone past that clean 
 past it." 
 
 Then again he thought of his great idea. 
 
 17*
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 JENNY knew no member of the Duke's family 
 save Moorshott. She knew that his son 
 and heir had died childless, and that his 
 daughter was married to a very rich commoner, 
 one of the untitled nobility which so puzzle the 
 foreigner, who cannot understand this tacit con- 
 cession of rank. Jenny knew that on the Duke's 
 death the title, and the estates which went with 
 it, passed to a distant kinsman. 
 
 Of the Duke's daughter she knew hardly any- 
 thing. From the little she had heard she did not 
 picture her as a very lovable person. 
 
 She was taken absolutely by surprise when one 
 morning as she was sitting reading French to 
 Emma, the servant announced that Lady Sarah 
 and Mr. Brent had called, and would be glad if 
 she could see them. 
 
 The hour chosen was one when the Duke was 
 never at Glamoys Lodge, a fact which would seem 
 to have been known and reckoned with. 
 
 Jenny turned to Emma helplessly. " What 
 shall I do ? " 
 
 260
 
 JENNY 261 
 
 Emma, as astonished as herself, looked 
 thoughtful. 
 
 " Ask them to wait," she said, mainly in order to 
 get rid of the servant. 
 
 " What can they want, I wonder ? " 
 
 Jenny, from all she had heard of Lady Sarah, 
 had a shrewd instinct as to what they wanted, and 
 so for the matter of that had Emma, but neither 
 liked to suggest it. 
 
 " Shall I see them ? " asked Emma, half rising. 
 
 Jenny reflected deeply. 
 
 She had a conscience where the Duke's daughter 
 was concerned, a feeling that Lady Sarah should 
 be treated with absolute deference unless she put 
 herself outside the courtesies. 
 
 She knew that the Duke regarded her evangelical 
 energies with kindly toleration. He even accepted 
 her indirect efforts for what she was pleased to 
 call his conversion with good-nature and courtesy. 
 
 " I will see them," she said decidedly. 
 
 " You are right," answered Emma. 
 
 Jenny turned to the glass to see that there was 
 nothing amiss with her appearance. It was no use 
 opening a discussion with Emma as to what she 
 was to say. There would only be time to confuse 
 herself. She made for the drawing-room, to deal 
 with the situation as best she might. 
 
 Lady Sarah was standing by the window as 
 Jenny entered. She had never been in Glamoys 
 Lodge. It was associated with an incident in 
 her father's life of which she knew vaguely. Her 
 mother had hinted of it as something altogether 
 discreditable, and not to be spoken of ; the beauty 
 of this romance between the loveliest woman of
 
 262 JENNY 
 
 her day, and her husband in his earliest manhood 
 had passed her by. Lady Sarah knew the painting 
 above the mantelpiece at once. She had often 
 seen portraits of the runaway Marchioness of 
 Dare. 
 
 Mr. Brent was at another window looking 
 nervously down the garden away to the river 
 beyond. He was not so sure of the wisdom or 
 desirability of this visit as was his wife, although 
 he was just as keen on poking his nose into 
 the affair under the plea of doing the Lord's 
 work. 
 
 They had had a certain amount of discussion 
 whilst waiting for Jenny. 
 
 " Why have we come ? " Brent had said 
 suddenly, " and what are we going to say ? " 
 
 " I have come, Henry, because it is my duty, 
 and I shall say what I have all along intended to 
 say. Something which I trust will touch this 
 brazen woman's heart " 
 
 " Is she brazen ? She doesn't look brazen in 
 her photographs." 
 
 " Photography has arrived at such a pitch of 
 mendacity that it is demoralizing the public. 
 Look at that man in Baker Street who photographed 
 us. He made us look like Romeo and Juliet in a 
 London fog." 
 
 Mr. Brent almost smirked. 
 
 " I thought it was a good likeness." 
 
 " It would take a man's vanity to arrive at such 
 an opinion. Depend upon it this woman " 
 
 " She is only eighteen." 
 
 " I reserve my opinion on that point." 
 
 Now as Lady Sarah looked at Jenny she realized
 
 JENNY 263 
 
 that there could be no possible deception about 
 her age. 
 
 Jenny was immediately struck by the extra- 
 ordinary likeness of Lady Sarah to her father. It 
 was the Duke's face ; but his, though old, was a 
 smiling land ; Lady Sarah's, though younger, 
 was a blasted heath. She was obviously dyspeptic, 
 but she herself was not so dyspeptic as her religious 
 views. These were in advance of her own acidity. 
 Her hair was gathered tightly off her forehead, and 
 an old-fashioned bonnet was perched unsympa- 
 thetically on the unbeautiful, smooth head. Her 
 mouth was almost distorted with rigidity. 
 
 Mr. Brent, except for a certain sleekness in- 
 cidental to the chronically rich, looked like the 
 churchwarden of a third-rate parish. His hair 
 was slightly red and he wore side-whiskers. 
 
 Lady Sarah, in spite of Jenny's portraits, had 
 got it into her head that her father's protegee 
 was brazen. She had taken it for granted that 
 the photographs were intentionally deceptive. 
 She expected defiance, and was prepared for it. 
 She was not prepared for self-possession and 
 good manners. 
 
 She flattered herself that she knew how to deal 
 with the lower classes. She was profoundly 
 ignorant of the good-humoured contempt with 
 which her own class is viewed by the masses. She 
 would have been astonished to learn that their 
 instinct taught them that the Duke was a more 
 moral entity than herself. 
 
 Jenny was a shock to them both. The fact 
 that she was superior to what they expected did 
 not by any means give them satisfaction. It was
 
 264 JENNY 
 
 true that she was just a little too well-dressed for 
 a young girl. The day was cold and dull, and the 
 thick white stuff dress, perfectly cut, argued a 
 lavish wardrobe, which Lady Sarah would have 
 considered improper in a millionairess. 
 
 Still, Lady Sarah was too experienced not to see 
 the utter absence of vulgarity and the undeniable 
 distinction at a glance, and it annoyed her. It 
 annoyed her the more because she was quite insen- 
 sible to beauty, either in men or women. She 
 regarded beauty not as a gift but as a snare ; the 
 greater the beauty so much the worse for the 
 possessor. 
 
 Jenny advanced a little way into the room, and 
 looked at Lady Sarah inquiringly. " Lady Sarah 
 Brent ? " 
 
 " Yes." Lady Sarah's lips closed rather more 
 tightly than usual, whilst in answer to Jenny's 
 invitation she and Mr. Brent took chairs. 
 
 " Thank you," murmured Lady Sarah, hastily re- 
 considering her plan of campaign, which she realized 
 not to be at all suitable to the individual before 
 her. There was something about the brows of this 
 young person, a grave caution and serenity, which 
 made her feel quite nervous. 
 
 There was nothing to gain, however, by a 
 display of weakness. 
 
 " Perhaps you can guess, Miss Oldcastle, why 
 my husband and I have called ? " 
 
 The great brown eyes grew even more inscrutable. 
 All that was Jenny seemed to pass into them, 
 till Lady Sarah felt that she was a something 
 standing insignificantly in their depths. 
 
 " I am afraid I can't."
 
 JENNY 265 
 
 " I am the Duke of Glamoys' daughter." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know that." 
 
 Lady Sarah paused, wondering how long she 
 would be able to bear the scrutiny of those eyes, 
 and wishing that Mr. Brent could do something 
 to divert it. She hurried on : 
 
 " I may as well come straight to the point. 
 My father is an old man. Those nearest and 
 dearest to him " Jenny wondered if Lady Sarah 
 could possibly mean herself " have noticed with 
 anxiety that he has considerably changed of late. 
 Also we wish to point out that the matter we have 
 called about is being exploited in the public press 
 indirectly, of course." 
 
 To Lady Sarah's great relief Mr. Brent here took 
 up the running. She felt that even if he talked 
 nonsense, as was usually the case, she would owe 
 him a debt of gratitude, if it only resulted in Jenny's 
 gaze concerning itself with him. 
 
 " We have to thank the general bad taste of the 
 age, and the licence of the press, that the private 
 affairs of highly placed persons are intruded upon 
 in an unwarrantable manner ; yes, oh, yes, in an 
 unwarrantable manner. Not content with laying 
 violent hands on our landed property " 
 
 " That will do, Henry." 
 
 Grateful as she was for the respite, she did not 
 wish Mr. Brent to make himself too ridiculous. 
 
 Jenny was confused. She wondered what the 
 taking of landed property had to do with it all, 
 but as was her wont she waited patiently. 
 
 Lady Sarah continued. The spell of those eyes 
 had been somewhat broken by their being removed 
 for a moment from her face.
 
 266 JENNY 
 
 " The Duke's family, feeling that the whole 
 affair has become, may I say, intolerable, will make 
 any sacrifice to put a stop ' 
 
 Lady Sarah did not see the humour of interfering 
 so late in the day with her father's way of life. 
 
 She paused without finishing her sentence. 
 Jenny wanted the word. 
 
 " To what ? " she asked. 
 
 " To er " Lady Sarah hesitated. It was 
 
 not so easy to tell this young girl the plain, un- 
 varnished truth as she had imagined it would be. 
 She finished however : " the scandal." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Jenny spoke, her 
 expression unchanged. 
 
 " Do you want to insult me ? " 
 
 This was the sort of battle Lady Sarah could 
 understand. 
 
 " I am aware I am putting myself in an in- 
 vidious position." 
 
 Jenny's answer was an unconscious master- 
 piece. 
 
 " I am not quite sure that I know what 
 ' invidious ' means. I have not had a very good 
 education." 
 
 Lady Sarah looked a little helpless. She felt 
 that to explain what invidious meant would be to 
 make herself ridiculous. Mr. Brent came to the 
 rescue. 
 
 " An invidious position, Miss Oldcastle, means a 
 position in which your opponent stands as good 
 a chance as you do." 
 
 " Thank you. We none of us wish that, do 
 we." Was it the faint beginnings of a smile 
 Lady Sarah detected about the finely cut mouth
 
 JENNY 267 
 
 with its generous lines ? Irony was not a quality 
 she had looked for. 
 
 " Did you tell the Duke you were coming to 
 see me ? " 
 
 " My father is not a man who will brook inter- 
 ference." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I appeal to you on behalf of the Duke's family." 
 
 " You appeal to me, why ? " 
 
 " The spectacle of a man of the Duke's dignity 
 and years dragged here and there " 
 
 She paused abruptly. The eyes had again 
 become intolerable in their magnetic immobility. 
 
 " Yes ? " encouraged Jenny gently. 
 
 " You must fully understand what I mean." 
 
 Jenny continued to gaze at her without speaking. 
 
 " We are willing to do anything in reason. I 
 have come because, as I said, I cannot hide from 
 myself that my father has very much aged of 
 late, and that has given me the courage to inter- 
 fere where before I should not have intruded into 
 his private affairs." She paused, but as Jenny 
 made no reply she added : " Well ? " 
 
 " I have nothing to say." 
 
 " You refuse to discuss the situation ? " 
 
 " There is nothing to discuss." Suddenly 
 Jenny's almost majestic composure gave way. 
 She flamed into anger and her voice took a sharp, 
 almost menacing intonation. 
 
 " You are wrong wrong from beginning to 
 end, and " 
 
 She stopped abruptly. Lady Sarah wondered 
 why. She did not perceive that Jenny was keeping 
 a tense watch over herself lest a relation of the Duke
 
 268 JENNY 
 
 should go away and say that she was common. 
 It was this point of loyalty to his judgment which 
 was occupying her, and this was what the sphinx- 
 like gaze meant, if Lady Sarah could only have 
 known it. She added quietly after her outburst : 
 
 " I have nothing more to say." 
 
 " I did not imagine I should meet such terrible 
 self-possession." 
 
 Obviously the remark was meant to imply that 
 Lady Sarah had not expected to meet such 
 depravity. So obvious was the implication that 
 even Mr. Brent was constrained to protest. 
 
 " My dear Sarah ! " 
 
 Jenny was genuinely concerned in trying to 
 convince Lady Sarah that her view of the situation 
 was wrong. She asked with unaffected sincerity : 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you do not believe 
 me? " 
 
 Lady Sarah made no answer. 
 
 " If not, ask the Duke." 
 
 " It is not a subject I could ever mention to my 
 father." 
 
 This goaded even Jenny : 
 
 " Because you dare not ? " 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " But you come here and talk to me about it 
 before this gentleman ? " 
 
 " That is different." 
 
 " I cannot see that." 
 
 Lady Sarah considered. Money, when they 
 wished to spend it, was no object to herself and 
 her husband. Besides having an ample fortune 
 of her own inherited through her mother, Mr. 
 Brent was rich enough to draw a cheque for fifty
 
 JENNY 269 
 
 thousand pounds without crippling himself. They 
 were prepared to do even this if they could accom- 
 plish what had become, the more they had talked 
 it over, an obsession which must be satisfied at 
 all costs. The Duke's good-humoured tolerance 
 of them and their evangelical convictions had 
 always exasperated them, and it would have been 
 quite worth it if they could score a point against 
 him. It was not so easy, however, to put the 
 money question to this girl as she had imagined. 
 She was as tentative as possible. 
 
 " You decline to enter into any arrangement ? " 
 
 " I don't know what you mean." 
 
 This reply merely gave Lady Sarah the im- 
 pression that the Duke had settled a handsome 
 sum upon Jenny. She paused, somewhat at a loss, 
 and Jenny added decisively : " And I don't wish 
 to know what you mean." 
 
 There was that in the voice which brought Lady 
 Sarah to her feet, an angry flush on her cheek. 
 
 " Then there is nothing more to be said." 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 This being so, Lady Sarah let loose the flood- 
 gates of her evangelicalism. 
 
 " It is excessively painful to us to see so young 
 a soul perishing in the fires of wickedness without 
 apparently the least knowledge of the gospels 
 to guide her, or without making any attempt to 
 seek out the path which alone can save sinners 
 from perdition." 
 
 She paused, and Mr. Brent, now on thoroughly 
 familiar ground, took up the running. 
 
 " We should have been prepared to show you 
 the way to a better life indeed, we should have
 
 270 JENNY 
 
 taken the greatest interest. I am myself the 
 chairman of a home " 
 
 Jenny's eyes flashed fire, but her speech was 
 icy. 
 
 " Leave my house ! " 
 
 The interview had been so foolish, indeed so 
 futile, that Lady Sarah was anxious to get away. 
 
 " Henry, come. You are making yourself 
 ridiculous." 
 
 With a slight bow she swept from the room. 
 Mr. Brent followed her to the door and then paused. 
 As if seized by an uncontrollable impulse he drew 
 from his pocket a bundle of leaflets, deposited it 
 on the table nearest to him and followed his wife. 
 
 When Jenny was alone she stood silent, gazing 
 in front of her with angry eyes. Her first inclina- 
 tion was to laugh. Then she remembered what 
 Mr. Brent had said about a home. In her short 
 life she had heard about such homes. There were 
 two women in Dean's Court who used to regale 
 their friends with their experiences of them. 
 
 " Them old cats used to come round and want 
 to know where yer was ruined, 'ow yer was ruined, 
 and 'oo done it, and my, didn't they look dis- 
 appointed if there weren't no interestin' bits. 
 Then the girls soon learned to put in what 'ud 
 make the story go, and the wuss you was the more 
 they done for yer. There was one girl as 'ad never 
 been out of Pimlico, but she always said as it was a 
 wicked markis as seed her cleanin' the steps and 
 lured her from 'ome at seven o'clock in the mornin', 
 and took 'er away in a lovely kerridge to a big 
 'ouse in the country, where all the servants bowed 
 down to 'er."
 
 JENNY 271 
 
 Jenny remembered these edifying discourses. 
 She remembered much else about the homes, and 
 her cheeks flamed at the thought that she should 
 have been suggested as a suitable inmate. It 
 hurt her the more because of Alaric's scorn. 
 
 How unhappy she was. Yet it was her character 
 to become more impassive, more tearless, the more 
 her heart ached. 
 
 She remained for so long a time alone that 
 Emma, who knew the visitors had gone, came in 
 search of her. Emma knew at once by her gravity 
 and the steady poise of her head that there was 
 little use in questioning her, and that when she 
 had considered the interview carefully she would 
 deliver herself on the subject.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 CYNTHIA STEWART was a niece of the 
 v__/ Duke's. Like him, she had a gift of youth, 
 but in a different way. She looked every day of 
 her sixty years, but a straight figure, commanding 
 presence and lively intelligence of countenance 
 indicated that her physical energy and her interest 
 in life were unabated. 
 
 She and the Duke were great friends. She was 
 only fifteen years younger than he was, and she 
 remembered him at his zenith. As a young girl 
 she had worshipped him as a conqueror among 
 men. His eclecticism had dazzled her, as it dazzled 
 most people. She, like many women, admitted 
 that much was permitted to man which, in natural 
 logic, can never be permitted to woman, and she 
 had the tolerance of her class for the sex peccadilloes 
 of its males. Perhaps in her girlhood's days she 
 had loved Glamoys ; for nieces have loved and do 
 love their uncles, indeed, hi some countries they 
 marry them. 
 
 As the years went by their friendship had 
 grown. Neither of them was in sympathy with 
 
 272
 
 JENNY 273 
 
 their noble relatives, who were middle-class as 
 only people cut off from the battle of life can be. 
 
 Suburbanism is a state of mind and not a 
 geographical expression. Middle-class is likewise 
 expressive of a state of mind, and not of social 
 position. Lady Sarah, for instance, was a hope- 
 lessly middle-class lady. 
 
 " I don't know," the Duke had once said to 
 Cynthia Stewart, " how you and I come to be 
 so interesting. Our family must be, like the 
 English nation, a race of mediocrities redeemed by 
 brilliant exceptions." 
 
 " I have noticed," answered Cynthia, " that the 
 arrival of a genius in a family has often the effect 
 of stiffening the mediocrities." 
 
 " Self-defence : and it is^certainly so hi the case 
 of Sarah. She disapproved of me as a child ; 
 at thirteen her method of going to church was a 
 reproof. She made her confirmation the occasion 
 of a demonstration against me of the church 
 militant." 
 
 " It shows extraordinary stolidity to be entirely 
 unaffected by brilliance." 
 
 " Sarah regards superior intelligence as a snare 
 of the devil." 
 
 The Duke and Cynthia certainly were in a 
 position to congratulate each other. Both were, 
 in their own sphere, powerful. Cynthia's word 
 was law. No one would have questioned a decision 
 given by her on a social matter. Her approval 
 set the seal on any career. This is a peculiar 
 power reserved for some people, and it was pre- 
 cisely the knowledge that she possessed it that 
 brought the Duke to her the morning after his 
 
 18
 
 274 JENNY 
 
 interview with Alaric. Cynthia was the only 
 person who could help him, and he was probably 
 going to ask more of her than anybody had ever 
 done. 
 
 She was of course aware of the Duke's con- 
 nection with Jenny. Indeed, one day when they 
 were alone she had said quite frankly : " We 
 went to the Oddities last night. People are quite 
 right. That little friend of yours is fascinating, 
 and extraordinarily unstagey." 
 
 " That's very nice of you. I will tell her you 
 admire her. She will value it." 
 
 In answer to his note asking her to keep him 
 the luncheon-hour if possible, as he wished to talk 
 to her quite alone, and on a very important matter, 
 she had replied that she would be at home to 
 lunch and out to the rest of the world. 
 
 It was a piece of good fortune that she was 
 in town, and the Duke walked round to Berkeley 
 Square more excited than he had felt for years. 
 He was courting a snub, and if not a snub, for 
 perhaps such a word could not apply to any trans- 
 action between himself and Cynthia, at any rate a 
 refusal, a refusal which would no doubt be given 
 in such a way as to rob it of all offence, but still 
 a refusal. 
 
 " A blessed peace is over everything," she said. 
 " I believe mine are the only blinds up in the 
 square." 
 
 " I was surprised to hear you were in town." 
 
 " Only passing through. I go to Scotland the 
 day after to-morrow. Harry's got himself into 
 
 a scrape " Harry was her youngest, still 
 
 at Oxford.
 
 JENNY 275 
 
 The Duke looked interested. 
 
 " Can I help ? " 
 
 " Oh no, thanks I'm quite equal to tackling 
 the Israelites, and I'm Scotch enough to get all the 
 abatement possible. There is one good point about 
 Isaac and Co. ; they have the good manners of 
 the East, and know when to give way with courtesy. 
 I don't want his father to know. Ronald attaches 
 too much importance to that sort of thing. You 
 might speak a word in season to Harry, though." 
 
 They talked gaily through lunch, finding each 
 other as always the best of company. When they 
 were alone the Duke leaned forward and said with 
 the lightness of touch which he declared was the only 
 excuse for saying anything serious : 
 
 " Cynthia, I am going to astonish you." 
 
 " You can't." 
 
 " We shall see. You once told me that you 
 admired Jenny Oldcastle." 
 
 " The little lady at the Oddities ? " 
 
 "She has left the Oddities. She has left the 
 stage." 
 
 " That is not astonishing. She seemed to me to 
 suggest a different career." 
 
 " A better one ? " 
 
 " I don't say that. Who knows what is better 
 or best ? Is she going to be married ? " 
 
 "I am not quite sure. Someone of a considerable 
 social position is going to ask her to marry him." 
 
 Cynthia did not|for one moment suspect the 
 truth. Her uncle had always seemed so entirely 
 made of dignity, that anything which invited 
 ridicule did not seem possible in connection 
 with him 
 
 18*
 
 276 JENNY 
 
 " Is she asking advice ? Am I asked to enter 
 into the matter ? " 
 
 " That is so. Some time ago I constituted 
 myself her guardian and gave her Glamoys Lodge 
 to live in." 
 
 Of course Cynthia knew this, but it had always 
 been obviously discreet and good manners to ignore 
 the fact. 
 
 Then he told her all about Jenny and all about 
 himself. He had a wonderful gift of story-telling, 
 and he made it appear a fascinating romance. 
 Unlike most men of his position, he had enjoyed life 
 because he had always considered it as important 
 to amuse other people as to be amused himself. 
 
 She received a real shock when he revealed the 
 fact that he intended to marry Jenny if she would 
 have him. 
 
 She did not, as some women would have done, 
 make the irritating remark : " You are not 
 serious." She said instead interrogatively: 
 
 " You are serious ? " 
 
 " Quite. If you knew her you would not think 
 the idea so monstrous." 
 
 He had given her the word she was looking for. 
 
 " There will be a howl." 
 
 He assented and added : 
 
 " A terrible howl ! " 
 
 She knew him well enough to say : 
 
 " There might be an heir." 
 
 " You mistake. I intend to make her my duchess. 
 I shall not bore her by making her my wife." 
 
 There was a silence. She knew that he would 
 not have come to such a decision without having 
 thought it out.
 
 JENNY 277 
 
 " Is that fair ? " and she laid a hand lightly on 
 his arm before she added humorously : ' You 
 may live till you are a hundred." 
 
 " I am told that is impossible. Sir Benjamin 
 tells me that my life is not nearly as good as it 
 looks." 
 
 This startled her. The social firmament without 
 him would be empty indeed, and yet it is generally 
 with this suddenness that such lords of the forest 
 as he fall. 
 
 She was tempted to say something banal and 
 conventional, but forbore. 
 
 " Have you heard what Exmoor said the other 
 day when they told him he had only a few hours 
 to live ? ' Thank God, it's all over.' At eighteen 
 such a phrase sounds horrible ; at seventy-six 
 the possibility of saying it is nature's narcotic." 
 
 " Exmoor was dull." 
 
 " True. The public respected him because he 
 had the manners of a boor and the statesmanship 
 of a vestryman. Do you know," he said, breaking 
 off suddenly, " why the Whigs held the ear of the 
 public so long ? " 
 
 " I dimly feel the reason, but I can't put it 
 into words." 
 
 " Because there is nothing the English people 
 respect so much as the capacity to lay hold of 
 other people's property." 
 
 Cynthia knew that in diverting the conversation 
 he was giving her a chance to assimilate what he 
 had told her. She was too much his pupil for her 
 face to display agitation which she certainly 
 felt. It was the most bewildering announcement 
 which had ever been made her.
 
 278 JENNY 
 
 He was leaving it to her to resume the subject, 
 and she did so at once. 
 
 " You want me to help ? " 
 
 " Yes, I want you to do something which will 
 show everyone that you are satisfied." 
 
 " I do not ask you, for I am sure you are convinced 
 in your own mind that everything is quite 
 right." 
 
 He knew what she meant by " everything," and 
 made a formal inclination of his head. 
 
 " I was sure of it. You know I'm not exigeante, 
 but I must play the game. I've only one black 
 mark against me and that was that little American 
 girl with the charming manners who said her 
 fortune had been left her by her father. It turned 
 out to have come to her from an old railway 
 financier who died in her flat, you remember." 
 
 " I saw her at the coronation." 
 
 " Yes, she was sent sandwiches from the royal 
 supply. We were all taken in." 
 
 " She'll marry one of us yet ; so much brain and 
 money will not be wasted," laughed Glamoys. 
 " And when she does we shall all say the story of 
 the railway promoter was a wicked invention." 
 
 " It was Lady Grimsby's fault. She persuaded 
 me." Then Cynthia resumed : " It will be a fight, 
 you know. I can't do it alone. There is always 
 the point of her going to Court. Impossible, 
 I'm afraid." 
 
 " For a few years, yes. But democracy is 
 moving fast and in this country the throne never 
 quarrels with facts, or the people." 
 
 " In making her a duchess, you are placing a 
 great strain upon her."
 
 JENNY 279 
 
 " She is one of those rare women who would come 
 naturally to a throne." 
 
 Cynthia looked at him with a hardly perceptible 
 raising of the eyebrows, and the Duke thought he 
 caught a touch of amusement in her eyes. 
 
 " I don't mind your laughing at me, because I 
 am right." 
 
 " I will take your word ; but will she be happy ? " 
 
 " Jenny will always be happy if she thinks she 
 is rising. She will take the position of a duchess 
 as literally and seriously as an evangelical takes 
 the Bible." 
 
 " Do you think it is necessarily a promotion 
 to become a duchess ? " 
 
 The Duke laughed. 
 
 " You shall not pursue me too far." 
 
 " Your mind is made up ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Would you like me to call on her ? " 
 
 The Duke rose, his face illuminated. " Cynthia, 
 when have you ever failed to be noble ? " 
 
 " I will call to-morrow. Do you know," she 
 went on, " I have heard people hint that she is 
 your daughter ? " 
 
 " Excellent ! Let 'em continue to think so till 
 she has reaped the advantage of it."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 LAMOYS drove to Kingston and arrived in 
 time for Jenny to give him tea. 
 
 Jenny had debated with herself whether she 
 should worry him by telling him of Lady Sarah's 
 visit. Her first feeling had been to say nothing 
 about it. The memory was too humiliating. At 
 the same time it would not have been treating 
 him fairly to keep him in ignorance. She there- 
 fore told him the whole story. The poise of 
 Glamoys' head grew a shade statelier and the 
 expression of pride deepened about his lips. 
 
 " I must indeed be getting old, Jenny, when it 
 is imagined that I can be tracked like a wayward 
 boy. I owe you a great reparation. I should 
 have left you to enjoy your triumph in your own 
 way." 
 
 " Daddy, I don't want to go back to the stage. 
 I would rather not." 
 
 " You shall not go back, Jenny. That is already 
 settled. But all the same it is my fault." 
 
 "It is not your fault. The world has such 
 a horrid mind." 
 
 " You see, Jenny, Sarah is a dear soul, but she 
 280
 
 JENNY 281 
 
 is a missionary, and missionaries are in search of 
 evil. I have a theory that what is wanted is a 
 missionary society to find out all the good in the 
 world, and to rejoice over it when it is found. 
 Never mind, it shall be made up to you. I have an 
 idea. We will teach them all a lesson." 
 
 He took both her hands and pressed them, as if 
 to give her courage. " Jenny, be proud ! " 
 
 " I am going to be. I will never forgive him." 
 
 " Oh, him ! We have forgotten him." 
 
 Jenny gave a brave little nod of assent. 
 
 " Jenny." He looked at her gravely. " You 
 mustn't laugh, and you mustn't have hysterics 
 at what I am going to say to you. I don't think 
 you will have hysterics, because you are not the 
 hysterical kind." 
 
 She looked at him in wonder. He was serious, 
 but there was a twinkle at the back of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Jenny, if you like, I will make you a duchess." 
 
 Jenny's eyes grew wider. 
 
 " If you were the sort of woman people think 
 you are, that wouldn't amount to much, but you 
 are what you are, and given time you will be a 
 great lady. You will have a fight. You will have 
 some uncomfortable times, but I have already found 
 you allies." 
 
 He paused and her eyes grew wider still perhaps 
 with a sort of terror. He loosed her hands as if 
 figuratively withdrawing all compulsion and said 
 with some ceremony : " Jenny, I ask you to become 
 my duchess." 
 
 There was silence only a steadfast glance. 
 
 " Then people shall see whether you are to be
 
 282 JENNY 
 
 treated with contempt and disbelief. I will show 
 them that I, who know you, think you fit to take 
 any position." 
 
 The Duke was perhaps himself astonished at his 
 enthusiasm. Jenny shrank back. 
 
 " Jenny, don't play the coward. It's the only 
 possible way we can show this young man the 
 mistake he has made." 
 
 Still Jenny stood looking at him with wide-open 
 eyes. 
 
 " Will you let him think that I hold you merely 
 as a toy, as a plaything ? " 
 
 " That is what he does think, doesn't he ? " 
 
 " I am afraid he does and after all, I owe Sarah 
 one tremendous answer to all her interrogatories 
 about my life." 
 
 Jenny wanted to say no. x She felt that she ought 
 to say no, that in saying yes she would be taking 
 advantage of an old man's fondness. The offer, 
 however, discovered the weak point in her armour 
 ambition ; for she was conscious of her power 
 to achieve the social miracle. 
 
 " Perhaps the day will be when he will come to 
 you on his knees. Think of the triumph over him 
 over them all. Jenny, I ask you to be my wife." 
 He paused, and then added quite gently : 
 
 " We will be just the same friends as we have 
 been, no more you understand ? but you shall be 
 Duchess of Glamoys." 
 
 He held out his hand and she put hers in his. 
 He told her of Cynthia's contemplated visit. It was 
 typical of Jenny's nature that whatever she may 
 have felt inwardly she was not outwardly agitated. 
 
 " Emma must see her, of course."
 
 JENNY 283 
 
 " Yes. I have told her all about Emma. I shall 
 be obliged if she will meet Mrs. Stewart." 
 
 They sat and talked of the event quite sensibly. 
 They were both aware of the cry of derision that 
 the announcement would bring forth, of the running 
 up and down and backwards and forwards, of the 
 tremendous meal of gossip and scandal which they 
 were serving up to a nation. No doubt the world 
 would talk of second childhood. The Duke pointed 
 this out with humour. " But there," he said, 
 " we are not even original, for in the papers last 
 week I saw the announcement of a marriage between 
 a man of ninety and a girl of twenty." 
 
 " Duke," asked Jenny gravely, " what is your 
 explanation of it all ? " 
 
 " Of all what ? " 
 
 "Of us ? You see, it is all so different from 
 anything else." 
 
 " All things have their explanation in necessity, 
 Jenny. What we are doing is necessary, depend 
 upon it. You must be placed. Everything de- 
 mands it, and I am far too old to play tricks with 
 time." 
 
 Jenny's acceptance of the Duke was not all 
 selfish. Her intuition had worked with charac- 
 teristic rapidity during the few remarks which 
 had passed. Glamoys had done for her what nobody 
 else would, or could have done. He had taken the 
 little gutter-singer seriously. He had taken her at 
 her own valuation. A wonderful wave of gratitude 
 passed over her and the opportunity of showing 
 it was hers. She felt that it would be a delight 
 to him to have her as his wife, and she felt strong 
 enough to kill ridicule with dignity and conduct.
 
 284 JENNY 
 
 Of course the position was abnormal. What did 
 that matter ? Her career had been abnormal, 
 and she must have the courage of it. In the midst 
 of it would be the support of Cynthia, and that 
 was a tremendous alliance. 
 
 " Shall I tell Emma or will you ? " he asked. 
 
 Jenny thought. 
 
 " I will tell her." 
 
 She did not say what was in her mind on the 
 matter, that Emma's attitude on the subject of 
 Alaric mystified her. Jenny had gathered the 
 impression that Emma felt she might have managed 
 Alaric better. 
 
 After the Duke had returned to town Jenny 
 went in search of Emma. 
 
 She told her the news quietly, and made no 
 attempt to explain why she appeared so soon to 
 have forgotten Alaric. Emma would, of course, 
 know that she had not forgotten him. Perhaps 
 she would guess the two factors which had induced 
 her to take such a line of conduct. 
 
 Emma was engaged on her eternal task of fine 
 needlework. She listened in silence, but her 
 hands trembled, and she had finally to abandon the 
 pretence of working. 
 
 " You have made up your mind very quickly," 
 she said. Her heart was aching for Alaric. 
 
 " It was the only thing to do." She was brave 
 enough, but the presence of Emma, and the feeling 
 that her good friend was agitated almost beyond 
 words, nearly unnerved her. 
 
 " Mrs. Stewart is coming to see me to-morrow. 
 She has promised to help us." 
 
 Emma looked at her in real amazement. It
 
 JENNY 285 
 
 was the greatest tribute to the Duke's influence 
 she had yet had Mrs. Stewart, the great lady 
 and great beauty, whose fascination and social 
 charm were a household word. With the ex- 
 ception of the incident of Alaric the meteoric career 
 of this fledgling of the slums seemed likely to con- 
 tinue. That Jenny had forgotten Alaric she did 
 not, of course, for one moment believe. She knew 
 that this attempt on Jenny's part to close the wound 
 would only open it the wider. 
 
 There was silence between them. Emma 
 wanted to speak of Alaric, but could not trust 
 herself to do so. Then in a moment Jenny was 
 in her arms, sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 Emma held her close, and waited till the storm 
 was spent. 
 
 " I shall be all right in a day or two," Jenny 
 gasped, struggling to control herself. " It's just 
 it's just " and she wept again. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, what have you done ? " said 
 Emma brokenly. 
 
 But Jenny would not have comfort of this kind, 
 and fled to her room. To mingle her regrets with 
 another seemed like disloyalty to Glamoys, and 
 the great thing was to be loyal to him to the 
 end. It would be infamous to be otherwise. 
 
 She descended to dinner in a mood of exotic gaiety. 
 
 " You will see Mrs. Stewart, won't you, Emma ? " 
 
 Emma looked startled. 
 
 " Oh, there is no need." She went on hurriedly : 
 " I have been thinking, Jenny, that now you 
 ought to have someone else with you. Don't inter- 
 rupt, but listen. It may be somewhat difficult 
 to find the right person. She must, of course
 
 286 JENNY 
 
 be unexceptionable absolutely. Mrs. Stewart 
 will find the person. Perhaps she will take you 
 to her house. She is the sort of woman who will 
 do things splendidly if she undertakes to do 
 them at all. At any rate, I am sure I shall be out 
 of place. You can say I am ill." 
 
 Jenny had gone white. She rose with startled 
 eyes and came to Emma. 
 
 " Emma, you don't think it all quite dreadful ? 
 You're not going to desert me ? If you do, some- 
 thing awful will happen to me." 
 
 " Desert you, of course not ! But just for the 
 moment " 
 
 " No, not for a minute. If you go from here 
 I shall go with you." 
 
 As she stood before her, every feature of her face 
 imperious with resolve, Emma could not help 
 thinking how admirably she would become the 
 station which had been offered her. 
 
 Emma's objection to meeting Mrs. Stewart was 
 made up of the fear that this lady, who had known 
 her slightly in her youth, might recognize her, 
 and the dislike to taking part in what seemed a 
 conspiracy to wound Alaric. She could not stand 
 up against Jenny's determination, however. There 
 was nothing to do but to take the risks. Perhaps 
 Mrs. Stewart would ask Jenny to come to her. 
 That would put matters quite right and enable her 
 to withdraw. A parting from Jenny would cause 
 her acute pain, but under the circumstances it was 
 perhaps inevitable. 
 
 " I intend you to be with me always. Oh, 
 Emma, how could it be otherwise ? Do you think 
 I am such an unnatural friend ? "
 
 JENNY 287 
 
 Emma felt that she would be obliged to confess 
 her reason for not desiring to meet Mrs. Stewart 
 or to accept the situation. She was in a dilemma. 
 Was it fair under the circumstances to allow the 
 Duke to introduce her to Mrs. Stewart without 
 being aware of her identity ? Should Mrs. Stewart 
 recognize her, it might rouse in her mind the same 
 suspicions as had troubled Miss Burne. 
 
 The situation was full of perplexity, and having 
 passed a sleepless night revolving the possibilities, 
 she wired to Father Hawthorne and asked him to 
 come and see her. 
 
 He came down in the middle of the morning. 
 He had known the whole circumstances of the 
 Duke's protection of Jenny, and knew Emma well 
 enough to be absolutely confident that what she 
 said about the situation was true. 
 
 He was, as usual, perfectly clear-headed. " You 
 cannot leave Jenny. That is out of the question. 
 I have met Mrs. Stewart. If she should recognize 
 you, send her to me. I think I could put matters 
 right." 
 
 She told him all about Alaric. 
 
 A look of extraordinary sympathy came into 
 his face. .The tragedy of the situation was unusual 
 even in his experience. 
 
 ' You think your boy still loves her ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " Then if you really desire their marriage, if 
 you think it will be for their good, why not send 
 for him and disclose yourself ? You are the only 
 person who is likely to impress him with the truth 
 of the facts." 
 
 " Nothing can be done now ; Jenny will never
 
 288 JENNY 
 
 take back her word. Besides, the situation is 
 complicated, as things always are, by sub-forces. 
 She has a deep affection for the Duke apart 
 from that which she owes him as gratitude, and 
 apart from the fascination he exercises as friend." 
 
 " I don't quite understand." 
 
 " I am afraid I don't quite, either, but it is 
 there. Her youth cries out for Alaric ; something 
 old and experienced in Jenny, an intuition and 
 wisdom which she possesses Heaven knows how, are 
 more of a mate for the Duke's soul." 
 
 " That sounds very occult." 
 
 " It is an occult problem, but it is present." 
 
 " If you think she will keep her word, need you 
 interfere ? He will get over it." 
 
 " We get over every thing, don't we ? in a 
 way." 
 
 " Yes ; we hardly like to admit, any of us, what 
 we finally come to accept as truth, that all our 
 sorrows are merely educative. That we are being 
 fashioned by the Divine Craftsman in His own 
 relentless way." 
 
 " Tell me, as a churchman, as a priest, how 
 does the marriage of a girl barely nineteen with 
 a man of seventy-six strike you ? " 
 
 " It ought to be horrible, but it isn't." 
 
 " You are to be asked to marry them." 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 " And the Duke's life ? " 
 
 " We are here to save the sinner ; besides, I 
 have no mortal right to refuse to marry them. 
 They are both free." 
 
 " I have a feeling " She stopped. 
 
 " Go on."
 
 JENNY 289 
 
 " A feeling that it will not be." 
 
 " Well, if it should be, it will be all for the best, 
 be sure of that. By the way, thank Jenny for that 
 noble contribution to the school-treats. Tell her 
 I only used half and am keeping the other half for 
 next year. There is nothing so fatal as overdoing 
 that sort of thing. She ought to know that." 
 
 " She is so anxious to share some of her good 
 fortune with others." 
 
 He went away after having confirmed Emma 
 in the line of conduct she wanted to take. Of 
 course she could not leave Jenny.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AS for Jenny, the thing being done, she had 
 her periods of agony when she thought of 
 Alaric, moods which she kept strictly to herself 
 but which Emma instinctively sensed. She was 
 too single-minded to dream for one moment of 
 not trying to forget him. At nineteen, however, 
 it is not easy to forget the first great magnet. 
 There remains a physical ache which will not be 
 dulled. Emma dimly realized that there was 
 something subtle underlying Jenny's feelings. 
 The Duke, who would be in the eyes of the world 
 an old rake rendering himself ridiculous in his 
 second childhood, made an appeal to Jenny which 
 she could hardly explain, and which few would 
 have been able to understand. She loved two 
 men : that was the truth, a truth which, combined 
 with her peculiar position, would simply have 
 convinced people, had they known it, that she was 
 what they wished to believe her. 
 
 Men, when they feel themselves morally excep- 
 tional, glory in it as a sign of genius ; they tread 
 the path of eccentric ethics with self-satisfaction. 
 A woman knows that such frankness is not for her, 
 
 290
 
 JENNY 291 
 
 that it will be considered no sign of genius, but 
 the evidence of a diseased moral conscience. The 
 absence of any display of dual affection is what 
 constitutes one of her mysteries in the eyes of 
 men. They feel there is something being kept 
 back, but they are unable to say what it is. 
 
 In some ways Jenny loved the Duke more than 
 she did Alaric, but Alaric was her necessity. He 
 was the sex antagonist with whom, in the name of 
 love, she must step out into the arena and do 
 battle hating and worshipping. Love is, after all, 
 a combination of attraction and repulsion the one 
 feeding the other. 
 
 The Duke thought that Alaric would soon be 
 forgotten. He deemed that so far he understood 
 Jenny. He tested her solely by the qualities he 
 admired in her her dignity, moral and mental, 
 and her capacity to soar. These were the gifts in 
 her which were to him apparent, outstanding, the 
 arms emblazoned on her banner. The essential 
 passional side he of all men should have con- 
 sidered, but he did not at any rate, not sufficiently. 
 She was enough mistress of herself to seem 
 compensated, and he was pleased. 
 
 The visit of Cynthia Stewart was a great success, 
 and the Duke was gratified that Cynthia, that 
 perfect judge, deemed her social possibilities of 
 the highest kind. 
 
 " You are right," she decided. " Just as some 
 people are born with the genius of the pen or the 
 stage, she is born with the genius of class. It 
 is, of course, rarer than artistic genius. She cannot 
 make a mistake, because, if she does, her natural 
 breed is such that it ceases to be a mistake. The 
 
 19*
 
 292 JENNY 
 
 breath of an angel must have blown her into 
 your care." 
 
 Jenny had felt nigh unto death with nervousness, 
 but there had been no sign of it. The curious, low, 
 musical lilt of her voice, so different from the 
 up-and-down vagaries of suburbanism, yet away 
 from the flat-lipped, toneless sounds of English 
 gentlefolk, fascinated Cynthia. At first she won- 
 dered if it were measured out like a wine a self- 
 conscious effort ; then she ceased to care if it were 
 so, considering how sure and unerring was its 
 effect. 
 
 " She receives already," said Cynthia. " She 
 can receive, and do it without offence. What a 
 pity she ever went on the stage. It will always 
 be remembered. Straight from the gutter can be 
 arranged, but via the stage is like calling at a 
 public-house on the way to a drawing-room. It 
 ought to be just the opposite, but somehow it 
 isn't." 
 
 " There is a great deal of nonsense talked about 
 the stage hi our days. It is a very good pro- 
 fession for gypsies," said the Duke, " and I like 
 gypsies." 
 
 " Still, the taint of the stage remains," said 
 Cynthia a little sadly. "It is a terrible disad- 
 vantage not to have been to Court especially if 
 you are a duchess." 
 
 " Jenny realizes that she will have great 
 difficulties, but, then, if one seeks adventures one 
 must take risks." 
 
 Jenny had talked to Cynthia quite naturally, 
 had received her in exactly the right frock, and had 
 admitted the graciousness of Cynthia's act. She
 
 JENNY 293 
 
 thanked her for it with an absolute lack of the 
 fulsome. Her social ear seemed perfect, and she 
 never went out of the key. 
 
 Emma had been in the room when Cynthia 
 arrived and had stayed for a while. After a time 
 she rose and left them, with the obvious idea that 
 they would like to be alone. Cynthia seemed to 
 remember her face, tried to place it for a few 
 seconds, and then gave up the attempt. It was 
 not very important. She saw at once by whom 
 the feminine side of Jenny's poise had been de- 
 veloped, and reflected that she was a lucky girl 
 to have had two such mentors. 
 
 Cynthia would not have been a woman had 
 she not been alert for evidences of Jenny's 
 happiness or unhappiness. The Duke had told 
 her about Alaric. He "would not have deemed it 
 fair to keep her in ignorance. The result of her 
 observations was that Alaric was not entirely for- 
 gotten, even if Jenny honestly believed that she 
 had put him quite out of her mind. 
 
 " You will come and lunch with me to-morrow, 
 I hope," she said as she rose to go. "I leave for 
 Scotland in the evening, but I shall be back in a 
 week or ten days." 
 
 She did not tell Jenny that she had revolu- 
 tionized her plans in order to keep her word to 
 Glamoys. 
 
 " It's all very extraordinary, and quite unreal 
 but ridiculously possible," she said, as she drove 
 away from Glamoys Lodge. " I suppose the 
 poor child is in for an awful fight but she will 
 win." 
 
 She found the Duke waiting for her, and
 
 294 JENNY 
 
 the conversation as above described took 
 place. 
 
 ' You see, she is not the sort of person who 
 would derive the least pleasure from planting 
 her coronet among second-rate people. You were 
 right, she is out for the best, and hasn't the least 
 snobbishness about it. It's all very curious. 
 She's coming to lunch to-morrow." 
 
 The Duke's eyes shone with gratitude. 
 
 " If she's all she seems to be, I can only 
 regret that my poor, deluded eldest boy didn't 
 marry her, instead of Betty Montgomery, who 
 is the daughter of a hundred Earls, and looks like 
 the daughter of a hundred cooks and not good 
 cooks at that and has the brains of a tad- 
 pole." 
 
 "The metaphors are not convincing you 
 should say a cook with the brains of a ruined 
 entree." 
 
 Jenny was of course pleased to hear that 
 Cynthia approved of her. She on her side very 
 much approved of Cynthia, far more than her pride 
 would allow her to say. She was everything Jenny 
 admired and thought desirable. She was beautiful 
 even now ; she was gentle, beautifully dressed, 
 quite feminine, and behind it all there was power 
 and the assurance of race. Jenny knew she had 
 that assurance also, and wondered where she got 
 it from ; she used to laugh at herself when she 
 reflected on her possession of it, but she never 
 doubted its possession. 
 
 She arrived in Berkeley Square in the quiet 
 brougham which the Duke had bought for her 
 to go to the theatre in.
 
 JENNY 295 
 
 She had asked Glamoys if she should use it, and 
 he had answered : 
 
 " Of course. Why not ? It is of no use to 
 apologize at this time of day." 
 
 So Jenny for the first time put foot in the man- 
 sions of the elect. It pleased her. The quiet 
 stone-work and marbles of the hall, the solid, 
 antique sconces for candles, and the air of restraint, 
 produced a general effect of repose hi riches. True, 
 she had of late lived in equal luxury, but this was 
 the first time she had been in the right house with 
 the right people, and it struck her as strange. 
 
 In the house in Berkeley Square everything 
 superfluous seemed to have been eliminated, and 
 except in Cynthia's sitting-room, looking out on a 
 small roof-garden entirely shut off from observa- 
 tion, there was a lack of the smaller house- 
 hold gods. The dining-room had one picture, a 
 magnificent Vandyck, over the mantelpiece. 
 
 Cynthia observed Jenny narrowly without 
 appearing to do so. 
 
 " She is marvellous, quite marvellous," she 
 reflected. 
 
 A leading paper had already hinted at the 
 news. 
 
 A scream arose on all sides. To the outside 
 world it appeared the most unnatural thing 
 the triumph of a designing minx, nothing less. 
 She would soon be a dowager duchess, with, no 
 doubt, a huge jointure. It was not likely that the 
 Duke had much private fortune to leave, after 
 such a life. In this they made the superficial mistake 
 of mobs they did not know how good a business 
 man the Duke had been.
 
 296 JENNY 
 
 Rumour, until this announcement, had had it 
 that Jenny was his daughter. Indeed, many had 
 been ready to point out the mother. Poor Miss 
 Parry, who had known the duke for twenty years, 
 was obviously the missing parent. 
 
 The storm which arose in more intimate 
 circles was far more vehement. The Duke was 
 connected with half the noble families in the 
 kingdom, and they felt that it was a stab from 
 one of their own order. The very strength of 
 the Duke's position in this matter became his 
 weakness. His close connection with the Court, 
 the half-dozen duchesses, and dozen or so marchion- 
 esses and scores of countesses with whom he was 
 allied, made the whole thing impossible on any 
 basis. 
 
 The Duke, aware of the storm, was impervious 
 to it. 
 
 " They do not know her," he said to Cynthia, 
 like any boy of twenty, at the same time apologizing 
 for having drawn her to his side. 
 
 Cynthia agreed that a knowledge of Jenny would 
 make the situation more possible, whilst privately 
 wondering how the introductions necessary and 
 preliminary to an understanding of her were to be 
 managed. There must be a nucleus formed on 
 whom Jenny could depend, and how was it to 
 be done ? Had it been a baronet or one of the 
 minor peerage the comparisons would not have 
 been quite so grotesque. Dukes stood out un- 
 deniably ; they were on pedestals. The creature 
 who elected to share the pedestal must be under the 
 pressure of a tremendous gaze. 
 
 Still, the thing was to be, and in her short visit
 
 JENNY 297 
 
 to Scotland, Cynthia, under the penalty of being 
 suspected of insanity, announced her adherence. 
 
 On her descended a snowstorm of epistles and 
 a shower of visits. The letters were of every 
 variety of feminine clericalism, from the plain 
 white note with its small gilt coronet for seal, guilt- 
 less of perfume, to the over-scented and coloured 
 confection suggestive of an early Victorian 
 valentine. 
 
 All asked for information from her the one 
 person of real influence with the Duke. Of course 
 it was not true. Why did he not deny it ? Even 
 the rumour, however, was terrible, and likely to 
 do immense harm. The Duke, wrote one great 
 lady with considerable wit, had lived a life of 
 folly without doing anything foolish. As a 
 matter of fact, she would have been more in the 
 right to say that he had always admitted folly 
 to his society as a charming acquaintance, but 
 had never treated him as an intimate, or even 
 as an equal. 
 
 Lady Sarah, hearing Cynthia was in town, posted 
 up from Surrey and descended on her whilst she 
 was still at breakfast. Lady Sarah was sincerely 
 and terribly shocked. The news that her eldest boy 
 had been killed in the hunting-field could not have 
 affected her more. The whole thing was redolent 
 of hell-fire and damnation ; it was sulphurous 
 and stank in the nostrils. 
 
 " But you've seen her, haven't you ? " asked 
 Cynthia innocently. 
 
 " Yes ; Henry and I called on her." 
 
 " Well, her appearance and manner must be some 
 consolation."
 
 298 JENNY 
 
 " I thought her looks atrocious. She reminds 
 one of Vivien, in ' The Idylls of the King.' ' 
 
 " Never saw the lady," drawled Cynthia in a 
 deep contralto. Sarah Brent always had the 
 effect of bringing out the worst in her. " Great 
 beauty is of course a form of over-emphasis, and 
 over-emphasis is always a little startling, isn't 
 it? " 
 
 " I mean," said Lady Sarah, with real tears in 
 her eyes, " that I think it is shameful, and it ought 
 to be stopped. If she were not what she is, if she 
 were in every other way desirable, the difference 
 in age would make my father ridiculous. As it 
 
 is " Lady Sarah turned away to the window 
 
 and bit her lips. Cynthia was sorry for her ; the 
 grief was very real. Poor Lady Sarah had played 
 off her own conception of the day of judgment 
 against other phenomena all her life, and the result 
 was that many things which were mere annoyances 
 she conceived to be mortal sins. Her father morally 
 pirouetting on the edge of the grave with a 
 Bacchante was a terrible spectacle. 
 
 " I see your point," said Cynthia. 
 
 " Is there any other ? " asked Sarah sharply. 
 ' Yes, but it would be waste of time for me to 
 try and put it. I am afraid we should never 
 agree." 
 
 Sarah turned and looked at her in amazement. 
 
 " Do you actually mean that you approve of 
 this extraordinary and outrageous marriage ? " 
 
 " No, I don't. It is obviously one of those things 
 which a family would rather had not happened, 
 but why make the worst of it ? I distinctly assert 
 that the girl is presentable. That is all I say."
 
 JENNY 299 
 
 " What is the good of a girl being presentable 
 if she can't be presented ? " 
 
 Cynthia looked at Sarah in alarm. A glance, 
 however, reassured her no joke was intended. A 
 joke from Sarah would have been a dangerous 
 symptom. 
 
 " We both know your father, Sarah, so where's 
 the use of arguing. I am only too glad to find that 
 the belated duchess is a person one can ask to one's 
 house and introduce to one's friends." 
 
 " You will surely not force her on Society ? " 
 
 " I shall not force her on anybody. It will not 
 be necessary. She will prove the exception in the 
 case where burlesque actresses marry into the 
 great families. She will be accepted everywhere. 
 I shall do all I can to make the exception good. 
 It is only fair." 
 
 The contest was unequal. Cynthia was a power 
 hi Society ; Lady Sarah, although a duke's 
 daughter, was a nobody. Very Low Church, 
 like immorality, has a knack of making people 
 declasse. 
 
 Lady Sarah took her leave, her nostrils quivering 
 as if inhaling anticipatory whiffs of the fire and 
 brimstone which must inevitably overtake such 
 wickedness. As if to drive her beyond control, 
 Jenny's exquisite equipage drew up as she descended 
 the steps. 
 
 For a moment she was tempted to ignore her 
 completely. Then she remembered that at least 
 six servants were agog to see what would happen, 
 and her breeding conquered. She made a slight 
 bow, and her temper was not improved by the 
 dignified inclination of the beautiful little head,
 
 300 JENNY 
 
 and the indefinite smile which accompanied it. 
 It was distressing, but there was absolutely nothing 
 to take exception to. 
 
 Lady Sarah's onslaught was not by any means 
 most to be feared. She neither moved amongst 
 those of the haute voice nor had she any power 
 therein. There were others who were annoyed at 
 Cynthia's attitude. From Eaton Square to 
 Hereford Gardens there was a running to and 
 fro. 
 
 Some even declared that the law was potent, but 
 were quite unable to describe the process it should 
 take. The displeasure of the sovereign had reached 
 the Duke in the shape of an equerry at least, so 
 rumour had it. The Duke ought to have remem- 
 bered that he had the Garter. He ought to have 
 remembered the family of his first wife. 
 
 " Perhaps he did," murmured a wag. 
 
 " She is only nineteen. She may live till she's 
 ninety." 
 
 " Why not a hundred ? " 
 
 " Eighty years of jointure." 
 
 " Too heartbreaking to contemplate." 
 
 " Cynthia is stretching her authority far." 
 
 " Glamoys is her uncle, but she has always been 
 hi love with him." 
 
 " What a dreadful thing to say ! " 
 
 " Not at all ; on the Continent uncles and 
 nieces marry, especially in Royal families." 
 
 " And aunts and nephews ? " 
 
 " There is not, as a rule, the same attraction." 
 
 " No, of course not women don't propose." 
 
 " Will they live in St. James's Square ? " 
 
 " Her mother was a washerwoman."
 
 JENNY 301 
 
 " A charwoman." 
 
 " Same thing." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Which takes precedence of the other ? " 
 
 " I think a washerwoman goes in to dinner 
 before a charwoman, doesn't she ? " 
 
 " Cynthia will succeed in her attempt." 
 
 " Cynthia says there is no need to help her 
 that Miss Oldcastle is a social genius, and that 
 just as a person with a genius for music comes to 
 the front at once, so a genius for Society lands 
 people in the front rank." 
 
 " A delightful point of view," murmured 
 Colonel Coveney. 
 
 " I believe," said Lady Branksome thought- 
 fully, " that Cynthia is saying that to cover the 
 advance of her protegee " 
 
 " She is so clever." 
 
 " Reggie " Mrs. Tudor-More was alluding to 
 her boy in the Firsts " says she is absolutely 
 respectable, and has astounding good manners. He 
 goes to the Oddities a great deal, and she has snubbed 
 him three times." 
 
 " He admits it ? What a nice boy ! " 
 
 " Reggie is a nice boy. He speaks of her with 
 great respect." 
 
 " Then she has Reggie on her side," laughed 
 Lady Branksome. 
 
 " I suppose she told him to ' go along ! ' 
 
 " My dear, actresses on the burlesque stage are 
 not housemaids." 
 
 " I sent for all the photographs in existence of 
 her directly I heard the news," said the Comtesse 
 de Grandterre, an Englishwoman who had married
 
 3 02 JENNY 
 
 a French nobleman who was half a Scotchman, 
 " and I am bound to say the girl has distinction. 
 In France the whole thing would be impossible, 
 and ridiculous. In our respectable England it 
 is within the limits. A country of paradoxes ! " 
 
 " The thing that surprises me most is that 
 Glamoys should do anything approaching the 
 undignified. Whatever his actions he has always 
 behaved en grand seigneur. He has towered above 
 the petty throng, frankly pagan, but constitu- 
 tional. It is an unstatesmanlike marriage, that 
 is its chief fault." 
 
 " What is the use of talking ? " said a great 
 lady sharply, who was first-cousin to the Duke. 
 "It is the act of an old man in his dotage, and 
 it ought to be stopped. Sarah ought to shut him 
 up." 
 
 The press munched the morsel unctuously, 
 extracting every atom of flavour from it. 
 
 The Duke had not intended that the news should 
 become public property until the event had taken 
 place, and was considerably annoyed at the dis- 
 cussion ; but he had lived too much in the public 
 view to feel it in the way more private people might 
 have done. 
 
 " The public regard us," he had been used to 
 say, " as a pageant for which they have paid to 
 see. They expect us to have women they may 
 admire, morals they can find fault with, and 
 luxuries they can envy. In their hearts they deem 
 the middle-class members of the nobility to be 
 grossly abusing their trust and opportunities. 
 They look to us to give colour to the national 
 existence, and to carry out with consummate ease
 
 JENNY 303 
 
 political works of transcendent national im- 
 portance." 
 
 This in reality summed up his creed to be 
 splendid, pagan, and patriotic in the bigger sense 
 of the word. 
 
 It was quite true that the sovereign had ex- 
 pressed dissatisfaction with the news, and that the 
 Duke, with a superb gesture of deference at the foot 
 of the throne, had intimated that he considered 
 it a point on which he could not accept 
 suggestions. 
 
 The more he thought over the matter the less 
 did he see why he should not act as he was 
 doing. While reflecting on it one afternoon in his 
 library in St. James's Square a strange sensation 
 overcame him ; he seemed to be swinging in mid- 
 air, he even appeared to lose consciousness. When 
 he came to he was still alone, and he sat looking 
 at the flowe'S in the small Italian garden with 
 a strange sense of numbness and lassitude. " A 
 little more of this sort of thing at my age, and 
 the comedy will end with one of those sudden 
 curtains which are so effective." 
 
 There was a little more of it the next morning, 
 but not so much as the day before. He was 
 alarmed, not for himself but for Jenny. Never- 
 theless, he forbore to call in Sir Benjamin. He 
 had the secret terror of compulsion which haunts 
 old age, the nervous fear of the time when its 
 weakness may be an excuse for others to intrude. 
 Although this was the less probable in the case of 
 an individuality as powerful as his, the instinct 
 to prevent it was there. 
 
 Sir Benjamin would probably say, " No
 
 304 JENNY 
 
 excitement, absolute rest. The wedding must 
 be postponed." 
 
 The Duke was determined to keep his word, 
 to make Jenny a duchess in face of any opposition 
 which might arise.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A LARIC heard the rumours with a sickening 
 IJL of the soul and a sense of horror. At the 
 back of his mind he knew he had been wrong. 
 He had brought about the catastrophe. She was 
 doing it to revenge herself upon him. The lover 
 is the eternal egotist, and in his eyes all Jenny's 
 actions could only be the result of her feelings 
 for him. 
 
 He did not believe the blow would really fall. 
 It could not. There was not such cruelty in the 
 world. At the same time he was in a state of 
 absolute bewilderment as to what was to be done. 
 He and his aunt had not discussed the subject. 
 Silently she had done all she could to show her 
 sympathy. It was impossible, however, thinking 
 what she did of Jenny for she was utterly 
 sceptical as to her morals to have the matter 
 out for frank analysis, even if the raw state of 
 Alaric's feelings on the subject would have per- 
 mitted it. She grieved in silence for the wound, 
 which she now realized was deeper than she 
 had imagined. 
 
 He wrote endless letters which he never posted, 
 305 20
 
 3 o6 JENNY 
 
 letters which he thought masterpieces of satire. 
 He wished her happiness. With splendid irony 
 he congratulated her on the fact that the gilded 
 bondage which was ultimately to pay for a life of 
 freedom and wealth would not last long. Perhaps 
 knowing that his natural good feeling would pre- 
 vent the letters being posted, he allowed himself to 
 write brutalities which worked off his rage, but 
 which he would never have permitted anyone to 
 read. 
 
 One fact emerged from the chaos of feeling. 
 He could not remain where he was. Movement 
 always gives us the consolation of a sense of 
 effective action, especially when we are young. 
 
 He knew that there was only one course, which 
 was to go to Jenny and ask her to be his wife. 
 He was in his heated lover's mind quite sure 
 that she would find some way of evading 
 her obligations when she found him at her 
 feet. 
 
 He was less rigorous than Jenny. He was 
 mainly romantic, whatever life might make of 
 him afterwards. In his eyes the lover's cause was 
 above law. Still he delayed wandering from 
 morn till eve in fair and foul weather, a distraught 
 and unhappy being, into the heart of the country- 
 side, or along the shore, where the surge of the 
 waves, and the towering crags of the cliffs seen 
 through driving mist, were in accord with his 
 misery. 
 
 He would sit for hours in the little amphi- 
 theatre of rocks where they had picnicked, perhaps 
 with some weird hope that she might suddenly 
 realize what she was doing, break away, and
 
 JENNY 307 
 
 come straight to this shore where they had been 
 happy and find him. 
 
 Miss Burne had seen the news in the London 
 papers with a great feeling of relief. She had had 
 her romance and had lost her betrothed at Inker- 
 mann, and though she had undoubtedly loved the 
 man, her life had somehow missed the mad bewilder- 
 ment of a great infatuation. The tragedy of 
 the event had given its temperament a fictitious 
 value both hi her eyes and in the eyes of her friends. 
 She had grieved deeply, but she had not undergone 
 the agony which a shattered romance brings to a 
 nature like Alaric's, half in love with its exquisite 
 misery. 
 
 She was of opinion that Alaric would, once the 
 event was irrevocable, make a quick recovery. 
 
 His altered appearance shocked her, it is true ; 
 but she put it down rather to a constitutional 
 sensitiveness to attacks from without. She was 
 quite sure that, Jenny definitely out of his reach, 
 all would be well. This was what she wanted to 
 think. 
 
 She ran her recollection over all the nice, eligible 
 girls she knew, preferably those with money. 
 There was an heiress to nearly half a million 
 connected with the Burnes. She had already 
 looked kindly on Alaric. She was three years 
 older, but that was a good thing. Her estates ran 
 alongside his. Nothing could be better. In the 
 society of nicely-brought-up English girls he 
 would soon see that he had been dazzled by a 
 beauty which was too marked to be respectable. 
 Then there was the daughter of the kind lady 
 who had shown a belated ofnciousness in warning 
 
 20*
 
 308 JENNY 
 
 her about Jenny. She also was very rich in her 
 own right. There were plenty of nice girls, and it 
 must be her business to surround him with them. 
 
 Every day she eagerly searched the paper to 
 see if the irrevocable had taken place. In the 
 meantime she had written to the heiress's mother, 
 imploring her to bring aid to her distracted nephew 
 in the shape of her own and her daughter's 
 company. 
 
 " So many young men pass through this sort 
 of attachment. Now and then one of our belong- 
 ings is caught, but as a rule it is easy to temporize 
 till the fever is past. Alaric is different, how- 
 ever. He has not been to a public school. He 
 is more unspoilt in the affections than the young 
 men of his age. I shall not therefore feel happy 
 till this Vivien has captured her social Merlin. 
 It is extraordinary the way some of the papers 
 write of her. As if she were a person one might 
 expect to become a duchess. What ought to be 
 the most grotesque thing in the world seems as if 
 it would finally be taken almost seriously in some 
 quarters. Do come to us and bring Helena. 
 You once said such an event would please. I 
 hope you will not let a natural feeling of pride 
 stand in the way of the saving of Alaric." 
 
 The letter had hardly been written when Alaric, 
 to Miss Burne's despair, disappeared. 
 
 He could endure it no longer. He must see her 
 again. What he should do when he did see 
 her he did not know. 
 
 He went straight to the house at Kingston and 
 sent in his card. 
 
 The servant returned with the message that
 
 JENNY 309 
 
 Miss Oldcastle was not at home. Alaric's tender- 
 ness changed, and he shook from head to foot 
 with rage. He was in a mood to behave quite 
 badly, to dash through the house till he found 
 her, and to do what ? That was the point. 
 He did not know. He was about to follow the 
 man, humiliated beyond words, when Emma 
 Goodchild stood in his way. She dismissed the 
 servant with a gesture and closed the door. 
 
 Alaric was soothed and comforted by the 
 sympathy in her eyes. 
 
 " Why won't she see me ? Mrs. Goodchild " 
 
 His pride was broken. It was the pleading of 
 a child. 
 
 Emma laid her hand almost caressingly on 
 his arm. 
 
 " Where are you staying ? " 
 
 " Morton's Hotel St. James's." 
 
 " Shall you be in this evening ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I'll come to you. I have something to say." 
 
 She held out her hand and he went away feeling 
 comforted. Strange he had not thought of Mrs. 
 Goodchild. Perhaps it was because she had always 
 seemed so detached. 
 
 It had cost Jenny something to send out the 
 curt message of dismissal, but it was done almost 
 without hesitation, because she felt at once it was 
 the only fair thing to do, fair to the Duke, to 
 Alaric, and herself. 
 
 Emma had heard her give the message, and 
 when she rose and left the room Jenny knew that 
 she had gone to Alaric. Emma's attitude had 
 been so aloof, so non-committal, that Jenny
 
 3 io JENNY 
 
 thought the action strange. Yet she did not 
 resent it. She was glad that the blow should 
 be softened, and yet not at her instigation. She 
 would not even appear curious when Emma re- 
 turned, but went on 'with some writing as if she 
 did not suspect that Emma had seen Alaric. 
 
 Emma's fingers shook as she attempted to 
 resume her needlework. Measuring her son's 
 capacity for suffering by her own, she had pictured 
 it to herself somewhat as it was. Yet the boy's 
 face had startled her out of her armour of detach- 
 ment and repose. After a while she rose and 
 went to her room, locked herself in, and fell on 
 her knees by the bed in an abject state of 
 melancholy and grief. 
 
 She understood Jenny's character thoroughly, 
 and she could estimate the exact part which 
 ambition had played. She knew that it was the 
 least of the three motives'* which had driven her 
 on. Gratitude to the Duke and a desire to please 
 him had chiefly influenced her. Injured pride was 
 the third motive, but it was hardly as strong as the 
 others. 
 
 It was because she could honestly desire the 
 union of Alaric and Jenny that her sympathy 
 with them both drove her into action. 
 
 She did not tell Jenny that she was going to town, 
 but simply announced that she would not appelar 
 at dinner the Duke was coming and when^the 
 meal had begun she slipped out of the house. 
 
 Alaric was waiting for her impatientty. He had 
 been trying to forecast ever since they parted 
 what she could possibly have to say to him. 
 
 The wildest thoughts passed through his brain.
 
 JENNY 311 
 
 She was bringing a prayer from Jenny, imploring 
 him to deliver her from the position in which she 
 found herself. Perhaps behind all this there was 
 some secret which he had not yet fathomed. 
 What secret could there be ? The day was past 
 when wicked nobles could hold captive unwilling 
 maidens. Besides, it was hardly a conspiracy, 
 or it did not sound like one, to make a girl who 
 was a nobody a duchess. 
 
 His constant endeavour to fit the Duke to the 
 role of a melodramatic villain yielded no fruit, 
 and he had not even succeeded in constructing a 
 theory to feed his hate of the man when Emma 
 was shown in. 
 
 The door was shut behind her, and, speechless 
 with agitation, she took the chair Alaric put for 
 her. In the light of the gas chandeliers she looked 
 very pale and worn. 
 
 " Will you have a glass of wine or something ? 
 You look very tired." 
 
 "No, thank you." 
 
 The offer of wine made her give an involuntary 
 shudder. With her past how could she reveal 
 herself to this deserted son ? That was the thing 
 to be avoided if possible. 
 
 One thing she was sure she ought to do. She 
 ought to put Jenny right with Alaric before this 
 marriage took place. 
 
 " I want to know, Sir Alaric, why you came to 
 see Jenny to-day ? " 
 
 Alaric's expression of unhappiness deepened. 
 He looked almost vacant for a moment or two, 
 and then shook his head mournfully. He did not 
 know. At any rate he had nothing definite to say.
 
 312 JENNY 
 
 " You must have had some design," urged Emma. 
 " You surely did not come merely to reproach her 
 to make her more unhappy ? " 
 
 Alaric was still at a loss. Emma bent forward 
 and said earnestly: w . 
 
 " You judged her harshly, you did her a great 
 injustice." 
 
 " It doesn't matter now." 
 
 "If it mattered at all it matters now surely. 
 Things like that are not forgotten in a few weeks." 
 
 " Apparently they are," said Alaric bitterly. 
 
 " Can't you guess why Jenny has done this 
 thing ? " 
 
 " To gratify her vanity the vanity which 
 caused her to make a fool of me." 
 
 " It's not brave of you to say that, and you 
 know it isn't true. It was wounded vanity not 
 altogether wounded vanity, but mostly that which 
 caused her to do this." 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 " Jenny is proud, much prouder than you have 
 any idea of. Her pride was the cause of her first 
 telling you an untruth she was afraid that you 
 would not understand." 
 
 " How am I to know what to believe ? " 
 
 " Believe your own heart. If she had been 
 worthless do you think she could have won your 
 love ? You don't know half her goodness." 
 
 Emma was carried away by her subject. She 
 forgot herself for the moment and her own situa- 
 tion. She was so intent, from the depth of her 
 love for Jenny, on completely effacing this one 
 mistake, that she pleaded with a passionate 
 fervour which astonished Alaric.
 
 JENNY 313 
 
 " Think of it, Sir Alaric a child brought up 
 as she was, amid poverty, hunger and the rough 
 atmosphere of a London slum. You may say 
 that a wife with such an origin is not the wife 
 for you. That may be true in a sense, but did 
 you ever detect anything which offended, see any- 
 thing which lowered your respect except this one 
 stupid untruth ? Believe me, this instinct for 
 choosing the best and the sweetest is not a thing 
 which can be taught." 
 
 ' You forget that all the time she was playing 
 a part. What proof have I that she is not always 
 acting ? " 
 
 " Do you think that ? In your heart of hearts 
 you know it is not true. In believing the worst of 
 Jenny you are false to your better self." Emma 
 leaned forward, and speaking with great earnest- 
 ness added : " I have known Jenny since she was 
 a little child, and I will swear to you that she is 
 as pure as snow, that she is a woman any man 
 might be proud to make his wife. If I did not 
 desire the happiness of both of you I should not 
 say this." 
 
 " Why should my happiness concern you ? " 
 
 Emma hurriedly evaded the issue. 
 
 " I desire Jenny's happiness because she gave 
 me back so much of my own." 
 
 " I don't understand that." 
 
 " No, of course not." A fierce struggle was 
 going on in her mind. Her impulse was to 
 fling herself on her knees by her son's side and, 
 kissing his hands, say : "I have come to comfort 
 you. The white misery in your face makes me 
 wretched as you are. I am the one person who
 
 . JENNY 
 
 can answer for the goodness of the woman you 
 love, and you must believe me because I am your 
 mother." 
 
 Instead she said gently : 
 ' You have no mother, Sir Alaric ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Is she dead ? " 
 
 " I don't know. She left us when I was a 
 baby." 
 
 There was a certain pathos in the word " us." 
 Miss Burne had evidently not mentioned her 
 harshly. She must have spoken of her leaving 
 them all, and there was an indefinable touch of 
 sympathy in this. 
 
 " Do you often think of her ? " 
 
 " I often wonder how she came to leave me." 
 
 It suddenly dawned on him that he was talking 
 to a stranger about his mother. He had always 
 been very sensitive and reserved on the subject 
 since his aunt had told him that his mother had 
 left him as a child. Why she had not loved him 
 sufficiently to stay with him as other children's 
 mothers did he had not been able to understand. 
 As he grew up and read of such things he began 
 to guess dimly the kind of tragedy which had 
 occurred. Once he had asked his aunt suddenly : 
 
 " Do you know where my mother is ? " 
 
 " No, Alaric, I do not." 
 
 " Is she alive ? " 
 
 " We do not know." 
 
 She had looked him in the eyes frankly, 
 evidently anxious that he should not think that 
 she was keeping anything back. 
 
 Indeed, expecting him to question her further,
 
 JENNY 315 
 
 she braced herself to tell him the truth, although 
 it must, in absolute fairness to the absent mother, 
 involve some disclosures discreditable to the 
 boy's father. 
 
 He had, however, remained silent. He had 
 perhaps been afraid of destroying such ideals on 
 the subject as he possessed. 
 
 Alaric felt no resentment at this stranger talking 
 to him about his mother. The ugly hotel sitting- 
 room seemed the more sympathetic for her com- 
 pany. The turmoil of feelings from which he was 
 suffering subsided somewhat. 
 
 " Don't you think your mother may have been 
 misunderstood ; misunderstood as you are mis- 
 understanding Jenny ? Perhaps you and your 
 house owe something to women for what she 
 suffered." 
 
 This speech should have sounded curious to 
 Alaric, but he was again thinking of Jenny. 
 
 " My mother left me " 
 
 " You don't forgive her ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that. I only wanted her 
 to come back." 
 
 " You wanted your mother ? " 
 
 " Of course." Alaric looked at her in surprise. 
 " Every boy wants his mother." He wondered 
 that she should have asked him such a question, 
 that she should apparently have been cross- 
 examining him with a view to eliciting this answer. 
 
 " Then you can believe that your mother was 
 misunderstood ? " 
 
 For a moment Alaric forgot Jenny. His face 
 glowed as he thought of his mother, for whom 
 he had yearned so intensely during his sick
 
 316 JENNY 
 
 childhood. Other children might have been con- 
 tent to do without a relationship which they had 
 never known, but Alaric was too imaginative, and 
 the countless use of the word " mother," spoken 
 and written, around him filled him with a longing 
 to know what the mother was like of whom no 
 one ever spoke, about whose early disappearance 
 from his life there was so much mystery. 
 
 " Misunderstood that wouldn't matter, would 
 it?" 
 
 She knew what he meant, although the phrase 
 was a little ambiguous. She was sure now that 
 his mind had never been turned against her, and 
 for this she was thankful to Miss Burne. 
 
 ' You would trust her, then ? You would 
 trust her when you would not trust Jenny ? " 
 
 " That is different." 
 
 She wondered if he would think it different if 
 he should find that his mother was so closely 
 connected with the whole story. 
 
 " Have you ever wondered how it is I come to 
 be with Jenny ? It must have struck you, surely, 
 during the days since we left Seaborough. For 
 if you believe the worst of Jenny you must think 
 me a very despicable woman to look on at such a 
 thing." 
 
 Alaric hesitated, and then answered frankly : 
 
 " Yes, I have wondered, but somehow I never 
 thought ill of you for it." 
 
 " I want you to imagine, Sir Alaric, a woman 
 who, because of one mistake of which she repented 
 as soon as she had made it, lost everything ; a 
 woman who for years had hidden herself away, 
 had sunk into deeper and deeper poverty, and
 
 JENNY 317 
 
 who, in her wretchedness and loneliness, would 
 soon have sought forgetfulness in death. To this 
 woman God sent the love of a child to remind her 
 of the child she had lost. It was a love which 
 saved her, which gave her something to live for 
 which set her again amid happy surroundings, 
 surroundings which seem strange and suspicious 
 to conventional ideas but " 
 
 He saw whither she was leading him and he 
 interrupted her. 
 
 " Jenny might be all this and yet " 
 
 " I once had a son," went on Emma quickly. 
 " He would be just your age, but if I knew he had 
 chosen Jenny for his wife I should be glad, as only 
 a mother can be glad when she knows her son has 
 found a good woman who will make him happy, 
 a woman who is worthy of the best kind of love." 
 
 Alaric grew a little cold. The conversation was 
 back on Jenny and he remembered his wrongs. 
 
 " This does not affect me." 
 
 " You must not say that, you know it is not 
 true. Oh, I am a woman who has suffered, who has 
 drunk deep of the cup of humiliation, but I am 
 not the woman to be at Glamoys Lodge if what 
 you suspect were true." 
 
 Suddenly the strange tone of the conversation 
 seemed to strike Alaric, the personal note of Emma's 
 questions and replies, the biographical nature of 
 the results. He realized that since he had entered 
 the room he had grown nearer to this woman, 
 that she had suddenly become vibratory in relation 
 to him that a haze of temperament common to 
 them both, and in which they sat together as in a 
 roseate cloud, enveloped their spirits, that sub-
 
 318 JENNY 
 
 harmonies animated the interview. His voice was 
 not aggressive, it was even yielding and gentle 
 as he asked : 
 
 " Why do you tell me all this ? " 
 
 " Because I feel a terrible mistake is about to 
 be made." 
 
 " Then why do you tell me when it is too late ? " 
 asked Alaric in deep dejection. 
 
 Emma paused. The step she had taken should 
 have been taken long before. She was aware of 
 this. 
 
 " Because it was difficult to know how to act 
 and yet be loyal to all. The Duke has been very 
 good to me." 
 
 A bitter expression passed over Alaric's mouth. 
 
 "If what you say is true, Jenny owes every- 
 thing to him. There is no chance of anyone else 
 doing anything for her." 
 
 Emma could almost have smiled at the naive 
 admission of jealousy. 
 
 " I don't think Jenny is absolutely provided 
 with every possible thing, mental or material," 
 she said. " It is true that she owes him too much 
 to do him injustice. Besides, it is her obvious 
 unhappiness which has made me come here. She 
 is unhappy because she thinks she has gone too 
 far to retreat. Is it too late ? " 
 
 " If I could only believe what you say about 
 her ! " 
 
 " What will make you believe it ? " 
 
 She paused, her bosom heaving. A great 
 trembling had overtaken her whole body. Her 
 teeth chattered. She knew that the hour had 
 come. All the considerations enjoining silence
 
 JENNY 319 
 
 which had seemed of such force lost their power 
 over her. This was her son, bone of her bone 
 and flesh of her flesh. Her great wrong cried out. 
 She would no longer punish herself. The long 
 suffering must end. There was something within 
 her which was beyond reason, which would not be 
 denied. The fact that he was not likely to believe 
 anyone but his own mother on such a subject was 
 potent, the desire to be in his vision as his mother 
 was more potent still. Perhaps in putting the need 
 of Jenny first in her own mind she was not strictly 
 honest who could have been under such circum- 
 stances ? Who is, when the primary emotions 
 conflict with what is estimated as justice ? 
 
 " Would the word of one to whom your happiness 
 is more than anything in the world perhaps even 
 more than her own convince you ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " Alaric spoke slowly 
 with an altered voice. His feeling of bewilderment 
 had grown. 
 
 " If there were such a one, would you believe 
 her ? " 
 
 " I should have to." 
 
 " Then I assure you of it." 
 
 Alaric paused to realize the true meaning of her 
 words. At first, in a confused way, he took the 
 almost comic view that this woman, who had 
 remained in the background whilst he was at Sea- 
 borough and had always been so silent, had taken 
 some curious fancy to him. 
 
 He answered almost stupidly : 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The absurdity of his first impression disappeared
 
 320 JENNY 
 
 as he looked at the woman before him and realized 
 the intense emotion under which she was labour- 
 ing, the obvious breed of her, which had never 
 impressed him so much as at this moment. He 
 hardly knew his own voice as he put the question : 
 ' Who are you ? " half knowing what the answer 
 would be before it came. 
 
 ' Your mother, Alaric, your mother." The 
 words struggled out like living things in pain. 
 
 " My mother mother ? " 
 
 " Alaric, I lost you when you were a little boy 
 I wronged you. I don't ask you to forgive 
 me I only ask you " 
 
 But Alaric had risen. He was not listening to 
 what she was saying otherwise than to know that 
 her voice was new music in his life. The moment 
 was too wonderful for any reserve of language. 
 It was a moment when people are classic because 
 ridicule is out of the question. 
 
 " I have found my mother oh ! " 
 
 The intonation was almost that of a child. 
 
 He touched her reverently, afraid that she 
 would vanish wondering if it were a dream and 
 that she would disappear. 
 
 " Alaric, my son ! " 
 
 She folded him in her arms and there was a long 
 silence. There was balm in that embrace for what 
 he was suffering for Jenny, for her breast was 
 full of a mother's passion. 
 
 " Won't you believe me now ? " 
 
 She wanted to talk of themselves, but she was 
 fearful lest he should imagine that in this matter 
 she had been thinking of herself, and not of him 
 and of Jenny.
 
 JENNY 321 
 
 The reversion to the subject eased the strain. 
 He said gently : 
 
 " Yes, mother, I believe you, but it is too late." 
 
 " I am not sure of that, Alaric, and I am con- 
 vinced that in this matter the Duke was thinking 
 only of Jenny." 
 
 " You think I have been very unjust to him ? " 
 
 " Very, Alaric," she said simply. 
 
 " Does Jenny know that I am your son ? " 
 
 " No ; I ought not to have spoken, but I could 
 not help it." 
 
 Then a new light dawned on him. 
 
 " But Aunt Isabel she saw you that evening 
 at Seaborough she must have known." 
 
 " She recognized me. She did know." 
 
 " And she never told me ! " 
 
 " She was right." 
 
 " No, it is never right to keep a mother from 
 her son." 
 
 " She did not do that, Alaric it was I who 
 stayed away. When I left you I did not know 
 what I was doing. I was mad. I don't want 
 to speak against your father, but I had been 
 humiliated and rendered unhappy till I could 
 bear no more." 
 
 " Mother, don't. I can't bear it. I love you. 
 I only want your love. I have seen you with 
 Jenny, and no one can turn me against you after 
 that." 
 
 ' Tell me that I was right to come to you." 
 
 " Of course, mother but it is too late." 
 
 " I know I ought to have told you sooner, but 
 it was only when I saw how really wretched 
 Jenny was that I felt you must know. Do you 
 
 21
 
 322 JENNY 
 
 remember that picture of yourself which you gave 
 her ? I found her crying over it as if her heart 
 would break." 
 
 They sat for a long time together and talked 
 of Jenny and themselves, and very gently and 
 tactfully Emma put the Duke right in Alaric's 
 eyes. 
 
 Alaric was perhaps too inexperienced to think 
 of the possibilities of Emma's life since she had 
 left him. She represented to him a beautiful 
 abstraction, a sentiment which it would be 
 sacrilege to inquire into too closely. From Miss 
 Burne's point of view a future such as he was 
 visualizing would have seemed monstrous life 
 with a mother who was a social outcast, and a 
 wife who was a woman of the lighter stage. 
 
 He drove her to Kingston, and as he left her 
 at the corner of the lane she said : 
 
 " Jenny rides in Richmond Park every morning, 
 and reaches the Kingston gate about half-past 
 eight."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MAY the comparative peace of Richmond 
 Park never be destroyed. Amazing it is 
 that so far no railway has burrowed a way to its 
 gates to disgorge the city crowds over its fair 
 expanse of lawn and bracken and woodland. It 
 is a blessing to those that love her that she is so 
 little known to the crowd. 
 
 On a fine morning in early autumn she is at 
 her best. The air is cool and the sun is warm, and 
 the foliage is turning to a thousand brown, yellow 
 and purple splendours. On the brow of the hill 
 which looks towards Hampton one may gaze down 
 on a glory of autumn colouring, the fires of 
 the year's splendour dying down in a lurid 
 glow. 
 
 Here every morning Jenny rode alone, a won- 
 drously picturesque figure. She had the courage 
 to wear a Spanish hat with a plume at a time when 
 the tall hat or billy-cock were fashionable. She 
 rode rather a big, powerful horse for so light a 
 person, but she had a genius for horsemanship, 
 and revelled in the sensation of controlling a force 
 so much mightier than her own. 
 
 323 21*
 
 324 JENNY 
 
 Her powers of repression had been tested to the 
 utmost during the last week or two, and these 
 morning rides had been a great safety-valve. She 
 had not for a moment conceived it possible that 
 she should change her mind. She must bear with 
 her unhappiness. The only thing to do, having 
 entered upon this amazing adventure, was to carry 
 it through with a great manner. Unless her carriage 
 were fine and dignified she would provoke jeers, 
 and must be at the mercy of the mob. Now and 
 then, however, she shivered as she realized how the 
 bare fact must impress the world. 
 
 Her wedding was to take place at the Kingston 
 parish church. There would be Cynthia, a friend 
 of the Duke's, and Emma. The date had been 
 kept absolutely secret. No one but the four 
 concerned knew of it. 
 
 Riding into the Park and turning off on to the 
 long stretch where she usually took her first canter, 
 a horseman came up behind and drew level with 
 her. Turning in surprise at the familiarity of the 
 act, she found Alaric's white face looking at her 
 with a haggard appeal that at least she would listen 
 to him. 
 
 She was not helpful on such occasions. It was 
 not of her temperament to be so. She had a habit 
 when she was in conflict of fixing her wide-open 
 eyes on her opponent with an alert defensiveness 
 which was disconcerting. 
 
 The Park was singularly empty, and although 
 it was not actually raining, to the south-west the 
 horizon was dull and depressed. 
 
 All Alaric could say was " Jenny ! " but he 
 spoke the word with such profound surrender that
 
 JENNY 325 
 
 Jenny was startled out of the attitude to which 
 she had schooled herself. 
 
 Her heart, which had leapt up when she found 
 him by her side, was again at his feet as she saw the 
 wan misery in his face and heard the broken music 
 of his voice. 
 
 There was no need to go over old ground. She 
 understood his mood so perfectly that she said at 
 once : 
 
 " It is too late, Alaric too late." 
 
 " It can't be too late till the thing is done." 
 
 " It was too late when my word was 
 given." 
 
 " You are going to ruin our lives for a word 
 spoken ? " 
 
 " We must accept things in the way in which they 
 have worked out. That is what everyone has to 
 do sooner or later." 
 
 " I want you to forgive me for what I said to 
 you the other day." 
 
 " It was natural for you to say it. I had deserved 
 it." 
 
 This was where he felt it was difficult to deal 
 with Jenny. She saw things too clearly as they 
 were. If he could have led her mind into con- 
 fusion he might have persuaded her to do some- 
 thing illogical, inconsistent, impulsive. She was 
 so different from himself that he could hardly 
 appreciate her attitude. Love is impatient of 
 such restraints, and it somehow feels that it is 
 being dealt with unfairly if it is called upon to 
 consider outside obligations. 
 
 He could only reply a little feebly : 
 
 " Don't send me away, Jenny."
 
 326 JENNY 
 
 " I must." 
 
 " Let me go to him ? " 
 
 She turned on him with a startling amount 
 of decision. 
 
 " No, that is impossible. You must never do 
 that. He must never know." 
 
 " He has had everything in his life." 
 
 " He would be very lonely but for me." 
 
 Alaric grew restive under this consideration 
 for the Duke. He had almost lashed out again, 
 but he restrained himself. He was at a loss how 
 to persuade, and he could not subdue himself to 
 accepting the situation. 
 
 He argued desperately, and she could not deny 
 herself the joy of hearing him talk and having him 
 with her for a little. 
 
 Nothing he could say, however, could make the 
 least impression on her in the way of shaking her 
 determination to abide by her word. Yet she told 
 him something which seemed to make him almost 
 submissive to the fact. 
 
 " Alaric, there is something I want to tell you. 
 Other people besides you had insulted me, and the 
 world believed the worst of me. He offered to make 
 me his wife " she hesitated for a second, but went 
 on bravely " in name only he didn't ask any- 
 thing but that. He told me it would make the 
 rest of his life very happy and now there is some- 
 thing more he is ill he doesn't think that I 
 notice it, but I can't break my word. He is not 
 like other men. He has the heart of a boy, and I 
 can be something to him." 
 
 " But if he knew " 
 
 " That is the point. He mustn't know. It would
 
 JENNY 327 
 
 be cowardly to let him know, and I don't think 
 I ought to be here talking to you." 
 
 Then she gave way, and the tears rained down 
 her cheeks. Alaric came close to her and laid his 
 hand on hers. 
 
 " Don't cry, Jenny, it's all my fault." 
 
 But he had to leave her without the answer he 
 wanted. 
 
 Their good-bye was quiet, like a calm after a 
 storm. Perhaps Alaric had at the back of his mind 
 an idea which he might have felt to be unworthy 
 had he allowed it to take shape. The Duke was 
 ill. Fate might play into his hands yet. He 
 had not spoken of Mrs. Goodchild, and Jenny was 
 obviously ignorant of her visit to town. There 
 had been a new interest in Jenny, looked at from 
 the point of view of one who was to a certain 
 extent his mother's work. 
 
 " Good-bye, Jenny, you won't forget me ? " 
 
 Her lip trembled as she murmured "Alaric" 
 and, turning her horse's head towards home, rode 
 slowly away. 
 
 Alaric watched her till she was out of sight. 
 There was nothing to be done but to accept the 
 inevitable, and he rode towards the Roehampton 
 Gate on his way back to London.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 EMMA saw Alaric later in the day, and heard 
 from him the result of the interview from 
 which she had hoped so much. And yet, had she 
 expected much ? She was obliged to confess that 
 she had been hoping against hope. She had received 
 a letter from Miss Burne, who remained lonely 
 and helpless, afraid to move in the matter lest 
 she should precipitate the catastrophe. She wrote 
 to ask Emma as a favour to let her know how things 
 were going, and if she had seen Alaric not that 
 he had left her entirely without news. He wrote 
 to her whilst he was away, as if he were merely on 
 a visit to town, as if events tremendous for himself 
 were not happening. Emma replied to Miss 
 Burne that Jenny was to marry the Duke, and 
 telling her that she had revealed herself to her 
 son. 
 
 " For which you will no doubt blame me. I 
 did not intend to do it. On the other hand, sooner 
 or later, with his temperament, he must have felt 
 unhappy at not knowing what had become of me. 
 It is better he should have heard from me that I 
 was hi existence. You need not fear I have a plan 
 
 328
 
 JENNY 329 
 
 which will enable him to see me and for me to be 
 in his life without being on his social horizon. 
 Father Hawthorne, the vicar of St. Aloysius in 
 Westminster, wants me to take charge of a home 
 for destitute young women which a benefactress 
 of his parish has founded. The work will be what 
 I need, and I shall always be there for Alaric if 
 he wants me. People need never know that I 
 have reappeared, so all will be well. I do not 
 deny that I would wish Miss Oldcastle had been 
 his wife. He could not have chosen a better, 
 strange as this may appear to you. She will 
 astonish those who think it is merely an old man 
 in his second childhood gratifying the vulgar 
 ambition of a girl of the theatre." 
 
 In saying this Emma wrote more than she in- 
 tended, but always the desire to place Jenny before 
 people as she really was made her usually so 
 silent even garrulous. 
 
 Miss Burne derived from this letter the greatest 
 consolation. If Alaric's mother would only keep 
 out of the way ; and if Jenny married the Duke, 
 all would be well. It was perhaps, fortunate, as 
 Emma said, that he should have met his mother. 
 She was quite sure Emma would do as she under- 
 took and make things, as far as she herself was 
 concerned, easy for Alaric. Indeed, a woman who 
 had kept silent for so many years, when her settle- 
 ments were lying at her disposal, must be a person 
 of extraordinary determination. 
 
 I the meantime, with perhaps a last, lingering 
 hope that in some indirect way it might help, 
 Emma had told Jenny the truth about herself and 
 Alaric.
 
 330 JENNY 
 
 This much it accomplished : it enabled them to 
 talk freely of him. 
 
 " That is why you kept away from us at Sea- 
 borough, and I remember now how you looked at 
 him when he gave us his name. How strange 
 it must have been." 
 
 " It was strange and terrible." 
 
 Jenny laid her cheek against Emma's. " Poor 
 Emma, how you must have suffered ! " 
 
 " I wish it could have been, Jenny." 
 
 " You would wish me to be Alaric's wife ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 This was the greatest compliment any woman 
 could have paid her. It compensated her for 
 much. 
 
 " It is too late." 
 
 These were the words which Alaric had 
 reiterated. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 The argument was opened, but all that Emma 
 could urge or devise was of no avail. She was far 
 too tactful to suggest that she should go to the 
 Duke. She had to admit that from Jenny's point 
 of view there was every argument. With her 
 origin she was extraordinarily sensitive about doing 
 anything unworthy. 
 
 Emma dared not even suggest that perhaps the 
 Duke himself would be a little relieved, though 
 the thought was certainly in her mind. 
 
 One last effort she made, but it was of no avail. 
 She called on Cynthia in Berkeley Square. 
 
 " I think perhaps you are right," answered 
 Cynthia to her statement of the case, " but neither 
 is a personality I should care to interfere with.
 
 JENNY 331 
 
 I shall, of course, respect your confidence, but 
 although I will not directly push things on, I will 
 not interfere. I would not offend the Duke for 
 anything in the world. Besides, I have given 
 my word." She wondered how Jenny's chaperon 
 came to be a woman of such sound social instinct, 
 and also wondered that she should be so earnest 
 in trying to prevent her charge from being made a 
 duchess. Emma resigned herself to the inevitable, 
 and loyally set herself to make Jenny's prepara- 
 tions as complete as possible. Alaric remained 
 in London, and it was some consolation to him to 
 see his mother and to talk to her about Jenny. 
 
 Once he saw the Duke as he stood for a moment 
 at the corner of a turning in Piccadilly, waiting 
 to cross. The picture left on his memory was that 
 of a pair of black horses with a superb action going 
 quickly past, a quiet-looking brougham, and inside 
 the tired figure of an old man. Weary as the 
 attitude was, even in the glance caught by Alaric 
 he noticed the fine carriage of the head and a certain 
 remaining splendour of glance from beneath 
 Olympian brows.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 r I A HE morning of the to Alaric fatal day 
 
 L came, grey and melancholy. Perhaps all 
 those concerned looked out on it with a sense of 
 unreality, with the weird feeling of being puppets 
 in some mime-drama. 
 
 The Duke reeled as he stepped out of bed. His 
 man just managed to catch him and to lay 
 him gently back. In a few minutes he was 
 better. 
 
 " Don't mention this, Brett." 
 
 He dressed with a curious sensation of numbness 
 growing upon him, while the greyness in his face 
 deepened. Somehow he felt that whatever else 
 happened he would be given strength to carry 
 through his purpose. Still, he would omit no 
 precaution. 
 
 " Brett, take the carriage and go for Sir Benjamin. 
 Bring him back with you." 
 
 The man, who had been dressing the Duke with 
 increasing anxiety, knew his master too well to 
 make any suggestion of his going back to bed. He 
 left the room without more than " Yes, your 
 Grace." 
 
 332
 
 JENNY 333 
 
 Till Sir Benjamin arrived the Duke sat with 
 closed eyes. 
 
 " I am ill, very ill, Blackwood, but you must 
 make me last out the morning." 
 
 Sir Benjamin knew what he meant. 
 
 " You ought to be in bed, Duke." 
 
 " None of that, please. Oblige me." 
 
 The physician saw what was required of him, 
 and knowing that the cord was frayed to snapping, 
 set himself to make it hold the required time. 
 
 When the Duke called for Cynthia, beyond a 
 curious aroma of drugs in the carriage she noticed 
 nothing ; neither did she notice Sir Benjamin's 
 carriage, which set out to follow as soon as they 
 started away from the house. It had stood waiting 
 at the corner of the square. The valet, without 
 being told, put himself into a hansom and followed 
 the doctor's carriage. So far as possible he kept his 
 keen white face on the brougham containing the 
 Duke and Cynthia. They drove through Mortlake, 
 which was wrapped in a ghostly shroud of 
 mist, and passed through the Park, an unusual 
 sight. 
 
 It was barely half-past eight when they drew 
 up at the church at Kingston. The Duke had 
 talked almost gaily. 
 
 " I want you to go into the church and meet 
 Jenny, Cynthia." 
 
 The moment Cynthia had passed from the 
 vestry into the church Sir Benjamin entered. 
 
 " You have done me splendidly so far." 
 
 The physician's face was terribly serious as he 
 pulled up the Duke's sleeve and drew a small needle 
 from a case.
 
 334 JENNY 
 
 " Don't look so serious, man, a Glamoys doesn't 
 fail on such an occasion as this. Especially under 
 the circumstances. I said I'd see them damned, 
 and I will." 
 
 The verger came to tell him the bride was at the 
 west door, and he passed into the church, wearing 
 for the last time the splendour of bearing and the 
 glamour of personality which had always been his. 
 
 Besides, he had wished this thing. Let them 
 think what they would of her afterwards. 
 
 Yet somehow Jenny guessed. She shrank a 
 little as he came to her side, but to go on was the 
 wisest thing she could do. To have made a scene 
 must have precipitated a catastrophe. 
 
 Emma and Cynthia and Colonel Coveney, the 
 Duke's friend, signed the register. They passed 
 out of the church under a silent organ. 
 
 She had lived through it as in a dream. In 
 another minute they were driving back to Glamoys 
 Lodge. 
 
 " A grey morning for a wedding, little girl," said 
 the Duke in a voice which struck a chill into her. 
 
 " Daddy ! " she pressed his hand, grown very 
 cold, between her own, and then put it to her 
 warm, young breast. 
 
 " Why, Jenny, how your heart beats ! " 
 
 At the house he sank into a deep chair. 
 
 " I've kept faith with you, little girl." 
 
 She poured out some wine and gave it to 
 him. 
 
 " The Duchess of Glamoys," he said in a hollow 
 voice, raising the glass with trembling hands to 
 his lips. It fell and broke.
 
 JENNY 335 
 
 Later in the day it was known in London what 
 had happened. 
 
 The Duke had not died till the afternoon, and 
 he had died with Jenny's head on his breast. A 
 few minutes before he had murmured some dis- 
 jointed pieces of verse, but the words were not very 
 audible. Jenny understood them, and remembered 
 that he had quoted them the day he had asked her 
 to be his wife. 
 
 There are loves not understood by the world, 
 and the Duke died loved by Jenny for all that 
 Alaric was her lover, and that time held them in 
 bondage for each other. 
 
 THE END
 
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