MARGOT'S 
 PROGRESS 
 
 by 
 
 DOUGLAS COLORING
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS
 
 By the Same Author 
 
 THE FORTUNE 
 
 A Romance of Friendship 
 
 THE FIGHT FOR FREEDOM 
 A Play in Four Acts 
 
 REPUTATIONS 
 
 Studies in Contemporary 
 Literature
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 BY 
 DOUGLAS GOLDRING 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS SELTZER 
 1920
 
 Copyright, 1920, 
 By Thomas Seltzer, Inc. 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 PART I
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A PERSISTENT, jarring tremor ran through the frame- 
 work of the White Star liner Majestic as her engines 
 forced her across the grey-blue expanse of sea which now 
 separated the great ship from the port of Cherbourg. It 
 was almost as though the Majestic were herself excited 
 by the prospect of reaching the gateway of France on 
 this April morning, as excited as one, at least, of the 
 passengers she carried. 
 
 Maggie Carter lay back in her chair, shading her eyes 
 with her hand. She did this, not to protect them from 
 the sun, but because she was afraid their shining would 
 betray her secret. She did not wish anyone to guess 
 what this moment meant to her. It was the climax of 
 so many dreams in the back street of the great Canadian 
 city where she had spent most of her life, that the 
 occasion was one which called for the completest privacy. 
 She wanted to enjoy it all by herself, and when she saw 
 the quaint backs of Mr. and Mrs. Falkenheim in the 
 distance the unromantic good fairies who were making 
 everything possible she begged her stars that they 
 would keep away. She wanted to be alone with her day- 
 dreams, with the long, long thoughts of sweet-and-twenty, 
 when she sees the cage-door suddenly ajar. 
 
 A nice American boy in the chair next to hers had 
 first to be sharply dealt with before she had peace. His 
 dark hair was plastered down, he wore a well-cut grey 
 
 1
 
 2 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 suit, a rather too noticeable shirt and tie, and patent- 
 leather shoes over mauve silk socks. On his face was 
 the smile which never, never comes off. Maggie had sat 
 within its radiance all the way out from New York, and 
 it made her want to scream. Its owner, young Harry 
 K. Van Bergen, of Chicago, always looked overpower- 
 ingly cold-bathed and lively, even at eight o'clock in the 
 morning, and Maggie, in spite of her Canadian up- 
 bringing, was oppressed by his efficiency. Seeing her 
 shading her eyes with her hand, it was inevitable that 
 he should leap for his field-glasses and adjust them for 
 her. "We shall be in sight of the port under the hour, 
 I reckon," he remarked in his bright, open way. "You 
 can see the Cap de la Hague clearly with the glasses." 
 
 Maggie took them in order not to be uncivil, but she 
 handed them back as quickly as she could and refused 
 to be talkative. How could she be expected to talk, with 
 all she had to think about? Such thoughts! At last 
 she was to see Paris, she, Maggie Carter of Price Street ! 
 She was actually to spend three weeks there, and then 
 to stay for the rest of the season in Bayswater. Bays- 
 water, to her, sounded like the Fifth Avenue of Heaven. 
 Her good fairies were so immoderately rich that it must 
 surely be like that. She dreamt of interminable Bays- 
 water triumphs, and all the fairy-stories and "smart 
 novels" she had read in the parlour behind the paternal 
 grocery store mingled to provide a setting for her future 
 exploits. So fierce was the strength of the stored elec- 
 tricity inside her that she felt the walls of London must 
 surely succumb to her attack, just as the walls of 
 Jericho had fallen flat before the trumpets. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Falkenheim, who held the keys of Bayswater, had 
 succumbed on the second evening out from New York, 
 and if she could conquer them, surely the whole world
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 3 
 
 would soon be at her feet. She had first noticed them 
 in the Bonaventure Station at Montreal, and being 
 impressed by their luggage had contrived to settle her- 
 self in the same part of the train. It had been no diffi- 
 cult matter to get into conversation with Mrs. Falken- 
 heim, and a question about New York, combined with 
 an artless confession of ignorance and a general look of 
 youth and inexperience, had been enough to excite the 
 old woman's interest and to tap the stream of her good 
 nature. All the way to New York she and her husband 
 had laid themselves out to be pleasant to Maggie. She 
 lunched and dined with them, and as the train hurried 
 South along the shores of lovely Lake Champlain and 
 by the side of the Hudson River they pointed out to her 
 all the famous views. They were as eager for her to 
 make the most of her opportunity as she was herself, and 
 were enchanted by her freshness and beauty. 
 
 Maggie very soon discovered that they were sailing for 
 Cherbourg in the Majestic, the liner on which, as luck 
 would have it, she herself had booked her passage. 
 As soon as she got on board ship she made it her 
 business to see that the purser put her at the best table, 
 next to her new friends. By the end of the second day 
 out she had distinctly made progress, and that evening, 
 after dinner, finding herself alone for a moment with 
 Mr. Falkenheim, who was finishing a cigar, she had 
 contrived to slip her little hand into his cold palm, while 
 her eyes brimmed with tears. Then she had talked to 
 him of her dead mother and of her girlhood "out West." 
 She had never been "out West," but her dramatic 
 instinct told her that it sounded better than a descrip- 
 tion of 618 Price Street, Montreal, and the vending of 
 sugar, tea, and Cheddar cheese from a minor grocery 
 store. That was an origin which Mr. Falkenheim would,
 
 4 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 of course, thoroughly understand; but Maggie had 
 observed that for some reason the old man had acquired 
 a romantic love for the open-air adventurous life of the 
 prairies, for backwoods, and pioneers, and such like. 
 Perhaps it was owing to the fact that one of his daughters, 
 recently dead, had been married to a Canadian banker. It 
 was in connection with her affairs that he and his wife 
 had made the voyage out from England. He had been 
 caught by the glamour of the new country. Its vigorous 
 air seemed to blow away from his mind that odour of 
 old clothes which all the perfumes of Araby, applied late 
 in life, had not been able successfully to eradicate. And 
 this wild Canadian creature, so typical with her pale 
 gold hair and china blue eyes, her fair skin and her vivid 
 colouring of the land of her birth, captivated him com- 
 pletely. The result of his admiration, since Israel 
 Falkenheim was sixty-eight, was that he grew senti- 
 mental, in a dangerous, paternal way. His beady black 
 eyes, however, never lost their observant shrewdness, and 
 he was the first to tell himself "there's no fool like an 
 old fool" when he felt her warm young fingers nestling 
 in his hand. 
 
 Mrs. Falkenheim, bless her ! was much more malleable 
 than her husband, and, though equally shrewd, was too 
 fat and lazy to be suspicious. After the death of her 
 last surviving daughter (she had borne two) her heart 
 had kept itself young by innumerable acts of generosity 
 and kindliness. She had contracted a habit of declaring 
 that all the orphans she met were like one or other of 
 her lost dear ones a statement not always well received 
 by blonde and blue-eyed Anglo-Saxons. On learning that 
 Maggie was motherless, she discerned in her a striking 
 resemblance to the lost Leah. 
 
 Maggie would play around Mrs. Falkenheim as a lamb
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 5 
 
 gambols around its mother, pick up her handkerchief, or 
 run back to her cabin to fetch her smelling-salts (which 
 enabled her to study at leisure the inside of a bathroom 
 suite de luxe and to assure herself that the Falkenheims 
 were really and truly rich) . She quickly became as great 
 a favourite with Mrs. Falkenheim as with Israel, and the 
 handsome old woman was at pains tactfully to elicit 
 Maggie's life history. Maggie, for a really voluble liar, had 
 a surprisingly good memory for the essential points, and 
 where one of her stories differed from another the differ- 
 ences, as a rule, could be explained as supplementary 
 facts. The childhood in the far West was described with 
 simple pathos, and being even more ignorant of prairies 
 than Maggie, Mrs. Falkenheim never wondered how she 
 had managed to acquire her sharpened and town-polished 
 brain of the high-school girl, in those uncivilised wilds. 
 Maggie, indeed, in spite of her Colonial drawl (rather 
 pronounced at this stage in her career), was plainly a 
 product of towns to anyone who could observe. She 
 referred to "a little bit of money" having been made and 
 left to her "out West," to the death of her father, and 
 to the voyage she was making to recover from her grief. 
 She intended to stay with some English friends, but her 
 plans were invitingly indefinite. Maggie's heart quailed 
 as she thought of the miserable three thousand dollars 
 of which her "little bit" arising from the sale of the 
 grocery store on her father's death had consisted, and 
 wondered whether what remained would really be enough 
 to last her until she was floated. Her orphanhood and 
 fri endlessness were genuine, however, if her hinted for- 
 tune was not, and poor Mrs. Falkenheim had really no 
 chance. The protecting wing ached to be allowed to 
 protect, and it was with a carefully concealed gasp of 
 relief that Maggie had submitted.
 
 6 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Maggie frequently talked to Mrs. Falkenheim with 
 wide-open and upturned blue eyes about her eagerness to 
 see Paris. This eagerness was quite genuine. At 
 Estelle's, the fashionable couturiere where Maggie had 
 been employed for two years before her father's death, 
 the very name of the city was breathed with a kind of 
 awe. All the rich ladies from Sherbrooke Street and the 
 Mount Royal quarter wanted to be "Parisian." Maggie 
 learnt that there might be advantages, after all, in 
 belonging to the despised race of habitants. At least they 
 could talk French. She made desperate efforts to learn 
 the language of elegance. It seemed ridiculous to live 
 in a city which was three-quarters French and not be 
 able to speak a word of the language ; and she was the 
 only girl at Estelle's who could not talk it more easily 
 than English. She had been employed first as a manne- 
 quin because of her lovely figure; but she had quickly 
 proved her skill as a saleswoman, and had become popular 
 with Madame's clientele so much so that Madame 
 Valloton (the proprietor and manager of the business) 
 had been bitterly disappointed when Maggie decided to 
 leave. "I'm going to Paris, Madame," Maggie had said 
 very decisively; and the old Frenchwoman, in spite of 
 her chagrin at losing so useful and attractive an employee, 
 had not been able to resist sympathy with this natural 
 determination. She gave Maggie an introduction to a 
 friend of hers, a Madame Aicard, who lived at Bois de 
 Colombes, between Argent euil and Asnieres, just outside 
 Paris. "She will soon find you something to do, Miss 
 Carter, if you decide to stay in Paris." Madame Valloton 
 smiled a sphinx-like smile at the blonde Scotch girl a 
 smile which, to Maggie, seemed vaguely sinister, 
 malicious. But she put these thoughts aside, confident 
 in her ability to look after herself and her virtue in the
 
 face of all the Madame Aicards in existence, and gladly 
 accepted the letter of introduction. She would use it, if 
 nothing better presented itself. So much for Paris ; for 
 England she could boast a more or less vague invitation 
 from an old clerical admirer called Adam Henderson. 
 He had married, was become a country vicar, and had 
 started a preparatory school for boys in Dorsetshire. 
 Apart from these two names, she was setting out on her 
 expedition to conquer Europe with nothing but her good 
 looks, her youth, and her six hundred pounds to recom- 
 mend her. But she did not care. She was intoxicated 
 with her ambitions, with the incandescent fire of her de- 
 termination. 
 
 Madame Valloton's establishment had put a good deal 
 of polish on the Price Street grocer's daughter, a fact of 
 which Maggie herself was gratefully aware. By the time 
 she left it she could speak a word or two of French with 
 a tolerable accent, she knew a great deal about clothes, 
 and had made as much use as possible of her opportunities 
 of observing the deportment of the wealthy. The ladies 
 whom she had taken as her models were perhaps not the 
 safest examples to follow, but in relation to Price Street 
 they formed an undoubted upward step. On the day that 
 Maggie was ready to start on her great adventure she was 
 quite able to pass muster, while she was quietly and 
 simply but at the same time perfectly dressed. Her 
 appearance was, in short, so very much "all right" that 
 her drawl and her other Colonial peculiarities were put 
 down by everyone whom she encountered on board ship 
 as the hall-mark of immense riches. Even the Falken- 
 heims accustomed as they were to appraise social values 
 to a nicety were completely deceived. It was Maggie's 
 earliest triumph. 
 
 Mrs. Falkenheim quickly elicited from Maggie the fact
 
 8 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 that she did not know personally the lady whom she pro- 
 posed to visit in Paris, and was extremely perturbed by 
 the discovery. "My dear," she said, "I don't at all like 
 the idea of your going to stay with someone you have 
 never even seen." 
 
 "I know it isn't very satisfactory," Maggie replied 
 plaintively, "but it seemed to be that or nothing, and I 
 didn't see why I should miss Paris just because I hadn't 
 any relations or friends to go with!" 
 
 It was here that Mrs. Falkenheim's motherliness got 
 the better of her. How could she resist offering to fill 
 the place of the missing relatives? She could not. 
 
 "Now I have a splendid suggestion to make. As the 
 lady you propose to visit is, you say, a total stranger 
 to you, and you don't even know yet whether she can 
 take you in, it surely can't matter at all if you don't 
 go to her. Why don't you come with Mr. Falkenheim 
 and me to the 'Capitol?' We are staying there for three 
 weeks or so, and we should be delighted to have you 
 with us. It would be a kindness to two old people who 
 have lost both their children !" 
 
 Maggie beamed her delight at this invitation, though 
 native caution prevented her from making her accept- 
 ance effusive. 'And then, dear," Mrs. Falkenheim con- 
 tinued, "you must come and stay with us in Bayswater 
 for a week or two, just to get a glimpse of the London 
 season. You say your friends live in the country; it 
 would be a great pity for you to spend June in the 
 country. August, yes; when everything is over!" The 
 old woman looked eager as a child as she spoke to Maggie 
 about the excitements of the London summer. "I should 
 like to give a little dance for you, my dear. It makes 
 an interest. With your hair and colouring you ought to 
 be a wonderful success." She sighed portentously.
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 9 
 
 "My little Rebecca, who died when she was thirteen, 
 would just have been coming out this year!" 
 
 Maggie, inwardly thanking her stars that Fate had 
 stifled "little Rebecca" before her own appearance, looked 
 as sympathetic as she could contrive, while her eyes shone 
 with the excitement of anticipation. Life was almost 
 unbearably exciting! She had been invited to stay in 
 one of the most fashionable hotels in the world, an hotel 
 that she had read of in Vogue, in Harper's Bazaar, in 
 Town Topics, and in all the other society papers. And 
 then she was to stay in Bayswater for the London season, 
 and be really introduced to all the nobs not only gape 
 at them from a distance! Her excitement burned her 
 like fire. . 
 
 With Cherbourg drawing nearer every minute, the 
 hard and practical side of Maggie's character became 
 obscured, and an unsuspected capacity for living in the 
 heart of a dream revealed itself. The experience, as the 
 April sunshine grew warmer on her cheek while she 
 waited in her long chair for the ship to carry her to 
 France, linked itself to those other radiant experiences 
 \vhich made milestones in her life. There was a summer 
 in early childhood which she had spent at a fruit farm on 
 the shores of Lake Ontario with an aunt and uncle and 
 young cousins. She remembered the warmth of the sun 
 on her bare skin when she and Loo had run off one day 
 to bathe in the creek. Then there was an afternoon 
 when they had lain on their backs in hammocks under 
 the fruit trees, and dozed in the shade, talking. There 
 was no apparent reason why she should remember that 
 afternoon; nothing had happened; she had just been 
 happy. But whenever she had been happy since it had 
 always come vividly into her mind. Later there was one 
 hectic week of friendship with an English boy called
 
 io M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Jacky Bruce. Five years ago it was, that idyll, and she 
 had only been seventeen and a half then. Jacky was 
 about eighteen, a midshipman a "bit of old Europe" 
 stranded for a week in the great Canadian port. He had 
 "picked her up" on the ferry going to St. Helen's Island, 
 one afternoon, with the swiftness and aplomb character- 
 istic of his profession. She seemed to visualise him as 
 vaulting over five-barred gates, swarming up rope-ladders, 
 seizing her round the waist, and abducting her with as 
 much veneration as if she were the image of a saint. 
 The veneration part of the adventure was as novel as the 
 abduction, and touched some spring inside her which 
 unloosed a flood of inherited longings. Her mother, who 
 had died in giving her birth, had been an actress in an 
 English touring company which had visited Montreal 
 about four-and-twenty years ago. Maggie did not even 
 know her mother's surname, but talking to Jacky Bruce 
 had made her wonder if by some chance she could have 
 been anything like what she imagined his sisters to be 
 that is to say, a perfect lady. She knew perfect ladies 
 were often "bad," and she had once heard grandmother 
 Carter tell a friend that her mother was "a bad lot." 
 There was no photograph of the late Mrs. Andrew Carter 
 in existence, save one which Maggie had discovered in a 
 drawer in which she was supposed not to look. She 
 had annexed this, and for eight years she preserved it 
 without being discovered. As she grew towards woman- 
 hood, the faded picture exercised a fascination over 
 her. The large, plaintive eyes which looked out of the 
 photograph seemed to contain some urgent message, and 
 as she struggled through the mysteries of adolescence 
 the longing to discover what the message was became 
 painful. She knew instinctively that her mother was 
 quite different from her father. She had come from
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 11 
 
 England, from London ; the life she knew best, and loved, 
 was the life they lived over there in England. Almost 
 from the day of her discovery of her mother's portrait 
 Maggie determined to get across to England as soon as 
 she could. It was her first and greatest ambition, and 
 as the years passed it became an idee fixe. 
 
 Her girlhood in Price Street was well fitted for the 
 growth of desires of this kind, for she never learnt to 
 think of anyone but herself, and made no home ties. 
 From an early age she disliked her morose Scotch father 
 and hated the chapel where he preached. Grandmother 
 Carter, with her corkscrew ringlets and wheezy cough, 
 she disliked still more. She had never met anyone to 
 like at all until the advent of Jacky Bruce. Perhaps it 
 was this loveless upbringing which had made her so 
 singularly lacking in moral sensitiveness. Almost from 
 her cradle wrong had existed in her eyes exclusively in 
 discovery. It was perfectly logical that with the in- 
 stallation of the cash register in Price Street her desire 
 to rob the till should have vanished at once. Previously, 
 she had been accustomed, as a matter of course, to annex 
 all the coins she could lay hands on without being found 
 out. If risk of discovery entered into the adventure, her 
 temptations automatically expired. Maggie quickly found 
 out all her father's peculations, and her contempt for 
 religion increased enormously when, at the age of thirteen, 
 she watched him sanding the sugar for the ensuing week, 
 just before setting out to preach in the chapel. -Getting 
 on, acquiring money, cheating people when you got the 
 chance to do so successfully and without loss of kudos, 
 consulting always one's personal advantage these were 
 the aims and objects of life as represented in her Price 
 Street home. On the emotional side, however, Andrew 
 Carter let himself go in his chapel. Sentiment and self-
 
 12 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 importance were stimulated there as if by a kind of 
 emotional dram-drinking, and year after year, by this 
 Sunday dope, he was able to plod with fair contentment 
 through the week. Maggie, being quite insensible to the 
 appeal of her father's religion, and being also her 
 mother's daughter, imbibed the parental selfishness with- 
 out achieving the contentment. Her dissatisfaction, act- 
 ing on her ardent imagination, made her first build dream 
 castles, then work to realise them in solid stone. For 
 all of her that was not dreamer, action, constant and 
 continuous, was a necessity for every conscious moment. 
 She had no scruples in being picked up by Jacky Bruce 
 since she did not know anyone, excepting her father, 
 whose opinion, if outraged on this point, would have 
 mattered to her. And as she had early made herself an 
 expert in her father's movements, she had no fear that he 
 would find her out. Looking back from her seat on the 
 promenade deck of the Majestic, with Cherbourg draw- 
 ing momentarily nearer, the delicious flavour of that early 
 adventure was like the flavour of the sun-warmed sea 
 air. He was like a little fairy prince, bless him! He 
 had treated her with a shy reverence mixed with devilry 
 that was enchanting, and had been content with giving 
 her hot, friendly, boyish kisses. She knew instinctively 
 that he was no more properly "grown up" than she 
 was! And he had not seriously encroached on the one 
 part of her nature about which she was timid and felt 
 insecure. She looked on her virtue as a possession to be 
 carefully guarded until it could be bartered to the highest 
 advantage. What made her nervous was her ignorance 
 of the nature of the attacks, from within herself, against 
 which she would have to guard it. She had never, so 
 far, wanted to yield. Would it be difficult to refuse when 
 the time came? Her extensive knowledge of evil, since
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 13 
 
 it was entirely theoretical, did not help her in the essential 
 point. Sometimes she wished Jacky had been a little 
 more adventurous had revealed just something of the 
 mysteries which she was trying to fathom. Perhaps if he 
 had put a little more ginger into his kisses the dangerous 
 emotions might have fluttered her bosom. They hadn't. 
 She owed many things to Jacky, but not that. 
 
 The American boy whose advances had annoyed her 
 before began to smile at her again, as if intending to 
 renew the conversation. He was a nice enough boy if 
 she had not had a standard of comparison. That was 
 where Jacky Bruce came in; he had given her a taste 
 for the best. Something in his clear blue eyes and well- 
 bathed, firmly knit body, something in his ingenuous 
 honesty and niceness, had spoiled her for inferior youths. 
 In her searches for an equal to Jacky to act as his suc- 
 cessor searches which had gone on with desperation, but 
 without result, during the two years she had spent at 
 Estelle's she had made numbers of men friends. They 
 had taught her something about books and music and pic- 
 tures, and how to use her knife and fork, and the names 
 of wines ; and all of them had confirmed her in the belief 
 acquired at Madame Valloton's that Paris was the 
 promised land. Her mind had blossomed miraculously 
 under the tuition of males whose intentions were, in every 
 case, strictly dishonourable. What Maggie had taught 
 them in return was the ease with which an utterly raw, 
 uneducated girl of the lower-middle classes can bamboozle 
 even intelligent men. She just turned round and trampled 
 on them. It amazed her to see the success which almost 
 invariably attended this operation. As a child she had 
 perceived that a pretty girl has a mysterious advantage 
 over a normally developed man ; and with her to possess 
 any kind of power was to use it remorselessly.
 
 14 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "Well, I conclude you will be in Paris within twelve 
 hours, Miss Carter," Van Bergen remarked imperturb- 
 ably. He was still smiling as if he belonged to some 
 "league of bright faces," pledged to make the world 
 more cheerful. 
 
 Maggie was not quite so crushing now. Within a few 
 moments she would have to rejoin Mr. and Mrs. Falken- 
 heim ; there would be the bustle and confusion of land- 
 ing very shortly. 
 
 She smiled back at him. "Yes, at last ! Thank good- 
 ness!" 
 
 "Jolly to be back again, isn't it?" he agreed. "Where 
 are you staying this time?" 
 
 "This time !" she echoed, with one of those flashes of 
 candour from which liars often get their best effects, 
 "why, I've never been to France before, nor Europe 
 either ! I think it's the 'Capitol' we've taken rooms at." 
 
 "That will be fine," said Van Bergen. "I'm going on 
 to Paris, too, after I've been to London to see my tailor. 
 I've wirelessed for a room at the 'Norfolk/ that's close 
 by the 'Capitol,' you know, in the Place Vendome. The 
 'Capitol' is in the Rue de Rivoli." Van Bergen did not 
 like her to think he wore American clothes except when 
 his English tailor was not available. 
 
 "You must let me come to call one day next week. 
 May I?" 
 
 "Why, yes," said Maggie graciously, scenting invita- 
 tions from this millionaire's son. She always accepted 
 invitations, on the principle that all invitations may lead 
 to something. "I reckon you'll show me round more 
 than what Mr. and Mrs. Falkenheim will!"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 MAGGIE'S first few days in Paris passed as in a dream. 
 Each night, when she laid her head on the soft, frilled 
 pillow in her big bedroom in the "Capitol," excitement 
 struggled with exhaustion. Exhaustion always won, but 
 she would fall asleep with confused images of the day's 
 sights and events chasing one another through her brain. 
 Everything was new, everything a delight, and a thou- 
 sand times she congratulated herself on her initiative in 
 investing her inheritance in thus "seeing life" whatever 
 further payments the future might have in store. The 
 future ah, she would have private houses of her own, 
 still more gorgeous than the "Capitol," and cars and 
 frocks and fabulously expensive soaps; and scents at 
 twenty-five francs a bottle, like those she had seen in the 
 Rue de la Paix and refrained from buying. She always 
 thought of her future just before she fell asleep ; it made 
 her sleep happily. 
 
 Although familiar from her earliest youth with French- 
 speaking people, nothing could have been stranger than 
 Paris to Maggie's raw but keen eyes. The flood of new 
 sensations dazed her ; the concentration of rapturous, new 
 experiences since she was like wax to impressions was 
 almost more than she could assimilate in the time. The 
 people she saw in the streets interested her particularly, 
 and she thought many of them far more magnificent than 
 the buildings. As far as buildings went, they could do 
 you a good line in them away out in Montreal. But she 
 had never seen a rich Canadian look quite so sumptuous 
 as the people she saw in their cars in the Champs Ely sees, 
 
 15
 
 16 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 or lunching at Voisin's or Ledoyen's, or driving in the 
 Bois. To her these elegantes seemed to have reached 
 the summit of human splendour, and as she feverishly 
 sized them up and realised that "stripped she could give 
 any one of them points and a beating," the desire to 
 reach their altitudes and to be attired as they were grew 
 almost insupportable. Her ambitions became clarified 
 and precise. She contrived to forget all about Madame 
 Aicard except for the few moments when the train from 
 Cherbourg was passing the little houses, bowered in 
 chestnut trees, of Bois de Colombes and Mrs. Falken- 
 heim was too tactful to ask her if she wanted to call on 
 her friend. Maggie had no desire for her relations with 
 the excellent Madame Valloton to be discovered; she 
 decided, therefore, to obliterate all thought of the lady 
 to whom she had been recommended. 
 
 In shopping with Mrs. Falkenheim, Maggie contrived, 
 with the aid of her intimate knowledge of the dress- 
 making business, to spend as little as possible with the 
 maximum effect. "I can't afford to be extravagant, 
 you know," she had said confidentially, and the result 
 of this confidence, together with a longing glance at a 
 new model at Doucet's which suited her to perfection, 
 had resulted in the gift of a magnificent ball frock, 
 delivered in due course to her room at the "Capitol." 
 It was characteristic of Maggie that on this happy occa- 
 sion it was on the success of her manoeuvre that she first 
 congratulated herself. Mrs. Falkenheim's generosity 
 occurred to her only as an after-thought. 
 
 So strange had Paris and its inhabitants been to her at 
 first that it was little short of miraculous the speed with 
 which Maggie grew acclimatised, the ease with which 
 the unaccustomed splendours of hotel and restaurant 
 became familiar. Within a day or two the tall houses,
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 17 
 
 the crowded streets and boulevards, the innumerable 
 cafes where people spent hours watching the passers-by, 
 the jostling, cosmopolitan throngs on the pavements, the 
 shops devoted to "horrid" books and pictures, the pretty 
 shop-girls with their powdered faces, the shady chestnut 
 trees, the smart infants with their nurses in the Pare 
 Monceau or the Champs Elysees, and even the mysterious 
 "directions" of the Metro became as natural to her as 
 if she had been born among them. A few days more, 
 and it seemed impossible that she could ever not have 
 known them ; and Mr. Falkenheim himself bowed to her 
 knowledge of the Metro and the autobus routes. A little 
 fire of humour would lurk at the bottom of his dark eyes 
 when he glanced at her, and his wrinkled, Hebraic face 
 would look ten years younger. Her freshness and vivid- 
 ness were a perpetual delight to him, and in watching 
 the glamour reflected in her eyes he recovered some of 
 his own ardent youth. "I can see you think Paris is 
 Heaven, my dear," he once said to her, with a laugh, 
 a few days after their arrival, "and while you think so, it 
 is Heaven for you. Keep your delusions as long as you 
 can," he added wistfully. Maggie went on thinking 
 Paris Heaven for some days longer, and the only thing 
 which made the slighest flaw in her happiness was her 
 realisation of all it had to teach her. She always spotted 
 her mistakes, and spotted Israel spotting them, and to 
 flounder into eating asparagus at Voisin's with a knife 
 and fork and a steel knife too would spoil a whole day 
 for her. She felt more and more that Mr. Falkenheim 
 was a person to reckon with; his acuteness frightened 
 her. Realizing that, since everything depended on his 
 good nature, it would be safer to make up to him than 
 to constitute herself exclusively his wife's friend, she 
 modelled her conduct accordingly. Whenever she was
 
 i8 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 not busy accompanying Mrs. Falkenheim on shopping 
 expeditions and had no appointment with Van Bergen 
 who had called, as he had promised on the steamer he 
 would call, and had displayed every eagerness to "show 
 her around" she made a point of acting the part of 
 dutiful daughter to her benefactor. Israel Falkenheim 
 was one of the world's greatest dealers in all kinds of 
 works of art in pictures, furniture, tapestries, china 
 everything in which art has ever been employed to beau- 
 tify life. He owned a great shop in Bond Street 
 Harland Brothers which he seldom visited; and now 
 in his old age he had nominally retired from active 
 business, merely allowing himself to be consulted as a 
 specialist by favoured clients contemplating colossal 
 transactions, or by students and learned persons anxious 
 to make use of his knowledge. His was not really a 
 business, however, from which it was possible to retire. 
 The things in which he had always dealt were a passion 
 with him ; only death itself could put out the fire of his 
 collector's zeal. 
 
 He tried to awaken in Maggie some appreciation of 
 art, by no means unsuccessfully. Pictures and beautiful 
 things had meant nothing to her hitherto, because she 
 had never seen any, but she realised that they formed 
 part of the background to the great social gathering to 
 which she had invited herself. And when Israel showed 
 her how to look at them, she came to like them for their 
 own sakes. She spent several pleasant mornings with 
 him at the Louvre and at the Luxembourg. At first it 
 embarrassed her to stare at such a picture as Manet's 
 "Olympia" in the company of a man even an old 
 man but, seeing many austere Englishwomen carrying 
 red guide-books and doing the same, she concluded it 
 must be all right. Israel seemed not to notice anything
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 19 
 
 odd ; his interest was all in colour schemes and composi- 
 tion, in the thickness or thinness of the paint, and his 
 delight in the picture was clearly but slightly connected 
 with its subject. Once in the Luxembourg when she 
 had thought it proper to blush, he had looked at her 
 quite fiercely. "The human body is divine, my dear, 
 and it was made before your Paris frocks. You should 
 not let the truth embarrass you ; it is of the bourgeoisie, 
 that!" The sting was in the tail of this remark, and 
 Maggie felt it to be true. Had the old man scented Price 
 Street ? She studied Rodin's "Age d'Airain" attentively, 
 anxious to correct the bad impression. He sent her to 
 the Salon and to the Independents with Mrs. Falkenheim, 
 saying that he was too old for that sort of thing, and that 
 the gravel floor of the Independents hurt his corns, and 
 that the dead mass of vile painting in the Salon gave 
 him neuralgia. When he saw, however, that Maggie's 
 interest in pictures was more than the frivolous surface 
 interest of the average society girl, and that she was 
 eager to learn, he took her with him to see some of the 
 Jewish dealers with whom he had business relations. 
 They set off one morning, in a yellow fiacre with smooth 
 and bulging pneumatic tyres, and a driver who by a 
 miracle was cheerful as cheerful as the brilliant April 
 sunshine to see some Goyas about which he had just 
 heard. Maggie enjoyed the drive through the crowded 
 streets. She was conscious of looking her best, and real- 
 ised that her blonde freshness was admirably set off by 
 the arresting old man by her side, whose grey felt top-hat 
 with its broad black band, and shabby black great-coat, 
 made a foil for her gay plumage. She enjoyed the admir- 
 ing glances that were cast at her with discreet intentness 
 by all the men ; and the disdain combined with curiosity, 
 shown in the women's looks, she innocently took to be the
 
 20 AI ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 compliment of envy. Their cab made its way slowly 
 across the Place de 1'Opera and down the Boulevard des 
 Italiens till it reached the narrow fissure of the Rue Laf- 
 fitte. The great white church crowning the hill of Mont- 
 martre seemed, in the distance, to float in misty golden 
 air, to be immaterial as a vision. The cab continued a 
 little way down the dark street till it stopped at an un- 
 pretentious doorway, and in a moment Maggie found her- 
 self in a long, dimly lighted shop. The walls were lined 
 with books, like a library. A heavy green carpet covered 
 the floor, and in the middle of the shop was a low and 
 broad table with an electric light globe, shaded so as to 
 throw the light only on the table, immediately above it. 
 A large portfolio was open under the light, and two 
 people were bending over it an old man in a black velvet 
 skull-cap and greasy black frock coat, and a younger man 
 whose face Maggie could not see. In all parts of the shop 
 similar bulging portfolios leant against the bookcases, 
 accumulating dust. 
 
 "Bon jour mon vieu.v. Ca va?" said Israel cheer- 
 fully, and the two men shook hands and began, to 
 Maggie's annoyance, to talk rapidly to one another in 
 French. Their conversation enabled her to examine the 
 companion of the dealer in the skull-cap. He returned 
 her gaze with a kind of quizzical interest which nettled 
 her. He had dark hair and a pale, ivory complexion, 
 with a broad forehead lit by humorous grey eyes. His age 
 might have been anything between twenty-five and thirty- 
 five, and to her eyes he looked rather like a Catholic 
 priest or a doctor, those being almost the only examples 
 of the intellectual classes which she had come across. 
 His clothes were very different from Van Bergen's, who 
 always looked exactly like an advertisement for men's 
 costume in Munsey's Magazine; but though shabby they
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 21 
 
 seemed to fit him. Mr. Falkenheim interrupted her in- 
 vestigations by remembering his manners. "But, my 
 dear Jacobs," he said, "let me present you to my friend 
 Miss Carter." 
 
 Mr. Jacobs bent over her hand and muttered his ex- 
 pressions of enchantment. "And this is Mr. Godfrey 
 Levett," Mr. Falkenheim added, with a smile that en- 
 veloped both Maggie and the Englishman. 
 
 "And now you would like to see my Goyas, Israel," 
 said Mr. Jacobs. "They are beautiful, beautiful." 
 
 "And you won't sleep for a week after looking at 
 them," Mr. Levett remarked to Maggie in a confidential 
 undertone which she thought rather forward. Mr. 
 Jacobs hobbled to the dim end of his shop and threw 
 open a door leading into a large annex, lighted from the 
 roof, which was as cheerful as the shop was dark. It 
 was a miniature picture gallery containing about a dozen 
 masterpieces. The roof windows were swathed in folds 
 of white muslin, so that the light fell with perfect even- 
 ness on the canvases. The Goyas which formed the old 
 man's pride were five in number, the finest of them being 
 a variation of the picture "Jeunesse," which is one of 
 the glories of the gallery at Lille. This picture of a 
 dark-eyed Spanish girl with black lace mantilla, covering 
 her black hair and half veiling her voluptuous bosom, 
 stretching out her hand over which bends a hideous 
 gipsy fortune-teller, thrilled Maggie at once. There was 
 an excitement in the stormy background, in the dark blue 
 and grey clouds, the sinister white houses lit up by the 
 disturbing light in the sky, in the passionate glance of 
 the young woman and the cruel gleam in the gipsy's 
 eyes, which made her shiver with emotion. The very 
 violence of the conception appealed to her violent nature. 
 The other smaller pictures did not appeal to her as much
 
 22 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 as the chef d'oeuvre of the collection. There were two 
 portraits of Spanish gentlemen, whose large, bony, and 
 solemn faces displayed a pathetic combination of stu- 
 pidity and high breeding. The artist had been almost 
 gentle with his subjects; perhaps the edge of his mor- 
 dant humour had been blunted by large payments. The 
 remaining two pictures were quite small. One repre- 
 sented a prostitute in prison, sitting up and clasping her 
 knees. Her eyes were shut, her face dead white, her 
 mouth open. 
 
 "I reckon she looks as if she's going to be sick," was 
 Maggie's disgusted comment, "fairly on the bink after 
 a wet night. While as for this one" she pointed to the 
 remaining picture, a rough sketch showing a murderer on 
 a platform raised above the jostling throng of spectators, 
 on the point of being garrotted for his crime. "as for this 
 one, he looks as though his mother ought to have done 
 that for him young!" 
 
 She noticed that Mr. Levett laughed immoderately at 
 this sally, while Israel turned on her that beady, apprais- 
 ing glance which her difficulties with the asparagus had 
 brought down on her. Falkenheim's look made her 
 suspect Mr. Levett's hilarity, so she turned her back 
 on him while the two dealers were discussing technical 
 points, in French, in connection with the pictures and the 
 prices they might be expected to fetch. She was notice- 
 ably cold to Levett when they said good-bye, giving him a 
 curt nod over her shoulder in contrast to her cordial hand- 
 shake with Mr. Jacobs. 
 
 "Nice young man, that," Mr. Falkenheim remarked 
 absently as they drove off to pick up Mrs. Falkenheim 
 for luncheon. "He has talent, too. I dare say we shall 
 see something of him in London. There is one of his 
 plays on now at the 'First Avenue,' and I believe it is a
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 23 
 
 success. . . . He knows a good deal about pictures 
 for an amateur." 
 
 "I thought he seemed rather shabby and dull," 
 Baggie remarked loftily. 
 
 "Ah, my dear," chuckled Mr. Falkenheim, "artists 
 nearly always are both those things, if they have talent. 
 It's only the artistic who look important and cut a dash 
 in drawing-rooms. . . ." 
 
 "No, I shouldn't think he'd cut a dash in drawing- 
 rooms," said Maggie. "Most ladies want something more 
 on the spot than that." Mr. Falkenheim rested his hand 
 on hers and smiled at her his curious smile, which always 
 made her feel "discovered." She was glad to change 
 the conversation on to securer ground. 
 
 That afternoon she had arranged to go motoring with 
 Harry Van Bergen, and she was able to begin some useful 
 exercises in comparison. Van Bergen was essentially a 
 man to "cut a dash in drawing-rooms." She divined his 
 technique, and as she saw more of him and found that 
 his perpetual smile of impersonal cheerfulness never 
 grew warmer or more intimate, she suspected its cause. 
 It wasn't just amiability, admiration it was a consum- 
 mate social mask. There were occasions when she came 
 up against a wall of tact. He avoided meeting the 
 Falkenheims, for instance, as far as he could do so 
 without giving offence. She wondered if this were 
 because they were Jews. She remembered having heard 
 that Jews were not admitted into "society." On the 
 other hand, she had always been brought up to believe 
 that the rich were the lords of the earth, and she was 
 convinced that the Falkenheims would be considered 
 rich, even in America. Van Bergen seemed full of these 
 tactfully concealed social reservations, and she even 
 suspected him of exercising them in regard to herself
 
 24 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 and his numerous other English and American friends 
 in Paris. Had Van Bergen cared, he could have intro- 
 duced her to all sorts of amusing people, but the oppor- 
 tunities seemed always to be avoided. Once, however, 
 when they were lunching at a restaurant at Versailles, his 
 manoeuvring had not been able to prevent an encounter, 
 and Maggie had been conscious of a feeling of irritation 
 behind the all-enveloping, ever-present smile of her com- 
 panion. The friends to whom Van Bergen found himself 
 forced to introduce her were two English women called 
 Elkington a mother and daughter. They impressed her 
 at once as being "the real thing," and her instinct, in 
 this case, was by no means at fault. Rachel Elkington 
 was quite a different type from any with which she was 
 familiar. She had never before seen an obviously plain 
 English woman who took the trouble to be exquisitely 
 dressed. And Miss Elkington combined with her look of 
 distinction an absence of desire to attract notice which 
 filled Maggie with envious reflection. Mrs. Elkington, 
 with her white hair, fat face, and dry, disturbing laughter, 
 if not so agreeable, contrived to look equally distinguished. 
 The small grey eyes, that peered occasionally through 
 lorgnettes, looked as shrewd as old Falkenheim's and 
 even more satirical. Maggie fancied herself being cor- 
 rectly derived from Price Street, when they rested on 
 her as Van Bergen made the introduction. 
 
 There was an intangible something in the way Van 
 Bergen presented her to his friends which made Maggie's 
 blood boil, and she determined that from that day on- 
 wards she would see no more of him. Her anger made 
 her trebly anxious to go down well with the Elkingtons, 
 and she exerted herself to the utmost. From the charm- 
 ing way in which they both shook hands with her she 
 assimilated their manner immediately, and could repro-
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 25 
 
 duce it to perfection a few hours later she realised at 
 once that she had come upon an educational opportunity. 
 
 The conversation began rather tamely about the 
 beauties of the Palace and of the weather. 
 
 "There's such an ugly cathedral ; have you been inside 
 it?" Mrs. Elkington remarked. "But I'm sure you 
 haven't. You spent all your time at the Trianons, didn't 
 you? So charming, I always think, especially the Petit 
 Trianon." 
 
 Mrs. Elkington poured out conversation to casual 
 strangers like tepid water from a jug. She belonged to 
 the school which holds that it doesn't matter what you 
 say, so long as you say enough of it. Miss Elkington was 
 more inclined to mind her "p's" and "q's'," and her 
 intense interest in the things about her made her more 
 anxious to avoid platitudes. All the ardour of her nature, 
 inexperienced in love or child-bearing, had been poured 
 into artistic appreciations; and what people were apt to 
 describe with a sneer as her "refinement" was the most 
 genuine thing about her. 
 
 "I adore Versailles," she remarked, smiling at Maggie, 
 a little flush of enthusiasm making her face quite hand- 
 some. "I think that view from the terrace looking 
 across the fountains down to the lake, between the two 
 woods must be one of the loveliest effects in landscape 
 gardening in the whole world. It is certainly finer than 
 anything at Fontainebleau or St. Germain. Have you 
 read Henri de Regnier's book, 'La Cite des Eaux'?" she 
 asked. Miss Elkington blushed prettily as if caught in 
 a display of erudition, when she noticed Maggie's rather 
 strained smile and shake of the head. She was one of 
 these gentle souls who, when they make tactless remarks, 
 suffer more acutely than their victims. 
 
 "I can hardly read a word of French," Maggie re-
 
 26 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 plied, "though I talk it fairly well. I ought really to 
 know French perfectly, seeing that I am a French-Cana- 
 dian !" This flash of inspiration had come to her in her 
 rage at noticing a flicker of annoyance which had crossed 
 Van Bergen's face. How she cursed herself now for 
 having let him kiss her on the boat, the day Mrs. Falken- 
 heim had told her he was the son of millionaire Van Ber- 
 gen, of the Great Southern Railroad ! 
 
 "My name is really Cartier, you know," she added, 
 turning towards him. "I can't imagine why poppa 
 dropped the T I suppose for convenience but I always 
 spell it in the old way myself." 
 
 Maggie noticed with delight that this went down 
 splendidly with the Elkingtons. They seemed to think 
 it "awfully interesting" to be a French- Canadian. Van 
 Bergen's smile once more played on unimpaired. Not a 
 flicker of an eyelid showed if he remembered the pioneer 
 who gives his name to one of the largest squares in Mon- 
 treal. She found her irritation with him in the highest 
 degree stimulating. It occurred to her to contrive, be- 
 fore Van Bergen knew where he was, to make him offer 
 to drive the Elkingtons back to Paris. While the big 
 touring car hurried them smoothly back to their hotel, 
 Maggie talked to the mother and daughter almost exclu- 
 sively. She felt herself conveying a successful snub to 
 Van Bergen. She would let him see that a Canadian 
 girl was not to be treated "like that" in the presence of 
 people like the Elkingtons just because she had once let 
 him kiss her. She reflected on the dangers attending too 
 rapid embraces, and registered a vow that her kisses 
 should be much more expensive in future. She wasn't 
 going to cheapen herself any more to rats like Van Ber- 
 gen! 
 
 "Here we are! It has been jolly," Miss Elkington
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 27 
 
 remarked, as the car drew up at their modest hotel in the 
 fJtoile district. She smiled charmingly at Maggie. "We 
 must meet again," she said. "Do look us up one after- 
 noon. We are here for another fortnight before we go 
 back to London !" She turned to Van Bergen and joined 
 her thanks to her mother's for his amiability in bringing 
 them back in his car, but not before Van Bergen had 
 overheard her farewell to Maggie. His mask-like smile, 
 however, successfully concealed his feelings, and when 
 he dropped Maggie at the "Capitol" in time for dinner 
 she got, as she expressed it, "no change" out of him for 
 her curt dismissal. He went on smiling, merry and bright, 
 a live proposition, alert and efficient as the hero of a 
 story in a smart American magazine. Maggie felt once 
 more that she had bumped her head against finesse. It 
 wasn't all plain sailing, this social stunt. A lovely girl 
 didn't just have to show herself to create a "iu.-ror," as 
 she had always imagined. There were a thousand things 
 to learn. She would evidently have to use her brains 
 as well as her beauty. She could not understand how it 
 was that Van Bergen did not lay himself at her feet to 
 be trampled on. She had always understood that men 
 were just animals where women were concerned that a 
 pretty woman could do what she liked with a man, whose 
 raging passions made him a mere puppet in her hands. 
 She had met men who would have given her anything 
 they possessed for a kiss. She had let Van Bergen hold 
 her in his arms in a secluded corner on the boat and kiss 
 her very prettily on the day she heard about his millions 
 but he hadn't seemed specially unnerved by any raging 
 passions. There was too much of the perfect little gen- 
 tleman about him to please her! She went up to her 
 room meditating a revenge which should be complete and 
 ghastly.
 
 28 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 After dinner that night, sitting in the palm court of 
 the "Capitol" with Mr. and Mrs. Falkenheim, she sprang 
 on them the interesting announcement of her Gallic origin 
 which had been such a success with the Elkingtons. She 
 felt the warm black eye of Israel turned on her in a glance 
 of mingled humour, admiration, and malice as she naively 
 explained her intention of reverting to "the old spelling." 
 Mrs. Falkenheim said, in her motherly way, that she 
 thought it was "very nice" and that she would have to 
 remember it in future in making introductions. Israel 
 said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked, as though 
 it had no reference to her revelation: "I once had an 
 old friend called Solomon. One day he discovered that 
 his father had made a mistake about their name. It 
 wasn't Solomon at all: it was Sheridan-Villiers. So he 
 had to go off to get some new calling cards printed, he, 
 he, he!" He leant across and patted Maggie's hand 
 with a gesture which made her bubble with annoyance. 
 
 "My name really is Cartier," she replied, haughtily, 
 and since she was not to be thwarted by ridicule, Cartier 
 it remained. 
 
 As the days slipped by towards the date fixed for their 
 removal from Paris to London, Maggie worked very hard 
 to consolidate her position with Mrs. Falkenheim, but 
 always she felt Israel's mocking black eye upon her. Did 
 he suspect that she was no heiress, but only a little Scotch 
 grocer's daughter? Had someone told him about the 
 Price Street shop? She had always heard that Jews 
 were consumed with suspicion and no more to be trusted 
 with private letters than she was, and that they had 
 "wonderful ways of finding out." But how could he 
 have found out except by guessing, unless perhaps she 
 had betrayed herself out of her own mouth? It was true 
 he was always asking her little tactful questions about
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 29 
 
 her childhood or about her investments, which taxed her 
 powers of lying to the utmost. The vague sense of 
 insecurity which Israel aroused in her mind made her 
 indefatigable in regard to the Elkingtons. She had never 
 been liked by the other girls in Montreal, whom she 
 thought of as being, without exception, "jealous cats," 
 but Rachel Elkington seemed to have taken a real fancy 
 to her. Curiously enough, Maggie discovered that Le- 
 vett, the playwright, whom Mr. Falkenheim had intro- 
 duced to her at the picture shop, was a great friend of 
 the Elkingtons, and she met him once or twice at their 
 hotel. 
 
 Maggie was sharp enough to see how much she might 
 profitably learn from this gentle, cultivated woman with 
 her unfaltering instinct for clothes ; and by adopting an 
 attitude of innocence and ignorance and willingness to 
 have "her mind broadened," she struck a chord which 
 vibrated sympathetically in Rachel Elkington's bosom. 
 Rachel Elkington was typical of the nice Englishwoman 
 nearing thirty who does not anticipate being asked in 
 marriage. Her unsatisfied but unadmitted hunger for 
 the commonplace experiences of her sex had given her a 
 special type of intellectual ardour. She longed to show 
 other women how much there was in the world which they 
 didn't realise, to make their outlook less narrow and do- 
 mestic, to lead them to the magic casements of culture. 
 It had not yet been borne in on her that these casements 
 open on the foam of perilous seas; the perils, for her, 
 were yet to come, and her eagerness was untroubled. It 
 gave her keen pleasure to talk to Maggie about books and 
 pictures and the beautiful things of life ; about the won- 
 ders of Italy and of Spain; about music, dancing, and 
 the play. She took Maggie with her to the Opera Comi- 
 que to hear Pellcas et Melisande, explaining the story so
 
 30 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 that sKe could follow the intention of the music, and lent 
 her novels and books of poetry. Maggie's crude and 
 sometimes vapid comments sounded like a delicious Co- 
 lonial naivete to Miss Elkington's ultra- refined ear. She 
 visualised Maggie as some beautiful wild flower ; even her 
 odd Canadian drawl seemed to her delightful in its fresh- 
 ness. When Maggie announced in accents of quiet pride 
 that she was going to spend the rest of the summer in 
 Bayswater, Rachel was genuinely pleased at the thought 
 of renewing so stimulating an acquaintance. "How lucky," 
 she replied, adding with a faint blush, "we really live 
 almost in Bayswater too. Our house is in Hyde Park 
 Street, number 218. You must be sure to write to me 
 when you reach London, and let us see something of 
 you." Maggie promised gladly that she would write. She 
 was rather abashed, however, to note that the word 
 Bayswater did not seem to have quite the magic which 
 she had anticipated. 
 
 "By the way, Miss Cartier," Rachel went on, "I have 
 so often wondered what your Christian name is, I am 
 sure you must have a pretty name, you are so lovely !" 
 Miss Elkington blushed again when she said "you are 
 so lovely," as though she had caught herself being in- 
 advertently emotional. 
 
 "My own name is Rachel," she added, before Maggie 
 could reply. "Do call me by it ! It is so much less formal 
 than Miss Elkington!" 
 
 Maggie paused for a moment, in some embarrassment. 
 She had long thought her name anything but high class, 
 and did not at all relish the notion of owning up to 
 Maggie. Hastily casting about in her mind for a sub- 
 stitute, she remembered the name of the heroine of a 
 smart "society" novel which Mrs. Falkenheim had re- 
 cently lent her Margot de Montmorency. Margot!
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 31 
 
 That would do splendidly; it had chic, it was Parisian! 
 The Margot in the novel had been a daughter of one 
 of the smartest families of the French nobility, so that 
 it must be all right. Rachel glanced at her with an en- 
 couraging smile when she hesitated. 
 
 "I was baptized Margaret," she said at last, "but 
 everyone at home always called me Margot. You see," 
 she added, "we are really of French extraction." 
 
 "Yes, I remember you told me so at Versailles. T 
 should love to have some French blood in my veins," 
 said Rachel with enthusiasm. "I must call you Margot 
 too, may I?" Maggie assured her that she might. She 
 was overjoyed at her happy inspiration, and enchanted 
 with the new name she had given herself. This renam- 
 ing seemed to have a fateful significance to mark defi- 
 nitely a fresh stage in her career. The life and adven- 
 tures of Miss Margot Cartier ah, they would make 
 a very different story from that of Maggie Carter's 
 squalid upward struggles!
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AFTER the departure of the Elkingtons, Paris seemed 
 to Margot to become suddenly very much duller. She 
 missed Rachel, and grew impatient to follow her new 
 friend to London and to start out on the great campaign 
 to which she had so long looked forward. One of the 
 results of her friendship with the Elkingtons had been 
 a subtle change which she had noticed in Van Bergen's 
 manner toward her. She/ thought now that she detected 
 in him less hesitation, the absence of a display of tact 
 designed to conceal a consciousness of social difference, 
 even a certain amorous warmth. The more he showed a 
 "coming-on" disposition, however, the more she snubbed 
 him, until at last he too left Paris. She hoped he left 
 it suitably mortified. In any case, before he went with 
 characteristic neatness he sent her a bouquet of roses 
 to her room, with a note expressing his thanks for the 
 jolly time she had given him and the hope that they 
 might meet again in London or New York. The note 
 seemed to her to be the symbol of victory, and her self- 
 confidence increased in consequence. The sting of old 
 blunders was wiped out when she saw the roses which 
 made her bedroom fragrant. The mistakes of the past 
 three weeks had indeed been innumerable, but she had 
 known how to profit by almost all of them. 
 
 On the night before her departure for London, as 
 Mrs. Falkenheim's maid was brushing out her pale gold 
 hair for her, while she was making her toilette before 
 dinner, she looked at herself earnestly in the glass and 
 took stock of her position. She reviewed the events of 
 
 32
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 33 
 
 the past month. What a thrilling, wonderful month it 
 had been! Half a lifetime seemed to have been com- 
 pressed into it. As she gazed at her own reflection, she 
 could not but admit that never in her life before had 
 she looked so lovely. The fire in her china-blue eyes 
 seemed to vivify and brighten her whole being. "Well, 
 so far so good!" she thought, with a thrill of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 Although she hardly realised it, she had indeed picked 
 up far more in the last few hectic weeks than many girls 
 ever learn in a year of genteel "finishing" at Neuilly. 
 What years it seemed since she had left Canada. It was 
 only thirty-five days! She had crossed a great gulf 
 during that time, over which there could never be any 
 returning. She could only go forward, and go forward 
 she would or perish in the attempt. 
 
 Godfrey Levett joined them at dinner, but went al- 
 most immediately afterwards, so that she did not get 
 much chance of talking to him beyond making a few 
 commonplace remarks about the Elkingtons. He looked, 
 however, as if he would have liked an opportunity of 
 chatting with her alone. His expression was curiously 
 demure, and she thought he seemed at moments faintly 
 embarrassed. But somewhere in his eyes there lurked a 
 mingled look of mockery and shrewdness, which made 
 her keep on wondering what he thought of her. She 
 rather wished she had not snubbed him so severely that 
 day in the Rue Laffitte. 
 
 When Levett had gone, Mrs. Falkenheim retired to 
 bed, pleading a headache and the fatigues of the jour- 
 ney on the coming day. Mr. Falkenheim took Margot 
 with him to listen to the band in the palm court of the 
 hotel, and they sat and drank their coffee in cane arm- 
 chairs, with a round, glass-topped table between them.
 
 34 M ARGOT'S 'PROGRESS 
 
 They were well placed to observe the cosmopolitan crowd 
 of guests. Margot hated to be anywhere where she 
 could not "watch the people." It was the continuous 
 and absorbing occupation of her waking hours. 
 
 Israel smoked his cigar in comfortable contemplation 
 and watched her. 
 
 "Well, Miss Carter," he said at last, "so you will 
 open in London to-morrow!" 
 
 "You talk as if I was an actress," she remarked, 
 not quite concealing her irritation. 
 
 "Oh, no, my dear, not an actress. .... 
 
 "An adventuress then!" 
 
 Israel smiled. "We all have our little adventures. 
 My life has been full of them. And you, Miss Carter, I 
 think you will have your adventures, too !" 
 
 Margot was undecided for a moment whether to be 
 haughty or frank. Distrust of her ability to carry things 
 off with a consistently high hand eventually decided her 
 to be frank. The atmosphere of suspense was getting 
 on her nerves. If she made a clean breast of it she felt 
 certain of getting him on her side. 
 
 "Of course, I want to get on," she remarked, smiling 
 at him. 
 
 "To marry?" 
 
 "No, not just to marry. To marry rather .... 
 rather importantly!" 
 
 "That should be easy enough for you. You are indeed 
 lovely : and men are still men. It is all the better, also, 
 that you have money of your own. My wife and I will 
 find you a crowd of 'important' husbands. You shall 
 take your choice. If you want a lord, why it is easy if 
 your fortune is sufficient!" He patted her hand af- 
 fectionately. 
 
 "My fortune is sufficient to keep me alive for nearly
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 35 
 
 one year if I'm careful," she remarked, quietly. "So 
 now you know. I never said 1 was an heiress, did I? 
 I've got somewhere about 500!" Having burnt her 
 boats by blurting out the truth, Margot suffered an 
 agony of suspense. The old man's jaw dropped, and 
 he turned on her a prolonged stare. "Oh, what a fool 
 I am," she thought, "I've gone and ruined everything! 
 He'll offer me a job as his wife's companion or as gov- 
 erness to somebody's children. But I won't be a com- 
 panion I won't I won't !" 
 
 Her lips pressed themselves more closely together as 
 if to hold in a torrent of words, while her eyes searched 
 in the silence the wrinkled face in front of her, from 
 which the two little eyes shone like black beads. She 
 knew instinctively that she had cheapened herself with 
 him. She realised that he would regard her acceptance 
 of his wife's present of a ball frock and of their hospi- 
 tality as dishonest, now that she had told him how much 
 she really needed them. How absurd and unreasonable 
 he was! If she had been a rich girl all these things 
 would have been wasted on her. 
 
 "You are a plucky little soul, and no mistake," the 
 old man eventually remarked. "I'll keep your secret 
 for a time at all events. You shan't have to break into 
 your nest-egg for another six months, I promise you 
 that. After then, we'll see." 
 
 The singular insolence of his tone that racial inso- 
 lence behind which the Jew too often conceals his nat- 
 ural kindliness stung her like a whip and blinded her 
 to the real generosity of what he was saying. She felt 
 inclined to get up and call him a blamed "Sheeny," any 
 way, who ought to be proud that a Christian girl should 
 condescend to stay with him in his rotten house. His 
 sudden lack of respect for her, just because he had
 
 36 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 heard she was only "worth" ^500, was exasperating. 
 She felt inclined to tweak his nose and tell him she 
 wasn't going to be sneered at by any "Ikey Mo," just as 
 if she were a suit of old clothes he was trying to cheap- 
 en ! All her lurid vocabulary of gutter invective rose to 
 her lips, but got no further. She saw too clearly on which 
 side her bread was buttered, for that. With heav- 
 ing bosom and eyes lit up with the violence of her re- 
 pressed emotions, she thanked him demurely. "You're 
 very kind, Mr. Falkenheim," she said. "It's real good 
 of you and Mrs. Falkenheim to give me a helping hand. 
 My only other friends in England live quietly in the 
 country in Dorsetshire, and wouldn't have been able 
 to give me such a fine start. I shall always be grate- 
 ful." 
 
 "Oh, you're worth backing all right," said Israel, with 
 an admiration that was become familiarity. "And you 
 will be able to patronise the old man yet, or I'm a Dutch- 
 man ! But don't you say anything about all this to Mrs. 
 Falkenheim. You shall stay with us till the end of 
 November. Then we'll see! A bargain's a bargain, 
 mind," he reminded her, as they went up in the lift to 
 their rooms. "I don't promise anything beyond six 
 months !" 
 
 "Six months," she muttered to herself after she had 
 got into bed. "I'll make the pair of them ashamed of 
 their damned bargains within six weeks." 
 
 She fell asleep dreaming of London the mighty, Lon- 
 don the hub of the whole world, the earthly paradise, 
 the city of the powerful and the rich. 
 
 ,
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IT had always been a habit with Margot, for as long 
 as she could remember, to spend half an hour before 
 getting up in the morning in pretending that she was a 
 princess with an elegant maid waiting to conduct her 
 to a perfumed bath. Afterward the maid would help 
 her on with her silk stockings and her luxurious clothes, 
 and when dressed she would descend the marble stair- 
 case and "sail" into the waiting car for a little exercise 
 before luncheon. Lying thoroughly warm in her nar- 
 row iron bedstead in her ugly little room in Price Street, 
 with her face buried under the bedclothes, which shut 
 out the dismal surroundings of reality, she could fancy 
 herself "almost anybody," Oh, those half-hours of 
 warmth and drowsy happiness! She would deliberately 
 prepare for them by setting her alarm clock half an 
 hour earlier than necessary, so that she could lie in bed 
 without having to get up too soon and revel in her day- 
 dreams. But however long she gave herself, her enjoy- 
 ment was always eventually terminated by the raucous 
 voice of Andrew Carter calling out, "Now, Maggie, you 
 lazy slut. Ain't you going to get the breakfast? It's 
 gone half-past seven!" Then there followed horrid mo- 
 ments with the tin basin and water- jug, which stood on 
 the "dot and carry" washstand, underneath the picture 
 of Sir Wilfrid Laurier attached to the wall by tin-tacks 
 ablutions in no way resembling the dreamed-o per- 
 fumed bath. After the hasty washing came the still 
 hastier pulling on of stockings with holes in them, a 
 "doing" of the hair admitted to be temporary, and the 
 
 37
 
 38 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 bundling on of skirt and blouse, followed by a dash 
 below to the kitchen behind the shop, to fry bacon and 
 make tea for her detested parent. Mr. Carter was 
 never able to sympathise with his daughter's patent 
 discontent. He attributed it correctly enough, as it 
 happened to the fact that she was "just like her mother 
 over again." 
 
 When Margot first woke up in her bedroom at the 
 "Capitol," it seemed as though the most extravagant 
 day-dreams of her girlhood had been realised. She no 
 longer had to bury herself under coarse and scratchy 
 bedclothes and "pretend" ; she had but to open her eyes 
 and look around her. By her side was a bell which she 
 had only to touch to summon a servant who would get 
 her anything she asked for ; and when her bath had been 
 prepared she would only have to drop into it some of the 
 sels de bain she had bought at Houbigants' for it to be 
 perfumed as exquisitely as the most fastidious princess 
 could desire. She found difficulty in imagining greater 
 luxury than this. Rich as she knew the Falkenheims 
 to be, it did not occur to her that their house would hold 
 any surprises. And Rachel Elkington had somehow tak- 
 en the bloom even off Bayswater. Margot began to have 
 vague suspicions about Bayswater. 
 
 In so far as her doubts concerned the comfort of 
 the house in Richbourne Terrace, the first few minutes 
 following her arrival set them completely at rest, for her 
 acute instinct showed her at once the difference between 
 its quiet splendours and the rather gaudy sumptuousness 
 of the hotel. By the time she reached the house she 
 had been prepared for splendours. Never would she 
 forget her first fleeting vision of London as the train 
 crossed the bridge into Charing Cross. It was indeed 
 an unforgettable view, with the Houses of Parliament,
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 39 
 
 the Cecil and Savoy Hotels, and a whole line of unknown, 
 splendid buildings rising proudly from the barge-strewn 
 river, in the wonderful May sunshine! The Falken- 
 heims' big, smooth- running car met them at the station ; 
 a liveried footman busied himself with their luggage, 
 and in a few moments they were being whirled through 
 the strange, exciting London streets. Margot never for- 
 got her first arrival at the house in Richbourne Terrace. 
 One of the real English butlers of whom she had read 
 in so many paper-covered novels opened the door for 
 them, ushering them into a great hall paved with black 
 and white marble, covered here and there by rugs. From 
 the middle of this hall a broad marble staircase, with a 
 kind of wrought steel baluster, led magnificently up to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 When Margot saw the room on the second floor which 
 was to be her bedroom during her visit, she uttered a 
 little "Oh !" of delight, and longed for the moment when 
 she could be alone in it. 
 
 They had crossed from Boulogne by the morning boat, 
 so that after some tea in a small sitting-room, which 
 Mrs. Falkenheim called the boudoir, Maggie w r as invited 
 to go upstairs and have a bath and "lie down" in her 
 room before it was time to dress for dinner. 
 
 Such a bath it was; all of silver and white enamel, 
 with taps that shot water at you from directions whence 
 you least expected it ! 
 
 After the bath she felt much too refreshed and excited 
 to "lie down," but shut and locked the door on herself 
 with the instinct of the cat which hates being observed 
 when lapping up its milk and silently wallowed in the 
 enchantment of her room. It was too lovely ! The bed 
 was broad and very low, of black lacquer, incrusted with 
 gleaming mother-of-pearl. A bedspread of rose satin lay
 
 40 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 over it, and the lace-edged sheet of snowy lawn was part- 
 ly turned back, disclosing a large, frilled pillow. All the 
 rest of the furniture was in the same black lacquer; the 
 walls of the room were covered with plain panelling, 
 enamelled white; the thick pile carpet was of a mellow 
 shade of vieux-rose. The outer window curtains were of 
 black silk lightened by curious splashes of rose, the inner 
 ones of the filmiest white muslin. On the chimney-piece 
 stood a black Louis Quatorze clock, surmounted by a 
 bronze group of gods and goddesses disporting on a cloud. 
 The pendulum was a brass sun with rays, suggesting the 
 glory of le roi soleil, and the dial of the clock had been 
 adorned with painted amorets. The faint, mellow sound 
 of its ticking after the jarring click-click of the cheap 
 alarum clock she had been used to in her childhood was 
 like sweet music to Margot. It made her feel a princess 
 at last, just as every step she took on the carpet reminded 
 her, by its contrast with the worn and chilly oil- 
 cloth in her room at Price Street, of the success she had 
 achieved already. 
 
 By one side of her bed, standing on the little round 
 lacquer table, was a wooden case holding a row of new 
 novels. Just above her head, when she was lying in bed, 
 was arranged an electric lamp with a heavy rose shade. 
 The switch was fixed at the side of the bed so that she 
 could turn it on or off with the minimum of effort. In 
 another part of the room stood a bookcase full of volumes 
 bound in red leather, exquisitely tooled and adorned on 
 either side with a coronet surmounting an initial. The 
 edges of the books were heavily gilded, and their mo- 
 rocco bindings smelt oddly sumptuous. Margot was a 
 little disappointed on opening them to find they were in 
 French, but her disappointment was mitigated by the dis- 
 covery that they were all illustrated with engravings of
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 41 
 
 beautifully attired French marquises being made love to 
 by elegant gentlemen on bended knee ; of gods dallying in 
 a shameless manner with naked goddesses in a world of 
 rose-leaves and dim arbours; or of shepherds and shep- 
 herdesses neglecting to look after flocks of unreal sheep. 
 One of the pictures a girl yielding to an importunate 
 lover was entitled "Au mains, soyez discret." Margot 
 liked the pictures of the marquises best, and studied with 
 attention the elaborate details of their frocks, which look- 
 ed as if they must be more extravagant than anything she 
 had seen in Paris, at Premet or Paquin or Cheruit. 
 
 The room was certainly one to wake up in! Margot 
 imagined how the maid would come in, in the morning, 
 and draw aside the black silk curtains without making a 
 sound, letting in a shaft of morning sunlight. Then the 
 little tray with the early tea on it would be put down on 
 the table by the side of the novels! Her reverie was 
 broken into by the discreet knock of Mrs. Falkenheim's 
 maid, Marie, who had come to help her dress for dinner. 
 
 Dinner on that wonderful first evening in the big 
 Bayswater house was an event which, like her first vision 
 of London, was to remain engraved on Margot's memory. 
 Nothing that was to come later ever blotted out that 
 thrill of having arrived, of being in the great and dream- 
 ed-of world. The butler and footman who waited on 
 them were ever so much more splendid than the waiters 
 in the Paris restaurants, and even Mr. and Mrs. Falken- 
 heim seemed quite different and more imposing against a 
 background of their own dark-panelled dining-room. 
 
 After dinner Mrs. Falkenheim and Margot went and 
 sat in the great drawing-room on the first floor. 
 
 "I don't suppose you'll want to do anything very 
 exciting to-night," said Mrs. Falkenheim in her fat voice. 
 "I daresay you'll be quite willing to go to bed early, like
 
 42 
 
 me. I always go to bed at ten when I'm at home and 
 we haven't got people in the house. I like plenty of 
 rest!" Mrs. Falkenheim settled herself in her usual 
 armchair by the window and took up her embroidery, 
 prepared for Margot to carry on a gentle conversation. 
 Israel came upstairs when the coffee was brought in, 
 and the three of them relapsed for a while into a digestive 
 silence, occupied with their own thoughts. 
 
 The evening breeze wafted into the room the peculiar 
 odour of geraniums, from the big window-boxes which 
 made all the outside of the house resplendent. And it 
 brought with it also the sound of dance music from one 
 or two of the houses in the terrace faint, but disturbing 
 in its appeal. Margot was passionately fond of dancrhg, 
 and the sound thrilled her with a longing to begin her 
 campaign without wasting a moment. 
 
 "That's Solly Abraham giving a dance for his Rebecca, 
 I expect," said Mrs. Falkenheim, when the music became 
 for a moment more distinct. 
 
 Mrs. Falkenheim relapsed once more into silence. She 
 was a woman of immense silences. She would sit for 
 hours awake, pleasantly ruminating on mysterious 
 subjects. No one ever knew what it was she thought 
 about during her hours of armchair meditation When 
 anything happened to prod her into speech she would go 
 jogging along quite cheerfully. Solly's dance came back 
 into her head after a prolonged pause and set her going. 
 It reminded her of her own dead offspring and thus of 
 the maternal activities which Margot's presence would 
 make necessary. "We could have gone to Solly's dance, 
 my dear, but I thought you would be too tired after your 
 journey! I must talk to some friends on the telephone 
 in the morning and see what we can arrange; and, of 
 course, we must give a dance for you here. I must look
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 43 
 
 at the newspapers to find a good day. Unfortunately, 
 June is always crowded. One has to send out cards 
 quite a month in advance." 
 
 Margot's interest in the dance in the house near by 
 waned when she discovered that it was being given by 
 one of her host's co-religionists, and her heart sank with 
 the sudden fear that the Falkenheims might not know 
 any Christians. 
 
 "I suppose you have heaps of society friends, Mrs. 
 Falkenheim," she said in a wistful and demure tone 
 which even Mrs. Falkenheim, who could be shrewd 
 enough when she took the trouble, could see was intend- 
 ed to draw her out. 
 
 "Oh, not friends, my dear. Most of my friends are 
 people like ourselves. We all live round about here, you 
 know. I have friends in almost every house in Rich- 
 bourne Terrace. And we aren't society people at all. 
 Just quiet folk. Of course, we do know the other sort 
 as well, and you shall have your good time, I promise 
 you that. Israel was doing society about eight years ago 
 in connection with some companies he was interested in 
 weren't you, dear?" she said, turning to her husband, 
 "and we've still just kept in with it all." 
 
 "That was when I was opening the Connaught Gallery 
 in Bond Street, with the Largilliere Exhibition," said 
 Israel. "I must say it cost me a lotta money, a great 
 lotta money. And it wasn't worth it. I could have 
 floated my Largillieres just as well by having the 
 journalists to dinner here and giving 'em a good cigar 
 and as much champagne as they could carry ! That 
 would have been every bit as effective." 
 
 "What on earth is a Largilliere, Mr. Falkenheim?" 
 Margot asked. 
 
 "Come with me, my dear," replied Israel, "and I'll
 
 44 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 show you." He gave her his cold, bony hand, helping 
 her to rise from among the cushions of her armchair, 
 where she lay like some exquisite doll, bewilderingly 
 pretty, her frock of violet-blue charmeuse vivid against 
 the light chintz. He led her with tottering footsteps 
 across the slippery parquet floor to where an electric light 
 switch was fixed in the wall behind the black Steinway 
 grand, polished and gleaming. The turning on of the 
 switch suffused all the pictures on the wall with an even 
 radiance, by a contrivance in the frames. "That's a 
 Largilliere, just in front of you," said Israel, pointing to 
 the portrait of a middle-aged beauty of the reign of 
 Louis XIV. The other pictures were mostly by the less- 
 known French painters of the latter half of the eighteenth 
 century; a collection of its kind almost unsurpassed by 
 any in London with the exception of the one at Hertford 
 House. All the charm and finesse of Parisian life in the 
 last days before the Revolution were evoked by these 
 intimate and frivolous "boudoir" scenes; these "Offres 
 Seduisantes" and "Repentirs Tardifs" ; these portraits of 
 elegant and arch beauties in adorable frocks by such 
 painters as Moreau le jeune, Gabriel St. Aubin, Roslin, 
 Levreince, and Baudouin. Israel had also two of Char- 
 din's more domestic interiors, which he showed to Mar- 
 got with pride. He confessed to a dislike of indifferent 
 Fetes Galantes. He didn't want any bad Paters or poor 
 imitations of Lancret in his house though he didn't 
 mind selling them if fools wanted to buy them. He 
 liked the men and women of these Louis XV painters 
 more than their gods and goddesses, or masqueraders ! 
 Margot was amazed to find this ugly old man showing 
 almost as technical a knowledge of frocks and fabrics 
 and of the thousand-and-one adjuncts to feminine beauty 
 on which the French painters of the eighteenth century
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 45 
 
 lavished so much of their attention, as any professional 
 couturier could possess. 
 
 "Fashion is a curious thing," said Israel reflectively. 
 "With the exception of that gouache by Lavreince which 
 I bought at the Muhlbacher sale fifteen years ago and 
 had to pay a lot for, I bought nearly all of these, and some 
 others as well, for a mere song, from Lord Dawlish. His 
 ancestor, who was an Ambassador in Paris about one 
 hundred and thirty years ago, had made the collection. 
 The present peer is a temperance reformer, you know, and 
 very sanctimonious, so he was glad to get rid of them. He 
 never forgave me, however, when he saw the price at 
 which I re-sold the poorest of the Largillieres after the 
 boom. . . ." The old man chuckled at the recollection of 
 past triumphs in which he took almost as much aesthetic 
 pleasure as in the works of art themselves. 
 
 "So despised 'society' did that for you?" Margot 
 observed with a touch of acid in her tone. She suspected 
 a "sour grapes" element in Israel's contempt for her 
 deities. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he admitted. "The world is full of fools. 
 Besides, my dear, I went in for it rather thoroughly. I 
 didn't only get the two or three countesses you always 
 see advertised, who've been such a drug on the market 
 for the past twenty years. Those sort of women don't 
 really matter. They would put their husbands on the 
 board of any company that ever was floated for a con- 
 sideration, and the consideration gets less every year. 
 Oh, no ! I got quite a good duke who knew very nearly 
 as much about Ming as I know myself; and several 
 of the untitled people, who are so much more important 
 still." 
 
 "How can they be more important if they haven't got 
 titles?" asked Margot naively.
 
 46 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "My dear," laughed Israel, "I can see you have a lot 
 to learn but don't be in a hurry to learn it all too 
 quickly," he said, patting her hand. "You know, there's 
 six months yet," he whispered with clumsy humour as 
 they resumed their places at the feet of Mrs. Falkenheim. 
 That massive and good-natured woman, during their 
 examination of the pictures, had apparently been ru- 
 minating on the subject of dances to which she could 
 take Margot. She had rung the bell, and the elderly 
 butler, whom Israel had also acquired from Lord Daw- 
 lish, made a noiseless entry. His melancholy face and 
 bent shoulders expressed a weary resignation. 
 
 . . ."Fraser," said Mrs. Falkenheim. "Fetch me the 
 Times for last Monday." She fixed her gold-rimmed 
 pince-nez on a nose in every way adequate for their 
 support, and, taking the paper from the servant's hands, 
 began slowly to read through the list of dances. Rather 
 more than half of them she ticked off with a pencil. 
 "Mrs. Condoe Aaronson at the Ritz, June fourth. That's 
 Jim Aaronson's wife. How she is getting on, that 
 woman ! You can see to that, can't you, Israel ? Then 
 Lady Barchester on the sixth" husband and wife ex- 
 changed a look of comprehension over Lady Barchester ; 
 there were reasons why she should be accommodating 
 "and Mrs. Frank Hattersley at Surrey House on the 
 eighth. . . ." 
 
 To Margot's great delight it seemed that they were 
 going to find her dances for every other night during the 
 next two months. She reflected that she would have to 
 break deeply into her nest-egg, for clothes. One ball 
 frock would not go very far, lovely though it was. Her 
 experiences in Paris acting on her highly trained intelli- 
 gence had already taught her a great deal about what 
 should be worn in London, and in this respect at least
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 47 
 
 she was already far in advance of the average English 
 girl of her age. 
 
 Mrs. Falkenheim, having completed her study of the 
 social arrangements announced in the Times, gathered 
 up her embroidery, putting it back into a large cardboard 
 box covered with a pattern of red and blue roses, and 
 prepared for bed. 
 
 Margot walked to the open window for a moment, be- 
 fore accompanying her. She stepped out on to the bal- 
 cony which was fringed with long boxes of geraniums, 
 whose scent rose up into the warm evening air. On 
 either side stretched the impressive expanse of Rich- 
 bourne Terrace tall houses, brightly lighted, standing 
 back on either side behind a row of trees. The throbbing 
 beat of the waltzes and rags now came quite distinctly to 
 her ears. She could almost look into the nearer of the 
 ballrooms from which the music was issuing. It was in 
 a house on the opposite side of the terrace, and through 
 the trees she could see couples revolving around the richly 
 lighted room and others coming out on to the balcony and 
 fanning themselves. A strip of red carpet was laid from 
 the front door of the house, across the pavement to the 
 road, and people seemed to be arriving continuously. Ap- 
 parently in London the guests started out to dances at 
 eleven o'clock, and this thrilled her with the triumphant 
 realisation that she was no longer in "the provinces," or 
 worse still "the Colonies." She was in the very hub of 
 the social world. To think of it ! 
 
 Over her head the dark blue sky was a blaze of stars ; 
 the air seemed to thrill with suggestions of brilliance and 
 excitement, with the electricity of early summer. And 
 above the noise of the violins and the hum and throb of 
 the motors hurrying up and down the road there came to 
 her ears a deep, continuous, but distant roar like the roar
 
 48 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 of the sea the sound of London's mighty heart-beats. 
 She stood silent and thrilled, but like Louise in the opera , 
 she could have thrown wide her arms and shouted out, 
 "London, London!" as if apostrophising some god to 
 whom she was offering her body as a sacrifice and her 
 soul as a possession. A shooting star swept across the 
 heavens as she looked upwards, dying in a swift blaze of 
 glory, and she wondered whether this could be an omen. 
 
 She turned and saw that her hostess was watching her 
 with eyes dewy and full of kindliness, and re-entered 
 the drawing-room to say good-night to Israel before giv- 
 ing her arm for Mrs. Falkenheim to lean upon. When 
 they were parting for the night on the landing above, and 
 after Mrs. Falkenheim had expressed the wish that Mar- 
 got had everything she wanted, the girl suddenly put her 
 arms around the old woman's neck and kissed her on both 
 cheeks. "I guess you're the greatest dear that ever 
 lived !" she cried with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. 
 This embrace made Mrs. Falkenheim feel still more 
 emotional, and a spasm of affection for the motherless 
 beauty whom she had taken under her wing shot through 
 her, as she went into her room.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ONE of the first things which Margot did on her ar- 
 rival in London was to send a note to Rachel Elkington 
 asking her to come to tea. She wrote the letter in her 
 room early one morning, after she had drunk her first 
 cup of tea and the black silk curtains had been drawn to 
 let in a ray of sunlight as joyous as her own youth. She 
 had jumped out of bed and run in her nightgown to throw 
 the window wide open, to look at the fresh greenery of 
 the trees in the terrace, at the blue sky overhead at 
 London. She had to be up and doing, though she was 
 really a little ashamed to find that her childhood habits 
 of early rising were so ingrained. To avoid making a 
 premature descent to the bath-room she sat writing 
 letters, the first to Rachel Elkington, the second to her 
 "friends in England," the Hendersons. Although Adam 
 Henderson really existed, she had not seen him for such 
 a long time that he was now largely an unknown quan- 
 tity. Two years ago, not long after the wonder-week with 
 Jacky Bruce which marked the beginning of her senti- 
 mental experience, she had been wooed by this young 
 clergyman, who had come out to see if he had a vocation 
 for pastoral work in the far Northwest. He had stop- 
 ped in Montreal on his return journey to England (not 
 finding the far Northwest much to his liking) and had 
 fallen in with Margot, who encouraged him because he 
 had the same respect for. her "innocence" which had been 
 shown by Jacky. Adam Henderson, however, was a 
 Scotsman of a type not unlike her own father. He took 
 the grocery store into consideration when engaged in his 
 
 49
 
 50 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 wooing, weighed the pros and cons, and finally though 
 overflowing with sentimentality omitted to propose. He 
 couldn't leave it at that, however, but, with a not un- 
 common form of masculine vanity, thought he would 
 soften the blow to Margot by bestowing his friendship on 
 her and writing her long, semi-improving letters. Less 
 than a year ago he had written to tell her of his marriage 
 and how he and his wife had started a school in Dorset 
 for backward and delicate children. Margot was not 
 wrong in concluding, from this piece of information, that 
 the wife "had money." "Trust Adam for that!" she 
 reflected. He ended his letter with the fervently express- 
 ed hope that if ever Margot came to England she would 
 make their house her home. Mrs. Henderson, he added, 
 would be delighted to meet her. 
 
 It was a cordial effusion, but Margot knew her man; 
 heard him telling his rich wife about a nice little girl, "not 
 quite our kind," whom he had "treated rather shabbily 
 out in Montreal, and nearly got entangled with !" Very 
 well, she would do the patronising before they had 
 finished. Meanwhile, Adam might come in extremely 
 useful one never knew! She wrote him a guarded 
 letter on Mr. Falkenheim's heavy and opulent-looking 
 white note-paper, telling him of her arrival in London; 
 how she would probably be "fearfully rushed during the 
 season, but would much like to run down to Dorsetshire 
 for a long week-end to make his wife's acquaintance and 
 to see him again." "Two can play at getting on 
 in the world!" she reflected as she stuck down the en- 
 velope. No subsequent success ever gave her quite 
 the same amount of satisfaction as the writing of that 
 letter. . . . 
 
 She went out after breakfast for a walk in Kensington 
 Gardens till Mrs. Falkenheim was ready to go out in the
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 51 
 
 car, and it was not till she had actually posted her two 
 letters that it occured to her, in a flash, that Adam 
 Henderson might give her away. She weighed the advan- 
 tages and the disadvantages of telling him about her 
 arrival in England. A presentable "old friend" might 
 .be extremely useful; on the other hand, he might upset 
 matters at a critical moment. On the whole, she thought 
 she had done rightly, and that after she had seen him she 
 would be able to rely on his discretion and on his help. 
 "And if he simply dared do me in," she muttered, con- 
 cluding the matter, "I'd shoot the little blighter !" Her 
 eyes blazed as she came to this decision. She had just 
 entered the Park through the gate by the ornamental 
 waterworks which bring the Serpentine to an end. 
 
 "My dearest girl!" said a gentle, familiar voice. 
 "Whose murder are you plotting, pray ? And why didn't 
 you tell me you had arrived in London ?" 
 
 Margot looked up to see Rachel Elkington standing 
 in front of her, with a lovely Borzoi on a leash. 
 
 "Why, Rachel, this is bully !" she cried. "I'd just writ- 
 ten to you to ask you to come to tea with us to-morrow. 
 I've only been here two days ; and I've hardly seen any- 
 thing of London yet. Say, it isn't really a patch on 
 Paris is it ? except for the nobs' houses !" 
 
 Rachel went into a little peal of laughter at this ad- 
 mission. "You enchanting child," she said, "you'll carry 
 the place by storm if only you stay as you are !" 
 
 Margot suspected latent sarcasm, and grew pink. "You 
 will come to see us to-morrow, won't you?" she said to 
 change the subject. "Mr. Falkenheim will enjoy showing 
 off his pictures to you." 
 
 "Yes, dearest," said Rachel, with obvious pleasure. "I 
 shall be delighted to come !" Margot felt a glow of sat- 
 isfaction to see that, after all, the Falkenheims, if only
 
 52 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 for their belongings in spite of their being Jews and of 
 their living in the now suspect Bayswater could arouse 
 this enthusiasm on Rachel's part. Rachel had the most 
 ingenuous face. You could always tell when she meant 
 what she said, and it was clear that her expressions of 
 pleasure at renewing her slight acquaintance with the 
 Falkenheims were quite genuine. 
 
 The two friends walked slowly round the Serpentine 
 towards the bridge, busy taking up their friendship where 
 they had left it off in Paris. Rachel, as before, was the 
 one who made the advances, and Margot was almost 
 embarrassed by her affection. In Montreal she had never 
 had a real girl friend. The other girls at Madame Val- 
 loton's were French, and she had never been intimate 
 with any of them. As for her Price Street cronies, they 
 merely observed an armed neutrality, and were ready to 
 scratch one another's eyes out on the slightest provoca- 
 tion. But Rachel seemed really to like her, to admire 
 her looks, to wish her well. "You are a lovely creature, 
 Margot," she said in an access of enthusiasm as they 
 stood still for a moment to watch a long line of ducks 
 sail toward them, one behind the other, like tiny battle- 
 ships. "You will turn the heads of half London before 
 you have been here a week !" 
 
 "Oh, but I'm such a country cousin," replied Margot. 
 "I've got such heaps to learn. I expect you'll often laugh 
 at me yourself !" 
 
 "Darling," cried Rachel, with horrified eyes. "Please 
 don't say that. Why, you'd be done for if you learnt 
 things completely spoiled! For heaven's sake, don't 
 get refined! I'm dreadfully refined, and so are half the 
 unmarried girls in London. You are like a wild rose 
 compared with us!" 
 
 The sun was very warm for an instant on the back
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 53 
 
 of Margot's neck and down her spine. She felt as if 
 she were surrounded by masses of fragrant rose-leaves. 
 Oh, London was just Heaven, and Rachel was one of 
 the angels. Of course, she was going to be a success ! A 
 thrill of insolent youth ran through her veins, the china- 
 blue of her eyes became softened and deeper, her colour 
 a thought more glowing. Some little wisps of blonde 
 hair escaped from under her dark hat, and as she stood 
 with red, moist lips parted in a smile, she looked to 
 Rachel like some Greek nymph dressed in Paris fashions 
 too radiant to be real. 
 
 "I do want to be married, Rachel," Margot said in 
 one of her flashes of eagerness. "I want to marry a rich 
 gentleman and live in London for ever and ever!" 
 
 Rachel grew faintly pink for reasons which Margot 
 was unable to diagnose, and then smiled at her friend 
 with an affection that was half-maternal. "My dear," 
 she said, "whoever he is, he won't be worthy of you!" 
 
 "Oh, I'm ambitious enough!" said Margot. "You 
 mustn't encourage me." 
 
 "I didn't mean to," said Rachel earnestly. "I only 
 wanted to hint that 'all isn't gold that glitters,' and you 
 are worthy of the true gold." 
 
 "Yes," Margot agreed, lost in a day-dream, "and dia- 
 monds too !" 
 
 Rachel reflected in silence, for a few moments, that 
 perhaps just a little refinement might be good for her 
 dear one. If Margot could only meet some really nice 
 men and women and learn the way they looked at things, 
 she would eventually be so much happier. Petrouschka, 
 the Borzoi, put up his long, white head with its cold, 
 black nose and looked at her with eyes of impenetrable 
 wisdom the very incarnation of distinguished refine- 
 ment. Petrouschka never even nodded to terriers, pugs,
 
 54 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "poms" or creatures of that kind. His wintry eyes did 
 not seem aware of their existence. Well, well, refine- 
 ment is all very good in its place, and that's under the 
 surface. Her dearest Margot had as much refinement 
 as anybody in her beloved heart, she was convinced of 
 it. It only needed the companionship of nice people to 
 bring it out. She must collect some for her to meet; it 
 would give her an amusement, something to think about ! 
 
 "You must try to keep a free evening to come and 
 dine with us," Rachel said, "and we could go somewhere 
 and dance afterwards. I feel sure Mrs. Falkenheim 
 would look on me as an efficient chaperon ; I've got that 
 kind of face!" 
 
 Margot thanked her friend effusively and intimated 
 that there was nothing she would enjoy more. 
 
 "I tell you who I'll ask to meet you," Rachel went 
 on, "and that's. Godfrey Levett, the man who wrote the 
 play that's on now at the 'First Avenue.' You remember 
 meeting him in Paris, don't you?" 
 
 Margot replied that she remembered him well, and 
 mentioned how he came to dine with the Falkenheims 
 on their last evening at the "Capitol." 
 
 "And didn't you think him a dear?" Rachel enquired 
 enthusiastically. "He is quite unlike most other men. 
 His points of view are so different." 
 
 Margot replied guardedly to the effect that she had 
 never had more than a few minutes' consecutive conver- 
 sation with him, but would much like to meet him again ; 
 and wasn't the world a small place, anyway? "Now I 
 must beat it, Rachel," she added. "I've got to go out 
 with Mrs. Falkenheim." 
 
 "Well, we must certainly arrange something, dearest," 
 Rachel remarked as they stood for a moment outside 
 Lancaster Gate before parting. "He is one of the best
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 55 
 
 dancers in London when he's in the mood, and he'll keep 
 you amused during dinner. I'll have a talk to mother 
 and bring you a choice of days at tea-time to-morrow." 
 Having thus offered up her favourite man on the altar 
 of friendship, Rachel smiled on Margot with a rather 
 hungry smile of maternal affection, and led Petrouschka 
 back towards Hyde Park Street.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MARGOT was taken to her first dance by Mrs. Falken- 
 heim on the following evening. "Some friends of ours 
 in Portland Place are giving a little informal dance for 
 their daughter," she explained, "and I expect you'll meet 
 some partners there whom you will like to take about 
 with you later on. It is a pity you don't know a few 
 men, my dear. It is really necessary nowadays for a 
 girl to bring her own men with her to a dance." Margot 
 was secretly delighted to make her trial trip at some- 
 thing "quite small." (It did not occur to her to give 
 her hostess any credit for stage management.) Rachel, 
 who had come to tea that afternoon and had charmed 
 the old couple, insisted on staying to help Margot to 
 dress. She seemed almost as excited at her friend's 
 debut as if it were her own. Even Margot's violent dis- 
 trust of her own sex faded in the warmth of affection 
 which came from Rachel's honest eyes, and she felt no 
 temptation to try to conceal her inexperience. 
 
 "You know, I just can't imagine what a London dance 
 is like," she said, as Rachel brushed out her bright gold 
 hair. "I don't even know if I can dance the way you 
 do! So I shall just have to look all right." Margot 
 was on the point of insisting on wearing the Doucet 
 frock which Mrs. Falkenheim had given her in spite 
 of the combined remonstrances of Mrs. Falkenheim and 
 Rachel, and her own appreciation of the folly of wast- 
 ing it on anything "small." It seemed so tremendously 
 important that she should make a success, attract atten 
 tion from the very first ! Rachel^ suspecting this yearn- 
 
 56
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 57 
 
 ing, remarked once more on what a pity it would be to 
 wear an exclusive model which all the women would 
 notice at a dance of no particular importance in a pri- 
 vate house. 
 
 Margot contrived to pick up as many hints as pos- 
 sible from Rachel. She learnt from her that there would 
 probably be no programmes, and that if there was a 
 crush her men might have some difficulty in finding her 
 and even in recognising her. "Don't be too hard on them, 
 darling," said Rachel. "I mean if the man you ought 
 to dance with hangs about, obviously unable to remem- 
 ber if it's you he's dancing with or the lovely dark girl 
 standing by your side, swallow your mortification and 
 don't deliberately look at him as if you'd never seen such 
 an object in your life before. Heaps of girls do that; 
 it's so silly. They miss ever so many dances by it, too." 
 Rachel poured out a gentle stream of good advice, min- 
 gled with exclamations of ecstatic admiration, as she 
 fixed a flower in Margot's dress, instructed the maid to 
 make some minute alteration, or arranged the ornaments 
 in her hair. "My darling, you're simply too divine !" she 
 said, kissing her lightly on the lips. "You'll have a suc- 
 c&s fou. I shall ring you up in the morning, about 
 luncheon time, and ask you all about it. ... Now 
 I must fly." 
 
 A few minutes after Rachel had gone with her self- 
 confidence at its most serene Margot went downstairs 
 to dinner, only to be complimented afresh by Mrs. Fal- 
 kenheim and by Israel. 
 
 The dance was given by some friends of Israel's, the 
 Fawsett Vivians. Mr. Reginald Fawsett Vivian who 
 for all his high-sounding name and expensive English 
 education was much nearer to Frankfort-on-the-Main 
 than Mr. Falkenheim was a pillar of the Stock Ex-
 
 58 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 change. His wife an imposing peroxide blonde, dark 
 under the eyes as though she were imperfectly bathed, 
 but with a certain social volubility and aplomb was 
 supposed to go in for "authors and artists, and people of 
 that sort." Indeed, she fully realised that to have her 
 ballroom sprinkled with celebrities and her house beau- 
 tifully decorated were important social assets. She strove 
 pathetically to be interesting. It was her tragedy that 
 no one could be induced to think of her as anything 
 but rich. 
 
 Israel did not put in an appearance at the dance, and 
 Mrs. Falkenheim and her protegee went there alone in 
 the heavy, brightly-lighted car. They reached the 
 Fawsett Vivians' house soon after half-past ten. A very 
 few early couples were already in the room, but dancing 
 had not yet begun. As Margot walked up the broad 
 staircase by the side of Mrs. Falkenheim she was 
 dressed in a frock of pale green moire with a waistband 
 of cherry-coloured velvet, and wore her hair bound in 
 a glittering fillet and adorned with an aigrette which 
 seemed to symbolise determination she remembered the 
 lines of a song in Veronique, which she had once heard 
 at Toronto: 
 
 "While I'm waiting 
 My heart is palpitating!" 
 
 It was not the palpitation of nervousness, but a tremb- 
 ling, almost like that of a lover, at the achievement of 
 what had been so long desired. She noticed that Mrs. 
 Fawsett Vivian "My dear'd" Mrs. Falkenheim very ef- 
 fusively as they shook hands at the head of the stairs, 
 and that her "good fairy" was received as a person of 
 importance. This was satisfactory to Margot, who was
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 59 
 
 impressed by the crowd's estimate of values. As she 
 stood just inside the doorway of Mrs. Vivian's vast 
 drawing-room while Mrs. Falkenheim, placid and as 
 much amused at everything as a child or a very plump 
 kitten, looked round for suitable young men Margot 
 examined the room with what was meant to be the pro- 
 fessional eye of the adventuress, but was really much 
 more like that of Cinderella at the Prince's party. The 
 band was her chief disappointment. It consisted of three 
 dirty little men with banjos, who were probably niggers, 
 and hadn't shaved at that, and a coffee-coloured horror 
 at the piano, who looked as if he'd just escaped from a 
 Yankee gaol. You would expect to see a band like that 
 in a back street out at home. They were downright low, 
 she called them. She sighed for the Pink Viennese 
 "bowered in palms" of whom she had always read, and 
 was glad she had not insisted on wearing her Doucet 
 frock. A young man without any distinctive feature of 
 any kind whatever was introduced to her by Mrs. Fal- 
 kenheim, and asked her to dance. He bostoned with a 
 wooden precision, asked her if she'd been to Hurling- 
 ham that afternoon, discovered that she was a French- 
 Canadian, and remarked that that was "awfully jolly." 
 Mrs. Falkenheim stopped her in the middle of the dance 
 to introduce another man, whom the motherly old wom- 
 an evidently considered of importance. Margot observed 
 him while they bowed; already she had noted his air of 
 lazy magnificence, and had been irritated by it. Captain 
 Vernon Stokes for that was the name of the exquisite 
 had a lovely face and a poor figure. The skin on his fore- 
 head was beautifully bronzed, his cheeks were red, and 
 he had even white teeth. His hair was a darkish brown, 
 and he had a neat brown "toothbrush" moustache. 
 Though tall, however, he was not well-proportioned, and
 
 6o M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 any female connoisseur of the masculine form would 
 have found much in his appearance to criticise. Rachel 
 referred to him subsequently as "a typical flapper's hero," 
 and even to Margot's unsophisticated eye every gesture 
 revealed the fact that he was "eaten up." The part 
 Margot liked best about him was the shape of his head, 
 which seemed to her distinguished. Otherwise, he was 
 the image of a fashionable riding-master at Montreal, 
 who had once tried to kiss her in the shop at Price Street. 
 Margot realised, when Adonis first looked at her through 
 half-closed, sleepy eyes, then opened them, smiled, and 
 asked her for the next dance but one, that the ceillade 
 had been intended to work havoc. She gave him the 
 dance willingly; but her blood was up, and as she con- 
 tinued bostoning with her partner she prepared herself 
 as if for a contest. While she was dancing she noticed 
 on several occasions that the eyes of her hostess were 
 fixed on her. Standing by Mrs. Vivian's side was an 
 oldish man with a red beard, who leant heavily on a 
 gold-headed malacca cane. Margot did not pay much 
 attention to them, but when the music stopped Mrs. Faw- 
 sett Vivian came towards her across the room. The 
 important-looking old man had evidently asked to be 
 introduced. He was Sir Carl Frensen. Margot thrilled 
 at the sound of the well-known name the first celebrity 
 whom she had met in the flesh and as he bowed to her 
 she gave him one of her sweetest smiles. He was cer- 
 tainly not beautiful to look at, but there was something 
 about him that would have arrested attention anywhere. 
 He had a large fat face, and pale gold hair very thin on 
 top. His red beard was elaborately cared for and 
 pointed in the style of Henri IV., and his reddish-brown 
 eyes were surrounded by red rims. It was his eyes which 
 made one notice him ; they seemed to send little ripples
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 61 
 
 of magnetism all over Margot as she looked into them. 
 They were clever and wicked and cruel eyes the eyes 
 of a ineux satyre with a sense of humor. 
 
 "You must let me give you some supper later on, Miss 
 Cartier, if you will," he asked her. "As you see, I am 
 much too fat to dance!" Margot smiled at him. "I 
 guess you'd better come and find me when it's supper- 
 time," she drawled. "I don't rightly see how I'll know 
 otherwise." 
 
 As Sir Carl moved away, Margot was amazed to see 
 Mrs. Falkenheim staring at her from the other side of 
 the room with an expression on her face of fear, annoy- 
 ance almost of horror. Margot could not understand 
 what it could be that had upset her and shaken her out 
 of her usual placid lethargy. . . . 
 
 The featureless youth was now, getting impatient, and 
 insisted on leading her to the balcony to cool. From 
 the open window, by turning her back on the street, she 
 could watch the room slowly emptying the gleam of 
 white shoulders, the flash of jewels, quiver of aigrettes, 
 and the hot faces of men who had just stopped dancing. 
 She noticed Sir Carl Frensen standing in the doorway 
 chatting amiably to her hostess and to the "daughter," 
 but she could not see Mrs. Falkenheim. . . . 
 
 Sir Carl, she thought, had a wonderful look of im- 
 portance, but was obviously not a bit English. He didn't 
 even talk English like the other Englishmen. Captain 
 Stokes walked past in front of her as she was examining 
 Sir Carl Frensen, accompanied by a dazzled debutante 
 who was trying desperately to seem grown-up. The de- 
 butante had literary aspirations, it appeared. 
 
 "You must send me some of your things to look at; 
 I write a little myself, you know. My hobby is observ- 
 ing my fellow men and women," she heard Captain
 
 62 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 Stokes remark to the little creature by his side, who 
 looked up at him with eyes wide open. 
 
 "Lord, he can tell the tale all right," she said to her- 
 self. "I shall have to look out for him, I can see !" And 
 then she fell again to wondering why Mrs. Falkenheim 
 had looked at her so strangely while Sir Carl Frensen 
 was being introduced to her. Had she made some fear- 
 ful "floater," or was Sir Carl no better than he should 
 be? She looked about for Mrs. Falkenheim, and when 
 she discovered her, went over to try to get the problem 
 solved. But the old woman had relapsed into her habitual 
 calm. 
 
 "Well, my dear," she said to Margot, greeting her in 
 her usual fat and kindly voice, "you look lovely. I'm 
 proud of you. I hope you are enjoying yourself! But 
 1 was sorry to see you talking to Sir Carl Frensen, dear. 
 He is not the sort of man it will do you any good to see 
 too much of. You can't be too careful. It was very 
 stupid of Mrs. Vivian to introduce him without consult- 
 ing me." Mrs. Falkenheim saw she was arousing Mar- 
 got's interest, and stopped. "I should cut his dance if I 
 were you," she added. 
 
 Captain Stokes came and claimed Margot for the next 
 dance before she could reply. The unshaven "niggers" 
 had already started one of the newest rags, and as they 
 moved into the room Margot wondered what she should 
 do when Sir Carl came to take her into supper. Surely 
 it would be impossible to avoid him; besides, she knew 
 now that she did not want to avoid him. Mrs. Falken- 
 heim's words had scarcely produced the effect intended. 
 
 Like many Canadians, Margot excelled in the rag, 
 and allowed Captain Stokes to initiate her into all sorts 
 of "walks" and "trots" and other variations, which she 
 knew backwards. From the halting but determined way
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 63 
 
 in which the other girls in the room were attempting 
 them, she realised that they must be the rage in London, 
 and her self-confidence increased accordingly. From the 
 respect which this "nut" had for her dancing, she real- 
 ised in a flash that her Canadian background must be 
 an asset. In some way it gave her chic. . . . 
 
 After the dance, Captain Stokes found her a comfort- 
 able chair in a secluded corner of an upper landing, and 
 turned on his companion the combined radiance of his 
 teeth and eyes and moustache. Margot was titillated by 
 them to the full, but to an eye trained to pick out in an 
 instant the customers who will pay and those who won't 
 there was something vaguely irritating about him. He 
 eyed her dreamily through long, beautiful lashes. 
 
 "By gad," he said, "if there's one thing you Ameri- 
 cans do understand, it is dancing. We should still be 
 doing Lancers and round waltzes if it hadn't been for 
 you." 
 
 "If you are talking about me, I'm a Canadian, thank 
 you," said Margot with dignity. Captain Stokes thought 
 as much, and remarked, with one hand to his moustache, 
 that it explained why she was so nice. "What do you 
 think of us?" he went on. 
 
 Margot explained that she thought London was just 
 lovely, but she hadn't been to many dances yet. Did 
 she like London dances? "Not much. Everyone really 
 looks rather bored, or else on the bink," she said, "in 
 spite of the fact that they make such a pretence of en- 
 joying themselves and get so sticky doing rags. It's 
 the girls who look the most bored. And there seem to 
 be a lot too many useless young men filling up the door- 
 ways." 
 
 "They look in for a little supper, late. It makes some- 
 thing to do, you know." This lofty patronage on the
 
 64 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 part of the jeunesse dor6e was vividly reflected in Cap- 
 tain Stokes' own attitude. He seemed, indeed, half in- 
 clined to apologise for his presence at the Fawsett Vi- 
 vians'. 
 
 "Englishmen always seem to think it's awfully good 
 of them to come," Margot remarked acidly. "But I 
 know if / gave a dance I'd take care to ask only men 
 who had something to them. Not born-tireds, who lean 
 up against doors." 
 
 "Oh, they aren't all asked, you know," said Stokes, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Then I'd get a chucker-out," Margot retorted, "to 
 assist the butler." 
 
 "You could, by George !" he said, with a quick flash of 
 admiration. 
 
 "Well, I shouldn't ask you, anyway," snapped Margot. 
 "Conceited ass," she whispered, under her breath. Her 
 companion thoroughly annoyed her. The pink radiance 
 of his cheeks became a little pinker at this unlooked-for 
 taking down. He was a man who throughout the whole 
 of his life had been flattered and fawned on by women 
 never snubbed. He regarded Margot with renewed at- 
 tention. Why wouldn't she ask him to her parties ? Was 
 it merely a feminine wile to make him interested? 
 
 "Would you turn on the chucker-out if I came?" he 
 asked with a smile. 
 
 Margot had recovered herself by this time. "It de- 
 pends how you behaved !" she said laughingly. The mu- 
 sic of the next dance had begun, and as they walked 
 downstairs Margot was pleased to find her companion 
 distinctly ruffled. Her instinct told her she had got in 
 somewhere on the raw. 
 
 The first man she saw when she got back into the 
 ballroom was Godfrey Levett, who appeared to be look-
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 65 
 
 ing for her. "Are you dancing this one with anybody?" 
 he asked. "I saw Mrs. Falkenheim just now, and she 
 told me you were here." They began to boston under 
 Stokes' curious eye. Margot was overjoyed to meet 
 someone she had seen before, and treated Levett with 
 unconscious warmth. He seemed like an old friend. 
 
 When the music stopped they found a quiet corner 
 and compared notes. She was surprised at the change 
 which had come over Levett. He looked tidy; his hair 
 was brushed flat ; he appeared to be enjoying himself. 
 Somehow he was the very last person she would have 
 expected to meet at her first London dance. She con- 
 nected him with pictures, with learning, scholarship, "the 
 intellect." She had imagined that people of his kind 
 avoided society like the plague. But she was very glad 
 he had come, and she could not help comparing him 
 at once to the man with whom she had just been danc- 
 ing. What a contrast they made! Stokes was the pa- 
 tronising man of the world, used to flattery, careful to 
 impress on people his perspicacity and experience, and 
 consequently the victim of anyone who chose to stab his 
 vanity. Levett, however, allowed a diffident manner to 
 conceal a humorous observation. Margot had felt, even 
 in the picture shop, that by snubbing him she had only 
 excited his gentle, mocking laughter. 
 
 "I suppose you go about a great deal," she remarked 
 to him. 
 
 "Not me!" said Levett. "I'm much too busy; but I 
 always enjoy myself hugely when I do, and I am a con- 
 firmed 'bitter-ender.' I love dancing." 
 
 Margot wondered which of the girls in the room had 
 brought him. 
 
 "You can imagine it's exciting for me," she said, with 
 an inspiration to be confiding. "This is my first dance
 
 66 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 in London, and I've never been to London before. But 
 I expect Rachel Elkington told you that. I believe we 
 are going to meet there at dinner one day soon." 
 
 Levett asked her if she wasn't disappointed with her 
 first experience of London ballrooms. "While one is 
 dancing with a good partner one is perfectly happy," he 
 went on, "and of course supper is one of the most de- 
 licious episodes in human life. But if one sits out a 
 dance in the room itself it's depressing. All the per- 
 formers are so professional. The people who give the 
 dance stand about at the top of the stairs racked with 
 anxiety or shivering with boredom. The girls, who come 
 in droves, are most of them 'correct' to a point to make 
 one scream. They go out night after night, enjoying 
 themselves less and less. The only men they meet and 
 like are the men they waste their time by dancing with, 
 and who are bored stiff with them. What annoys me 
 particularly about the young things," he continued, "is 
 that they will drink soda-water with their supper, and 
 want to hurry away before one has had a mouthful." 
 
 "I guess you're real greedy !" said Margot in a disap- 
 proving voice. 
 
 "Shocking!" Levett admitted. "I just love a well- 
 cooked quail! I go to dances later and later in order 
 to shorten the time of anxious waiting. I'm really no 
 good at all without my quail. When you are a great 
 London hostess, mind you remember that about me ! Mr. 
 Levett must have his quail !" 
 
 "What makes you think I shall ever be a great London 
 hostess?" asked Margot. 
 
 "Somehow, I fancy that's what you'd like to be, isn't 
 it?" said Levett. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I think people get what they want more often
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 67 
 
 than not. What is so terribly difficult is to know precise- 
 ly what one does want." 
 
 "Well, I've always known that," said Margot. 
 
 "Then you'll always continue to get it ! I feel the first 
 tremulous thrills of approaching supper," he went on. 
 "We had better hurry down, so that the supreme mo- 
 ment may find us in a good strategic position." 
 
 "Well, I call you just a pig," said Margot, laughing. 
 "Out in Montreal, when a gentleman is talking to a young 
 lady, he does not think about supper at all !" 
 
 "Oh, then I expect the girl does !" 
 
 They parted thoroughly amused with one another. 
 Margot followed him with her eyes and watched him 
 go up to a girl dressed in a very daring green frock 
 with black eyes and a dead-white, heavily-powdered face, 
 and carry her off with him. 
 
 "He's got an affair with that woman," she said to her- 
 self ; she divined it instinctively. 
 
 Well, now was the moment when she must decide 
 whether she should cut Sir Carl Frensen to please Mrs. 
 F'alkenheim. She would have liked to please Mrs. Fal- 
 kenheim, but if she did, who would take her into sup- 
 per ? She felt both hungry and thirsty. Sir Carl Fren- 
 sen himself advanced at that instant across the floor, 
 leaning on his heavy cane, his red eyes glittering, and 
 settled the whole problem for her out of hand. Mar- 
 got thought she had never before seen anyone of his 
 age who looked so amused, so interested in life, so oddly 
 expectant of some pleasant surprise which the future 
 might have in store for him. He offered Margot his arm 
 with mid- Victorian courtesy. "This is the moment to 
 which we old men look forward," he said with a smile. 
 "If we can't dance we can at least take a charming 
 companion in to supper!"
 
 68 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "I think the way you Englishmen talk about your sup- 
 pers is perfectly disgusting," laughed Margot. "My part- 
 ners seem to have been waiting for nothing else all the 
 evening. . . ." 
 
 "That, of course, is sheer bad taste on their part. 
 That anyone who could dance with you could look for- 
 ward to doing anything else is unpardonable !" 
 
 They found a table in a far corner of the big panelled 
 dining-room, on the walls of which, above the panelling, 
 hung portraits by fashionable painters of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Fawsett Vivian and their two daughters. Margot found 
 herself absorbed by her "dangerous" companion and ab- 
 solutely helpless. She felt like a baby in charge of a 
 grown-up person. He could do whatever he liked with 
 her; could ask her any number of personal questions, 
 if it pleased him to do so, without her being able to make 
 the faintest protest. How his red eyes seemed to bulge 
 out of his face! 
 
 "So you've come to conquer London, Miss Cartier," 
 he remarked, with a quick glance. "A reversal of Chris- 
 topher Columbus's enterprise!" 
 
 "What makes you say that?" 
 
 "How do you think you will enjoy yourself, after 
 you have got what you want?" 
 
 "I haven't got it yet." 
 
 "No, but you will get it." 
 
 "Yes. Another man assured me I should, too, a few 
 minutes ago." 
 
 "Somehow you don't lool$ to me as if you'd very eas- 
 ily be satisfied. You are too intelligent. Most of the 
 people you see all around you haven't any intelligence 
 or any enterprise either and very few appreciations. 
 Let me give you some champagne, and I recommend one 
 of those quails they look delicious! ... I don't
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 69 
 
 think you would ever be satisfied if you were to stay in 
 the corner of the world you are looking at, you know !" 
 
 Margot looked round the supper- room, encountering, 
 somewhat to her discomfiture, the angry and perturbed 
 eye of Mrs. Falkenheim. It was the same look of anger 
 and fear that she had noticed when Sir Carl was first 
 introduced to her. Mrs. Falkenheim was supping at a 
 table in the middle of the room with Fawsett Vivian and 
 his wife and one or two other people. The smile she 
 gave in reply to Margot's bright glance and nod was 
 strained and wintry, and Margot looked hastily away in 
 an effort to collect herself. At the other tables were a 
 cheerful crowd of men and girls. Margot envied the 
 girls their look of refinement and the chill touch of cor- 
 rectness which made their companions find them so tedi- 
 ous. But they were all so strange to her that she could 
 not separate one group from another, or differentiate 
 between the various contrasted types. At present, too, 
 they had something of the magnificence of the unknown. 
 She noticed that Captain Stokes was having supper with 
 the silly little girl with the literary aspirations. He was 
 distinctly "smart," she realised that: much smarter than 
 Levett, for instance, who was probably quite poor and 
 of no particular family. All the girls, except the Jew- 
 esses, seemed to have the same look of chilly, well-bred 
 stupidity. There were a good many Jewesses ; some 
 looked clever and alert, others fat, thick-lipped, and 
 heavy with the boredom of neglect were palpably rich. 
 Even to Margot's inexperienced eye they were obviously 
 on the market, matrimonially. 
 
 "No, they don't seem a very exciting lot, I must say," 
 Margot replied, in: answer to Sir Carl's comment. "But 
 I would like to know who Captain Stokes is having sup- 
 per with."
 
 70 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "I think that's Ida Mertoun, the youngest of Lord 
 Mertoun's daughters. Stokes is rather a parti, you know. 
 His family manufactures something or other in York- 
 shire. His father, Sir William Stokes, is very well-off, 
 and that boy is the heir to the baronetcy." 
 
 Margot reflected, with feminine cattishness, that Ida 
 wasn't such a fool as she looked. Little minx, with her 
 literary aspirations! 
 
 "How did you like Stokes?" Sir Carl Frensen asked. 
 "I saw you dancing with him earlier in the evening." 
 
 "I thought him a real dude and a lovely dancer, and 
 just about eaten up with airs ! If you ask me, I think he 
 wants putting through the hoop a bit. . . ." 
 
 Sir Carl laughed immoderately at her criticism. "You 
 ought to experiment on him, for his own good! I'm 
 sure it would work miracles." 
 
 "I did take him down a bit, as it was," Margot con- 
 fessed. "I don't expect he'll ask me for any more dances 
 this evening." 
 
 "Ah, nous verrons!" said Sir Carl. "Nature is a de- 
 vious lady her hobby is to attract by repulsion, and she 
 adores the conjunction of opposites. I shan't stay to 
 watch if my prediction is verified, as I always go to bed 
 after supper. But you must tell me all about it the next 
 time we meet. . . ." 
 
 Margot felt inclined to say, "When will that be?" she 
 was so excited at the thought of the interest in her 
 which his remark seemed to suggest, but she remem- 
 bered herself in time. The old man's red eyes covered 
 her with a look which made her feel uneasy, as though he 
 were mentally taking off all her clothes, garment by gar- 
 ment, and peering also into all the secret places of her 
 heart. He unnerved her with his impression of strength. 
 If he hadn't been Sir Carl Frensen, and if she had been
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 71 
 
 left to herself instead of having been warned against 
 him, she would have avoided him as a regular old beast. 
 As it was, thanks in part to Mrs. Falkenheim, she real- 
 ised how greatly he interested her, and how disappointed 
 she would be if she never met him again. The vivid ex- 
 citement of her first dance endowed him, and indeed all 
 her partners, with a peculiar glamour. 
 
 Mrs. Falkenheim, like Sir Carl, was always glad to 
 think of bed when supper was over, but she stayed on 
 while Margot danced again with Godfrey Levett and 
 with one or two other men whom Mrs. Fawsett Vivian 
 had introduced to her. When Margot rejoined her she 
 said, with a certain coldness of tone: 
 
 "Now, Margot I think we'll be going home. You will 
 only be over-tired in the morning if we stay any longer." 
 Margot was on the point of begging for a few more 
 dances when to her surprise and elation Captain Stokes 
 came up to her, beaming, "Well," he said, with his easy 
 confidence, "are you going to give me another dance ?" 
 
 She looked at him calmly and smiled back. "I'm 
 afraid we are just going, so it is impossible." Mrs. Fal- 
 kenheim glanced at her protegee, but noticing the look on 
 Margot's face she said nothing, and Stokes shook hands 
 
 with them stiffly. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Don't you like Captain Stokes, dear?" Mrs. Fal- 
 kenheim asked in the car as they drove home. "I would 
 gladly have waited while you had that dance with him !" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I thought he was rather nice," said Margot ; 
 "but I was quite ready for bed. I have enjoyed it so 
 much! And I do hope I was all right. Was I?" 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Falkenheim, "you were ever so 
 much the prettiest girl in the room, and you know it! 
 You were a great success. The only thing that disap-
 
 72 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 pointed me; was to see you having supper with Sir Carl 
 Frensen. I do so hope for your sake, particularly, 
 
 Margot that you will never see him again. . . ." 
 
 ***** 
 
 Margot was not too tired before going to sleep to 
 turn to the blue peerage which stood, with the Red 
 Book, Bradshaw, and various other works of reference, 
 on her bedroom writing table. She looked up first Sir 
 Carl Frensen, then Captain Stokes. 
 
 "Frensen," she read. "Carl Frensen, ist Bt. (1899). 
 Head of the banking house of Frensen Brothers. Son 
 of the late Hermann Frensen of Stockholm." She dis- 
 covered from the book that he had been twice married, 
 that he had a villa at Cap Martin, an estate in Argyll- 
 shire, a house in Belgrave Square, a flat in Paris in the 
 Avenue Hoche, and that he had no children. So he was 
 only some sort of foreign banker after all, and probably 
 a Jew as well ! She had suspected as much, but the dis- 
 covery, in view of her developed social ambitions, came 
 as a disappointment. Captain Stokes, however, restored 
 her equanimity. "Stokes, Bart. Sir William Stokes, 
 ist Bt. (U.K. 1890), D.L., late an M.P." That was his 
 father. There was no reference to any business. His 
 mother was "elder daughter of Major-General Edward 
 Marmaduke Cornewall, C.B., of Corshom House, Cleve- 
 don, Somerset." He was educated at Eton and Sand- 
 hurst, was a Captain in a Guards regiment, thirty years 
 old and unmarried! 
 
 In spite of the hour, it was some time before Margot 
 fell asleep, so highly-strung were her nerves after the 
 most exciting experience in her whole life. At last she 
 sank into a heavy but uneasy slumber, in which constant 
 dream-visions passed before her eyes. Always she saw 
 the gleam of white teeth, and the same dark moustache
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 73 
 
 and soulless, hazel eyes ; always she was in the company 
 of Vernon Stokes, and every time she loathed him more. 
 Through the mists of her dream sometimes the red eyes 
 of Sir Carl Frensen would appear, observing her ; some- 
 times the suspicious, cold-black eyes of Israel Falken- 
 heim. At last she tried to escape from Stokes; they 
 were together at a dance which seemed to go on for 
 ever and' ever and ever. She was just rushing in des- 
 peration to the balcony to throw herself into the street 
 when, with a start, she woke, to discover that Marie 
 had brought her morning coffee.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 RACHEL ELKINGTON was sitting one Sunday morning 
 about a fortnight after the Fawsett Vivians' dance 
 in her big music-room at the top of the house in Hyde 
 Park Street when the idea camq to her to ring up God- 
 frey Levett. Her mother was going out to a luncheon 
 party to which she also had been invited, but through 
 laziness she had made some excuse not to accept. It 
 was overpoweringly hot outside, deliciously cool in her 
 long, low room, with its wide open windows, its bowls 
 of white flowers, its dark green carpet and hangings and 
 dark furniture. Through the windows and beyond the 
 window-boxes full of white azaleas she could see the 
 deep blue of the June sky. The thrum of cars coming 
 back from the Park in time for their occupants to get 
 ready for luncheon came gently to her ears, making her 
 feel more than ever lazy. She took up the telephone 
 receiver and rang up Levett's little house in Holland 
 Street. He was on the point of going out, but she caught 
 him in the hall. 
 
 "I was just going to walk off a dance headache be- 
 fore luncheon," he remarked. She suggested that he 
 should make his walk through Kensington Gardens and 
 come and share her lonely meal. "My headache has 
 already half gone at the thought of it!" he replied. "I 
 shall be with you in less than an hour. I couldn't pos- 
 sibly have thought of anything more delightful; we'll 
 gossip the whole afternoon and be thoroughly lazy!" 
 
 The Elkingtons' house in Hyde Park Street was one 
 of Levett's most cherished haunts. Everything about it
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 75 
 
 pleased him, and every added year of his intimacy with 
 it lent it a new charm. He would have been horribly 
 shocked if for any reason the mother and daughter had 
 left their house for another, had migrated to Mayfair 
 or gone over to the "right" side of the Park. If Mrs. 
 Elkington had changed her butler, he would have felt 
 it far more than the loss of one of his own servants. 
 George had always been there; he had been Major El- 
 kington's servant in the army thirty years ago, and on 
 his master's retirement from the service had become 
 his body-servant and subsequently his butler. When the 
 Major died suddenly of heart disease, George had con- 
 tinued as a kind of family house-dog, guarding the relict 
 and her daughter as if they had been confided to his safe- 
 keeping by word of command. His rather jealous devo- 
 tion and his well-bred impertinences of the old servant 
 delighted Levett and lent the house part of its atmos- 
 phere of permanence, of being remote from time and 
 change. 
 
 All the furniture of the house was restful, and there 
 were a great number of beautiful things in it. Like 
 many soldiers, particularly of the older generation, Rach- 
 el's father had been something of a collector, and had 
 loved beautiful embroideries, rare old Persian rugs, sev- 
 enteenth-century Dutch pictures, and heavy, carved In- 
 dian silver. There were some good pictures in the house, 
 of the kind that become dearer through familiarity. A 
 lovely Cuyp some cattle in the foreground, in the mid- 
 dle distance a church with some houses grouped around 
 it and behind, one of his misty golden sunsets hung in 
 an eighteenth-century gilded frame over the black oak 
 sideboard in the dining-room. It made the idea of lunch- 
 eon delicious, that Cuyp. It was nice to walk across the 
 Park thinking about it. On the white distempered walls,
 
 76 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 above the black oak panelling, hung two Hobbemas 
 landscapes in the grand manner, all dark greens and 
 romance. The Hobbemas hung rather incongruously, on 
 either side of an Elkington lady, by Kneller, whose style 
 of 'beauty has not yet, luckily, returned to favour. Her 
 high bosom and protuberant eyes resembled so many 
 other Kneller portraits that Rachel had adduced the the- 
 ory that the painter could only do one "pattern" of fe- 
 male, and that, as he was fashionable, his sitters were 
 only too willing to comply. Hence this libellous "Rachel 
 Elkington" of two centuries back! The jokes about the 
 Kneller portrait, the cool dark greens of the Hobbemas, 
 the golden Cuyp: how all these things seemed to blend 
 together with the old silver, the gleaming napkins and 
 tablecloth, the odd-shaped knives and forks, the peculiar- 
 ity that all the knives were little ones, and the ever- 
 present flowers to make this dining-room delightful ! 
 
 "My dear Rachel," he said when he was shown into 
 her room, "I've been thinking about you all the way 
 across the Park. Yours is the only house I know that's 
 cool as a well in summer and cosy in the winter, and 
 restful all the time!" He bent down to drink in the 
 odour of the white roses which stood on the chimney- 
 piece in a great silver bowl. "How lovely they are 
 aren't they?" Rachel was sitting at the piano, where 
 she had been trying over some new music before his 1 ar- 
 rival. She looked up at him and smiled. "You are an 
 odd creature, Godfrey," she said. "I do wish I under- 
 stood you! Where have you been dancing?" 
 
 "The Farmings. Betty sent me a card." 
 
 "Where was it?" 
 
 "Ritz. Fearful squash, too. Your friend, the blonde 
 Canadian, was very much there. Also Stokes in at- 
 tendance."
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 77 
 
 "Do you know, Godfrey, I simply can't tolerate that 
 man!" said Rachel with a burst of almost jealous irrita- 
 tion. "I don't know why it is, but I always want to be 
 rude to him! There is a type of heavily smart young 
 soldier that gets my dander up. It did father's, too! 
 He couldn't bear their particular brand of fashionable 
 ill-manners." 
 
 "Stokes isn't a bad fellow underneath, Rachel," Le- 
 vett protested. "His conceit makes him extra-sensitive 
 to what people think about him, that is all. But who 
 wouldn't be conceited who was as handsome and as sat- 
 isfactorily placed as he is ?" 
 
 "Oh, well, I dare say I misjudge him!" Rachel re- 
 plied. "It's a woman's privilege to be unjust and to rely 
 on intuitions. What annoys me about him is his doc- 
 trine that the exquisite should always be as rude as pos- 
 sible. There is something subtly vulgar in the way he 
 is always emphasising his superiority to the 'suburbs/ 
 One would think it was because he detected a large 
 streak of them in himself !" 
 
 "He has met his match in Miss Carder, anyway!" 
 laughed Godfrey. Luncheon was announced, and they 
 went downstairs into the dining-room, and the discussion 
 of Margot was postponed until they returned to the mu- 
 sic-room to smoke. It was Rachel who re-opened it. 
 "Tell me, Godfrey," she said seriously, "do you like 
 Margot, and what do you make of her?" 
 
 Levett reflected before replying, and rested his hand 
 for a moment on the white neck of Petrouschka, who 
 had risen from the hearthrug, -yawned, stretched himself 
 and walked over to him to be made a fuss of. 
 
 "She simply isn't born yet," he said at last. "In her 
 own way she is as lovely as Petrouschka is in his, but 
 she has far less soul. She is rather foolishly selfish, and
 
 78 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 has a febrile determination to rise socially, which is tire- 
 some. At present she is mixed up with a 'smart' crowd 
 whom some of us consider the last word in emptiness and 
 vulgarity. And I should say she has already begun to 
 look down on the Falkenheims, who are simple, kindly 
 people who've really got something in them. And she's 
 lovely one of the loveliest young women in London to- 
 day. So there you are !" 
 
 "I think you are much too severe," said Rachel, up 
 in arms for her friend. "You don't realise what a little 
 simpleton she is at heart, for all her sophisticated airs. 
 She is ever so fresh from some Canadian town or other, 
 and between you and me I don't think she had ever 
 known much about luxury or even ordinary comfort until 
 a month or two ago. It's all so new, it's like a fairy 
 tale to her ; and the darling tries ever so hard to conceal 
 how unfamiliar it all is!" 
 
 "You should see the way she manages Stokes," Levett 
 remarked. "Not much fairy-tale about that. She's too 
 knowing for words. She simply loathes him; anybody 
 with half an eye can see it. On the whole that's rather 
 interesting of her: the dawn of character! But then 
 that is what I admire so much about her. She has plenty 
 of character or will have before she stops growing; 
 and character is all that matters nowadays. Goodness 
 and badness is only a question of the fashions. The 
 goodness of yesterday is the badness of to-day, and vice 
 versa. But character is different. That is always the 
 valuable part of everybody, and it will be the saving 
 of Margot Cartier you see ! There is no damned merit 
 about her, and I should guess that she is entirely devoid 
 of any moral sense but she is burning with the fire of 
 life, or else I'm blind!"
 
 MARGOf'S PROGRESS 79 
 
 "What sort of a woman do you think she will be- 
 come?" Rachel asked. 
 
 "Who can tell? A rich man's wife to start with, un- 
 less she makes some hideous blunder. After that who 
 knows? It depends partly on the kind of rich man she 
 catches, partly on the friends she makes, and on the in- 
 terests, if any, which she develops. You and I know 
 how deadly uninteresting the set of people are who do 
 the whole social treadmill and advertise the fact in the 
 newspapers. It is principally composed of an unholy al- 
 liance between the declasses and the parvenus \ One 
 doesn't know which sort is the more tedious." 
 
 "Oh! the declasses!" said Rachel. "They make one 
 sick, and they become far more vulgar than the merely 
 rich. There is always hope that newly rich people may 
 be intelligent, and they often have plenty of character. 
 They are alive, too, and healthy; they don't give that 
 terrible effect of mental disease which their toadies do. 
 The 'society' declasse is always on the look-out for 'mo- 
 tives' behind people's civility or hospitality, always ob- 
 sessed with the idea that the people he meets are 'anxious 
 to know him/ or are scheming to be taken to tea with 
 his aunts!" 
 
 "Well, anyway," said Godfrey, "your Margot has 
 joined the great army of climbers-up and wormers-in; 
 she hasn't discovered yet that her very efforts impair 
 her chances of success. But, as she has an active mind 
 and plenty of intelligence, and, above all, plenty of char- 
 acter, she will wake up one day and realise the rotten- 
 ness of the whole business." 
 
 "It's awful, Godfrey," said Rachel earnestly, "this so- 
 cial blight. Do you know, I never thought of these things 
 at all until I met Margot. The poor darling seems to
 
 8o MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 have positively poisoned the atmosphere with her social 
 valuations. . . ." 
 
 "Well, I hope she won't begin to kick away her lad- 
 ders too soon, for her sake," Godfrey observed. "I have 
 a sort of feeling, though, that she will soon begin to sneer 
 at the Falkenheims because they are Jews and live in 
 Bayswater. If Israel had bought a title instead of col- 
 lecting pictures, and lived in a box in Mayfair, of course 
 she would forgive him !" 
 
 "One thing is evident, Godfrey, at all events," said 
 Rachel. "Margot has succeeded in interesting you ! You 
 wouldn't begin to get on your hind legs, my dear, like a 
 Park orator, otherwise." 
 
 "Oh, she interests me right enough," Godfrey admit- 
 ted. "After all, I'm only carnal man, and she is a god- 
 dess to look at. Of course she interests me !" 
 
 Rachel blushed faintly. "Well, can't we do anything? 
 I see her often. I'm ever so fond of her. I've never 
 been so fond of any woman before. I try my hardest 
 to interest her in the things that are worth having in life, 
 but she subordinates everything to this terrible getting- 
 on." 
 
 "Try her with a change of snobbism," suggested God- 
 frey, "like a new diet. Hint tactfully that all really 'nut- 
 ty' people go every night to my plays, read improving 
 novels, and have a passion for Russian music and Post- 
 Impressionism. You know the sort of thing I mean! 
 Perhaps it may succeed. After all, better an artistic 
 snobbinette than one whose only literature is Burke's 
 Peerage." 
 
 "Not a bit of it," said Rachel decisively. "I don't 
 believe that, nor do you. Those things, though we 
 laugh at them, in order not to get on mental stilts, mean 
 something to both of us. No, Margot's only chance, as
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 81 
 
 I told her a fortnight ago, is just to be her own dear 
 self. If she tried to become 'refined' she would be done 
 for. Of all forms of snobbism an insincere interest in 
 the arts is the most insufferable. . . ." 
 
 "She might eventually develop a genuine interest in 
 art," said Levett, "if she gave herself a chance. Books, 
 pictures, music, after all, are acquired tastes, largely." 
 
 Rachel vividly agreed. "Why, yes, she might. But 
 all I meant was, don't, for Heaven's sake, let her like 
 them just because she fancies it smart!" Rachel shook 
 herself, as though she had been examining something 
 physically repulsive, and began playing the second move- 
 ment of Beethoven's "Pathetic Sonata" to disinfect the 
 conversational atmosphere. 
 
 Levett lay back in his chair by the open window drink- 
 ing in the music. The room seemed full of the fresh 
 sweetness of white roses, wrapped in an extreme peace. 
 Through half -closed eyes he looked across at Rachel 
 as she sat playing, completely absorbed in the music. Her 
 face wore an oddly serious look; her dark eyes were 
 large, soft and yearning; her curious mouth was shut 
 tightly. The long, white fingers which moved so lightly 
 and yet powerfully over the keyboard fascinated Levett, 
 and he thought of Verlaine's lines beginning, "Le piano 
 que baise une main frele" Why was it that Rachel, of 
 whom he was fraternally so fond, was plainly the kind 
 of woman one didn't marry or flirt with? How odd it 
 was! There was no "come hither" in her eye. He di- 
 vined that it wasn't her fault there wasn't. Perhaps it 
 was just something insuperable in what she might have 
 referred to with a moue as her "terrible refinement," 
 which shut her off from the usual experiences. She was 
 no prude that he knew and there was no subject under 
 the sun which he could not have discussed with her with
 
 82 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 perfect freedom. What an odd thing, he reflected, is the 
 human heart. Which of us really understands the se- 
 crets of another's actions or desires ! He thought, as she 
 left off playing Beethoven and began one of Chopin's 
 mazurkas, that she would suddenly grow, one day, into 
 one of the most delightful old women who ever existed. 
 He loved old women, and in imagination he saw her with 
 white hair and a rather sharpened sense of humour, sit- 
 ting in her box at the opera and looking a perfect darl- 
 ing. How much happier she would be when she was 
 old enough not to waste time in unfulfilled hoping for 
 things undefined. 
 
 Rachel brought her mazurka brilliantly to a close and 
 smiled up at him, her face relaxing its tension. "We 
 shall soon have to go down into the drawing-room," she 
 said. "I think Sunday afternoon card-shunting is an 
 agonising institution. It is quite painful to watch the 
 b'oredom and discomfort of the nicer sort of young man 
 who pays his respects on Sunday afternoons. Any man 
 who does this sort of thing well is certain to be a toad. 
 I cannot bear the accomplished caller !" 
 
 Levett got up and said that that reminded him of his 
 own duties. He himself had some cards to leave. They 
 arranged to go to the opera together on the following 
 Thursday and to go on to a dance. "Good-bye, Rachel," 
 said Levett with his hand on the door, "I've spent a really 
 happy afternoon. Let me know how you get on with 
 the education of Miss Carder!" 
 
 Rachel smiled into the grey eyes of her friend, with 
 their lurking devil of malice, and said she would ask 
 him to meet her in a fortnight's time so that he could 
 judge results! 
 
 After the door had closed behind him, she sat silently 
 in front of the piano. Then she began playing again,
 
 83 
 
 left off abruptly, and again sat silent. The sun had gone 
 behind some clouds, and a curious chill seemed to have 
 come over everything. She could not think what was 
 making her so miserable. She went into her bedroom to 
 wash and to tidy her hair, then went down into the 
 drawing-room to join her mother who had returned 
 from her luncheon party just as the first caller arrived.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DURING the Hectic weeks which followed her first 
 dance at the Fawsett Vivians, Margot felt herself to be 
 actually living in a dream. It was impossible to real- 
 ise everything at once. The rush of new sensations, 
 the constant change of excitement, the succession of 
 experiences and the bewildering speed at which her edu- 
 cation was progressing combined to put her head in a 
 whirl. Her eyes grew brighter and the impression she 
 made of alertness and vigorous life became stronger, till 
 she seemed almost febrile. She was so absorbed in her 
 new experiences that she hardly had time to notice the 
 slight chill in Mrs. Falkenheim's manner after the Fren- 
 sen episode at the Fawsett Vivians' ball, though grad- 
 ually and half consciously she became aware that the 
 chill increased whenever she met and talked to Sir Carl. 
 Mrs. Falkenheim was too kind, however, to allow her an- 
 noyance seriously to interfere with Margot's happiness. 
 She was too "comfortable" to be terrifying, and she en- 
 joyed indulging again, for her fair-haired Christian pro- 
 tegee, in maternal hopes and fears of which an unkind 
 fate had otherwise deprived her. But it was quite dif- 
 ferent with Israel. If Margot had paused to think, had 
 given herself a moment in which to indulge in nervous- 
 ness, he would have seriously frightened her. As it was, 
 she merely noted, with annoyance, the way he was con- 
 stantly watching her out of his dark eyes. Since she 
 had made the acquaintance of Jews she had learnt to hate 
 and fear their racial secretiveness their inability to put 
 the cards on the table and be frank. She could never 
 
 84
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 85 
 
 tell what the old man was getting at; his remarks dis- 
 quieted her. But she could not help connecting his sus- 
 picions, like his wife's coldness, with her meeting with 
 Sir Carl Frensen. She dated the subtle change in his 
 manner from then. Sometimes his remarks seemed to 
 indicate an uncanny insight, as though he had probed 
 her to the bottom of her heart. Then there came the 
 day when she caught him coming out of her room, and 
 when she went to her writing table she was certain that 
 two letters she had received that morning, one from Cap- 
 tain Stokes and one from Sir Carl, had been moved. 
 Why was the old man spying on her? What did he sus- 
 pect? Surely it was entirely her own affair whether 
 she chose to take Mrs. Falkenheim's advice about Carl 
 Frensen ! She herself was not above reading private* let- 
 ters if they were left lying about, but she put this down as 
 a natural feminine weakness. In men it seemed the low- 
 water mark of all that was base. She could not imagine 
 Jacky Bruce ever reading anybody's letter. It was the 
 kind of thing a butler or a footman would do ; in a man, 
 something common and low. Mr. Falkenheim's investi- 
 gations, however, contrived at last to upset her nerves, 
 and the feeling that she was "suspected" of something, 
 she knew not quite what became a kind of obsession 
 which, while disturbing her peace of mind, lent a zest 
 to her excitements. She seemed to live now on the edge 
 of a precipice, and looked about wildly for something 
 to catch hold of to save herself from falling if the Fal- 
 kenheims should desert her. She did her best to con- 
 solidate her position with the Elkingtons, and Rachel's 
 warm affection, the genuineness of which she could not 
 doubt, was a great source of consolation. She kept up 
 her correspondence also with Adam Henderson, to whom 
 if necessary, she intended to pay a prolonged visit. She
 
 86 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 wanted, in any case, to have as many ways of retreat 
 from the Falkenheims open to her as possible. 
 
 Of all the people she had met during her stay in Rich- 
 bourne Terrace, she cared most for Rachel and for God- 
 frey Levett. There was something about both of them 
 which she looked for in vain in the others. They were 
 different, there was a "beyond" to them; they possessed 
 something more than a mere highly polished social sur- 
 face. 
 
 Margot had greatly enjoyed meeting Levett again at 
 dinner at the Elkingtons', and had subsequently been to 
 tea with him at his quaint little house just off Church 
 Street, Kensington, where he lived surrounded by books 
 and pictures, in a luxurious bachelor retirement. But 
 she was sprung from a stock to which business came 
 almost automatically before pleasure, and she was de- 
 termined not to waste too much of her precious time 
 over friendships that were merely amusing. She decided 
 very soon after her memorable debut in Portland Place 
 that the man most likely to be useful to her, to be "worth 
 while," was Captain Stokes. She did not like anything 
 about him excepting his appearance, but the more she 
 heard concerning him, and the more reference books she 
 consulted as to his family and antecedents, the more he 
 became surrounded with attractive attributes, with a 
 kind of halo of eligibility. She used to dream what it 
 would be like to be Mrs. Vernon Stokes, with a little 
 house perhaps in Queen Street or in John Street, and 
 the certainty of becoming Lady Stokes whenever her 
 father-in-law were tactful enough to die. No more Bays- 
 water for her ! She'd teach old Falkenheim to come read- 
 ing her private letters when she was Lady Stokes ! 
 
 Margot was the kind of person whose dreams are 
 always with them. She went in, unconsciously, for the
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 87 
 
 process known as "thinking for results." She visualised 
 herself in all the glory of a successful Mayfair marriage 
 and proceeded to treat Vernon Stokes like dirt. She 
 refused his first three invitations, cut down his allow- 
 ance of dances whenever they met (which was almost 
 every night), and took care, at frequent intervals, to 
 let her dislike of him be visible. The result of this firm 
 line had been a luncheon at the Berkeley, two exciting 
 days at Epsom for the Derby and the Oaks, and a lit- 
 tle dinner at the Carlton, followed by a theatre and sup- 
 per at the "Five Hundred Gub" with his cousin Joyce 
 Cornewall and a brother officer, called Lord Patcham. 
 Then there had been an afternoon party at the family 
 mansion in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, where she 
 had enjoyed the thrilling experience of meeting "the pa- 
 rents" and had tried to size them up in order to be 
 prepared for eventualities. Finally had come an invita- 
 tion to dine with them quietly en famille and to go on 
 afterwards to a dance. When this invitation came 
 it was in the first week of July Margot felt that she 
 had really made progress. The Falkenheims had been 
 prevailed on to take her to Ascot, which was one of her 
 cherished ambitions, and she had worn an adorable frock 
 which suited her to perfection. She was sure she had 
 looked her best. And now the long-desired invitation 
 to dine in Charles Street had arrived. Her simple sys- 
 tem had acted on Stokes with absolute precision, just 
 as she had guessed it would act after their first encoun- 
 ter. She had learnt since then (through a chance remark 
 of his which she had overheard) that he wandered about 
 every night from dance to dance until he found her. 
 Pleased as she was to make this discovery it did not es- 
 cape her sharp intelligence that he enjoyed his pose of 
 having the entree everywhere just as much as he enjoyed
 
 88 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 finding her and dancing with her. This perception on 
 her part indicated the growth of disillusion. The com- 
 plexities of existence, however, which her plunge into 
 London had revealed were still alarming and baffling, 
 particularly as she gradually became more and more sen- 
 sitive to the smaller differences separating one group 
 from another. She could not accept things philosophical- 
 ly, acknowledging that (in the homely phrase) it takes 
 all sorts to make a world. Her original belief that only 
 one sort is to be found in the world, indeed, died with 
 difficulty, and only received its death-blow when she be- 
 gan to have doubts as to what really constituted the 
 world of worlds. 
 
 The dinner with the Stokes' had been made easy for 
 her by Mrs. Falkenheim in a variety of subtle ways 
 which Margot knew nothing whatever about, and for 
 which she consequently gave her benefactress no credit. 
 Just the right things had, in point of fact, been said 
 about her, so that wherever she went her crudities were 
 condoned, her small vulgarities of speech, manner, and 
 point of view excused. She was something fresh and 
 new, and at least associated with riches. Society was 
 prepared to make allowances for her, and the rumour 
 soon grew that she was heiress to some fabulous Cana- 
 dian fortune. 
 
 When Margot arrived at the house in Charles Street, 
 an unwonted feeling of nervousness came over her. 
 There was something about the solidity of its great fa- 
 cade which seemed to symbolize the solidity of the tamily 
 entrenched behind it. They were so terribly established, 
 while she she had nothing but her good looks and her 
 Canadian drawl and her cheek to recommend her! At 
 any moment she might be thrown on her own resources 
 and have to retire ignominiously, a second-class passen-
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 89 
 
 ger on a cheap boat, to the place whence she came. She 
 thought of her dwindled store she had only 361 8s. 4d. 
 left shuddered, and pulled herself together. The elec- 
 tric bell, rung by the Falkenheims' footman, seemed to 
 her, as she sat in the car and listened, to make a mellow 
 tintillation in the midst of vast spaces. Then the huge 
 doors were opened by a footman, while the butler ad- 
 vanced slowly to meet her across the vault-like marble 
 hall, which was lit from a rich crystal chandelier set 
 high in the ceiling. The "marble hall" instead of oppres- 
 sing her, seemed to go to her head. Who knew but what, 
 some day, it might be her own? She had only to play 
 her cards rightly, to bend the will of one vain and shal- 
 low man to hers, to become the future mistress of every- 
 thing her eyes beheld. The thought seemed to lend her 
 wings. By the time she found herself shaking hands 
 with Lady Stokes, in the small drawing-room, the ner- 
 vousness which had afflicted her while waiting in the car 
 outside vanished completely. 
 
 At dinner Vernon was seen at his best. His mother's 
 keen eye restrained the peacock from spreading its tail, 
 and when he was not "showing off" Vernon had a certain 
 humour which, while showing to advantage in the rather 
 opulent surroundings, gave him many opportunities of 
 flashing his beautiful teeth. Between Vernon and his 
 father very little love seemed to be lost. Margot got 
 the impression that his father in some way jarred Ver- 
 non's susceptibilities. 
 
 Sir William Stokes was a big, "brushed-up" man, with 
 hands that must have been manicured every day. His 
 hair, which was abundant, was going grey, and he wore 
 a carefully trained grey moustache. His cruel blue eyes 
 were eager, inquisitive; he was perpetually asking rude 
 questions, and doing small acts of politeness in a rather
 
 90 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 pompous manner. It was obvious that to inferiors or 
 undesirables he could be grossly insulting, with a hard, 
 plutocratic insolence. Margot felt his sneering eyes on 
 her during dinner, appraising her, and was almost over- 
 come by a desire to insult first her host and then his son. 
 The other guests were Lord Patcham and Joyce Corne- 
 wall, whom she had already met and whose engagement 
 had been announced. Margot remembered having seen 
 photographs of them in The Toiler the week before. 
 These two kept up a constant flow of idiotic small talk, 
 into which she and Vernon joined every now and then, 
 while Sir William and Lady Stokes made a rarer chorus. 
 Lady Stokes had a pathetic kind of crushed animation. 
 When she laughed her eyes laughed too; the effect was 
 startling, for it made her look years younger. Otherwise 
 she was a sad-looking woman, with a sharp, rather acid 
 way of speaking and a slightly chilling manner. Her 
 hair was silky and quite white, her eyes were dark and 
 bright, and with her face skilfully made up with a little 
 rouge near the ears she looked altogether delightful, for 
 she had retained her slim figure and beautiful shoulders. 
 Margot felt she would like to ask her ever so many ques- 
 tions about life, about London, about Sir William, and, 
 above all about Vernon. She felt that no one in the 
 whole world could possibly know Vernon so well as his 
 mother. . . . 
 
 Lady Stokes regarded her son from time to time with 
 a melancholy smile; he was so like her, and yet so oddly 
 like his father. He had his father's passion for correct- 
 ness, for making an imposing appearance, but it took him 
 in a more subtle way. From her he had inherited an 
 excellent manner and a susceptibility to fine shades of 
 feeling and conduct. But he was cursed with an inheri- 
 ted "consciousness," an inherited desire to be in the
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 91 
 
 height of form; perhaps, even, an inherited uneasiness. 
 Sir William Stokes had not been by any means a self- 
 made man. His father, an M.P. and Deputy-Lieutenant, 
 had sent him to Eton and to Cambridge; he had been 
 brought up from earliest youth amid the surroundings of 
 wealth. The atmosphere of his home was, however, 
 harshly material for it had been only natural for his 
 father to value the things he had struggled so persistently 
 to obtain. Andrew Stokes, the founder of the family, 
 had begun life as a skilled artisan in a Glasgow engineer- 
 ing works in early- Victorian days, and in marrying a 
 doctor's daughter, a lady immeasurably "above" him at 
 the time he married her, he had taken his first upward 
 step. He was a hard-working man of the shark type, a 
 man of one idea, which was to found a family and to 
 make his son a gentleman. Sir William, perhaps as a 
 result of the fierceness of his father's ambition, was al- 
 most a super-gentleman. From his place of education 
 to the varnish on his boots you could not pick a hole in 
 him anywhere, while by his marriage he had allied him- 
 self with one of the most ancient families in the kingdom. 
 He belonged, exclusively, to the "best" clubs, and made 
 a point of going where people go. But he did it all a lit- 
 tle consciously, as though inviting admiration of his per- 
 fect gentility. He was curiously naif about the things 
 he valued. Had he been told that no one was "com- 
 plete" who was not, say, a Privy Councillor, he would 
 have set to work deliberately to attain that distinction 
 in order that nothing might be missing. W r ith Vernon 
 the passion for correctness took him more subtly, and 
 was largely a question of attitudes. His interest in every 
 subject was bound up in his own attitude toward it. 
 He was elaborately "not a snob," and often made a point 
 of being seen cultivating his social inferiors. His atti-
 
 92 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 tude here was that, being himself Olympian, he could 
 consort with whom he pleased the more peculiar his 
 companions, the more clearly they threw into relief his 
 own superiority. He liked also to let it be seen that he 
 was not merely the ultra-smart soldier, but had a taste 
 for literature, for art, and such like matters. All this 
 increased his feeling of superiority, as did his habit of 
 being, on occasions, rather rude to harmless people of 
 his own class, in order to show that he was above any 
 snobbish display of merely being a "little gentleman." 
 It was characteristic of the difference between father and 
 son that Vernon Stokes would have suffered agonies at 
 the thought of being rude to anyone beneath him in rank. 
 He liked the incense of inferiors; it soothed the in- 
 ward uneasiness that was his most deeply guarded secret. 
 
 Margot felt sorry for him as she looked at him and 
 laughed during dinner, and made some drawling remark 
 about the dances they had been to during the past week. 
 It was so easy to make him wince that it seemed unfair 
 to do so. He was very attentive to her, and behind his 
 elaborate nonchalance and reserve she divined that he 
 was very anxious for her to make a good impression on 
 his mother and on his father. This perception thrilled 
 her with a feeling of triumph ; her eyes sparkled ; she felt 
 a sudden wave of self-confidence^ particularly when she 
 compared her lovely Doucet frock with Joyce Corne- 
 wall's foolish garment of pink chiffon which looked as 
 if it had been run together by her mother's maid. Before 
 the dinner was half-way through she had the satisfac- 
 tion of finding that Lord Patcham addressed half his fat- 
 uous remarks to her; and she got the impression (which 
 she adored) that for almost everyone in the room she 
 was the centre of interest. 
 
 In an argument on night clubs and dancing clubs be-
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 93 
 
 tween Patcham and Vernon, Margot found herself sid- 
 ing with Patcham. 
 
 "You're just like that Father what's-his-name, Ver- 
 non," Patcham remarked, "Your idea of a pleasant eve- 
 ning is 'a fashionable reunion !' Joyce and I like being 
 amused, . . . and I expect Miss Cartier does too. 
 We like to get away from the deadly round of 'fashion- 
 able affairs' . . ." 
 
 "I don't mind where I go," said Vernon, "as long as 
 it isn't the suburbs of society. Really, my dear boy, 
 some of those dance clubs ... !" Vernon's eye- 
 brows indicated unspoken volumes. 
 
 "There he goes again !" Patcham remarked. "Always 
 thinking of what the other people are like! You don't 
 have to dance with 'em, and they're just as amusing to 
 watch as the average crowd at the Ritz and very often 
 ten times more so. Besides, they aren't afraid of being 
 amused. They go there to dance, just as one goes to 
 some decent pub like the Carlton or the Savoy to eat. 
 And they pay the shot themselves, instead of sponging 
 on some climber whose name they can't even remember. 
 Now Vernon is never happy unless he is at a function. 
 It must be some 'smart affair,' as Vesta Tilley would say, 
 or he feels miserable ! Isn't that so, Lady Stokes ?" Lady 
 Stokes, when appealed to, laughed at Patcham and said 
 the world had moved on too quickly for her to keep 
 pace with it. 
 
 "I must confess, though," she added, with a twinkle 
 in her extraordinarily young eyes, "that I have a sneak- 
 ing desire just to see what one of these clubs is like. . . ." 
 
 "Well, mother!" said Vernon with an expression of 
 despair, "I never thought it of you! Of course, Pat- 
 cham's views are natural enough he's half a Yank to 
 look at, and has a passion for being up-to-date at any
 
 94 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 price. As for Joyce, she's just a plain rip. As long as 
 she thinks she is on the primrose path, she is game to 
 waltz." 
 
 "It sounds like a subject for a Clapham debating so- 
 ciety!" Joyce observed. "Do dance clubs lead to de- 
 struction ?" 
 
 "It's because Clapham believes they do that it flocks 
 to them in such numbers," laughed Vernon. 
 
 "Good old Clapham, then; it knows how to enjoy it- 
 self. We'll join in, too, Joyce, and have some of the 
 fun," Patcham said. "We aren't proud so long as the 
 floor and band are good and Joyce gets a chance of spot- 
 ting the favourite !" 
 
 "You can't talk about spotting the favourite!" said 
 Joyce with a flash of adorable eyes and a little malicious 
 glance. "If you can believe it, Aunt Julia," she added, 
 "he spends the whole of supper pointing out girls from 
 the front row at Daly's or the Empire 'there goes Dolly 
 Martin; that one over there is Jenny Peech' and so 
 on for hours together. I tell him he ought to leave me 
 at home on these occasions ... or else dissemble !" 
 
 "Ah, that's the bother," said Patcham ; "I never could 
 dissemble, could I, Vernon?" Vernon chuckled and 
 looked through his lovely eyelashes. "About as much as 
 an elephant!" 
 
 "I must say I agree with Vernon, you know, about 
 those clubs," Sir William chimed in, just when the sub- 
 ject was ready for burial. "I think they are horrible 
 places. It is a mystery to me why decent people go to 
 them. No offence to you and Joyce, of course," he added 
 in a gust of over-politeness. Vernon did not show any 
 enthusiasm for being agreed with by his father, and be- 
 gan to differentiate between clubs, some of them meet- 
 ing with a qualified approval. "What do you think
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 95 
 
 about them, Miss Cartier?" Sir William asked with the 
 air of putting a leading question on which his future 
 opinion of Margot was to depend. This aggressiveness 
 fired Margot's high spirits ; her native unwillingness to be 
 "put upon" asserted itself. 
 
 "You see," she drawled, "to me everything in London 
 is amusing, and I don't really know what is smart and 
 what isn't yet." Vernon winced at this. "I must say, 
 though, I agree with Lord Patcham that the important 
 thing is just to have a good time, and I'd sooner by 
 far go to one of these clubs than to some reg'lar punk 
 dance where everybody's bored rigid." 
 
 Sir William's eyebrows turned themselves into ques- 
 tion marks at Margot's Colonial slang, but she returned 
 his glance with interest, while Lady Stokes, with a little 
 burst of laughter, remarked, "I think Miss Cartier has 
 put the whole situation in a nutshell. Vernon, you will 
 have to swallow your scruples one evening and take us 
 all to the Five Hundred or to Martin's. . . ." 
 
 Vernon and his mother smlied affectionately at one 
 another. His devotion to her was the thing Margot most 
 liked about him. 
 
 The conversation strayed suddenly from dancing clubs 
 to horses, and Patcham became eloquent, twisting his 
 monocle and clipping his "g's." Newbury and Ascot 
 were discussed from a highly technical standpoint which 
 Margot found extremely dull ; and the prospects for 
 Goodwood were canvassed as seriously as if the Empire 
 were at stake. Sir William joined in with animation, 
 and Margot was surprised and annoyed to find that the 
 women of the party could talk horses as fluently as the 
 men. Lady Stokes had a great deal to say about a chest- 
 nut filly with white stockings who ran second in some 
 "selling plate."
 
 96 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 On the whole, Margot was not sorry when dinner came 
 to an end. There was something rather oppressive in 
 its elaborate ceremonial, though the fact that there were 
 two footmen to help the butler wait on six people 
 seemed to her quite as it should be. After the initial 
 pleasure of being taken down in great state on Sir Wil- 
 liam's arm, she had found the meal tedious, and was 
 relieved when Lady Stokes rose from the table and the 
 men were left to their port wine.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 JOYCE CORNEWALL produced a cigarette-case as soon 
 as they got back to the drawing-room, remarking, "Thank 
 the Lord; now we can smoke can't we, Aunt Julia?" 
 just like a boy. Lady Stokes let the two girls chatter 
 together, occasionally throwing in a word here and there. 
 Margot thought what a dear she was, and how charm- 
 ing was Joyce, but she found it hard to keep her mind 
 on the conversation. Her brain was working furiously ; 
 her eyes were everywhere. Each minute detail of the 
 behaviour of the women she was with was noted and 
 registered; every movement of a servant was observed; 
 and as for the room, she would have been able to recite 
 a complete inventory of its contents within ten minutes. 
 
 Margot fell an immediate victim to Joyce; she was 
 an entirely unimagined type, and gave an impression 
 of rakishness combined with remaining a "thoroughly 
 nice girl" that was delightful. Margot no longer won- 
 dered what it was that Patcham saw in her, and only 
 wished that Vernon had half the wit and charm of his 
 cousin. 
 
 When the men came upstairs, Vernon said, "I thought 
 of taking Miss Cartier on to Aunt Mary's. There will 
 be several people there who won't mind chaperoning her. 
 I've just been telephoning. I think Patcham and Joyce 
 ought to put in an appearance for an hour or so be- 
 fore going to their scandalous haunts." 
 
 Aunt Mary Wilkinson was Joyce's bete noire, but she 
 agreed because, in some vague way, she thought it might 
 be friendly to Margot. 
 
 97
 
 98 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 Margot was not in the best of tempers at being for- 
 cibly '"taken." She expected her desires to be consulted. 
 It was true she had accepted in general terms, and had 
 explained to Mrs. Falkenheim that she would be chaper- 
 oned by Captain Stokes' aunt, but she expected the 
 dance to be at the Ritz or the Hyde Park Hotel not 
 in a turning off the Cromwell Road. 
 
 When they got to Mrs. Wilkinson's rather shabby 
 house, Margot found herself once more in a fresh atmo- 
 sphere. Would London never end, she thought! How 
 could one get a general view of it, and see where one 
 wanted to be ? On a first inspection, what she afterwards 
 discovered to be the South Kensington Anglo-Indian con- 
 tingent (in full force) seemed to make up in manner 
 what they may have lacked in mere wealth. Colonel Wil- 
 kinson was a personage in this particular set. "All An- 
 glo-Indians," Joyce remarked confidentially to Margot, 
 "have an incorrigible tendency to possess marriageable 
 daughters and over-drafts at Grindlay's ! That's why 
 the plutocrats are here." She pointed out a row of 
 over-dressed young men with blue chins, monocles and 
 a sarcastic manner laboriously acquired. Margot got 
 nearer to caring for Vernon, as she looked at Joyce's 
 plutocrats and realised all the things he wasn't, than 
 she had ever been before. 
 
 The dance turned out better than it looked ; there was 
 an infectious gaiety in the room which made it go with 
 a swing. The girls, even the "debs," seemed to have a 
 bit more ginger in them than the pallid "tish-tishy" crea- 
 tures Margot had seen at the more expensive entertain- 
 ments. Their clothes were cheap, but they wore them 
 with an air. Joyce she particularly admired. This 
 girl, with her dare-devil, proud eyes, enchanted her and 
 reminded her of a portrait by Gainsborough of a Miss
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 99 
 
 Singleton, which Rachel had pointed out once in the 
 National Gallery. Vernon introduced her to his grand- 
 mother, and to various aunts and other relatives, and 
 also to his grandfather. The old couple amused Mar- 
 got particularly. Mrs. Cornewall was large, incredibly 
 old, and highly ornamented. She had tiny hands and 
 feet (of which she was inordinately vain), and her "star- 
 ers" hid young, laughing eyes, like the eyes of Vernon's 
 mother. "My dear," she said to Margot, "what a nice 
 neck Patcham has; and do you see the charming way 
 his hair lifts from his forehead! It's a funny thing, 
 but we women never get too old to admire the men!" 
 She laughed and looked so pretty that Margot was temp- 
 ted to throw her white arms round the old lady's neck 
 and give her a resounding kiss on both cheeks. General 
 Cornewall also made a conquest. He belonged to the 
 "Boggley-Wallah" type of Indian administrator, and 
 Vernon told Margot how, in his youth, he had been sent 
 to rule a territory as large as Belgium, consisting, for 
 the most part, of virgin forests. He had arrived with 
 an army of workmen, and the workmen proceeded to 
 erect a gigantic larder and wine cellar. These he filled 
 with every luxury known to the gourmet, with wines 
 from every famous vineyard, with stores of provisions 
 sufficient to last him for several years. When his prep- 
 arations were completed he ran up a little house conveni- 
 ently near his larder and proceeded to bellow at the na- 
 tives, standing on the outskirts of the virgin forest. After 
 he had bellowed persistently for four or five years, the 
 natives naturally mistook him for a god and obeyed him 
 implicitly. Of the bellowing habit he had been unable 
 to break himself, and his small talk at dances reverbera- 
 ted above the loudest band. He was seventy-nine years 
 old, rather ungainly in build, and wore a short grey
 
 ioo M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 beard. He was never seen without a woolen comforter 
 disposed somewhere about his person. Margot noticed 
 the ends of it appearing out of the inside pocket of his 
 evening coat. 
 
 Margot danced the first two dances with Vernon. 
 Just as the second one came to an end, she noticed 
 Godfrey Levett and Rachel coming into the room, and 
 insisted on Vernon taking her across to them. Vernon 
 knew both Levett and Miss Elkington slightly. He 
 could not forget them because, being extremely sensitive 
 to the impression he made on people, he realised that 
 they both disliked him. He asked Rachel for a dance 
 in the hope that she would talk to him about Margot, 
 while the blonde devil who was driving him distracted 
 was carried off by Levett. 
 
 Margot always felt interested, alert, excited when 
 she was with Levett. She never knew what he might 
 do next. He was so unlike any of the well-worn types 
 she had met so constantly ; he was an original, and might 
 perhaps be very wicked. She almost hoped he was. 
 After they had danced, they went out into the street to 
 get cool, as there was no garden, and the balcony was 
 crowded. They walked on under the stars through the 
 warm summer night, and Margot felt a wave of emo- 
 tion flowing over her ; she felt as though she could walk 
 on and on seeking some great adventure, some great 
 love; there was a strange magic over everything; the 
 intoxication of her own youth and loveliness rose to her 
 head. She felt herself to be a princess. When they got 
 to the end of the street of silent houses a taxi drew up 
 by their side. 
 
 "Let's cut two dances and go for a spin," Levett sug- 
 gested. "No one will know, and we shall be back in 
 heaps of time for supper!"
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 101 
 
 They drove off down the deserted street, and, half 
 expecting what was going to happen, Margot found 
 herself in Levett's arms, with his lips pressed to hers. 
 She sat with his arm holding her tightly, with her head 
 on his shoulder, speechless with excitement. The mean- 
 ing of existence seemed suddenly to be revealed to her. 
 She felt no affection for Levett, none for Vernon, but she 
 was absorbed with interest in her own sensations. Once 
 again the male lips sought hers ; she felt herself eagerly 
 desired, and the realisation of this gave her pleasure, 
 while through her veins there ran a thrill that was al- 
 most painful. She had never experienced anything like 
 it; she did not know what it meant; but it seemed that 
 she had never before lived so intensely as at this mo- 
 ment. All her other experiences seemed a little cheap 
 by contrast. 
 
 "You are an enchanting creature!" murmured Levett, 
 looking at her with a light in his eyes. "Whoever gets 
 you will be a lucky man, Margot. You are so deliciously 
 mexperimentSe, in some ways; so very much all there 
 in others." 
 
 Margot detested Levett's habitual note of raillery, and 
 it annoyed her that, even while his passion for her was 
 almost overmastering him, he should at the same time 
 be appraising her, with mockery and a cynical amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "You've no heart!" he said abruptly. "Not a scrap. 
 . . . All the same, one of these days someone will 
 wake you up. ..." 
 
 She drew away from him in annoyance and began 
 tidying her hair. Then she turned to him again. "I 
 wonder if I am cold," she said. Her eyes were bright 
 in the moonlight which came through the window of 
 the cab ; her beautiful bosom was in distress ; she looked
 
 102 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 the image of a passionate woman, but her eyes were 
 not soft, and her brain was alert for his answer. He 
 lighted a cigarette first, taking the silver case deliberately 
 out of his breast pocket, choosing one carefully and tap- 
 ping it on the case. Then he told the chauffeur to drive 
 back, and fingered his tie. "My dear," he said, "you 
 give me the impression of never having cared for any- 
 one except yourself, simply because you've never met 
 anyone to care for. When love comes to you I hope, 
 for your sake, it will be for the man you are going to 
 marry. ..." 
 
 "By the way," Levett continued, in an altered voice, 
 "has he proposed yet?" 
 
 "Godfrey, you nasty creature!" Margot replied, 
 laughing in spite of herself. "Of course he hasn't . . . 
 yet." 
 
 "He will when he finds you've cut two or three of 
 his dances!" Levett replied. "I'm a perfect fairy god- 
 father to you two. You must be sure to ask me to the 
 wedding." 
 
 "If I had known you didn't care a scrap I wouldn't 
 have let you . . ." Margot replied irrelevantly. His 
 answer was to take her again in his arms and cover her 
 eyes and mouth with kisses. Her excitement was almost 
 more than she could bear. "You devil," she gasped, tear- 
 ing herself away from him as they began to draw near 
 the Wilkinson's house, "I don't know what it is you do 
 to me, but if either of us is cold, it's you." 
 
 "So you see," said Godfrey, "we ought to be awfully 
 good friends. You must come and have tea with me 
 again on Thursday, and become the devil's disciple." 
 
 They got out of the cab and turned the corner of 
 the street stealthily. A number of girls and men were 
 walking about in front of the house, and they strolled
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 103 
 
 very slowly, with an elaborate imitation of the walk of 
 a couple who have just been dancing, towards the others. 
 They entered the house, when the music started, sur- 
 rounded by other people, and began, unobtrusively, to 
 dance. Margot could tell, however, by a look in Ver- 
 non's eye, that he knew quite well where she had been, 
 even if his aunt did not. 
 
 She danced the next dance with him, after which they 
 went down to supper. Mrs. Cornewall and the General 
 were already installed. It was Mrs. Cornewall's duty to 
 find her husband everything good there was to eat which 
 his doctor would allow him. He sat at a table alone with 
 his wife, a napkin tucked into his neck, like a commis- 
 voyageur, immense and serious, while all kinds of dishes 
 were collected round him. "Your grandad's a real peach, 
 Vernon," Margot remarked in a more conciliatory tone 
 than she usually adopted, "but he's a no end messy feeder, 
 and no mistake!" 
 
 The ex-Administrator could be heard bellowing com- 
 ments on the different dishes to his wife, who listened 
 dutifully as she had listened for the last fifty years. 
 
 "Grandfather likes his meals," Vernon replied. "He 
 lives at Clevedon, you know, and goes out shopping every 
 morning in his carriage. I met him outside a fishmon- 
 ger's a little while ago, holding a large turbot to his 
 chest and prodding it to see if it was a good 'un. Event- 
 ually he gave the turbot back and bought another one 
 up the road for less money!" 
 
 Margot at the bottom of her heart felt that it was 
 hardly in accordance with her ideal for an English aris- 
 tocrat to haggle with a fishmonger, but she concealed 
 this as far as she could. . . . 
 
 "I hope you had an amusing walk ?" Vernon remarked 
 after a pause, helping her to some champagne. She
 
 104 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 could see that he was struggling with himself to make 
 his voice sound normal. 
 
 "Very, thanks." 
 
 "You cut about four dances!" he said with a sigh. 
 "Just my luck! And Aunt Mary kept asking where you 
 were. You'll have to go and do the polite. . . ." 
 
 This remark of Vernon's rather nonplussed Margot. 
 Her first instinct was to put Vernon in his place, but 
 his suggestion that she had in some way transgressed the 
 laws of etiquette in regard to his aunt was extremely 
 disconcerting. She looked round for Rachel, who was 
 supping at another table, and beamed at her with af- 
 fection. This look heartened her; she wished she could 
 get two minutes with Rachel and ask her advice. 
 
 "I'm sorry if your aunt thought I was away a long 
 time," Margot remarked haughtily. "I ought not to 
 have come without a proper chaperon." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense," Vernon said. "It's quite all right, 
 really. Of course, it is a little complicated my not hav- 
 ing dined at the Falkenheims' since you have been stay- 
 ing with them. But I dare say it wasn't possible to work 
 it. In any case, it doesn't matter a rap, and Aunt Mary 
 gave me up ages ago. She has a certain steely glance 
 which she reserves for me." 
 
 Margot had never known Vernon to "drop hints" before 
 that anything about her was anything else than perfect, 
 and the suggestion that she might have betrayed her ig- 
 norance, with him, in some serious way, alarmed her. 
 She lost all pleasure in the dance, and, after a hurried 
 word with Rachel, while she was powdering her nose, 
 she decided to go home. It was Rachel's advice when- 
 ever one felt things were not going quite right. She 
 announced her intention coldly to Vernon, and was 
 pleased by his look of disappointment. She was so pre-
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 105 
 
 occupied now with the danger which seemed to threaten 
 her schemes that she completely forgot about Levett, 
 who watched her, with amusement, out of a corner of 
 his eye, while dancing with one of the Miss Wilkinsons. 
 
 When she found herself in the taxi by the side of 
 Vernon she was kinder to him than she usually allowed 
 herself to be, and, laying her hand for a moment on 
 his knee, told him she was sorry she had missed the 
 dances, but she had been discussing something rather 
 important, and had not noticed how the time flew. Ver- 
 non trembled all over when she touched him. He shook 
 so much that he could hardly speak. She looked at him 
 curiously, and felt her heart warming toward him. He, 
 at any rate, wasn't pretending. "Don't be angry, Ver- 
 non," she said, "or I shall turn you out of the cab and 
 drive home by myself!" 
 
 "By Gad, you are a cruel goddess!" he muttered 
 through his moustache. "You've got me gagged and 
 bound, Margot," he whispered. It was characteristic 
 that in expressing his love for her he did so in the most 
 impressive way he knew by telling her that she had no 
 less a person than Vernon Stokes at her mercy. 
 
 Margot felt a wave of triumph sweeping over her. 
 She looked at him and smiled, but she was determined 
 to stave off the embrace which threatened. He was busy 
 putting her on a pedestal, and she did not want him, too 
 soon, to find the way up the ladder. 
 
 "You are an old fool, Vernon!" she said caressingly. 
 
 "You don't care for me. . . ." 
 
 "I do care, very much. But perhaps not in the way 
 you want." 
 
 "There is only one way." 
 
 "Oh, no, there isn't. Caring isn't a sudden thing. Be- 
 sides, how can I tell yet? Or you either, for that mat-
 
 106 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 ter. All this is only an evening's amusement with you. 
 I don't believe you are in the least sincere !" 
 
 "Good Lord, ain't I !" he said with an effort at light- 
 ness which failed dismally. His elaborate social mask 
 was dropped, and in the trembling and beautiful male 
 animal by her side she suddenly saw a victim which 
 inscrutable fate had delivered into her hands. He put 
 his arm slowly round her waist ; she could feel the elec- 
 tricity of his eagerness through her clothes as his hand 
 touched her. But she did not intend to capitulate too 
 soon. She freed herself and turned her face away from 
 his lips. She was conscious that he was shaking with 
 nervous eagerness, at her mercy. How different this 
 was from her truant drive with Godfrey Levett. She 
 had never had Levett at her mercy, and while he was 
 able to laugh with those mocking grey eyes of his, he 
 never would be at her mercy, or at the mercy of any 
 woman. He never put her on any pedestal on the con- 
 trary! She grew angry when she thought that his ac- 
 tion had been brutal and contemptuous. But not very 
 angry. She was not at all sure that she did not like 
 brutality and contempt. It was so exciting. Evidently 
 Vernon found it so as well. Good Heavens! she had 
 forgotten all about him. Her thoughts had wandered. 
 Was he speaking to her ? 
 
 Vernon had not noticed her momentary distraction. In 
 spite of his nervousness of desire, he was by no means 
 inclined to underrate himself, and her apparent moodiness 
 he put down to her natural excitement at his avowal. 
 Once more he insinuated the protective arm round her 
 waist. The journey was so nearly ended! "Don't you 
 think you could care for me, Margot, dear, just a little? 
 We could be so happy if we were married. ... I am 
 sure we could. ."
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 107 
 
 "Vernon you mustn't say those things," Margot 
 whispered in studiously emotional tones as the cab drew 
 up at the Falkenheim's door. "I like you very much as 
 a friend. . . . but, as for anything else . . . how can 1 
 tell when I have only known you a few weeks ?" Vernon 
 bit his moustache with mortification. How he loathed 
 that phrase, "I like you very much as a friend." It had 
 been used to him by a pretty chorus girl as he was 
 driving her back to her flat after a Covent Garden ball,, 
 in his Sandhurst days. His vanity had never got over 
 that knock. 
 
 "I think you are the crudest and most beautiful 
 creature that ever lived," he said as he handed her back 
 her key after unlocking the great front door for her. "I 
 wish I could forget all about you for ever !" 
 
 "Try !" she said, laughing at him joyously as she closed 
 the door.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 "WiLL you come and make some calls with me this 
 afternoon, my dear?" Mrs. Falkenheim let the request 
 fall placidly, during luncheon, about a week after the 
 dinner party at Charles Street. She spoke as though no 
 special importance attached to the matter, but Margot 
 happened to have promised to go to tea with Sir Carl 
 Frensen that afternoon. She was particularly anxious to 
 placate Mrs. Falkenheim, but at the same time she didn't 
 see why she should give up a visit on which she had set 
 her heart, just because the Falkenheims and Sir Carl 
 happened to be enemies. 
 
 "Yes, I think I can," she said, to gain time, and she 
 was deliberating what she should do, when she encoun- 
 tered the malignant glance of Israel Falkenheim fixed 
 upon her. He was sitting facing the window, with the 
 light full on him, so that every flicker of expression on 
 his face was observable by Margot. He looked as though 
 his thin, cold fingers might have clutched a knife if the 
 butler had not been standing just behind him. Elemental 
 passion, as old as human nature, seemed to burn in his 
 black eyes; his lips were pressed tightly together. 
 Margot's heart sank when she looked at him. She was 
 no coward, but this momentary withdrawal of the mask 
 on her host's part, made her pause. She had no intention 
 of giving up her visit to Sir Carl, but she thought it as 
 well to be diplomatic. She appeared to consider for a 
 moment ; then she remarked blandly to Mrs. Falkenheim : 
 
 "Oh, no ; do you know, I am afraid I can't come with 
 you this afternoon after all? I have just remembered I 
 
 108
 
 M ARGOT'S PRO'GRESS 109 
 
 promised to go round to Rachel's and help her buy a hat. 
 What a nuisance! But I promised Rachel most par- 
 ticularly !" 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter, dear," said Mrs. Falkenheim in 
 her fat voice. She appeared to retire into herself 
 ruminating. 
 
 Again Margot's eyes met Israel's. The butler was in 
 the act of handing him the savoury. He helped himself 
 abruptly; then, with spoon and fork half-way between 
 the dish and his plate, paused and put the morsel of toast 
 and fish back on the dish. 
 
 " No, I won't have any," he remarked in a harsh and 
 strained tone. . . . "Excuse me." He rose quickly and 
 went out. Margot felt herself going white as the heavy 
 mahogany door closed behind him with a thud and 
 Fraser's face assumed that expression of ultra-indiffer- 
 ence which even Margot had come to realize meant that 
 he had missed nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Falkenheim made no comment, and Margot 
 swallowed her hock quickly and was glad when she could 
 without loss of dignity escape. When she reached her 
 room she flew at once to her writing-table, and the situa- 
 tion was revealed to her in a flash as she pulled open one 
 of the drawers and found at the bottom of it Sir Carl 
 Frensen's note, inviting her. How could she have been 
 so maniacally careless as to leave it lying about! Of 
 course, Israel had been to her room and read it. lie 
 didn't believe her; he knew she meant to go, and that 
 what she had said about Rachel was a lie. 
 
 "Very well," thought Margot, "I will go just to spite 
 him . . . the old beast." 
 
 Counsels of prudence were thrown to the winds. Her 
 facile successes had mounted so much to her head that 
 she felt her position impregnable. And she wanted to
 
 no M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 bring the whole matter to a crisis. Ever since she had 
 known Sir Carl the atmosphere of the house in Rich- 
 bourne Terrace had been growing increasingly chilly 
 and was now become thick with suspicion and unfriend- 
 liness. She felt that, sooner or later, there would have 
 to be some understanding. To the voice, inside herself, 
 which suggested caution now that all she had worked for 
 was so nearly achieved she paid no attention. Her 
 brain was abnormally excited by all the other strange and 
 thrilling and intoxicating things which had happened to 
 her during the past three months, culminating in Ver- 
 non's proposal after the Wilkinson's dance. How delight- 
 ful it had been not immediately to accept him, to keep 
 him dangling for a little while on the string. She knew 
 that at any moment she could subside into his arms and 
 make him the happiest man in London by so doing. It 
 was delicious to put off the moment whilst allowing him 
 to hope. Margol! glanced around her beautiful bedroom 
 and then looked at herself in the long cheval glass in 
 front of the window. She looked at the whiteness of her 
 neck, at the swell of her bosom and her narrow hips and 
 long legs and preened herself before the glass in her love- 
 ly frock. She thought of the quiver in Vernon's voice 
 when he had spoken to her that night in the taxi, of the 
 look of ecstasy which she had surprised in his eyes at 
 Hurlingham the day before, when they strolled together 
 along the path by the river. How he had shaken all over 
 with the intensity of his love! Even Godfrey Levett, 
 that cynical despiser of women, had very nearly been 
 carried off his feet by her beauty. Why should she let 
 herself be bullied by a horrid old Jew just because she 
 happened to be staying in London at his expense ! It was 
 too much ; she would show him that she could stand quite 
 securely on her own two feet, and was not dependent
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS in 
 
 exclusively on his protection. The luxury to which he 
 had introduced her had become so much a necessity of 
 her nature and so familiar a part of her life that she 
 could not realize now that there was any possibility of her 
 ever having to do without it. In thought she was already 
 Mrs. Stokes, already mistress of a house in Mayfair on 
 the threshold of a long career of social triumphs. 
 
 She waited in her room until the car came round and 
 she saw Mrs. Falkenheim enter it and drive off. She 
 was a little surprised that Mrs. Falkenheim had not sent 
 up to ask if she could deposit her at Rachel's. The fact 
 that she had not done so made her feel vaguely uneasy. 
 She went out as soon as Mrs. Falkenheim had gone, and 
 when she had walked a few yards down Richbourne 
 Terrace it occurred to her to look back at the house. 
 When she did so she noticed for one brief moment the 
 white, wrinkled face of Israel Falkenheim looking down 
 at her from the drawing-room window. Something in 
 his glance made her shiver. She turned quickly and 
 hurried on. 
 
 Margot went on foot to Hyde Park Street in order to 
 be able, if necessary, to establish the fact that she had 
 called there. Rachel happened to be in, and she was 
 shown up into the music-room. She told her friend a 
 little of what had happened, and, rather to her disappoint- 
 ment, she thought Rachel did not seem very sympathetic. 
 
 "Of course, one does rather have to consider the feel- 
 ings of one's host, I suppose," Rachel murmured, after 
 she had heard the story. Margot felt a temptation to be 
 voluble in her own defence, but the motto qui s' excuse 
 s'accuse occurred to her mind, and she swallowed her 
 protestations. 
 
 "Now I must go, darling," she said. "It has been
 
 ii2 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 jolly to see you, and you won't forget we've bought a hat 
 together, will you?" 
 
 Rachel smiled at her dear one and said she wouldn't 
 forget. Then, just as Margot was leaving the room, she 
 went over to her, put her soft arm round her friend's 
 neck, and kissed her quickly. Margot felt vaguely 
 troubled as she disentangled herself and went down- 
 stairs. . . . 
 
 She was annoyed with Rachel for hinting that she 
 ought to have consulted Israel Falkenheim's wishes about 
 Sir Carl; and this view, coming from the woman who 
 professed so much affection for her, made her appre- 
 hensive. It was, however, too late to turn back now. 
 She got into an open taxi and told the man to drive 
 across the Park to Belgrave Square. She was not quite 
 sure, once she had started, and the taxi had begun to 
 mingle with the throng of carriages and cars, that this 
 was not an idiotic move on her part. Supposing Lady 
 Stokes or Vernon or the Fawsett Vivians should see her ! 
 
 She was almost like a cat in her love of sunshine and 
 warmth, and as she put up her sunshade and felt the 
 heat of the July sun on her body through her thin clothes, 
 and saw the hard, sparkling blue of the sky, the dusty 
 greenery of the trees, the splendour of the costumes of 
 the women who drove past her, she was pervaded by a 
 sense of confidence and well-being. By the time she 
 had reached Sir Carl's house her fears had almost entire- 
 ly subsided. ... A shabby, middle-aged individual with 
 a draggled black moustache put his head for a moment 
 out of the window of a cab and watched her as she climb- 
 ed the steps. She wondered why he was so interested in 
 her, and looked instinctively to see if by some unfortun- 
 ate accident a minute hole had appeared in one of her 
 silk stockings. . . . Then she rang the bell.
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 113 
 
 Sir Carl received her in a small room on the first floor, 
 opening out of his enormous library. The library oc- 
 cupied the whole of the front of the house, and had evi- 
 dently been intended by the architect as a ballroom. The 
 ornamented ceiling was supported by two rows of marble 
 pillars. Above the carved, black oak bookcases the walls 
 were a dull gold, which with the rich reds and greens of 
 the leather bindings of the books gave the room an ap- 
 pearance at once of sumptuousness and solemnity. What 
 should a "financier" want with all these books, Margot 
 wondered. The room reminded her of the library of 
 Christ Church, Oxford, which Vernon Stokes had mo- 
 tored her over to see one day. 
 
 The only picture in the great room was a magnificent 
 Rembrandt, which brooded over the heavy marble 
 chimneypiece. The parquet floor was highly polished and 
 slippery, and covered here and there with Persian rugs. 
 The furniture was massive and plain, and resembled that 
 of a man's club to which Margot had once been taken as 
 a guest. Through the immensely tall French windows, 
 two of which were standing open, she could see the trees 
 of Belgrave Square and hear the whir of passing motors ; 
 the curious crunch of the taxis changing gear; the 
 faint, thrilling murmur of London. The butler a 
 youngish, dark-eyed man, swarthy as an Italian and 
 much more like a good waiter at the Carlton or the Savoy 
 than a butler piloted her slowly across the library till 
 she reached the small square door in the wall which led 
 into the cabinet. 
 
 Sir Carl dragged himself to his feet to receive his 
 visitor, and stood leaning heavily on his gold-headed 
 malacca cane, just as he had leant on it at the Fawsett 
 Vivians' when she had first met him. 
 
 "I oughtn't to come to tea with you like this ; I know
 
 ii4 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 I oughtn't!" laughed Margot, giving him her hand with 
 her most radiant smile. "But I just can't resist coming 
 to see your lovely house. It's like being in a fairy-tale 
 to anyone like me!" 
 
 Sir Carl settled himself in his chair when he had made 
 Margot comfortable, and the large smoke-grey Persian, 
 which had been dislodged at Margot's arrival, climbed 
 back with solemn dignity on to his master's lap. 
 
 "He purs fit to bust himself, doesn't he?" Margot 
 remarked, quaking before the yellow, basilisk eyes and 
 venturing, with some trepidation, a caress that was 
 promptly resented. "It's a she," said Sir Carl. "A 
 Saturnian mother, who doesn't hesitate to devour her 
 young when they displease her!" 
 
 "Ugh!" said Margot in disgust. 
 
 "Not at all. Drusilla has all the qualities of the per- 
 fect woman. She dislikes everyone except her lord and 
 master, and she doesn't even allow him to take 
 liberties !" 
 
 Drusilla stopped purring, and fixed her yellow eyes 
 with the tiny streak of black pupil in them once again 
 on Margot. 
 
 "It's charming of you, my dear, to come and see an 
 old man like me," Frensen remarked, when the servants 
 had left the room after bringing in the tea-table. "I 
 hope there weren't difficulties." 
 
 "There were," said Margot. "Heaps !" 
 
 This reply seem to send Sir Carl into convulsions of 
 silent laughter. He grasped his red beard, and his eyes 
 grew watery in their red rims as he struggled with his 
 amusement. 
 
 "Poor Israel !" he remarked. 
 
 "Why did you quarrel so ?" Margot asked inquisitively.
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 115 
 
 Frensen did not answer her; he only continued to 
 smile. 
 
 "It's all very well for you to laugh," said Margot, 
 "but it's no laughing matter for me, I can tell you. He 
 is pretty well all I have to cling on to, and the thought 
 that I'm coming to see you just about makes him mad." 
 
 "Oh, that is serious," said Sir Carl. "You mustn't 
 run into any trouble on my account. But why is he all 
 you have? . . . You have me." 
 
 It was Margot's turn to laugh. "You see, I'm being 
 respectable !" she said. 
 
 "That's rather silly, isn't it for anyone as beautiful 
 as you are ? I may be old, but I would make you happier 
 than your respectability. I would do a lot for you, 
 Margot. ... I would take you to all the places in the 
 world that are worth looking at to Deauville, to the 
 Riviera, to Rome, Petersburg, Vienna. ..." 
 
 "I should faint, or get up and hit you, if I were one 
 of these English girls!" Margot exclaimed. "You talk 
 like Satan in the Bible when he took Christ up to the 
 pinnacle of the temple !" 
 
 Frensen chuckled softly. "Ah! but you are not one 
 of them ; you have far too many brains to be an English 
 'miss.' And you enjoy the spectacle of wealth too 
 frankly to have been used to it for long." 
 
 "You've got eyes !" said Margot with admiration. 
 
 He put his hand gently on her arm, then held it tightly 
 in his. She felt his fingers pressing into her flesh through 
 the stuff. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She looked at him. She didn't dislike him in the least 
 for wanting her to be his mistress. There was something 
 about him that was outside and beyond conventional 
 morality, and therefore exciting. She suddenly felt that
 
 n6 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 she wanted him to admire some of her splendid lies. 
 The need to tell him the truth became irresistible. 
 
 "What do you think I am, then?" she asked. 
 
 "My dear," he said, "you come from Canada and you 
 are very lovely ; and you are not a Jewess. Beyond that 
 I haven't really speculated. You can't be a big fortune 
 forgive me or you would certainly not be dependent 
 on friend Israel!" 
 
 "No, I am not a big fortune," said Margot. "I'm a 
 grocer's daughter, and a poor one at that. My father 
 was a very small grocer; I've got about two hundred 
 and fifty pounds in the bank, and I believe I'm going 
 to be married, if nothing goes wrong. We can be great 
 friends when I'm married. My husband will be so rich 
 you won't need to look down on me." 
 
 "Ah, I'm a banker, I know, but in spite of that I 
 might conceivably look down on you less still if you 
 married a poor man." 
 
 Margot looked at him with uneasiness, as though he 
 were chaffing her in some way which she could not quite 
 understand. 
 
 "I mean it!" he said. 
 
 "You aren't going to tell me you are a sentimentalist," 
 she began. 
 
 "Oh, no, but I believe in love, and still more in pas- 
 sion. Passion is the fire of life, and when we leave it 
 or it leaves us we go cold and die. You know there 
 can be a passion of hate," he added. "At least you ought 
 to! . . . Have you ever loved anyone, Margot?" 
 
 "No, I don't think so. Of course, I've been fond of 
 people," Margot confessed. "What a funny question!" 
 
 "Give me your hands for a moment," he asked. Mar- 
 got suppressed a temptation to be arch and held out 
 her carefully manicured and rather well-shaped hands.
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 117 
 
 Sir Carl held the tips of her fingers in his cold grasp 
 and stared intently at her palms, and then at the knuckles 
 at the back of her hands, while Margot watched him 
 furtively with a sidelong, upward glance. "My dear," 
 he said at last, "I don't know from the look of your 
 hands whether you will really make a quite successful 
 adventuress ! If you go too near that fire I told you of 
 your wings may get scorched." 
 
 "Well, I haven't made an ass of myself in that way 
 yet," said Margot rather huffily, "and I'm twenty-three 
 and I've had heaps of time." 
 
 "Look out when you have been married two or three 
 years and are twenty-six or seven," said the old man 
 lightly. "Come and tell me then if you are in any trou- 
 ble. I may be able to help." 
 
 "All right, I will," said Margot. "I'll keep you to it, 
 mind! Specially as my coming to see you has probably 
 done me in good and proper with the Falkenheims." 
 
 "Poor Israel !" said Frensen, reflectively. He sat back 
 in his chair, with his hands on the gold knob of his ma- 
 lacca cane, staring in front of him out of his red eyes. 
 Margot felt herself in the presence of some story which 
 dwarfed her own, which made all her little schemes seem 
 unimportant. She divined the passions to which the 
 old man had referred those fierce, volcanic emotions 
 of which she had read, but with which she had hitherto 
 never come into contact. What had happened between 
 him and Israel Falkenheim to cause Israel's extraordi- 
 nary hatred? She felt convinced that whatever had hap- 
 pened, Israel had been the injured party had been the 
 one to suffer. She concluded it must have been some 
 question of money, since everyone knew that cash was 
 all the Jews cared about. But if it was only that, why 
 had Mrs. Falkenheim been so upset on the evening of
 
 ii8 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 the Fawsett Vivians' dance ? She wasn't specially money- 
 grubbing, and in any case she had everything she 
 wanted. . . . 
 
 The butler and a footman came back to carry away 
 the tea things, and Sir Carl's reverie ended. He offered 
 Margot a cigarette, .and his eyes gloated over the open- 
 ing of her red lips and the tightening of her frock over 
 her bosom as she leaned forward to take a light. He 
 got a great deal of pleasure from her movements, and 
 would have liked it if he could have persuaded her to 
 do exercises in front of him, so that he could lie back in 
 his chair and watch her limbs in action. He felt sud- 
 denly very old and tired but he still had sufficient grip 
 on life to be perpetually interested. Margot's vitality was 
 a tonic to him. Her youth and vigour, her look of health, 
 all appealed to him, and he was curious about the secrets 
 of her character. It gave him a kind of sensual satis- 
 faction to probe her mind, to try to discover her inmost 
 thoughts and emotions. It was one of the few amuse- 
 ments he had left, -and he was willing to do much to 
 gratify it. His mind had unexpected compartments, and 
 in the course of a life almost entirely spent amid im- 
 portant happenings, in dealings with the great, and in a 
 somewhat rarefied intellectual atmosphere, it was now 
 a delight to him to occupy himself with the thoughts and 
 plans of a pretty grocers' daughter embarked on an ad- 
 venture. Even Caesar had his relaxations. . . . 
 
 Margot, on her side, was flattered by his interest, ner- 
 vous of what he might "do next," impressed by his 
 eminence. At the same time, she felt ashamed of her- 
 self for having gone against Israel Falkenheim's wishes 
 by coming to see him, and apprehensive of the results. 
 After all, she was not yet Mrs. Veraon Stokes. There 
 was plenty of time for the proverbial "slip."
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 119 
 
 She threw away her cigarette and got up to go. 
 
 "You must come and see me again," said Sir Carl. 
 "We must have dinner together one night and go to the 
 Opera. . . ." 
 
 "I should like to," Margot answered "when I'm set- 
 tled!" She laughed at him and gave him her hand. 
 As she turned to go, the tall handle of her sunshade 
 knocked a heavy silver photograph frame off the top 
 of a buhl cabinet which stood by the side of Sir Carl's 
 chair. 
 
 "There, what a clumsy fool I am," she. said, as she 
 stooped to pick it up. "And the.glass is all broken, too!" 
 She put the photograph back on the cabinet, examining 
 it as she did so. It was a very old photograph, and 
 showed a handsome woman of about thirty, with strongly 
 marked Jewish features. Margot could not repress a 
 gasp of astonishment. 
 
 "Why !" she said to herself, as the butler appeared in 
 answer to Frensen's ring. "Why, I'll be hanged if that 
 isn't Mrs. Falkenheim as a young woman!"
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 As Margot's taxi re-crossed the Park gay in the 
 afternoon sunshine and more crowded than ever she 
 experienced once again a curious feeling of apprehen- 
 sion. In spite of the heat of the day she gave a slight 
 shiver. There was something sinister about Sir Carl 
 Frensen, something curious about the Falkenheims. Why 
 had Mrs. Falkenheim's photograph been in Sir Carl's 
 study, since they were such enemies? Perhaps years 
 ago there had been an "affair" between them, and that 
 was why Israel hated him so! . . . 
 
 Margot felt all on a sudden very lonely and very 
 homesick for people of her own kind, whom she had 
 never known. Even Rachel was really a stranger to 
 her and lived in a world apart. When she had paid 
 the taxi and rung the bell, she waited outside the heavy 
 double doors of the house in Richbourne Terrace with 
 a kind of dread. The footman, a white-faced, rather 
 furtive youth who looked as though he spent his time 
 hanging about with the housemaids, seemed to glance 
 at her with ominous intentness when he opened the door 
 a kind of insolent curiosity. 
 
 The house, as she entered it, seemed empty, silent, 
 threatening. She asked if there were anyone in the 
 drawing-room and was told that there was no one there. 
 Mrs. Falkenheim was in, but "engaged." 
 
 Margot went upstairs thoughtfully to her room, feel- 
 ing rather like a naughty child conscious of having 
 been in the jam cupboard and fearful of having left 
 tell-tale traces. Whatever was in store for her, she was 
 
 120
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 121 
 
 anxious to get it over. She wondered what Mrs. Falken- 
 heim was "engaged" in. 
 
 When she reached her bedroom she was surprised to 
 hear the sound of voices and the noise of a drawer being 
 rather violently closed. She paused for an instant with 
 one hand on the door-knob, her heart nearly stopping. 
 Then she went in, and to her amazement saw Marie 
 handing out her clothes from the wardrobe to Waters 
 the housemaid, who was folding them up. Waters was 
 kneeling on the floor by the side of one of her steamer 
 trunks, which was already half full of her things. Mar- 
 got paused and gazed at the two women in amazement. 
 "What are you doing?" she said. In a moment she could 
 have bitten out her tongue. 
 
 "We were told that Mademoiselle wished to have her 
 things packed," said Marie in equal astonishment. "We 
 shall have finished in a very few minutes now. There 
 is a note for Mademoiselle on the dressing-table." 
 
 Margot snatched the envelope, and saw at once that 
 it was in Israel Falkenheim's handwriting. 
 
 "That is quite all right, Marie," she said, in as normal 
 a voice as possible. "The only thing is that I probably 
 shan't want the luggage moved till to-morrow. How- 
 ever, you may as well finish now you have begun. . . ." 
 
 She looked at herself in the glass for a moment, 
 straightened her hat, arranged her veil, pouted, and 
 walked slowly out of the room with the eyes of the two 
 maids boring round holes in her smartly tailored back. 
 Once on the landing, with her bedroom closed, she 
 looked around for a moment, like a startled animal, then 
 darted into the bath-room, bolting the door behind her, 
 and sank down on the wooden form which stood against 
 the wall facing the bath. She tore open the envelope 
 with nervous fingers. A cheque and two five-pound notes
 
 122 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 fell out of the letter on to her lap. "Mr. Israel Fal- 
 kenheim," she read, "regrets that he cannot extend his 
 hospitality to Miss Carter beyond to-day. He begs that 
 she will accept his cheque for 100 and also the smaller 
 sum in cash which he encloses for her immediate ex- 
 penses." 
 
 Her face went quite white when she realised the mean- 
 ing of the letter which she held in her hand. In some 
 way he must have managed to have her followed to Bel- 
 grave Square! He could not have done this merely on 
 suspicion. The idea came to her to insist on seeing him, 
 to try to bluff the matter out and deny that she had 
 visited Sir Carl, bringing in Rachel to give evidence in 
 corroboration of her story. But after a moment's reflec- 
 tion she saw that this was hopeless. No one as cautious 
 as Israel Falkenheim would have acted as drastically as 
 this without proof. . . . Suddenly she recalled the 
 creature with the black moustache who had put his head 
 out of a cab and watched her going up the steps to Sir 
 Carl's house. Why, of course, that man must have been 
 a detective sent to follow her! The thought seemed to 
 stun her. She remained sitting on the wooden form star- 
 ing at the shining bath-taps, at the polished mahogany 
 sides of the bath, at its inviting porcelain depths, at the 
 floor of green mosaic and the blue-tiled walls of the 
 room. She was dazed, incapable of thought or action, 
 and it was some time before she could pull herself suf- 
 ficiently together to think out what to do. To be turned 
 suddenly on the streets like a dismissed servant, to be 
 hunted, spied on like some forger it was abominable! 
 All that the Falkenheims had already done for her 
 seemed to give her an unanswerable claim on them to do 
 more. A passion of fury welled up in her heart as she 
 read Israel Falkenheim's letter. Its brevity, its reference
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 123 
 
 to "Miss Carter," the insulting way in which she was 
 being bought off for a paltry 100, all infuriated her to 
 fever pitch. She leapt to her feet at last, hastily un- 
 bolted the door, and strode out on to the landing. Then, 
 as she stood on the soft carpet, watched the highly-pol- 
 ished bedroom doors all around her, and thought of the 
 comfort to which they gave access, her heart seemed to 
 turn to water inside her, and she could have wept with 
 despair at her own folly. She again debated in her 
 mind whether she should go down and beard Israel in 
 his study or burst in on Mrs. Falkenheim and demand an 
 explanation. Finally, she decided that it would pay her 
 best not to have any scenes. She would be dignified, 
 hurt. She would show the Falkenheims how well she 
 could get along without them. . . . 
 
 She went into her bedroom again, where Marie and 
 Waters were just finishing packing her evening frocks. 
 She gave instructions that her necessary things for two 
 or three nights should be put into a small suit-case, 
 locked it as well as her trunks, and remarked that she 
 would be "back again later." The black glances of Ma- 
 rie, who saw herself being defrauded of her tip, did 
 something to lessen Margot's gloom as she walked 
 thoughtfully down the great staircase and let herself out 
 into the street. 
 
 The heavy cars were swooping opulent and majes- 
 tic up and down the broad road, bearing their occu- 
 pants back from making calls in time for them to dress 
 for their dinner-parties. Society was terminating its aft- 
 ernoon duties, preparing for its evening pleasures. 
 
 Margot remembered with a sharp stab of irritation 
 that there was to be a dinner-party that night at the 
 Falkenheims' at which people she knew the Fawsett 
 Vivians and others, but luckily not Vernon Stokes were
 
 124 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 to be present. And in a week's time Mrs. Falkenheim 
 was giving a dance, ostensibly in her honour. The in- 
 vitations had been sent out over a month ago! How 
 were they going to explain her absence? What infam- 
 ous stories would they tell about her? What could she 
 say that would explain her hurried departure? Nobody, 
 she reflected, ever believes the stories the poor tell about 
 the rich. . . . 
 
 She had reached the Park before she had come to 
 any decision as to what to do. Soon it would be dinner- 
 time. The heat of the day had worn off, and the Park 
 was delicious, enticing, a green fairyland with lengthen- 
 ing shadows. She entered it by the ornamental stone 
 "waterworks" at the end of the Serpentine, and walked 
 to where the early- Victorian nymphs clasped broken 
 stone pitchers to their breasts. She stood there, deep in 
 thought, glancing down every now and then at the placid 
 ducks engaged in their evening amusement of turning 
 slowly upside down. The chestnut trees on her left were 
 a heavy, languorous green suggestive of warmth, sleep, 
 laziness. And looking back towards the tall stone shelter 
 with its wooden panelling and uncomfortable broad seat, 
 Margot was recalled to earth by noticing a young man, 
 presumably a clerk or shop-boy, kissing a girl, who 
 might have been a domestic servant on her evening out. 
 They remained for some minutes with their arms round 
 one another oblivious of time and place, absorbed. Mar- 
 got watched them with interest, almost with envy. Love 
 was an extraordinary mystery! She felt that it must 
 indeed have all the magic that was claimed for it, if it 
 could make two such down-at-heel individuals behave 
 like that in that public place, and look so happy over 
 it. ... 
 
 She turned and walked back on to the gravel path,
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 125 
 
 past the flower-beds, to the road. The thought came to 
 her to call on Rachel, but somehow she felt disinclined 
 to do this. Rachel had been so very firm about the "du- 
 ties one owed to one's host," and had not seemed to ap- 
 prove of the visit to Carl Frensen which had precipita- 
 ted matters. She compromised by going to the telephone- 
 box at Lancaster Gate Station and ringing Rachel up. 
 
 "Can I see you for a moment or two ?" she asked. "I 
 may be going away to-morrow, and I should like to say 
 good-bye before I go." 
 
 "My dearest," Rachel replied, "what can I do? I'm 
 in the middle of dressing ; I'm going out to dine and then 
 to the play, and I'm already fearfully late as it is. Do 
 come around in the morning, though, and tell me about 
 it. It doesn't matter how early. . . ." 
 
 Margot put down the receiver and wondered what she 
 had better do next. She felt unreasonably furious with 
 Sir Carl for having encouraged her to embroil herself 
 with the Falkenheims. It was all his fault. He had just 
 made use of her to pursue his stupid quarrel. Oh, it 
 was maddening! But what was she to do? If she rang 
 up Levett or went to his house she took it for granted, 
 in her crude Colonial way, that he would take an unfair 
 advantage of her predicament and try at once to make 
 love to her, to compromise her. Vernon she could not 
 possibly consult. At all costs he must be prevented from 
 knowing the truth about what had happened. Her heart 
 almost stopped beating when she thought of Vernon. 
 Her mortification was so intense that her face became 
 drawn and white, as though through physical pain. But 
 she would not let the cup be dashed from her lips like 
 this. She would have him yet, in spite of Israel. Come 
 what might, she would have him ! 
 
 It was now after seven o'clock, and Margot's feeling
 
 126 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 of nervousness began to increase Where was she to go 
 to spend the night ? It would not do at all for her to go 
 down to Dorsetshire at once and throw herself on Adam 
 Henderson's mercy; nor could she have got a train so 
 late. The Hendersons were her only hope now; if they 
 failed her she would indeed be lost. She would have 
 to play them carefully, in order that her willingness to 
 visit them might appear in the nature of a condescension 
 and that they should not guess the extremity in which 
 she found herself. To arrange this meant staying a night 
 or two somewhere in London. But where? Rachel 
 couldn't have her, that was evident, and she knew noth- 
 ing of London hotels. She did not even know whether 
 it was possible for a single woman to stay in one alone. 
 She thought of the Paddington Hotel, but it was hor- 
 ribly near Richbourne Terrace ; then of the hotel at Vic- 
 toria, but she remembered that friends of Vernon's some- 
 times stayed there, . . . Charing Cross somehow 
 did not appeal to her, nor Euston. Without having ever 
 seen it or realising in the least in what part of London 
 it was situated, she hailed a taxi and told the man to 
 drive her to St. Pancras. 
 
 Margot's heart sank when she reached the vast red 
 pseudo-Gothic station, and for a moment she wondered 
 if, at the hotel, they might refuse her admittance. They 
 didn't do so, however. She was provided with a room 
 and dined miserably in the great restaurant, after hav- 
 ing sent one of the hotel servants in a taxi for her lug- 
 gage. Soon after her trunks had arrived, she went up- 
 stairs to her bedroom, to escape from the disapproving 
 eyes of wives of beneficed clergymen. 
 
 The utter bleakness and loneliness of the room struck 
 a chill to her heart, and she knew that when she un- 
 dressed and went to bed she would begin to cry. Luckily,
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 12? 
 
 she had a good deal to do first before she could allow 
 herself to collapse. She had bought some plain note- 
 paper, and proceeded to write first to Rachel, then to 
 Vernon Stokes heading her letters, as usual, "17 Rich- 
 bourne Terrace" to tell them that she was off to spend 
 a few days in the country, as she was feeling rather 
 tired. She added that she might possibly decide to pro- 
 long her stay, but that in any case she would write again 
 to let them know. Then, having as it were burned her 
 boats, she wrote a careful letter to Adam Henderson 
 suggesting coming down to him on Friday for a short 
 visit. "It's Wednesday to-day," she reflected, "and it 
 means waiting here a whole day and two nights !" The 
 thought appalled her, but she could see no other way 
 out of the difficulty. 
 
 She took her letters down to be posted and returned 
 to her desolate numbered bedroom, with its remorseless 
 electric light and frigid bed. To try to sleep would be 
 merely a farce. How could she live through the agonis- 
 ing suspense of the next two days? If she made one 
 false move, what would become of her? Surely the 
 good fortune which had brought her to the brink of suc- 
 cess would not utterly desert her now in punishment 
 for one solitary indiscretion! Oh, what a fool she had 
 been what a hopeless fool ! 
 
 As she lay with her head on the hot pillow, turning 
 restlessly from one side of her bed to the other, the 
 thought of her recklessness and its results seared her 
 like corrosive acid.
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 PART II
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MARGOT managed to fall asleep, after hours of nerv- 
 ous misery which seemed interminable, just before the 
 dawn. She slept heavily until after nine o'clock. When 
 she awoke she had a splitting headache, and felt in a 
 state of thorough fright and dejection. The pattern of 
 the wall-paper, the carpet, and the furniture of the room 
 so like a specimen bedroom in a big furniture store 
 made her shudder with nervousness. She was in ati 
 institution, was known by a number, and answerable to 
 an impersonal management who was quite indifferent 
 as to her fate. She longed at this moment for Rachel 
 to come into the room and mother her. She would have 
 enjoyed crying for a few minutes on Rachel's bosom 
 and being kissed. She remembered that there was some- 
 thing comforting about Rachel's arms, just as there was 
 something thrilling about Levett's. She felt utterly lone- 
 ly. It was horrible to have to get up without help and to 
 walk down a corridor to a strange bath; and when she 
 went down to breakfast in the restaurant by herself she 
 felt convicted as an adventuress discovered. After 
 breakfast she wandered out into the Euston Road. On 
 the hot pavement drab-looking men and women jostled 
 her. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry and to be out 
 of humour. The faces she saw, even the carts and om- 
 nibuses, seemed different from the ones with which she 
 was familiar, and the look of the hotels, standing back 
 from the road at the end of dusty front gardens, which 
 offered "Bed and breakfast" for 35. 6d., was sinister and 
 disquieting. 
 
 131
 
 132 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 She realised now how ignorant she was of London. 
 Since she had been staying in Bayswater she had only 
 seen a fraction of the vast town just the few streets 
 devoted to the rich. All around those streets there were 
 unexplored regions, strange centres of activity into which 
 she had never penetrated intimate, ancient slums; the 
 real London. As she walked on she passed a small 
 grocer's shop at the top of Great Portland Street. Be- 
 hind the counter, selling a quarter-packet of tea to an 
 old woman with a black shawl over her shoulder, was 
 a fair girl with good-natured face, shining nose, and 
 an air of efficiency. She was not unlike a commonplace 
 edition of Margot, and something about her riveted Mar- 
 got's attention. She stood stock still and stared into 
 the shop until at last the girl looked up and noticed her 
 and stared back, aggressively angry at the insolence of 
 the wealthy-looking young woman outside who looked 
 so prosperous in her well-cut coat and skirt and smart 
 hat. Margot hurried on, confused, and ashamed of her 
 bad manners. She kept saying to herself, "Have I sprung 
 from that, and shall I sink back into it?" The fear of 
 such a possibility made her clench her fists and walk 
 more swiftly. She was a mystery to herself. She often 
 wondered what it was in her that kept driving her on; 
 what had made her so discontented with Price Street; 
 what had enabled her to escape. Whatever it was, es- 
 caped she had, and there could be no going back. Her 
 anger against Israel Falkenheim, against Carl Frensen, 
 and with herself for her folly, surged up again in her 
 heart and lent her the strength of ten. She would show 
 Israel that she was not dependent on him; she would 
 show him! She had come now to Regent Crescent, 
 and looking to the left into Portland Place could almost 
 sec the Fawsett Vivians' front door. Good heavens!
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 133 
 
 What ages ago it seemed to her now, that far-off dance ! 
 She did not want to go by the Vivians', but turned in- 
 stead to the right, passing a row of sumptuous houses 
 with glistening green front doors and cream-painted fa- 
 gades adorned with flattened columns. When she came 
 to the gate of the Park she went in and began walking 
 swiftly across its unknown expanses towards the canal. 
 She did not know what to do with herself, but quick 
 walking brought her relief by tiring her. As she crossed 
 the most unromantic of London's parks, her thoughts 
 luxuriated on the size and strangeness of London. For 
 the greater part of her life, behind the counter in Price 
 Street, she had dreamt dreams about London : and here 
 it was. And for months past she Maggie Carter had 
 been moving among the London nobs, the biggest swells 
 in the whole world, just like one of themselves! She 
 did not pursue this line of thought at present it led 
 round to painful actualities but went back to the out- 
 ward, visible characteristics of her heaven. She knew 
 almost all the London monuments from picture postcards 
 or from reading descriptions of them in novels, so that 
 every inch of the great town had a glamour for her 
 a glamour that was still untarnished. She thought of 
 going to see the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge, 
 or possibly St. Paul's Cathedral. She had seen the 
 Albert Memorial once when she had been driving to 
 a party with Mrs. Falkenheim, and again one Sunday 
 afternoon when they had all gone to a concert in the 
 Albert Hall. She had also "done" Westminster Abbey ; 
 but she had never penetrated further east than Charing 
 Cross. The mysterious "city" (that vulgar spot where 
 all the money came from) was unknown country, and 
 as she walked across Regent's Park the idea came to 
 her to get into a cab and drive to Lombard Street to
 
 134 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 look at the banks. There was something about the very 
 name of Lombard Street which went to her head. She 
 had read somewhere that it was the richest street in the 
 world, and she had an insatiable natural craving for 
 everything that was superlative. She wanted to occupy 
 the largest house in the greatest capital of the most 
 important Empire on the earth, and she wanted to be 
 the greatest lady in that capital hence her interest in 
 the biggest banks, where the hugest sums of money were 
 kept, as it were, on tap. She visualised them as vast 
 palaces in the classic style veritable temples to the 
 Money God where rows of clerks sat before open draw- 
 ers full of sovereigns into which they dug all day long 
 with little copper shovels. And the drawers never got 
 any emptier. Day after day the shovels would dig into 
 the pile of yellow sovereigns, but the pile would in some 
 mysterious way always be as large as ever. When night 
 came, hundreds of lamps under green shades would shed 
 light on miles of sloping mahogany desks where armies 
 of clerks, sitting with leather-bound ledgers open in 
 front of them, would add up the fortunes of the wealthy. 
 How lovely it would be, she thought, to have a row 
 of clerks employed in adding up one's money! She 
 took from her bag the green slip which Israel Falken- 
 heim had given her the day before, and noticed that the 
 cheque was drawn on the head office of one of the most 
 famous banks in the world, which happened actually to 
 be in Lombard Street. This decided her, and she hur- 
 ried out of the park at Hanover Gate, stopped the first 
 taxi she came across, and told him to drive to Lombard 
 Street. 
 
 She was not yet sufficiently blase to have grown tired 
 of driving about London even in the humble taxi, and 
 whilst she was being hurried through the warm July air,
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 135 
 
 amid the roar and dust of the great city, first of all down 
 Park Road to Baker Street, then down Marylebone Road 
 into Euston Road, past St. Pancras and King's Cross, 
 then through a network of mean streets till the driver, 
 not perhaps going the quickest way, came suddenly to 
 Ludgate Circus, she forgot all about her anxieties in 
 the sheer excitement of the drive. Whilst the cab, wedged 
 in between motor omnibuses, drays, other taxis, and big 
 lorries, went slowly up the famous hill, Margot found 
 herself being introduced in the most thrilling manner 
 possible to St. Paul's Cathedral. When at last the splen- 
 dour of the great building, surmounted by its prodigious 
 dome, dawned on her wide-open blue eyes, she found 
 herself almost gasping for breath; her red lips parted 
 as if to make an exclamation. She had never seen 
 anything so magnificent, so grandiose, and yet so old. 
 As she looked up at St. Paul's she realised for the first 
 time that the English were a wealthy, powerful, digni- 
 fied, and important nation centuries ago long before 
 anyone, except Dissenters and such like, dreamt of going 
 to Canada or America. She sat in the cab obviously 
 "at gaze," like the most naive tripper, turning round to 
 get the latest look. . . . 
 
 The turmoil of the cross-roads known to 'bus conduc- 
 tors briefly as "Benk" where Royal Exchange, Mansion 
 House, and Bank of England glare gravely across at one 
 another, like three fat old merchants in a club filled 
 Margot with a fresh excitement. When she reached her 
 destination, the famous thoroughfare, as narrow as a 
 street of palaces in Genoa with its dark and frowning 
 stone buildings surmounted by heavy pediments and 
 lighted by rows of unutterably serious windows she was 
 trembling all over. A commissioner in a top-hat with 
 gold braid round it opened the heavy swing door of the
 
 136 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 bank for her. When she got into the hall, which was 
 full of a subdued murmur like that of a congregation 
 saying the Lord's Prayer in some vast church, Margot's 
 knees knocked together with a delicious agitation. She 
 advanced to one of the desks and handed over her cheque. 
 The clerk took it, looked at it, and handed it back. 
 
 "This cheque is crossed, Madam, and can only be paid 
 through another bank." He turned immediately to at- 
 tend to someone else, without apparently noticing the 
 blush which made of Margot one of the most delightful 
 apparitions that had probably ever shed its radiance on 
 the gloomy establishment since the date of its opening. 
 The doorkeeper, an old soldier, was more susceptible 
 than the clerk, and gave Margot a courteously admir- 
 ing smile as he opened the door for her to go out. 
 
 Margot had a banking account of her own at a bank 
 near Richbourne Terrace. Mrs. Falkenheim had taken 
 her in there one day, soon after her arrival in London, 
 and introduced her to the manager, who ever since had, 
 as Margot put it, "nearly bust himself" with politeness. 
 After she had lunched, which she did at an A.B.C. amid 
 the furtive glances of rows of black-coated clerks and 
 the haughty stare of pretty typists, she went to Bays- 
 water on an omnibus and paid in her cheque. There 
 was something soothing about the almost affectionate 
 greeting of her favourite clerk which restored her peace 
 of mind and gave her confidence. 
 
 On the whole, when she got back to the St. Pancras 
 Hotel, she felt far more heartened to face its frigid sol- 
 emnities than she had been when she started out. She 
 had spent one of the most exciting days she could re- 
 member. It was altogether different going about by one- 
 self from going about with Mrs. Falkenheim or even 
 with Rachel or some man or other. Solitude had its
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 137 
 
 charms, undoubtedly if only it were a solitude that 
 one could terminate at will. 
 
 The day's wandering had revived her latent love of 
 adventure for its own sake. It amazed her how well 
 she had succeeded in not getting into states of mind about 
 her affairs. She had hardly given the Falkenheims a 
 thought all day, nor Vernon, nor Sir Carl Frensen either. 
 She had felt, curiously enough, a recurring temptation 
 to ring up Levett, but she had enough native prudence 
 to resist it. It was difficult; she felt sure he would be 
 sympathetic. He would have restored her nerve; he 
 was so strong and clever and cynical. Perhaps, if Adam 
 Henderson let her down, she would reconsider things. 
 But no; if that misfortune happened, Rachel would be 
 the friend to whom she would turn. Rachel would, she 
 felt sure, do anything for her ; she was so kind and gen- 
 erous. 
 
 If the day had been attractive, the long hours between 
 dinner and bedtime, and the still longer hours of the 
 night, spent in a room that was now become almost 
 unendurable to her, made up for it by their concentrated 
 gloom. As she sat all alone in her wicker armchair in 
 the solemn palm court of the hotel, her mind became 
 a prey to a thousand anxieties. Supposing Adam did 
 not reply; supposing Israel Falkenheim (whom she im- 
 agined to be capable of anything) intercepted his letter; 
 supposing he took it into his head to write some wicked 
 libel about her to the Stokes ... ? It was not us- 
 ually her way to invent misfortunes before they occurred, 
 but her sudden change of luck, combined with the cheer- 
 lessness and loneliness of the great hotel, had strained 
 her nerves almost to breaking-point. Another horror 
 that came over her a fear partly induced by the glances 
 cast in her direction by almost all the men in the hotel
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 who noticed that she was alone was that if things went 
 very badly she might not be able to "keep respectable." 
 That seemed to her to be an appalling fate, not to keep 
 respectable. . . . 
 
 She went early to bed and lay on her back with the 
 iwindow wide open, looking at the deep dark blue of the 
 sky suffused with a golden glow from the arc lamps and 
 the illuminated facias of the central streets. The roar 
 of the traffic, softened by distance, sounded in her ears 
 like the breakers of perilous but enchanting seas. And 
 the more acutely she realised their perils, the greater be- 
 came their enchantment. London, London! She would 
 conquer her place in it somehow! She was conscious 
 of being almost empty inside except for this all-consum- 
 ing determination. She knew herself to be just a little 
 girl with a pretty body, no money, and a precise ambi- 
 tion. Of love, even of affection, she knew hardly any- 
 thing, and she had so little experience of disinterested 
 kindness, was so unaccustomed to small exhibitions of 
 good nature, tact, and feeling for others, that she either 
 misinterpreted them or failed to notice them when they 
 came her way. Her eyes were still hard and had a kind 
 of fierce eagerness and alertness, like a hawk's. They 
 suggested that she was constantly on the look-out for 
 what could be turned to her advantage; and, had she 
 not been so young and so beautiful, their expression 
 would have lent something sinister to her whole per- 
 sonality. As she lay in bed, sleepless, all alone in the 
 great hotel, and frightened, she began vaguely to realise 
 her selfishness. For an hour or two her nerves seemed* 
 to snap, and she wept because she was so lonely and 
 because she was a virgin and had no mother to help 
 her. Her tears relieved the tension of her nerves, and 
 enabled her at last to fall asleep.
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 139 
 
 In the morning, as soon as she came downstairs, she 
 went resolutely to the telephone and rang up the Falken- 
 heims' house. She knew the jx>st would have come and 
 that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Falkenheim would yet be up. 
 The footman answered her on the telephone. Yes, there 
 was a letter for her, he replied. She noticed that he 
 spoke with intentional uncivility; evidently the servants 
 had guessed what had happened. She curtly told the 
 man that she would send a messenger for the letter, and 
 put down the receiver. When the boy brought the let- 
 ter back she was waiting for him in the hall of the hotel 
 and almost snatched the envelop out of his hand. Her 
 face was quite white at first, but as she hastily glanced 
 at the letter a blush of relief spread over her cheeks. 
 
 "My dear Margot," it ran, in Adam's niggling hand- 
 writing, "I was so glad to hear from you, as we were 
 afraid you had forgotten all about us. By all means 
 come down for the week-end, but we hope, as it is so 
 near the end of the season, you will change your mind 
 and pay us a good long visit. There is an excellent train 
 leaving Waterloo at 12.37, an d if you decide to catch 
 this and will send a telegram we will send to meet you 
 at Wareham. . . ." Margot did not bother to read 
 any further. She turned and hurried to her room to 
 pack her things.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WITH the prospect of Adam really coming up to the 
 scratch, of her plans succeeding, all Margot's nervous- 
 ness vanished and she became her old buoyant self. She 
 arrived early at Waterloo, lunched on board the train, 
 and settled herself in the corner of her carriage to stare 
 at the strange, park-like English landscape and to specu- 
 late about Kingsworth House and whether Mrs. Adam 
 would prove a cat or a fool. At all costs she would 
 have to propitiate Mrs. Henderson, whatever she was 
 like. The idea of the rather down-at-heel and unsuccess- 
 ful young clergyman whom she remembered being act- 
 ually married and the headmaster of a boy's preparatory 
 school amazed her, till she reflected that the changes 
 which had come over her own conditions were no less 
 astounding. And, after all, Adam had always been ex- 
 tremely canny, for a clergyman. He never, for all his 
 sentimentality, could forget the main chance. Perhaps 
 he had struck it "rich !" 
 
 As the train raced on, Margot made constant efforts 
 to imagine what kind of household it was to which she 
 was going. Sometimes she gloomily pictured a kind of 
 Dotheboys Hall with ragged urchins sprawling about all 
 the living-rooms, and Mrs. Henderson blowsy and 
 good-natured mending torn "pants" and superintending 
 the cooking; Adam even more unshaved and unkempt 
 than he was in his Montreal days. Then it occurred to 
 her that Adam could never have started a school unless 
 his wife had money, and that the school might conceiva- 
 bly be a great success. She revised her ideas and now 
 
 140
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 141 
 
 figured to herself a red brick villa, with airy rooms and 
 a great deal of white paint, filled with well-washed little 
 boys in neat uniforms. The train passed Winchester, 
 and she asked a fellow traveler to point out the school 
 to her, in order that she might have some idea of what 
 a boys' school looked like. He showed her some rather 
 new red-brick buildings, saying that they were "part of 
 it," and confirmed her in her conviction that Kingsworth 
 House would be a large, hygienic villa. 
 
 The train raced through the New Forest, with its 
 straight green lanes and clumps of newly planted trees 
 alternating with lovely pine woods, stopped at Bourne- 
 mouth, then, after circling Poole Harbour, drew up in 
 due time at Wareham. 
 
 With beating heart Margot got on to the platform 
 with her hand luggage eager, with all the eagerness 
 of twenty-three, to meet fresh people, to progress, to 
 push on, to mark a new stage in her career. The after- 
 noon sunlight fell on her bright gold hair and made 
 the clearness of her skin almost transparent. As she 
 stood there with parted lips she looked like some soul- 
 less nymph. She had the lithe grace of an animal and 
 behind the limpid china-blue of her eyes there was as 
 yet no human depth or softness. She looked about the 
 station for a moment, to see if Adam had come to meet 
 her. They noticed one another simultaneously, and hur- 
 ried forward smiling. 
 
 "Well I'm durned, Adam," was Margot's first exclama- 
 tion after they had shaken hands with one another. "I 
 shouldn't never have known you!" He had certainly 
 changed out of all recognition since his Montreal days. 
 His neck was inches fatter; his cheeks were like in- 
 flated air-pillows; his usually blue chin was shaved to 
 perfection ; a vague perfume floated from his hair. When
 
 142 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 he noticed Margot's glance straying from his highly 
 polished top hat, to his superlatively brushed clerical 
 frock coat and gleaming shirt-cuffs, he explained hur- 
 riedly that he had just come from a Ruridecanal con- 
 ference. 
 
 "Well, I never did," said Margot, "we are a couple, 
 aren't we! What d'you think of me? But you must 
 tell me after we've got the grips on the rig." 
 
 It amused Margot to drop into the familiar dialect, 
 in memory of old days, and she could see that it evoked 
 a sentimental response in her companion. When the 
 porter said very respectfully, "Will you 'ave them on 
 the car, sir?" she pricked up her eyes. "Bet it's a Ford, 
 though," she said to herself, distrusting her luck. In 
 a few moments, however, she was being helped by a 
 chauffeur, in a dark green livery, into a smooth-running 
 Lanchester of which her already experienced eye could 
 not but approve. She was longing to dig Adam in the 
 ribs and ask him how he managed it, but what with 
 the top hat and the cuffs and the Ruridecanal confer- 
 ence, she was afraid he might be going to take himself 
 seriously. 
 
 The town of Wareham, enclosed within its steep grass 
 ramparts, with its elegant Queen Anne residences built 
 on the street, its grey churches and ancient bridge over 
 the Frome, enchanted her. Then the car opened out 
 along the straight, sandy road across the moorland, 
 towards the low Purbeck Hills in the midst of which 
 Corfe Castle stood proudly on its knoll, with its crumb- 
 ling old village clustering round its skirts. The castle 
 seemed to raise its battered keep of Purbeck stone as 
 defiantly now as in the days when gallant Dame Bankes 
 defended it for King Charles. As she looked at it, mag- 
 nificent still, even in its decay, Margot realised almost
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 143 
 
 for the first time what "England" really meant, why 
 it was that even the wasters out in Montreal had talked 
 queerly about "going home." It was all so wonderfully 
 long-established. These mournful and deserted moors 
 covered with heather and gorse and broom had a charm 
 for her that seemed to awake an instinctive craving in 
 her own soul, unsuspected until that moment. 
 
 "We've got rather a nice old place at Kingsworth," 
 Adam remarked. "I think you'll like it. It was in my 
 wife's family, you know; she was born there, and so 
 was her father." 
 
 Margot felt inclined to ask Adam all about his wife 
 and where he met her ; but, in view of these increasingly 
 overpowering revelations of their joint magnificence, she 
 did not dare to do so. Besides, Adam himself seemed 
 a little overpowered, a little consciously on his best be- 
 haviour. He satisfied her curiosity later on, however, by 
 remarking that he had first met his wife on board the 
 boat on his return to England. She had visited America 
 with her father, Colonel Blundell, in order to examine 
 a new system of reclaiming youthful criminals, and it 
 was their common enthusiasm for good works which had 
 drawn them together. Margot remembered that Adam 
 had always been great on clubs for street Arabs. 
 
 "They are useful things, those liners," she reflected. 
 "The voyage gave him his chance to tell the tale, same 
 as it did me with the Falkenheims !" 
 
 Kingsworth turned out to be a small village, built of 
 Purbeck stone quarried from the neighbouring cliffs. 
 It lay about a mile and a half from the sea, buried in 
 a dell amid the green downs, sheltered from the winds. 
 It was about four miles to the west of Swanage, and a 
 little further from Corfe Castle. 
 
 The car slowed down as it traversed the narrow vi!-
 
 144 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 lage street, and Margot watched the smiling faces of the 
 cottagers on either side. Some of the women courtesied 
 and the older men all touched their hats. She had never 
 seen anything like that in Canada, or even in London 
 (where the politeness of the lower orders was obviously 
 paid for), and the spectacle gave her an exhilarating 
 sense of power, of belonging to the "upper classes." 
 In a few moments the car swung round to the left and 
 entered a drive between two stone pillars, while a smil- 
 ing woman held open the white gate. A minute more, 
 and it had surged up to an imposing portico, and the 
 chauffeur was helping her to descend. 
 
 Margot got a hurried impression of a long house built 
 of grey stone, with rows of tall windows, the frames of 
 which were painted white. Interspersed along its facade, 
 between the windows, were flattened Doric pillars rising 
 up to a highly ornamental classic pediment, and the whole 
 house had a kind of solid and tranquil elegance. At 
 the back a lovely wood sloped up the side of the hill 
 and made a green setting for the mansion. In front 
 was a wide lawn of rich turf ending in a cricket field, 
 where a crowd of little boys were running about like 
 animals in a cage. As Margot got out of the car she 
 heard their shrill cries of "Thank you, sirrrr !" or "Heads 
 there!" They were all dressed alike in white flannel 
 shirts and grey flannel knickerbockers kept up by crim- 
 son scarves. To the left of the house was another lawn 
 partly shut in by a box hedge, where two girls and two 
 men were playing tennis. The shouting of the boys and 
 the laughter of the young women in the tennis court 
 seemed to blend with the brilliance of the roses and the 
 geraniums in the flower-beds, the deep blue of the sky, 
 and the vivid green of the smooth-cropped lawns, to
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 145 
 
 make for Margot a complete picture of English rural 
 delight. 
 
 The front door of the house, within the pillared por- 
 tico, stood open, and just inside it was a white-haired 
 butler, whose clear-cut, ascetic features made him look 
 much more like a priest than his master. Margot could 
 have hugged the man ; she felt so happy. His name was 
 Stanton. 
 
 Whilst Margot was being disembarrassed of her 
 wraps, her hostess emerged through one of the square 
 white doors which opened out of the hall. She had 
 evidently just come in from the conservatory, for she 
 carried three white gardenias and a pair of garden scis- 
 sors in her hand. She greeted Margot with a mixture 
 of friendliness and lack of ceremony that was almost 
 off-hand as though they had known one another for 
 years. Margot was not accustomed to be taken as a 
 matter of course like this, and reserved judgment. 
 
 They had tea in the drawing-room, a large room open- 
 ing on to the garden, and she contrived to examine her 
 hostess while pouring out small talk about her journey 
 and her views of England, and of London. 
 
 Mrs. Henderson was a type altogether new to Mar- 
 got. The only people who in the least seemed to resem- 
 ble her were the Cornewalls, and even there the resem- 
 blance was slight. She wore a tweed skirt, very neat 
 and highly-polished brown shoes, and a high-necked silk 
 blouse. She had dark grey eyes, set under a broad white 
 forehead, black hair, a straight nose, and noticeably firm 
 mouth. Her whole expression was one of perfect self- 
 control, of a high-mindedness which, but for a lurking 
 sense of humour, might have been repellent. And, like 
 a hospital nurse, there was about her something aggres- 
 sively clean, as though she were washed all over with
 
 146 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 carbolic soap. Her brain, no doubt, was plentifully sprin- 
 kled with a kind of intellectual sanitas. Even her con- 
 versation was gently hygienic. She had an antiseptic 
 glance; and Margot guessed that on her walks through 
 her house she would contrive to leave behind her a trail 
 of open windows. . . . 
 
 "I went down to the creche this morning, Adam," 
 Mrs. Henderson remarked to her husband, after the us- 
 ual polite preliminaries were over and such questions as 
 "What sort of a show did Harrow make this year ?" had 
 been put and answered. "The nurse has got to work 
 splendidly," she went on. "There were six infants in- 
 stalled already, including Mrs. Joe Burt's new baby girl. 
 Poor little mite ! she will need no end of care, but Nurse 
 quite thinks we shall pull her through. We have just 
 started a little village hospital, Miss Carter," Mrs. Hen- 
 derson continued. "It is principally intended for ba- 
 bies, but in practice we try to do what we can in all 
 cases of sickness in the village, until the doctor can 
 get round. I must take you to see the place to-morrow ; 
 we are tremendously proud of it, I can tell you ! Kings- 
 worth is almost the only village in Dorset where any- 
 thing of the kind has been attempted. Of course, all 
 our reactionary neighbours are just longing for the ex- 
 periment to fail. . . ." 
 
 Margot encouraged her hostess to ride her hobby- 
 horse, and, whilst continuing to use her eyes as hard 
 as she could, endeavoured to act the part of the at- 
 tentive and interested listener. She had learnt by this 
 time to take a reasonable share in a conversation with- 
 out paying too much attention to it, and whilst Mrs. 
 Henderson recounted the village ailments to her hus- 
 band who, as Margot had to remind herself, was vicar 
 of the parish she had opportunities for studying the two
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 14? 
 
 people on whose goodwill her whole future seemed like- 
 ly to depend. If the charm of their setting were any- 
 thing to go by, she had evidently fallen, cat-like, on all 
 fours. The lofty drawing-room with its elaborately or- 
 namented ceiling, panelling enamelled white, polished 
 parquet floor, and dark old paintings in heavy, gilded 
 frames, amazed her by its quiet richness. It seemed 
 such a much more "human" room than any of those in 
 the Falkenheims' house, splendid as they were. Some- 
 how the atmosphere was different. 
 
 Margot could see that the things in the room, though 
 mostly old, were good and bad, beautiful and ugly. Yet 
 they seemed all to fit in, as though each thing were 
 prized rather for its associations than for its value in 
 the sale-room. And to think that that down-at-heel young 
 lead-me-to-glory Adam Henderson had secured all this 
 for himself. How on earth had he managed it? She 
 eyed him like a trade rival. 
 
 While they were drinking their tea and discussing the 
 insanitary habits of the villagers, the tennis players fin- 
 ished their set, and came in through the open window, 
 flushed and full of chatter. Margot looked at them with 
 interest. The girls were very slangy. One of them was 
 ugly and clearly over thirty, and much slangier than 
 the young and pretty one. She had "unmarried" writ- 
 ten all over her in such a queer, pathetic way that Mar- 
 got wished she could get to know her in order that 
 she might suggest emigration to Canada. The men 
 turned out to be resident masters, and struck Margot as 
 being remarkably like unprosperous editions of Adam. 
 They talked about their games, drank their tea eagerly, 
 showed a pretty deference to Mrs. Henderson, and 
 seemed to have nice, gentleman-like manners. They 
 vore white flannel shirts open at the neck, and were
 
 i 4 8 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 very boisterous and easy, and had neat toothbrush mous- 
 taches, which they pulled when they made remarks like, 
 "By Jove ! Miss Saunders, that was a topping backhander 
 of yours in the last game. Never thought you'd get 
 it!" And that was what most of their remarks -were 
 like. 
 
 Margot was pleased when Adam announced his in- 
 tention of showing her the house and garden and took 
 her off with him, leaving the tennis players to finish 
 their tea. 
 
 The more she saw of the stately Georgian mansion, 
 with its formal, rather solemn, elegance, the more it 
 fascinated her. Its symmetrical garden front, with its 
 circular portico, rows of flattened pillars, and heavy 
 classic pediment, Margot had seen when she arrived. 
 Adam now showed her the other side of the house, from 
 which an older wing, lately renovated and now used 
 as the boys' quarters, projected at right angles. Here 
 there were orangeries and walled gardens, stables as big 
 as a church and not unlike one in architecture, Fives 
 courts under the hillside, conservatories, an electric-light 
 generator, a laundry. Everything was in apple-pie or- 
 der, freshly painted, and the whole establishment seemed 
 to exhale an air of cheerfulness and success, of quiet 
 dignity, cleanliness, and health. Margot hoped she 
 would be able to lure Vernon into Dorsetshire during 
 her visit. Here was her longed-for English background. 
 To think that Adam Henderson of all people, whom she 
 had always secretly despised and never more so than 
 while she was living at Richbourne Terrace, should turn 
 out to hold the keys of the situation! She recalled now 
 that he had only cooled off her, in the Montreal days, 
 after he had discovered that her father was a grocer. He 
 had been the wary Scot even then ; no doubt it was this
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 149 
 
 national characteristic which had brought him success. 
 Somehow her own qualities, as exemplified in someone 
 else, struck her as being curiously unlovable. She began 
 to have doubts about the correctness of her point of view. 
 After walking through the gardens and talking to the old 
 gardeners and taking a look at the boys playing cricket, 
 who paused in their game to gaze in silent adoration 
 at the pretty lady walking with "the head," they went 
 back to the house, and Adam showed her the boys' airy 
 dormitories, the schoolrooms, and the boys' dining-hall. 
 As they went through a green baize door into the ser- 
 vants' quarters, Margot, who went first, heard a slight 
 scuffle, and suddenly found herself confronted by a youth 
 of about seventeen. He was handsome in an unwhole- 
 some way, with a pale face, dark, unkempt hair, and sul- 
 len eyes that had a smouldering fire in them. The pretty 
 housemaid whom he had been kissing in a big glass- 
 cupboard escaped with scarlet face and a comical air of 
 outraged dignity. The boy stood, flushed and lowering, 
 looking at Margot. Adam, who, either by accident or 
 design, had just missed seeing Annie's embarrassed 
 escape, introduced the youth, whose name was Lord 
 Danbury. "What are you doing here, Danbury?" he 
 asked, in a tone of voice which had a distinct note of 
 the schoolmaster in it. "Why don't you cut along and 
 have a game of tennis before dinner?" 
 
 "Oh, all right, Mr. Henderson," said Danbury, sheep- 
 ishly, sloping off as quickly as he could. "But I'm abso- 
 lutely fed up with tennis !" 
 
 "Is that one of your side lines?" Margot asked, with 
 amusement. 
 
 "Yes," said Adam. "The young blackguard ! Heaven 
 only knows how I shall get him into Oxford or Cam- 
 bridge. His parents are friends of Mary's people, and
 
 150 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 she offered to take him. She has done wonders with 
 him already. ..." 
 
 By the time Margot rejoined Mrs. Henderson she had 
 elucidated one fact about Adam, and that was that, even 
 if he had married her primarily for her money, his re- 
 spect and admiration for his wife were genuine. And 
 Mary Henderson's high-mindedness was of an awe-in- 
 spiring, incandescent kind. Somehow Margot never felt 
 quite easy under her penetrating glance.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MARGOT'S first impressions of Kings worth House were 
 all enchanting, from the view from her bedroom window 
 to the quince marmalade for breakfast. 
 
 "I sleep like a pig and feed like an ox," she wrote in 
 her first letter to Rachel. "My room is just lovely, a 
 white-flowered bedspread on the bed, white paint every- 
 where, and wide open windows letting in the whir of the 
 lawn-mower and the yells of the little boys playing cricket. 
 I can hear them shouting and running about in their dor- 
 mitories as soon as I wake, and I was greatly shocked on 
 the morning after my arrival to find, when I put my 
 head out of my window, that I could see right into their 
 bathroom ! They were all having shower-baths and flip- 
 ping each other's backs with wet towels the wickedest 
 little devils you ever saw ! But, my dear, the view from 
 my -room and the sea air that blows in over the hill ! 
 You simply can't imagine how lovely it all is!" . . . 
 "Mrs. Henderson does good works, but does not seem to 
 be in the least pompous about them. She bathes with 
 a boy called Lord Danbury, and me, and the doctor's 
 daughter, every morning, just before luncheon. There is 
 a kind of natural swimming bath at Durdle Ledge, which 
 the sea fills at each tide, and it is only a mile and a half 
 from the house. We walk there in our bathing gowns 
 with coats on over them and towels slung over our 
 shoulders. The boys bathe there three days a week. 
 No breakfast in bed here, dearest ! The whole household 
 assembles at half-past eight. You can't imagine how 
 
 151
 
 152 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 lovely the constant fresh air is; my complexion looks 
 quite different already!" 
 
 Margot's complexion, from the second day of her 
 arrival, certainly gained a sudden new radiance. But 
 the radiance started so palpably from the moment when 
 she opened a certain envelope which waited by her plate 
 on the breakfast table, that it is doubtful whether the 
 ozone was entirely responsible for it. 
 
 "My dearest girl," ran the tonic letter, "I was so 
 disappointed to get your note telling me you had slipped 
 off down to the country without saying good-bye. I hope 
 you won't prolong your visit, as you suggest is possible. 
 The Heathcotes have a dance on the twentieth, and the 
 Brackenbury's the evening after, both at the Ritz; and 
 then, of course, there is Mrs. Falkenheim's dance on the 
 twenty-third. I suppose you intend at least to be back for 
 that, since surely she is giving it in your honour? Do 
 give me the supper dances, Margot, will you? But I 
 can't wait all that long time to know my fate! You 
 are the only girl I have ever wanted to marry, and if 
 you won't have me, life simply won't be worth living. I 
 know I am not worthy of you, my dearest, but I swear 
 I would make you a good husband. This is an idiotic 
 letter, but I never was a good hand at letters. You 
 can't think how flat everything is now you are away. 
 Write and tell me when and where we can meet. I must 
 have your answer, dearest, from your own lips. Yours 
 devotedly, VERNON STOKES." 
 
 When she had finished reading this outburst, which she 
 knew that nothing but the strongest emotion could pos- 
 sibly have wrung out of Vernon's studious reserve, 
 Margot's face blossomed into a smile of such perfect 
 satisfaction that everyone at the table noticed it, and 
 speculated as to the cause. He had proposed to her by
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 153 
 
 letter; he had committed himself; it was for her to ac- 
 cept him or to reject him. Captain Vernon Stokes, son 
 and heir of one of the wealthiest baronets in the king- 
 dom was hers for the asking ! Oh, it was too good to be 
 true. But she must not be too elated. Some horrible 
 stroke of ill- fortune might so easily dash the cup of 
 success from her lips; Vernon might hear of something 
 to her detriment from the Falkenheims and be put off by 
 it. And yet, what after all, was the good of dwelling on 
 gloomy possibilities? The glorious facts stared her in 
 the face as she glanced at the letter in her hand. Vernon, 
 after nearly a fortnight in which to "think better of it," 
 still wanted her more ardently than ever to be his 
 wife. . . . 
 
 With her great anxiety now removed, Margot was free 
 to enjoy to the full the many attractions of life at Kings- 
 worth House. She set herself at once to make friends 
 with Mrs. Henderson, who on further acquaintance was 
 much less disquieting than she had at first supposed, and 
 revealed herself as possessing a singularly pure and noble 
 nature, quite free from any virtuous harshness. From 
 the average man's point of view, her absorption in 
 "movements" for the good of others, and her unremitting- 
 altruism, were a little tiresome ; but Margot did not find 
 them so. Mrs. Henderson's unobtrusive ascendancy over 
 the whole household, from the smallest of the schoolboys 
 upwards, her energy, and the atmosphere of sunny 
 chastity which surrounded her, all made a strong im- 
 pression on Margot. She had liked very few of her own 
 sex before, and admired none; but the personality of 
 Mary Henderson touched her imagination and gradually 
 came to alter her conception of women by increasing her 
 respect for them. 
 
 Margot soon noticed that on no one was Mrs. Hender-
 
 i 5 4 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 son's influence exerted more beneficially than on the in- 
 corrigible Danbury. She adopted the only possible way 
 of dissipating the leaden clouds of "sin" which sur- 
 rounded him that of making them ridiculous. From the 
 moment of their first embarrassing encounter Margot had 
 been signalled out for Danbury's glances full of the 
 ghastly gloom of youthful desire and she strongly 
 suspected him of having glued his eye to the keyhole of 
 the bathroom door while she was taking her first tub. 
 The episode of the assault on poor Annie in the glass 
 cupboard, which Margot alone had observed, was charac- 
 teristic of him. Apparently Annie was an old temptation 
 for some days later Margot heard Mrs. Henderson chaf- 
 fing the youthful homme fatal about her. 
 
 "My dear boy," said Mrs. Henderson, "your affec- 
 tionate nature does you a great deal of credit. But if 
 you feel so pent up with generous emotions, I think it 
 is very ungallant to your hostess to lavish them on 
 Annie." To Margot's astonishment and delight, Mrs. 
 Henderson put her cool arm round Danbury's neck and 
 hugged him as if he were a child of ten and she were his 
 mother. "Now you feel better, don't you?" she said, 
 with a laugh that had almost a cry in it. "And I am 
 sure you will now be able to turn your attention to Plato's 
 'Apology* and get through your 'little-go.' " 
 
 Danbury's dark eyes burned as he looked at her, unable 
 to speak. He slunk away sheepishly into the garden. 
 Later in the afternoon, Margot noticed him cutting a 
 bunch of roses ; he seemed to be taking great care to cut 
 them all of the same shade of dark velvety red. That 
 evening, just before dinner, she noticed a bowl of these 
 dark red roses standing on Mrs. Henderson's writing- 
 table. . . . 
 
 The same night, as she went up rather early to her
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 155 
 
 room, she heard two of the maids whispering together. 
 
 'That young feller, Vs gone and got Joe Martin's 
 daughter, the fair one down at the post office, into mos' 
 awful trouble. Old Jo 'e do say as 'e'll tell Mrs. 'Ender- 
 son, 'e will." Poor Danbury the incurable senti- 
 mentalist ! Margot couldn't raise any sympathy for the 
 horrid little fair-haired minx at the post office, who 
 giggled and gave wrong change. 
 
 The school broke up in the last days of July, and there 
 was a tremendous bustle in getting the boys off. Some 
 were carried away by effusive parents, who arrived in cars 
 and had to be invited to luncheon. Others were driven, 
 chattering like magpies, in big brakes to Wareham Sta- 
 tion. Piles of deal playboxes went off the day before 
 the breaking-up, and on the last two days the boys seemed 
 suddenly to be all over the house. 
 
 "Coo, I say, Miss Cartier, you are pretty ; all the other 
 chaps say so !" remarked a pink- faced urchin to Margot 
 on the last morning. He had impudent brown eyes and 
 a most engaging grin, and Margot felt curiously touched 
 by his naive tribute. On the whole, however, she was 
 glad when the boys and the assistant-masters went away 
 and she had an opportunity of seeing more of her host 
 and hostess. 
 
 She had seen very little of Adam during the last days 
 of term, but now he was able to go for walks with her 
 while Mrs. Henderson was paying her visits in the village. 
 They would go for miles over the hills, or sit in the 
 sunshine on Durdle Ledge watching the little waves 
 breaking over the rampart of rock in a joyous cascade of 
 snow and feasting their eyes on the dark blue expanse 
 of sea and sky. Margot enjoyed these walks. There 
 was something about Adam which amused her, some 
 quality in him which made her feel profoundly at ease.
 
 156 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 She thought him a humbug with his sanctimonious airs, 
 but she could never be angry with him, because of the 
 twinkle of humour which always lurked in the depths of 
 his little clever eyes. And she admired his success, 
 his luck, in having married a woman so infinitely "above" 
 him, and the skill he showed in the management of his 
 school. The prospectus of the school amused her par- 
 ticularly. Botany, Music, Woodcarving, the Violin, Sing- 
 ing, Dancing, and a whole string of other subjects were 
 taught by "Visiting Masters," while young gentlemen 
 were prepared for Oxford and Cambridge, the Army, and 
 the Civil Services. Even Hebrew was in the "curri- 
 culum." "Who teaches the Hebrew, Adam?" Margot 
 asked one day, "and where are all the visiting masters ?" 
 
 "Well, their visits have been a little infrequent 
 lately," Adam replied with a smile. "And as to the 
 Hebrew element, we try to eliminate that as much as 
 possible !" 
 
 "I believe you are as big a humbug as I am myself, 
 Adam !" was Margot's comment. The prosperous clergy- 
 man beamed amiably and failed to give himself away. 
 
 "Do you know, Adam," she went on, suddenly con- 
 fidential, "I have a young man? His name is Vernon 
 Stokes, and he is a captain in the Guards very good- 
 looking, tall, neat moustache, good eyes and teeth, and 
 terribly rich and important. I believe he thinks I am an 
 heiress, or at least moderately well off. He doesn't know 
 anything, thank heaven!" 
 
 Adam's fat face lit up with a smile of congratulation. 
 "When is the marriage to be solemnised?" he asked. 
 
 "It won't be at all," said Margot, "not unless you buck 
 up and help me fix it !" 
 
 "Beyond assisting at the ceremony, which I shall be 
 delighted to do, my dear, I don't quite see how ..."
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 157 
 
 "Be my cousin . . . just for once," Margot asked, 
 caressingly. They were sitting on the grass in a hollow 
 under the shadow of Kingsworth Hill, looking across 
 at the tiny Norman chantry on St. Aldhelm's Head and 
 away over the changing, glittering sea. Adam was 
 dressed in an old grey flannel suit and tennis shoes, and 
 Margot was wearing an equally ancient cotton frock 
 which she had brought with her from Montreal. Adam 
 thought he remembered the frock, and as he smoked his 
 pipe and looked at her the "impressiveness" of his pro- 
 fession laid on one side for a moment his thoughts took 
 a sentimental turn. "My dear girl," he said, "how on 
 earth can I be your cousin?" 
 
 "Oh, it's quite easy," Margot replied. "All Scotch 
 people are related in some way or other, and my father 
 and yours were both Scotch . . . therefore they must 
 have been cousins !" 
 
 "But I thought you were a French-Canadian!" said 
 Adam chaffingly. "And what could be a more dis- 
 tinguished name for a French-Canadian than Cartier? 
 You had much better be descended from the great Jac- 
 ques Cartier, the founder of Montreal, than be my 
 cousin ..." 
 
 Margot looked thoughtful for a moment. "I can easily 
 be both," she said. "You can be my cousin on my 
 mother's side. For all I know, her name was Henderson. 
 She was an actress. Didn't you ever have any relatives 
 who were actresses ?" 
 
 Adam shook his head. 
 
 "Anyway, that doesn't matter," Margot went on. 
 "Only the point is, the Reverend Adam Henderson, 
 cousin of the bride, ought to 'assist' at Westminster 
 Abbey or wherever the ceremony takes place. I've seen 
 it scores of times in the Morning Post, haven't you?
 
 158 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 Besides, you and Mrs. Henderson would let Vernon come 
 here and call, wouldn't you? If only the silly old father 
 could come too old Sir William, Bart. it would be 
 fixed up in no time. . . . Say you will be a cousin or an 
 uncle to me, there's a dear!" 
 
 Adam's first impulse was to laugh; then he hastily 
 pulled himself together and looked sacerdotal. But 
 finally his humour got the better of him, and his solemn- 
 ity broke into a smile. You must make the statements, 
 then, Margot. All I can do is to try to avoid denying 
 them. But what about Mary ?" 
 
 "She's too much of a darling to suspect. We can let 
 the information drop lightly, refer to it by inference as 
 though it had always been understood. I'll manage it, 
 trust me ! All you will have to do is to admit it tacitly. 
 I'll make it a very distant cousin, if you like, and as all 
 Scotch people have hundreds of relations, no one will 
 ever know!" 
 
 "Well, so long as I have nothing to do with it, you 
 understand ... I don't approve of it,) mind, but upon 
 your head be it. If you think it will do you any 
 good. . . ." 
 
 "There, I knew you would be a cousin to me, Adam. 
 I was sure of it ! If you weren't so frightfully prosperous 
 yourself, I'd offer you a ten per cent commission on my 
 first year's salary. ..." 
 
 "Margot !" said Adam severely, an unlooked-for wave 
 of professional zeal and prejudice suddenly engulfing him, 
 "I can't bear to hear you talk like that. If you don't 
 genuinely care for the man, I won't be a party to any- 
 thing so villainous as your marrying him just for what 
 he gives you. Believe me, a marriage where the woman 
 gets all and gives nothing is really less satisfactory for 
 the woman than the man. Such marriages never turn
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 159 
 
 out well. You had far better marry a man, even a com- 
 paratively poor man, Margot, whom you really like . . . 
 if you want to be happy." 
 
 Margot was completely taken aback by this outburst. 
 There was no hint of a smile at the back of Adam's eyes 
 now. He was showing her a new side to his character. 
 He meant what he said; and she was unable to under- 
 stand how a humbug could also be perfectly sincere almost 
 simultaneously. She remembered now that she had been 
 impressed much in the same way when she heard him 
 preach in the village church on Sunday morning. . . . 
 She had expected it would make her laugh; but it had 
 done nothing of the kind. 
 
 "My dear Adam, how silly you are," she remarked 
 coldly, as though his rude words had torn the veil from 
 her most sacred emotions. "Of course, I am utterly 
 devoted to Vernon. You must be blind if you can't see 
 that; but one doesn't want to shout these things on the 
 housetops." 
 
 "Well, I'm more than glad," 'Adam remarked, as they 
 walked back to the house over the springy, slippery turf 
 of the downs. "I hope you will be extremely happy. He 
 will certainly be a lucky man." 
 
 The priest had now given way once again to the senti- 
 mentalist, and the swift change by lending her com- 
 panion a certain quality of elusiveness disconcerted her. 
 She hated people not to live up to the labels she applied 
 to them. But she had won her point.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 VERY soon after her arrival at Kingsworth Mrs. Hen- 
 derson had invited Margot to stay for a "good long visit,'' 
 and a little later both she and Adam begged her again to 
 stay with them for as long as she liked. Nothing could 
 possibly have suited Margot better, and the invitation, 
 in view of her harassing experiences with the Falken- 
 heims, came as a godsend, and evoked from her one of 
 her rare expressions of gratitude. Every hour she spent 
 at Kingsworth added to her appreciation of the Hender- 
 sons and of their house. In the warm days of July and 
 early August this green and sheltered corner by the sea 
 seemed to her like Paradise ; and after the hectic excite- 
 ments of her three months in London the rest and quiet- 
 ness were just what she needed. She liked the bathing 
 and the long walks, the big breakfasts, the fresh air, the 
 rapturous, invigorating idleness. She enjoyed patronising 
 the doctor's daughter and dazzling her with her elegant 
 frocks ; it amused her to make Danbury nearly ill through 
 the excess of his admiration; and the more she saw of 
 her host and hostess, the more she liked them. Adam 
 went up several points in her esteem after he had con- 
 sented to be her "cousin," on the day when she had taken 
 him into her confidence about Vernon. 
 
 The routine of life at Kingsworth was pleasantly rest- 
 ful after London. Nearly every morning was spent in 
 bathing or in sitting with a novel in her lap and a cigar- 
 ette between her lips, watching the warm sea splashing in 
 brilliant foam over Durdle Ledge. In the afternoons she 
 would either go for walks with Danbury or Adam to 
 
 160
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 161 
 
 Chapman's Pool, where the coastguards had a hundred 
 stories about smugglers to tell her; to Kimmeridge, with 
 its quarries tunnelling far into the cliff ; or round by Durl- 
 ston Head into Swanage or else play interminable games 
 of tennis which lasted until the evening shadows made 
 the ball almost invisible. 
 
 And after dinner would come the pleasantest hours of 
 all, the quiet evenings spent by one of the open windows 
 of the drawing-room, looking out at the dark violet-blue 
 of the sky all jewelled with stars. Danbury would try, 
 morosely, to flirt with her ; Mrs. Henderson would work 
 on tranquilly at her embroidery; and Adam would nod 
 over a book until the spirit moved him to walk over to 
 her chair and begin talking. Then they would all talk ; 
 Mary Henderson would join in, and they would discuss 
 every subject under the sun until far into the night. 
 Margot loved these evenings. They made her realise 
 how much more interesting and attractive people are 
 when you get to know them. It occurred to her that one 
 could not get to know people in London ; there was never 
 time. But here you could explore other minds, learn 
 things from them and about them. 
 
 The more Margot saw of Mary Henderson the more she 
 respected and liked her, until at last her affection became 
 almost like that of a schoolgirl for a mistress. It was 
 chiefly at night that they had opportunities for long talks, 
 for Mrs. Henderson had a thousand good works to occupy 
 her during the day. She spent hours in the village, 
 where everyone loved her, asking the sick about their 
 ailments or supervising the new creche which had proved 
 such a success. The villagers had known "Miss Mary," 
 as they still called her, ever since her earliest childhood, 
 and had always loved her, not only for her own sake, 
 but for her father's. Old Colonel Blundell had ruled his
 
 162 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 tenants with a firm hand, but he had looked after them. 
 No one in Kingsworth had ever been in actual want ; no 
 sick person had suffered from a lack of proper nursing or 
 medical treatment. The tradition of responsibility had 
 descended to Mary Henderson, and as her "good works" 
 came to her quite naturally, the villagers never thought 
 of them as interference. Sometimes Margot would ac- 
 company her hostess on her rounds, and she grew to love 
 the dour villagers with their strange ways, their peculiar 
 delicacies and courtesies. The old women would pour 
 out the simple story of their ailments and their worries 
 to Mrs. Henderson, going into intimate details without a 
 trace of embarrassment. And Margot, finding that her 
 companion was entirely unshocked, gradually realised that 
 vulgarity is never an attribute of things which are natural 
 and universal, though it may be (and often is) inherent 
 in a description of them. She could see, however, partly 
 through intuition and partly through noting their effect 
 on her companion, that there was nothing vulgar or 
 essentially coarse in the things these countrywomen said. 
 Even the bawdy old songs in the Dorset dialect, with 
 which they sent their babies to sleep, had a simplicity 
 and a sincerity which seemed to take away from them 
 any suggestion of uncleanness. 
 
 The village of Kingsworth was curiously rich in char- 
 acters. Almost every grey stone cottage in the one long 
 street of which the village consisted was inhabited by a 
 couple who differed essentially from their neighbours. 
 They were not "all of a pattern," like the inhabitants of 
 Richbourne Terrace. One afternoon, Mrs. Henderson 
 took Margot with her to visit John Vile, who was reputed 
 to be the holiest man in Dorset. He was over seventy 
 years old, quite deaf, and had but one eye. He lived in 
 a tiny cottage with his niece Rosie. Rosie was a neat
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 163 
 
 and clean young widow with smiling face and gay brown 
 eyes. She pursued the oldest of professions or the pro- 
 fession perhaps pursued her but she did it because she 
 "never could stand up against a man." She was, in truth, 
 a man's woman; and if any male thing near her hurt 
 himself, or was in want of her embraces, or even of her 
 beer and bread and cheese, she was miserable if she 
 could not give them. Her heart would melt at the sight 
 of a fine upstanding young man. Her love of men bred 
 in her such a sweet courtesy that it was a delight for 
 anyone to go to her cottage. Even the doctor, a gnarled 
 recluse of antiquarian propensities, who took the gloom- 
 iest views about the human race in general, could never 
 quite bring himself to disapprove of Rosie. As for John 
 Vile, he would sit all day in his chair, occasionally smok- 
 ing, and always deep in divine meditation. His one 
 bright blue eye had never perceived his niece's frailties, 
 nor would it have been turned on her accusingly if it had. 
 When Mrs. Henderson came to bring him his tobacco 
 and to inquire after his rheumatism, he would lift up 
 his head and nod it in motions of courtesy before turning 
 on her his brilliant orb. This blue, liquid, fiery eye 
 fascinated Margot. It was just the same colour as her 
 own eyes; but it had a strangeness in its depths that 
 held her, just as the Ancient Mariner held the Wedding 
 Guest. It was as though a young, eager soul filled with 
 some holy satisfaction or possessing some divine secret 
 were looking through it. No one who encountered John 
 Vile's peculiar gaze could think of him as old. In the vil- 
 lage his wisdom was famous, and it was well known that 
 he saw visions. The fact that he had seen the local 
 Baptist preacher come up the street surrounded by "seven 
 lean black dogs with gert tongues, leaping and slavering," 
 had sealed the fate of that individual so far as Kings-
 
 164 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 worth was concerned. Adam Henderson, however, had 
 been accompanied by "six lily-white meaids, all a-playing 
 on sackbuts and psalteries, with fire to their boosums 
 and to their feet: holy meaids." John had seen these 
 meaids at communion time, standing on either side of 
 the priest. The taking of the sacrament was the great 
 event in his life, and Sundays were radiant for him. 
 "It du shine strangely, the bread all with white light 
 and I du hear sweet crashings of brass. Tis them 
 cymbals I du hear a-playing in Heaven." Rosie would 
 accompany Uncle John in order to help him up the 
 aisle to the altar rail. She liked the nice sweet wine 
 the vicar handed to her, accepting the sacrament as a 
 child accepts something not understood, about which its 
 curiosity has not been aroused. Occasionally she would 
 think about the "poor dear Man" who had to die on the 
 Cross and whose women had been unable to save Him 
 pain. It was characteristic that the part of the Bible 
 story which most affected her was the fact that Mary, 
 Christ's mother, and the other Mary had been powerless 
 to sacrifice themselves to save Him from His sorrow. 
 For a woman not to be able to bear a man's troubles 
 for him and ease his pains struck her as being a dreadful 
 calamity. She understood the anguish which those holy 
 women must have endured as they wept over the feet 
 of the crucified Jesus. Rosie was indeed of a thoroughly 
 practical and kindly habit of mind: she left "the 'igh 
 thinking for them as could do it." 
 
 The female counterpart of old John Vile was Mrs. 
 Isaac Holden, who kept house for her son in a bleak 
 cottage on the Kingsworth House estate, which stood in 
 a hollow in the cliff-side, not far from Chapman's Pool. 
 The son was a handsome young quarryman who worked 
 at Kimmeridge. He had never married, because of his
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 165 
 
 passion for Rosie. His family traditions, prevented him 
 from wedding a "little huzbird," yet Rosie held him 
 fast. Mrs. Holden, whom the neighbours were apt to 
 describe as a "regular wold chattermag," was rather cor- 
 pulent and unable to move about very much. She would 
 sit for hours at the door of her cottage in her armchair 
 supported by bright red cushions, with a grey shawl 
 round her shoulders. Her white hair was surmounted 
 by a neat linen cap, and she wore a large cornelian 
 brooch on her bosom. The chief peculiarities of Mrs. 
 Holden's appearance were the pinkness of her cheeks, 
 her cheerfulness, and the fact that one of her eyes was 
 dark blue, the other brown. She spent most of the day 
 listening to the music of a canary, which, she was con- 
 vinced, had in some mysterious way got right into her 
 head and had remained there caged. When Mrs. Hen- 
 derson and Margot visited her, her face would light up 
 with a beatific smile; she would nod her head slowly 
 up and down, and, raising one gnarled finger, would 
 say: "Listen, dearie, it's singing now, it's singing 
 now!" The canary was the one great interest of her 
 life, her one topic of conversation. Sometimes, on her 
 more wandering days, it transformed itself into a choir 
 of angels, and her satisfaction became still greater. 
 
 The charm, to Margot, of the Kingsworth villagers 
 lay in the distinctness of their personalities. There was, 
 for instance, old Mrs. Holden with her canary in the 
 brain and her odd eyes; Rosie the "gert strumpet," for 
 whom no one had a hard word; and the saintly John 
 Vile, her uncle. Then again there was the village miser, 
 William Beeney, who, in spite of a bag of sovereigns 
 buried in a safe place, made constant efforts to get into 
 the "house," and lived on old crusts of bread and stolen 
 potatoes; and the village spendthrift, young Farmer
 
 166 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 Dabinett. Dabinett wore a suit of checks, a mustard- 
 colour fancy waistcoat, and a stock adorned with a gold 
 tie-pin representing a fox's head. He had been to Lon- 
 don with adventures of a lurid character in Leicester 
 Square and at thirty was already bibulous and half- 
 ruined, while his amours were a parish scandal. Mrs. 
 Henderson told Margot that it was well known to anti- 
 quaries that Jo Dabinett had some of the most illustrious 
 blood in Europe in his veins. He was a direct descendant 
 of the knightly De Albini's, the flower of mediaeval chiv- 
 alry, whose lands had formerly extended far into the 
 county of Somerset. Both "simple faith" and "Norman 
 blood" were therefore to be found among the inhabitants 
 of Kingsworth. There was no tedious uniformity about 
 them; nor did long lives passed within the narrow con- 
 fines of the village seem in any way to limit their 
 originality or interest. 
 
 Margot realized at once that but for Mrs. Henderson's 
 illuminating commentaries she might never have had the 
 wit to see below the surface. 
 
 Mrs. Henderson had a way of opening up fresh vistas 
 for the mental eye. She knew her villagers better than 
 they did themselves, and her comments to Margot were 
 revealing and suggestive. She seemed to have the knack 
 of making them interesting through her own intense 
 interest in them. This absorption in the lives of others 
 was, to Margot, a new and fascinating quality. She had 
 never tried to understand other people before, except as a 
 protective measure against fraud; never realised that it 
 was possible to become interested in anyone except one- 
 self. She had only thought about people hitherto in 
 relation to her own personal advantage, or in regard to 
 their social standing. Somehow since she had been at 
 Kingsworth she had completely forgotten about "social
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 167 
 
 standing." The household in which she now lived did 
 not bother itself about that kind of thing. Margot began 
 slowly to realise that there were other things in life, 
 and that people actually existed in the world whose be- 
 haviour and attitude were not governed by ideas of profit 
 or advancement but by abstractions, religions, codes of 
 honour, loves and hates. And she realised that these 
 abstractions were the only things that really mattered 
 to Mrs. Henderson, and even, though perhaps in a less 
 degree, to Adam. Adam, whom she imagined she knew 
 thoroughly, was becoming more; and more an enigma to 
 her. As the days went by she came to believe that those 
 parts of him which she understood his snobbishness, 
 his care of appearances, his "humbug" were only small 
 parts of him, the rotten parts. She realised after a 
 while that, although by the side of his wife he seemed 
 a pompous sham, there was really something in him. He 
 had loved where money was and social position as well 
 but he had loved. His respect and affection for his 
 wife were as sincere as were hers for him. And in spite 
 of his weakness for "swanking" at county garden-parties, 
 or for handing the cake at meetings of "influential church- 
 women" engaged in fatuous movements, it was obvious 
 that he sincerely believed in the religion he was engaged 
 in teaching. Though his prospectus was full of titled 
 referees and his curriculum contained subjects which 
 there was no one qualified to teach, he yet ran his school 
 admirably, did his very best by his little boys, and was 
 extremely successful with them. No: Adam was 
 bafflingly complex. He had as keen an eye to the main 
 chance as she had herself ; but there was in him a "some- 
 thing beyond" which she felt she lacked. He certainly 
 had not been like this during the Montreal period unless 
 the difference was that in those days she had been too
 
 168 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 dull to perceive it. Perhaps it was his wife's influence? 
 Mary Henderson would influence anybody, and already, 
 when she had known her barely a month, Margot felt 
 that she was being influenced herself. It was sheer per- 
 sonality that did it; Mary never laid down the law or 
 attempted to persuade anybody to do anything. She 
 never suspected evil; and her way of taking the best in 
 everyone for granted produced an immediate response. 
 Without realising exactly how she had gained her know- 
 ledge, Margot knew instinctively that Mary Henderson 
 would always preserve a confidence, was incapable of 
 reading a letter not addressed to her, or of being unfaith- 
 ful or even disrespectful to her husband, and that she 
 would always fearlessly do what she believed to be right, 
 no matter what might be the worldly consequences. When 
 Margot debated in her mind whether she should tell 
 Mary/ Henderson about Vernon, she always came to the 
 conclusion that it would be safer to say nothing. She 
 was afraid her ambitions about which she had begun to 
 have her doubts might betray themselves if she con- 
 fided her secret. She knew so well what Mary Hender- 
 son would think about them, and about a mercenary 
 marriage. . . . 
 
 Margot heard frequently from Vernon, and the eager 
 tone of his letters showed her that she could afford to 
 be careless in her replies. She was quite certain that 
 now, with a little management and skill, she could land 
 him whenever it suited her to do so. But the question 
 was : Did she really want him ? Was it all worth while ? 
 Until recently her thoughts of marriage had been con- 
 nected exclusively with her selfish, worldly aspirations. 
 A rich husband would bring her power and freedom ; fine 
 clothes, luxury, social success. In the hurry and excite- 
 ment of her life in London, surrounded as she had been,
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 169 
 
 at the Falkenheims, by an atmosphere of refined material- 
 ism, it was not unnatural that her thoughts should have 
 been filled with ideas of this kind. Here, however, it 
 was all different. The blue August days were leisurely 
 and tranquil. If she liked, by shaking off Danbury, who 
 seemed to watch her every movement, she could be all 
 alone for a whole day. Sometimes she would go, off by 
 herself, taking sandwiches for luncheon and a novel, 
 and sit alone with her thoughts in some sheltered sun- 
 bathed crevice of the cliffs. She loved the sea with its 
 mysterious changing colours, loved the "many-twinkling 
 smile" of the waves on the white sand. She was happy 
 as she sat thus, with the rugged cliffs stretching far 
 away to right and left of her, eating her food out of 
 a paper packet or smoking one of Danbury's cigarettes ; 
 she was happier than she had ever been since the days 
 when she and Loo had played together among the peach- 
 trees on the shores of Ontario. In these days of solitude 
 she began not so much to know herself as to realise that 
 she had a self to know. She thought often of Vernon, 
 and (rather to her own perplexity) more often still of 
 Godfrey Levett. Her determination to marry Vernon 
 remained unshaken, but she began to wonder whether 
 marriage would give her all that she anticipated, whether 
 it would not take away from her as much as it 
 gave. . . . 
 
 The facts of human existence, in the village, were so 
 much less veiled than they were in London. Margot 
 had always, all her life, resented liberties being taken 
 with her body. The idea of having to surrender herself 
 to any man's physical subjection was revolting to her; 
 and Vernon, for all his air of refinement and reserve, 
 was not, in any case, the man she would have chosen. 
 And all that she had seen of child-bearing since she had
 
 i;o MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 been at Kingsworth frightened and horrified her. Once 
 when she had been walking down the village street with 
 Mrs. Henderson she had heard a woman in a cottage 
 moaning in agony. And yet she knew that the greatest 
 sorrow in Mrs. Henderson's life was that she had no 
 children. . . . Her friend would have given anything 
 to suffer that anguish ! She could see that there must be 
 something wanting in a marriage if one had no children. 
 To have a nice little girl to bring up would be an occupa- 
 tion something to think about. But, on the whole, the 
 idea of the physical side of marriage about which, for 
 all her apparent sophistication, she was essentially 
 ignorant disquieted her, and made her feel unhappy. 
 She could not put the subject out of her mind ; and many 
 times it was on the tip of her tongue to ask questions 
 of Mary Henderson. She felt the need of confiding in 
 some married woman who would comfort her. Rachel 
 Elkington must, she felt, be as ignorant as she was 
 herself. And the time was short. She felt the shadow 
 of the coming events brooding over her. She knew that 
 these quiet weeks were like a lull before the storms of 
 experience burst over her head, and that if she did not 
 make the most of them the opportunity would be for ever 
 gone. But she did not know where to turn, and when 
 she looked into her own heart she could not read what 
 it had to tell her. . . . 
 
 One morning towards the end of August she found a 
 letter from Vernon on the round oak table in the hall, 
 when she came down to breakfast. 
 
 "My dearest Margot," it said, "great news! I am 
 coming down next Monday to spend September with the 
 Heathcotes, who live just outside Wareham. I believe 
 that is quite close to you, and I hope we shall meet. 
 I mean to come over to call on the first available after-
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 171 
 
 noon, so please write to say you will be pleased to see 
 me. It has been too boring for words in Scotland with 
 you so far away. 
 
 "Love, from your devoted 
 
 VERNON." 
 
 She felt a sinking in her heart when she had taken in 
 the contents of the letter. He was coming to Wareham 
 on Monday ! If only she could have had just one more 
 month.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MARGOT was sitting in a hammock slung in the dark, 
 cathedral-like shade of the beech wood which clothed the 
 lower slopes of the hill between Kingsworth House and 
 the sea. The wood was very silent, very cool. The sun- 
 light, filtering through the leaves, made patterns on the 
 ground, and little plots of bright light alternated with 
 and accentuated the green gloom. The hammock was 
 slung between two young trees at a point where the 
 wood was less thick, and, though shaded from the sun, 
 Margot could see its rays pouring down on the patch of 
 luxuriant vegetation close to her feet. By turning her 
 head she could also look far along the solemn aisles of 
 the wood's recesses, where the sun could not penetrate 
 and where the footsteps of man and beast were noiseless 
 on the beech-mast. This particular spot was one of her 
 favourite retreats when she was too lazy to walk as far 
 as the sea. To-day she had come here because she 
 expected Vernon, and because she wanted to be alone 
 until he arrived and yet to remain near at hand. She 
 treasured these last moments of loneliness. All her life, 
 perhaps, from now onwards, she would live constantly 
 surrounded by others. Even her bed she would have 
 to share. Always, always she would have to keep up 
 appearances, to make conversation, to conceal her feel- 
 ings, emotions, thoughts. Never again, once she married, 
 would she have any more privacy. As she lay stretched 
 out in the hammock in the warm greenness of the wood 
 she wished that she could postpone everything for just 
 a little longer. ... To rest md dream in this tranquil
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 173 
 
 paradise, that was enough. She felt that her whole 
 nature, since she had been at Kingsworth, had changed. 
 She had discovered things in her life which she never 
 knew existed. . . . They made her uneasy dissatisfied 
 with the future she had marked out for herself, and from 
 which she felt she could not now go back. 
 
 "Are you there, Miss Cartier? . . . Miss Cartier!" 
 It was Danbury 's morose, growling, boyish voice whicK 
 aroused her from her reverie. 
 
 "Here I am, in the hammock!" she called out in 
 reply, and in a few minutes Danbury stood in front of 
 her, devouring her with his eyes. He was dressed in 
 an old pair of flannel trousers with a white canvas shirt, 
 open at the neck to reveal a sunburnt chest, and had a 
 pair of dirty buckskin tennis shoes on his feet. He stood 
 before Margot, eyeing her all over with furtive admira- 
 tion. There's a feller turned up in a car," he said at last. 
 "He's come for you, I think. Sort of a soldier with a 
 bit of a moustache and a doggy manner. He's doing the 
 'heavy* now to Mrs. Henderson and Adam. You don't 
 want to rush off and see him yet, do you?" he added 
 persuasively, blushing at his own boldness. He sank 
 down on the long grass by the side of the hammock and 
 grasped one of Margot's hands. Margot felt flattered by 
 the emotions of this dark-eyed scamp, but in spite of his 
 extreme youth he alarmed her. He was apparently so 
 inflammable that there was no knowing what he would 
 do next. Before she could answer him or send him 
 away he had leapt to his feet and was kissing her 
 furiously. 
 
 "Danbury!" she cried. "Shut up, you little beast!" 
 
 He held her so firmly that she could hardly move. 
 She could hear his heart thumping. The hammock 
 swung and creaked until the rope being already half-
 
 174 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 worn through it finally gave way, and Margot and her 
 admirer came heavily to the ground. This was too much 
 for her good nature, and, wrenching herself free, she 
 boxed Danbury's ears as hard as she could: 
 
 "You darling!" he said, looking at her with admira- 
 tion, and submitting to her blow without moving a muscle. 
 He stood with drooping head and rounded shoulders 
 looking up at her with eyes full of glowing fire. "Do hit 
 me again!" he said. "Bully me. I wish you would!" 
 She made as if to strike him a second time, but her hand 
 dropped, and her sense of humour getting the better of 
 her, she went off into a peal of laughter. Then, pick- 
 ing up her novel, brushing the twigs out of her skirt, 
 and removing the disorder which Danbury's embraces 
 had wrought in her hair, she walked back with him to the 
 house. 
 
 "He's a lucky devil, that's all I can say!" Danbury 
 remarked when they caught sight of Vernon in the 
 distance, standing talking to Mr. and Mrs. Henderson. 
 "Just like those beastly soldiers! Stuck-up asses!" 
 When they got nearer Danbury evaporated in the direc- 
 tion of the servants' quarters, to show one of the 
 
 gardeners his latest Paris photographs. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "You've been very prompt in keeping your word," 
 Margot remarked when she was alone with Vernon after 
 luncheon. 
 
 "Yes. Didn't you expect me to be prompt? If you 
 only knew what I know, you wouldn't wonder." 
 
 A smile, like the smile which the Jew endeavours to 
 repress when he has just got the better of the Christian, 
 spread over Margot's face. Vernon described it to him- 
 self as the "love light," and his heart swelled inside him 
 with happiness. She really cared! He touched his
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 175 
 
 Moustache to restore himself to his attitude of cynical 
 unconcern. 
 
 "Awful jolly place this," he remarked, to relieve the 
 tension. "I came here once, as a boy, in Colonel Blun- 
 dell's time. Mrs. Henderson didn't remember me. No 
 reason why she should have done, of course." 
 
 They walked up through the beech wood and on to the 
 hill. From the top of it, turning their backs on the sea, 
 they looked down on the grey mass of the house, with 
 its classic elegance and beautiful proportions, standing 
 amid its wonderful English lawns, close-cropped and 
 vivid, and bordered with roses. The rooks circled caw- 
 ing round the tops of the trees the friendly rooks. 
 
 "It's a jolly place, isn't it?" Margot said. "My cousin 
 is lucky." 
 
 She felt Vernon's glance rest on her for a moment 
 through his dark, beautiful lashes. 
 
 "By Jove, yes," he agreed. "Kingsworth is one of the 
 finest places in the county." 
 
 She turned away and they walked slowly over the 
 crest of the hill, talking of London and of their friends 
 of the Fawsett Vivians and the Hollingtons, of Patcham 
 and Joyce, and the Elkingtons and Godfrey Levett. 
 
 "I met Levett in Scotland," Vernon remarked. 
 "Instead of doing any shooting, he went for interminable 
 walks by himself round the shores of the loch. Touch 
 of the mystic about that fellow, I think. The artistic 
 temperament, I suppose. He is a very interesting man, 
 though," he added quickly, in his character of literary 
 amateur. 
 
 Margot drily agreed, suppressing a desire to giggle, and 
 they went on talking once more about the season's dances. 
 
 "Do you know," Vernon remarked suddenly, "I called 
 on your friends the Falkenheims a few days after you
 
 176 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 had gone. The atmosphere seemed positively arctic, and 
 they glared at me when I mentioned your name. I sup- 
 pose they were jealous because you rushed off to stay 
 with your relations and left them in the lurch over their 
 dance?" 
 
 "It wasn't exactly that," said Margot. "You see, Mr. 
 Falkenheim and I had a difference of opinion." Vernon 
 nodded his head solemnly, with an air of precisely under- 
 standing what she meant, 'which would have misled any- 
 one who knew him less well than Margot did. She paused 
 for a moment, wondering what she had better say. Then, 
 deciding that the safest plan is always to carry the war 
 into the enemy's country, she remarked, "You see, 
 Vernon, Mr. Falkenheim thought his position as my host 
 gave him certain privileges . . . and I didn't think so. 
 So I came away rather quickly. That was just what 
 happened." 
 
 Vernon grew pink under his bronze, and Margot 
 noticed the effect of her words on him with an amazed 
 and gratified curiosity. "Filthy old brute," he hissed 
 through his moustache. "These beastly Jews make 
 London intolerable. We teach them to behave them- 
 selves in public, and to wash, and all that kind of thing 
 . . . but whenever they get half a chance. ..." 
 
 Margot felt once more a dangerous desire to laugh, but 
 she was magnanimous instead. Slipping her arm through 
 Vernon's with a movement of friendliness and trust, 
 which again sent the blood to his head, she remarked: 
 "Now that is quite enough about the silly old Falken- 
 heims. He was very kind to me, after all. And we 
 should never have met if it hadn't been for him. So 
 don't let us refer to them any more! Isn't this air 
 delicious?" They walked along to the cliff overlooking 
 Chapman's Pool and sat, with their legs hanging over
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 177 
 
 the edge, looking down at the rock-girt bay, so wild and 
 beautiful in its loneliness. "This is the loveliest place I 
 have seen in my whole life," she said with perfect 
 sincerity "and I should like never to have to leave it." 
 
 "You would soon get sick of it in the winter," Vernon 
 remarked with irritating literalness. "You would want 
 London then !" 
 
 As they walked back through the wood to Kingsworth 
 House, Margot knew that he would try to kiss her if he 
 could do it without being too commonplace, and that he 
 was longing to ask her for her reply, and if it was "Yes" 
 to marry her at once. But she did not want him to ask 
 her too quickly. She determined to prevent him if she 
 could. She knew that if he did it walking through a 
 wood on an August afternoon he would try to be clever 
 about it, would attempt an epigram or some peculiar 
 trick which should emphasise his original point of view. 
 At the moment when she said "Yes" to him, she wanted 
 to be like all the other girls in all the novels she had 
 read. She wanted moonlight and a trembling male voice 
 whispering "Dearest," followed by an amorous languish- 
 ing against a white shirt-front. Perhaps she would have 
 the same emotions as everyone else if it happened like 
 that. There would be the perfume of the roses to go to 
 her head, and the tobacco plants in the West Garden 
 would open their pale white blossoms and gaze at her. 
 Her visualisation of the scene was so vivid that she could 
 feel in imagination the coldness of the shirt-front against 
 her breast. ... In about a week's time, or possibly in 
 ten days or a fortnight, she felt she would be ready for 
 her third act. 
 
 "How long are you going to stay at the Heathcotes* ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Oh, a few weeks, I expect," he replied, adding 
 naively, "or perhaps until you send me away !"
 
 i/8 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 "Why should I send you away?" she said, hanging 
 her head a little and turning away from him. 
 
 "Well, I think you are cruel enough for anything, my 
 dearest!" he whispered, slipping his arm through hers. 
 "Isn't it a bore?" he went on, in his normal conversa- 
 tional voice. "I shall have to run over to Highmere 
 that's our place in Surrey, you know either to-morrow 
 or the day after. No sooner had I arrived and settled 
 down than Mrs. Heathcote brought me in a telegram 
 from the Guv'nor. Particularly wants to see me about 
 something. Hopes I can make it convenient to run home 
 for a night ! It is not in the least convenient." 
 
 "What is it he wants to see you about?" Margot 
 asked, white to the lips. 
 
 "I simply haven't a notion. He always takes a most 
 uncomfortable interest in my affairs. I suppose he wants 
 to haul me over the coals about something. But don't 
 let us talk about him, Margot," Vernon said. "Let us 
 talk about us I We shall be sitting having tea in your 
 cousin's drawing-room in ten minutes' time discussing 
 Shakespeare and the musical glasses. You haven't said 
 if you are glad to see me." 
 
 "And I haven't ever said you might call me Margot," 
 she replied coquettishly. They stopped simultaneously 
 and stood looking at one another in the shadowy still- 
 ness of the beech wood. She was wearing a diaphanous 
 white dress, which allowed the rounded fulness of her 
 breast to be divined, and at the same time emphasised 
 her radiant youth. Her sudden pallor of apprehension 
 had given way now to a delicate flush, which extended 
 even to the back of her neck. Her bosom was troubled ; 
 she seemed all at once deliciously ill at ease. 
 
 Vernon was unable to speak with emotion, and stood 
 looking at her, pulling his moustache. He knew, as he
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 179 
 
 thought, the signs of conquest so well. He could not 
 be mistaken! Yet, since his affection for her was the 
 sincerest feeling which he had yet experienced in his life, 
 he remained tongue-tied. At last passion gave him spon- 
 taneity, and he took her in his arms and let his lips rest 
 on her forehead. "My dearest girl," he said hoarsely, 
 "you don't know how I adore you !" 
 
 "Don't, Vernon!" she cried. She used his Christian 
 name caressingly, and the sound of it sent thrills down 
 his spine. "I wish you hadn't done this. We were good 
 friends before. I'm not the kind of girl you think I am. 
 I can't explain. But these sort of things mean something 
 to me. ..." She wondered if she had said too much 
 or too little; but the news about his father's telegram 
 spurred her to take risks. "I daresay you think I'm just 
 a flirt, but I hate insincerity," she went on. . . . 
 
 Vernon's hold on her did not loosen, and she experi- 
 enced a certain sense of well-being that was partly ela- 
 tion, partly a physical satisfaction. Vernon's reply was 
 inarticulate. 
 
 "You little witch," she thought he said. "You know 
 you've got me bound hand and foot. I haven't had a 
 moment's peace since that evening at the Vivians'. I 
 love you, I love you, I love you! . . . N Don't say you 
 won't have me. I'll make you. I've got you, and I 
 won't give you up. . . . Say you care just a little. But 
 I don't believe you do. You are as hard as stone." 
 
 A note of abject misery crept into Vernon's voice when 
 he complained of her hardness. 
 
 "I'm not hard, Vernon," Margot whispered. "If you 
 only knew !" 
 
 Suddenly she found herself crying she knew not why 
 in the very least, unless her tears were caused by relief 
 after intense anxiety but she was aware that it was an
 
 i8o MZRGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 excellent thing to be doing. Vernon kissed her wet eyes, 
 murmuring incoherent endearments, and then his lips 
 sought hers in an anguish of love. She yielded her mouth 
 to his, and her body became limp in his arms. . . . 
 "Dearest," he said, "when will you marry me? What 
 is there to wait for? You do care for me, don't 
 
 you 
 
 She looked up at him with eyes that were softened 
 by her tears. "You ought to know," she whispered, 
 and when she had said the words she watched, with 
 mingled fascination and alarm, the expression which 
 came over his face. He was like a man transformed, 
 transfigured. All his mannerism had dropped from him. 
 He seemed years younger and nicer; curiously simple. 
 And suddenly she realised his beauty, as he stood watch- 
 ing her all on fire with passion. His crisp brown hair 
 waved over his forehead; his fine hazel eyes glittered 
 through his long lashes ; his bronzed skin was clear and 
 healthy. She noticed what narrow and yet strong wrists 
 he had, noticed the ripple of his muscles under his thin 
 summer clothes. And she liked the way his hair grew 
 from the back of his neck. And she had got him, got 
 him for good ! . . . 
 
 They walked on slowly, hand in hand, like children. 
 Then Vernon stopped and took her in his arms again and 
 kissed her. "My dearest," he said, "when will you 
 marry me? You will marry me, won't you?" 
 
 "If you really want me to, Vernon," she replied 
 simply. "But don't let us have a fuss about it, my 
 dear," she added. "I'm not like other girls. I should 
 just hate a great function." It was bitter to Margot to 
 have to say this, but she knew the longer she delayed 
 things the more opportunities she would give Sir 
 William.
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS. 181 
 
 "I am so glad to hear you say that, Margot," Vernon 
 answered. "That means we can be 'married at once, 
 doesn't it? And tell everyone about it when it is all 
 over?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," said Margot, lifting her face again 
 to be kissed. "But I say, my dearest boy, we shall 
 make ourselves conspicuous if we don't hurry up. Tea 
 must be nearly over!" 
 
 "Come on then, let's run," laughed Vernon. For a 
 moment he looked like a young god, and as they hurried 
 joyously through the wood and across the lawns to the 
 house, Margot thought she liked him far better than she 
 had ever expected. Her great contentment irradiated 
 her face and made her eyes shine with happiness. 
 
 "Adam, they are in love, those two," whispered Mary 
 Henderson to her husband, as they stepped through the 
 open window into the drawing-room where the tea was 
 already nearly cold.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 As Vernon steered his car along the drive leading up 
 to West Frome House, after his visit to Margot, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Heathcote walked across their lawns to meet 
 him. Mrs. Heathcote, who was a cousin of Vernon's 
 mother, was stout, and walked with the aid of an ebony 
 walking-stick. She had shrewd grey eyes, a pretty, old- 
 fashioned trick of gesture and the reputation for a caus- 
 tic wit. In her youth she had been a noted beauty, and 
 was credited, in local legends, with having moved in 
 those famous "fast" circles of the eighteen-seventies 
 where royalty played baccarat. She herself neither 
 denied nor confirmed these rumours. She lived quietly 
 and contentedly with her tall, white-moustached hus- 
 band, who farmed some of his own land, was a keen 
 supporter of the hunt, a Justice of the Peace, and whose 
 hobby was the breeding of a certain kind of spaniel. 
 Ronald Heathcote belonged to a respectable club in 
 London, which he rarely visited, and to the London 
 Library, from which institution 'large books about dogs 
 or about the latest American methods of scientific farm- 
 ing were sent to him periodically and devoured in his den 
 over interminable cigars. His days were fully taken up 
 with occupations which would have seemed of infinitesi- 
 mal importance to second-rate minds. He was content to 
 fill his allotted place in life, and considered it his duty 
 to accept its responsibilities whilst enjoying its pleasures. 
 Tie desired no other habitation than the small Elizabethan 
 manor house, built of grey Purbeck stone, which had 
 been for generations in his family, and the fabric of 
 
 182
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 183 
 
 which his wife's fortune had enabled him to restore. He 
 believed with the Psalmist that his lot had been cast in 
 bello campo, and he was grateful and without ambi- 
 tion. 
 
 As he walked over the lawn with his wife, in the 
 clear light and lengthening shadows of the late after- 
 noon, he experienced a vague feeling of irritation against 
 Vernon. He liked young men to be a little less highly 
 varnished; to have a certain fine roughness about them. 
 
 "You know, John, he has some affaire du cceur in our 
 neighbourhood, otherwise he would never have come 
 down to stay with us at the end of August !" 
 
 Vernon waved his hand when he saw his hosts, smiling 
 at them boyishly and showing his beautiful teeth. He 
 took the car round to the garage himself and then joined 
 them on the terrace to watch the peacocks being fed. 
 Somehow the view from the terrace across the valley of 
 the Frome, with the symmetrical phalanx of elm trees 
 on either hand and the blue Purbeck hills in the distance, 
 had never before seemed to him so lovely. What an 
 exquisite spot this was ; and why had he avoided coming 
 down here for so many years? The last time he came, 
 he reflected, was in the year he left Sandhurst. Hence- 
 forward the place would always be doubly dear to him. 
 The refrain, "She loves me; she loves me; she loves 
 me," echoed like rapturous music in his brain. Margot, 
 the goddess with the china-blue eyes, who had made him 
 suffer so by her cruelty, loved him at last, had accepted 
 him ! That afternoon he had seen the look in her adored 
 eyes which he had seen in the eyes of so many hundreds 
 of women for whom he had cared nothing. It was un- 
 mistakable! She loved him as much as he loved her. 
 Their marriage would be one long idyll of happiness. 
 She would be the most beautiful woman in London. Al-
 
 184 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 ways he would be envied for having secured her ; it would 
 be conclusive proof of his ascendancy over women. The 
 fact that he knew nothing about her birth and parentage 
 a fact which had sometimes troubled him during the 
 first stages of their intimacy now worried him no more. 
 Was she not related to Mary Henderson, who was one of 
 the Blundells of Kingsworth. Mary Henderson had, par 
 excellence, that magic cachet which the Falkenheims had 
 lacked: the inherited gift for making anyone met under 
 her roof automatically "all right." 
 
 The procession of the peacocks, followed by their hens, 
 passed close beneath him, giving a curious Renaissance 
 flavour to the scene. Ronald Heathcote observed them 
 with the attention of an ornithologist studying "habits"; 
 but Mrs. Heathcote looked quizzically from the peacocks 
 to Vernon, and from Vernon back again to the peacocks. 
 Her eyes were full of raillery as she asked him why he 
 was "looking so pleased with himself." Vernon red- 
 dened becomingly, and laughed. 
 
 "If you really want to know the reason, Aunt Georgy," 
 he said, with one hand on his moustache, "I'll tell you. 
 I've just been accepted by the girl I propose to marry. 
 Her name is Margot Cartier. She is a Canadian girl, and 
 a cousin of the Hendersons of Kingsworth. She is stay- 
 ing there with them now. ..." 
 
 "My dear Vernon, I congratulate you both! I think 
 I met the girl at a garden-party last week. Fair hair and 
 blue eyes, and, forgive me, just a suspicion of a colonial 
 manner ?" 
 
 "Yes, that sounds like Margot. Didn't you think her 
 lovely?" said Vernon. "I know you will like her, and 
 I think my mother and father will, too. I haven't told 
 them yet, but my father, for some reason of his own, 
 has wired to me to-day to go to Highmere for a night.
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 185 
 
 I can't imagine what he wants me for. However, it will 
 give me an opportunity of announcing the news." 
 
 "Yes, it will give you that, I expect," Mrs. Heathcote 
 commented, casting a sidelong glance at her handsome 
 kinsman. She was fond of Vernon, and strove to appear 
 enthusiastic, but she found it difficult. It occurred to 
 her forcibly that Sir William Stokes would find it dif- 
 ficult too. Try how she would, she could not stifle her 
 disappointment. 
 
 "My dear boy, I hope you will both be very happy 
 indeed," she said, as they turned their backs on the 
 peacocks. But all the while she felt a resentment against 
 Margot a wretched colonial interloper for cutting in 
 and spoiling the market. She had no children of her 
 own, but she had a strong class feeling, combined with 
 maternal instincts. She had hoped better of Vernon; 
 and when she had received his letter inviting himself to 
 West Frome for the end of August and the beginning of 
 September, it had occurred to her with delight that one at 
 least of the three "really nice" girls who would be stay- 
 ing in the house at that time would suit him to perfec- 
 tion. She had allowed her imagination to dwell on the 
 pleasant prospect of a marriage between Vernon and Ida 
 Mertoun. Now all her hopes were dashed and her plans 
 frustrated by some scheming little Canadian, with no 
 breeding; a creature only one degree better than the 
 chorus. 
 
 The three "really nice" girls appeared round the 
 corner of the house carrying rackets and forming a sort 
 of guard of honour to a curate, of the muscular Christ- 
 ian type, who had been playing tennis with them. As 
 Mrs. Heathcote watched them and paused, leaning on her 
 ebony stick, to allow them to approach, she could not 
 stifle the inevitable comparisons between her own day and
 
 186 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 the present, which old people find so tormenting, and 
 from which simultaneously they derive so much satis- 
 faction. Here were three girls of unimpeachable birth 
 and breeding and of adequate fortune, and yet how im- 
 possible it seemed that they should find satisfactory 
 husbands. Chorus girls, musical comedy queens, vulgar 
 little adventuresses all outclassed them. A woman, 
 nowadays, needed but to be thoroughly common and to 
 have a certain type of robust good looks to snap up the 
 kind of man who in an earlier generation would barely 
 have consented to make her his mistress. It was all a 
 tangle. As Mrs. Heathcote grew older it pained her to 
 see the increasingly daring lengths to which "really nice" 
 girls were forced to go, in the stress of competition. 
 Whenever she came across a girl dressed up in imitation 
 of some lesser light of musical comedy or bedizened like 
 a "fairy" in the effort to be the kind of thing that "our 
 sort of men" appreciate, her heart would bleed with 
 sympathetic understanding. . . . 
 
 Her three guests who surrounded the captive curate 
 belonged to three distinct types of "nice" girl. The 
 oldest of the three, Lady Agatha Blackf ord, was a washed- 
 out blonde with rather pretty feet, who openly pro- 
 claimed (and bewailed) the fact that she would end up 
 in a rectory if she could only find a parson sufficiently 
 restful. She was an accomplished bazaar stall-holder, 
 attender of "meetings," and organiser of charity con- 
 certs. She felt that since that was really all she could do, 
 she had better go on doing it. At the present moment she 
 was exercising a subtle proprietary interest in the Rev- 
 erend Cuthbert Aitkinson, M.A. Mr. Aitkinson was not 
 only an enthusiastic tennis player, but had also got his 
 blue for rowing in the Cambridge boat in his last year at 
 the University. He possessed an open, well-shaven conn-
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 187 
 
 tenance, and his address at forty-five would certainly be 
 The Close! The other two girls did not seriously com- 
 pete with Lady Agatha. One of them, Ishbel Blount, a 
 dark creature with something- bold and passionate in 
 her temperament, had early succumbed to the mat du 
 sitcle, and had almost forced herself upon the first man 
 for whom she had cared, determined to give him all that 
 he could find or buy elsewhere. She now had the unmis- 
 takable "married" look characteristic of a certain type 
 of modern girl. As the years went by and her lover's 
 reasons for not marrying her grew increasingly compli- 
 cated and imaginative, her haggard and worried appear- 
 ance grew more and more noticeable under her paint. 
 The third girl, Ida Mertoun, on whose chances with 
 Vernon Mrs. Heathcote had hitherto been counting, had 
 not yet definitely settled on her plan of attack, though 
 with Vernon she favoured the "literary and artistic" 
 note. She was indeed in a fair way to becoming a 
 charming little precieuse ridicule; but she had youth and 
 freshness in her favour, as well as a certain ardour of 
 temperament which suggested romantic possibilities, and 
 translated itself in the ballroom into an emphatic style 
 of dancing when her mother's eye was not upon her. 
 There was nothing in Vernon's temperament, however, 
 to dart out in answer to Ida's. He hated, particularly, 
 to see thoroughly nice girls like Ida disporting themselves 
 in a marked manner with inferior men. That sort of 
 thing was thoroughly bad style. Had she been able to 
 dance exclusively with himself he might have condoned 
 her abandon. He had very strict views about ballrooms, 
 and hated the men he met in them, except those who 
 belonged to his own set, in his own profession, or who 
 happened to stay in the particular houses which he him- 
 self was in the habit of visiting. Of the others of the
 
 1 88 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 complicated, diverse, and thrilling mass, with its infinite 
 possibilities and surprises, its varied interests and un- 
 expected abilities he was suspicious and disdainful. 
 Even among soldiers he was difficult to please, and the 
 poor, hard-working enthusiast in a line regiment, with 
 rather gauche manners, no money, and a love for his 
 profession, came in especially for his scorn. He often 
 told a story how on one occasion, when on a voyage out 
 to India, he had made a point of speaking to all the 
 passengers except his "brother officers." He put a world 
 of meaning into this anecdote; and the kind of people 
 to whom he recounted it would solemnly nod their heads 
 in sympathy. 
 
 Ida came straight up to Vernon, swinging her tennis 
 racket, skilfully detached him from the rest of the group, 
 and headed him off once more towards the terrace. 
 
 While they stood looking at the lovely view over the 
 Frome she began to talk to him in low tones about the 
 "poetry of eventide." She reminded him of their con- 
 versation at the Fawsett Vivians' dance about Meredith, 
 and asked him if he had read "Diana of the Crossways." 
 Vernon felt so happy, so complacent, that he was quite 
 willing to talk Meredith, and looking down at Ida through 
 his eyelashes, in a way which fluttered that maiden's 
 heart, he told her that Mrs. Warwick was one of his 
 favourite Meredithian characters. Mrs. Heathcote, who 
 had been trying to persuade the curate to stop to dinner 
 by telling him he need not bother to change, came up to 
 them and overheard a part of the conversation. A 
 little spasm of annoyance came over her: "My dear 
 Vernon," she said, " 'The Egoist' is the novel you ought 
 to read, you know. You have a leg!" She was never 
 more delightful in manner than when her humour had a 
 sub-acid flavour! She smiled at Vernon, and then, tak-
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 189 
 
 ing his arm affectionately, began to walk back with him 
 to the house. 
 
 The cheerful voices of the party rose up into the still 
 evening air, and in gently modulated tones the curate 
 (who had yielded to persuasion) remarked: 
 
 "I never thought we should win that last game from 
 them Lady Agatha. It was your service that did it, 
 you know . . . !" 
 
 Vernon went off into the library after dinner and 
 wrote Margot a long love-letter. He was so happy that he 
 would have let his Aunt Georgy chaff him by the hour 
 together if she had wanted to! The only cloud which 
 marred his utter contentment was the thought of having 
 to waste a whole twenty- four hours at Highmere with his 
 parents. He would not be able to see his adored one 
 until the day after to-morrow ! The more he thought of 
 his approaching visit to Highmere the more the necessity 
 for it irritated him. Every day now that he spent away 
 from the sight and sound of his beloved would be a day 
 of torture. From this moment he wanted to be always 
 with her, never to be separated from her even for an 
 hour.
 
 "Mv dear boy, it is quite a long time since we saw 
 you!" said Lady Stokes when she had kissed her son, 
 who had just arrived from West Frome in his two-seater. 
 "Don't you think you could stay with us over the week- 
 end? Surely Aunt Georgy would spare you. . . . ?" 
 Vernon sank down into the empty chair by his mother's 
 side, and took one of her thin hands in his. He thought 
 she looked older and more fragile than when he had seen 
 her last, and that she seemed unhappy. "By and by I 
 will come and stay with you for a long visit," he said, 
 "and I will bring someone with me to see you. I have 
 great news for you, mother. Guess what it is!" The 
 corners of Lady Stokes's mouth became drawn with 
 anxiety when she noticed Vernon's expression of 
 radiant satisfaction. She could not bring herself to 
 guess. 
 
 "Margot Cartier has promised to marry me," he went 
 on hurriedly. "We are going to be married very quietly, 
 almost at once. I am arranging to send in my 
 papers. ..." 
 
 "Vernon!" Lady Stokes started in her chair and 
 looked at her son in frank horror. "My dear boy ... I 
 had no idea. . . . Have you really gone so far as that ? 
 Could you not have thought it over for a little while 
 longer, and consulted your father and me about it? He 
 will be terribly disappointed. You don't understand, 
 Vernon, how all your father's hopes and ambitions are 
 bound up in you. ..." 
 
 "But, mother, you liked Margot, didn't you? I am 
 
 190
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 191 
 
 sure you will come to appreciate her when you know 
 her better. ... To tell you the truth, I am just about 
 the luckiest man living!" 
 
 "Liking a girl and thinking her the right wife for one's 
 son are not quite the same thing, my dear. I shall like 
 her for your sake, if she makes you a good wife. But 
 you must remember that women see other women with- 
 out the glamour of sex to blind their eyes. And that 
 makes such a difference. ..." 
 
 "Well," sai(I Vernon, rather disappointed at his 
 mother's attitude, "I can tell you, I had a hard enough 
 job to get her to take me on!" 
 
 Lady Stokes smiled brilliantly at her son as he made 
 this naive admission. They were sitting in the loggia 
 the one redeeming feature of a pretentious mid- Victorian 
 house looking down over the broad, wooded park-lands 
 surrounding the hill on which Highmere was built. Soon 
 Sir William would return from his morning ride of in- 
 spection, and they would be interrupted. Lady Stokes 
 dreaded this as much as Vernon, for she loved her son 
 more dearly than her husband. 
 
 "That must have been a change for you, Vernon," she 
 said, with a little hint of malice. 
 
 "By Jove, yes ! Whatever she is, she isn't mercenary." 
 Vernon did not see his mother smile again, more sadly 
 this time, and plunged into a boyish description of Mar- 
 got's virtues and desirable qualities. 
 
 "All I want is for you to be happy, Vernon/' Lady 
 Stokes said at last, "and to make your wife happy. I'm 
 growing an old woman, dear, and the older I grow the 
 more presumptuous it seems to me to interfere in other 
 people's destinies. You are a man now, and you have 
 had more experience of the world than most men of 
 your age. It would be absurd and wrong to try to
 
 192 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 influence you. All the same, I must say that my own 
 experience has been that the happiest marriages are 
 those which result in the union of two families of equal 
 standing, who have known one another for a long time. 
 . . . But I have come across many exceptions. One 
 can't generalise. Whatever you do, you know I shall 
 
 back you up. But promise me this one thing " Lady 
 
 Stokes looked with the eagerness of affection at her son, 
 who was surprised to see his usually impassive mother 
 display so much emotion. "Promise me this," she said, 
 "that whatever your father says to you to-day you will 
 hear him out and keep your temper. Humour him as 
 much as possible, Vernon. He is getting on in years 
 now, and is not nearly so strong as he looks. His heart 
 has begun to be affected. And you are one of the few 
 remaining interests in his life. ..." 
 
 "But what is it he has to say to me?" Vernon asked, 
 with renewed curiosity, and with a certain apprehension 
 that made him feel queer inside. Mother and son caught 
 sight simultaneously of an erect figure on horseback 
 cantering up the drive towards the house, and -the ques- 
 tion was left unanswered. . . . 
 
 Sir William on horseback, at a garden-party, at dinner, 
 at the opera, in the Park (and even in his bath), was a 
 fine figure of a man. His thin, erect body, exquisitely- 
 manipulated grey moustache, and almost too spotless and 
 appropriate clothes, combined to make a picture of per- 
 fect form a picture hard in outline perhaps, a little too 
 brightly coloured and highly varnished, but still effect- 
 ive: the "portrait of a gentleman," as exhibited every 
 summer at Burlington House. His salute to his wife 
 and son before he got off his glossy chestnut surrender- 
 ing the animal with a "careless gesture" to the groom 
 was gravely dignified. He advanced slowly towards
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 193 
 
 them, shook hands with Vernon, and settled himself in 
 an armchair, talking of matters connected with the estate, 
 the morrow's shooting parties, his own and neighbouring 
 coverts. 
 
 Vernon had never cared for Highmere. His grand- 
 father's taste in architecture, although the best that 
 money could buy in 1860, caused him acute discomfort, 
 and he had long decided that he would sell the place when 
 he inherited it and buy another. There was a lovely 
 Queen Anne house in Somerset, in a hollow of the Quan- 
 tocks, which had belonged for many generations to the 
 Cornewalls but had been sold by General Cornewall 
 within the past ten years. Vernon had long had the 
 idea of buying back Hotham Place as soon as it came 
 into the market. He would speak to his father about 
 it. If only the owners would sell now, how delightful 
 it would be to set up house there with Margot! He 
 had always loved the Quantocks. The old port of Bridge- 
 water, with its houses of warm red brick and its mem- 
 ories of the Duke of Monmouth, would be the nearest 
 town. . . . 
 
 He listened with only a semblance of attention to 
 his father's talk about Highmere talk which was meant 
 entirely for his benefit. Already he saw the place in 
 the hands of the estate agents, and wondered what it 
 would fetch ; whether, in view of the hideousness of the 
 house, anyone could be got to bid for it at all. His imag- 
 ination was luxuriating on Hotham during all the time 
 that Sir William was enlarging on his difficulties with the 
 tenants of Merlings, a large farm at the western ex- 
 tremity of his estate. -Merlings had always been a 
 trouble: it was unlucky. Even the most skilful farmers 
 never really made it pay, and yet. . . . 
 
 Vernon heard his father's monotonous voice going on
 
 194 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 and on about it, describing the nature of the soil, the 
 natural advantages of the position; the fact, in short, 
 that it ought to be made to pay. Sir William added, in 
 conclusion, that he had half a mind to take it over and 
 farm it himself. 
 
 During the afternoon Vernon accompanied his father 
 round the estate. There were coverts to be inspected, 
 gamekeepers to be interviewed, the progress of new farm 
 buildings and improvements to be examined and com- 
 mented on. Vernon was aware of a certain nervous 
 tension in their relations. Both were acutely conscious 
 of the fact that an important, and perhaps painful, dis- 
 cussion lay ahead of them. The thought of it seemed 
 already to raise up an impalpable barrier of hostility. 
 Vernon thought he gained a hint of what was going on in 
 his father's mind by his occasional references to his "set- 
 tling down" and such phrases as "when you come into the 
 estate/' Evidently his father was thinking of his own 
 death, his son's marriage, of the serious things of life. 
 Vernon had a great distaste for "heart to heart" conver- 
 sations ; they embarrassed him, and his professional pre- 
 judices made it seem bad form to talk about death except 
 flippantly. And all the time he kept nervously wondering 
 how his father would take his announcement of his in- 
 tended marriage and of his decision to send in his papers. 
 The property which he had inherited from an uncle only 
 brought him in ^62,500 a year. The rest of his income 
 was allowed him by Sir. William. . . . Unpleasant pos- 
 sibilities presented themselves, but the thought that he 
 must do his best, for Margot's sake, to keep his end up 
 nerved him for the coming ordeal. He knew his father 
 was anxious for him to make an imposing marriage ; and 
 as he contemplated Sir William's straight shoulders, 
 perfectly-cut coat, and implacable grey moustache, he
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 195 
 
 wondered how he would take his disappointment. 
 Suaviter in fnodo, of course ; the old man would always 
 be that. . . . 
 
 The afternoon wore at last to an end. Some neigh- 
 bours came to call at tea-time of whom Vernon strongly 
 disapproved. He showed his sense of superiority by be- 
 ing subtly rude to them, greatly to his mother's irrita- 
 tion. He had always been just like that, ever since he 
 left Sandhurst, she reflected, sadly. Would his thick 
 armour of vanity never crack? Or would this Canadian 
 girl who had succeeded in making a fool of him, succeed 
 further by boring holes in it? The thought that she 
 might do so almost reconciled Lady Stokes to the 
 marriage. 
 
 Vernon did not enjoy his dinner that night. He and 
 his mother talked about Aunt Georgy's house and house- 
 hold, and the thought of Aunt Georgy inevitably called 
 up a vision of Margot. He was conscious of keeping 
 her name purposely out of the conversation, conscious 
 that his mother would notice this and draw deductions. 
 Yet why on earth should he be ashamed of Margot? 
 Ought he not to have made the announcement to his 
 father at once, this morning? Would not his father con- 
 clude from the postponement that he had a feeling of 
 guilt about what he had done? Was not his silence 
 almost an admission on his part that his marriage was 
 open to criticism ? . . . 
 
 It was a great relief when his mother rose from the 
 table and his father asked him to come into the library 
 to smoke a cigar. The moment had come at last: how 
 were things going to pan out? 
 
 "I expect you are wondering why I wired for you to 
 come here ..." Sir William began. 
 
 "Well, I hoped it wasn't anything to do with your 
 health, sir," replied Vernon.
 
 196 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "Oh, no; I'm good, I hope, for some years yet, 
 though my heart has lately been giving me some trouble. 
 It was really about yourself, my dear boy; and what I 
 have to tell you is a difficult thing to have to say. . . . 
 You know, Vernon, a man's idea of a woman, while he 
 is making love to her, and his idea of the same woman 
 after he has lived with her for three months, is always 
 a very different thing. He may like her just as well; 
 but he sees her more clearly, and his eyes begin to 
 notice subtleties subtleties of behaviour, manners, point 
 of view. It may be a trite saying, but marriage is a 
 very serious undertaking. It a man ever needs to look 
 before he leaps, he does so when he contemplates getting 
 married. Some marriages are made in Heaven, of 
 course ; but, believe me, about all the others one ought, as 
 it were, to consult one's solicitor. There is no perman- 
 ence in passion for the average man, Vernon ; and affec- 
 tion which lasts, and which alone makes marriage a suc- 
 cess, nearly always springs from similarity of point of 
 view, upbringing, and so on. ..." 
 
 Sir William looked at the end of his cigar, as though 
 seeking inspiration. Vernon's colour had risen, but he 
 said nothing. He was not going to help his father out. 
 "I hope you won't do anything rash, Vernon. You must 
 understand without my telling you, that the position you 
 will inherit on my death is one which many young women 
 would be only too glad to share with you. That will make 
 it all the more difficult for you to find disinterested affec- 
 tion, unless you look for it among girls whose fortune or 
 position is at least equal to your own. And then there is 
 this point: the position of your wife is not one which 
 every girl you meet will be capable of filling with credit 
 to herself and to you. When you are thinking seriously 
 of marrying, don't forget your own mother, whom your 
 wife will have to succeed."
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 197 
 
 "Well, I am thinking seriously of marrying," Vernon 
 blurted out. "To tell you the truth, father, I was very 
 glad to get your telegram and to have this chance of a 
 talk. I've just got engaged to Margot Cartier. I am 
 sending in my papers. We hope to be married almost 
 at once. I feel sure you'll like her tremendously, father, 
 when you get to know her. ..." 
 
 "Good God! You don't mean to tell me . . ." Sir 
 William broke in. His jaw set rigidly, and only the hard 
 light in his grey eyes betrayed the intensity of his anger 
 and disappointment. "So you are engaged," he rapped 
 out, eventually. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "My father would have withheld his permission to 
 such folly and made his son suffer for his stupidity. But 
 I can't do that; I can only warn you, Vernon, of what 
 you are doing. I was certain that you were making a fool 
 of yourself! Well, I have found out all about this girl 
 with whom you are entangled; I don't suppose for a 
 moment that you know anything about her yourself, ex- 
 cept what she chooses to fill you up with. It may inter- 
 est you to hear that she is some Montreal tradesman's 
 brat a penniless adventuress who was picked up on 
 board ship. ..." 
 
 Vernon jumped up from his chair and threw away his 
 cigar. His face was a deep red with rage and disgust. 
 He was ashamed of his father. 
 
 "Margot and I are definitely engaged to be married. 
 As far as I am concerned, my decision is irrevocable. To 
 talk scandal about your future daughter-in-law doesn't 
 therefore appear to me to be in the best of taste. ..." 
 
 The veins in Sir William's forehead swelled and his 
 lips under his moustache compressed themselves into 
 thin, bluish lines.
 
 198 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "Sit down, Vernon," he said at last, "and listen to 
 me. You are too old for this kind of nonsense. It is my 
 plain duty not to let you commit this act of folly with 
 your eyes shut. After all, your marriage is a matter 
 which vitally concerns your whole family. You have no 
 right to introduce into your family a creature of whom 
 you could not possibly expect your mother to approve. 
 Not only is this girl sprung from the gutter, but her 
 reputation is already besmirched. . . ." 
 
 "If that is all ..." said Vernon, with icy calm. 
 
 "It is not all. Her name has been mentioned to me 
 in connection with Sir Carl Frensen ; you know what that 
 means." 
 
 "If you will tell me who it is who has mentioned it in 
 that connection," Vernon broke in, "I shall have much 
 pleasure in thrashing him within the next twenty- four 
 hours. Good God! Carl Frensen! Why, he is sixty if 
 he's a day!" 
 
 Sir William shrugged his shoulders. "It was my duty 
 to tell you. Your remark about Frensen's age does more 
 credit to your innocence than to your intelligence. That 
 is all I can say. You will be an incredible fool if, after 
 what I have told you, you don't get out of the entangle- 
 ment as quickly as you can. I'll find the money for 
 you. Of course, she will have to be bought off. ..." 
 
 When Sir William looked at his son he was shocked 
 to find Vernon's face blazing with anger. Tears of rage 
 poured from his eyes. 
 
 "What utter filth!" he gasped. "You listen to the 
 lying garbage disseminated by a lascivious old Jew, who 
 tried to seduce his guest under the cloak of hospitality, 
 and then repeat it to me as if it were the truth ! Thanks. 
 I prefer to remain an 'incredible fool.' Carl Frensen, 
 indeed! It makes one sick. ..."
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 199 
 
 "You are doomed to find a great many things in life, 
 Vernon, which will make you very sick indeed," retorted 
 his father, whose temper, like his son's, was beginning 
 to get out of hand. The effort he made to control him- 
 self was painful to watch; his cloak of diplomacy was 
 swiftly beginning to slip away from him. As his parent 
 began to lose his self-control, Vernon found himself 
 growing calm again, and he recovered his nerve as sud- 
 denly as he had lost it. 
 
 He began to finger his moustache, and paced slowly 
 up and down the hearth-rug. 
 
 "I really think I had a right to expect that you would 
 keep this filth to yourself at least after I told you of our 
 engagement." 
 
 Sir William's face twitched convulsively. 
 
 "Vernon, you must be mad or intoxicated. How dare 
 you insult me like this ? . . . What I have told you was 
 for your own good. It was my duty to tell you. Beware 
 how you carry things too far with me. Beware, I tell 
 you. .'.."" 
 
 The old man pulled himself out of his armchair and 
 stood up in front of his son, glaring at him. Once again 
 all the nerves in his face twitched horribly. Vernon 
 returned his father's glance with interest, and raised 
 supercilious eyebrows. 
 
 "I can't see any object in continuing this discussion," 
 he said in a contemptuous voice. 
 
 "Oh, you can't?" Sir William snapped. "Very well. 
 Let me tell you this. It you marry this gutter girl, 
 Frensen's cast-off mistress, you shall never have High- 
 mere or anything else of mine if I can prevent it. ... 
 So you know now. Perhaps in future you will reserve 
 your supercilious airs for those who will tolerate 
 them.
 
 200 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Vernon looked at his father, whose face was trans- 
 formed by fury, and gasped. Then, fearful lest he should 
 do something foolish and irrevocable, he turned quickly 
 on his heel and left the room. He fancied he heard a 
 curious, heavy thud as he stood in the hall, but he paid 
 no attention to it, and hurrying upstairs knocked at the 
 door of his mother's room. 
 
 "Vernon, dear, what has happened?" Lady Stokes 
 asked, when she saw her son's haggard face. Her eyes 
 were nervous and reproachful. "I hope you remembered 
 what I told you this morning. He is an old man, Vernon. 
 His heart ..." 
 
 "He said the most fearful things about Margot. 
 Horrible lies . . . and he went on with them long after 
 I told him we were engaged ... I couldn't stand 
 it." 
 
 "What did you do?" 
 
 "Came away. As I left he told me he would cut me 
 off with the proverbial shilling if I married Margot. 
 . . . Quite in the approved style!" 
 
 "Vernon, why couldn't you have humoured him, as I 
 asked you ?" 
 
 "If you had heard what he said !" 
 
 "I must go down to him, Vernon." Lady Stokes 
 put aside her work-box and went to the door. "I am 
 very uneasy." Her nervousness communicated itself to 
 her son, and he reproached himself for not having en- 
 dured the interview in silence. After all, his father was 
 privileged. But he could not go down with his mother 
 and apologise now. It would look as though he were 
 trying to repair the breach from mercenary motives. And 
 his pride could not tolerate that imputation. His mother 
 was hurrying downstairs to the library, and he stopped 
 for a few minutes looking over into the hall from the
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 201 
 
 first-floor landing. In those moments an uncanny sensa- 
 tion of dread came over him. . . . Then suddenly the 
 bell of the library rang violently, again and again. He 
 could hear its incessant clamour far away in the servants' 
 quarters. Something serious must have happened. He 
 ran hastily downstairs. By the time he had reached the 
 hall, the butler had also appeared, and was already open- 
 ing the door of the library. Over the old servants' 
 shoulder Vernon saw his father stretched out on the 
 floor, his mother bending over him. 
 
 "Telephone to Dr. Burkitt, Andrews," Lady Stokes 
 said in a perfectly calm voice. "Sir William has had a 
 seizure. ..." Vernon had never admired his mother 
 more than he did at that moment, but a glance she gave 
 him from her clear grey eyes seemed to freeze his blood. 
 Other servants began now to arrive. The maids peered 
 into the doorway timidly. Then the housekeeper came, 
 brushed them aside, and went into the room, kneeling 
 down by the sick man and whispering officiously to Lady 
 Stokes. In the horror of the moment, Vernon detested 
 himself for noticing such trifles as the housekeeper's airs 
 of self-importance and her paralysing efficiency. He 
 wondered how the maids put up with it. With the help 
 of Miss Austerley, Sir William groaning weakly, was 
 lifted on to a sofa and an effort was made to give him 
 some brandy. Half an hour at least must elapse before 
 the doctor could motor over from Guildford. During the 
 long time of waiting, Vernon noticed that his mother 
 ignored him. She kept her eyes continuously on her 
 husband. To Vernon's disgust, he found that every now 
 and then his thoughts would wander. He sat down in 
 the revolving chair by his father's writing-table, resting 
 his dejected head in his hands. For some moments he 
 sat in the silent room with his eyes closed. When he
 
 202 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 opened them he found himself, half -unconsciously, read- 
 ing a letter which lay open on the blotting-pad in front 
 of him. He had not noticed it before. "Dear Sir 
 William Stokes," it began, "I trust you will pardon this 
 communication from a comparative stranger, but in view 
 of your son's intimacy with a Miss Carter (to whom he 
 was unfortunately introduced by my wife) I feel it is 
 no less than my duty to bring certain facts to your 
 notice. . . ." So this was what had caused all the 
 trouble, this tissue of malicious inventions, wrapped up 
 in pompous, hypocritical language! Vernon read the 
 letter through, and then glanced guiltily round the 
 room. But his mother and Miss Austerley were still 
 bending over the sofa where his father lay moaning, and 
 seemed almost unaware of his presence. He put the 
 letter back into its envelope and gripped it between 
 his two hands in order to tear it into a hundred pieces. 
 It was an hour before the doctor arrived the longest 
 hour that Vernon could remember in the whole of his 
 life. The stricken may lay groaning on the sofa, with 
 grey face and eyes that rolled from side to side, unsee- 
 ing. Vernon was relieved when the doctor dismissed 
 him from the room ; the strain was getting on his nerves, 
 and it was obvious that there was nothing he could do. 
 He went upstairs to his bedroom and sat down in his 
 armchair. He did not dare to go to bed. Something in 
 the doctor's voice had warned him that the end might 
 come suddenly. He opened a novel, trying to concen- 
 trate himself on the story, but he found it impossible to 
 do so. When Miss Austerley knocked at his door shortly 
 after two o'clock in the morning, to tell him that his 
 father had died without recovering consciousness, she 
 found that he had fallen asleep with the book on his 
 knees.
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 PART III
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "How do you do, my dear?" said the Duchess (her- 
 self the daughter of a seventh duke), as she advanced 
 with a smile across Margot's drawing-room. They had 
 dined with one another, Margot and Vernon had spent 
 two week-ends at Stretton, and they had been to the 
 Opera in her box to hear Melba and Caruso in "Boheme" 
 a "big" night. As Margot poured out tea for her guest 
 she felt their conversation after that intimate greeting 
 and all that it implied to the other people in the room, 
 as well as "below-stairs" would be in the nature of an 
 anti-climax. She wished now that the duchess would 
 get up again, say "Good-bye, my dear! till Tuesday," 
 very prettily, and walk out. The bazaar that was to be 
 held on Tuesday at the Duchess's Berkeley Square house 
 hung over Margot like a nightmare ; at the thought of it 
 waves of ennui broke over her like asphyxiating gases. 
 And for at least half an hour she must appear interested, 
 enthusiastic! She felt inclined to drop her egg-shell 
 china teacup and say, "Blast your bazaar !" The thought 
 of sharing a stall with a much-advertised marchioness no 
 longer excited her. She had become intimate with sev- 
 eral marchionesses last summer; marchionesses had lost 
 their freshness! There wasn't one of her new friends 
 whom she would really have exchanged for Rachel, and 
 as the heady excitement of going to their great houses 
 wore off, they began increasingly to bore her. For the 
 hugeness of her own house she was beginning to have the 
 contempt bred of familiarity. How she hated her vast 
 bedroom with its enormous, pompous bed! She had 
 
 205
 
 206 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 tried doing away with it and substituting a smaller bed, 
 but the dainty piece of modern French furniture had 
 looked ridiculous in the great room. It hadn't seemed 
 worth while offending Vernon over so small a matter. 
 The bed in which he had first seen the light was sacred 
 in his eyes, so it had been restored, with its tacit re- 
 proach against her for not having achieved what the 
 family expected. 
 
 Vernon had gone down to Hotham for two nights to 
 interview an architect about a garage which he was hav- 
 ing built. He hardly ever went away without her, and 
 the sensation of having her house to herself was as de- 
 lightful as it was rare. She hated having to waste a 
 single moment over her callers, and longed for six o'clock 
 to come, when she would be free from them. The only 
 people in the room for whom she cared in the least were 
 Jack and Vivie Nugent, and she could see that they were 
 preparing to fly. Vivie, she knew, "could stand anything 
 but charity." The Nugents lived in a tiny house in John 
 vStreet all new paint and art curtains and with the 
 dinkiest door-knocker and everyone wondered how they 
 managed. They were a fluffy couple of chatterers who 
 went everywhere, and made a regular business of dining 
 out. Vivie's infectious laugh could be heard livening the 
 most pompous dinner-parties, and all her enemies praised 
 her for being "an extremely clever woman." In any 
 case, bridge and the skilful letting of furnished flats for 
 the season were certainly their only visible means of 
 subsistence. Margot liked Vivie Nugent she was the 
 cnly woman in Vernon's set whom she could tolerate 
 but she was rather nervous of her sharp eyes and ready 
 wit. You could never be quite sure what Vivie might 
 not do if she were really in a hobble! Vivie, however, 
 could be relied on to be amusing, and what she did not
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 207 
 
 know about the particular world to which Margot was a 
 newcomer was hardly worth knowing. She had reduced 
 social intercourse to a science, and Margot had many 
 times been thankful for her advice. 
 
 While the Duchess went on about the bazaar and Vivie 
 grew restive, Margot was thinking about Rachel Elking- 
 ton. Rachel, whom she had not seen since a month or 
 two before Mrs. Elkington's death, which had taken place 
 soon after the new year, was coming to dine with her 
 that night, and they would be able to have a long evening 
 together, talking over old times. How jolly that would 
 be! Rachel had been travelling about ever since her 
 mother's death, which had been a great shock to her, and 
 had only recently returned to Hyde Park Street. 
 
 "Well, I do hope it will be a tremendous success," she 
 heard herself saying. What was it that was to be the 
 success ? The bazaar, of course ! That miserable bazaar. 
 
 "My own view is that unless the committee adopts an 
 entirely different tone towards the stall-holders, the only 
 way to bring it to its senses will be for us to resign in 
 a body," the Duchess went on. "I shall withdraw my 
 consent to everything. Do you know what they actually 
 had the cheek to say to Millicent Bradstock yesterday? 
 . . . Wasn't it too bad?" 
 
 All the ladies (except Vivie, who seized this moment 
 to make her adieux, and was quite charming to the 
 Duchess when she did so) seemed to chirp up at the 
 mention of the committee's shortcomings. It reminded 
 Margot, as she sat watching them behind her beautiful 
 tea-table, laden with rare china and Queen Anne silver, 
 of the back kitchen at Price Street when one of her 
 father's cronies had begun to tell a bawdy story. The 
 men, from a lethargic puffing of their clays, had all 
 shifted in their chairs, opened their eyes, and shown signs
 
 208 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 of life, when one of them, amid coughings and circum- 
 locutions, began on the all-absorbing topic. In her heart 
 of hearts Margot felt it was more sensible to be galvan- 
 ised into interest by bawdiness than by "committees," but 
 she concluded that if duchesses were to be known certain 
 sacrifices were only to be expected. Mrs. Harwich, who 
 knew all the Royal family personally, had begun to heave 
 when the committee had been mentioned. Her distress 
 was as patent as that of a volcano before it achieves its 
 eruption. She had an anecdote, direct from the most 
 august circles. The obiter dicta of a princess swelled 
 and struggled in her bosom. "Princess Augusta of Hoch- 
 berg-Leitstein," she achieved eventually, "told me only 
 yesterday that the way the committee went on was a 
 perfect scandal. If it were not for the sake of the cause, 
 she assured me she would have withdrawn her patronage 
 ages ago." 
 
 "Not that the old cat's patronage is worth such a lot, 
 when all's said," Lady Cynthia Deene interposed briskly. 
 "All the same, it only shows. ..." She went on reso- 
 lutely explaining what it showed, and Margot fell to 
 wondering how such ruthless energy had come to 
 devote itself to the cause of fashionable bazaars. Mrs. 
 Harwich was different; she was the widow of a court 
 clergyman, and made a business of that sort of 
 thing. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Harwich got up to go as one who regrets that 
 she cannot remain to hear charitable princesses called 
 "old cats," and the amusement of watching her take 
 leave of Lady Cynthia almost reconciled Margot to her 
 spoiled afternoon. To make matters worse, she remem- 
 bered that she might have been at Ranelagh all this time. 
 Carl Frensen had wanted her to go with him, and she 
 had forgotten all about it. The bazaar, however, was
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 209 
 
 very important. She was to be presented to the "old 
 cat," and a vista of semi-royal entertainments floated be- 
 fore her mind. Somehow, the almost certain presence of 
 Mrs. Harwich at every one of them seened to spoil the 
 view. What, after all, was the good of it? She would 
 probably only be bored, and she was tired of meeting 
 new people. She longed for the sultry excitements of 
 the lower social altitudes. The higher she climbed the 
 more rarefied grew the air. In an atmosphere redolent 
 of "social service," where everyone, men and women, 
 were painfully conscious of their duties to the State and 
 to the "lower orders," she breathed with difficulty, and 
 it occurred to her sometimes that it might almost be more 
 fun really to belong to the "lower orders" and just be 
 "worked amongst." It would save so much trouble. 
 But better still it would be to be like Rachel. The more 
 she thought of Rachel the more she envied her. Rachel 
 never got tired of the things she was interested in; and 
 in spite of the fact that she wasn't married, how much 
 she seemed to get out of life! She never did anything 
 that didn't amuse her. It was impossible to imagine her 
 spending a dull afternoon at a charity bazaar. . . . 
 Margot wondered if she could get out of it all at the 
 eleventh hour by taking a strong line about the com- 
 mittee. But no, there was no chance of it. All com- 
 mittees were always abused just in the same way; it 
 never made any difference whatever to the holding of the 
 bazaars. "The poor debs simply have to do something 
 else, besides squashing themselves against young men's 
 shirt-fronts, in paroxysms of negroid dancing!" Lady 
 Cynthia observed. 
 
 The silent but irreproachable soldier who always seem- 
 ed to be there either this one or another just like him 
 emitted certain sounds of carefully modulated laughter.
 
 2io MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "By Jove, that just about describes them!" he re- 
 marked, joining in the conversation for the first time for 
 some minutes. Margot knew quite well that he would 
 wait until the Duchess and Lady Cynthia had rattled off. 
 Then he would get up and stand over her and say good- 
 bye standing sufficiently near to enable her to smell the 
 scent on his curled, blonde moustache. He had hard blue 
 eyes, his morning coat was cut in well at the waist (he 
 went to the same tailor as Vernon) and his check 
 trousers were perfectly creased. Considerable attention 
 had been given to the cut of his patent-leather boots. 
 . . . But what did he think about? Why did he smile 
 and purr over her hand and call her "dear lady"? 
 Perhaps all the other women knew what the game was 
 and played it. To her these men were simply elegant 
 automata; they never seemed really to exist at all. She 
 supposed something went on behind their impeccable 
 masks; but what was it? What impelled this Captain 
 Hellyar to come and waste half an hour in her drawing- 
 room? Was it merely in order to let her perceive his 
 admiration? But what did the admiration amount to? 
 Where was it supposed to lead? Was it just a habit? 
 Supposing she encouraged him or one of the others, 
 what then? Was that the object of the perfumed mous- 
 tache? If she were to feel it on her cheek, what would 
 be the next stage? Would he reveal the fact that he 
 had a personality of his own behind the varnish, a 
 character capable of the originality of passion? What a 
 boring little personality it would probably be, she re- 
 flected. But heaps of women must like that sort of 
 thing, since it is always demand which creates supply. 
 She wondered if she would ever come to understand the 
 psychology of the people among whom she had lived 
 sice her marriage. She was almost as far from under-
 
 211 
 
 standing Vernon now as she had been on her wedding 
 day. He also wore a mask. Whatever his personal 
 interests may really have been, he only liked to be ex- 
 pansive about those connected with sport, food, drink, 
 amusements. Even there he only liked the "higher 
 drama," and cared nothing for music. Captain Hellyar 
 would be just like that too. Everything would "bore 
 him" except perhaps racing, going to Deauville in Au- 
 gust, and talking in his club about "deuced handsome" 
 women. 
 
 "So I don't really think there is anything we can 
 do," the Duchess concluded. "We can only hope they 
 will have the sense to give us an entirely free hand on 
 the day, and not interfere with the arrangements. ..." 
 
 Margot thought this rather a lame conclusion to a visit 
 ostensibly intended for the concocting of measures. 
 
 "Catch them giving anyone a free hand!" snapped 
 Lady Cynthia uncompromisingly. "They'll wreck the 
 whole thing if they possibly can!" 
 
 "Well, good-bye, my dear," said the duchess in her 
 chirpy voice, giving Margot her hand. "I have told 
 Julia that you will turn up early on Tuesday." Julia was 
 the marchioness with whom Margot was to share the 
 stall for the sale of water-colour drawings by "society" 
 artists. As the two women swept out of the room the 
 duchess like a frigate under full sail and Lady Cynthia 
 lean and black as a torpedo-boat destroyer Margot 
 wondered whether she was to "turn up early" in order 
 to enable Julia to turn up late. . . . 
 
 Captain Hellyar nipped this line of thought in the bud 
 by making a remark. "By Jove, it's awfully good of 
 you ladies to take so much trouble over charities, upon 
 my word it is! As for the duchess, I don't know what
 
 212 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 the poor would do without her. She is simply in- 
 defatigable year after year !" 
 
 "Well, I hope it does some good," Margot said. "It's 
 boring enough!" 
 
 "By Jove, yes, I suppose it must be!" said Captain 
 Hellyar, a light dawning on him. He spoke with con- 
 viction, as though he had suddenly come face to face with 
 some great truth. He rose, remembering that he too had / 
 his duties. "I believe I'm supposed to be at Prince's. 
 No peace, is there? But it is really rather amusing 
 sometimes in the hour before dinner. Won't you let 
 me take you one afternoon?" It was the obvious mo- 
 ment for the handsome soldier to let off his discreetly 
 burning glance. Margot, so to speak, watched it coming 
 held herself ready for moustache perfume. She might 
 have laughed in his face and turned him into an enemy 
 for life if she had not suddenly remembered that he be- 
 longed to the club in whose tent she wanted to have 
 luncheon on Gold Cup Day. He might come in useful. 
 She smiled back at him, and he went off in the seventh 
 heaven. She could almost see the phrase "Deuced 
 handsome woman" rattling about in his brain, like a pea 
 in a bladder.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 WHEN the last visitor had gone, Margot went to her 
 room to lie down to rest before Rachel's arrival. It was 
 an oppressive afternoon, although the summer was not 
 far advanced. The unexpected heat was overpowering, 
 but the leaden sky promised a thunderstorm that would 
 be welcome. Margot was glad of a cold shower-bath be- 
 fore she began to dress. She chose a clinging frock of 
 pale green, rather daringly cut. It was a frock which she 
 thought showed her beauty to the greatest advantage, 
 but there were few occasions on which she felt quite 
 safe in wearing it. This, however, was one of them. 
 
 Margot awaited her friend in her own sitting-room, a 
 small, oblong-shaped room on the second floor, carpeted 
 in a vivid green drugget. The outer curtains and the felt 
 surrounding the carpet were of royal blue. The lamp- 
 shades were very elaborate and Eastern. The white 
 paint of door and window frames, the azaleas in pots, 
 all gave an air of brightness to the room, while the 
 pictures on the walls, if they were of her own choosing, 
 did credit to Margot's taste. One of them was a paint- 
 ing of herself standing in a shaft of sunlight by a dark 
 cabinet. Her lips were slightly parted, and her china- 
 blue eyes danced with pleasure. The pose vaguely sug- 
 gested Alfred Stevens' picture, "Le Cabinet Rose," and 
 Rachel's explanation of her look of delight was that 
 Vernon had evidently just promised her a tiara. "Noth- 
 ing else would make your eyes light up so," Rachel had 
 said. Margot thought of this remark as she glanced at 
 her portrait while waiting for Rachel to arrive. . . . 
 
 213
 
 214 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 Through the open window she could see the trees which 
 make the "quaint" end of Charles Street so charming. 
 They were almost lyrical in their fresh greenery for this 
 wonderful month, and the foliage seemed to make a 
 lovely music, like the song of birds. But in a few weeks' 
 time the leaves would be heavy with dust. ... At last 
 she heard the crunch of a brake as a taxi drew up outside 
 the house. 
 
 "My darling girl. What ages it is. And how lovely !" 
 Rachel embraced her friend fervently, then disengaged 
 herself to admire the frock a curious glow of admira- 
 tion seeming to run all over her as she did so. "You 
 are lovelier than ever, Margot," she went on. "There's 
 no doubt that marriage agrees with you. . . . You can't 
 imagine how glad I am to be back in England. It's five 
 months to-day since mother died, so that it must be 
 over six months since I last saw you. Do you remember 
 we went to the Russian Ballet together and saw 'Le 
 Pavilion d'Armide'? We must go again. I see they 
 are doing several new ballets this season. . . . Now you 
 must tell me your news." 
 
 Margot knew quite well that her capture of the 
 Duchess of Stretton, her approaching attack on Princess 
 Augusta of Hochberg-Leitstein, would not interest her 
 friend in the least, and when she came to examine her 
 life during the past seven months she discovered that it 
 had been filled exclusively with episodes of this kind, 
 varied by occasional quarrels with Vernon. There had 
 been nothing else in it at all. The quarrels with Vernon 
 had been the only bright spots. They had relieved the 
 -monotonous unreality of things, and it had given her a 
 certain satisfaction (of which she was rather ashamed) 
 to realise how acutely she could hurt him. 
 
 "I simply haven't done anything of the slightest
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 215 
 
 interest, Rachel," she said. "I have seen Mary 
 Henderson once or twice, which always does me good, 
 though it makes me discontented. We can get over 
 from Hotham fairly quickly in the car, you know; it's 
 only the next county. She contrives to be so tremend- 
 ously happy. And she really does do good. She doesn't 
 play at it as I do. . . . My dear, I'm keeping a stall at 
 a bazaar on Tuesday! I've forgotten what it is in aid 
 of. A mission to Jews, I dare say!" Margot's flash of 
 humour convulsed Rachel. 
 
 "You must send a copy of the Morning Post describ- 
 ing the function to Israel Falkenheim," she said. "Do 
 you ever see him now?" 
 
 "We exchange poisoned glances sometimes, and the 
 other night at the Opera he had the cheek to stare at 
 me through his glasses in the entr'acte. I was in Carl 
 Frensen's box. You know he hates Carl Frensen like 
 sin so does Vernon, for that matter. I wonder why it 
 is? Has he a purple past, do you think?" 
 
 "Rather purple, I believe," said Rachel, "but of course 
 he ought to be extinct by now !" 
 
 "I don't believe people ever become extinct, nowa- 
 days, however old they get. Look at Lord Bridley, for 
 instance ! The legend that they do is simply encouraged 
 to enable young girls to contract mercenary marriages. 
 Do you know, I think a girl has to be very young to be 
 forgiven for marrying her grandfather. ..." 
 
 "Oh, I don't believe very young girls are very young 
 nowadays," Rachel remarked cynically. "And it is 
 simply amazing how coarse some of the most refined- 
 looking women are, under the surface," she went on. 
 "No wonder men say we are only half civilised! But 
 how is one ever to know what other people are like until 
 some striking action shows them up to us ? We all of us
 
 2i6 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 cover ourselves up in paint and varnish. It's just as well 
 we do! At least the result is decorative!" 
 
 The two friends went down to dinner, which had been 
 set in the library as being cosier than the big dining- 
 room. Margot enjoyed showing Rachel the alterations 
 she had made in the room, and it was charming to have 
 someone in whom she could confide. The two details 
 about the dinner which pleased Rachel particularly were 
 the bowl of red roses in the centre of the table, and the 
 fact that the waiting was done by the maids instead of 
 by the men-servants. 
 
 After dinner they went upstairs once more to Margot's 
 "den." 
 
 "You know it is jolly to see you again, Rachel," 
 Margot said as they settled themselves on the comfort- 
 able round sofa. "You always make me think of the 
 days when we first met. I don't suppose you can realise 
 how exciting those days were for me! It's just that 
 excitement that I miss ... Of course, Vernon is a 
 great dear, and it's jolly being married and having a 
 house and all that. But you will never be able to under- 
 stand what that first summer was like, three years ago, 
 when I was staying with the Falkenheims. ..." 
 
 "They were awfully good to you." 
 
 "Yes, I haven't forgotten. I was only talking non- 
 sense just now about the "poisoned glances'! I make 
 a point of not cutting them when we meet, which we do 
 occasionally. Mrs. Falkenheim bows to me quite 
 placidly, just as if I had dined there the night before; 
 but Israel always looks like the Recording Angel. He 
 takes off his hat gravely ; his face never moves a muscle. 
 Funny, isn't it, when one remembers what happened? 
 Did I ever tell you, Rachel? He used to lie in wait for
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 217 
 
 roe, you know outside my room. That's what I meant 
 about volcanoes never getting extinct. ..." 
 
 Rachel had heard the story from Margot before, also 
 rather different stories from other people. But she be- 
 lieved Margot's version implicitly. Could any man, how- 
 ever old, resist such radiant beauty? 
 
 "You know men are all the same. They are all so 
 much more animal than we are. Women who are as bad 
 as men in that respect are exceptions. I admit the ex- 
 ceptions are sometimes worse. ..." 
 
 "I wonder if you are right, Rachel?" Margot asked. 
 "I'm not at all sure if what you call 'animalism' isn't 
 something that's perfectly normal to men and women 
 alike; and no more revolting than any other sign of 
 bodily health, like a good appetite for breakfast, for 
 instance. The trouble with us women is that we nearly 
 always sentimentalise over the sex business. If we meet 
 a good-looking man who rouses our desires, we must 
 needs try to make the whole affair into a grande passion 
 and endow the poor creature with all sorts of qualities he 
 doesn't possess. Men, luckily, do the same with us. All 
 that we are really after, the whole time, is just sensual 
 gratification. No, I don't believe there's anything to 
 choose between men and women except that women will 
 let their hearts get in the way. ..." 
 
 "Dearest Margot," said Rachel, "you are unjust to 
 women because I don't think you really quite understand 
 them. The women you talk about are only those who 
 have not yet broken free from the age-long sex bondage. 
 They are still just what the men make of them. But 
 there are numbers of other women who have got rid 
 of that kind of thing, completely: set themselves 
 free." 
 
 "Then they can't be healthy. . . ."
 
 218 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "Indeed they are; and they are certainly not cold. 
 They have a true respect for their own sex; and their 
 whole attitude and outlook on life are more spiritual than 
 a man's outlook." 
 
 "Why, Rachel, you've changed in the last three years 
 almost as much as I have!" 
 
 "I suppose I have. I've come to understand things 
 better, especially other women. You don't know, Mar- 
 got, what a splendid thing it is to be a woman. The old 
 idea that woman is dependent for everything on man 
 is exploded, done for. Women have a genius of their 
 own, which doesn't in the least need men's help for its 
 development and growth." Rachel looked eagerly at her 
 friend, her eyes shining. All her old subdued gentleness 
 had left her now. She was eager and enthusiastic, but 
 her lovely eyes had in them something hungry and 
 anxious which disquieted Margot, whilst rousing her 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Talking of genius," Rachel went on, "Genee is 
 dancing again in London, in 'Robert le Diable.' Will 
 you come and dine with me on Wednesday and go on 
 afterwards to see her?" 
 
 "Why, of course, Rachel," she said, "I shall love to 
 come. I've never been to a music-hall in my life. . . . 
 It will be most exciting and such a relief! You can't 
 think how bored one gets. ... Do you know, my dear, 
 I shall have to spend the whole of Tuesday selling 'works 
 of art,' at the Duchess of Stretton's ! Can you imagine 
 anything more tedious? However, I've let myself in 
 for it. There is no escape, apparently, though I'm 
 just about reaching the end of my tether. One of 
 these days I shall tell Vernon I can't stand any 
 more." 
 
 But Rachel was not in the least interested in Margot's
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 219 
 
 duchess. As soon as she could, she changed the subject 
 to the new decorations of her drawing-room. 
 
 "I really think it is rather original," she said. "All 
 the decorations are in red and black. The black carpet 
 and black tulips are extraordinary effective." 
 
 "Black tulips !" exclaimed Margot. 
 
 "Yes, darling. Isn't it a cute idea? I first tried them 
 yesterday evening. It is simply wonderful, you would 
 never believe how well the black tulips look. My florist 
 gets them specially for me. ..." 
 
 "Well, I shall be thrilled to see the room, Rachel," 
 Margot replied. 
 
 The conversation drifted back to the absorbing topic 
 of the opposite sex. 
 
 "I can't understand why you have suddenly got such 
 a down on men," said Margot. "Men are put into the 
 world to be useful to us. What is it you object to in 
 them ? So long as we don't break our hearts and all that 
 kind of thing, men are at our own mercy! By making 
 use of them, a woman can do as she likes. Their admira- 
 tion keeps us interested in life; and they are necessary 
 to our happiness in so many ways !" 
 
 "That's where I can't agree, darling. I shall have to 
 initiate you into the woman movement I can see. I'm 
 not a suffragette, you know, and politics bore me, per- 
 sonally; but the whole movement is simply the most 
 splendid thing that has happened in our time !" Rachel's 
 eyes shone with enthusiasm as she warmed to her topic. 
 "Of course, you, as a married woman, are inclined to 
 think that no female can be happy or even sane, if she 
 hasn't a husband or lovers. But it isn't so, it really 
 isn't. I don't want you to get the impression that I've 
 suddenly turned into a frantic man-hater. I don't really 
 like men any less than I did ; but where the change lies
 
 220 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 is in the fact that in the last year or two I have grown 
 to appreciate women more. As a young girl, of course, 
 like everyone else, I wasn't particularly pleased to be a 
 female; and when I reached the 'clever' age I had a 
 great distrust and dislike for my own sex. It is only 
 recently, within the last few years, that I have come to 
 realise how wrong I was. Women are splendid, Margot ! 
 We are at the dawn of a new era. The whole outlook for 
 women is changing and widening. Now don't think I 
 am talking suffrage. I don't mean politics at all. 
 Politics are only the pompous frivolity of second-rate 
 minds. I mean things that matter. ..." 
 
 Margot smiled at her friend, as she sat flushed and 
 eager, so unlike the placid Rachel she had first known. 
 
 "But if we play our cards right we are boss of the 
 show already, dearest," Margot replied, "thanks to our 
 continued influence and ascendancy over men. We pull 
 the strings, like that creature in the play. The men 
 dance. The result is that we are all-powerful. But 
 as soon as we eliminate men and cease to enslave them, 
 I can't see that we have a chance. We can't compete 
 on equal terms with them. And we can't alter our bodies 
 just because we change our ideas. Personally I don't 
 want to have children ; but I'm exceptional in that way ; 
 and so, perhaps, are you. But it is surely obvious that 
 child-bearing is what we women are intended for. From 
 our necks to our knees, we're made for nothing else. . . . 
 To most of us, therefore, men are essential for our 
 natural fulfilment and growth. ..." 
 
 "My dear," said Rachel, "I quite agree that many 
 women, perhaps the majority of us, are admirably fitted 
 for motherhood. But I don't agree that that is what all 
 women are for, any more than I agree that paternity 
 must necessarily form part of a man's career. That is
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 221 
 
 an absurd belief. The world is over-populated as it is. 
 Let there be a minority of both sexes who specialise in 
 parentage just as some people specialise in medicine or 
 the law. Surely there is no reason why the whole of 
 mankind should thus be held in bondage to posterity? 
 After all, if we were blindly to fall in with Nature's 
 views, where on earth should we be? What are our 
 minds and our souls for, except to arm us against Na- 
 ture? If Nature had her way there would be no morality 
 at all ; and instead of wearing lovely clothes, our bodies 
 would probably be covered with nasty, bristly fur to keep 
 the cold out! I believe, Margot, you cling to the old 
 theory that a woman who doesn't choose to marry the 
 first male she meets, or to pander to some man's animal- 
 ism without the ceremony, hasn't a right to exist. But 
 she has. There's a higher life open to her if she can 
 only grasp it a full, wonderful, glorious life " 
 
 "Well," said Margot indulgently, "you are rapidly 
 making a convert. I really haven't ever thought about 
 these things in relation to other poeple. I dare say you 
 are perfectly right, Rachel. As far as I am concerned, 
 men like me, and I've gained everything I have from 
 their liking. But I can well believe things might have 
 fallen out differently. . . . !" 
 
 Rachel leaned forward on the sofa on which they were 
 both sitting, and put her arm round Margot's bare 
 shoulders and kissed her. "Men would indeed be fools, 
 darling," she said, "if they didn't appreciate you. . . ."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 WHEN Rachel had gone and her maid was brushing 
 her hair, Margot sat thoughtfully in front of her looking- 
 glass. It seemed to her odd that she should be excited 
 at the idea of going to a music-hall with Rachel. Before 
 her marriage it would not have seemed so strange, but 
 she felt that by this time she ought to have grown out of 
 Rachel. Instead of that, she seemed only just beginning 
 to appreciate her. Her married life had not turned out 
 quite as she had anticipated it would. The mere fact 
 of making a rich and splendid marriage had not brought 
 with it all the joy and contentment she had looked for. 
 On the whole, however, she liked Vernon better than 
 she had expected, and she was grateful to him for his 
 devotion to her at the time of his father's death. What 
 anxious weeks they had been when she stood to gain or 
 lose everything and how splendidly Adam had played 
 up over the wedding ! . . . Looking back over the past, 
 she could not but congratulate herself on her astuteness, 
 her determination. The slightest mistake would have 
 meant shipwreck. But she had not made a mistake. 
 Now that she was safely wedded and provided with a 
 settlement (Adam had been a brick over the settlement 
 and done the "heavy father" to perfection), she was 
 beginning to feel a reaction. It was, as she had told 
 Rachel, the excitement that she missed, the excitement 
 of those hectic days she had spent with the Falkenheims 
 in Richbourne Terrace, of the days which followed Sir 
 William Stokes's death, of her honeymoon tour and 
 Presentation. The last year had been a strain, because so 
 little had happened in it : she had been so secure ; and it 
 
 222
 
 . M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 223 
 
 had been a strain because she could no longer close her 
 ears to the quiet voice of her own conscience. She was 
 ashamed of herself for her treatment of Vernon, ashamed 
 of her mercenary marriage, ashamed of having sold her 
 body for wealth, for social position things on which she 
 no longer put the old valuation. The cry of her starved 
 and hungry soul gave her no peace. She was unhappy, 
 because she did not love. Love ! How much there was 
 in that hackneyed word which at last perhaps too late 
 she was beginning to understand. The joy of love came 
 from giving, from surrendering. How infinitely more 
 blessed it was for a woman to give than to receive ! 
 
 Vernon had settled down to the routine of life at 
 Hotham and in Charles Street, and as the months went 
 by he never revealed to her any new aspects of his char- 
 acter. She did not believe he ever would reveal any: 
 there was something at once impenetrable and wooden 
 about him, which maddened her. He had nothing of the 
 elusiveness of a man like Godfrey Levett, for instance. 
 She had not thought of Godfrey for a long time, but 
 Rachel's visit reminded her of him. She wondered why 
 she had seen nothing of him since her marriage. It was 
 strange that they had not met anywhere. She began to 
 speculate as to what he had been doing, what sort of life 
 he had been leading. She felt certain that he would not 
 have married ; and she thought of his mocking, intelligent 
 eyes. He didn't care for women, or at least, he did not 
 allow himself to be fooled by them. She liked him for 
 this. She determined to ask Rachel for his address. 
 She would send him a card for her dance. She remem- 
 bered how he had prophesied that she would become a 
 great London hostess, and had impressed on her that he 
 must have his quail at supper! Well, he should have 
 his quail. It would be amusing to talk over old times
 
 224 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 with him, and he would tell her the latest gossip about 
 the Falkenheims. 
 
 "Milady is thoughtful this evening," said Ernestine, 
 as she finished doing Margot's hair. But Margot did 
 not want to talk to her maid to-night. She wished to be 
 left alone. She enjoyed the unusual solitude and wanted 
 to make the most of it. After all, this was almost the 
 first time since her marriage that she and Vernon had 
 slept under different roofs. A great resentment against 
 the institution of marriage grew up in her, as she turned 
 off the switch of her reading-lamp and settled herself 
 to sleep. 
 
 Vernon came back in time for luncheon on Wednesday, 
 very full of the new garage and disappointed with her 
 for not being more interested. "I don't believe you 
 would care a straw, Margot, if Hotham were burnt to 
 the ground," he remarked. 
 
 "My dear," she said, "that entirely depends on whether 
 it is fully insured or not !" 
 
 Vernon's eye rested on her resentfully for a moment, 
 but his resent fulness died away as he looked at her 
 so fresh and radiant, in her thin blouse. How passionate 
 she was, under that mask of indifference; how she adored 
 him! Whenever her apparent coldness, her seeming 
 complete lack of affection distressed and worried him, 
 he would think of her in her voluptuous moods and his 
 self-complacency would be restored. 
 
 "I'm dining with Rachel, to-night," Margot remarked, 
 when luncheon was over and Vernon had finished telling 
 her about the architect. "We are to go to a music-hall 
 to see Genee dance. ..." 
 
 Margot had long been aware of Vernon's dislike of 
 Rachel. It amused her to watch the expression of dis- 
 gust which he concealed with difficulty.
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 225 
 
 "I hope you will enjoy yourself. Personally, if you 
 will forgive me saying so, I think Rachel Elkington is 
 one of the most poisonous women in London, and always 
 have." Margot noticed that his eyes grew hard and that 
 he gnawed his moustache as he made this admission. 
 "But if you like her, I suppose I must be wrong. I shall 
 probably dine at the Bachelor's with Patcham. ..." 
 
 He went out of the room, leaving her maliciously 
 amused. She enjoyed rubbing in Rachel; it was a little 
 torture that never failed in its effect. And yet, she re- 
 flected, was not "rubbing things in" rather a cheap 
 form of entertainment? It grew tedious after a while. 
 When, later on, the car came round and she started off 
 to make some calls, it dawned on her once again that until 
 her marriage she had never in her whole life really suf- 
 fered from ennui, and that not for months had she 
 looked forward to anything as much as she looked for- 
 ward to her evening with Rachel. 
 
 When the time came for her to dress for dinner 
 Ernestine found her mistress in a capricious mood. Of 
 her array of dinner frocks she could not make a choice. 
 One after another was laid out on the bed, turned over, 
 tried on, and rejected. The atmosphere grew decidedly 
 stormy, and Ernestine's usually imperturbable good 
 temper began to be ruffled. Finally Margot chose a frock 
 of black charmeuse, made with a certain severity of line, 
 and adorned only with one red rose at the waist and a 
 shimmer of spangles on the sleeves and bodice. It was a 
 beautiful frock, by Premet, and its skillful simplicity 
 showed to perfection Margot's radiant youth. Her skin, 
 after her bath, when Ernestine had dusted it with her 
 favourite powder, gleamed at her in the glass. Her 
 face, lightly flushed towards the ears with rouge, had 
 an almost uncanny freshness. Since her marriage she
 
 226 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 had filled out, blossomed; and her beauty had grown 
 more striking. 
 
 "Milady is at her loveliest this evening," said 
 Ernestine caressingly. "Never has milady looked 
 better!" 
 
 By the time that she was ready to go down to the 
 car, even Margot was more or less satisfied with her 
 appearance. She did not know why she should be feel- 
 ing so anxious this evening to look her best. Perhaps 
 it was that Rachel's taste in clothes, as in everything 
 else, was so faultless. 
 
 When Margot reached her friend's house, she was 
 shown straight upstairs to her bedroom, where Rachel 
 was busy with her maid, putting finishing touches. 
 
 Rachel had definitely settled down in the house in 
 Hyde Park Street which her mother had left her. She 
 had no "companion," but a constant succession of friends 
 to stay with her. 
 
 "Nina Meadowes is coming next week," she said 
 during dinner, "but I'm all alone to-day. I didn't get 
 anyone in for dinner, darling, as I thought it would be 
 so much more fun, just us two. You haven't seen the 
 drawing-room yet, have you? But you remember my 
 telling you it has been redecorated a la Russe? I must 
 take you up afterward and show you. We have plenty 
 of time, as Genee doesn't come on till half-past nine. 
 My dear, she is too wonderful. ..." 
 
 "Do you know, I've never been inside a music-hall 
 yet in my life!" said Margot. "Isn't it odd? I'm quite 
 excited at the prospect. Vernon never goes to music- 
 halls, and even the Opera bores him. He pretends he 
 likes the "higher drama" and all that, and plays full of 
 epigrams. He believes in people who sit looking at each 
 other for about half an hour and then cough up one re-
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 227 
 
 mark, full of interior meanings. Personally, I prefer 
 the people who gabble-gabble straight ahead, without 
 caring if they talk rot. We disagree about plays, hope- 
 lessly. . . . How pretty this room is!" Margot look- 
 ed round the familiar dining-room, while George tact- 
 fully filled her glass with champagne. He, like the 
 room, had not changed. Margot glanced round her as 
 she spoke. There was the ugly Kneller in its usual 
 place, and the Cuyp in its great gold frame hanging 
 above the sideboard. It looked rich and mysterious in 
 the shaded candle-light, and the red coat of the hunts- 
 man in the right-hand corner of the canvas was hardly 
 distinguishable. "It is cosy, isn't it?" Rachel admitted. 
 "I haven't altered anything since mother died. It is 
 just as it was. Upstairs, though, the changes have been 
 revolutionary. I'm not nearly satisfied yet." 
 
 "Capricious !" 
 
 "Perhaps. But it is tremendously interesting trying 
 experiments with rooms. It exercises one's imagination, 
 and that is always a good thing. Let us go up and 
 have our cigarettes and coffee. Then we must start. 
 We ought to get settled in our seats a few minutes before 
 she appears." 
 
 The drawing-room, which in Mrs. Elkington's time 
 had always a touch of homeliness and was not innocent 
 of framed photographs and mild Victorian water-colours, 
 was now transformed out of recognition a black carpet, 
 pale cream-coloured walls, crimson curtains, broad divans 
 which gave the room a vaguely Oriental appearance, 
 crimson-shaded candelabra, and the gleaming black piano 
 from the music-room. The room was all broad effects ; 
 there were no trumpery minute details. There were 
 only six pictures on the walls, and they were all framed 
 in black. They were strange pictures by Russian
 
 228 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 painters pictures of Tartar hunting scenes; of yoked 
 cheetahs held in lash; of saints playing on harps, the 
 strings of which were stretched between earth and 
 heaven; of warfare in the sky; of morne, unearthly land- 
 scapes, mysterious and violent, like a hurricane on 
 canvas. Margot sank down on one of the divans by 
 Rachel's side and gasped. "Fancy you having all this 
 in your head and not telling me, Rachel !" 
 
 "Darling, I'm always getting new things into my 
 head ! You forget we haven't seen one another for ages 
 until just recently. ..." 
 
 They reached the music-hall where Genee was dancing 
 just after the interval, and as she settled herself in the 
 front of the box, Margot looked round the large house 
 with curiosity. It was crowded with people; there 
 seemed to be hardly an unoccupied seat anywhere to be 
 seen, and the faces seemed much more eager and alert 
 than the faces of the average theatre audience. A little 
 haze of blue smoke rose up from stalls and circle; the 
 occasional striking of matches and the hum of conver- 
 sation suggested easiness and lack of constraint. The 
 "turn" that was in progress did not strike her as being 
 specially "artistic." Three well-built young Germans 
 dressed in suits of sky-blue combinations, over which 
 they wore pairs of silver, triangular-shaped bathing 
 drawers, were busy throwing glittering wooden bottles 
 at one another. Sometimes one of the three would 
 collect all the bottles in one hand, and then they advanced 
 smiling to the footlights, received some mild applause, 
 and began to do something else. They were very mus- 
 cular and perspiring and indefatigable. They seemed to 
 throw the bottles at one another as hard as ever they 
 could, and this ferocity seemed to please the audience. 
 When they were not throwing bottles they jumped on one
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 229 
 
 another's shoulders, making a kind of human tower, the 
 supporting unit of which staggered breathlessly round 
 the stage to the accompaniment of a long tattoo on the 
 drums. Margot was glad when the tune to which their 
 other manoeuvres had been performed came to an end. 
 The beating of the drums marked the culmination of the 
 performers' efforts, and when it stopped they jumped off 
 one another's shoulder's and advanced across the stage 
 with outstretched hands and broad smiles. Then the red 
 curtains swung together, obliterating them, and the 
 flunkeys on either side of the proscenium put a fresh 
 number into the stand. 
 
 "Here she is, darling," said Rachel. "She is dancing 
 in Meyerbeer's 'Robert le Diable* to-night. You've 
 seen Degas' picture. The present setting isn't in the 
 least like the picture, though. ..." The conductor, 
 who had not put in an appearance for the acrobats, 
 now emerged from under the stage, took his seat, and 
 struck the stand twice with his baton. During the first 
 part of the ballet Margot was more occupied in watching 
 her companion than in watching the great dancer she 
 had come to see. A look of absorption and delight came 
 over Rachel's face from the first moment of Genee's ap- 
 pearance. Margot looked, noticed the dancer's attractive 
 gamine expression, the perky poise of her little head 
 covered with pale gold hair, her extraordinaiy brilliance 
 combined with something humorous and elfin in her ex- 
 pression, the marvellous way she "took the stage." The 
 steps seemed to be almost miraculous the pirouettings 
 on her toes, the bendings backwards and forwards, and 
 the sure-footed dartings in and out among the white- 
 veiled nuns. But evidently Rachel was getting more out 
 of the performance than she was. She envied her friend 
 this capacity, which she perceived sprang largely from
 
 230 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 knowledge and a kind of mental cultivation. Rachel was 
 not only musically well educated, but she had studied 
 the art of dancing and had seen all the great dancers of 
 her day. After a while Margot gave up observing Rachel 
 and fixed her attention on Genee instead, until gradually 
 the witchery of an astonishing personality caught hold of 
 her and she forgot herself. The dancer's brilliance was 
 like sunlight or the rippling of clear water; there was 
 something sexless and unearthly about her. Margot re- 
 sented the male Russian in "low-necked" black costume 
 and large picture hat who assisted her to twirl ; he seemed 
 to spoil the illusion. She would have liked to go on 
 watching Genee in the middle of the stage, alone, ab- 
 sorbing all the limelight, all the attention. This was her 
 due, and she seemed to Margot to be the very incarnation 
 of radiance and joyousness happy laughter translated 
 into movement. 
 
 At the end of the ballet Rachel appeared to wake up 
 as from a trance ; she had evidently completely forgotten 
 Margot's presence. . . . 
 
 "She was dancing better than ever to-night," she said 
 at last. "I am so glad you saw her for the first time 
 at her very best. You know she is the greatest dancer 
 of our generation," she remarked enthusiastically, as 
 they drove back to Hyde Park Street. "There isn't any- 
 one with the same range. She can do anything from 
 the strictest classic dancing of the kind you saw to-night 
 to the most modern brand of character dancing in an 
 Empire ballet. And what an actress she is! Did you 
 ever see such an expressive face?" 
 
 Rachel's enthusiasm opened new worlds of interest to 
 Margot, and she could not avoid comparing it with 
 Vernon's stilted approval of the higher drama. 
 
 "I can't think why on earth I've never been to a
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 231 
 
 music-hall before," Margot remarked. "I am so grate- 
 ful to you, Rachel, for taking me !" 
 
 They went upstairs to Rachel's bedroom to remove 
 their wraps and to tidy themselves. Margot stood in 
 front of the long cheval glass to study the effect of her 
 frock. 
 
 "You vain beauty!" said Rachel, putting her arm 
 round her waist. They stood looking at each other's 
 reflection for a moment or two. They made a striking 
 contrast. Margot fair and blue-eyed, rose-cheeked, with 
 softly ripened bosom and narrow lips; Rachel tall and 
 thin, with pale, ivory-white complexion and scarlet lips, 
 and hair dark as night and dark liquid eyes. "We look 
 like night and day or virtue and vice!" said Rachel 
 with a laugh. They went down to the drawing-room, 
 where George had put out for them a pint bottle of 
 Clicquot and some delicious fole gras sandwiches, and 
 Margot reflected that she had hardly ever spent such 
 an amusing evening in her life before. It came over her 
 with renewed force that half the things which she had 
 hitherto fancied desirable were in reality dead, tedious, 
 stupid. No wonder Rachel could not rouse herself to 
 show any interest in her duchesses and her bazaars, in 
 her petty, worthless ambitions which it cost her so much 
 hard work and concentration to gratify ! 
 
 When she had filled the two thin tumblers with cham- 
 pagne, Rachel moved across the room to the piano 
 with the gracefulness of a snake and began Ravel's 
 setting of "Le Gibet" out of "Gaspard de la Nuit." 
 While her friend played Margot found that her thoughts 
 flowed with extraordinary ease in pleasant and exciting 
 channels. Her eyes also travelled round the room, 
 taking in the details of its curious decorations the 
 cream-coloured walls, with the black-framed Stelletskys,
 
 232 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Roerichs, and Von Anreps adorning them, the black 
 carpet, the crimson curtains. Petrouschka, the old white 
 borzoi, who was lying, paws out, by the fireplace got up, 
 yawned, stretched himself, and walked slowly towards 
 her, gazing at her with his sad northern eyes and putting 
 up his long muzzle to be caressed. . . . 
 
 Margot did not want Rachel to stop playing. The 
 music made her brain work, and she loved sitting in her 
 comfortable chair and looking at the room, and watch- 
 ing her friend's long white hands floating over the black 
 and white keys, and her absorbed, intent face so pale 
 and with such red lips and her deep, hungry eyes. She 
 felt that this evening marked a turning-point in her 
 life. She knew she would never be satisfied any more 
 with the existence she had been leading. She had been 
 swimming, since her marriage, in a kind of golden soup- 
 tureen ; Rachel had come along, swung back the lid, and 
 revealed to her a limitless heaven all ablaze with 
 stars. . . . 
 
 Yet while she sat silently on a great black divan with 
 crimson cushions thinking these thoughts and listening 
 lo Ravel's music, a vague feeling of oppression came over 
 her. It was all, somehow, too exciting to enable her to 
 feel at peace. The young red blood in her veins ran too 
 quickly, too fiercely, for the exotic and rarefied atmo- 
 sphere of the room. Rachel never used to be like this 
 in the old days! Margot realised the fact that people, 
 if they have anything in them, do not remain static 
 but alter and develop; but, even so, she could not quite 
 account for the change that had come over Rachel's 
 character. Her whole nature now seemed subtly dif- 
 ferent from what she remembered it three years ago. 
 It was as though she had taken some slow poison for 
 the soul, which had given her a morbid and feverish
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 233 
 
 animation; some insidious and deadly drug, which had 
 gradually changed her from the gentle and refined girl 
 whom she remembered into the half-mad aesthete who 
 was sitting now at the piano. 
 
 Margot had an instinct that, keenly as Rachel inter- 
 ested her, something had happened to their friendship, 
 to the old sympathy which had existed between them. 
 And yet what an amusing time she had spent, and how 
 she had enjoyed being taken to see Genee! 
 
 As soon as Rachel finished playing Margot got up to 
 go. "My dear," she said, "I have enjoyed myself so 
 much. I shall always be grateful to you for taking me 
 to my first music-hall !" 
 
 There was a certain constraint in the way she uttered 
 her polite phrases which did not escape Rachel's keen 
 sensibility. They embraced one another, but Margot's 
 cheeks were marble. 
 
 "By the way," Margot said, as her friend helped her 
 with her cloak, "while I remember it, I wonder if you 
 can give me Godf rey Levett's new address ?" There was 
 a momentary stiffening in Rachel's manner, and Margot 
 wondered whether that long-established friendship were 
 also beginning to wear thin. 
 
 "I had a letter from him yesterday, as it happens," 
 Rachel replied, "but I can't for the life of me remember 
 the address. I'll look it up for you, though, and send 
 it to you to-morrow morning. I won't forget. Good- 
 night, darling. I am so glad you've been amused!"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 RACHEL did not forget her promise. She looked up 
 Levett's address and reported it to Margot's maid over 
 the telephone. It was one of Margot's small "swanks" 
 that she hardly ever used this instrument herself. 
 Ernestine was always deputed to do the hanging on 
 and to wait the "One moment, please." The address 
 was 1 80 Soho Square, of all strange addresses. Levett 
 had a flat there, apparently great Queen Anne rooms 
 with painted ceilings and elaborate chimney-pieces 
 rooms in which his pictures would be displayed to the 
 finest advantage. Margot could easily imagine them. 
 The walls of the whole flat would be equally divided 
 between books and pictures. The carpets would be very 
 thick, the chairs very deep. An air of almost tangible 
 comfort would brood over the entire establishment. She 
 remembered how Levett had always possessed the art 
 of comfort. It was an art which seemed to give him an 
 imperviousness that was like a challenge: it made him 
 so independent of her sex. A woman could never hope 
 to add anything (except her mere presence) to the charm 
 of his surroundings. With so many men, all kinds of 
 small details connected with their life displayed at once 
 the fact that they needed a woman to show them how to 
 live, what to spend their money on, and the kind of ties 
 to refrain from wearing. But Godfrey Levett's mock- 
 ing eye had always made her feel that in some way, in 
 her clothes or manner, she had committed a faint indis- 
 cretion of taste, that she was subtly "all wrong" in a 
 sense clearly visible to his eyes, though perhaps (fortu- 
 nately!) not to other people's. No doubt it was this 
 
 234
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 235 
 
 quality in him which had made her unable to forget 
 him. She had never been able, by the help of her sex 
 and of her beauty, to throw dust in his eyes as she had 
 been able to throw dust in the eyes of almost all the 
 other men with whom she had come in contact. He had 
 always appraised her, if anything, at rather below her 
 -proper value. . . . 
 
 The idea of seeing him again began gradually to occupy 
 her mind to the exclusion of everything else. She was 
 excited at the thought of asking him what changes he 
 noticed in her since her marriage, of finding out from 
 him whether he approved of her clothes, of her "mental 
 development." She felt more able now to meet him on 
 his own ground than she had been before her marriage. 
 She probably knew as much about London and Paris 
 and about the "World" as he did. Then she remem- 
 bered that the "World," with a capital letter, had never 
 really interested him. "Moi, J'aime le monde entler," 
 he had once remarked to emphasise this point. He was 
 very proud of the catholicity of his interests, his breadth 
 of view. . . . 
 
 On the day he came to tea, as luck would have it, 
 Vernon was at home. For some reason best known to 
 himself Vernon liked meeting writers and artists. It 
 was one of the most tiresome (because most insincere) 
 things about him, that he affected to despise the men 
 of his own type and to admire those who belonged to a 
 world to which he was a stranger. It was part of his 
 mania for having the entree everywhere. He liked to 
 feel that he could hold his own in "intellectual" circles 
 and among writers and painters; that he would be wel- 
 comed by them with open arms if ever he should honour 
 them by his presence. He had the saving grace to 
 realise that the world contained many things besides
 
 236 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 those for which he himself happened to stand, but he 
 did not realize his own limitations nor the precautions 
 which Nature had taken to prevent him from straying 
 out of his appointed groove. 
 
 Vernon had shown himself so "tiresome" after her 
 dinner with Rachel that Margot felt it wise to humour 
 him about Godfrey. In the agony which his love for 
 her caused him on frequent occasions, she was only able 
 to perceive an acute irritation which required "soothing." 
 Since she had never loved, love's woes were things 
 which she could neither sympathise with nor under- 
 stand. 
 
 Levett seemed to have changed almost as much as 
 she had herself. He had been in Italy, in France, and 
 then in Spain, he said, during the past two years, and 
 was glad to be back again in London among his friends. 
 He loved loneliness in foreign countries, but too much 
 of it palled after a while. The conversation was desul- 
 tory and rather boring, but at moments she caught a 
 stray gleam of interest in Godfrey's eyes which gratified 
 her vanity ; and once or twice he smiled, for her alone. 
 He did not outstay the conventional twenty minutes, and 
 when he rose to go, something titillated Margot's sense 
 of humour as she heard herself, with Vernon making a 
 kind of chorus in the background, saying, "You must 
 come and have dinner with us one evening!" Their 
 next meeting had already been arranged during a dis- 
 cussion about a picture show which had just been opened 
 at the Cork Street Galleries. . . . 
 
 Godfrey Levett realised perfectly that Margot's casual, 
 "We must go together one day soon," was not one of 
 the vague suggestions made out of politeness and never 
 intended to materialise. He was not surprised to get a 
 note from her on the following day asking him if he
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 237 
 
 would take her to the Cork Street Galleries on the coming 
 Monday afternoon. He admired success in any direc- 
 tion or branch of human endeavour, and Margot's com- 
 plete realisation of her ideals and desires delighted him. 
 It was a success which he had himself prophesied, and 
 this fact gave her an added interest in his eyes. He 
 liked to feel that he had understood her so well, ap- 
 praised her so justly. 
 
 The exhibition which had just been opened was a loan 
 collection of Old Masters containing a curious medley of 
 pictures, good, bad, and indifferent. Some rather im- 
 portant El Grecos were what chiefly interested Levett, 
 since he had only recently returned from Toledo. He 
 pointed out to Margot the strange note of occultism 
 which pervades so many of El Grecos' pictures, how the 
 painter was obsessed by the inner significance of his 
 subjects, and seemed to see things not visible to ordinary 
 eyes. "He has an almost harsh individuality, as though 
 his soul were battling to express itself and his brain and 
 hands were not quite equal to the task of putting down 
 the message on the canvas. That would account for his 
 occasional awkwardness and ugliness, as well as for his 
 inspiration. He must have been a mystic a kind of 
 sixteenth-century Blake." 
 
 Margot listened to Godfrey with attention. During her 
 three London seasons she had been to so many picture 
 shows and had been forced to join in so many conversa- 
 tions about pictures that she had all the necessary jargon 
 at the end of her tongue. She had a natural gift for 
 making a smattering of information go a long way and a 
 good head for proper names, so that she was often able 
 to appear quite erudite. When Levett talked about pic- 
 tures, however, she grasped that they were something 
 more than just things about which, at the decree of
 
 238 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 fashion, it happened to be impossible to express ignor- 
 ance or indifference. She realised dimly that art could 
 be an intoxication, that pictures, like music, could 
 supply a thrill to the soul; this glimpse of the truth 
 which came to her as she listened to him increased her 
 dissatisfaction with the people among whom, since her 
 marriage, she had lived. Even dears like Vivie Nugent 
 were utterly empty; there simply wasn't anything in 
 them! Mr. Falkenheim, in those far-off days in Paris 
 and in Richbourne Terrace, had done something to edu- 
 cate her appreciations. But his point of view had not 
 been quite the same as Levett's; she had always been 
 aware, intuitively, that he could never look at a painting 
 without being conscious of its cash value. The enthusi- 
 asm was there, but it was not, as in Godfrey's case, per- 
 fectly "pure." 
 
 They stopped before a characteristic picture of St. 
 Paul by the Cretan. "That isn't my idea of St. Paul," 
 she said. "That man there, with his pointed brown 
 beard and his thin arched nose, is simply a Spanish noble- 
 man. He isn't St. Paul at all. St. Paul was some old 
 Jew, with thick lips and a beard." 
 
 Godfrey disagreed with her, and they argued as to 
 whether St. Paul might or might not have been hand- 
 some. Certainly he must at one time have been young. 
 "To my mind," said Levett, "all the character in that 
 portrait is in the eyes. In those eyes you can read the 
 whole story of the 'conversion'; they are the eyes of a 
 man who has seen a vision." 
 
 The El Grecos were beginning to get on Margot's 
 nerves. She found the earth more comfortable, and went 
 across to look at a "Venus" by Lucas Cranach. The 
 face was like the face of some nameless animal, the low 
 forehead suggested a serpent. Round the neck she wore
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 239 
 
 a necklace of jewels, and in her hands held a trans- 
 parent silk veil, as though to emphasise her nudity. 
 There was something evil, something macabre, about 
 this picture; and the same sinister spirit was noticeable 
 in a picture by Hans Baldung Grein, called "La Volupte 
 et la Mort," which hung by its side. "I didn't know 
 they had any decadents in the fifteenth century." 
 Margot said, looking at the painters' dates, which were 
 given in the catalogue. "That Venus is far more wicked 
 than anything of Beardsley's. She might as well be 
 dressed in an ankle-watch or a man's top hat. Those 
 jewels make her look just as naked . . . and even 
 Beardsley didn't play such tricks with our anatomy !" 
 
 They went into the larger room, where there were 
 several paintings by Frederigo Barocci, a painter of the 
 School of Correggio, whose work was almost unknown to 
 Levett. Both he and Margot were enchanted by his 
 naive Madonnas and Annunciations. There was some- 
 thing modern and tender about them, something gay 
 and fresh. The painter was evidently an observer and a 
 realist. He had noted the types in his native Urbino, 
 and rendered them with simplicity and with a charm 
 that was perhaps a trifle too honeyed for modern taste. 
 
 There were a number of other Italian pictures in the 
 room of the kind without which no Georgian mansion 
 was considered complete. There were also six or seven 
 Reynolds's portraits sent up, the family treasure, from 
 little country houses inhabited by maiden ladies and 
 some Romneys and Hoppners, which made the boom in 
 these painters seem difficult to understand or to excuse. 
 In the further room they admired a masterly Cuyp ; two 
 Goyas portraits of Spanish ladies with black eyes, 
 mantillas, shadowed upper lips, and fat hands adorned
 
 240 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 with wings a Botticelli of great beauty but doubtful 
 authenticity ; some Bellinis and an exquisite Carpaccio. 
 
 "Do you remember the Goyas we looked at together 
 in the Rue Laffitte?" Godfrey asked Margot with a smile. 
 She glanced at him intently. 
 
 "Don't I !" she replied. 
 
 "No one can say that these exhibitions are not varied," 
 Godfrey went on, changing the subject. "They are so 
 varied that they are rather tiring. They open up so 
 many different avenues of thought and interest at the 
 same time." 
 
 "Let us go, then," Margot replied. "I'm absolutely 
 exhausted. I want to see you and your new flat. You 
 don't propose giving me tea in a tea-shop, I hope?" 
 
 "Yes, I did," said Levett. "I was searching in my 
 head for the name of some really nice tea-shop. No one 
 ever comes to tea in my flats! I told you when you 
 came to Holland Street that you were the only female 
 who had ever intruded into the sacred precincts !" 
 
 "That was one of the reasons why I liked coming. I 
 don't want my tea in a tea-shop, so there!" 
 
 "Well, I won't answer for the kind of tea you'll get !" 
 said Godfrey, laughing. "And you will have to let me 
 show off my Spanish cabinet. I bought it in Seville for 
 one hundred and fifty pesetas the most wonderful piece 
 of carving I've ever set eyes on, even in Spain !" 
 
 Levett's flat consisted of the two top floors of one 
 of the most beautiful houses in Soho Square. The 
 sitting-room, on the lower of the two floors, stretched 
 the whole width of the house. Here he had hung the 
 eighteenth-century pictures to which he was most 
 attached, while his Spanish cabinet, alone in its glory, 
 stood against the wall at the end, opposite the elaborate 
 marble chimney-piece. Margot insisted on exploring the
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 241 
 
 entire flat she found herself instinctively looking for 
 traces of an amie, and was baffled when she discovered 
 none and her admiration and delight were obviously 
 genuine. "I think it's thoroughly selfish of you to keep 
 such a lovely place hidden from your friends." 
 
 "It depends on the friends. You have penetrated, 
 you see. But that is no reason why others should." 
 
 "Godfrey, you are trying to flirt with me!" said 
 Margot sternly. They both laughed gaily; but Margot 
 wondered whether he remembered their last meeting 
 before her marriage whether her remark had made him 
 think of it, and what his thoughts would be. 
 
 "Well, Godfrey, so here I am, safely married, as you 
 prophesied," she said, taking a puff at a cigarette which 
 he had given her. Their relations seemed suddenly, for 
 no tangible reason, to have taken on an air of intimacy 
 during the last few moments. The comfort of the room 
 and the gentle breeze which blew in from the square 
 across the window-boxes full of geraniums seemed to be 
 inviting confidences. The curious smell of the geraniums 
 reminded Margot of the window-boxes at Richbourne 
 Terrace when she had first come to London. She 
 thought of an evening when Israel Falkenheim had 
 showed her his Largillieres, when she had gone out on 
 the balcony for a few minutes to look at the stars and 
 had caught the thrilling sounds of violins playing dance 
 music. She had danced to that music ever since ! 
 
 "I've changed a good deal, haven't I?" she said 
 reflectively. 
 
 "No, you haven't changed," Godfrey replied. "You 
 have developed, that's all, developed amazingly; but 
 you are still the same you. You had the germ of what 
 you are now in you three summers ago. You remember 
 how I spotted it?"
 
 242 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember!" said Margot. "And what is 
 more, if you come to my dance on the Fourteenth you shall 
 have your quail ! . . . Tell me," she changed the sub- 
 ject abruptly, "have you seen anything of Israel Falken- 
 heim lately?" 
 
 "I saw him yesterday for a moment in the Park. We 
 walked a little way together, and as we did so Frensen 
 passed. Do you know, fire seemed literally to blaze 
 from both their eyes as they looked at one another. You 
 have never seen anything so extraordinary. ..." 
 
 Margot gave Levett an account slightly modified, 
 with additions to include her "official" story of the 
 circumstances which led to her departure from Rich- 
 bourne Terrace. "Why do they hate one another so?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Levett shrugged his shoulders. "They are both 
 Renaissance figures; the two most romantic old men in 
 London. If they had lived three centuries ago their 
 retainers would fight desperately in dark alleys, or they 
 would scheme to poison one another, or to murder each 
 other's mistresses. As it is, all they can do is to scowl 
 and plot financial ruin. The spectacle of two elderly 
 gentlemen bashing in each other's pot hats with their 
 umbrellas would be undignified, and they are neither of 
 them that." 
 
 "Yes, but why did they quarrel ?" 
 
 "Oh, Frensen, who was something of a Don Juan in 
 his day, is supposed to have taken an unfair advantage 
 of Mrs. Falkenheim when she was young and lovely. 
 Mrs. Falkenheim is supposed to have told Israel all about 
 it at once, and to have begged his forgiveness. He for- 
 gave her, but he has never forgiven Frensen. So you 
 can understand why he could not forgive you !"
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 243 
 
 "I've never heard of anyone hating as he hates," 
 Margot remarked. 
 
 "What a lover he would have made !" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "What is hate except love turned the other way? 
 Israel Falkenheim is a man for whom I have a great 
 respect. The present age is almost empty of personali- 
 ties. A man like Falkenheim is a godsend. He has 
 something in him !" 
 
 "What a funny person you are! You've forgotten 
 about me. You were looking through me and talking to 
 yourself!" 
 
 "Was I? Let us talk about you. How do you like 
 being a great lady?" 
 
 "Oh, I like it and I don't. It dawned on me last Wed- 
 nesday, when Rachel asked me to go with her to see 
 Genee dance, that I had never been to a music-hall be- 
 fore in my life. To-morrow I have to spend the entire 
 day at the Duchess of Stretton's in Berkeley Square, 
 keeping a stall at a charity bazaar. Those two facts 
 should tell you all about it ! At the bazaar I shall meet 
 a fat German princess, who will probably 'take me up.' 
 The duchess has already asked Vernon and me twice for 
 the week-end. She has also dined at Charles Street, and 
 calls me 'my dear' before the servants. So there you 
 are the profit and loss account up to date! How it is 
 that I have never shouted a thoroughly indecent and 
 unladylike word at the top of my voice at some refined 
 gathering I can't imagine. But I haven't! I believe it 
 is Rachel who is making me so discontented." She told 
 Levett about her evening with Rachel, and fancied that 
 he looked at her curiously while she did so. However, 
 he made no comment beyond saying that she too had 
 developed during the last three years. Then, reverting
 
 244 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 to her complaints about the bazaar, he said: "But why 
 do you allow yourself to be bored, Margot, if you have 
 nothing to gain from this bazaar?" 
 
 "I can't get out of it can I ?" 
 
 "Why not? I should have thought the greatest 
 privilege of your position lay in the ability to do exactly 
 as you please; you are answerable to nobody. It is 
 strugglers, the poor, who have to consider appearances. 
 Surely the one and only charm of arriving lies in the 
 fact that it confers liberty of action, and thus com- 
 parative immunity from boredom." 
 
 Margot was thoughtful for a moment. Within the 
 period of the past few days she had undergone an internal 
 revolution. All her points of view had changed. It was 
 certainly Rachel who had started it. She was no longer 
 certain of what she wanted, and the fact of not having 
 a definite end in view paralysed her. This bazaar had 
 become utterly meaningless, and therefore unendurable. 
 The situation reduced itself down to this, that she pre- 
 ferred the thought of going to music-halls with Rachel 
 or with Godfrey, to see dancers like Genee, to being pre- 
 sented to princesses. The glamour had suddenly fallen 
 from princesses. She saw them now as fat and bor- 
 ing women who talked broken English. She stood, as it 
 were, bewildered amid the dust of her illusions. 
 
 "Godfrey," she said, after a pause, "how can I get 
 out of it?" 
 
 "Out of what?" 
 
 "That bazaar, of course. I simply can't face it; it 
 will be so agonisingly dull. But what am I to do? I'm 
 sharing the stall with Lady Abchurch. She will be 
 frantic if I don't turn up." 
 
 Levett was thoughtful for a moment. "There is a 
 luxurious nursing home in Belgrave Square," he said at
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 245 
 
 last, "for those who find the social treadmill exhausting 
 to the nerves. It is in the house that used to belong 
 to the Duke of Taunton, on the opposite side of the 
 square to Carl Frensen's house. Sir Harding Broadley 
 runs it. It has quite a vogue, and I feel sure your 
 husband could raise no objections to it. Why don't you 
 retire there this evening? I will send you an enormous 
 bouquet of roses! You can telephone from here to see 
 if they can take you. Every woman can do with a few 
 days' rest in the middle of the season. Now, don't you 
 think that is a clever idea? You will be able to work 
 off all sorts of visits to tiresome relations too. Instead 
 of having to fag round to see them, you can now make 
 them come to see you and get the nurse to dismiss 
 them at the end of ten minutes !" 
 
 "Godfrey, you are a genius !" said Margot. "How do 
 you think of these things?" 
 
 "Sheer interest in the art of life," Levett replied, 
 laughing. 
 
 Margot, whose motto was invariably "do it now," went 
 to the telephone and rang up Sir Harding Broadley. The 
 arrangements were astonishingly easy to make. The 
 nursing home was as delighted to receive her as she was 
 to retire to it. 
 
 "I must go and pack. I have enjoyed my afternoon." 
 She looked into his mocking grey eyes and wished she 
 could disturb their detachment and tranquillity. Any 
 other man would be a little sentimental at this juncture ; 
 and she remembered the way he had kissed her before 
 her marriage. What would she do if he tried to kiss her 
 again? She felt vaguely annoyed with him for not 
 deciding this point for her by making the attempt. 
 
 "I wonder why you have never married. You ought 
 to!"
 
 246 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 "What has the race of women done to deserve that 
 favour?" Levett replied derisively. "I am, as you see, 
 comfortable. I am free to come and go as I please, and 
 I am free to love without spoiling the romance by 
 domesticity. Of course, if some goddess were to come 
 to me and ask my advice as to how she should dispose 
 of herself and of her millions, I might reconsider things. 
 My income, though almost enough for one, is not quite 
 adequate to my imagination ; but otherwise " 
 
 "I should think you would make a woman who loved 
 you die of mortification !" 
 
 "Ah, love! Love is so rare and the market is so 
 overstocked with forgeries ! Friendship and passion are 
 safer, and one can enjoy both without putting one's head 
 in the noose. Marriage as an institution is arranged 
 exclusively for the benefit of the female sex I" 
 
 "You are a shy bird, Godfrey. And you are not so 
 much to look at either! And you are frightfully vain! 
 I should have thought some little flattering fool would 
 have caught you that way." 
 
 "I know I'm vain. But don't you give me credit for 
 having a few gleams of humour? It's a protection." 
 
 "I must go off to my nursing home now," said Margot. 
 "Be sure to come and have tea with me there to-morrow 
 afternoon."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE episode of the nursing home marked a definite 
 stage in Margot's career. She had been amazed at the 
 ease with which the whole business had been worked. 
 The duchess had been charming. A bouquet of white 
 roses accompanying a letter of regret had come to her 
 from Berkeley Square, while Cynthia had called and told 
 her all about the bazaar which she had been so successful 
 in avoiding. "Lady Abchurch was as sick as a dog 
 when she heard you couldn't turn up," Lady Cynthia 
 remarked. "She had only intended to be there for an 
 hour in the afternoon; but as it was, she had to be on 
 duty all day!" This item of information gave Margot 
 intense satisfaction, and she retailed it to Levett with 
 a chuckle when, half an hour later, he paid his promised 
 visit. 
 
 "The first fruits of emancipation !" he said, laughing. 
 "London has caught a Tartar in you, I can see!" She 
 watched his keen grey eyes resting on her as he lay back 
 comfortably in the armchair. His regard seemed to be 
 kinder, more affectionate than usual; but the fire she 
 longed to see blazing in his glance was still unlit. But 
 he liked her, that she knew, and this very "liking" was 
 in itself a challenge. . . . 
 
 Among the most assiduous of Margot's visitors during 
 her stay at Sir Harding Broadley's nursing home not 
 counting Vernon, who was in attendance daily was Sir 
 Carl Frensen. He used often to come over from his 
 house on the other side of the square to see her. He 
 came on the afternoon before her departure, his visit 
 
 247
 
 248 MARGOT' S PROGRESS 
 
 just coinciding with the end of Vernon's, whom he passed 
 on the doorstep. 
 
 "Well, Margot," he said, settling himself in the arm- 
 chair. "I shall miss you when you go away from Bel- 
 grave Square!" His insolent red eyes examined her as 
 she lay in bed, dressed in a Japanese silk dressing-gown 
 and propped up by pillows, with her pale gold hair 
 framing her vivid face. With a bowl of white roses on 
 the table by her side, she made a picture that would 
 have charmed any eye, male or female. "You certainly 
 look your best in bed, my dear," Sir Carl remarked. "I 
 believe that someone once said that the three most beau- 
 tiful sights in the world were a woman in bed, a priest 
 at the altar, and a thief on the gallows." 
 
 "I don't know about thieves on gallowses," said 
 Margot, laughing. "Just think of all your city pals 
 strung up in a row, toes out, their top hats falling over 
 their Hebraic noses! I wouldn't call it exactly a 
 beautiful sight, though of course it would do the world 
 a great deal of good." 
 
 Sir Carl chuckled wheezily as he watched Margot. He 
 adored her impertinence, and her gibing attacks were 
 the secret of her hold over him. He would have enjoyed 
 being hit over the head by her with an umbrella or 
 having his ears boxed. 
 
 "What an important person you are become now," he 
 said. "I read in the paper the other day all about your 
 regretted absence from the Duchess of Stretton's bazaar. 
 You are finding matrimony a success, eh?" 
 
 "Success!" flashed Margot. "Well, yes! I suppose 
 it is," she went on, listlessly, leaning her head back on 
 the pillows. "But if I had a fortune of my own I 
 might feel tempted to chuck it. Vernon does his best, 
 of course. ..."
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 249 
 
 "But respectability palls! What did I tell you? If 
 you had listened to me you would have had your fortune 
 and you would have been a free woman !" 
 
 "Ah, how am I to know that?" said Margot, laugh- 
 ing. "After all, you let me down good and proper with 
 the Falkenheims. If I hadn't scrambled out of that 
 mess with my own claws, where should I have 
 been?" 
 
 Carl Frensen's face darkened. "No, you are quite 
 right there," he said. "I didn't treat you fairly. But 
 I'll make it up to you yet, you see if I don't. I'll make 
 it up to you, you pretty cat !" 
 
 They exchanged glances, and the look of amusement 
 came back into the old man's face. He looked at her 
 in the same way as he looked at his beautiful Persian, 
 Drusilla. The more she scratched him and bit him, the 
 more she amused him and the more he liked her. He 
 hoped she would never have her claws cut. 
 
 Margot always enjoyed the old man's visits. In her 
 own way she liked him as well as she liked anyone she 
 knew, with the exception of Godfrey Levett. He knew 
 the world so well, and was so interesting. He was a 
 man who counted for something; he was rich in a way 
 which made the Stokes's wealth seem nothing, and he 
 was famous one of the ablest men of his day. She was 
 never bored when she was with him, for she loved to be 
 with men who dominated her morally and intellectually 
 who were stronger than she was. The sensation of 
 knuckling under she found on occasions as delightful as 
 the sensation of trampling people beneath her. How 
 tired she was, really, of snapping at Vernon! Vernon 
 came to see her every morning immediately after break- 
 fast to receive his orders for the day and she delighted 
 in speaking harshly to him, particularly in front of the
 
 250 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 nurses. He would bite his moustache and say nothing, 
 but give renewed instructions to the management that 
 she was to be saved all worry and that everything she 
 wanted was to be done for her. 
 
 "And she treats him like dirt, too," one of the maids 
 remarked to the footman, summing up the situation. 
 "You should just 'ear the way she talks to 'im in the 
 morning. Vulgar little upstart ! If I was 'im I wouldn't 
 stand 'er airs, that I wouldn't !" 
 
 Vernon, however, had no intention of not standing 
 them. If he had any such intention Margot would have 
 been the first to perceive it, and would have modified 
 her behaviour accordingly. After leaving the nursing 
 home, she did indeed treat Vernon rather better than 
 usual. She had always liked his good looks, his bronzed 
 skin and beautiful teeth, and now that she had made 
 such strides in the art of living thanks to Rachel and 
 to Godfrey Levett she had no one but herself to blame 
 if she was bored or irritable. She felt like a bird let out 
 of its cage during the remainder of the season. By 
 pleading ill-health--the rest in the nursing home proved 
 invaluable in this connection she avoided all the social 
 engagements which were in the smallest degree tedious, 
 and did only the things which happened to amuse her. 
 It was a revelation to her how different life became. 
 Money was, par excellence, the desirable thing in life, 
 now that she knew so well what to do with it, and 
 "position," with its accompanying meetings with 
 duchesses and princesses, took an altogether secondary 
 place. 
 
 The new spirit that was rising up within her did not 
 commend itself to Vernon. He himself enjoyed being 
 intentionally rude on occasions, but he looked on this 
 haughtiness as being a masculine attribute, and he did
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 251 
 
 not like his wife to be masculine. The Abchurchs were 
 Patcham's relatives, and the fact that Lady Abchurch 
 was froissee with Margot was, to say the least, inconven- 
 ient. She would have made such a good friend, too, for 
 Margot. Lady Abchurch was a clever, interesting 
 woman who knew the world and had considerable politi- 
 cal influence. Some of Vernon's neighbours at Hotham 
 had asked him why he did not offer himself as Unionist 
 candidate for the division. After all, one would have to 
 do something, he reflected, and Lady Abchurch might 
 have been useful. 
 
 Margot's choice of friends had always vaguely dis- 
 pleased him and had occasionally aroused his jealousy. 
 Beyond her beauty, he could not imagine what a clever 
 man like Godfrey Levett could see in his wife to make 
 him prefer her to himself. He flattered himself that 
 he was interested in all the things in which Levett was 
 interested; Margot, on the other hand, only cared about 
 social frivolity. And then there was that poisonous cat, 
 Rachel Elkington, and Carl Frensen. . . . He thought 
 of the letter from Mr. Falkenheim about his wife, which 
 he had found on his father's writing-table on the evening 
 of his death. Falkenheim, Frensen how was it that 
 Margot came to be mixed up with these alien financiers? 
 Now that she had the chance of living exclusively among 
 white people, why could she not drop them? She had 
 given up the Falkenheims, it was true, but this man 
 Frensen was far worse than they were. His thoughts 
 tortured him, and he could not forget the day when he 
 had passed Sir Carl on the doorstep of the nursing home, 
 making for his wife's bedside. As he had very little to 
 occupy him, the thought of Frensen became an obses- 
 sion, and he listened to any lying nonsense about the 
 financier that was poured into his ears at his club or
 
 252 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 in the houses of his friends. Several times he deter- 
 mined to assert himself, to forbid Margot to see Frensen 
 again. But she made it almost impossible for him to 
 do this by always telling him about their meetings and 
 making a point of relating in great detail what he had 
 said, as though it were a matter of equal interest to them 
 both. She certainly did not speak or behave like a guilty 
 woman, and without some valid excuse for doing so he 
 could not bring himself to make a scene or to try to 
 interfere with her liberty. He did not want her to think 
 that he mistrusted her; but he would have welcomed 
 an opportunity for giving her good advice if he could 
 have managed it without incurring her displeasure. 
 
 Margot certainly had the knack of occupying people's 
 thoughts, and it was as well for Vernon that his educa- 
 tion and upbringing had given him an impassive mask 
 and facial self-control. Otherwise the spectacle he 
 would have presented to the world, instead of being 
 that of a slightly mature Adonis, would have been the 
 spectacle of a bewildered, love-tortured, and wretched 
 man, battling, without guidance, against circumstances 
 that were too much for him. He was grateful when the 
 season came to an end and he could hurry North to 
 shoot grouse amid the excitements and chatter of Glen- 
 thorwald. Glenthorwald Castle, in Argyllshire, was the 
 Scottish home of Lord Patcham's parents, who took 
 their title from this estate. The old people loved Glen- 
 thorwald, and would have liked to live there nearly the 
 whole year round. Their affection for their only son, 
 however, exceeded their love for the barren ancestral 
 acres with their haunting vistas of mountain and loch; 
 and it was to please him more than for any other reason 
 that they came to London in the summer and invited to 
 stay with them in August a "crowd of noisy Londoners,"
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 253 
 
 of whom, for a good many years past, Vernon, had 
 always been one. He was a very good shot and quite at 
 his best as one of a party in a big country house. 
 
 Margot had gone to Glenthorwald with him at the 
 end of their first year of married life, but though she 
 loved the wild scenery and enjoyed the long days on 
 the yacht, cruising among the intricate waterways and 
 winding arms of the sea, the visit on the whole bored 
 her. She found her host and hostess oppressive; and 
 the young people either empty or absorbed in things 
 for which she cared nothing. This year she felt she 
 could not face Glenthorwald again, and she and Vernon 
 parted company, Margot having arranged to spend Au- 
 gust at Deauville with Vivie Nugent and some other 
 congenial friends. 
 
 Vernon was glad of the rest which Glenthorwald gave 
 him; but in a very little while he was worrying about 
 Margot, wondering what mischief she was getting herself 
 into at Deauville, and longing for September to come, 
 when they would be together again at Hotham. He 
 would make a great effort to win back his wife, who 
 instinct, rather than any conscious reasoning, told him 
 was gradually slipping further and further away from 
 him. Surely, when she felt herself to be a member of 
 a big family, as she would at Hotham when his relatives 
 were staying there, she would sober down, would realise 
 more fully her obligations? He would appeal to her 
 good feeling, and at Hotham she could hardly fail to 
 realise what a fine position he had conferred on her. It 
 was to his wife's realisation of the side on which "her 
 bread was buttered" that he pinned all his hopes-
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MARGOT liked Hotham, with reservations. It was 
 charming to run down there for the week-end, and it 
 would have been equally delightful to live there tran- 
 quilly, without visitors. To spend September there, en- 
 tertaining her husband's relatives, after the mad excite- 
 ments of Deauville spent in the company of a dare-devil 
 like Vivie Nugent, was quite another matter. She felt 
 she needed a complete rest and absolute quiet, as though 
 the most agreeable thing in the world would be to be 
 alone among strangers, or alone with someone for whom 
 she cared a lover. She never was alone now, never had 
 been alone with the exception of the ten days she spent 
 in Sir Harding Broadley's nursing establishment since 
 she had married. Even when she and Vernon stayed 
 in different houses, she always seemed to be in the midst 
 of a chattering crowd. 
 
 At Hotham she had continually to be up and doing; 
 she had no real peace. Most of the work of super- 
 intending the household was taken off her hands by Miss 
 Austerley Miss Austereley, as Margot persisted in call- 
 ing her who had filled this position at Highmere; but 
 as Margot had the instincts of a good hostess, and her 
 husband's mother and grandparents were paying the 
 yearly visit, she found herself continuously occupied. 
 General Cornewall had to be gossiped with when he was 
 not out shooting with the younger men, and the approach- 
 ing meals had all to be discussed with him in detail. Mrs. 
 Cornewall required someone on whom to air her scandal- 
 ous reminiscences; and decency made it impossible for
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 255 
 
 Margot not to devote herself during some part of the day 
 to her mother-in-law. 
 
 Patcham and Joyce, who had been prevailed on by 
 Margot to come for a week to mitigate "the parents," 
 amused themselves with ease, since marriage had not 
 yet begun to bore them, and Margot often looked rather 
 enviously in their direction. The surroundings of Hot- 
 ham Place were wilder and less park-like than High- 
 mere, less "poisonously well-kept," as Patcham put it. 
 The trees were old, and there was a long, winding lake in 
 front of the house ending in a thickly wooded dell through 
 which passed the stream which fed it. But, in spite of its 
 many beauties, Margot never came to have the affection 
 for either the house or lands of Hotham which she had 
 felt for Kings worth. Whenever she was at Hotham she 
 thought of Kingsworth and of the golden August days she 
 had spent there before she took her plunge into matri- 
 mony. She had seen the Hendersons reasonably often 
 since her marriage ; and she invited them to motor over 
 for dinner and to spend the night, in order to meet 
 General and Mrs. Cornewall. General Cornewall and 
 Mary's father had been great friends. Margot thought 
 Adam had grown sleeker and fatter than ever. And what 
 had happened to Mary? Which of them had changed? 
 Somehow the unvaried repertoire of Mary's interests had 
 become strangely tedious. Margot noticed small defects 
 of character in her friend for the first time, and began 
 to wonder whether, after all, Mary were not degenerating 
 into the proverbial parson's wife and might not have 
 invested in a pair of elastic-sided boots. She reproached 
 herself for her disloyalty, but she could not help being 
 impatient over the good works the village creche, the 
 reading-room, and the rural suffrage meetings. It 
 seemed now almost incredible that Mary should escape
 
 256 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 becoming a prig. But while Alary seemed to have grown 
 duller, Adam had correspondingly improved. His sense 
 of humour was mellower, his pomposity better managed. 
 Margot thought he must have exchanged some of his 
 bad qualities for his wife's good ones ! As she watched 
 Ihem during dinner, she wondered whether, in the same 
 Way, she would find that the glamour had fallen from 
 her beloved Kingsworth, supposing she accepted Mary's 
 invitation and revisited it. To make impossible anything 
 so distressing, she determined to make some excuse to 
 get out of going. She cherished the memories of those 
 lovely August days, and did not want anything to tarnish 
 them. Even Danbury, with his absurd, boyish passion, 
 had a charm for her in retrospect. Alas ! he had grown 
 into a very commonplace young man, and had just been 
 gazetted to a Guard regiment. His people's place 
 was not far from Hotham, and he often came over to 
 dine with them. The sight of him would carry her back 
 to the wonderful days when she was still on the threshold 
 of life, when none of her dreams had been turned into 
 realities. How distance lent them an enchantment! 
 Did she regret them? Perhaps. She did not know. 
 If she had known what she knew now, would she have 
 married Vernon ? A year ago she would have laughed at 
 herself for asking this question; but now things were 
 different. Marriage had awakened in her a hunger for a 
 mutual passion such as she had never known. In 
 making her a woman it had developed in her a woman's 
 desires. These desires were sometimes fierce enough to 
 trouble and confuse her mind, and to weaken her deter- 
 mination, in a way which before her marriage would have 
 been impossible. The things which had been vague before 
 were now precise. It had never occurred to her, before 
 she married Vernon, that he could ever have any object
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 257 
 
 in life except to make himself useful. But now she felt 
 growing up in her, particularly when she was at Hotham, 
 a tiresome sense of responsibility which choked her. The 
 dead weight of the family, of her position as Vernon's 
 wife, of the house and the neighbours, overpowered her. 
 She felt herself hedged in, caged. It seemed that she 
 could not have both "position" and liberty. The two 
 things were mutually exclusive. The position to which 
 she had climbed brought with it duties which could not 
 be shirked. She thought of Godfrey's comfortable travels 
 in Italy, France, and Spain ; of his luxurious but manage- 
 able flat; his complete freedom to come and go; his 
 indifference towards her which did not blind her to his 
 admiration; his critical and humorous eyes. She found 
 herself constantly comparing him with her husband, com- 
 paring his spontaneity with Vernon's wooden reserve, a 
 reserve imposed by a terror of being ridiculous. Vernon 
 sometimes seemed to be sick and ill with love for her; 
 he watched her day and night, and was "deeply hurt" 
 by the least thing. His thoughts were so plainly con- 
 centrated on her that she could often have screamed 
 with irritation. But she sometimes bored Godfrey, or 
 was, at least, afraid of doing so. How much more excit- 
 ing that made him ! She could not imagine Levett ever 
 becoming tedious as a companion, and the memory of 
 the time when he had kissed her, before her marriage, 
 made all her nerve-centres tingle with excitement. She 
 was thinking of him more intently than usual one starry 
 night towards the end of September, when she was walk- 
 ing on the lawn after dinner, on the arm of Vernon's 
 grandfather. As she looked at the blackness of the trees 
 in the shadow cast by the moonlight, at the yellow glow 
 streaming out from the windows of the house, she re- 
 flected that if she were only clutching Godfrey's arm he
 
 258 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 would lead her away till they were both swallowed up in 
 the starlit mystery of the night. And he would be fierce 
 and masterful with her; and oh, the joy that it would be 
 to submit ! 
 
 "Won't you catch cold, my dear?" Mrs. Cornewall 
 called out to her from the drawing-room window. She 
 had looked at her husband first, but he was as usual 
 well wrapped up in his woolen muffler. There was some- 
 thing in Mrs. Cornewall's voice which suggested a 
 quavering senility, and made Margot furious. Her 
 thoughts had just gone on such a thrilling voyage! She 
 agreed that it was cold, and took the General back into 
 the saloon and, in desperation, started a game of 
 auction bridge with Patcham, Joyce, and Lady Stokes. 
 Joyce and Patcham were at least young, and their 
 laughter was infectious. Margot felt a resentment 
 against old women. They were such ties. If one liked 
 them one had to do things for them to upset oneself. 
 Old men, of course, were different. She was heartily 
 glad she would only have to endure the parents for 
 another two days. They were returning to Clevedon at 
 the end of the week, and then they would be done with 
 until next year if they lived another year! It would be 
 a relief to be rid of them, though she would miss the 
 General, for whom she had a sincere affection. Her mood 
 changed, and she began to reflect what a kind and 
 tolerant and amusing old couple the Cornewalls were. 
 If only Vernon had as much sense as his grandad, how 
 very much easier he would be to live with ! She gave up 
 playing cards after the end of the second rubber and 
 went into the library to talk to the General about the 
 dinner for to-morrow night. She found the old man, 
 with spectacles on nose, reading an American cookery
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 259 
 
 book called "1001 Salads, with a Chapter on Hors 
 d'CEuvres." He looked serious and absorbed. 
 
 "You know, Margot," he roared, looking up at her, 
 "your cook does not understand hors d'oeuvres in the 
 least! Those anchovies to-night were poor, and you 
 had the wrong kind of olives, and I've never seen a 
 good salade russe at your table. You must come out 
 shopping with me one day. I always buy cheap and I 
 always buy good. You ask Perkins, my fishmonger!" 
 
 Margot smiled, thinking of Vernon's story of the old 
 man lifting a turbot from its slab in Perkins's shop and 
 sticking his thumb into it to see if it were tender. 
 
 General Cornewall loved his granddaughter-in-law for 
 the little attentions she showed him. Margot was 
 always perfectly reckless with the wine cellar during 
 his visits, sending for the finest and rarest ports and 
 sherries which had been laid down by Vernon's father, 
 for him to taste and appraise. Often he would reject 
 them with scorn, telling Vernon that such stuff ought 
 to be put down the sink. Sir William had been no 
 judge of wine himself, and had often been badly 
 advised. 
 
 "Never could cure your father of buying his wine at 
 Markillie and Johnson's, Vernon," General Cornewall 
 would roar. "If he had only listened to me he would 
 never have been landed with stuff like this!" 
 
 When he was not out with the guns or pottering about 
 the estate, the old man would sit at his writing-table for 
 hours, sending small doles to indigent gentlewomen for 
 whom he entertained feelings of paternal affection. He 
 collected odd lots of penny stamps and postal orders 
 for small sums, and filled his pockets with them, so 
 that when he came to write his letters he had something 
 to slip into each letter. And he was never happy, even
 
 260 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 when away from home, unless he could be giving orders 
 to his favourite grocer, cake-maker, or wine merchant. 
 He would send postal cards ordering a bottle of port to be 
 sent to one friend, two tubs of extra special anchovies 
 to another, a ginger-bread cake, made according to a 
 unique recipe by a small pastry-cook at Wigan, to a third. 
 While the General occupied himself in ministering to 
 the stomachs of his needy protegees, his wife or Vernon's 
 mother would accompany Margot on a round of village 
 calls. The villagers of Hotham all adored Mrs. Corne- 
 wall and her daughter ; they regarded Margot with polite- 
 ness, but without enthusiasm. She realised how it 
 would take her years to get to know them as her mother- 
 in-law, for instance, knew them. And even then it 
 would not be the same. She would never like these 
 Hotham people as she had liked the villagers at Kings- 
 worth. They did not seem to have the same touch of 
 fineness which she had noted in people like John Vile and 
 Mrs. Holden and the enchanting Rosie. They were too 
 greedy, too independent and cunning to please her. But 
 her mother-in-law and Mrs. Cornewall were familiar with 
 them and liked them. The villagers in whom Margot 
 was most interested were a family of bad gipsies called 
 Lee, who lived in a tumble-down cottage overlooking a 
 deserted sand-pit. It was not a specially old cottage, 
 but had been built at the beginning of the nineteenth 
 century by General Cornewall's father, for the overseer 
 of some works which had proved unsuccessful. The 
 ruined brick walls of the factory were still standing, and 
 inside them some rusty ironwork could be seen amid the 
 stinging nettles and rank weeds. The Lee family had 
 "squatted" in this cottage ever since the works had 
 been abandoned, and had never paid any rent. They 
 were not real gipsies, or they could not have lived under
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 261 
 
 a roof, but they were a strange, swarthy race with white 
 teeth and black eyes, noted for their wickedness. The 
 men wore corduroys and thick leather belts, and they 
 were known to carry knives. The family consisted of a 
 father and mother, eight sons, and one lovely daughter 
 of eighteen. Mrs. Cornewall went to visit them with 
 Margot on the afternoon before her return to Clevedon, 
 and on their way she told Margot how John Lee, the 
 grandfather of these boys, had once caught hold of her 
 in the north wood at Hotham, when she was picking 
 wood anemones there as a little girl, and had kissed 
 her, and how he had laughed at her with his white teeth 
 as she fled screaming. She had run away, but she had 
 never told anyone about it because he was so handsome. 
 "And are they not splendid men, his grandsons?" she 
 said. When they reached the cottage they noticed two 
 of the sons lurking slyly on the outskirts of the wood 
 at the back of the house, while they waited for Mrs. 
 Lee to open the door. "They are like beautiful animals, 
 do you see?" said Mrs. Cornewall, her old eyes bright 
 with interest and amusement. "Look at their thick 
 necks rising like pillars out of their broad chests. And 
 watch the way their muscles ripple when they bend their 
 bodies. That is Jim over there, the one who is sawing 
 the log. He reminds me of a leopard, and the whole 
 family are like splendid wild beasts! Vernon had to 
 give Jim two months at the Quarter Sessions for knifing 
 a man down in the village. And they are dreadful 
 thieves. For three generations they have lived by steal- 
 ing. There is a tradition that our family is always 
 lenient to these handsome blackguards; but Vernon had 
 to break it at last, and I expect Jim was very 
 angry!" 
 
 Margot looked in the direction of the gipsy as one
 
 262 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 looks at some dangerous but impotent monarch of the 
 jungle at the Zoo, wondering what further evil he would 
 accomplish if he got the chance. 
 
 At dinner Margot referred to the gipsies, affecting to 
 make light of their villainies. But Vernon seemed to 
 regard them as dangerous people, while Danbury, who 
 had motored over that evening, agreed with him. As 
 Danbury and Vernon exchanged cryptic remarks about 
 the Lees, Margot felt rather annoyed. They made her 
 feel an outsider. There was a kind of freemasonry 
 between these Somerset people; they were secretive 
 even about their villains. 
 
 "But what is it the Lees could do, Danbury?" Margot 
 asked. "There is never any crime about here, surely, 
 excepting a little thieving now and then. ..." 
 
 "Oh, Somerset is a great county for murders; 
 didn't you know that?" Danbury replied. "There are 
 many odd, wild folk in Somerset. In certain parts of 
 the county the vendetta flourishes almost as successfully 
 as in Albania! There are a good many families like 
 your Lees we have one in our village. They are nasty 
 folk. And there was a family of gipsies that I never 
 liked the look of, in Minsterham where poor old Captain 
 Walters and his wife were shot a couple of years ago. 
 No one ever discovered who the murderer was. ..." 
 The conversation could not be shifted from the un- 
 pleasant topic, and everyone had something to say about 
 Captain Walters. Mrs. Cornewall remarked en passant 
 that his wife was "an interfering cat who deserved to 
 have her neck wrung" she had a partiality for gipsies, 
 murderers or not and the General remembered Captain 
 Walters as a subaltern in India. There had been an 
 attempt made on his life out there. ... He was an 
 unlucky man; there was a curse upon him. He had
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 263 
 
 profaned a temple, or in some other way annoyed the 
 natives. 
 
 Margot was not much amused by all this gossip con- 
 cerning people she knew nothing about, and for whom 
 she cared less, and tried to give the conversation a general 
 turn. 
 
 "It is difficult to imagine murders being committed 
 nowadays. I suppose they do happen occasionally; but 
 cheap novels have made even the accounts of them in 
 the newspapers seem unreal," she remarked. "They 
 seem so old-fashioned; and yet I suppose the lust to 
 kill is still part of human nature." 
 
 "Murder hasn't been disinfected off the face of the 
 earth by a long chalk, Margot," Danbury replied. 
 "Don't you believe it! All that has happened is that 
 we have become more subtle. We don't cut the victim's 
 throat nowadays. We ruin him; rob him of friends, 
 money, and reputation; poison his wife and his relatives 
 against him ; cheat him out of attaining whatever it is 
 that he has set his heart on. It takes longer than the 
 old way, but the vengeance is more complete!" 
 
 Danbury spoke with a peculiar and rather painful 
 vehemence, and Margot looked at him in surprise. He 
 was the same odd creature that he had been at Kings- 
 worth, in spite of the fact that Mary Henderson's 
 influence had to some extent sterilised his morbidity, 
 while Sandhurst had given him an outward veneer of 
 similarity to the recognised pattern. But there was 
 an intensity in his nature, of which the scuffles with 
 pretty housemaids at Kingsworth had only been one mani- 
 festation among many. 
 
 During the silence which fell on the dinner-table, 
 Margot looked at the slowly moving jaws of General 
 Cornewall who was still stolidly munching, while the re-
 
 264 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 mains of various courses made his beard unlovely. Joyce 
 looked thoughtful, and unusually quiet for one who was, 
 as a rule, so animated. Patcham looked uncomfortable, 
 and Vernon characteristically impenetrable. That im- 
 penetrable mask; how well Margot knew it! And what 
 was behind? A baby boy sitting obstinately among his 
 toys and snapping at his nurse! 
 
 The butler broke the tension of the moment by bring- 
 ing in a telegram for Margot on a salver. She took it 
 and laid it carelessly by the side of her plate. Mrs. 
 Cornewall had by this time begun to talk to Vernon 
 about the new garage, and the conversation becoming 
 general, Margot did not ask leave to open the brown 
 envelope. Her mother-in-law noticed this, and accounted 
 it to her for virtue; on the whole, Margot had better 
 manners than she had expected or dared to hope for. 
 
 Margot was glad when dinner came to an end and the 
 women were able to escape from the room. Something 
 had jarred her, and she dated her discontent from the 
 moment when Danbury had made his remark about 
 murders. Was she being cruel to Vernon? But why 
 should she not be cruel to him? Life is a battle, and he 
 was better equipped than she was for the struggle. He 
 had youth, wealth, position, good looks. If he could 
 not look after his own happiness the sooner he learnt to 
 do so the better. Her thoughts absorbed her, so that 
 she forgot about the envelope in her hand. 
 
 "Why, Margot," said Joyce, laughing, "you haven't 
 bothered to open your telegram. I thought females 
 were supposed to be curious !" 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Margot, "I forgot all about it." 
 She tore open the envelope and read the contents with 
 knitted brows. 
 
 Then she looked up and met her mother-in-law's
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 265 
 
 friendly and inquiring eyes. "It is from one of Sir Carl 
 Frensen's servants or from his solicitor," she said. 
 "The old man is very ill, and has asked me to be 
 sent for before he dies. I must go up to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 There was a little chorus of "Oh, my dear, how 
 dreadful !" from the three women in their different 
 vcices. But Margot did not listen to conventional ex- 
 pressions of sympathy. She was interested in a look 
 hard as steel which came suddenly into the eyes of 
 Vernon's mother at the sound of Carl Frensen's name. 
 The two women, in a flashed glance, strove to penetrate 
 the secrets of one another's hearts. Neither of them 
 was successful. 
 
 "I must tell Vernon to let me have the car to- 
 morrow," Margot remarked calmly.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 GODFREY LEVETT had grown so attached to his flat in 
 Soho Square that he did not care to be long away from 
 it. He was tired of wandering about, and wanted to 
 settle down to work at his new play. An excuse for 
 returning to London before the end of September was 
 provided by Israel Falkenheim, who had written to tell 
 him of some examples of the macabre, erotic art of 
 Felicien Rops that were to be offered for sale at Christie's. 
 He suggested that they should go to look at them 
 together, though he should not do any bidding himself. 
 He was hardly the man to buy Rops; but they would 
 amuse a bachelor like Levett ! 
 
 The return to London also would bring him nearer 
 Margot Stokes, of whom he found himself constantly 
 thinking. What a dazzling witch she was! There was 
 something stinging and bitter about her personality that 
 was painful, yet alluring. And how she had triumphed 
 over circumstances, had pushed on, battled and schemed, 
 and yet had remained always gay as well as hard. The 
 fire of life in her burned fiercely and steadily; her poor 
 husband was scorched by it. Levett thought of what 
 Vernon must suffer at Margot's hands, but his sympathy 
 was not unmixed with contempt. He had no mercy for 
 men who succumbed to feminine lures. Women were 
 only enchanting when they were slaves conquered and 
 abject, but with a pretty pretence of surface wilfulness. 
 He believed that the twentieth century would see the 
 long-delayed reassertion of the ascendancy of Man. 
 Nineteenth-century feminism was already vieux jeu; the 
 suffragettes had given it its death-blow. The "advanced 
 
 266
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 267 
 
 woman" of to-day was beginning to realise in her 
 inmost heart how much healthier and more natural 
 were sex relations in the dark ages that even the Turk 
 is not so black as he is painted. The only kind of 
 emancipated woman with whom Levett had any sym- 
 pathy was Rachel's kind, and she, he reflected, was half 
 a man and had a man's brain. As for the bespectacled 
 battalions who fill up all the most convenient desks in 
 the British Museum Reading Room, they were too 
 pathetic even to be ridiculous. The women with whom 
 he chose to occupy his thoughts were women like his 
 own mother with her soft voice, her little tricks of 
 gesture, and her jokes, which had made his home charm- 
 ing and his memory of it a dear possession. Then there 
 were all the women who added to the joy of life women 
 who were accomplished, intuitive, voluptuous; whose 
 clothes were a delight to the eye ; whose minds, by their 
 strange qualities of feminine intuition, could illuminate 
 all kinds of subjects with a peculiar radiance. Then 
 there were the inspirational women, and, rarest of all, 
 the women who loved, not like the animals, merely 
 exercising natural instincts, but with the heart and soul 
 the women who would give all for love, and who, 
 giving all, would receive all in return. He did not 
 believe such women existed nowadays, nor men worthy 
 to mate with them ; but they were an ideal type. Mean- 
 while, the chief miseries of modern women he ascribed 
 to the fact that they were without masters. The word 
 "obey" was not only left out of the marriage service 
 to the accompaniment of a great deal of newspaper 
 advertisements but out of life also. And this, in his 
 observation, seemed to act like a poison on the tempera- 
 ment of the average woman, doing far more than 
 "higher education" to turn her into a prig. The mind
 
 268 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 of woman seemed to him to flourish in subjection, and 
 her most supreme happiness to come from abnegation. 
 To a world which is not decadent the man is master of 
 the woman, Levett thought, and he cherished Zara- 
 thustra's advice: "Thou who goest to women, forget 
 not thy whip!" He looked on man as the clean, the 
 honest, the romantic sex. To him woman, the inferior 
 animal, was only worshipful when, of her own will, she 
 stepped gracefully into the second place. Though she 
 might occasionally ply the whip, she must not seize the 
 reins. He and Rachel would argue with gusto about 
 these points by the hour together, enjoying their 
 irreconcilable divergence of opinion. They were always 
 vaguely aware of some point of mutual sympathy in the 
 midst of their wranglings, without, however, being able 
 to define exactly what it was. 
 
 Levett met Rachel while on his way to lunch with 
 Israel Falkenheim at the Savoy. She was looking in 
 the window of a book-shop in the Charing Cross Road, 
 where some reproductions of Bakst's drawings of 
 Xijinsky were exhibited. 
 
 "I am going to spend five guineas on a book about the 
 Russian ballet, Godfrey," she said when they had greeted 
 one another. "I'm now enjoying the pleasures of antici- 
 pation, like a child outside a sweet-shop. You shall 
 come in and support me!" 
 
 When the book was bought and paid for they walked 
 on together for a little while, and Levett told her that 
 he was lunching with Mr. Falkenheim. The mention 
 of Mr. Falkenheim set them thinking of Margot. 
 
 "I suppose Margot Stokes is not back in London yet ?" 
 Godfrey asked. Rachel did not know, and there was 
 something in her voice as she said this which brought 
 home to him how their friendship had deteriorated since
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 269 
 
 the days when this girl, who still interested them so 
 strongly, first dawned on London. He wondered if 
 Rachel's friendship for Margot had similarly cooled off. 
 He himself was a very faithful friend, and sensitive to 
 any coolness or indifference on the part of people for 
 whom he cared. When they reached St. Martin's 
 Church he had an opportunity of watching Rachel un- 
 noticed whilst he was hailing a taxi for her. He thought 
 he observed a different look in her eyes from any that 
 used to be there a year ago. She was harder, more self- 
 reliant, and paler; her eyes were brighter and more 
 liquid, and at the same time hungrier. 
 
 "Come and have tea with me next Tuesday, Godfrey," 
 Rachel said, as she gave him her thin, gloved hand. "It 
 is a long time since we made our famous onslaughts on 
 each other's sexes! Come early; with any luck I shall 
 be alone." 
 
 When she had gone he avoided the unpleasantness of 
 walking in the Strand, a thoroughfare which he detested, 
 and drove to the Savoy, where Mr. Falkenheim was 
 waiting for him. Godfrey was delighted to see the old 
 man again, and they plunged quickly into the subject 
 which formed their common ground of interest. The 
 younger man liked his elder's elaborate courtesies. Mr. 
 Falkenheim had in a curious way the "grand manner" 
 at the luncheon-table. Luncheon was a meal which he 
 understood thoroughly, and Levett always felt, after 
 having been his guest, as though he had just had a con- 
 ference with an ambassador. They went off afterwards 
 to the galleries in Pall Mall, where the collection they 
 had come to see was being shown before the auction. 
 The collection had been made by a famous Oxford don, 
 recently dead, and was being hastily dispersed by his
 
 270 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 executors, who were simultaneously ashamed of it and 
 anxious to profit to the full. 
 
 As they drove along the crowded Strand, the damp, 
 rather biting, autumnal breeze came in through the open 
 window of the car and made Levett shiver. The air 
 seemed to call him to a life of action, seemed to urge 
 him to leave this continual art. What was art, after 
 all, compared with life? He was going to look at pic- 
 tures of beautiful women seen in moments of intimacy 
 half-undressed after a ball, with the powder still on 
 their cheeks ; on the point of entering the bath, or lying 
 lazily on their beds. That passion on Rops's part to 
 show beauty holding a bath sponge or standing in front 
 of a cheval glass clad only in a pair of black silk stock- 
 ings and man's top hat all that, he felt, was nothing 
 but the desire on the part of the artist to get away from 
 the atmosphere of "art". . . . 
 
 When they reached the galleries Levett realised how, 
 all the time, at the back of his head, he had been think- 
 ing of Margot Stokes, visualising her in a thousand 
 different positions emerging from her car with rich furs 
 over her shoulders; entering a ballroom with the same 
 magnificent shoulders proudly bare; smiling; shaking 
 hands; glancing backwards. He knew he would rather 
 a thousand times have talked to Israel Falkenheim about 
 Margot living, tangible, one of God's masterpieces 
 than about all the dusty canvases in the world, whose 
 authorship was open to question. He suffered one of 
 his periodic moods of irritation against his own absorp- 
 tion in life's mere accessories. The keen autumn air 
 had started it, and now that he found himself in the long 
 galleries, where numbers of attractive women in their 
 new furs were walking up and down, so full of psycho- 
 logical possibilities, he felt a sensation of revolt. He
 
 MARC OT S PROGRESS 271 
 
 listened, with one ear, while Mr. Falkenheim talked, 
 with considerable point and knowledge, about Armand 
 Rassenfosse ; about the Musee Moderne in Brussels, with 
 its wonderful Alfred Stevens's; about Rops's celebrated 
 "Venus," and about that heady odor di femina which 
 impregnates all the Belgian artist's work. Mr. Falken- 
 heim hated Belgium, and, above all, Brussels. "It is 
 a veritable cloaque, that city the cesspool of Europe! 
 What more natural than that an art like that of Rops's 
 should blossom in it like some evil flower?" Levett, 
 who was fond of Brussels, protested warmly, but he 
 found it difficult to keep interested in the conversation. 
 He felt for the moment that it would be more exciting 
 to make some wonderful new acquaintance to experi- 
 ence some strong emotion of hope, desire, or fear. . . . 
 
 They walked up and down the long room, wondering 
 how it came about that an elderly Assyrian scholar and 
 archaeologist should have made it the passion of his life 
 to buy pictures which represented all that was most 
 frothy and hectic and impure in modern civilisation. 
 Every canvas and every drawing seemed to exhale an 
 aroma of nineteenth-century wickedness; each of them 
 had the peculiar pungent, half-forgotten perfume of 
 "sin." 
 
 An amusing woman called Mrs. Arbuthnot, who was 
 know to them both as an impassioned haunter of sale- 
 rooms, came up to them while they were looking at a 
 picture of a young woman sitting half-clothed on the 
 edge of her bed, while a man in evening dress leant 
 against the door and watched her. 
 
 "What fun sin was!" she remarked chirpily, echoing 
 Levett's own reflections. "Life will never be the same 
 again without it. It was the greatest invention of the 
 whole Victorian era," she sighed. "Nowadays, half the
 
 272 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 romance and excitement of life has disappeared. We 
 are all so terribly hygienic, mentally and physically. I 
 shall bid for this picture to-morrow. What is it called? 
 'La Noce' ! I shall hang it in my own room. It is so 
 evocative of all the poets and artists who used to come 
 to see me five-and-twenty years ago. . . . You are a 
 writer, Mr. Levett. You ought to write a funeral 
 oration for Sin, with the Art of Felicien Rops as the peg 
 to hang it on !" 
 
 Mrs. Arbuthnot moved away amid pleasant laughter, 
 after awakening in Mr. Falkenheim the professional 
 instinct of the dealer. He knew her to be an important 
 buyer, and eagerly discussed with Levett the probable 
 effect which her bidding would have on the prices 
 obtained. . . . 
 
 Then, without a word of warning, in the midst of this 
 commonplace conversation, the most astonishing scene 
 enacted itself. Levett could hardly trust the evidence 
 of his eyes and ears; what took place was too wildly 
 improbable, too swift, too unprovoked and unheralded 
 for belief. They had approached a group of people who 
 were looking at one of the most important pictures in 
 the collection. Chance brought Israel Falkenheim next 
 to an elderly, bearded, and rather corpulent man who was 
 leaning his weight on a gold-headed malacca cane. In 
 turning to move away, this man accidently jogged Mr. 
 Falkenheim's elbow, and paused to apologise. Levett 
 saw the two men look at one another. Greatly to his 
 surprise, he recognised in the corpulent individual Sir 
 Carl Frensen. Then, to his amazement, he saw an ex- 
 traordinary change come over the face of his old 
 friend. It was as though Dr. Jekyll were being trans- 
 formed, before his very gaze, into Mr. Hyde. Israel 
 Falkenheim's black eyes gleamed with an evil fire. Hia
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 273 
 
 lips were drawn tightly back over his teeth, his face grew 
 livid, his whole appearance suggested some savage beast. 
 Before Levett could collect himself sufficiently to catch 
 his arm, his companion had struck Sir Carl in the mouth 
 with the back of his hand. As he did so he uttered a 
 noise resembling the cry of some wolf-like animal. . . . 
 
 The buzz of conversation in the long room stopped 
 abruptly. There was not a sound. The crowd seemed 
 to be frozen for an appreciable time into immobility. 
 Every head was turned, every eye staring. . . . Levett, 
 as soon as he recovered himself, seized Mr. Falkenheim 
 by the arm, while Sir Carl stood where he was, his face 
 white to the lips, looking haughtily at his enemy. Levett 
 never forgot that picture of him: it was a fine example 
 of dignity under difficulties. 
 
 Mr. Falkenheim did not resist his friend's restraining 
 grasp. He seemed to collapse after his outburst, though 
 his eyes were still blazing and his bony fingers twitch- 
 ing like claws. Levett led him quickly away. The 
 crowd began once more to look hard at the pictures, and 
 to continue its conversations in extra loud tones in order 
 to lay emphasis on the perfection of its breeding. There 
 was no scandal, no gesticulation, no raised voices. One 
 young girl was heard to whisper, "Auntie, Auntie . . . 
 did you see ?" and for a few moments there was a thrilled 
 murmuring in different quarters of the room but that 
 was all. The hubbub of conversation broke out again 
 with renewed vigour, just as it does when someone makes 
 a gaffe at the dinner-table. In a very few minutes Mr. 
 Falkenheim was in his car being driven to Richbourne 
 Terrace. He did not open his mouth to say one word 
 to Levett or to the chauffeur. His lips were pressed 
 tightly together, and as the car began to gather speed
 
 274 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Levett caught a glimpse of him sitting bolt upright, 
 motionless as an image. 
 
 While Godfrey stood on the pavement undecided, for 
 the moment, what to do next, and still in a maze of 
 excitement at the scene which had just been enacted, 
 he became aware of someone emerging through the swing 
 doors of Christie's. It was Sir Carl Frensen. He 
 walked slowly, leaning on his cane. His face was quite 
 impassive, and but for the fire in his red eyes and a some- 
 thing contemptuous in the carriage of his head he showed 
 no traces of the ordeal through which he had just passed. 
 His footman hurried up and opened the door of the car, 
 holding the rug over his arm ready to wrap round his 
 master's feet. So ended one of the most astounding 
 little dramas which Levett had ever in his life 
 witnessed. 
 
 Godfrey did not feel inclined just then to face Mrs. 
 Arbuthnot and one or two other acquaintances whose 
 presence he had noticed in the galleries, and walked back 
 thoughtfully to his flat. He had prayed within himself 
 for something to happen, for an emotion; and in what 
 an unexpected fashion had his prayer been granted ! As 
 he drew into his lungs the rich air of the late September 
 afternoon, he experienced a renewed zest for life and an 
 increased joy in all the things which seemed to him to 
 make life worth living in music, in painting, in litera- 
 ture; in the examination of the world, with its varied 
 beauty; and, above all, in the study of his fellow men. 
 He felt life tingling in his veins. The mood of indiffer- 
 ence and irritation which had invaded him earlier in the 
 day had now disappeared, and anyone who had remarked 
 his squared shoulders and quick step would have put him 
 down as a man with a purpose. He had no "purpose," 
 but he lived for the emotions of the mind, and his vivid
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 275 
 
 delight in living preserved him from the dangers of aim- 
 lessness. Each discovery that he made about the mys- 
 terious secrets of human nature acted on him as a tonic. 
 The fact that one old gentleman in a white felt top hat 
 and elastic-sided boots could suddenly strike another old 
 gentleman on the mouth, before the eyes of half the cats 
 in London, seemed to him to lend existence a new inter- 
 est and value. In every face that he passed he saw more 
 possibilities than before; the great drama of humanity 
 seemed to electrify the very air as he walked back to his 
 home through the crowded central streets.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 As Levett drove along Oxford Street towards Rachel's 
 house on the Tuesday following the scene at Christie's, 
 the newsboys were running up and down with brown and 
 yellow placards. The brown placard bore the legend: 
 "DEATH OF FAMOUS FINANCIER," while the yellow, more 
 explicit, announced: "DEATH OF SIR CARL FRENSEN." 
 Levett stopped the cab to buy one of the papers, and 
 read that, after an illness lasting only five days, Sir Carl 
 Frensen had died at one o'clock that afternoon at his 
 house in Belgrave Square. The actual cause of death 
 was said to be meningitis. There followed a lengthy 
 biography of the dead financier, which related, in bald 
 journalese, the main outlines of one of the most romantic 
 careers of modern times. Levett took the paper in with 
 him to Rachel's drawing-room, feeling sure that she 
 would be interested. 
 
 He found she had already heard the news. 
 
 "My dear Godfrey," she said, "what do you think 
 Eva Firbank has just told me? She says Sir Carl Frensen 
 was practically murdered by Israel Falkenheim. Ap- 
 parently Mr. Falkenheim horsewhipped him in the middle 
 of Belgrave Square, and the old man promptly went 
 home and took to his bed. . . . Hylda Rudin gave me 
 quite a different version, though. She said it was at a 
 picture show in Bond Street that the scene occurred, 
 and that there was the most frightful shindy. The old 
 men had a kind of free fight, and had to be separated 
 by the attendants!" 
 
 "I was the 'attendant,' " said Levett, "so I can tell 
 
 276
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRES 277 
 
 you what actually happened! It was last Wednesday 
 afternoon, at the exhibition of Professor Tyne-Fowler's 
 pictures at Christie's. . . ." He told her the whole 
 singular story from beginning to end. When he had 
 finished she stared at him for a moment without speak- 
 ing, fixing her liquid dark eyes on his impassive grey 
 ones. 
 
 "I had a telegram from Margot," Levett remarked, 
 "just before I came out this afternoon. She has asked 
 me to dine with her to-morrow. She and Frensen, as 
 you know of course, were great friends. She will miss 
 him." Levett had it on the tip of his tongue to make 
 some comment on Margot's connection with the quarrel 
 between Mr. Falkenheim and Sir Carl ; but instinct 
 restrained him. There was something anxious and hard 
 about Rachel nowadays; she was quite a different 
 woman from the Rachel with whom he had been friends 
 for years, and his loyalty to Margot made him reticent 
 on her behalf. It was evident that Rachel no longer had 
 the same feelings towards Margot that she had enter- 
 tained only a few months before. She seemed to have 
 lost interest in her: to have "grown out" of her affec- 
 tion in the same way that a man "grows out" of a 
 hopeless love. Rachel was absorbed in her new circle of 
 women friends who shared her particular art enthusiasms 
 in her Eva Firbanks and Hylda Rudins. They made 
 a little world of their own in which both he and Margot 
 would inevitably be made to feel that they were intruders. 
 Godfrey, however, could not help but be interested in 
 the new Rachel. He looked round the drawing-room, 
 which had been so familiar to him in Mrs. Elkington's 
 day, and noted with an interest almost approaching ex- 
 citement the changes which had been made. The whole 
 room, like its owner, had now an exotic, half-barbarous
 
 278 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 flavour. Petrouschka, Rachel's lovely borzoi, looked 
 (to Levett) much more at home in it than his mistress. 
 There had always seemed something barbaric about 
 Petrouschka! Levett stroked the dog's back thought- 
 fully, then rose from the black divan on which he was 
 sitting it reminded him of the divan of Queen Thamar 
 in the ballet and examined one of the black-framed 
 Russian pictures which hung on the cream-coloured 
 walls. It was a landscape by Roerich : morne, unearthly, 
 violent, terrible. Black thunder-clouds battled with one 
 another in the heavens and brooded over a dead city set 
 in an arid plain, amid rocks and desolation. The picture 
 seemed to bring into the room a mighty wind to be 
 like a message from those creatures who shriek in storms 
 that burst over the sea. To hang such a thing in a 
 drawing-room struck Godfrey as being about as flippant 
 as it would be to offer the Angel of Death a cup of coffee. 
 It was astonishing to him that Rachel, who had always 
 been so gently "refined," should suddenly have developed 
 this enthusiasm for violent spiritual emotions. He looked 
 at the other pictures, all of which had the same Asiatic 
 or Byzantine flavour, combined with the fantastic oc- 
 cultism of the Russian religious spirit; at the black 
 carpet, and again at Rachel. He felt a vague resentment 
 against her a woman for showing signs of what he 
 considered to be a particularly masculine form of imag- 
 ination ! 
 
 Levett made some admiring and commonplace com- 
 ment on the room, and they discussed their friends for 
 a few moments longer. But it was evident to his sensi- 
 tive vanity that Rachel's old interest in him had gone 
 The animating spirit of their long friendship had died; 
 there was nothing left but its corpse. He went away 
 as quickly as he could, and as he left the house his
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 279 
 
 thoughts were full of Margot, full of speculations as to 
 her relations with Carl Frensen, of excited anticipa- 
 tion of their meeting on the morrow. His visit 
 to Rachel had suddenly made Margot seem doubly desir- 
 able and charming. But at thirty-five, he reflected, 
 one doesn't, of course, make a fool of oneself. He 
 went over once again, in his head, his views about 
 women. . . . 
 
 The interval seemed unduly long before he found 
 himself outside her front door in Charles Street. A maid 
 let him in. Margot was waiting for him in the small 
 drawing-room, and as he entered the room he had an 
 unforgettable vision of her, with the light from a shaded 
 electric lamp falling on her white shoulders. He had 
 always thought those shoulders the loveliest he had ever 
 seen. Her black frock emphasised the beautiful texture 
 of her skin, and its whiteness as of alabaster. Levett 
 had never seen Margot suffer from "goose-flesh," like so 
 many anaemic modern women. Her flesh was beautifully 
 firm filled with red blood under the smooth velvet skin. 
 As she stood under the light her hair looked as pale as 
 pale straw, and her bright blue eyes seemed to swim 
 in fire. She greeted him with a rather scared smile, 
 like a woman who has just been through a severe shock, 
 and, looking at her closely, he could see that she was 
 deadly pale under her bold maquillage. 
 
 "I don't know what kind of dinner you will get, 
 Godfrey," she said. "The house is not open properly 
 yet, and most of the servants are, of course, still at 
 Hotham. However, I thought it would be more cosy 
 here than at a restaurant. You mustn't grumble if 
 the food is bad. The housekeeper here used to be my 
 mother-in-law's cook ages ago, and was rather keen to 
 try her hand again just for swank, of course!"
 
 280 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 They went down to the dining-room, and Levett mar- 
 velled how it was that the raw girl vivid, vulgar, 
 and strident whom he remembered three years ago, 
 had managed to learn so well and so quickly her metier 
 de femme. How she must have worked, how she must 
 have observed and kept her ears open! It could not 
 have come natural to her, this unerring touch in the 
 arrangement of a little dinner which should be intimate 
 and charming and not too long. And how clever of her to 
 have got up a bottle of Krug for his benefit and to make 
 a pretty apology for it by saying she felt "run down." 
 Any other little upstart would have given herself away by 
 some poisonous touch of ostentation. She had every 
 excuse for feeling run down ; but she did not drink more 
 than her one glass, to which she made a pretence every 
 now and then of adding a "topper." Levett thought of 
 Rochester's diatribes against matrimony "Marriage, oh, 
 hell and furies, name it not!" and remembering how 
 the famous old rake had described marriage as "a noose 
 to catch religious woodcocks in," he began to think that 
 husbands, if they kept their wits about them, really got 
 more out of life than old roues as industrious in vice as 
 bumble-bees. 
 
 They did not speak much at dinner-time about Carl 
 Frensen's death, and this conscious waiting on Margot's 
 part till they should be "alone" seemed to underline 
 her treatment of him as an intimate, which all the other 
 details of this impromptu and rather daring dinner em- 
 phasised. Throughout the meal Margot's mere presence, 
 so close to him that the faint perfume of her skin was 
 always perceptible and troubling, was an enchantment. 
 And it flattered him that this hard beauty, who had 
 clawed her way up so ruthlessly, who was more feared
 
 MARCOT'S PROGRESS 281 
 
 than beloved, should hang on everything he said and 
 bow before his sub-acid onslaughts. 
 
 After dinner they went upstairs to Margot's own 
 "den" for their coffee. 
 
 "I simply can't tell you what I have been through 
 in the last two days," said Margot, as soon as they were 
 alone. "I was wired for at Hotham, and only just got 
 up to London in time. Poor old man, I really believe 
 he cared for me, in his curious way. It was horrible 
 going to the house! I thought the butler, whom I al- 
 ways detested, had been drinking. One seemed some- 
 how to notice the servants : they were vaguely disorderly 
 and out of hand. And other people were there trying to 
 get in to see him. Solicitors, business men of all kinds 
 and several women. Two of the women I knew well 
 by sight, but one was quite a common creature with 
 rather fine red hair. They all stared at me most inso- 
 lently. There wasn't any doubt about them. I don't 
 know what they thought of me, and I don't really care. 
 But, oh, that room ! I shall never forget it. It was like 
 a church so tall! with the blinds drawn to save his 
 poor weak eyes, and the daylight struggling through at 
 the sides. Nurses, doctors ugh! It was horrible." 
 Margot shuddered at her recollection of the death- 
 chamber. She had hitherto had but little experience of 
 death; it horrified and revolted her. She wanted to 
 shut out the thought of it and the vision of it from 
 her mind. "I had to sit by him while he lay on his 
 back gasping, hardly able to talk. He wanted to hold 
 my hand, poor old man, and he told me he had always 
 cared for me more than for any of them. I suppose he 
 meant the creatures waiting downstairs in the dining- 
 room, and if so, it wasn't much of a compliment. And 
 then he rambled on about Mr. Falkenheim. lie kept
 
 282 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 saying how 'indifferent' he was. 'A very worthy man 
 . . . his wife, as a young woman, was much too good 
 for him. ... I did him an injury . . .'he said, 'and 
 we always dislike the people we injure. But I never 
 had the energy to hate him. One doesn't hate one's 
 inferiors, Margot,' he went on, 'but he is not a bad man. 
 I can't forgive the way he behaved to you, my dear; 
 I can't forgive him that. But I've made it up to you. 
 Sebastian, my lawyer, will tell you how. ... I should 
 have liked to see you in a ballroom again before I died. 
 The finest pair of shoulders in London/ Just like that 
 he said it, as though he were flirting with me over the 
 supper-table. Now what is goodness and badness, God- 
 frey?" 
 
 There were actually tears in Margot's eyes as she asked 
 the question, and Levett could see that she was genuinely 
 moved. "I suppose he was bad. Everyone always said 
 he was a fairly black-hat scandals on the Stock Ex- 
 change and all that just what everyone always says 
 about wealthy 'financiers.' And then, of course, there 
 were those creatures in the dining-room. He never made 
 any pretence about what he liked in a woman: never 
 talked nonsense about her 'soul/ when he was really 
 thinking of her figure or her hair. And yet the tangible 
 part of us wasn't all that interested him. He was a con- 
 noisseur, a critic ; he liked men and women and cared for 
 what they thought about. And he was acute and kind. 
 Even when he laughed at one, he was never cruel. I 
 don't think he can have been so very bad, Godfrey. He 
 wasn't a humbug; and besides, the creatures I told you 
 of were blubbering like babies in the hall as I went out, 
 and I was just as silly myself. ..." 
 
 They went on talking about the dead man, but Levett 
 did not tell her about the scene at Christie's. He knew
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 283 
 
 that she would not forgive Israel Falkenheim: that she 
 would not rest until she had avenged her friend, blow 
 for blow. An unsuspected loyalty had revealed itself in 
 Margot's character this evening. He did not quite under- 
 stand the system on which this loyalty worked; he did 
 not believe for an instant that her husband had ever 
 succeeded in evoking it ; but it was certainly there. Her 
 heart had cast-iron defences, to pierce which perhaps 
 some finer and harder metal was necessary. But once her 
 heart was touched. . . . 
 
 "I believe she could be faithful and devoted to anyone 
 whom she loved/' he reflected. Hitherto he had always 
 looked on her as impervious to any real feeling; though 
 the streak of sensuality which he suspected her to possess 
 might deceive a man for a while. But now he was 
 inclined to believe himself wrong. 
 
 "Heigho, Godfrey! IVe depressed you with all this. 
 Cheer up ! I shall be in London for a few days. There 
 is to be a memorial service at some church or other on 
 Monday, for which I must stay. Then I suppose I 
 must go back to Hotham. I wish you were coming down 
 for a week or two. You know, Godfrey, you have made 
 my life unbearable ever since you recommended me to 
 slip off to Harding Broadley's nursing home. I don't 
 know what it is about you, but you and Rachel Elkington 
 between you have made me thoroughly discontented. Not 
 that I'm specially keen on changing my existence for 
 Rachel's, by the way. I feel as though I were living in 
 a tunnel and that the fresh air was getting gradually 
 exhausted! I could scream sometimes! The things I 
 have to do just because I am I Vernon's wife would 
 make anyone's hair turn grey. You know it isn't my 
 trade, Godfrey. I wasn't born to it thank God! and 
 I don't like it. I'm interested in other things. I want
 
 284 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 to walk about and look around and make a rubber-neck 
 at life; not go on doing the same sort of stupid thing, 
 year after year !" She spoke with bitterness, and with a 
 kind of intensity of discontent which Levett thought must 
 lead to trouble for someone. 
 
 "You know it is your fault, very largely," she went on, 
 smiling at Levett affectionately. "You enjoy your own 
 life so thoroughly, you make me realise how I might 
 enjoy mine! At all events, that is one thing Carl 
 Frensen's death has brought me. I'm independent now. 
 I've a fortune of my own." 
 
 Godfrey glanced at her and then looked away. But 
 after all, he thought, there was no reason why he 
 shouldn't be frankly interested in her inheritance. The 
 fact that money, for intelligent people who knew how 
 to spend it, was not a thing to be sneezed at, was one of 
 the main articles of his personal credo. He had stated it 
 constantly. There was no reason why he should be at 
 pains to conceal it now. Margot did not seem particu- 
 larly excited about the details of her legacy. She was 
 still so stunned by Frensen's death that her imagination 
 had not begun to work to enable her to visualise the 
 inheritance which had come to her. "He told me he 
 had given me 250,000," she said in answer to Godfrey's 
 inquiries, "and his villa at Cap Martin, and his flat in 
 Paris in the Avenue Hoche, and Courbet's portrait of 
 him as a young man. He said he wanted me to have 
 that portrait, so that I should know what he looked 
 like forty years ago! That was almost the last thing 
 he said before he became unconscious, and it made him 
 laugh. That was the last I saw of him laughing." 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Levett, "you certainly ought 
 now to be able to fashion your existence according to 
 your inclinations: with ten or twelve thousand a
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 285 
 
 year of your own and two desirable residences. I envy 
 you!" 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly, and her white arm 
 slid along the edge of the sofa, behind him. If he 
 leaned back he would touch it. They were silent 
 for some minutes. It occurred to Levett that, to be 
 true to his principles, he ought to say good-bye now 
 to Margot, to leave her. But for the moment he could 
 not stir. Something in her eyes seemed to hold him. 
 
 "What is money to a women who is lonely, Godfrey? 
 You think that is a strange thing for me of all people 
 to say. But I mean it." She paused for a while, and 
 when she began to speak again he felt the cold chill 
 of disappointment that comes with the realisation that 
 an opportunity has been missed. "I don't in the least 
 know how Vernon will take this legacy," she went on. 
 "He is so extraordinary ! One never can count on him 
 He may be furious and say I mustn't accept it. I am 
 going to write and tell him about it, and give it a few 
 days to sink in, before I go back to Hotham. I expect he 
 will get used to it in time. Well, he will have to, poor 
 dear," she added, laughing. 
 
 Levett stared for a moment at his small, finely made 
 ankles that looked so well in black silk socks, and then 
 rose to his feet with a certain conscious grace of move- 
 ment. 
 
 "I don't envy you the ordeal, my dear Margot," he 
 said with a smile, as he prepared to take his leave of 
 her; "but only fools despise riches. Poor people often 
 say they don't care about money. But we know what 
 that means! Even religious people, monks and so on, 
 only appear to despise ordinary wealth because they 
 happen to prefer a kind of esoteric riches. As one isn't 
 in a convent, I believe in being just about as rich in
 
 286 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 this world's goods as it is possible to be. I congratulate 
 you, chere amie. But I admit the situation has its 
 difficult side !" 
 
 He looked at himself in the glass as he straightened 
 his tie, and Margot, standing behind him, stared into the 
 reflection of his grey eyes. What mysterious eyes they 
 were ! Were they wicked or only wise ? The picture he 
 made in the glass with his ivory-white skin, dark hair 
 so carefully "plastered down," well-cut dinner jacket, 
 gleaming shirt front, and broad black tie suggested, in 
 the artfully-shaded glow, some polite devil. Levett 
 always made her feel like a Sunday-school miss; while 
 Vernon always made her feel like a fiend, all claws. 
 She wondered why this was. Already she knew that, 
 devil or not, Levett might one day acquire the power to 
 frighten and hurt her and to make her obey him. And 
 she longed with her whole heart to be frightened and 
 hurt, and to be made to obey. . . . 
 
 Margot accompanied her guest down to the hall. 
 
 "I may come and call on you one afternoon before 
 I go down to Hotham," she said. "I will send a tele- 
 phone message to warn you if I do. Otherwise I suppose 
 I shall see nothing of you till we come up again ? Vernon 
 insists on slaughtering the wretched pheasants. We 
 have another agonising shooting party coming down for 
 the week after next. I wish you were coming, too, to 
 counteract them!" 
 
 They shook hands decorously, and as he opened the 
 door to let himself out he had a quick glimpse of her 
 standing in the white light of the electric lamp which 
 lit the hall. There was something radiant in her face, 
 and under its artificial freshness a glow of youth seemed 
 to vivify it. 5(\nd in her brilliant blue eyes he noticed 
 for the first time a look of tenderness.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 ALTHOUGH Vernon had ample time before her return 
 to Hotham in which to answer his wife's letter announc- 
 ing her legacy from Sir Carl Frensen, he did not do so. 
 This fact awoke in Margot a certain uneasiness. She 
 did not like Vernon's silences; they almost invariably 
 indicated that he was "thinking things." The idea that 
 Vernon should be in a position to "think things" about 
 her filled her with irritation. She knew she was being 
 unfair to him; but he was the kind of man to whom it 
 was impossible for a woman to be other than unfair. 
 Life with him had resolved itself into a conflict of 
 egoisms, in which victory was an essential of peace. She 
 did not dare give way an inch. 
 
 As the train hurried her through the pensive autumn 
 landscape, through woods where the yellowing leaves 
 still hung forlornly on the trees, past orchards where the 
 red apples hung like emblems of fecundity Nature's 
 ultimate aim Margot found herself invaded by an 
 enervating melancholy. She was tired. She did not 
 want to do any more fighting, any more struggling. She 
 had no desire to hurt Vernon; she bore him no ill-will; 
 but they were grotesquely unsuited to one another. Why 
 had he been such a fool as to marry her, she wondered? 
 That little idiot, Ida Mertoun, with her chatter about 
 books and her little verses which she contributed to 
 the magazines, would have suited him excellently. Each 
 was as empty and as pretentious as the other, and each 
 had the same instincts and ambitions. Ida would have 
 been delighted to have dropped her poetising and have 
 settled down to the business of being Lady Stokes, the 
 
 287
 
 288 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 business for which she was fitted so admirably. They 
 would have stuck together. After four or five years Ida 
 would have provided the two necessary children. Then 
 perhaps a lover or two would have helped to keep her 
 amused until the children became "interesting." Con- 
 tentment! Ida would have been so contented. She 
 saw the whole of Ida's life stretched out in her mind's 
 eye: her life as Vernon's wife. What a fool Vernon 
 had been not to see what was best for himself. And he 
 would have enjoyed being Lord Mertoun's son-in-law, she 
 reflected : she knew him so well ! They would have got 
 on just smoothly enough and quarrelled just often enough 
 to make their joint lives tolerable ; while the dead-weight 
 of their two families, and their inherited sense of respon- 
 sibility, would have kept them together. But Vernon 
 had been foolish enough to marry her, and as she thought 
 of his adoration of her beauty, an adoration so constantly 
 displayed, she softened towards him. His passion for 
 her had lasted astonishingly. She had given him moments 
 perhaps of greater happiness than he would ever have 
 known with Ida. But instinctively she knew within her- 
 self, and shuddered at the thought of it, how she was 
 still to make him suffer. . . . Fool, fool, that he was! 
 He ought to have known better than to marry a wild, 
 violent, dissatisfied creature like herself. Why should 
 she pity him? No one pitied fools nowadays; all that 
 sort of thing went out for good with Dobbin and 
 Amelia ! 
 
 The landscape became increasingly familiar; the train 
 drew nearer and nearer to the station where the car 
 would be waiting to drive her over the moor to Hotham. 
 The Ashbury's house, to be discerned at the end of a 
 long avenue of elms, flashed by. And now on the white
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 289 
 
 high road which ran parallel with the railway line she 
 could see the Vicar of Woollscombe, driving his old 
 mare in his high yellow dog-cart. He was going to have 
 afternoon tea with Miss Thorpe, up at "The Spinney." 
 Margot remembered that it was the local gossip that Miss 
 Thorpe meant to catch him, "and what a good thing it 
 would be for his two little girls to have someone to 
 look after them." The vicar's first wife had been a 
 daughter of George Brandon, a drunken reprobate who 
 lived in the next village to Hotham, but had the felicity 
 of belonging, in Vernon's eyes, to the "known." A 
 scornful interior chuckle ran through Margot at the recol- 
 lection of Vernon's description of Mr. Brandon. People 
 had more sense on those points, even in Montreal. There 
 a waster was a waster ; and if he was "known," so much 
 the worse for him. 
 
 As the train slowed down, cottages, farms, large and 
 small houses went by the window, the inhabitants of 
 which were all known to her. There was the grey stucco 
 villa of the veterinary surgeon with the wife who drank, 
 who had been called in when Teddy, her grey pom, had 
 his fits. The bigger house farther on, with the Virginia 
 creeper all over it, was Doctor Parkinson's. Margot had 
 always thought kindly of the Parkinsons since the vicar's 
 wife, when calling at Hotham, had confided to her how 
 terribly "not quite" poor Mrs. Parkinson was! The 
 church appeared; then the vicarage; then the "White 
 Hart" ; then the horrid little station. Now for it ! Margot 
 resumed her heaviest manner as Tom, the new footman, 
 opened the door of the car for her and settled the rugs 
 over her knees before returning to his place by the 
 chauffeur's side. . . . 
 
 Margot was conscious of a certain stillness and empti-
 
 290 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 ness about Hotham on her arrival. Vernon was out 
 talking to the game-keepers, Ernestine was subdued 
 depressing as a wet blanket. Vernon came in at tea- 
 time and greeted her with a certain forced naturalness 
 which boded ill. It was his idea of being subtle to become 
 wooden whenever anything went on inside his brain. 
 He was affectionate to Margot, laughed and talked in an 
 ordinary voice, but there was a careful avoidance of 
 mentioning Carl Frensen, which made it obvious to her 
 that his mind was entirely taken up with considerations 
 of this one subject. The semi-publicity of the drawing- 
 room, however, prevented him from broaching it at tea- 
 time. Someone might have come in; and it would have 
 horrified Vernon to have allowed himself to be surprised 
 in the middle of a "scene." In his view, only the middle 
 and lower classes ever indulged in "words." At dinner 
 he casually remarked that his grandparents were motoring 
 over from Qevedon the next day, and would arrive in 
 time for luncheon. He did not see Margot bite her 
 lips as he made this announcement, or notice the sup- 
 pressed passion which suddenly blazed up in her blue 
 eyes. He was not looking at her, but was hunting about 
 the room for his cigarette-box. 
 
 "So he has told them !" Margot thought. "The stupid 
 coward ! I won't give way a single inch for all the Corne- 
 walls or Stokeses in the world !" 
 
 "I expect mother will come too," Vernon added, when 
 he had found his cigarette-box. He opened the lid as 
 he spoke and offered one to his wife. "She is staying 
 with them now at Qevedon." So a family council was 
 to sit in judgment on her, Margot thought. Very well. 
 They would find her ready for them ! 
 
 "What do they want to come and see us again so soon 
 for, I wonder?" she said aloud. "It is barely a fortnight
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 291 
 
 since they left, and your mother and grandmother can't 
 want to shoot pheasants !" 
 Vernon did not reply. 
 
 The evening passed slowly. It was very rare for them 
 to find themselves alone in the house, without visitors 
 to mitigate their constant companionship. Usually this 
 would have filled Vernon with pleasure, but to-night he 
 was uncomfortable, conscious, perhaps, of his wife's cold 
 and concentrated fury, and taken aback by it. Margot 
 knew quite well what he was waiting for. He would come 
 into her bedroom to say good-jiight, and they would have 
 a heart-to-heart talk. She would weep on his pyjamas 
 and be kissed and agree to give up her legacy after pro- 
 testing the purity of her relations with Frensen ! Would 
 she, by God! Her eyes glittered, at the prospect, in a 
 way which Vernon noticed and which struck him as 
 being vaguely ominous. If he hadn't flown to his 
 family for moral support, she would have felt com- 
 punctions, and perhaps have given way to him, or at 
 least have compromised and "been nice." But now her 
 heart was like a flint. She would not yield one inch 
 for the whole lot of them, and she would make him suffer 
 for his mean cowardice. 
 
 Vernon kept up an intermittent flow of small talk while 
 Margot sat with a novel in her lap, the illustrated papers 
 spread out on the sofa round her, and an open cigarette- 
 case by her side. 
 
 The new garage would be finished next week. It would 
 be a relief, wouldn't it, to get the workmen away from 
 the place ! Then there was the question of the next party 
 and where they were to be put. (The party for the First 
 had only recently broken up.) 
 
 Patcham and Joyce wouldn't object to being doubled 
 up in the long room. Captain Armytage would have
 
 292 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Uncle George's room, Tommy Maunsell could have the 
 blue room, and Hellyar the room over the library. At 
 ten, when the butler was due to take the spirit-tray into 
 his den, Vernon got up and left his wife. He was 
 obviously ill at ease. His lips twitched under his mous- 
 tache, and, as Margot put it to herself, "he kept feeling 
 about with his hands for his dignity, to make sure it was 
 there." She foresaw that he would be very nervous, 
 before the evening was over, about his dignity. And 
 while she observed, sardonically, his weaknesses, her 
 anger blinded her to the misery in his eyes, the agonised 
 dumb wretchedness of him. He was like some beautiful 
 stag firmly entangled in a snare and suffering, suffer- 
 ing. . . . 
 
 While Vernon was fortifying himself in his "study" 
 with a whisky-and-soda and trying to fix his attention 
 on "Lord Ormont and his Aminta," Margot went up to 
 her room. As she walked slowly up the broad staircase 
 of black oak that was one of the glories of Hotham, she 
 felt a fierce dislike of the house. It was not her house ; 
 it was Vernon's. She had a longing to live in a house 
 of her own, and her heart leapt within her when she 
 reflected that this was now possible. She actually pos- 
 sessed a house of her own, and a flat in Paris, near the 
 Pare Monceau. She remembered the Pare Monceau so 
 well, with its rows of nurses and perambulators, packed 
 tight as the geraniums in a suburban front garden; its 
 monuments to Chopin and Maupassant; its oval lake 
 flanked by the semi-circular colonnade; its air of prim- 
 ness and artificiality. And she remembered the quiet 
 streets all round the little park : the Avenue Van Dyke, 
 the Rue Murillo, the Avenue Ruysdael, and the broader 
 Avenue Hoche. So she had a flat close to the Pare 
 Monceau, in that sumptuous quarter of her adored Paris !
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 293 
 
 Of course, she would have to go over there very soon 
 to take possession. Sir Silas Cornewall, Knight (of 
 Charles I.'s reign), stared at her insolently from his 
 frame as she leant over the oak baluster to look down into 
 the hall. He seemed to say to her, "What are you doing 
 here! Your home is in Paris, in the Pare Monceau 
 district. You have a villa at Cap Martin. You are an 
 alien. Go away !" 
 
 "I feel tired to-night, Ernestine. I have had a very 
 worrying time in London," Margot remarked to her maid 
 when she reached her bedroom. 
 
 "Milady looks very pale," Ernestine replied. "The 
 country air will do her good. But as for me, the country 
 kills me, Milady. C'est assotnmant, a la fin, de tester 
 a la campagne." 
 
 "How would you like to come with me to Paris, 
 Ernestine ?" 
 
 "Ah, Milady is joking!" 
 
 "Not at all. I have a flat there now and a villa at 
 Cap Martin. You would enjoy visiting them with me !" 
 Ernestine's look of rapture made Margot chuckle. At 
 least her legacy would make one fellow-creature happy. 
 
 When she had dismissed her maid, Margot turned off 
 the switch of her reading-lamp and waited. In a little 
 while she could hear Vernon moving about in the next 
 room. She lay in her bed with closed eyes, her body 
 taut, expectant, nerves strung like bow-strings, ready 
 to vibrate to the smallest touch. At last there came 
 the knock at the door decisive and sharp, carefully 
 not timid and Vernon came towards her in the dark- 
 ness. 
 
 "Look here, Margot," he said, speaking quickly, some 
 of his words losing themselves in his moustache, "this 
 ^rensen business, you may as well know, has got to be
 
 294 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 cleared up between us. It is driving me off my head. 
 I didn't say anything to you before or write to you. I 
 couldn't. But there is no use putting it off. We have 
 got to have it out sooner or later." 
 
 Margot gave an ostentatious yawn. "Get off my leg, 
 for Heaven's sake!" she snapped. "You are simply 
 breaking it. You weigh about a ton. I am tired out. 
 ... I have been run to death all the week, in London, 
 but, of course, you never have the slightest consideration 
 for anyone but yourself. ..." 
 
 They were still in darkness, and could not see one 
 another. Vernon had left the light on in his bedroom, 
 and a faint yellow glow coming through the top and 
 bottom of the communicating door was the only glimmer 
 of illumination in the heavily curtained room. But 
 Vernon did not want just then to see his wife's face. 
 He had pulled himself together for a great effort. His 
 vanity the strongest thing in his nature had received 
 an agonising blow, and as the fumes of the whisky which 
 he had drunk rose to his head, he could think of nothing 
 but the vile thing which had happened. He felt inclined 
 to weep with sorrow for himself, with sympathy for his 
 own undeserved unhappiness. 
 
 "You evidently don't realise how serious this matter 
 is," he said fiercely. "I suppose it is natural enough that 
 you shouldn't." 
 
 "Realise what?" 
 
 "How the world will regard this legacy. You can- 
 not possibly accept it, Margot. Believe me. ..." 
 
 Margot sat bolt upright in her bed and glared at him 
 through the impenetrable gloom. 
 
 "If that is all you have to say, go out of my room at 
 once," she hissed. "You must be mad." She laughed
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 295 
 
 at him scornfully, a laugh of power, a laugh with no 
 mercy in it. 
 
 "If you have to learn the truth from other people 
 instead of from me, you won't like it. I've only come 
 to save you, if I can, from your own folly. You have 
 made it quite clear that you don't care a rap about me, 
 and that you care still less about the family you have 
 married into. You only care about this miserable sum 
 of money. God help you." 
 
 "You bet," said Margot, "God will help me right 
 enough. He is grateful to me for the trouble I save 
 Him. You are quite right about my not caring a fig 
 about the family. Why should I? Who are they? 
 Everyone knows your grandfather started life as a coal- 
 heaver. At least, the Cartiers ..." 
 
 It was Vernon's turn to laugh. He went off into peals 
 of hysterical, high-pitched laughter, which goaded Margot 
 to fury. 
 
 "Don't, for heaven's sake, turn on any more about the 
 family," she went on. "I don't wonder that even you 
 laugh at yourself. If you've got anything to say, say 
 it, but don't drag in the family. Fat lot I care about 
 them." 
 
 Vernon's laughter stopped as abruptly as it had begun. 
 
 "I can tell you this," he said, "that unless you re- 
 nounce this legacy from Carl Frensen, they will never 
 have anything more to do with you. . . . You were com- 
 promised with him sufficiently before I married 
 you. ..." 
 
 "I was what, Vernon?" Margot asked quietly. 
 
 "Compromised; and you know it. This legacy con- 
 firms all that your worst enemies ever said about you." 
 
 Margot's face flushed in the darkness. "So you have 
 been saving this up all the years of our married life this
 
 296 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 vitriol ready to squirt at me whenever you thought the 
 moment had come! Thanks, Vernon. We know where 
 we are, at all events." Vernon was choking now with 
 emotion. He got up from the bed and stumbled about 
 the room, trying to recover the control of his voice. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" he groaned, "what have I done?" 
 
 "Made an ass of yourself," Margot snapped. "No 
 need to tell God about it. He knows already." 
 
 He rushed at her shouting: "Be quiet, will you!" 
 grasping the warm flesh of her upper arm, through her 
 silken night-clothes. In an instant he would have struck 
 her, but the concentrated fury of her quiet voice made 
 him recover himself. 
 
 "If you want the servants to witness your disgusting 
 temper, you need not shout. I have my hand on the 
 bell. I can easily ring for Ernestine. ..." 
 
 Her arms smarted under the grip of his frenzied hands. 
 She knew how easily her flesh bruised. In a day or 
 two, great green and purple marks would become visible. 
 She would get a doctor, Ernestine, all sorts of people to 
 take note of them. Everyone would bear witness to his 
 brutality. 
 
 After his outburst, to Margot's amazement, Vernon 
 began to cry quietly. She could not see his tears in the 
 darkness, but she knew instinctively that they were fall- 
 ing down his cheeks. His shoulders were heaving. 
 
 "Margot," he said, "it can't have come to this so 
 soon. All I want is for you to tell me frankly what 
 there was between you and Frensen . . . and, in any 
 case, to give up this money. You have all you need 
 under your marriage settlement. We have plenty be- 
 tween us. Surely you must see that, for everyone's sake, 
 for the sake of our children, if we have any, you can't 
 accept Frensen's money. It would always make some-
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 297 
 
 thing between us. It would poison the rest of our lives. 
 Our children when they grew up would hear rumours. 
 You don't need this extra money. It would be a perpet- 
 ual open disgrace to both of us if you accepted it. You 
 must not do so, believe me. You know mother is no fool 
 in these matters, nor grandfather either. They will both 
 tell you just what I have said about it, to-morrow." 
 
 Margot snorted: "What is the good of wasting your 
 breath! If you honestly think I shall give up a legacy 
 like Carl Frensen's just because your horrid family choose 
 to imagine all sorts of filth about me, you must be mad. 
 I shall do nothing of the sort. I am a free agent. I 
 shall tell you nothing about 'what there was between me 
 and Frensen.' I don't care a fig what you think; think 
 what you like. I've told you to go once. Why don't you 
 do so?" 
 
 "If I go now, I warn you, I may never come back." 
 
 "Well, never come back then! / never want to see 
 you, after this." 
 
 "Margot ..." 
 
 "Oh, shut up, can't you?" shouted Margot. "Don't 
 turn on the sentimental, 'Heartsease Library' tap! I 
 can bear anything but that. ..." 
 
 "Very well," said Vernon quietly. He shrugged his 
 shoulders in the darkness and walked with exaggerated 
 slowness across to the door leading to his room. For an 
 instant, when the door opened, Margot caught a glimpse 
 of him framed in the sudden brightness. His handsome 
 face was all disordered and working; his moustache was 
 ragged, his hair tousled and standing up absurdly. She 
 knew then that she had struck him to the heart; that 
 even if they patched up a truce, things could never be 
 the same again. The breach was irreparable; she had 
 wounded and defiled his sacred vanity, spat upon all
 
 298 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 that was most holy to him. It would be a point of 
 honour with him not to forgive her. 
 
 "But it isn't in writing: and the servants could not 
 have made out anything," she reflected, "at least, nothing 
 to swear to, even if they were listening at the keyhole. 
 I can make it all right if necessary, and, any way, I 
 wouldn't have been beastly to him if he hadn't run 
 squealing to the family !" She lay awake for some time 
 longer, and from occasional movements in the next room 
 she gathered that Vernon also was awake. Finally she 
 fell into an uneasy sleep and dreamed horrible dreams.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 MARGOT could not but admire Vernon's appearance the 
 next morning. He "played up" magnificently. In 
 several small ways he contrived to accentuate the pro- 
 tective courtesy which came so easy to him when he 
 chose to display it. He was more conversational than 
 usual at breakfast, and Margot came nearer to respecting 
 him than she remembered to have done before. She felt 
 that, after all, he "was such a gentleman." The greet- 
 ing with her mother-in-law and the grandparents who 
 motored over together from Clevedon, and arrived at 
 Hotham just before luncheon, was commonplace in the 
 extreme. Margot was impressed by her relatives' 
 "refinement," by their arrogant reserve and hard social 
 surface. Only by noting infinitesimal shades of manner 
 could she discover any difference in their treatment of 
 her, any indication of the spectre in the background. 
 After luncheon, when Margot sat with the other women 
 in the drawing-room waiting for Vernon to join them 
 with his grandfather, she felt she could bear the "fine 
 reserves" no longer. 
 
 "Well, grandmamma," she said, "I suppose Vernon 
 has told you all about my legacy, and you have turned 
 up to scold me about it." 
 
 "Not scold you, Margot," interposed Lady Stokes, 
 "you mustn't say that. But we naturally regard the 
 whole matter as serious. It is more serious for you, dear, 
 than for us." 
 
 "What does grandmamma think of it?" Margot asked, 
 wishing to give her mother-in-law a lesson in manners. 
 Mrs. Cornewall lifted a fat little hand from her lap and 
 
 299
 
 300 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 let it fall again. She had aged very much during the 
 last few years, and found it difficult to be serious about 
 anything, except in flashes. She was almost perpetually 
 amused, and her round grey eyes seemed to radiate good 
 humour and an enjoyment of the joke. She sat in her 
 gala costume of crimson satin trimmed with beetle-wing 
 embroidery, with her famous "front" of golden-brown 
 hair, holding her walking-stick and looking down con- 
 tentedly at her tiny feet. 
 
 "My dear, you mustn't ask me," she said, smiling at 
 Margot. "I always did like Cap Martin, and I remember 
 Sir Carl's villa so well. What a pity he didn't manage it 
 all through his solicitor quite quietly and tactfully. Then 
 we should all have been pleased. ..." 
 
 "I don't know about that, mother," said Lady Stokes 
 with a faint smile, "but I admit it would have made a 
 difference. You see there is such a thing as family 
 honour, Margot," she continued, turning to her daughter- 
 in-law. 
 
 "Why, of course !" said Margot dutifully. "You must 
 not think that I forget that for an instant. But I can't 
 see why this legacy from my old friend should injure 
 it!" 
 
 "Ah that is the point !" 
 
 "What is the point?" roared the General, who came 
 into the room at that moment with Vernon. 
 
 "We were just discussing my legacy from Carl 
 Frensen," said Margot boldly. 
 
 "Nothing to discuss, my dear," roared the ex-tamer of 
 hill-tribes. He pulled his stubbly grey beard with his 
 astonishingly small, fine hand, and stood looking like 
 some shaggy old sheep-dog in the middle of the room. 
 "The only thing to do with money like that is to refuse 
 to touch it. That is all! No nonsense, no palaver.
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 301 
 
 That is the only way! No need for any silly talk, as I 
 have just been telling Vernon. . . . Now then, Margot 
 where is that new garage that I'm to see! Get it over 
 quickly. Show me the crimes that Vernon has been 
 committing against our old home." 
 
 Margot jumped to her feet and gave the General her 
 arm, after first kissing him on the forehead. "You are 
 quite "right, grandpapa," she said, laughing. "There is 
 a great deal too much palaver about a very simple matter. 
 Let us go and look at the monstrosity I" 
 
 As she walked off with him, leaving Vernon and his 
 mother nonplussed and the grandmother, as usual, over- 
 come with laughter, Margot visualised the old man 
 refusing gorgeous bribes offered by native princes in 
 jewelled turbans. He had spent fifty years of his life 
 being arrogantly beyond the temptation of bribes; no 
 wonder, poor old darling, the refusal of wealth had be- 
 come with him an idee fixe. It was his private "swank" 
 the point of complacency which made his old age happy 
 to reflect on all the diamonds, the rubies, and the 
 solid gold which might have been his if he had not been 
 incorruptible. Margot loved him for it, and was sorry 
 that it would be necessary to hurt him. They examined 
 together the red brick erection of Vernon's "art" archi- 
 tect, and gazed in joint disgust at its little "Queen Anne 
 style" turret surmounted by its gilded "art" weather- 
 vane! 
 
 "My dear," said the old man, "entre nous, I think it 
 is dreadful ! Let us escape from it quickly and go down 
 to the lake." 
 
 They walked on through the park, looking at the red- 
 brown, the gold, and burnished copper of the autumn 
 foliage, while the General told Margot interminable 
 stories of his boyhood at Hotham, which gave her a vivid
 
 302 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 picture of country life more than sixty years ago. His 
 reminiscences interested her, but they made her realise 
 once again how essentially she was a stranger at Hotham. 
 The place, naturally, had quite a different meaning for 
 this old man than it had for her, while to Vernon it was 
 as sacred as a shrine. They were all of them at home 
 here; she was not, nor did she wish to be. ... During 
 the rest of their walk, Margot and her companion, who 
 enjoyed each other's company and instinctively hated 
 "unpleasant" subjects, avoided any further discussion 
 of the points at issue. 
 
 At tea-time the conversation also was normal; the 
 electricity in the air did not show itself in any violent 
 flashes. Margot thought her mother-in-law looked very 
 tired and miserable. She was miserable, Margot 
 guessed, because of her son's unhappiness ; she had never 
 realised before the depths of her mother-in-law's devo- 
 tion to Vernon. She looked almost like a woman in 
 acute physical pain, and at the back of her dark eyes 
 lurked the reflection of her agony. 
 
 "My dear Margot," she said quietly in the hall, just 
 before the car came round that was to carry them all 
 away, "I don't want you to think that any of us 
 blame you. We only want you both to be happy. It is 
 so easy for married people to make themselves wretched, 
 to embitter their lives. And no amount of wealth can 
 soften the misery of misunderstandings. ..." 
 
 "Good-bye," said Margot, kissing her mother-in-law. 
 "Don't you worry. Vernon will get over it all right!" 
 Lady Stokes sank back against the cushions of the car as 
 if she had been hit. If she could have drawn a revolver 
 at that moment and shot Margot dead she would have 
 done so with exultant satisfaction. . . .
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 303 
 
 Dinner that evening was an ordeal which tried even 
 Margot's nerves. Vernon's line, which he did to per- 
 fection, was an easy affability. Never again would he 
 let her see into his heart; he would at all costs deprive 
 her of the satisfaction of watching how she made him 
 wince. A hatred of her grew up in him, side by side 
 with his passion for her, which seemed to him now like 
 some vile madness which he had been too weak-minded 
 to stamp out. She was mean, treacherous, unfaithful. 
 All these years she had deceived him, had carried on an 
 intrigue with a disgusting old man. She had done this 
 in spite of all he had done for her, of all the benefits he 
 had conferred on her, and of the way he had honoured 
 her despite the opposition of his family and friends 
 by making her his wife. Once he let himself believe in 
 her guiltiness as regards Frensen ; all the other insinua- 
 tions and hints contained in the letter which he had taken 
 from his father's writing-table came flocking back into 
 his mind. There was nothing now which he would not 
 believe of her. As for her past, in Canada, who could 
 tell what crimes she might not have committed? The 
 letter had said she was the daughter of a small grocer 
 and had a very "lively reputation" before she had 
 imposed upon poor Mr. Falkenheim. It was no good; 
 you couldn't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. 
 
 Vernon asked his wife what "grandpapa's opinion 
 was about the garage" while the butler moved round the 
 table with dishes, thinking all the while these 
 thoughts. Her loveliness maddened him almost as much 
 as her serenity. "Bad blood," he said to himself, "bad 
 blood. It always shows sooner or later. They were all 
 quite right ; father was quite right. She would have been 
 well enough as a mistress. ..." He watched his wife 
 helping herself from the silver dish the butler carried
 
 304 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 with a peculiar daintiness of gesture that was all her 
 own. Her china-blue eyes had never looked more limpid ; 
 the pale gold of her hair had never seemed more fairy- 
 like. She was almost unnaturally radiant. He found 
 himself thinking how white her shoulders would be, and 
 recalling the loveliness of her bosom. But why was she 
 wearing a high-necked frock this evening? Had he hurt 
 her the night before when he had lost his temper? His 
 thoughts went backwards, forwards, behind his mask of 
 small talk ; his growing hatred had to battle with a rising 
 flood of passion, but sometimes his passion seemed to 
 inflame his hatred, and then he was frightened of himself 
 to think what he might do. But he would control him- 
 self; he would be easy about it; the scene should be 
 managed perfectly. With a cigarette in his mouth, and 
 in a gently modulated voice, he would deliver his ulti- 
 matum. On the morrow, if it were not accepted, he 
 would be gone. . . . Never would she be able to say of 
 him that he had not been generous, high-minded. He 
 blushed when he found himself repeating the phrase 
 noblesse oblige; but, after all, that was what it would 
 amount to. He would have to spend an uncomfortable 
 night in an hotel, in the same bedroom as some poor 
 creature hired for the purpose then in the process of 
 time he would be free. Thank God, there were no child- 
 ren to complicate matters. . . . He thought of the great 
 sorrow that had come over his fair young life: but if his 
 brown hair went a little grey over the ears, he would still 
 be "interesting." He finished his port wine, lighted a 
 cigarette, and sat watching the chair which his wife had 
 just vacated. How admirably normal their conversation 
 during dinner had been. He had to confess that Margot 
 had played up, too. She was adaptable, certainly ; it was
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 305 
 
 only when you scratched the surface that the common 
 blood spurted out at you . . . 
 
 He went into the drawing-room where his wife was 
 sitting, his head well carried. He had a beautifully 
 shaped head pure Cornewall, he used to say and his 
 years in the army had given him a certain magnificence 
 of deportment of which he could avail himself at will. 
 He settled himself in a chair opposite his wife, and drew 
 in a mouthful of smoke from his cigarette. "Well, 
 Margot?" he said quietly. 
 
 "Well?" asked Margot, burlesquing his careful 
 suavity. 
 
 "We have to decide what we are going to do, and the 
 sooner the better. You have heard whatever my grand- 
 father and my mother had to say. Won't you realise 
 that I meant it when I told you you must give up this 
 legacy ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I realise it," said Margot, "and I consider the 
 suggestion an insult! Margot gave her hard laugh. 
 Vernon flushed and rose to his feet. He paused for an 
 impressive moment. 
 
 "You realise, of course, that we cannot go on living 
 together any longer after this? ... I understand then, 
 once and for all, that you will not clear up this Frensen 
 business and renounce this legacy?" 
 
 "I will not." 
 
 "Very well. To-morrow I shall go away from Hotham. 
 You had better put off all our guests for next Monday 
 week. I shall not come back. If you want your free- 
 dom you can sue me for restitution, and at some hotel 
 or another you will be able to make the usual inquiries. 
 Our marriage has been a ghastly failure. But I dare say 
 the fault was mine as much as yours," he added, with
 
 3 o6 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 insincere magnanimity. "In any case, I don't want you 
 to suffer. Within a year you will be able to marry some- 
 one else. Good-bye." He threw his cigarette into the 
 fire and looked at her. Her face was motionless, not a 
 muscle twitched. 
 
 "Good-bye, Vernon," she said quietly. "You shall 
 have your freedom as quickly as the lawyers can arrange 
 things. I should try Ida Mertoun next if I were you. 
 She'll fit the situation splendidly, and you will be able 
 to read the whole of Meredith's novels to each other and 
 patronise the entire county! Well, good-bye and good 
 luck!" 
 
 She smiled at him lightly as he turned on his heel 
 and went out. But what a good looking fellow he was, 
 and how his fingers had gripped her shoulder the night 
 before ! Those marks would come in useful, by the way. 
 It would be necessary to prove cruelty. She would have 
 to show them to Ernestine and to a doctor. She must 
 suffer from "shock" to-morrow as a result of poor old 
 Vernon's "brutality"! 
 
 Well, it was a pity he was such a fool. Looking back 
 on her life with him, as she already began to do, she 
 realised that she had never liked him so much as in the 
 moment when he had lost his temper with her and nearly 
 struck her. . . . Perhaps if he had done so quite, things 
 might have been different. How could she tell? Her 
 nature had its secrets, even from herself. But he had 
 not struck her; his "fine reserves," as usual, had pre- 
 vented him. Yes, that had always been the trouble with 
 Vernon his "consciousness." During all the time she 
 had known him she could only recall one spontaneous 
 action on his part when he had gripped her shoulders. 
 And even that one had been broken off short.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 WHATEVER Margot may have thought in the bottom of 
 her heart was likely to be the upshot of her quarrel with 
 Vernon, all doubts were set at rest as soon as she woke 
 on the following morning. "Sir Vernon caught the early 
 train," Ernestine remarked in reply to Margot's question 
 as to whether her husband had started yet. "Andrews 
 gave me this letter for you, Milady," Ernestine went on, 
 handing her mistress an envelope addressed in Vernon's 
 handwriting. "Sir Vernon left instruction that it was 
 to be given you as soon as you were awake. Andrews 
 went up to London with Sir Vernon. They started pack- 
 ing at six o'clock, Milady." 
 
 Margot made some reply in a matter-of-fact voice that 
 should make it appear that she knew all about her hus- 
 band's movements, while she opened his letter. 
 Evidently Vernon had been discreet; Ernestine had no 
 suspicion that there was "anything wrong." Vernon's 
 letter was unexpectedly businesslike; there was not a 
 word in it of sentiment or of regret. He made sugges- 
 tions as to what should be written to their invited guests. 
 The men he would communicate with himself; but it 
 was important that her letters to the women who had 
 been asked should contain excuses which tallied with 
 his. Then there followed money arrangements, which 
 had been carefully thought out with a view to her con- 
 venience and comfort, and some final advice as to what 
 she should write to the vario'us members of the family. 
 The letter was, in truth, a model of magnanimity. 
 Margot had to take a hard pull at herself to avoid giving 
 way to depression after reading it. Vernon was not, 
 
 307
 
 308 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 after all, such a contemptible object as she had been apt 
 to think. He was long-suffering; but when he acted, he 
 acted with decision and promptitude, and his actions 
 were irrevocable. There could be no going back now, no 
 compromise or discussion. The discussions were all over. 
 She realised that her husband was not merely conceited, 
 he was proud as well, and this pride she respected. With 
 the reaction after the nervous excitements of the last 
 few weeks culminating in this final parting, there came a 
 revulsion of feeling which she could not stem. She 
 cursed her feminine weakness, but she could not help it. 
 All the good points about Vernon came flocking into her 
 thoughts. She had belonged first to him; he, after all, 
 was the only man who had ever possessed her. Even 
 if he were pompous and vain, he was also beautiful and 
 brave, every inch a man. She had never seen him show 
 fear. She recalled one or two occasions when they had 
 been in danger. How proud of him she had always been 
 in a crisis ! He was her ideal of the courageous soldier. 
 If there were ever a war, she thought, Vernon would 
 have his chance. Both he and all the men of his type 
 were survivals from some less complicated, more 
 picturesque age. They didn't belong to "to-day" in the 
 least: and she did. That was the secret of the incom- 
 patibility of Vernon's temperament and her own. But 
 now that he was gone, an unsuspected streak of senti- 
 mentality in her nature made her yearn for him. She 
 knew that this was only a momentary weakness, that 
 she would recover in a little while, that her clear brain 
 had not misled her. But as she roamed about the empty 
 house, with the tension of her nerves relaxed, the 
 desire to hide herself and weep overcame her. She felt 
 friendless and despondent. There seemed to be no place 
 in all the world where she belonged. She had always
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 309 
 
 felt a stranger at Hotham. It was her own fault: she 
 had never taken the trouble to identify herself completely 
 with the place and its inhabitants. As things had fallen 
 out, this was, perhaps, just as well. But would she find 
 it different when she came to live in the homes she had 
 inherited? Would she not always be restless, a wanderer 
 on the face of the earth, unsatisfied until the day of her 
 death? No, surely her luck would not desert her. 
 Godfrey would always be near at hand. She could not 
 dwell on the idea of future happiness without including 
 Godfrey in the picture. Perhaps it was his positiveness 
 that was so comforting. He was never negative like 
 Vernon. There were always things he wanted her to do, 
 and she dimly realised that life with him, if she married 
 him, might resolve itself into a continuous indulgence 
 in the spiritual sensuality of obedience. What a comfort 
 it would be for a time, at all events to be ordered 
 about, to be told when to rise and when to rest, when 
 to eat and when to leave off ! She longed to be set free 
 for a while from the bondage of her own caprices. Her 
 marriage with Vernon had been hopeless from the 
 beginning. They had never had a chance together. He 
 had not understood her at all, and until now she had 
 hardly understood herself. . . . 
 
 The hours which followed Vernon's departure were the 
 longest she could remember since the day she had spent 
 at the St. Pancras Hotel after her ignominious ejection 
 from Richbourne Terrace. She had never anticipated 
 for a moment that her parting from Vernon in spite of 
 the fact that she certainly did not love him would prove 
 so upsetting. It is one thing, she discovered, to plan a 
 line of action in one's brain, another thing to put it 
 successfully into execution and to be faced with the 
 result.
 
 310 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 When Ernestine came in to help her dress for dinner, 
 she found her mistress in tears, and with the ready tact 
 of the Frenchwoman slid on to her knees by Margot's 
 side and grasped her hand, pouring out respectful endear- 
 ments in her native tongue. This display of affection on 
 the part of her maid increased Margot's emotionalism to 
 a point when she began to enjoy it. Her dramatic sense, 
 inherited from the mother she had never known, was 
 aroused. She could see herself sitting before her dress- 
 ing-table in her great bedroom, with bent gold head and 
 heaving shoulders, her sympathetic handmaiden in a heap 
 on the floor by her side. The picture would be called 
 "The Young Wife," and crowds would gape at it on the 
 walls of the Academy and "wonder what had happened" ! 
 Some time or another Ernestine would have to be told 
 what had happened in order that she might corroborate 
 the distressing story in court, and it seemed to Margot 
 that it might as well be now as later. So amid her tears 
 she contrived to take Ernestine into her confidence as 
 to the cause of her grief. She let her maid help her 
 undress, for she wanted to have a bath before dinner, 
 and this gave her the opportunity she needed of show- 
 ing Ernestine the marks of Vernon's brutality. Rather 
 to Margot's annoyance, Ernestine seemed to regard these 
 marks with composure, almost, indeed, with a smile. 
 This would not do at all, so she contrived to be seized 
 with a fresh paroxysm of weeping, and threw herself 
 sobbing on to her bed, declaring that she would have no 
 bath and no dinner, and that she only wanted to die, 
 she was so miserable. 
 
 "Milady must see the doctor," said Ernestine, all 
 solicitude now and anxiety, and alive at last to the 
 necessities of the situation. Margot continued to weep 
 silently. The light in her room was carefully shaded by
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 311 
 
 Ernestine, and a handkerchief soaked in eau de Cologne 
 was applied by the maid to her fevered forehead, while 
 the doctor was being sent for. Margot was quite able to 
 handle Doctor Morison, though the proceedings were 
 beginning rather to bore her. He was a young doctor, 
 new to the neighbourhood, and was much moved by the 
 greenish bruises on the soft white flesh of Margot's 
 shoulders. Sympathy positively exuded from him. He 
 prescribed for nervous collapse, but in parting was 
 inspired to urge that half a bottle of champagne often 
 had a wonderfully tonic effect on the system. In reply 
 to Margot's inquiry, he also agreed that a change of air 
 would be the best thing possible for her as soon as she 
 felt strong enough to move! 
 
 By the next morning Margot felt strong enough for 
 anything, and she came to the conclusion that she could 
 not stay on at Hotham a single hour longer than was 
 necessary. She wanted excitement, something to take 
 her out of herself, to make her forget. She would have 
 liked to rush up to London, to drive straight to Levett's 
 flat, and tell him all about what had happened; but a 
 feeling of shyness restrained her even from writing to 
 him. Later on it would be different, when she was free. 
 
 She thought next of Vivie Nugent. But on reflection 
 she decided that she was afraid of Vivie's shrewd, clever 
 eyes, of her disconcerting intuitions. And wherever Vivie 
 was, there was always an accompaniment of noise a 
 dainty, exciting noise but still noise. And she did not 
 feel that just then her nerves would stand it, nor the 
 strain of watching her words in order to avoid giving 
 herself away. The only other refuge she could think of 
 was Kingsworth. If she could put in a week or two with 
 Mary Henderson and turn her into a staunch ally, it 
 would be an excellent move. On the other hand, Mary
 
 312 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 was so terribly high-minded; and she would be sure to 
 have heard of Carl Frensen's legacy. Margot realised 
 that there is nothing like a thoroughly good woman for 
 putting two and two together and making eight. All the 
 same, she had an almost superstitious feeling that Kings- 
 worth was a good place to go to. Sometimes she thought 
 she owed the fact that she was where she was and not 
 some poor little struggling derelict, sucked back into 
 Montreal by the return of the wave almost entirely to 
 the Hendersons. It was their role to lend her moral 
 support! She would have Mary telephoned to and see 
 what she said. . . . 
 
 Mary Henderson expressed great pleasure at the pros- 
 pect of receiving a visit from Margot, and invited her 
 to go over to Kingsworth on the following day in time for 
 luncheon, promising her the room which she had occupied 
 when she had stayed there before her marriage. The 
 next move being thus decided on, Margot's feeling of 
 nervelessness and misery vanished. She was always 
 happy when she had settled exactly what to do and had 
 only to go straight ahead and do it. The next morning, 
 as the miles increased which separated her from Hotham, 
 her spirits rose. She was still young enough to enjoy 
 putting away the past and forging ahead into the future. 
 She lifted up the speaking-tube and told the chauffeur to 
 hurry whenever he saw a chance, and in a little while 
 she observed that the hand of the speedometer had moved 
 round from thirty to forty. She lowered the window of 
 the car, letting in a gust of damp autumnal air which 
 chilled her through her furs, but at the same time made 
 her heart beat faster with excitement. 
 
 It was just one o'clock when the car swung through 
 the lodge gates at Kingsworth, and surged up the drive
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 313 
 
 towards the portico. The ringing of the bell fixed in the 
 little belfry over the class-rooms at the back of the house 
 reminded Margot that it was term time, and that all the 
 little boys and the weedy assistant-masters would be in 
 residence. Mary came out into the portico just as she 
 emerged from the car and kissed her affectionately, and 
 in another moment Adam came through the green baize 
 door which led into the boys' quarters and shook hands 
 with her. Margot noticed that he had chalk on his 
 fingers, and also that Mary's brown shoes were terribly 
 "sensible." She reproached herself for noticing such 
 details, but it was no good her pretending to have re- 
 mained where she was. She felt she must be so changed 
 from the raw girl who had come to stay in this house 
 such a few short years ago as to be almost unrecognisable. 
 She became gradually conscious, after a day or two, 
 that neither Mary nor Adam really liked her as much, 
 now, as they had done before her marriage. She set 
 herself to try to win back their affection. Her obvious 
 delight at revisiting Kings worth helped her in this. She 
 found the house and village as charming as ever. Old 
 John Vile was still alive, and Mrs. Holden and Rosie and 
 the crabbed old doctor she renewed her acquaintance 
 with them all. She did not tell Mary immediately about 
 Vernon's desertion, for she was afraid her friend would 
 have heard of Frensen's legacy and might be silently 
 condemning her. She had not yet succeeded in growing 
 out of her wholesome awe of Mary's clear and penetrating 
 blue eyes, and before bestowing her confidence she looked 
 about for some way of ensuring for it a good reception. 
 Mary's latest enthusiasm, now that the creche was in 
 full working order, was the ''Women's Poor- Law Admin- 
 istration League." Her eyes gleamed with the bright 
 fire of her enthusiasm whenever the mystic letters
 
 3H MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 "W.P.L.A.L." were mentioned. Margot could not help 
 connecting the new "movement" with Mary's sensible 
 brown shoes, her disinfectants, and her fad for lukewarm 
 baths and draughts (otherwise "fresh air"). It was all 
 so excellent and so uncomfortable ! Three years ago she 
 might have fallen a victim and caught the enthusiasm; 
 but marriage had at least rendered her immune from 
 movements. She found, however, that whenever she 
 listened to Mary's remarks about the "W.P.L.A.L." her 
 friend's attitude of reserve vanished, and that the more 
 interest in it she affected, the more friendly became 
 Mary's manner towards her. She decided to take a pull 
 at herself and go with Mrs. Henderson to a meeting at 
 Dorchester. It was an agonising experience, but the 
 effect on Mary of her simulated adherence to the cause 
 was almost miraculous. It was just after her return 
 from this meeting, in the hour before dinner, that she 
 elected to tell Mary her story of Vernon's desertion. 
 The appeal to Mary's kind heart met with complete 
 success. Mrs. Henderson could think no evil of a sup- 
 porter of the "W.P.L.A.L." She embraced Margot and 
 "mothered" her with a tenderness which she could not 
 have shown to anyone who was not a "sympathiser." 
 
 "My poor darling ! It is dreadful for you. You know 
 you can rely on us to do anything we can to help you. 
 I feel sure he will come back; but if he doesn't, of 
 course, you must have your freedom. If you really must 
 leave us to-morrow, Adam will take you up to London 
 and go with you to his solicitors. Mr. Short is such a 
 clever, splendid man. I am sure you couldn't be in better 
 hands!" 
 
 After this, Adam was called into the consultation, and 
 Margot could not forbear a secret chuckle as she observed 
 the gusto with which he filled the part of "heavy father."
 
 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 315 
 
 She wondered if he would have been quite so kind and 
 fatherly and ready to accompany her to Messrs. Mackie- 
 son, Sutton, and Short if she had been plain Maggie 
 Carter instead of the beautiful Lady Stokes. She knew 
 it was odious of her to think thoughts like these, but she 
 could not help it. She did not like Adam any the less 
 because she saw some of her own qualities reflected in 
 him. He was partly good and partly foolish just like 
 Mary just like all the world and really not so very 
 much more of a humbug than anybody else. 
 
 On the morning of her departure for London with 
 Adam, Margot took Mrs. Henderson aside and begged as 
 a great favour that she might be allowed to write her a 
 cheque for 100 for the fund that was being raised for 
 the "W.P.L.A.L." It had given her a new interest in life, 
 she said, and she would never cease to be grateful to 
 Mary for having told her about the movement. Mary 
 Henderson positively beamed, and Margot realised that, 
 after the first few tentative prods, she had triumphantly 
 succeeded in touching her friend's heart. Her reputa- 
 tion, in one quarter at least, had been secured. What- 
 ever unpleasant rumours the Stokes family might choose 
 to circulate about Carl Frensen's legacy, they would gain 
 no credence here. . . . 
 
 Margot did not go to Charles Street while she was 
 engaged in consultations with Messrs. Mackieson, Sutton, 
 and Short, but instead took rooms for Ernestine and 
 herself in a small hotel in Albemarle Street. 
 
 Any illusions she might have entertained as to the 
 "ease" with which divorce proceedings could be started 
 and carried through, were quickly shattered. Vernon did 
 everything that could possibly have been required of him, 
 and quickly put the necessary evidence of "misconduct"
 
 316 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 at her disposal; but, in spite of this, her equivocal posi- 
 tion, the constant visits to the offices of Mr. Short, and 
 the endless consultations exasperated her beyond bearing. 
 If it had not been for the tonic of Godfrey Levett's firm 
 advice and his rock-like insistence on what she should 
 do together with the stimulating excitement of a visit 
 to her Paris inheritance she felt she would have col- 
 lapsed under the strain. Mr. Short, for a lawyer, seemed 
 to ramble amazingly from the point. He had a chubby 
 red face very carefully shaved, and talked in a suave, 
 caressing tenor. Margot felt that if she had given him 
 the slightest encouragement he would have patted her 
 hand or offered her a biscuit and a glass of port wine. 
 He enraged her by attempting to "spare her feelings" 
 instead of getting on with the matter in hand. . . . 
 
 She saw as much as she could of Godfrey, though her 
 excessive nervousness prevented her from meeting him 
 except in public restaurants or at her hotel. At Christmas 
 she went to her villa at Cap Martin with Vivie Nugent, 
 who was always prepared to be useful if it were really 
 made worth her while (and Cap Martin was worth 
 anyone's while!). 
 
 The delights of the Villa des Roses, a lovely house 
 which gleamed white amid the trees on the Monaco side 
 of the wooded promontory, just under the rocks of 
 Roquebrune, ought to have been enough to make the most 
 worried soul contented. But Margot could find no peace 
 yet. She liked men, and the absence of Frensen and of 
 Godfrey, even of Vernon, made her feel lonely and her 
 life seem insipid. She returned to the Avenue Hoche 
 at the end of March, but nervousness restrained her from 
 going to London until it was absolutely necessary. Her 
 case had been postponed until after the Easter recess, 
 when it was the first on the list. Even if everything
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 317 
 
 went off well, she could not be free until the beginning of 
 October. The publicity (though, thank Heaven! there 
 were no dreadful letters to be read, nor the evidence of 
 nasty-minded servants to be elicited by gloating counsel) 
 was odious to her. The society papers published her 
 photograph and Vernon's, while the Duchess of Stretton 
 happened not to be looking in her direction when she 
 passed her in New Bond Street. The whole business was 
 agonising! And yet everything was made as easy for 
 her as possible. She was given her decree nisi, and there 
 was nothing in the proceedings except the interest attach- 
 ing to her husband's name, out of which a newspaper 
 paragraph could be made. 
 
 After it was all over, she determined to leave England 
 for France until the six months had expired and she was 
 free. On the day before the one on which she had ar- 
 ranged to start, the need to see Godfrey once more was 
 too much for her, and she wired to ask him to dine with 
 her quietly that evening at her hotel. 
 
 Levett had to put off another dinner engagement in 
 order to accept, but while he was dressing, it occurred 
 to him with uncomfortable vividness that there wasn't 
 much that he was not prepared to do for her nowadays 
 little devil that she was! He didn't know how she had 
 managed to get so out of hand! While he was driving 
 to Albermarle Street he felt a regret, that was almost like 
 physical pain, to think that Margot was going away from 
 London for so long, was going away without once coming 
 to see him in his flat. Always, since her split with 
 Vernon, their meetings had taken place in public at 
 restaurants, in the Park, at theatres. He had never 
 liked the idea of females entering his flat ; it was one of 
 his particular personal fads. But since the time when 
 Margot had first invaded his rooms, on the day they went
 
 318 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 to see the loan collection at the Cork Street Galleries, 
 they had never seemed quite complete without her. He 
 often thought of the contrast which her fair hair had 
 made against his black silk cushions, and after she had 
 gone that day it had seemed as though her ghost had 
 remained behind. Her ghost, shadowy and elusive, had 
 haunted him ever since; nothing would "lay" it, he 
 felt sure, but the presence once again of Margot herself, 
 sitting in the same armchair, with her hat laid on the 
 table . . . 
 
 Margot was waiting for him in the lounge when he got 
 to Smith's hotel. He thought she looked pale and very 
 tired, and her clear, china-blue eyes had a strained look 
 as though she were in pain. "I wish it were all over, 
 Godfrey, and I were a free woman," she said as they sat 
 down, in the dull English dining-room, to their exquisitely 
 cooked French dinner. I just couldn't bear it, if any- 
 thing happened now. I'm going over to Paris, and I 
 shall stay there until I'm out of quarantine. Mary 
 Henderson is coming over for a week to help me with 
 the servants, and I shall enjoy setting up a household of 
 my very own. But I wish it were all over !" 
 
 Godfrey laughed at her anxieties. "My dear, there 
 won't be any hitch. The King's Proctor isn't as formid- 
 able as all that. Besides, I'm sure you had the ardent 
 sympathy of the court. Nothing could have gone off 
 better." 
 
 "Well, anyway, I feel just about dead, I can tell you. 
 I don't believe I could have faced it if I'd known what 
 if would be like. I don't believe it was all worth 
 while. ..." 
 
 "Don't you?" he asked, glancing up at her out of his 
 queer grey eyes. "I wish I could make you think it 
 was, my dear!"
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 319 
 
 Margot looked away and did not reply, until the waiter 
 tactfully brought the filet de sole bonne femme. 
 
 "I do love sole cooked with whitebait, don't you?" 
 she said. "It's one of the things they do best here. I 
 think the chef must have come from Giro's." 
 
 Godfrey chuckled at her sophistication and adroitness, 
 but the faint flush which he noticed was enough to save 
 his amour-propre. They went on discussing food; and 
 this brought them, by easy stages, to Paris. "Now, I 
 hope you won't decide to live in Paris indefinitely 
 instead of in London. You are much too good for Paris, 
 Margot," said Godfrey, climbing on to one of his tubs. 
 "Paris is the spiritual home of all cheap minds the 
 paradise of the second-rate. Clothes and cooking and 
 robbing foreigners are the only things in which the 
 Parisians are really supreme. You will get sick to death 
 of the place in a month or two. Wait till you see it when 
 it rains; you will want to commit suicide for sheer 
 misery. Underneath its froth of 'pleasure' it is the 
 gloomiest city in Europe ! The only good thing about it 
 is the fact that we first met one another there ! London 
 is the place for you, my dear. London is so huge, so 
 alive, so full of changing colour and movement, so subtle 
 and haunting. You will get to the end of Paris soon 
 enough; you will never get to the end of London. Let 
 me keep my eyes open while you are away for a really 
 charming house for you. ..." 
 
 "Bless your heart," said Margot, laughing. "It isn't 
 where I live that I care about so much now ..." She 
 left the rest of her sentence unspoken, smiled, and looked 
 away from him. 
 
 They had finished dinner and were sitting in the lounge 
 over their coffee and cigarettes. Both were conscious of 
 an inability to say the things they wanted to say, and a
 
 320 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 feeling of depression invaded them at the same moment. 
 At the next table two fat and richly jewelled women were 
 discussing the iniquities of a third. Their jarring voices 
 made a discordant background to this unsatisfactory 
 parting. Soon after the clock struck ten Godfrey decided 
 that it was no use staying any longer, and got up to go. 
 
 "Shall I come over and see you?" he asked, "or do you 
 propose to retire completely from the world for the next 
 six months?" 
 
 "No, Godfrey, I don't think you'd better come and see 
 me. I'll let you know as soon as I'm free." 
 
 Godfrey wished her a pleasant journey and chaffed her 
 with gentle mockery about her subjection to Mrs. Grundy, 
 while they shook hands with conventional indifference. 
 As it was a fine night he turned into the Park for half 
 an hour before going back to his flat. He was more 
 moved and upset than he cared to acknowledge. He 
 hated the thought that Margot was going away, that he 
 would not see her for six months ; and even more than 
 this, he hated their dull and flat farewell.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 AFTER Margot's departure from London, Levett was 
 annoyed with himself for the feeling of restlessness which 
 came over him. He did not like these symptoms; they 
 had a certain unpleasant familiarity "What's this dull 
 town to me?" and so on. In order to prevent himself 
 from thinking about her, he made a point of going out 
 more than usual. The season this year was more hectic 
 than ever ; the peculiar gay frenzy of rag-time seemed to 
 permeate London life. It was as though the whole world 
 of London society had started dancing and could 
 not stop. It would need something like an earthquake 
 or the Day of Judgment to break the spell. Godf rey's 
 last play had brought him in more than all the others 
 put together, and as he had contracted the Night Club 
 habit, he managed to amuse himself almost as much as 
 usual. But all the time he was consciously or uncon- 
 sciously looking forward to a day, towards the end of 
 October, when Margot would write to him, and he 
 would see her again. Would she keep her promise, and 
 if she did, what should he say to her? The girls mostly 
 stage beauties, whose kindness to a man who might be 
 able to get them speaking parts knew no limits with 
 whom he supped and danced at Martin's or The Five 
 Hundred, instead of making him forget Margot, only 
 succeeded in reminding him of her by suggesting com- 
 parisons. It was Margot's virtue, perhaps, that most 
 attracted him. She did not smoke too many cigarettes 
 or drink, except in extreme moderation; shje had a self- 
 control, a restraint in her indulgences, which captivated 
 him. He disliked abandon in women, even when the 
 
 321
 
 322 MARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 excitement of it went to his head and carried him away. 
 Perhaps it was that he was becoming middle-aged and 
 had grown out of it. He did not think he would ever 
 grow out of Margot ; and he had never seen a woman's 
 figure that so magnificently bore clothing. The differ- 
 ence between Margot and the other women he met lay 
 largely in the fact that she had character, the others 
 only appetites. He had always been interested in 
 Margot from the moment when he had first met her at 
 the picture shop in the Rue Laffitte with Israel Falken- 
 heim. Since then he had watched her progress 
 "upwards" with continuous amusement and apprecia- 
 tion. He had no illusions about her; her crudity, her 
 selfishness, and the vulgarity of her ambitions did not 
 escape him. But he saw, as well, that there was some- 
 thing strong and valuable in her personality: something 
 gay, determined, and elusive. He loved her pluck, her 
 fiery, undaunted nature. She had the fascination which 
 so often clings to very self-centred people, and her points 
 of view were refreshing in their daring commonsense. 
 He rejoiced in the consideration which she had obtained 
 for herself by hard fighting, and the observation of the 
 various manoeuvres by which she had constantly added 
 to this consideration had afforded him many moments of 
 pleasure. There was a simple "everywoman" quality 
 about her that was a delight beautiful, uncivilised little 
 animal that she was! The more Margot "got on," the 
 more possessions were added unto her, and the more 
 sumptuously she succeeded in clothing herself, the more 
 did his admiration of her increase. His admiration 
 reached its zenith after her final stroke of good fortune 
 her legacy from Frensen. And then had followed her 
 break with Vernon, which had upset, not only his calcu- 
 lations, but his peace of mind. . . .
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 323 
 
 Well, she had pushed up her golden head into the 
 sun ; the stony ground on which Fate had choosen to cast 
 her as a child had not prevented her from taking root, 
 growing, blossoming. She wouldn't stop now; her pro- 
 gress would continue uninterrupted, but in what direc- 
 tion would she travel henceforth? What would she do 
 next? This was the question that Godfrey kept putting 
 to himself, as he sat with a bottle of champagne in front 
 of him and Miss Laurel Hope by his side, listening to a 
 nigger band playing rags and fox-trots. He imagined 
 he did not want to marry; such a step had always been 
 contrary to his philosophy. On the other hand, the idea 
 at this juncture of Margot marrying anyone else was 
 insupportable. If only she had not left Vernon, he 
 might never have thought of her like this. It was the 
 possibility of his carrying her off that was so maddening, 
 so tempting; the possibility of Her refusing him which 
 kept him on tenterhooks. 
 
 Ks the summer wore on, his condition became worse 
 instead of better. Once or twice he was on the point 
 of rushing over to France to see her, if only for an hour. 
 The thought of their unsatisfactory good-bye was bitter, 
 and he found himself wondering whether slie had taken 
 away with her a bad impression of him. He could not 
 gather anything from her scrappy notes : she was always 
 an inadequate correspondent. 
 
 The thought that he, of all people, was rapidly becom- 
 ing one of Margot's victims deligfited his sense of hu- 
 mour, though the joke was one entirely against himself. 
 Surely he was old enough to know better, at thirty-seven'? 
 But it was no good struggling. He would never get 
 the memory of her little tricks of gesture out of 
 his head, nor stifle the recollection of the faint
 
 324 MARGOf'S PROGRESS 
 
 perfume which always clung to her, and of her bewilder- 
 ing loveliness. 
 
 In the middle of July he had a longer letter from her 
 than usual. She wrote this time from Dinant, where 
 she was staying with the inevitable Nugents. Her letter 
 was full of the war scare which was apparently beginning 
 to disturb even that haunt of gilded peace. As she 
 seemed to fancy there was really some truth in the 
 prevalent rumours, he wrote to reassure her, but at the 
 same time to beg her to come back to England. She 
 replied saying that she would come back to London at 
 the end of October, as soon as she heard that her 
 decree had been made absolute. Meanwhile, he was not 
 to think of going over to Dinant to fetch her; she was 
 not really alarmed, and in any case, even if there 
 were a war, she would be safe enough in France and 
 would enjoy the excitement; she was not in the least 
 afraid. 
 
 Godfrey shrugged his shoulders when he got this, 
 determined to pull himself together, and went yachting 
 with a plutocratic acquaintance, specially cultivated for 
 this purpose, along the coast of Norway. The Declara- 
 tion caught him at Molde, a one-horse fishing port 
 brought into prominence by the Kaiser's predilection for 
 it, whence he was unable to move for a week of hectic 
 excitement, confusion, and annoyance. The only gleam 
 of amusement which the situation afforded was its effect 
 on a tiresome member of the party called Nigel Warne- 
 ford, a middle-aged stockbroker, famous for his innum- 
 erable pairs of boots and shoes and for the enormous 
 number of clubs of which he was a member. Poor 
 Nigel, in spite of the fact that the yacht remained all the 
 while close inshore, was almost continuously sea-sick 
 from August 3rd to August loth inclusive. The re-
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 325 
 
 mainder of the guests were gamely nonchalant when they 
 were together, but avoided one another as much as pos- 
 sible, preferring to wrestle in solitude with the agonising 
 task of "trying to realise it." Sir Harry Ashford, who 
 owned the yacht, was the only member of the party who 
 remained comparatively unmoved. He took the Norrna 
 into Bergen, and there made arrangements as speedily as 
 he could for the safety of his yacht and of his guests. 
 The party decided to go overland to Christiania, and 
 then to cross by the next available liner for Hull. 
 
 Levett's first action when he got back to London was 
 to telegraph to Margot at her Hotel at Dinant to see if 
 she were all right. He got no reply, and feeling more 
 alarmed than he cared to admit indeed, his intense 
 anxiety was a confirmation, if he needed any, of 
 how dear to him Margot had become he wired again, 
 this time to the Avenue Hoche. After an interminable 
 delay he was at last successful in getting an answer. 
 "Thanks for inquiries. Don't worry. Am quite safe 
 here. Margot." 
 
 Now why on earth did she want to stay in Paris? 
 Obstinate little fool that she was ! He spent the greater 
 part of the next two days in his club, waiting amid an 
 expectant crowd of men who stood gnawing their mous- 
 taches in front of the tape machines. He was'ashamed of 
 the number of newspapers he bought; none of them 
 seemed to contain any genuine news. Where were the 
 French? What were they doing? Why had the French 
 Army only just gone to help the Belgians? What had 
 really happened in Lorraine? 
 
 At last he could stand it no longer. His man had 
 been called up for military service; he was uncomfort- 
 able, anxious, and hard up. If Margot was so obstinate 
 that she would not come back to London and be properly
 
 3->6 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 looked after, there was nothing for it he would have to 
 capitulate and go to her. Within forty-eight hours of 
 arriving at this decision, after a tedious and acutely un- 
 comfortable journey, made on the French side in an 
 ancient and insanitary carriage, he found himself in an 
 almost cabless Paris making for Margot's flat. 
 
 The familiar city presented an astonishing appearance 
 on the lovely August afternoon of his arrival. There was 
 none of the hectic, frothy excitement which he expected 
 to find; on the contrary, a well-bred calm was notice- 
 able on the faces of the women and old men in the 
 streets. A good many people seemed to be wearing tiny 
 Union Jacks. Sir John French and his staff had been 
 welcomed a day or two before, and the city was still full 
 of enthusiasm for Great Britain, for khaki, and for 
 Tipperary. Some of the streets which were usually most 
 crowded were empty, and the majority of the fashionable 
 shops were closed. Immense iron shutters protected the 
 windows in the Rue de la Paix and elsewhere, which had 
 formerly been so full of colour and richness. A great 
 deal also of the trumpery nonsense which is character- 
 istic of Parisian street commerce in ordinary times was 
 swept away. The boulevards with all the shrubs, chairs, 
 and little tables of the cafes hurried indoors reminded 
 Godfrey of a sitting-room in a lodging-house, from which 
 a new tenant has banished the landlady's ornaments, 
 photographs, and odds and ends. A certain bareness and 
 austerity was observable in the city as in its inhabitants ; 
 essentials, in both cases, were no longer obscured. As 
 Godfrey drove on, in the dilapidated fiacre which he was 
 lucky to have secured, towards the Avenue Hoche, he 
 was struck once more by the dignified bearing of the 
 people in the streets, particularly of the women. He 
 reflected that there must be a kind of noblesse oblige
 
 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 327 
 
 feeling in peoples as well as in individuals, of ancient 
 lineage and great traditions. After all, this same Paris 
 had seen the Revolution, the Siege of 1870, and the 
 Commune. There wasn't much that could happen to 
 a nation or to a city through which Parisians had not 
 lived. 
 
 Godfrey's heart was beating uncomfortably by the time 
 his cab reached the magnificent expanse of the Avenue 
 Hoche. The great road was completely deserted; the 
 shutters were up in nearly every window. Godfrey pic- 
 tured all kinds of catastrophes that might have happened 
 to Margot. He imagined her starving, perhaps, or left 
 without servants, her affairs in chaos. The horror of 
 the calamity which had befallen civilisation overcame 
 him, broke down all his settled habits of mind, 
 and made him long frankly, fiercely, to hold Margot in 
 his arms and never let her escape, to cling to something 
 stable in the world of illusions which was breaking up 
 all round him. . . . 
 
 The lift was not working; the lift-man had been 
 mobilised. The Concierge's wife made her apologies and 
 told him the number of Milday Stokes's appartement. 
 Godfrey dismissed the cabman and walked up the broad 
 staircase, carrying his baggage himself, till he came to 
 Margot's door. He was kept waiting what seemed an 
 age, till at last the door was opened by an elderly female 
 servant, with wrinkled face the cook, no doubt. Yes, 
 Milady Stokes was at home, but she was not receiving. 
 "Monsieur is from England. Ah, is it possible ?" Tears 
 came into the woman's eyes as she thought of the dangers 
 to which Godfrey must have exposed himself in his 
 journey from a land which now, for civilians, seemed cut 
 off completely by war. She asked Godfrey to wait in 
 the library while she took in his name.
 
 328 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 Then, in a moment, there was a quick step in the 
 passage ; the door was flung open. 
 
 "Godfrey! How could you! I am glad. How did 
 you manage to get across. . . . ?" Margot looked pale 
 and thin with anxiety and shock, and the sight of 
 Godfrey, in her overwrought condition, made her want 
 to cry weakly with pleasure. 
 
 He did not speak in answer to her greeting. He did 
 not know what to say; but his arms enclosed her, and 
 his lips hungrily and tenderly sought hers. She yielded 
 to him, and her body seemed completely to relax as he 
 held her. He had never known her so gentle. "Godfrey," 
 she whispered. "It's over four years since you kissed 
 me. Do you know that. . . . ?" 
 
 "Why have you kept me away from you all this time ? 
 Little wretch! Why didn't you come back to England 
 when I told you to, before the war?" he said. "Now, 
 you see, I've had to come over to fetch you. I thought 
 the journey would never end. The train went at a snail's 
 pace, bumped, shunted, and was examined by officials 
 every few minutes. You never saw such antique, bug- 
 stricken railway-carriages ! I can't think where they dug 
 them up from. Where are the Nugents ?" 
 
 "Oh, they went back to London just in time." 
 
 "Trust them!" said Godfrey. "All the same, why 
 didn't you come too, you disobedient creature? What 
 was the point of staying on here?" 
 
 "I don't know. Who knows what is the point of any- 
 thing a woman does? There probably was a point. I 
 just didn't want to come back to London. I thought I'd 
 stay on here, war or no war. After all, I've got two 
 properties in France and none in England. I didn't want 
 to lose all my possessions. What was the use of running 
 away and trusting to luck? As it is, all the really valu-
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 329 
 
 able things here and in the Villa des Roses are as safely 
 packed away as it was possible to arrange for. Things 
 haven't really been so bad. The rumours are the worst. 
 To-day we hear that everyone who can is going to leave 
 Paris. I shan't! At first it was rather difficult when 
 we thought England wasn't going to join in. But now 
 everybody is 'content avec 1'Angleterre.' No, I'm glad 
 I didn't go back to London. Besides, there was you. 
 You were much too 'up' on yourself, my dear. I thought 
 I'd leave you for a bit till you ..." 
 
 "Till I what?" said Godfrey, with rising colour. 
 
 "Come and see the rest of the flat," Margot replied 
 irrelevantly. "Most of the good things are put away. 
 . . .I've only three servants in the place Ernestine, 
 Louise, and a housemaid." 
 
 She took him into the various magnificent rooms of 
 the flat, which had been left in almost exactly the same 
 state as they were when it came into Margot's hands. 
 Only the salon had been altered and made less formal. 
 As they entered the room, they both looked at Courbet's 
 portrait of Carl Frensen at the age of twenty-eight, which 
 hung on the wall facing them, framed in black. What 
 a strong, interesting, unscrupulous face it was, and how 
 the dark, red-brown, magnetic eyes seemed to stare out 
 of the picture, looking into their hearts! They were 
 cynical, understanding eyes, but neither to Godfrey nor 
 to Margot did they seem unsympathetic. 
 
 Margot sank into a deep bergere, putting her hand on 
 the cushion for Godfrey to sit beside her. Then suddenly 
 her head sank down and she covered her face with her 
 hands. The rare tears trickled through her white fingers. 
 Godfrey had never believed her capable of tears. 
 Hard, gamine, truculent, ruthless, selfish, amusing, 
 jewel-like in her undimmed brightness all these things
 
 330 M ARGOTS PROGRESS 
 
 he knew her to be. Why was she weeping? She 
 cried quite silently, without any movement of her 
 shoulders. 
 
 He put his lips to her gold, fragrant hair, but she did 
 not want to be caressed, and looked up at him with 
 swimming eyes. 
 
 "Oh, this war!" she moaned. "Godfrey, I've seen 
 him . . . Vernon ! He looked so brown and brave and 
 well, and so handsome. He was in Paris yesterday, with 
 some other English officers. I suppose he rejoined his 
 regiment at once he was on the reserve. . . . He is 
 certain to be killed; and I shall feel wretched all my 
 life for having made him miserable just at the end. 
 He hasn't had time yet to console himself with Ida. 
 Poor old Vernon. It's all too awful. . . . And yet ... 
 I don't really like him any more, although I'm so sorry 
 for the poor dear. It's no use my pretending I do. I 
 suppose I've no heart !" 
 
 She dried her eyes and sat back in the chair for a 
 moment without speaking. "I think my nerves must 
 have given away," she said at last. "I have done nothing 
 but cry since this wretched war started. What's the good 
 of it that's what I should like to know? Who wants 
 a war? What is it all about? Nobody is 'patriotic' 
 nowadays, or cares what country he belongs to, so long 
 as it is big and rich and civilised. I tell you, Godfrey, I'm 
 just about fed up with all this patriotism. It's so terribly 
 old-fashioned. If there had been no flag-wagging there 
 wouldn't have been any war. I wish these wretched 
 boches could all be stewed in boiling oil, and the Kaiser 
 torn to pieces by wolves. What is the good of living in 
 the twentieth century at all, if the world is going to 
 behave like this! And there's poor Vernon. . . . The 
 only thing he cared for was his looks, and if he isn't
 
 MARGOTS PROGRESS 331 
 
 killed he's certain to be mangled, or blinded, or become 
 a cripple. . . . Of course, it's people of his sort who are 
 responsible for it all ; it isn't the lower classes the class 
 that I spring from who've done it, Godfrey. We aren't 
 guilty. It's the effete aristocrats, who are born with 
 everything they want and haven't got to fight for it, who 
 are the cause of all this misery. War gives them romance, 
 excitement, glory, and all that something to live for, 
 like a more dangerous kind of sport. It serves to bolster 
 up all your rotten, antiquated traditions of caste. And 
 now 'father's sword' is going to make Mittle gentlemen' 
 out of thousands more unfortunate youths who otherwise 
 might be getting ahead and doing something! I'm a 
 modern woman you are modern too, Godfrey. But 
 Vernon, and his sort, are just an old-fashioned survival. 
 Back numbers! That was why we fell apart. ... It 
 isn't any good my pretending to be like the other women. 
 I'm not. I'm not one of them : like Vivie Nugent, for 
 example. I bet Vivie will be rushing about London now, 
 in someone else's car, busy doing 'war work' as pleased 
 as Punch!" 
 
 Godfrey laughed at her vehemence. "You are quite 
 right," he said. "Half the idle women in London have 
 gone mad with excitement and are working nineteen 
 hours a day!" 
 
 "My sort of person doesn't need war to bring an 
 excitement into life, Godfrey. I get all the excitement 
 7 need, thank you, in fighting for the things I want. I 
 wasn't born with anything at all. Life itself has been 
 my war ; and so it is for everyone with anything in them, 
 except these beastly aristocrats. I'd start a revolution 
 to-morrow, Godfrey, if I could. There are millions more 
 poor people than rich in the world, and the poor don't 
 to fight. Don't tell me! It's the rich who trick
 
 332 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 them into it. ... I'm going to turn the Villa des Roses 
 into a hospital for wounded Tommies: no officers or 
 gentlemen admitted! And you had better buckle to and 
 drive the car, after I've had it converted into an ambu- 
 lance. I'm not going to have you enlist as a Colonel, 
 my dear, or any rot like that." 
 
 Godfrey listened to Margot's outburst with surprise 
 mingled with amusement and appreciation. 
 
 "The war has evidently effected a marvellous con- 
 version in you already, Margot!" he said with a smile. 
 "It's quite clear you will never wish to make boss shots 
 at the best people any more, so perhaps you'll reconcile 
 yourself to marrying a social detrimental this time. I'm 
 not sure your conversion didn't start when I persuaded 
 you to throw up that bazaar at the Duchess of Stretton's ; 
 do you remember?" 
 
 "I wonder why men always begin to grin as soon as 
 a woman talks sense?" remarked Margot irrelevantly. 
 "I suppose it is to show their superiority, or else to 
 conceal the fact that they haven't been clever enough to 
 grasp the point. ... I dare say it takes something like 
 a war, though, to show one what one really thinks and 
 feels." Her tone changed as she added: "During the 
 last fortnight all kinds of things seem to have become 
 clearer, Godfrey. ..." She gave him a swift glance 
 out of her shining blue eyes. Her red lips, usually so 
 firmly set in their delicate curves, seemed to tremble now 
 as though they might either break into a smile or droop 
 again with distress. Her bosom rose and fell under the 
 thin black silk of her frock, and to Godfrey she had never 
 before seemed so womanly, and so desirable, and so 
 elusive. She got up from the double armchair and 
 walked across the room to the chimneypiece as though 
 she had all at once become acutely ill at ease. Godfrey
 
 MARGOT'S PROGRESS 333 
 
 rose too and went across to where she waited looking 
 down, her head turned away from him. 
 
 "Darling," he said, taking her in his arms, "I hope 
 one of the things you see more clearly now is the fact 
 that I adore you. ..." Margot did not answer. Her 
 face flushed a deep crimson, and, as this was hardly 
 becoming, it was presumably involuntary. "I'm not 
 going ever to let you go again," he went on. "I won't 
 let the wretched war hurt you, my love. Nothing can 
 hurt either of us if we care for each other. I don't sup- 
 pose you could really care for anyone, though!" he 
 added with a sigh. She looked up angrily at this. Then, 
 with the spontaneity that was always one of her greatest 
 charms, she threw her soft arms round him and buried 
 her face in his coat. 
 
 "I shouldn't let you stay here and talk rot if I didn't 
 love you," she said. "And I don't want you to 
 go. . . ." 
 
 With the old life breaking up all round them, the old 
 interests, amusements, vices being swept away before 
 the tempest of war, they clung together united in the 
 great simplicity of affection. Of the two of them, 
 Godfrey had changed most. The war had torn from him 
 his outer garments of insincerity and pose, had acted as 
 a tonic for the soul, giving him vigour, courage, energy, 
 hope, and a certain ruthlessness. If the world chose to 
 go mad, he and Margot would keep their heads, and when 
 peace came they would find happiness and zest for life 
 amid the universal chaos ! In the glorious days to come 
 a new existence would begin for them both, purged of the 
 old vicious follies and cheap ambitions. This war would 
 open wide the windows, letting out the overheated, foul, 
 vice-laden atmosphere, letting in the clean, fresh winds. 
 Oh, there would come a time when the sun would shine
 
 334 M ARGOT'S PROGRESS 
 
 as it had never shone before ; there would come a spring 
 after all this misery when their hearts would exult 
 with joy of living ! In this new world his unconquerable 
 Margot would come into her own. She was born for it, 
 a veritable pioneer. And she would take him with her 
 on into the sunshine. 
 
 THE END.
 
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